Time Capsules of Islamic Heritage: Beyond Andalusia

Written by Wendy Díaz 

When I was in elementary school there was a tradition in which the 5th grade class buried a time capsule to be unearthed years later by 5th graders from the future. It was a way of preserving some of the traditions of the time and passing the knowledge to coming generations. Time capsules are placed deep in the Earth and its location is carefully labeled to make it easy to find. Sometimes, however, these relics will ironically be lost in time if their resting place is not properly maintained or if people forget that they were ever there to begin with. Like these time capsules, ancestors pass on their knowledge to their offspring by way of storytelling and preserving their culture and family traditions. If our forefathers are forgotten or their culture is not passed down, we will forget ourselves. This has occurred with the people of Latin America who have Muslim blood coursing through their veins, yet they do not know Islam.

I had the pleasure of meeting Musa recently during a WhyIslam Dawah Summit in New Jersey. The summit was being held at the Holiday Inn in Princeton on a brisk Fall day with about 60-70 ICNA and WhyIslam employees and volunteers from all over the nation. During the intensive 12-hour program, breaks were scheduled for lunch and prayers. As I walked in and out of the conference room, I noticed two gentlemen placing blue tape on the baseboards of the hallway preparing to paint. One was a stocky, older man with fair skin, salt and pepper hair, and a moustache; the other, younger man sported a black moustache, darker skin and black, curly hair under a baseball cap. They were contractors working diligently and quickly, avoiding eye contact with guests. In an adjacent room, there were sheets laid over the dark blue carpet for attendees to pray. When the time for midday prayers came, the room flooded with Muslims lining up, side by side. The two men continued their work.

There were only three other women besides me attending the summit, so we decided to take turns praying in the conference room and leave the other room for the men. I stood close to the doorway and overheard the two gentlemen speaking to each other in Spanish. They must have thought I would not understand them, confusing me for Arab or South Asian, so I stood silently waiting, half smiling. “Mira como los hombres rezan solos y ellas separadas (Look how the men pray alone and keep them [the women] separated,” the older gentleman remarked. The younger man shrugged and continued to work. “Las dejaron aquí (They just left them here!)!” He continued, his tone implying we were somehow being excluded. I decided to interrupt.

“No. No nos separan. Nosotros preferimos estar aquí. (No. They didn’t separate us. We prefer to be here.),” I explained, smiling. Startled, he exclaimed, “Oh! You speak Spanish!” That is the typical response I get in these situations. “Of course, I do, I’m Latina!” I said. “Oh! I thought you were…” he fumbled for words. His friend continued working, without looking up. “Arab?” “Yes!” “I get that a lot! I asked them both where they were from and the older gentleman said he was from Honduras, while the younger one said he was Puerto Rican. I informed them I was also Puerto Rican and began engaging them both in friendly conversation. I explained why we had decided to pray alone while the men prayed in the conference room. They listened intently, but after a few minutes, the younger man continued his work.

The older gentleman, however, seemed very interested in Islam. I welcomed his curiosity and decided I would try to provide him with Islamic literature in Spanish. Then, he shared something unexpected. He said, “My grandfather was Palestinian.” That was not so surprising. There is a huge Arab immigrant population in Latin America, especially Palestinians, Jordanians, and Lebanese. Many Latinos have Arab ancestry, even famous celebrities like Shakira, Emilio Estefan, Jaime Camil, and Salma Hayek. His Palestinian grandfather could very well have been a Christian, but that was not the case. “My name is Moisés,” the gentleman explained, “But my grandfather called me Musa, and so does my mother. Everyone on his side of the family calls me Musa.” I asked him, “Was your grandfather Muslim?” He replied in the affirmative, but when I asked Musa if he knew anything about Islam, he said no. He had not had a chance to unearth his legacy.

