New York City is a special place to be Muslim.
When the sun sets a little after 7:20 p.m. today, a little over 4.5 million Muslims observing Ramadan will be breaking fast. Out of those, about 725,000 are in New York City. With about 22.3 percent of America’s Muslims living in NYC, one of the most known communities practicing Islam in the five boroughs is Harlem. I am one of them.
Harlem is where Malcolm X (El Hajj Malik Shabazz) started his Organization of Afro-American Unity in Hotel Theresa after leaving the Nation of Islam (NOI). The current councilman, Yusef Salaam, who is part of the Exonerated 5 (formerly demeaned as the Central Park 5), is Muslim and from Harlem. And, on any given day, imams from West Africa sit with families who migrated to the Black Mecca.
Because there is diversity in spiritual practices amongst Black people, Harlem is a sanctuary. Nestled between storefront churches and bodegas—from Harlem to the bottom of Washington Heights—there are at least 15 mosques. The sounds wafting onto the street capture the mixture. Reverberating out of my home are nightly prayers. In others, the hum of Gospel or the thump of reggae. This is sewn in between the smells of spicy Senegalese thieboudienne, the moist folds of Trinidadian roti and the sweetness of Southern cornbread.
From my experience, Muslims are communal, yet hold distinct identities that at times are harmonious, but also cacophonous. In this enclave rich with history and expression, there are converts along with those born into the religion. Those who are orthodox, and those who are in political-religious organizations practicing Islam from their cultural standpoints.
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In Harlem, I am an immigrant, but in Islam, my family is rooted and ancient. As someone whose family comes from Senegal, my lineage into Islam emerged when the religion crossed the Sahel around the 8th Century, and planted itself in what is now West Africa. Now, my spiritual life flows between Senegal and Manhattan, and the Muslim experience crosses many waters with some being uncharted.
Being a Muslim in Harlem is both beautiful and complex. We are taught that Muslims are brothers and sisters, but the on-going question for those who practice is, “Who is a true Muslim?” At the same time, there is a complicated relationship between Black American and African observers that emerges in this query.
While there are differences between the groups, I also see the synergy. Perhaps, I am one of few, or one of many, who try to understand the divide, and if it can be mended. So, I venture out on an evening after breaking fast during Ramadan, an annual, month-long observance for Muslims to fast (sawm), pray (salah), reflect and be in community.
On that summer evening in 2023, at the foot of stoops by a nearby mosque, Muslim vendors sold soaps, fragrances and cloth. There, Abdul Khadiyah hawked oud, which is incense in the form of resins and herbs, as well as prayer beads. We talked about religion and politics.
My photos of Khadiyah were before the second Trump win, but right after Salaam’s successful campaign for his seat as councilman. I asked while perusing his table, “What are your feelings about the recent win of our Muslim brother Yusef Salaam in city council?”
While admittedly unaware of Salaam’s win, he responded, “I don’t pay too much attention to politics.”
Opposite of Kadiyah’s answer, Councilman Salaam’s campaign and life activated me to volunteer for a couple of days during his first campaign. With the small number of Muslim representation in politics, his presence as an elected official would make a difference. Notwithstanding, I welcomed Kadiyah’s point of view.
The devout practitioner explained why he did not vote and refused to participate in the electoral process. If “any corruption that comes with [any politician I voted for then], it would come back to me.” For the vendor, voting for someone who lacks the ethical constitution he ascribes to is “un-Islamic.” So, his politics is in his business, but his faith is paramount.
Adja-Fatimata SeckMuslims in Harlem are vibrant, opinionated and devout. At the time, Salam’s win carried mixed perspectives in the Manhattan community. The youth—my peers from New York University who saw him speak at a symposium—expressed satisfaction on social media when he was elected. However, some elders voiced dismay due to his alliance with the NOI.
Dawoud Suleiman, who converted in 1980, said that the NOI once served a purpose in the U.S. “They are practicing something that elevated Black people at a time when they needed to be elevated, but at some point, there needs to be a point of growth,” he asserted.
“You have to elevate yourself with the truth, and some people are stuck in their old ways. ”
My talk with Khadiyah and Suleiman was at the tail end of Ramadan years ago. In 2025, Ramadan in the U.S. still resonates in communities throughout the country. During Trump, there is an emphasis on things far from my Harlem experience, but he is far from defining my community. While I am still parsing out the complicated relationship in the Muslim community, like the millions in America, I remain steadfast in prayer.
