In America, Muslims must think like Jason Bourne, practicing our rituals with clandestine skill to avoid awkward confrontations.
For instance, it’s not easy to find creative space to pray while providing logical explanations to those who find you in mid-prostration. “I’m doing Arabic tai chi,” you might say when someone sees you crouched in a stall at the Gap. “It’s an … Eastern thing.”
Or, what if you get caught doing the pre-prayer ablution, wudu, that requires Muslims to wash their hands and feet five times a day? “Uh, my foot is in the office restroom sink because I couldn’t pay my water bill,” you might say. “Rough economy, you know?”
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