Morning Has Broken

The clock outside my room reads 5 am. It’s dark outside, and I can’t see much from my second story window. But what I can’t see, I can certainly hear. The wail of the morning call to prayer breaks unashamedly onto the morning, filling the air with its mournful sound. Adding to the din are other mosques and countless people praying in sync with them. Someone nearby (the chaokidar?) prays out of tune, yet it doesn’t seem to bother him. The noises continue well beyond the call for reasons I’m not aware of. But the morning has begun, and once again I’m reminded that I’m in an Islamic state where the darkness of the morning matches the darkness of the country’s spiritual state.