Story:

Efi explains that prayer, in Islam, must be done in a clean place and with a clean person. Muslims lay a rug, wherever they are, wash their hands and feet and then begin their prayers. It is considered, she tells us, a purifying process. Because of the importance that praying has in Islam (Muslims, as a rule, pray 5 times a day), there are many, many rugs, with different designs.

This is woven, by hand, with a loom, from my grandmother, Fatme. My name is Efi Imam. My dad’s name is Hassan Imam and he is a Pomak, so a Greek Muslim from the minority in Thrace. He’s not from Turkey, he hasn’t moved at any point in my family’s history. Pomaks, at some point in history, were Islamised, so now they are all Muslims. Their language is a slavic idiom, very similar to Bulgarian, and they are Greek citizens, because when the borders were drawn, someone drew the border there and they found themselves to be Greek. There are Pomaks in the Bulgarian side as well.

Efi explains that her parents didn’t meet in Xanthi, where her father is from, or in Parnassus, where her mom’s village is, but, rather, in a village in Boeotia, when they were still 16 and 17 years old respectively. Her father left from Xanthi’s Thermes around 1972-1973, as an internal migrant, to work at the bauxite mines at Distomo and Faukida, where he met Efi’s mother. Back then, in 1974, marriage between people of different religions was not allowed, as political marriage did not exist.

They were both very open to changing religion for their love, they didn’t have any issue with that. Eventually, his mother changed religion. She became a muslim and went to Xanthi, in the villages. The marriage happened in the Islamic way and very soon they divorced. They were very young, there were differences, it doesn’t matter. When I was born, they gave me an Islamic name, Leyla. There, as soon as a kid is born, they give them a name, as happens in many religions. Orthodox Christians are those that wait for some time before the kid is baptised. However, they divorced and, at some point, my mom decided to baptise me. I was baptised Euthimia.

Efi tells us that both her grandmother, Euthimia, from whom she got her name, as well as Fatme, both loved her very much. She lived for several months in the village, in Xanthi’s Thermes, and even now she keeps visiting whenever she can, whether that means once a year, or once every two years. It is, as she says, an easy trip to make.

So, these people, in 1973, in a village in Xanthi, next to the Bulgarian borders, were forced to accept a Christian bride, something huge for back then, because in 1973 in Xanthi virtually never had a Christian stepped foot. My mum went, who was a 17 year old girl, pretty and stuff, and the people from other villages would pass by and look at her, the Christian bride that had arrived. In any case, these people up there accepted the fact that their son was an atheist and nonreligious, my dad that is, and accepted me as if there was none of these differences.

In one of Efi’s visits at the village, her grandmother, Fatme, gave her this praying rug and told her that she had made one for each one of her grandchildren, for them to take to their homes.

Me, of course, I’m baptised Christian and I would never use it, I’m also an atheist, nonreligious, one more reason at that. But, of course, I took it, because for me it’s an object of love. When I brought it to Athens, at some point, my dad, who is also an atheist and nonreligious, saw it and told me “ok, I know you will never pray and I understand it, put it wherever you want, just, please, don’t put it on the floor to step on”. And, indeed, I didn’t. I’m saying all this to say that, for instance, it’s something that, for me, symbolises respect towards someone else’s faith and beliefs. Even if I don’t believe in the same things, for you, that gave it to me, it’s something sacred, I won’t put it on the floor to step on it, to insult it. And that’s something that I learned by living it.

She explains that her grandmother also knew, while giving it to her, that she would never use it, because she was baptised and there was no point. Efi highlights, however, that this is an item which represents respect towards someone else’s beliefs, whatever they are, and it is an item that tells her that whoever the other person is, if we look inside their heart, we’re all the same -or, at the very least, not so different. 

That is very beautiful and that’s its story. Keep in mind that a grandmother made it, who would be 92 years old today if she was still alive. A woman from a village, illiterate, who spoke neither Greek nor Turkish. She only spoke the Pomak language. This was her taste. When others made three-coloured rugs, such as black – green – grey, she would make this festival of colours.

She mentions that the shapes and colours don’t carry any specific symbolism. She explains that an Islamic prayer rug may have phrases from the Quran in Arabic, or it may look like a typical Persian rug, it may be a simple weft, while many often use green as it is the sacred colour in Islam.

As you can see, my grandmother went wild!

She tells us that, other that the rug she also has other wefts and patchworks and that her grandmother would always use a lot of colours. She explains that parthworks, which her other grandmother would also make, were always made from shreds of fabric that were left over from elsewhere, which sometimes would be in many colours and other times would be drab. 

I have the rug stored. I’ve shown it to my kids and I’ve told them what it is.