Post from Tim:
Nothing reminds visitors they are in a 99 percent Muslim country more than the call to prayer. Forget the fact that Turkey has a secular government and relaxed atmosphere. When the call is broadcast simultaneously from every mosque in a city at dawn, noon, mid-afternoon, dusk, or after dark, the haunting sounds echo from every direction and make the otherwise secular streets feel holy.
The family who runs the Lale Hostel here in Egirdir is a friendly bunch. The owner Ibrahim is a helpful guy and as Ibrahim proudly told us, his father is a muezzin with an excellent voice. When I asked Ibrahim about hearing his father sing, he didn't hesitate in sending me down to the mosque to watch the call to prayer. I jumped at the opportunity just a few minutes before his father was due in the service and found myself bounding through the darkened nighttime streets behind him, wondering what I was in store for. We arrived to a locked mosque at around 10 PM and waited for the Imam to arrive with the keys.
Our awkward conversation crawled along with language problems, as Ibrahim's father spoke to me in broken English and I spoke to him in the few Turkish words I knew. But I didn't need spoken language to realize he wore a genuine smile with his gentle personality.
The Imam arrived with a trickle of other followers who chatted amicably amongst each other. Once they established that I spoke no Turkish, I dissolved into the background and spent the time watching people ritually cleanse themselves in the ablution fountain nearby.
With the Imam's signal, Ibrahim's father enclosed himself into a phone booth sized recording booth below the minaret and sang the call to prayer. I heard his voice as an even mix, half muffled through the wooden door and half broadcast from the loudspeakers high above my head. But still, Ibrahim was right to be proud. His father's voice was enchanting.
The prayer ended three minutes later and as I readied to leave, Ibrahim's father surprised me with an invitation to watch the actual prayers inside the mosque. I wasn't sure what to expect, but removed my shoes and followed him in.
The Quran forbids displaying images of Muhammad and other religious leaders, so unlike Christians who decorate their churches with images of Christ, Muslims decorate their mosques with prayers rendered into flowing calligraphic paintings. These paintings hung on the walls alongside two loud clocks that broke the room's silence with steady ticking.
I knew virtually nothing about the ritualized Islamic prayer and felt naturally out of place. But I'd been invited in and none of the 9 people in the room seemed bothered by my presence. So I stood in the back and observed silently.
Ibrahim's father started the 20 minutes of prayers with his smooth voice. Participants then followed the Imam in prayers, standing, kneeling, and pressing their foreheads down to the red carpeted floor. The Imam's transformation amazed me. Ten minutes ago he looked like a normal everyday guy and now, he was a black robed holy man with a cylindrical turban. The Imam's deeper voice chanted in turns with the Muezzin in a mesmerizing duet that made me soon forget my doubts about coming.
The participants practiced other parts of the ritual, mouthing silent prayers, placing their hands up to the heavens, and fingering rosary beads. The Imam ended the session with a prayer and the participants exited silently.
I tried to express my sincere gratitude to Ibrahim's father when I walked back to the hostel with him. He offered me a real glimpse of Turkey that I will not soon forget.
Listen to the Turkish Call To Prayer and the Turkish Mosque recordings in the Sounds section.
The family who runs the Lale Hostel here in Egirdir is a friendly bunch. The owner Ibrahim is a helpful guy and as Ibrahim proudly told us, his father is a muezzin with an excellent voice. When I asked Ibrahim about hearing his father sing, he didn't hesitate in sending me down to the mosque to watch the call to prayer. I jumped at the opportunity just a few minutes before his father was due in the service and found myself bounding through the darkened nighttime streets behind him, wondering what I was in store for. We arrived to a locked mosque at around 10 PM and waited for the Imam to arrive with the keys.
Our awkward conversation crawled along with language problems, as Ibrahim's father spoke to me in broken English and I spoke to him in the few Turkish words I knew. But I didn't need spoken language to realize he wore a genuine smile with his gentle personality.
The Imam arrived with a trickle of other followers who chatted amicably amongst each other. Once they established that I spoke no Turkish, I dissolved into the background and spent the time watching people ritually cleanse themselves in the ablution fountain nearby.
With the Imam's signal, Ibrahim's father enclosed himself into a phone booth sized recording booth below the minaret and sang the call to prayer. I heard his voice as an even mix, half muffled through the wooden door and half broadcast from the loudspeakers high above my head. But still, Ibrahim was right to be proud. His father's voice was enchanting.
The prayer ended three minutes later and as I readied to leave, Ibrahim's father surprised me with an invitation to watch the actual prayers inside the mosque. I wasn't sure what to expect, but removed my shoes and followed him in.
The Quran forbids displaying images of Muhammad and other religious leaders, so unlike Christians who decorate their churches with images of Christ, Muslims decorate their mosques with prayers rendered into flowing calligraphic paintings. These paintings hung on the walls alongside two loud clocks that broke the room's silence with steady ticking.
I knew virtually nothing about the ritualized Islamic prayer and felt naturally out of place. But I'd been invited in and none of the 9 people in the room seemed bothered by my presence. So I stood in the back and observed silently.
Ibrahim's father started the 20 minutes of prayers with his smooth voice. Participants then followed the Imam in prayers, standing, kneeling, and pressing their foreheads down to the red carpeted floor. The Imam's transformation amazed me. Ten minutes ago he looked like a normal everyday guy and now, he was a black robed holy man with a cylindrical turban. The Imam's deeper voice chanted in turns with the Muezzin in a mesmerizing duet that made me soon forget my doubts about coming.
The participants practiced other parts of the ritual, mouthing silent prayers, placing their hands up to the heavens, and fingering rosary beads. The Imam ended the session with a prayer and the participants exited silently.
I tried to express my sincere gratitude to Ibrahim's father when I walked back to the hostel with him. He offered me a real glimpse of Turkey that I will not soon forget.
Listen to the Turkish Call To Prayer and the Turkish Mosque recordings in the Sounds section.
Photos From This Location
Audio Recordings From This Location
Turkish Call to Prayer
The evening Muslim call to prayer is broadcast over the miniret loudspeaker in the small lakeside town of Egirdir.
Turkish Mosque
The mezzin from the call to prayer invited me into the mosque to watch the actual service. I watched, not sure what to do, but honored that I could experience it.