Beauty Veiled :: Personal Narrative Essays

Hot and sticky, on an early September afternoon, I was sitting idly in traffic waiting for the light on Pensacola and Jefferson to turn green. With the music blaring, windows down, and a line of sweat slowly trickling down the back of my neck, my eyes were drawn to a group of people chatting in a run-down parking lot to my right. Behind them lay an old building into which the people were slowly making their way. It wasn't the building that held my attention it was the women in front of it. They were too fully dressed for the sweltering September afternoon, wearing long sleeved dresses and most with scarves covering their heads. All I could see of their bodies was the skin of their faces and hands. As the light turned green, I slowly inched forward hardly able to tear my eyes away from the women. I couldn't help but be intrigued as to why they would be dressed in such a manner at this time of year. As I rolled forward, my car came to a stop in front of a small sign, written first in g reen Arabic lettering and then in English: Al-Ansar Mosque: The Islamic Center of Tallahassee. Later in the week about the same time of day, I returned once again to the mosque, curious about the small building and hoping to grab another glimpse of the women. Stealthily, I spied from my car in a parking lot across the street from the mosque. While I waited, I again noticed how small the building seemed from my vantage point. So small, in fact, that I couldn't help but wonder how any more then twenty or thirty people could fit within its walls. The paint was a dirty eggshell color, with what looked like rust or dirt streaked in various spots along the walls. Some of the green shutters, surrounded by and Arabic-like design, were broken, and one of them was hanging haphazardly from its hinges. A window was smashed and there was an illegible scrawl of graffiti on the left side of the building. Not only was the building small and run down, but the parking lot was as well. There were only a few spaces, enough to hold about ten compact cars, and small rocks and a few potholes were scattered across the lot. It looked as if it was in need of a new repaving.