Corboda (or Cordova), in the Andalusian part of Spain and the second largest old town in Europe, is a city I have
been wanting to visit for a very long time. I dreamt of walking the streets
where Muslims, Christians and Jews were able to co-exist, work and live alongside
each other quite harmoniously. I greatly anticipated viewing the great La
Mezquita (the Great Mosque)- originally a Visigoth church, purchased and converted into a mosque and, then as part of the Spanish conquistador, turned into a cathedral.
We had arrived in the city late and La Mezquita was closed so hubby and I
walked around the compounds- of course I managed to capture so many great shots
of the exquisite exterior of La Mezquita.
So with much anticipation, we got up early and arrived at La Mezquita before
the crowds and the official opening. Through the golden doors, we entered the internal courtyard with its citrus and palm trees. I immediately felt a huge sense of calmness. I was finally here.
I didn't loiter too much in the courtyard though as I wanted to be in La Mezquita itself. Walking into such a place was surreal and a delight for the senses.
Your eyes did not know know where to look first. Do you take in the nearly 900 columns made out of marble, jasper, granite and onyx? Or the famed
red-striped arches (doubled arches) unique to La Mezquita? Do you look at the many
breathtakingly beautiful domes? Do you marvel at the pillars or hold your
breath when you viewed the murals? Or do you, as a Muslim, run straight for the
mihrab and study the calligraphy, geometric shapes, flowering plants and rich colours?
While hubby wandered around on his own, I decided to take in La Mezquita,
inch by inch, starting right at the door. With my camera forever attached to my eyes, I
studied the exquisite and unique architecture and artwork. But when I arrived
at the mihrab, I wanted to simply sit there, in awe of its beauty as well as its
history. It was an overwhelming sense of spiritual connection with my Creator and his Majesty. Perhaps this was what famed poet Muhammad Iqbal felt when he first visited La Mezquita in the 1930s.
I wanted to reflect on being a creation of God. I wanted to pray- but
I couldn’t. The guards hovered around me with ever vigilant eyes. I knew it was
against the law for me as a Muslim to perform my prayers- I would be forced to stop or shooed out
of La Mezquita. I thought that perhaps if I simply sat
there, quietly in a corner, say my prayers, it would be okay and a substitute
for what I really wanted to do- stand and prostrate to my Creator. However, the
guards would not let me out of their sight. One guard, in particular, followed
me around. If I even made an attempt to crouch or sit, he would quickly demand that
I stand.
I watched the morning mass, being held at that time in the Christian part of
La Mezquita, and viewed the other areas where pews were available for people to
sit down and offer their prayer with envy because I couldn’t do the same in
this place because I am a Muslim.
Perhaps I am naïve but I was hoping that in a city which was once a true example of true religious co-existence, I would be allowed to offer my prayers in a place of worship I have been dreaming of visiting for the longest time. I don't want to make a noisy show of it- just quietly pray in a corner somewhere. I guess I will have to simply accept the situation.
Perhaps I am naïve but I was hoping that in a city which was once a true example of true religious co-existence, I would be allowed to offer my prayers in a place of worship I have been dreaming of visiting for the longest time. I don't want to make a noisy show of it- just quietly pray in a corner somewhere. I guess I will have to simply accept the situation.
