1. Devotion

Today the word “devotion” keeps echoing in my thoughts.  Devotion to a higher power.  Devotion to loved ones.  Devotion to the passion that has all of us in this photography group traveling with National Geographic Photography Expeditions, lens in hand.  At this moment though, my camera hangs on my shoulder as I stand in the magnificent Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, Morocco.  I marvel at the enormous size of the space, especially since it’s the second largest mosque in the world — the first is the Great Mosque in Mecca, Saudi Arabia.  I feel the cool tile floor on the bottoms of my bare feet as I listen to Mohammed, our cultural expert, describe the process of Islamic prayer.  He says it takes place five times a day, but not necessarily at a mosque.  “The first step,” he says, “is done standing and involves reading from the Quran.  This is holy book for Muslims.  I am Muslim, so if you would like to talk more about that later, we can.  The second step in prayer is to humbly bow repeating “God is great” three or four times.”  As he says this, he gently bows.  “In the third step, worshippers stand upright and face forward in the direction of Mecca.  Then, while facing Mecca, the fourth step is to prostrate your body, touching your forehead to the ground.  You might see men who have small bruises on the center of their foreheads.  That is from this step.  This step is done as the highest form of physical submission to God.  After prostration, the words, “Allahu Akbar — God is the greatest” is repeated three times before praying for personal intentions.  This entire sequence is repeated twice at sunrise, four times at noon, four times in the afternoon, three times at sunset and four times in the evening.”  I try to process what he’s just told us as we start walking toward the center of the mosque.  My mind flashes back to my trip to Egypt in 2003.  I remember seeing a bruise on my interpreter’s forehead.  I didn’t know what it was from, but now it makes sense.  I remember him excusing himself in the middle of my afternoon tour in Cairo.  He told me that he needed to pray.  Back then, though, I pictured him praying on bended knee, or with hands clasped at heart’s center.  Now I know differently and perhaps just how devoted he was to his faith.  “A typical Friday noon prayer in the Hassan II Mosque will draw as many as 12,000 devotees,” Mohammed continues, “although during Ramadan, which is holy month, nearly 25,000 worshippers will be in the area where we are now standing.”  I feel my jaw about to drop as I look at the massive space and try to imagine all those people.  “It’s worth noting that women are not allowed to worship with the men here.  They pray in the balcony.  That’s why if you’ve ever seen pictures of Muslims praying, it’s usually only pictures of rows of men.”  I see some people in my group nodding their heads, as if remembering those images.  “Overall, 200,000 people will arrive to worship throughout the day during holy month.  Can you imagine that?  200,000 people to pray.”  I try to do so as we continue our tour and make our way outside, stopping on the other side of a very large doorway.  I put my shoes back on and break away from the group to walk around the mosque’s perimeter.  My eyes pan up to the top of the towering architecture.  I look back down to all of the people walking or sitting, and I take special notice of the families.  One little boy gets my attention, and we start playing peek-a-boo from behind a beautiful green mosaic pillar.  Click.  I take his image, look at the photo and smile.  Such big brown eyes…  He’s super adorable…  I walk over to show him his photograph.  He and his mother both smile.  “Do you speak English?” I ask.  She shakes her head, “no,” and I look around for Mohammed.  I would like to have her email address to send her a copy of the image, but I don’t see Mohammed anywhere to translate my conversation with her.  Instead, we wave goodbye to each other and walk in different directions.  A different scene quickly catches my eye.  It’s a little boy, and he has already seen me.  He’s in the arms of a woman who is completely covered in layers of black fabric that flow as she briskly walks away from the mosque.  I take an image of the two of them, wondering about this woman, modestly covered from head to toe.  I wonder whether she’s ever been in the balcony of this mosque to worship while looking at all of the men congregated below.  I’m curious about her devotions and how different they are from mine…