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Places Called Home: Folk Traditions among Muslim Immigrants in Baton Rouge, Louisiana
By Jocelyn Hazelwood Donlon
Home Matters
Community Practices
Making Pita Bread
Mosque Services & Shared Differences
MOSQUE SERVICES
Cultural crossings are nearly inevitable among immigrant communities, and these crossings occur within private and public domains, along secular and religious lines. Boundaries between public/private and secular/religious are not always linear and firm, but multi-directional and porous. In terms of the mosque, however, the dynamic is clearly "public" and "religious." People who attend a mosque publicly conform to established practices and respect declared traditions, which is, of course, why Inas and other women cover their heads when inside the mosque. Mosque-goers agree to play a part, to varying degrees, in an organized community, whether it be forming a prayer line or volunteering to serve in such capacities as organizing a Girl Scouts troop, serving on committees and boards, collecting donated goods, planning field trips for children, or volunteering individual talents, grounded in Islamic tradition.
Mosque Calligraphy
Ayman Zaben, a recent immigrant from Ramallah, Palestine, has brought his traditional craft of painting and carving Islamic calligraphy to Baton Rouge, and he donated his talents to the new mosque when he painted the calligraphy on the walls. He said that he went to the mosque a few months ago and saw that there was no calligraphy. He then talked to a leader, and volunteered to write the calligraphy. He was asked to do "whatever he could do." He chose to paint the words that are typical of any mosque: "Allah," "Mohammed," and the names of four prophets: "Ali," "Osman," "Omar," and "Abu Baker." In the center of the mosque he wrote, "In the name of God the most gracious, the most merciful."
Calligraphy by Ayman Zaben in
the Islamic Center of Baton Rouge |
photos:Jocelyn Donlon |
While he volunteers at the mosque, Ayman has also brought his folk craft into his home in Baton Rouge for his wife, Kathy, and his two young children to enjoy. Across the mantel of his fireplace he has hand-painted in Islamic calligraphy, "God is the light for the earth and sky." And while these examples from public and private domains are clearly religious, Ayman also creates secular items. For his uncle in Baton Rouge he created a stone carving to hang over the door with the family name written in Arabic, and he is interested in finding a market for these stone plaques in Baton Rouge.
In 1990, Ayman apprenticed for one year with a calligrapher and stone carver in Palestine, and he has been working professionally ever since. When he worked as a trained, professional stone carver and calligrapher in Palestine, Ayman's work frequently consisted of carving stones for houses, cemeteries, and mosques. He carves stone discs with the family name, which people in Palestine place over the front door, just as he did for his uncle in Baton Rouge. Finding places to practice his craft in Baton Rouge is more of a challenge, since there are fewer mosques and the general population is not Muslim. While he has come to the United States for greater opportunity, he must modify his craft to suit the demands of the local culture. Ayman is currently working at a factory where he machine-cuts slabs of stone, but he is also seeking ways to apply his hand-carving and painting skills. Donating his hand-painted calligraphy to the mosque is one way of employing his craft.
Calligraphy by Ayman Zaben in his home
photo:Jon Donlon |
Stone carving by Ayman Zaben
photo:Jon Donlon |
Ayman Zaben carving stone
photo:Jon Donlon |
Mosque-Going Family
Niloufer "Mee" Mohamed, who immigrated to Baton Rouge from Mauritius more than 25 years ago and eventually became a United States citizen, is also an active volunteer at the mosque. With her husband, Zamalludeen "Zee" Mohamed, from British Guyana, she is raising five children. "Mee and Zee" are both Certified Public Accountants, though Mee's work is much reduced while she focuses on raising their four daughters and one son, who range in age from 20 to 7.
Mee Mohamed
photo:Jon Donlon |
The Mohamed family feels a strong sense of community with other Muslims in Baton Rouge. Mee notes that there aren't many people from Mauritius or British Guyana, so she and her husband have found it essential to associate with other Muslims, no matter what country they are from. And they create this sense of belonging largely through their participation at the mosque, where they celebrate Eid, organize picnics and camps for children, and participate in weekly activities and community events.
