Hidden Muslim Communities in the Basements of Prague
In a city known for its beer and secularism, Prague’s small Muslim community is scattered and often unseen.
As a Muslim myself, although I did not grow up in a Muslim country, there was a major Muslim community present in my life. Classes on Islam were available every evening, there was a big mosque, as well as numerous Ramadan events and organized Eid celebrations. When I moved to Prague, I faced quite a culture shock.
During Ramadan no one could understand that I was fasting. Three times a day I would hear the same question: “Not even water?” During Ramadan from sunrise to sunset Muslims who are capable of fasting don't eat or drink anything, not even water. Many people in the Czech Republic seem to find this hard to believe.
Beyond religious isolation, I also experienced personal challenges that made me question my place here. It was in Prague where I learned that I’m not white. Being called all sorts of names on the streets, having people hide their bags from me on a tram, and having problems renting apartments because “I'm not Czech”, which only became a problem once the landlord had seen me in person, was a major learning curve for me.
But I knew my experience wasn’t unique. To understand how others like me try to manage their faith here, I spoke to Prague Muslims, each carrying their own quiet stories of isolation and love.
Sheyaun, an American Pakistani, says, “I never noticed the color of my skin until I moved to the Czech Republic. Even the question ‘where are you from?’ would be met with skepticism and doubt if I replied that I was from America.”
Samir left Ukraine in 2022 to flee the war, and Prague became his new home. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, he went on a search for a spiritual life in Prague, only to find that in Prague faith is often invisible and that the religious community he was used to wasn’t waiting for him in his new home.
“I didn’t find a place that felt like my religious home,” says Samir. Despite visiting several mosques in Prague, he, like many others, struggles to feel a sense of belonging in what he describes as a room hidden in the basement rather than a mosque.
The numbers behind the Muslim population help to explain the situation. A 2022 report on international religious freedom reported that of the 70% of the population of the Czech Republic that answered the questionnaire 48% didn’t have a religion and 13% had no specific religion. There are an estimated 20,000 Muslims in the Czech Republic according to Pew Research Center, which is only 0.2% of the population, spread through different cities.
So it is not surprising that there are no major mosques built here, not many visible and genuinely halal places to eat, and few opportunities to learn about Islam. It can be a challenge to find a space to complete the daily prayers. The mosques that do exist are often more like prayer rooms and are almost always empty. Many are hidden in basements. “I don't even know how one finds them without living here,” says Shirin, a Turkmenistan born Muslim who has lived in Prague for over a decade.
I visited Prague’s largest mosque in Černý Most, a suburb on the eastern edge of the city, to see how the community actually comes together. The mosque is run by the Islamic Foundation of Prague. There are two sections as in every other mosque, one for men and one for women. The male section is bigger and has more space, while the women’s is more hidden. Both have a place where people can clean themselves before prayer. But the disconnect between space and belonging became apparent during my visit. I saw only a few people, one of them being a teacher with a group of kids. The Friday prayer, Jummah, is when most people come to the mosque, the majority of them men, but Samir tells me that he felt unable to connect with people there when he attended prayer. “I felt like I was just fulfilling a duty, not understanding the Khutbah [sermon]” Samir tells me.
The language barrier can be a frequent problem. Sermons are in Arabic and Czech, and often leave non-Arabic and non-Czech speaking Muslims on the margins of their own religious spaces.
Shirin partially agrees. “I’ve tried to go to the mosque, but I never actually made it… I just didn’t feel comfortable walking in, not knowing anyone… and I don't speak Czech. What if I won't find my way around?” she says.
Jorika however, a Czech convert, described her experience as positive “Alhamdulillah, the community in Prague is so welcoming and kind,” she says. She found Islam by herself, and she was quickly supported by Muslims in Prague after just one visit to the mosque. “All it took was talking to one person… people are extra grateful to maintain relationships here, so they cherish them deeply”. But she acknowledges that the language barrier may play a major role. It is easier to fit in somewhere you are understood.
