PERCHED on the foothills of the Margallas, the shrine of Bari Imam overlooks the village of Noorpur Shahan on the outskirts of the city. A fetid stream, blackened with sewage, cuts through the ramshackle clutter of houses that make up this once picturesque settlement. Noorpur Shahan is also home to a small transgender community that lives off the economy of the shrine, which attracts thousands of visitors annually.

“We are not welcome in nicer neighbourhoods,” says transgender activist Nadeem Kashish. “Even if we can afford the rent, we are turned away.”

Kashish sits on a steel charpoy in his home. He is dressed in a men’s button-down shirt and jeans, and prefers to be identified by the male pronoun. His modest room, painted in pastel colours, is kept immaculately tidy. Currently, he is surrounded by some friends from the transgender community and television reporters that have gathered to interview him — he runs the Shemale Association for Fundamental Rights (Safar) and has been in the news lately for plans to build a transgender-friendly mosque.

Pakistan’s transgender community routinely faces discrimination and violence, and is also not entirely welcome in mosques. It’s not just Pakistan; the Saudi government also recently stated that transgender persons would not be issued visas for Umrah and Haj. “While we are welcome in shrines and Imambargahs, we face resistance in trying to enter mosques,” Kashish explains. “When we do go to mosques, we do so discreetly, wearing men’s clothing. It feels wrong, almost fraudulent.”

Kashish holds clerics responsible for excluding transgender people from religious life. “They tell us that we have been cursed by Allah, that we are from the tribe of Lut, worthy only of hate,” he says. “My heart does not accept this. We are Allah’s creation and He could not have ordained for us to be left out of the fold of Islam.”

He argues that society views the trans community as sexually deviant and morally corrupt. “People travel long distances to preach Islam but never approach transgender people,” he muses. “We are never even mentioned in the Friday sermon.”

The land for the mosque, which has been named Rehmatullil Alameen Masjid (Blessings for Humanity Mosque), was donated by the local community and Kashish borrowed money to start construction. His friends in the trans community have also contributed funds. “Those who work as dancers have made large donations but even those who work as beggars have given money,” Kashish explains.

Construction for the mosque began with a loan of Rs0.2 million, which Kashish acquired from a neighbour. However, when boys from the neighbourhood went out to collect donations, they were arrested. Seeing their fundraising efforts thwarted, residents of the neighbourhood decided to pool their resources. So far, Kashish said, Rs600,000 has been spent on the mosque, most of which was donated by people of the neighbourhood and friends in the trans community. The construction itself has been undertaken by neighbours, some of whom are paid but most of whom are volunteers.

“Kicked out of our own homes for being different as children, we just hope to find sanctuary in God’s home,” Kashish adds wistfully.

The project to build a mosque that would welcome transgender people, he contends, has been wrongly portrayed as a mosque exclusively for them. It is a community initiative in which the trans community is also participating. “We just wanted an inclusive mosque where people from all religious sects and all sexual orientations can come together to pray,” he explains.

Kashish’s neighbour Nomi recalls that as a transgender woman, she was mocked whenever she tried entering mosques. She sits playing with the ends of a scarf draped over her head. “I am a Muslim but no one taught me how to read the Quran,” she says. “I memorised verses and prayers on my own. Had society not ridiculed me, who knows, I could have been an Islamic scholar.”

As Nomi talks, another transgender woman peeks in. “Come in Shilpa! Now that we’re getting our own mosque it’s time to change your Hindu name!” Kashish quips.

“Perhaps I should start calling myself Mohabbat (Love),” Shilpa retorts as she settles gracefully on the bed. She says that like every Muslim, she wishes to go for Haj and take her mother too.

Their friend Ashi, a Christian, is also raising funds for the mosque. “I will sing and dance to raise funds for this mosque and beg if I have to,” she says. “My Muslim friends have given me so much love, I feel the least I can do is help them.”

Published in Dawn, December 4th, 2016