HOUSTON – When `Eid Al-Fitr arrives, it brings with it a flurry. A dazzling array of colorful and distinctly ethnic garb, bright and bursting in the intense Houston, Texas, sun.

It brings with it a flurry of men, children and women in headscarves, those arranged securely – and smugly – in place, while others are draped clumsily over flowing hair, burdening their wearer.

The `Eid comes with a flurry of haste, as would-be worshippers hurry to their chosen mosque, often forced to weave their way through work-day traffic or, as is the case this year, amongst their fellow Houstonians out attending Sunday church services or in the full swing of weekend shopping.

Despite the more than 100 mosques in the Houston area, it seems never enough to serve the `Eid crush, with people forced to pray in cramped quarters and congregants often spilling outside of the designated prayer space.

“This would never happen in a Muslim country, with masjids on every corner,” one man grumbles as he weaves his way in and out of roadway traffic, forced to park a ways away from the mosque and walk the remaining distance. He is in a flurry, sneaking peeks at the time on his cell phone as he hurries himself and his family along.

His wife is having none of it. She gives him a knowing look.

“This always happens back home with so many people praying,” she tells him.

Her husband shrugs and picks up his speed, forcing the little girl at his side to struggle to keep up.

“Slow down, Baba,” she pleads.

“We’re going to miss it,” her father tells her.

Her mother aims to set her mind at ease.

“Don’t worry. Allah knows we have the intent and we are trying to get there. It will count.”

The little girl seems satisfied, but she still hurries on.

It is `Eid, after all, and she’s in a flurry.

It’s `Eid Al-Fitr in Houston, and there’s a flurry of excitement, mingled with commotion, at the mosque entrance.

People smiling, greetings of “Salaam” heard in every corner; people hurriedly tossing away their slip-on shoes, scurrying inside and, finally, jostling for a good spot.

It’s difficult. The prayer area is full to bursting and the elders among the faithful are asserting their authority, verbally, sometimes even a bit forcefully, telling everyone to “Move closer together.” “Your shoulders should be touching.” “Come on.”

When words aren’t enough, it’s not unheard of even for men of 50 years or older men to be scooted unceremoniously to the side, all in the name of accommodating everyone who has come to pray. It is the `Eid, and it’s brought with it a flurry.

Prayer

The prayer begins and the hush is immediate and distinct, strangely deafening. Heads bow and the recitation rings out. “Allahu Akbar.” Reverence hangs in the air, unmistakable.

Unavoidably, the littlest among them are not impressed, and the cries, squirms, pouts and shouts for attention go undeterred within the women’s prayer area. The children’s mothers silently shush them or pat their heads.

One child-free yet sympathetic women hands a crying toddler a bit of candy as the youngster peeks over her mother’s shoulder. She quiets instantly, and the giver of sweets is rewarded with a grateful smile and effusive thanks when the prayer is done.

The conclusion of the prayer brings with it its own flurry. Kids, sensing the time for quiet is complete, break free of their mother’s grasp or move out of their line of sight, giggling, catching up with friends or freely running through the lines of ladies. They too are in a flurry.

Many women and men follow suit with the children, leaving the prayer area to head outside and chat or take a smoke.

For those who choose to stay inside and socialize, they risk the silent, sometimes not silent, condemning stares of those trying to listen to the sermon. More than once a woman will stand and remind everyone that there is a sermon being read while she makes a call for peace. “Quiet,” she hisses. Her efforts are largely unsuccessful. With a sigh, she sits and strains to listen to the khutbah coming over the loud speakers in the corners of the room.

The sermon is soon done and the rest of the room takes its leave. Women and men alike head outdoors, led by small children running to insert themselves in the candy line where teenagers are busily handing out goody bags and balloons. The scene there is, inevitably, chaos as kids push and shove their way to the front as their parents yell for them to be patient. “Wait your turn!”

In due time, most children are satiated with enough sweets to last them until lunch, when they will surely be treated to more at home.

Special Feasts

It’s the `Eid, after all, and many Muslims are rushing home to put the finishing touches on their feasts and prepare to welcome friends and family.

One woman frets. Even though it’s not yet noon, she is already exhausted and looking forward to when her soon-to-arrive guests head to their own homes and she can close out her day – and rest.

“I woke up this morning at 4:30 to start cooking, to make sure everything would be ready before the prayer,” she explains to a friend.

“Ramadan has been tiring, but Alhamdullah it’s OK.”

As people prepare to depart, the harried scene at the mosque slowly dies. The goodbyes are long, the well wishes many. “`Eid Mubarak, sister!” `Eid Kareem, my friend!”

The rush to waiting cars begin, and, from there, on to the planned festivities. Parents put in final calls for their children, “Hurry up, Ya Allah, your cousins are coming over,” while friends offer final kisses on cheeks and waves of farewell.

It’s the `Eid, and it brings with it a flurry.