It’s the rainiest March Madrid has seen in decades, but the downpour hasn’t stopped the steady stream of people heading toward a small mosque near Calle Mesón de Paredes. Just before sunset, the doors of Mezquita Baitul Mukarram open. Umbrellas close, shoes come off and Glovo bags are left by the entrance. Inside, the blue carpet is soft and warm, and the barrio’s chaos fades into a quiet rhythm of prayer and preparation.
Each night of Ramadan, some 500 people gather here in the mosque to break their fast, and the operation is calm but massive. Plates are already laid on the floor containing Tandoori chicken, Jalebi, parantha, fruit and a single Medjool date — the first bite. All prepared locally, bought from the shops and kitchens of Lavapiés.
Mohammad Fazle Elahi stands by the door. He greets everyone from old friends to first-timers and those looking for shelter and community. Elahi is the founder of Valiente Bangla and one of the mosque’s most familiar faces. He helps guide newcomers through the rituals — handwashing, foot-washing, where to sit. His team prepares over 15,000 free meals across the month.
“We do it through donations,” he says. “All from the neighbourhood. This is how we take care of each other.”
Spain is home to over two million Muslims, and nearly 300,000 live in Madrid. Many have found a home in Lavapiés – a neighbourhood defined by its crossings, contrasts, and connections. Here, dozens of languages are spoken and, during Ramadan, dozens of nationalities gather on the same carpet to eat. The Lavapiés Iftar plate itself tells the story: North African bread beside South Asian sweets. Fusion spring rolls next to fruit grown in Spain. Food becomes a map – and a welcome.
Many who come to the mosque are undocumented or in legal limbo. Elahi doesn’t flinch when asked about it: “No human being is illegal,” he says. “Everyone deserves to eat. Everyone deserves dignity.”
As sunset approaches, the call to prayer rises. The room falls still. Then, without a word, 500 hands reach for a date. This is what togetherness looks like in Lavapiés: damp coats drying by the door, steam rising from still-warm tandoori, strangers sitting shoulder to shoulder, sharing something more than a meal.
“We’re all equal,” Elahi says. “And here, you can see that.”
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