WANDERINGS

you can find all sorts of weirdoes in a mosque: a nosy, green-shoed, bug-eyed snapper, a hoodwinking trafficking recruiter.

the building has moved me to tears. ah man, there’s no going back now.

decay alongside beauty; the former fails to dim the latter, but im still frustrated at the neglect. its like they spat right in his dead face. not exclusive to the female section, but more shameless there, are obstacles to your experience: broken glass, overflowing bins, interrupted circulation, crude and thoughtless additions, a bathroom whose door i had to wrestle with, whose desolation i immediately left for fear of a lurker waiting to greet me--no safety of mine is worth checking out an architect's toilets.

no safety of mine, but i had to see the rest. ununlockable but i try, hoping for the narrow stairways to royal balconies, expanded hallway, open windows and double doors first time since installation probably--the porous bliss of it all.

my every move feels suspicious. i jitter and jump because ive sensed someone inside. i pray im left alone. but they come out in my peripheral. immediately. i knew i was doing something wrong.

but instead of trouble im faced instead with flying attempts at speech, none landing. what was it, cerebral palsy?

i politely smile and ask for a repeat in hopes of sealing it with a quick yes/no/maybe/here/there/its 12:00/were all going to die anyway. but no dice. i understand though. this is plan b when ambush at empty bathroom fails. invoke sympathy via supposedly disabled lady, catch off guard, sell kidney.

she leads and i follow to my surprise, chummy with my fate. cant look like an asshole even in danger. but only in the face of the door i slammed shut myself did i finally understand what she needed. silly me, women in abandoned buildings dont lure you to traffickers.

so i have a second round with the door for her. it opens, she thanks me--this i could understand, her english was bettter i told her, like me. she calls her friend over and im left feeling safe and stupid and a little herculian. better sorry than safe i say.

and so i resume my failings to unlock and instead resign to lament in the carpetted room while the two women perform their morning prayer. my partner calls and tells me he stepped in bird shit--twice--and only then do i notice the pigeons and open airity of the building. i decide to leave before my feet end up in the same shit and this becomes a net negative experience.

i say goodbye to my new friend, glad she survived the ambush and hoping she’ll survive the pigeonshit, and snap some pictures outside on my way back. im slowly getting over my fear of looking like a tourist, guess its part of the job.

you can find all sorts of people in a mosque, all special in their own valid ways.

fear is a nasty bugger.

stay safe and kind.

choose bravery.