I saw Rafiq Uddin’s namaz rug folded up and hanging on the rail of his cart while I was walking down Steinway street. I stopped to ask him about it, and he initially presented the rug as nothing special. He shrugged when asked about it, calling it “just something I use,” but then began to describe the routine that has structured his days for decades. At his fruit stall, between customers and deliveries, he would step just behind the corner of his stand, lay the rug on the pavement, and pray. He explains how when he first arrived, he had to learn how to find the qibla in a new place whenever his stand location had to be changed, sometimes asking others, sometimes guessing, before Iphone Qibla finders became commonplace. The stall itself changed, different locations, different prices, different customers, but the routine of stepping away briefly to pray remained constant, and the rug that he used remained constant as well. He told me that in the beginning, people would stare or hesitate, especially since he arrived at the height of islamophobia, and that he himself was scared. But over time, it became ordinary, and he tells me sometimes nearby vendors, like the Gyro guy down the block, will come and pray with him sometimes. Rafiq didn’t speak about Bangladesh with much longing. Instead, he described Astoria as the place where his life unfolded, where his children and now grandchildren grew up, and where his identity developed. 

– RU

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant