Meanwhile, at the mosque…

Yesterday was a national holiday in Japan so me and my better half were thinking of things to do. Mrs. Y wanted to do charity work for victims of the recent typhoons, bless her little do-gooder heart. I had more immediate (= selfish) things on my mind. We decided to go visit the Kobe Mosque. Maybe it was my curiosity of other cultures, or maybe I just needed to hedge my bets with a well placed prayer to Allah for my safe return from Iran, but either way we had an interesting time.

I had been by this mosque a number of times, but never inside. It is located about 10 minutes walk away from Sannomiya Station and ironically only about a block from the Ohel Shelomoh Synagogue (see some info and pics on Kobe’s Jews here).

Built in 1935, the Kobe Muslim Mosque is the oldest mosque in Japan; at the opening ceremonies it was dubbed the “Mecca of Japan” by the Mayor of Kobe. The mosque services around a thousand muslims from a number of countries who are living in the Kansai region. While there I saw Middle Easterners, South Asians, Southeast Asians, and even Japanese worshippers. Though primarily Sunni, the Kobe Mosque also welcomes Shi’a worshippers.

We could’ve had better timing, mosques are pretty busy places in the middle of Ramadan. The kitchens were busy with people preparing food for the evening’s meal, and the Imam was busy preparing for afternoon prayers. After standing around in the foyer and peeking into the main hall a bit the Imam came running out to answer the phone and noticed us. He was friendly and guided me into the main prayer hall, men pray on the first floor and women on the second. The Imam is an Egyptian who has been in Japan for 4 years. He spoke English as well as Japanese and talked to me for a few minutes before having to step out into the foyer to meet another Egyptian (?) who just arrived.

Mrs. Younghusband was waiting in the foyer and while I was asking her what the second floor looked like a tall, light-skinned Tajiki-looking worshipper approached us.

“Afghani? Afghani?” he asked me with a big smile.
“No, Canadian.” I replied. First time I have ever been mistake for an Afghan without my hat. (Inside joke)
He looked confused, “Afghani? Muslim?”
“Not yet,” I said smiling, “I am from Canada, but my family is from Russia.”
“Oh! Russia!” he exclaimed.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Pakistan… Peshawar!” he replied with a braod grin. His light skin and reddish-brown neard made him look Tajik, but I could see the Pakistani in his face. Being from Peshawar he could be a mishmash of ethnicities. It turns out my new friend is a dealer in autoparts on business in Japan and stopped by Kobe for a pilgrimage before heading home to Peshawar via Dubai. He invited me to visit his home while I was in Iran, and asked me if me and my wife were going to convert to Islam. He told me with a knowing smile that Islam is “the best after death.” I was going to ask him “What about before?” but his cellphone rang and he stepped outside to answer it.