By Jamilah Kolocotronis**
October 25, 2005



Her novel Echoes discusses problems that the new Muslims face.

In the summer of 1980 I was studying Eastern religions as part of my
Master's degree. I had been learning about Islam off and on for four
years, since I met my first Muslim. I had read the Qur'an and
observed the Friday prayer. But I wasn't ready to commit myself to
Islam.

Ramadan came in July that year. Three brothers rented a small house
in our small town to use as a mosque during Ramadan. I knew the
brothers as fellow students, and occasionally I dropped by the tiny
house. I wasn't ready to be a Muslim yet, but I was curious.

The night of July 31st was hot and humid. I couldn't sleep. First I
did some reading about Confucianism. One of my assignments. I still
couldn't sleep. Then, still lying in my bed, I tried to pray.
Suddenly it hit me, like the proverbial lightening bolt. I couldn't
pray. I wasn't clean.

I had been told about wudu' [editor's note: wudu' means ablution].
It seemed silly and unnecessary to me. Why would someone have to
perform a cleansing ritual simply to pray?

As I got up from my bed and went to the bathroom, I wished I had
paid closer attention. I made wudu' as well as I could remember.
Then I prayed, in the manner I had since childhood, with my head
bowed and my hands folded. I don't remember exactly what I said, but
I know it was a fervent wish to be guided.

Later, still not able to sleep, I sat down and wrote a letter to my
minister. In the letter, I told him that I would probably have to
become a Muslim.

I knew the brothers woke up early to prepare for the fast. I walked
the quiet streets and arrived at the tiny mosque at around 4 a.m.
They finished their sahur [editor's note; sahur means meal before
fasting] and made salatul Fajr [editor's note: salatul Fajr means
Dawn prayer]. Then they asked me why I had come. I showed them the
letter.

There were shouts of "takbir" [editor's note: takbir means
saying "Allah is Greatest"]. They told me how to make a proper
wudu', step by step, then one of the brothers, Adel, gave me the
shahadah. I could barely say it, I was so nervous.

A few hours later, I finally slept. In the afternoon I took a long
walk around campus, wondering what I had done. I decided to give it
a year. I could always change my mind, couldn't I?

The brothers told me I wouldn't have to fast every day. I fasted
four days that first year, out of the ten days remaining in Ramadan.
It was August, hot, and long days, but somehow I made it.

The following Ramadan, my first full Ramadan, I rented a house with
two other sisters. We made sahur together every morning and ate
iftar [editor's note: iftar means meal to break the fast] together
in the evenings. We prayed. I stayed up most of the night praying. I
was between jobs and schools, and not yet married. It was the most
peaceful, most beautiful Ramadan of my life.

Every year, the mosque becomes more and more crowded during the last
ten days of Ramadan. But my special days start on the night of the
nineteenth. The day I became a Muslim.


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**Jamilah Kolocotronis is a writer, teacher and the mother of six
sons. Originally from St. Louis, she attended one semester of
Lutheran seminary before becoming disillusioned. She accepted Islam
at the age of twenty-three.

She and her husband live in Milwaukee, where he is principal of
Salam School. Jamilah teaches part-time and writes novels about
American Muslims. Her latest novel is Echoes.

http://www.islamonline.net/english/journey/2005/10/jour07.shtml