It is not surprising that the family can so easily associate with so many different kinds of people. Mee grew up in Mauritius with Christians, Hindus, Africans, Chinese, Europeans, and Indians, and she says that, given her own mixed heritage of French and Indian descent, she has intentionally raised her children with a sense of cultural inclusiveness. Zee, coming from South America, has Eastern Indian heritage. All of the children are United States citizens, being raised in a devout Muslim, multi-cultural home. No wonder, then, that the children have a difficult time with ethnic and racial categories on pre-fabricated forms. They often choose "Asian-Pacific," but such a category obviously doesn't embrace their truly multi-cultural history.
Choosing arbitrary racial categories is only one difficulty faced by this and other Muslim immigrant families. One of the greatest challenges is raising children in the United States, far away from the support of extended family and homeland traditions. Thus, Mee and other women are working, through the Women's Council at the mosque, to implement programs for Muslim women about family concerns and problems. She says that "it has been difficult for us parents who have grown up elsewhere" to raise children who have been born and raised in the United States. Sometimes the families retain many traditional values, while the children are part of their local culture. She marvels, for instance, that her children say "hey" to greet her. She says, "I would never tell my mother or father 'hey'"! She is working with other women at the mosque to confront these generational immigrant issues. In their home countries, there is more extended family support to help solve family problems, but immigrants, says Mee, must rely on the extended community in their host country.
Mee has observed that sometimes people have difficulty recognizing that "things are different here in the United States than they are at home." One of the biggest issues, she notes, is the segregation of the men and the women. She understands that in the United States, men and women must deal with each other on a daily basis. "You go to the grocery store, you go to the bank, you go anywhere, and you have to deal with [men]. You might've guessed by now," she says, "that I don't have a problem going and talking to a man. I'm covered and very respectful. It's not for any ulterior motive. It's just a matter of communication."
Mee daily negotiates her devotion to Islam with the cultural demands of the United States. She has chosen to wear the Islamic headscarf, which she decided to do after coming to the United States. She recognizes that "you don't truly understand [your culture and religion] until you migrate to somewhere else." When she first came to Baton Rouge to attend Louisiana State University, Mee began to recognize her own difference, which motivated her to study Islam. Through private study, she came to her headscarf decision independently. She says she felt no outside pressure, and imposes none on others. "You can tell with my girls," she claims, "how they're dressed differently." Indeed, her children look like "regular" American kids. She doesn't want to force decisions about Islam on them, saying that it is a personal decision that "has to come from within." She believes that pressuring someone into religious practices "won't last." She says, "It's not something to be imposed. I wouldn't even do it with my own children."
SHARED DIFFERENCES
All seven people here indicated that they would agree with Mee: religion that doesn't "come from within" will not endure. They have, from within, found distinctive ways to observe Islam and to keep their homeland customs, while necessarily adapting to a new culture. Through their different choices, they reveal a diversity of folk practices in Baton Rouge's Muslim community. These practices occur in both public and domestic spaces, and along religious and secular lines. Unifying all the stories here-and the many more not represented-is the centrality of home, family, community, and faith.
In a time when media images of Muslims throughout the world are so often cast in broad cultural stereotypes, it is salutary to remember that the Muslim population is not a monolith. National differences and individual preferences differently shape each person's story. While the cultural differences are significant, it is also true that the stories here could easily be anyone's story-of homes left, families sustained, traditions safeguarded, and faiths practiced. These stories confirm that while adaptations and cross-pollinations result in various cultural differences, the larger narrative of "leaving home to make a home" is all too human. Such stories about "places called home" ultimately can transcend established cultural barriers to bind different populations together in human endeavors.
Folklorist Jocelyn Hazelwood Donlon, PhD., and leisure studies researcher Jon Griffin Donlon, PhD., founded and co-direct the Center for Cultural Resources in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Jocelyn Donlon interviewed members of the Baton Rouge Muslim community for the New Populations Project. Jon Donlon provided photographs.
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