There is a definite duality – for some a warmth of community they manage to find, and for others isolation, missing the bigger spaces they had before. Some find instant connections, but others are forced to make difficult decisions regarding their religion and the path it would take in the future.
“A part of my decision to leave Prague was because of my religion… As my faith grew stronger, I wanted to be in a place where I could pray freely, celebrate properly, and feel part of a community, which I, unfortunately, couldn’t find here,” says Kamila who left Prague after finishing her studies. It can be hard for Muslims to find a space in Prague which makes them feel accepted.
Some things have changed for the better. Finding halal food is still a challenge, but many new places are being opened now. “In the beginning I knew only 2-3 places and I thought that’s all, but again with time I found a lot of halal places,” Kamila says.
Jorika adds, “They aren’t around every corner but so many places are opening up. If I compare when I first arrived in Prague versus now it's a big difference.” However, restaurants are often not recognized or advertised which makes them hard to find.
After talking to several people, I realized that wearing a hijab in Prague can also be a challenge.
“The disease is spreading even here, we are doomed” Jorika once heard someone say about her as she walked by in a hijab in Prague. “Nobody expects a Czech Muslim.”
It can even be dangerous for Muslim women who wear hijabs to walk alone, Zuhra tells me. She recounts the story of a woman whose scarf was ripped off her on a bus, only to reveal a bald head due to cancer treatment. Then people began apologizing and made the excuse that they thought she was Muslim. All the women Zuhra knows never walk alone when wearing a hijab. They prefer to be accompanied by male companions, to be protected ‘just in case’. Even when going to prayers in the mosque she only takes her car or goes with her husband out of fear of getting on public transport in a hijab. She says that fear is also one of the biggest factors keeping her from wearing a hijab on a daily basis. “Hijab is supposed to protect us not put us in more danger.”
Despite these challenges, many find strength in personal faith and their small, separated community behind closed doors. “Also, I’m a hijabi, so in the beginning I was feeling very uncomfortable,” says Kamila. “Wherever I go I get a lot of stares – sometimes friendly but sometimes super-unfriendly – especially in the metro, but I got used to it.”
Despite all the challenges, Muslims continue doing what they believe is best because of their dedication to their faith. “Even though the atmosphere is not the same, it’s about what you make of it” Jorika says. “Everybody, especially during Ramadan and Eid, tries their best… organizing events for children and contributing however they can.”
Samir shares Jorika’s view. “During Ramadan, I wouldn’t say I felt lonely… I was doing what I was supposed to and what I wanted to,” but he says that he did miss the sense of community he knew before: “Here, it’s more difficult, but it doesn’t change the essence of what we do.”
Sheyaun says, “I remember my first Eid Al-Fitr [the festival at the end of Ramadan]. I was sitting on the square Náměstí Míru and everyone was walking around like it’s a normal day, and I thought about how crazy this is”.
It’s understandable and completely normal for Czech people to not understand Ramadan, why we do what we do, because they don’t know the religion for what it is, but it does feel lonely for Muslims, as it results in a sense of isolation that it is hard for people outside to imagine.
“I wish people wouldn’t think in stereotypes,” Samir says. “The Islam I know is about peace and faith, not violence. If there were more places offering real knowledge about our religion, it could change how people see us.”
This exclusion is not only mental. It can also be physical. Zuhra tells me how, during a class discussion at her university, the conversation turned to religion and evolved into the Israel-Palestine war. When she said she was Muslim, the class began to exclude her.
Every story shared with me showed one common theme. People did not want others to feel sorry for them, but to be understood. Muslims often find themselves in the role of educators, which many do not mind. “I dream about more people educating themselves about our religion, and stop listening to propagandistic Islamophobic ideas,” said Liana, a Muslim who moved to Prague.
While some have decided to leave, others have stayed and continued to build what little community they can find or create here. WhatsApp groups, university clubs, and small meetings keep the connection alive.
As Shirin says, “People are different everywhere, let's just be accepting of each other a bit more.”
Certain names in the article have been changed at the request of the interviewees who preferred to remain anonymous.
