Minnesota Muslims find safe place to recover from alcohol addiction: the mosque

In the midst of her struggle with alcoholism, a local 20-year-old Somali woman didn't know where to find help. She was overwhelmed with guilt while attending mosque for religious observances.

"That's a feeling you tend to feel when you're in a situation that you shouldn't be in," said the woman, who asked not to be named because of the stigma that substance abuse carries in the Muslim community.

Alcohol abuse carries stigma in practically all communities. But for many Muslims, that is often magnified because Islam prohibits alcohol consumption of any kind.

The same place that caused the woman deep shame later offered her a lifeline. She noticed a group of people meeting in the mosque regularly to support each other. Soon, she was attending the weekly meetings and sharing her own experiences with alcoholism.

"I was a little hesitant at first, but I knew I was in a situation I didn't want to be in anymore," she said.

Those meetings were founded four years ago by Munira Maalimisaq. Maalimisaq stumbled upon the unusual concept of bringing substance-abuse treatment to mosques while studying for her nursing degree at Metro State University.

Today, the Muslim support groups draw more than 60 attendees who meet in two groups at two Twin Cities-area mosques.

The attendees are largely Somali and range from as young as 13 to as old as in their 60s.

The mosques that host the groups prefer not to publicize that they do so. The support groups don't advertise publicly and instead spread information through word of mouth. Often, parents ask mosque leaders for help with a child, whom imams then refer to Maalimisaq.

Maalimisaq, 34, went through her own journey of accepting that alcohol abuse was an issue in her community. She was visiting a Minneapolis detox center in 2018 as part of her schooling when she noticed that 80% of the people there were Somali men. Before then, she said, she had never seen a Muslim drink alcohol.

"It was just a cultural shock for me," Maalimisaq said. "I had to check my own biases, process it and understand it afterwards."

She quickly realized that there was a need for culturally specific substance abuse treatment.

Maalimisaq volunteered at the Minneapolis detox center for several days and saw many of the same people who were released from the center at 10 a.m. come back by 8 p.m. that same day.

"They would tell me, 'This is not who I am. I want to get better but I don't know how,'" Maalimisaq said.

Some people in detox were so ashamed of their behavior that they refused to look her in the eye. When a support group at the detox center led a serenity prayer, which asks God for guidance, Maalimisaq watched as the Muslims in the room would slink away. She asked a Muslim man why he wouldn't join in the prayer. He told her how drinking had affected him and his loved ones, and said that he didn't want to offend God by participating.

Maalimisaq started contacting mosque leaders around the Twin Cities to see if they had programs to support people with substance abuse disorders. No, they told her, but all of them said they regularly consoled family members of people suffering from addiction.

Mosque leaders allowed Maalimisaq to establish support groups at their locations because they already knew her through her community work holding blood drives, helping community elders with tasks like cleaning their homes and teaching GED classes.

Maalimisaq visited local Christian churches that held Alcohol Anonymous meetings to gather resources and ideas. The AA model of supporting alcoholics in sobriety is an institution across the world.

She found that there were obstacles to establishing an AA group. Muslim attendees also didn't want the support group advertised on banners in public places.

Maalimisaq decided the support groups would follow a different model, which allowed her to customize much of the curriculum. It doesn't include the serenity prayer and the "higher power," which AA curriculums use to show people that there is something greater than themselves that can help their recovery.

Though Maalimisaq had carefully planned the support group, she says it drew pushback from some community members. A religious leader permanently left one of the mosques that hosted the support group. Others called Maalimisaq's father to tell him that his daughter's efforts encouraged alcohol use.

Sometimes, Muslims with addiction issues are so marginalized that other community members won't associate with them. Some people speculated over Maalimisaq's reasons for founding a support group, she said.

"Today there are people who will say, 'She has the issues, she is a drinker, that's why,'" Maalimisaq said. "But I'm OK with it. Say that. If someone says, 'We're not going to marry her son.' Good. I'm glad."

For the 20-year-old woman who struggled to find treatment, Maalimisaq's group offered an opportunity for people to discuss their addiction issues out in the open.

"I didn't really know that there were a lot of other people who have the same issues that I did," she said.

Today, she's 18 months sober and credits the group with helping her stop drinking.

"It gave me a sense of security that I wouldn't otherwise have," she said.

This story comes to you from Sahan Journal, a nonprofit newsroom dedicated to covering Minnesota's immigrants and communities of color. Sign up for its free newsletter to receive stories in your inbox.