Argentina: A land with disregard for traffic law- except the red light

On my way to Argentina. I arrive at the airport close to two and one half hours before my flight is to depart on the insistence of my mother. So I sit and try to kill time by reading Obama's "Dreams From My Father," one which I have been trying to complete for over half a year now.

It is time for Asr, the afternoon prayer, and the flight will board in thirty minutes. I'm anxious and nervous the entire time at the airport, hoping I won't be "found out," as if being Muslim were a crime, or even a bad thing. I feel uncomfortable trying to pray in the terminal, even as inconspicuous as I can make it look while sitting down. I get ancy and try my luck by searching for a chapel. I reach the nearest info board in this brand new terminal, and to my delight there is a chapel only four gates away.

I wasn't sure what to expect from an airport chapel, as I had never actually seen one before, only heard unwelcoming stories from a friend who prayed in a back room of an airport chapel during a mass, after first covering the altar and rearranging to make room. Thereafter he was kicked out; luckily the didn't find him until he had just finished his prayer. And kicked out by security at that!

Now I'm on the level escalator (I never know the right word for this seemingly new invention- moving sidewalk, perhaps?) and find the chapel. It bares a sign which reads "Interfaith Chapel." It is a small room with two rows of chairs, a stained glass window decoration on the wall the chairs are facing, and split by a podium. There is a towel rack on the wall with three prayer rugs hanging from it, and a counter on the way into the room with a guest book and a magnificent row of religious literature, from different bibles to the tanakh to the Qur'an with multiple translations- they even had a bible in Arabic!

After briefly examining the room, I pull a prayer rug from the towel rack and lay it on the ground facing what is my best guess of the Qiblah (direction of Mecca). I offer four cycles (rak3aat), the normal amount for the afternoon prayer, then fold up the prayer rug and go to hang it back up. I'm hanging up the prayer rug when I notice a sign that reads "for Qiblah, look at ceiling." I do as the sign says and raise my head to find an arrow made out of mirror pointing in the direction of Mecca with the printed out word "Qiblah" next to it. I am immediately delighted about what this interfaith chapel has to offer (as if the prayer rugs and Qur'an weren't enough of a surprise!). Then comes the thought: Crap, I prayed forty five degrees in the wrong direction.

I lay the rug back out, this time in the proper direction, and offer the prayer over again. I felt a little more at ease this time, but it was still far from comfortable. I finish my prayer, assured that it was in the correct direction this time. Before heading back, I decide to read a little Qur'an- I've been working on The chapter "Al-Balad" way longer than I should have been- don't judge, we weren't all taught Qur'an as kids!

I'm reading and no one else is in the chapel, so my voice starts to raise a little so that I may hear myself and practice my pronunciation. I'm on my second time through the chapter now, and my voice is almost at singing level; in other words, I'm reciting louder than I would speak to someone in a normal conversation. It is in this exact moment, when my flow is really going, that someone walks in.

He is an assumably American white young man with a goatee that rivals and would easily conquer mine (mine is about two inches long and red at this point- orange actually- while his is about three inches long, brown, like the rest of his curly hair, and very neatly groomed- mine is resembling hay.) He could have easily been a convert by the look of him (given the neat facial hair). However, his awkward sudden appearance, head nod, and retreat led me to believe that he did not know what was going in. I immediately think "God, I hope he thinks I'm jewish and reading the Torah!" I finish the chapter for the second time, close the book, and put it back on the shelf.

On my way back to my gate, I end up catching up with him. He is definitely aware of my presence. When we arrive back at the gate, we both sit for a second, then get up and approach the gate agent. Now, I'm not sure what his intention was in approaching the gate agent, but I sure know what my intentions are. Mostly I just want to clear my name from the stand by list so that I may be assured that I will get on the flight. However, given his uneasy glances over his shoulder and his almost fear of my presence (for lack of a better word), I want to hear what he has to say to the gate agent. So what, I was reading a Qur'an! Is that a crime!? I thought he might be a flight marshall, or just a plain clothed security agent, and that the 'interfaith chapel' was actually just bait for Muslims- this must be how some jews feel, that everyone is out to get them. If anti-Muslim held the same strength as anti-Semitic, I would employ it right now.

I didn't hear what he said because I was getting my ticket, but apparently he didn't tell them to pull my bags because I'm Muslim, because we started to board the plane soon afterward. I'm a little disappointed as I board, because I didn't know planes this old still existed. We all take our seats and I am sitting next to an elderly woman who is clearly Argentinian (a later flash of her passport will prove this assumption true). She is most likely in her mid-sixties, a definite grandmother. Judging by her reaction to my trying to offer her her set of headphones that were lying on the seat (she looks at me and shakes her head as if I insulted her and spit out a brisk spanish "no") she doesn't speak any english. It appears she is the grandma you don't like to visit.

It is very warm on the plane, upwards of eighty degrees Fahrenheit. We all sit flustered and discontent with the high temperature, but we are happy that the flight is on time and we are ready to go. Then it comes- the announcement over the PA that the flight will be a bit delayed because there is a technical problem in the cargo area- there's a crack (!!!?). The pilot made it sounds like there was a crack in the outside of the airplane, but we later find out it is only in the cargo area. After fifteen minutes the pilot orders us to de-board the plane with all of our belongings and to wait in the terminal while the problem is fixed, where there is air conditioning. We barely more than reluctantly retreat to the terminal.

They continue to delay the flight by fifteen minutes every fifteen minutes, and the sundown Prayer, Maghrib, is steadily approaching. I head back down towards the chapel. I stop by smoothie King first, since my on flight dinner will now be delayed indefinitely. I meet a worker named Selam and ask her where she's from. She has a beautiful, welcoming smile and she looks strangely familiar. It makes sense when she tells me she's ethiopian, because they are a heart warming people who look similar- they all have that glow about them. I tell her the only word I know in which is 'guff;' it means crap, or poo. She smiles.

After purchasing the smoothie I continued to the chapel. I notice a man sitting in a chair along the back row of chairs, with his head laying in his hands, one of his hands partly occupied holding a book of Psalms. I find my prayer rug, lay it out, pray the sunset prayer, Maghrib, and continue on my way. This prayer feels better than the past two. I feel more at east. I can concentrate better. I pick up a Qur'an and start to read again, reading over Surat ul-Balad two more times. After putting the book back, I walk back to the terminal slowly, assured that the flight will definitely still be delayed.

I arrive at the terminal just as they make the announcement that we are to reboard. Everyone is excited and relieved. While waiting in line to board the plane, I see the man who was giving me the uneasy glances standing with a women talking with the gate agent. As I walk by, I catch a sliver: "We don't want to take this flight." We reboard the plane, this time more quickly than the first, as we are used to the drill and find our seats quicker. After we are all settled, the pilot comes on to make another announcement: "We're sorry ladies and gentlemen, we'll be off as soon as the crew finds the bags of a couple of passengers who changed their minds about traveling with us this evening."

Forty five minutes later we take off.