Berkley Center

Before coming to Shanghai, my knowledge of Muslim religion and culture in China was very limited. I often associated Uighur lamb shashliks as a cultural cachet of Islam. Despite my initial narrow impression, I have since learned that Muslim food in China is an integral factor in many different Muslim minorities' practice of Islam.

Not too long ago, around the end of August, I had an insatiable craving for anything that was similar to New York City's street halal food vendors. I wanted a platter of zesty grilled lamb over yellow basmati rice. In hopes of replicating the faux aroma in my head, I went to a small ethnic Muslim restaurant for lunch. The restaurant was bustling with men wearing white embroidered caps and women wearing colorful veils. The owners of the restaurant were the Hui ethnic Muslim minority hailing from China's northwestern Gansu province. The Hui ethnic group is very similar in culture to the Han Chinese but continues to practice Islam by following Islamic dietary laws and customs. They are commonly recognized for their mixed blood that includes Han Chinese, Persian, Mongolian, and Central Asian. While I was waiting to order and be seated, I made small talk with the waiters, and they soon became aware that I was a foreigner. Despite my Asiatic features, they didn't assume I was Han Chinese, but rather spoke to me with ease, openly telling me about Ramadan as I offered my limited knowledge of Islamic culture.

To this day, the Hui and Uighur ethnic minority groups practice Ramadan, a time for Muslims to fast for the sake of Allah. The month of celebration is enshrined in Islamic law, in which participating devout believers have to refrain from eating, drinking, smoking, and indulging from dawn until sunset. This is their auspicious time in which they ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday sins, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

When my fragrant plate of Chinese-influenced fried rice with lamb arrived, I curiously asked if the food was “halal.” Perhaps finding the minute to slaughter meat in the name of Allah would prove to be a difficult task, especially for conservative Muslim minorities that continue to adhere to the sharia. I also didn't think it was possible for the Muslim minorities to serve halal food to almost 20 million people daily. I assume that many devout believers had to change their lifestyles after moving to Shanghai. But to my surprise, the waiters proudly said the meat was slaughtered in the name of Allah. This only furthered my curiosity of Muslim culture in Shanghai.

Practicing Islam in a non-Muslim country—–especially in China where people are apathetic toward religion—is inconceivably difficult. However, there are seven officially recognized mosques that only operate indoors. Praying outdoors is prohibited, as this is the Muslim’s' religious and personal time with Allah. Non-Muslim believers are strictly not allowed during services. One popular mosque called the Huxi Mosque, in Shanghai, strikes me with surprise. Every Friday, after prayer services, a plethora of Uighur and Hui vendors set up stands selling halal shashliks, varieties of imported dried nuts and fruits, naan bread, and small gifts. When the Huxi Mosque calls the prayer to a close, devout believers enthusiastically crowd the streets speaking in variants of Uighur dialects that I can't simply comprehend. It was almost overwhelming, though exciting to falsely believe that I was no longer in a homogeneous society.

Having been here for almost three months, I have been keenly observing the Islamic life. Despite China's oppressiveness, a diverse, multifaceted Muslim culture still perseveres. Although there is a certain level of rigid tension between the Muslim community and the greater Chinese community, I have found that through halal food the two cultures can find a common ground.