The floral fragrance of Rooh Afza and the sight of the luminous pink beverage poured into rows of glasses on the floor sit alongside plates filled with Arabian Ajwa, Palestinian Medjoul, and North African Khudri dates. These sensory details accompany the sound of the Adhaan being recited through the speaker, meeting the ears of mothers, fathers, and children hurrying to the Masjid to break their fast. They pause only to remove their shoes and order them neatly on the patterned hallway floor, which is reminiscent of the tiles adorning the historic Alhambra.
Inside, they join their elders already congregated in the Masjid. Hands holding tasbeehs are raised in prayer as they listen to the Imam make dua, asking Allah, the Most Merciful, for His blessings during the holy month of Ramadan. An outside observer would be entirely forgiven for thinking that this scene describes a bustling mosque in Birmingham, Bradford, or Blackburn. Of course, it could easily be. However, this is a scene typical of a small, rural mosque nestled in the idyllic landscape of the Shropshire hills, a stone’s throw away from the Welsh border. Here, each night during the blessed month of Ramadan, a different host family from the Muslim community invites their brothers and sisters in Islam to come together, break their fast, and enjoin in Tarawih prayer, taking turns to host Iftar on a different day throughout the month.
When people picture Muslims in Britain, the tendency has historically been to think of them as residing in metropolitan centres or major cities, living their lives against the backdrop of broad debates surrounding multiculturalism and Islamophobia. Coming from Birmingham, residents are all too familiar with these urban resonances. Yet, it was not long ago that one particular community member found themselves residing and building a life vastly different from the one left behind in the UK’s second city. Despite the sprawling Islamic infrastructure that Birmingham is fast becoming known for, it was here in rural Shropshire that a deeper and more meaningful connection to the local community was forged. Ramadan serves as a salient moment each year where a very close connection to the Muslim community is discovered, even surpassing the experiences of living in the bustling city. It was in Shropshire that this individual prayed their first Tarawih in congregation, and it was also here that they met like-minded mothers facing similar life challenges, sharing aspirations for their children, and wanting them to embody the best of both their Muslim and British identities.
When it comes to community interaction, city life often makes it easy to get lost among the masses—under the assumption that someone else is already doing the work, allowing individuals to take a more passive back seat. In contrast, rural life has prompted individuals to play a much more active part in the local community, assuming the role of an ambassador for their faith as a minority in a small, conservative English town. In doing so, they have forged many warm friendships with both Muslims and non-Muslims alike. There is a conscious effort not to allow the contributions of a Muslim presence to be limited by a superficial multiculturalism that reduces diverse cultures to what has historically been termed "saris, steel bands, and samosas." In such limited frameworks, Muslim communities might only be recognized for their provision of food on fundraising stalls, local takeaways that tantalize tastebuds, or bright clothes adorned with dazzling jewels. Instead, there is a clear recognition that there is ample room to be much more than just a spectacle for the senses.
The importance of authentically representing the Islamic faith has never felt more significant. Invitations have extended to small schools tucked away in tiny English villages where it is rare for anyone to have seen a Muslim woman outside of television broadcasts. Presentations have also been delivered to audiences at the Women’s Institute, an endeavor undertaken alongside a Jewish friend who, much like the author, relocated from the city to settle across the border in a small Welsh town. Together, they share stories of their interfaith friendship and discuss the importance of getting to know one another. Their focus shifts purposefully toward their many commonalities, far away from the images of conflict that are so frequently presented in the mainstream media.
As one of the most rural mosques in the UK, the Craven Arms Islamic Centre in this sleepy part of Shropshire plays an active role in local interfaith work, drawing visitors from across the county. It has consistently opened its doors and welcomed visitors with open arms on Visit My Mosque Day, year after year, for those curious about the presence of Islam in a muted town of the English countryside. Drawing in crowds, the success of events like these can be attributed to the vision held by the small team managing the mosque, who take the responsibility of their roles as representatives of Islam very seriously. With a native English-speaking Imam whose brief includes leading the congregation in daily prayers, undertaking interfaith activities, hosting school visits, distributing annual charity such as Qurbani meat locally, and teaching the Quran to Muslim youngsters, the mosque effectively caters to and serves the entire community.
Furthermore, the center holds lessons carefully curated to the needs of the small but expanding group of Muslim youngsters who attend after-school classes to learn the basics of Islam. It has hosted open Iftar events inviting people of all faiths, similar to those held across the country, and has even welcomed a delegation of Palestinian youngsters who traveled to share their firsthand experiences of living under occupation.
When reflecting on Ramadan, the overriding sentiment is now one of a strong sense of community and kinship with fellow Muslims—something that was absent before moving to more rural pastures. There is an unmistakable joy it brings to every member of the community, most importantly to young children who are made to feel genuinely welcome in the mosque, recognizing it as their own. The deep sense of belonging is reinforced during the day when community members help host families prepare Iftars for the entire Muslim congregation: cutting salads, making bread, cooking meat to flavor the rice, preparing Rooh Afza, and coordinating school runs. Each evening, everyone comes together to break their fasts, pray collectively, and encourage their children to do the same. Washing and clearing up together are small tasks that go a long way toward building and strengthening the bonds of this small and humble community.
The generosity of the hosts each evening never ceases to amaze participants. Tarawih prayers are recited beautifully each night—on occasions led by renowned figures such as Sheikh Abu Bakr Al Shatri—with young mothers praying beside their children, who occasionally fall asleep in the corner. Meanwhile, the warm presence, love, and wisdom of the community elders serve as a constant reminder to remain steadfast in devotion to the faith through the active cultivation of togetherness.