The mosques that glued me back together

It was the house of worship that healed me and called me closer to God. If only mosques were more available to Muslim women.

I was on a PureGym treadmill, slogging uphill, watching One Tree Hill reruns to mask the exertion, when my phone vibrated with a new message. ‘I need to tell you something,’ the message said. ‘I’m gonna cancel tonight, and I think we’re not on the same page anymore.’ My heart sank. This was from a man who, in the month prior, told me he was hoping to get married soon – (silly of me to think he might have meant to me). And yet, here he was, offering meagre words that felt as small as the 4cm watch screen I was reading them off of. He hadn’t even afforded me the decency of a phone call or a face-to-face conversation. He ended things so casually – despite how invested I was – which you can read here – without warning. I read the message before running to the loo to have a cry. But it felt like an inadequate place to lay open my feelings. So, I went home, showered, did wudu (ablution) and headed to the mosque. It was the only place that was going to comfort me.

Mosques are bustling with people for blessed Jummah prayers every Friday and during prayers in Ramadan. On this day, when my heart was so fragile, the mosque was quiet. The sisters’ entrance wasn’t even open, so I snuck in by a side gate and walked around 'til I found an opening. On the busiest days, you can seldom stand straight in congregation, but on that Wednesday, I offered my Asr salah spaciously, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with just two other women. I was glad for the solitude – I could cry my heart out to my Lord in quietness.

The mosque isn’t just a place of worship; it’s a community hub, a sacred space, and a reminder of the welcoming nature of God. In spending time in the mosque, I have been touched by the mercy of Allah, which has strengthened me in ways that previously didn’t seem possible. Last year, my wobbliest year to date – in a fit of self-pity, I did call it the lowest point of my life – I found solace in the mosque.

I spent a significant amount of time in mosques in the past year. In these houses of God, I found the strength and courage to do what was right, even when it was the harder thing to do. A year ago, I was doing a lot of istikhara – prayer for guidance – for marriage. For the first time, I started seeing an imam too, at London Central Mosque, colloquially known as Regent’s Mosque. During my visits there in Ramadan, I saw a couple get married on the mosque grounds, I saw files of divorce papers land on my imam’s desk, and I saw the signs of my istikhara in it all. I developed a love and attachment for Regent’s Mosque – it was the place that guided me towards an answer that changed my life. I was sad to hear that in recent times they welcomed Prime Minister Rishi Sunak into the mosque. The same man who refuses to call for a ceasefire in Palestine and won’t stop arms sales to Israel. Sometimes, it’s okay for mosques to not be so welcoming.

Mosques are political for various reasons. And because they’re segregated, they are gendered too. Recently, I was upset and disappointed to see that East London Mosque – which has a sizeable female attendance in its Maryam Centre counterpart – was not going to be open to women for nightly Tahajjud prayers, but it is to be available to men only. The argument, many cried, was that these late prayers - from 1am onwards to sunrise - were too late and unsafe for women to attend by themselves, and that if women went, there might be temptations to freely mix with the opposite gender, which is not what Ramadan, or indeed Islam, is about. But that argument falls weak when you realise that it’s the responsibility of both men and women to not do anything that displeases Allah (such as free-mixing), but also that Muslim women can travel in groups or with their family if they have safety concerns, and that during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), and indeed in Muslim countries, mosques are and were open to women at all hours. Some will say Muslim women can simply pray at home where there is more reward. Reader, do you understand this is a provision of God because he knows women inevitably have domestic duties and that it does not negate their right to worship in a mosque?

The fact that mosque-going isn’t mandatory for women often means mosques don’t prioritise women. This is a great travesty and essentially banishes Muslim women from public life. If we have to pray five times a day and there aren’t enough prayer spaces for us outside, we’re forced to stay home, or worse, miss our prayers due to a lack of spaces outside. Given that most Muslim women work (who can afford not to?), or you know, go outside, it means there just isn’t enough space to accommodate our worship. But men’s worship is not more important than women’s worship.

I’m so thankful that where I live in London, at least, there are female-friendly places I can go to to experience the tranquillity and ease that only a mosque brings. Thankfully, in Central London, we have the beautiful Regents Park Mosque, Finchley Mosque, Holborn Mosque, 46 Goodge Street just to name a few, as well as the plethora of local mosques dotted around the capital and country. For me, the mosques that put me back together include Regent’s Mosque, Greenwich Islamic Centre, and Poplar Mosque (may Allah reward its gatekeepers).

All Muslims, and even non-Muslims who have ever entered a mosque will know, these places are uniquely peaceful. I think of how it was only after spending so much time there, Allah showed me how to be closer to Him. Would I have found the same answers left to my own device? Would I have chosen wrongly? I am so thankful to have access to sacred places of worship to top up my imaan. I only pray more Muslims, especially Muslim women, have the option to do so too.

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May Allah unite and strengthen the ummah, especially at a time we are so divided. Keep praying for Filisteen, especially in these precious last nights of Ramadan.