Sent to Saudi Arabia as part of Operation Desert Storm in the summer of 1990, Andre Anderson was leaning on his rifle when he heard "adan," the call to dawn prayer from nearby Riyadh.
The 19-year-old Marine from Chicago was frightened.
"In movies, whenever you hear Arabs singing and shouting 'Allah Akbar,' it means they're attacking," he recalls with a burst of laughter. "I thought the camp was being attacked."
But as Anderson listened to the voices from the many mosques in the city echoing through the darkness, fear gave way to something else.
"It was unspeakably beautiful; it just touched my soul," said the 31-year-old Seattle man, now known as Abdul Raheem Arshad Ali.
Drawn to a religion he knew little about, Anderson converted to Islam on the eve of the Gulf War, and became one of hundreds of U.S. servicemen and women to do so.
In converting to Islam, Ali joined a growing movement that has long been present in the United States, but has attracted far more attention since the events of Sept. 11, 2001, and the more recent arrests of U.S. converts in the Northwest who have been accused of aiding terrorists.
Ali himself was recently arrested on federal firearms charges. He is accused of buying a pistol for a man who is suspected of having ties to the al-Qaida terrorist network.
Muslim converts often say they feel they're unfairly portrayed as violent and brainwashed fodder for radical organizations eager to use them against their country.
Robert Dannin, who teaches urban anthropology at New York University and is the author of "Black Pilgrimage to Islam," said U.S. Muslims have been the victims of "Islamophobic hysteria" in recent months.
"We have seen this before in American history with the Red scare and with McCarthyism," Dannin said.
A long history
After Sept. 11, 2001, media reports on Muslims in the United States often called Islam the fastest-growing religion in the nation. By some accounts, there are as many as 20,000 converts per year.
But theologians and demographers say those reports are overblown, and often come from proselytizing Islamic organizations that have a financial interest in inflating the figures.
"You read every day media accounts stating that there are 8 to 12 million Muslims in the United States -- that Islam is the fastest-growing religion in the country," Dannin said.
"These numbers and statements are totally unbelievable."
Most credible surveys indicate there are 3 million to 4 million Muslims in the United States, more than two thirds of them African American.
Islam arrived in the United States with the first slaves. Historians say as many as 15 percent of all slaves were Muslim. Although few in number, their presence, preserved through records of memoirs of slaves written in Arabic, remained as a cultural influence even as all traces of ritual practices were diluted, Dannin says.
Yet African American Muslims were largely unknown until the 1960s, when many civil rights activists adopted Islam. For many, black nationalism was the driving force.
Black nationalism in the '60s was influenced by Islam because of the fascination the civil rights generation had for the jihad Muslims in West and North Africa fought against European colonizers, Dannin says.
Hazim Rashed, a Seattle financial analyst, became a member of the Nation of Islam 20 years ago, after hearing a speech by minister Louis Farrakhan.
"My conversion was a reaction to racism," Rashed said. "Farrakhan's speech made me feel I am a very special human being."
But he now feels that "Islam in the 'Nation' was more a reaction to racism."
"The way it was defined was a very hateful one. It's simple: You couldn't belong to the 'Nation' if you were not black," Rashed said.
Though better known to most Americans, the Nation of Islam is considered a fringe group rather than a branch of Islam.
After the death of Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad in 1975, his son Wallace moved the organization toward orthodox Sunni Islam. Farrakhan split from the group, forming his own Nation.
Rashed became an orthodox Muslim whose life is guided by faith rather than anger. He sees no conflict between being a Muslim and an American.
"I am quite an ordinary American," he said. Around his office, the only clue to his faith is that his desk PC sounds the call to prayer in Arabic, five times each day.
Life changes
Although black nationalism has faded as a political force, Islam has continued to grow -- nearly doubling in adherents since 1989. Young black men have dominated the ranks of converts.
What makes young Americans, reared in typical Western households, choose to belong to such a different mental universe?
"The discipline of the Islamic way humbled me," said Abdul Shahid Muhammad, a self-described former gang member in Tacoma's Hilltop neighborhood who today works for a furniture company.
For Abdul Raheem Ali, the former Marine who works as a bricklayer, Islam just felt comfortable -- but there were challenges.
