"You shouldn’t go to the Kasbah," they said in their inimitable way. ‘If things are going to go wrong, that’s where it will happen.’ So of course we headed into the Kasbah, which is the most ancient part of the city, and utterly dilapidated, and the nearest thing I’ve seen to those improbable orientalist paintings. The Kasbah of Algiers has been declared a site of Patrimonio de la Humanidad though, and now there are feverish efforts to restore it before it all collapses. There are touches of great beauty hidden amongst the squalor.
We entered a shrine where one of the city’s most revered corsairs reposes. He lies in a great catafalque draped with green cloth in the middle of the tiny octagonal mosque. We slipped off our shoes; my friend modestly hid her beauty beneath a scarf, and we bowed our heads to pass through the low passage and enter the mosque.
Inside it was cool and peaceful. Light penetrated the shadows from glass set high in the dome, and there was the sweet scent of feet in woollen rugs. There was an imam and half a dozen of the faithful, reclining on cushions in the corners, and idly chatting or praying. As we entered – with a certain reticence, as back in Morocco no non-Muslim may enter any religious building – one of the worshippers got to his feet and came over to us.
‘Welcome to our mosque,’ he said. ‘It is for us a pleasure to see you here.’ And he beckoned us in. Quietly we recorded our impressions, then, moved by the peacefulness, the cool and the air of quiet reverence, we sat to enjoy the atmosphere. Cushions were brought to us and two or three of the worshippers came to sit with us and talk. There was a mathematics teacher, Ali, and an engineer, both dressed in spotless white keffiyas. After a while there came the sound of a distant muezzin. Ali and his friend rose and, standing before the mihrab to orient themselves towards Mecca, began their prayers. We felt as if it might be an imposition, our sitting there and watching them, but they were not in the least bothered by our presence, and bade us stay where we were. This is one of the most appealing things about Islam: the simplicity and unselfconsciousness of their prayer.
When they had finished, they came back to sit with us. We talked, amongst other things, of prayer and its form and technicalities. The atmosphere of the place was getting to me, and though I am fiercely agnostic – although I never let on about this when among Muslims – I found myself seduced by the air of peace and reverence. Ali leaned across to me and told me that he reckoned that I would become a Muslim one day. Then he gave me his prayer-beads. I felt this was a real honour, and though the likelihood of my using them for their intended purpose was, to say the least, remote, I accepted them and decided to treasure them – a strangely poignant little gift.
