Days later when I ventured out to visit this sight, I discovered that it was worth far more than a middle of the night drive-by. Here gardens and palm trees lead the way to a ten-acre complex of buildings which can hold 20, worshipers.
The fact that I must dress modestly to enter the mosque went without saying, but Abu Hamed was a particularly conservative person. Or, perhaps because this was the mosque at which he worships, he did not want to be embarrassed bringing in a foreign female wearing anything less than the most modest of frocks.
He pointed at my flowing skirt as soon as we stepped out of his car. I looked down. It hung to my ankles. Abu Hamed was clearly dissatisfied, so I pulled it a little lower. Toe-length was going to have to be good enough, I indicated.
To Abu Hamed, this was just another day, but I would probably never be here again. I tried to communicate to him that, believe it or not, I did not want to suit up, stretch out and take a quick jog around the place. I wanted to see every inch.
We eventually compromised by him walking 25 paces ahead of me as I ambled. During the moments that our paths did collide, he would sometimes point at my head, indicating that I should tuck back into my scarf the little bits of hair poking out.