"It was hard, it was very hard," Ali recalls.
He used to drink a lot, he says, and he loved being in bars and in bar fights. He loved being surrounded by sexy women, and to eat food forbidden to Muslims, such as pork products.
"I had to give up my whole way of life, and giving up pepperoni pizza was quite a trauma," Ali said.
He believes his religion taught him how to be a man.
"Islam structures everything in your life, with very precise rules, from the way you have to wash while in the bathroom to the way you treat your wife and children, to the way a state has to be run (to) protect the vulnerable, the poor and guarantee justice," Ali said. "Nobody taught us all these things before."
Muhammad said the dramatic changes he went through after converting impressed his friends, neighbors, family and were reflected in a sense of self-esteem he never felt before.
Prison ministry
Like many American Muslims, Muhammad was introduced to Islam while in prison.
Dannin, who has studied the practice of Islam in the prison system for almost 20 years, said conversion behind bars helps prisoners resist the debilitating effects of the penitentiary system.
In states with large African American populations, such as New York, California, Michigan, Wisconsin, Florida and Pennsylvania, an average of 20 percent of prisoners are Muslims. Washington state has far fewer black Muslims in its prisons, although there are no credible estimates of their numbers.
"Muslim brothers showed me they love me and care for me," said Shakir Zakee, a 25-year-old inmate at McNeil Island, who converted a year ago in prison.
Serving a 10-year sentence for assault, Zakee said his parents were Muslim but he never felt religious until "Allah snatched (him) back in prison."
"Islam makes you strong in jail, teaches you self-discipline," Zakee said, adding that to him being Muslim is about finding peace.
"You first make peace with yourself" when staying away from "destruction, gangs, gambling, lust, debts, fights."
In fact, Dannin said, prison officials in some states view Islamic conversion as something positive.
"One of the technologies of control that prison administrators have discovered is Islamification," he said. "California, for example, uses Islam to manage prisoners."
For many inmates, Islam offers the challenge of learning a new way of life, a new language and self-control that counters the imposed discipline of prison.
"I just can't wait until it's time for prayer," said Ibraheem Killian, a 33-year-old McNeil inmate serving a 13-year sentence for assault.
Killian converted four years ago while at the Clallam Bay high-security prison. He said he had been "on the streets" since he was 15 and was ready for something else.
"I've been shot at, I've seen people die in front of me, I was tired with this life. I wanted to change," Killian said.
If something happens to a Muslim, the "brothers" are there to help and protect, he said. Solidarity among the Umma -- the Muslim brotherhood -- goes beyond prison walls.
Zakee is sure that once released, the masjed (mosque) will keep him away from gangs, give him a place to stay and help him quickly find a job.
'Back home'
Like Killian, most Muslim converts are young and, Dannin said, the vast majority seek spiritual uplift.
And for many, conversion also brings a new political awareness.
Abdulhakim Idris, a 31-year-old Seattle entrepreneur, was indeed drawn to Islam by questions about "our origins."
Idris, a quiet man, has a very solitary rapport with his religion. He has never wanted to be involved in the activities of his mosque, but would rather spend his free time in libraries.
In his small, clean apartment that smelled of incense and books, he told how his 1996 conversion gave him a new sense of the world around him.
"Definitely, Islam politicizes the way you look to the world and events," he said.
Ali takes it a step further. He talks about "a right to be different" that he thinks is not allowed in the United States.
He's seen media reports that differentiate between "radical Muslims" and "mainstream Muslims."
Ali does not consider himself a radical, but he feels this is the way a Muslim like him, who embraces everything about Islam, is labeled.
A "mainstream Muslim," he said, is one whose identification is more cultural than a matter of faith.
By embracing Islam, he gained a political framework to express his frustration with his society and, he said, he began to feel that he belongs to something larger than himself.
"My people are Muslims no matter where they are."
As a black born in a ghetto, he was confronted by violence. And when he tried the military to escape the gangs, he said he was confronted by racism.
"When America didn't feel like home, Islam gave me a brotherhood and made me a better person. Before, I was feeling out of place, I was a bad man. Now . . .I am a responsible father, husband and a caring son for my parents. I feel like back home."