Twenty four years ago I landed in Karachi, Pakistan. I prefer the relative anonymity of the terminal bathroom to the long aisle walk on the airplane, and had a full bladder and considerable urgency on arrival.  Universal signage helped to find the men’s room and its welcoming wall of urinals. There guys hanging around or doing their business when the muezzin call to prayer blasted out of loudspeakers everywhere:

“Allah u Akbar, Allah u Akbar

Ash-hadu al-la llaha ill Allah …”

They dropped onto their knees, only one or two had prayer rugs. The wall of urinals now had a prostate guy blocking every one of them. I pondered straddling one of them, but that struck me as even more uncomfortable than holding it for a few minutes more.