Muhammed Tarhan
Google
I can hardly put into words what I felt after visiting Granada. From 3 p.m. until 10 p.m., I spent the rest of the day in this holy place after i visited al hambra, and the experience touched me deeply.
First, let me explain:
Everyone is welcome to enter the mosque’s garden, but the prayer hall itself is reserved for Muslims. The garden is beautiful, offering an unforgettable view of the Alhambra—which explains why it is always full. Some people online wrote that the mosque was closed, but that’s not true. It is open for every prayer. The only time it closes is once a day, after Zuhr and before Asr, for about an hour of cleaning. That makes perfect sense, as the place is constantly filled with visitors—new people arriving every few minutes.
In the garden, a very polite man was guiding visitors and answering questions. He explained to us how to make wudu and kindly shared the prayer times. After praying Asr, we visited the small shop near the mosque, where a very friendly worker served us tea and a sweet pastry for only €2.50.
Then came Maghrib, and with it a surprise: the muezzin recited the adhan from the minaret with his natural voice, without any amplifier. From the garden I could barely hear it, yet it pulled me straight toward the mosque. In that moment I felt like a child, imagining how it must have been to hear Bilal in the time of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). That was the atmosphere in which I entered for Maghrib prayer.
There are some prayers in life that give strength, resolve hidden struggles in the heart, and renew faith. This Maghrib prayer was one of those moments—bi-idhnillah. May Allah protect us from riya (showing off in worship). During the prayer, non-Muslim visitors were not allowed into the garden, perhaps to preserve peace and silence.
Muslims once lost the Alhambra. I am not a historian—maybe it was their fault, maybe not. But I do not feel sadness. Granada itself testifies that this was once a Muslim city, its culture shaped by Islam. And seeing this mosque, so modest and humble yet standing directly across from the grandeur of the Alhambra, I felt it might even be more powerful than ten Alhambras. This mosque represents tolerance and openness, welcoming everyone into its garden while inviting Muslims into its prayer hall for worship.
After Maghrib, the imam and his students began reciting Qur’an, page after page. I didn’t want to leave—my heart longed to stay there the whole night—but I had to, because it was late and my children needed to sleep. Otherwise, I might have remained in that blessed atmosphere forever, watching the Alhambra at sunset and softly whispering: “Wa la ghalib illa Allah”
