ABSTRACT
Manisa, Turkey, May 1989: I lie awake in my room in the Arma Hotel, 4.30 a.m., hearing the call to prayer blaring from loudspeakers atop the minaret of a mosque a few hundred metres from my window. Other mosques start to chime in, creating a cacophony of Turkish-pronounced Arabic. A few moments later, the town is quiet again, resting until the bustle of cars, motorcycles and buses start ferrying people back and forth to school and work at 8 a.m.