After Musa’s grandfather moved to Honduras, he eventually stopped practicing his religion outwardly, but still professed that he was a Muslim. As the family mixed with the locals, after three generations the faith was watered down into non-existence. The time capsule had been lost forever. This story is reminiscent of the Muslims in Spain who fell victim to the Inquisition and were either forced to convert to Christianity or expelled from their homeland. Of those who converted, some hid their faith and pretended to be Christian, but it was too difficult to pass down Islamic traditions to their descendants, when they could not even practice openly themselves. During and after the dismantling of the Ottoman Empire, Muslims migrated to Latin America in massive numbers, and continue to do so until this day bringing the number of Muslims and their descendants living in that region to millions. We often hear about the glory of Islamic Spain or Andalusia, but we ignore that the legacy of Muslims in Spanish and Latino culture lives on. Musa desperately wanted to read the Qur’an, and rediscover his past, but he never knew how; he never mustered the courage to ask a Muslim. Until the day we met, and he was able to connect with a Spanish-speaking Muslim.

I pulled some of the other summit attendees aside and introduced them to Musa, explaining his story, and why it is so important for us to understand the deep connection between Islam and Latin America. We promised to get him some Spanish literature about Islam, and he was grateful. This incident made me recall some years ago, while taking calls on WhyIslam’s Islamic information hotline, when I received a peculiar call on the Spanish line. Typical phone calls are from non-Muslims asking questions about Islam, ordering free literature, or a copy of the English translation of the Qur’an. This caller was different; he was a recent convert to the faith and was hoping to connect with someone who spoke his language. I will never forget his name, because it is the same as my brother’s, José.

José’s family was originally from Mexico, but he lived in Chicago. When he called the hotline, he was sad and confused. He wanted to find a Spanish-speaking mentor, preferably another Latino Muslim. It was not because of a language barrier; in fact, José spoke fluent English, but he felt that the Muslims he had met, mostly from the immigrant community, did not understand our culture. He was at a point where he even questioned his decision to embrace Islam. He told me about his experience attending a mosque, where people questioned him about everything from why he had tattoos to why he had not changed his name. They claimed his name was not Islamic, therefore, he should choose a new name to go with his new Muslim identity. I had to reassure him, “Your name is José, in Arabic that’s Yusuf, like Prophet Yusuf, peace be upon him, so your name is even in the Qur’an. There is a chapter named after you!” It was obvious that the Muslims who were trying to advise him meant well, but they lacked the cultural context to realize that they were mistaken.  I also informed José that it was not a requirement for him to change his name. In fact, if he were to pick up one of the Spanish translations of the meaning of the Qur’an, he could flip to the twelfth chapter and see his name there. We ended the call on a good note, and I directed him to some Latino Muslims in his area. I pray that he is still practicing Islam and will be a time capsule of knowledge for his offspring.

These two stories about Musa and Yusuf are not isolated incidents. I have encountered many similar situations. Recently, while I was standing in line to pay at a bookstore, the woman in front of me overheard me speaking in Spanish. She turned to me and asked where I was from. I told her I was from Puerto Rico and asked her origin, as well. She responded that she was from Honduras. We began a conversation, and I lightheartedly told her, “Most people don’t think I look Hispanic because of my veil.” She responded, “No, I had a feeling you were Latina because of your facial features. My father was also Muslim.” Immediately, I remembered Musa, the gentleman I met in Princeton.  I asked her last name and she responded that it was Abdu, her first name was Gloria. She told a similar story to that of Musa – her father migrated from Jordan and after traveling to other Latin American countries, decided to settle in Honduras and open a business. That is where he met her mother. Since much of the population in Honduras is Roman Catholic, Gloria’s father failed to pass down his religion to his children. However, they are aware of their ties to Islam and roots in the Middle East.

There are so many other Latinos or Hispanics in the Americas who are bound to Islam in some way, shape, or form, that are waiting for someone to approach them and aid them in unearthing and embracing their past. The question is, what are we doing to reach those people? Every single day is a missed opportunity if we are not taking advantage of our gift and passing it to others. Regardless of whether we know the Spanish language or not, we can always smile at our neighbor, co-worker, or classmate, and with that universal gesture let them feel that we are here for them if they have any questions. Additionally, there is literature in Spanish that we can easily obtain and pass on to anyone who will accept it. There are time capsules waiting to be discovered and we can provide the map.