“Us” or “them”?

The Islamic Society of Bay Ridge

Photo: Lisa Vosper

A white guy in Muslim Bay Ridge

It’s just about 1pm, time for the second prayer of the day here at The Islamic Society of Bay Ridge (6807 Fifth Ave at 68th St, 718-680-0121). My Chucks are on a shelf in the entranceway along with everybody else’s footwear—no shoes are allowed in the mosque. I stand barefoot in the adjacent office, sipping juice provided by Murad Mohammad, a mosque volunteer who has agreed to host this scraggly white boy.

I consider myself culturally curious—a delusional side effect of possessing a liberal-arts degree and having lived in South Philly, a ’hood filled with Italians, Vietnamese, Mexicans and twentysomething bohemian wanna-bes.

Mohammad steps back into the office. “It’s okay,” he says, motioning for me to sit on a folding chair. “We will pray. You can watch here.”

Balady Fresh Halal Meats

Photo: Lisa Vosper

He flips on a color TV monitor and Sheikh Adel Eita fills the frame with his white robe. Eita is an imam, and he conducts prayer service five times a day, at 5am, 1pm, 5pm, 8:20pm and 9:45pm. On Fridays, he delivers the jum’ah, a lecture that usually advises listeners on raising a family according to Islamic tradition. As the imam leads, Mohammad moves his lips in prayer while stooping, on his knees or kneeling with his head to the ground. Peering through the office’s two-way mirror, I notice there are no women or children in the room. They’re relegated to the basement, where they too watch Eita on a TV monitor. As soon as the prayer finishes, Mohammad snaps up. “Let’s go.”

Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, is a neighborhood brimming with Arab businesses. Attorneys and accountants cram into offices above cafés and Laundromats. There’s a halal butcher on every block: Inside Balady Fresh Halal Meats (7128 Fifth Ave at 72nd St, 718-567-2252), cold cases are filled with skinned, severed animal heads. Men in jeans and work boots haul boxes of fruit up cellar stairs, and women wearing varying degrees of hijab direct flocks of children like shepherds. Mohammad says most Muslims travel to their home countries in summer; business picks up in September during Ramadan.

So where’s the fun? The next day, I hook up with more contacts, whom I discovered through an Arabic-language Meetup group—three of the ten Aboushi siblings: Diane, 29, Salha, 20, and Haytham, 14. They show me how the residents of Bay Ridge party. We begin at Meena House Café (476 Bay Ridge Ave between Fourth and Fifth Aves, 718-238-3274). Diane and Salha wait outside (women who frequent hookah bars carry a stigma), but Haytham shows me inside. Men smoke hookahs and watch soccer on the big screen or play backgammon. This is definitely a boys’ club: dark and smoky. I get strange looks as I riffle through my notebooks. For a moment, I think they suspect me of government surveillance, which has plagued the café and the neighborhood since 9/11. “People are just cautious and careful,” says Diane, who doesn’t say much more. “People want to continue living their life.”

Photo: Lisa Vosper

Soon, the four of us make our way to Princess Music and Wireless (6919 Fifth Ave at 69th St, 718-238-3274). In addition to cell phones, Princess has all the big hits from all the stars I’ve never heard of, like Nawal Al-Zoghbi, who I’m told can’t really sing, but men love her anyway. I can see why—in her formfitting sequined dress, she looks like a slinky Vanna White.

On any given Sunday, there is a wedding somewhere in Bay Ridge. This means there are always women getting their hair done. To my surprise, the women in Alex’s Salon (7923 Fifth Ave at 79th St, 718-833-4382) are not wearing hijab, but rather layers of makeup and elaborate hairdos. Alex’s is the exact opposite of Meena: Light fills the room from all sides, a fog of perfume hangs in the air, and there’s a talk show blaring from atop a small TV stand. No boys are allowed here.

So far, I haven’t seen a suitable place for men and women to meet up for a date; public spots are either segregated or family oriented.

“Everything’s done in the context of marriage,” says Diane. “People don’t date for the hell of it.”

Photo: Lisa Vosper

After a marriage is arranged, plans are made for a big ol’ party. If the couple is lucky, it’ll be booked at Widdi Hall (5602 Sixth Ave at 56th St, 718-439-8621), a space with a storied Brooklyn history. Diane says that Muslim weddings are similar to American weddings, except for the music and, in some cases, gender segregation.

“I like the separate weddings,” she says. “You’re more at liberty to dance the way you want.”

Later that night, I try to sit in on a wedding, but the father of the bride says I have no business being there and insists I leave. Outside, a trio of preteen loiterers regale me with yo-mama jokes. Their fathers stare, and I know it’s time to go home.

Like most of the people I’ve met in Bay Ridge, the fathers would rather keep to themselves. And I no longer want to be the outsider I fear they think I am: some perv with a camera or a surveillance satellite, or worse, a representative from the shock-driven media. It’s exhausting. I’m out.—Sam Tremble

200 the number of mosques in NYC