Much of what you see in Paris is pretty or interesting, but all of it is largely uniform in design.

Just steps away from the Jardin des Plantes, you find yourself at the Great Mosque of Paris. I first discovered its location while out on a run with my friend, and indeed the minaret comes as kind of a surprise in a city of church-heavy neighborhoods.  

 

It’s a big week for Muslims- we have the yearly hajj underway (the pilgrimage to Mecca), and Sunday evening marks the important holiday of Eid al-Adha, or Tabaski as it is known in Senegal. If I didn’t know myself better I’d say that my timing in doing this posting was a preconceived and well thought out. The truth is that I just hopped on and off a random bus while exploring the Left Bank.

My fortune was good in returning to this spot. I’m almost out of time in Paris, and since that morning run a few weeks back I’ve been wanting to return.

The architecture is quite beautiful, and reminiscent of the styles I saw in the south of Spain last summer.

Our guide talked at length about the unity of Islam. Here you have an indication of the direction of Mecca. The faithful living all over the world pray towards the same point, which is really another symbol of their religious unity.

One thing that I always appreciate about mosques (and the religion of Islam in general) is the absence of iconography. For better or worse, much of the religion is rooted in only the words and your own interpretation.

A look inside the mosque’s library. Much more than a simple house of worship, this place is a veritable community center. There is also an entire section known as the Muslim Institute where individuals can deepen their understanding of Islam.

I kind of feel like I’m back in Morocco. This leads out to the garden area.

The mosque has a beautiful 33 meter minaret, but no one’s heard the call to prayer since 1964. Apparently back in the day the decidedly Christian neighborhood did not dig the calls of the muezzin, and to this day no sound announces the five daily prayer times. This little story reminds me of the mosque in Saint Louis, Senegal– to this day its minaret has an odd-looking clock pasted on its side. Apparently the French governor back in days of yore also didn’t like the call to prayer, so he had them stick a clock up there instead. Independence has since restored the call to prayer in Saint Louis.

Here lies the resting place of the mosque’s first imam (an imam is like a priest, for my readers back home who have never stepped foot inside this world). Again, note the lack of adornments.

To the left of the grave it says “For the Muslim soldiers who died for France, 1914-18, 1939-1945”. I have blogged a little bit about the well-known Tirailleurs from Africa who fought for France during the World Wars. If France is better at nothing else, they are faultless in recognizing everyone who fell in the cause of la patrie. Even if it wasn’t exactly their homeland.

Beyond the garden you can see the drab buildings and November sky. This place is a great discovery of color and tranquility.

I didn’t find a ton of information on the mosque while clicking around the Internet, but I did read about a story that was not mentioned by our guide. During the Nazi occupation, the rector of this mosque sheltered and facilitated the escape of many French Jews who would have otherwise been deported to concentration camps. If any of you are reading this blog posting with a suspicious eye based on what you think you know about Islam (courtesy of Fox News), I’d ask you to remember stories like this one.

Even on this gray and rainy day, the mosque had so much color.

The mosques in Senegal don’t look like this, but I can slowly feel myself readying to return.