I am leaving, weary, pale, tearful

To my own ruin

God is my witness, I am leaving your city

With my heart in tatters and my mind in turmoil

                                                                                                —FURUĞ FERRUHZAD

Human nature desires to remain right in the midst of transience. It is not only the place that is temporary; man himself is a guest in this world, destined to migrate. This journey, which begins in the womb, becomes visible the moment we open our eyes to the seemingly endless chaos of the world. From that moment on, every human being, consciously or unconsciously, becomes acquainted with migration. “Where does a person stand, where do they walk, and where do they ultimately arrive?” These questions question not only place but also existence; because migration is more than a physical movement; it is the soul’s, the mind’s, the identity’s, and the heart’s search for a new place.

Putting Down Roots in Temporariness

For migrants, temporariness is not only a necessity but also the courage to start over. Every temporary shelter carries the possibility of a new life sprouting within it. Tables set up in the shade of a tent, a curtain hung on the wall of a container, are the first steps toward the feeling of a home. We saw this most vividly in that great earthquake disaster. Women built homes that flourished where they lived.They transformed those temporary places into homes with their hands and hearts, placing the flowers they had planted in pots in their tents on their tables. For the architect, temporariness is a story that opens up to humanity, geography, time, and needs, to truth. Because even within the temporary, people seek ways to create a living space that is their own. In those moments, architecture is not just about drawing walls or roofs; it is about rebuilding hope, a sense of “home.” Seeing life sprout even in the midst of transience is the architect’s quietest but most powerful testimony. People want to claim ownership of the place they live, even if it is temporary, because belonging begins with intention before it begins with a building. The most important task for the architect here is to make this intention visible. It is to warm the cold face of transience, to make people say, “I can live here too.” Because roots sometimes sprout not in the soil, but in the spaces, streets, and squares where they form connections.

The Silent Construction of Permanence

As time passes, temporary places become stories. A door opened every day, a handprint drying on a wall, a scent wafting through a window are the first traces of permanence. Permanence is built not with concrete, but with lived experience. For a place to be permanent, memories must take root there. Migrant neighborhoods are therefore not just temporary shelters, but also the silent memories of the city. Architecture becomes a witness to time here; the walls echo with both loss and hope. And the architect is the one who hears this echo.Because the permanence of a place lies not so much in the hands that built it, but in the touch of the hearts that live there. One reflection of this touch is the presence of Muslim immigrants in Japan. Living in major cities such as Tokyo, Osaka, Yokohama, and Nagoya, these communities often migrate in search of education, work, or the hope of a new life, putting down roots within small-scale solidarity networks. Mosques and cultural centers are not merely places of worship for them; they are living spaces that renew a sense of belonging, preserve memory, and enable socialization. Through the halal markets, small businesses, and restaurants they open, they participate in economic life and add a new layer to the city’s rhythm with the cultural diversity they bring. Thus, migration becomes not merely a change of place but a form of existence that permeates the city, reflects in its architecture, and transforms identity into place. When an architect touches the story of a migrant, they do not merely design a structure; they rebuild an existence. Migration diminishes a person, yet it also deepens them. The architect is the one who senses that depth and transforms it into space. They weave hope with stone, prayer, and light. Because the threshold of a door is sometimes the line between limitation and freedom; the direction of a window is sometimes the bridge between past and future. Architecture is the art of giving meaning to these invisible lines. Every space designed for migrants is a place of prayer where they can say, “I can start over here.” And the architect is the one who translates this prayer into space. One beautiful example of this is the Tokyo Mosque, completed in 2000 in Japan’s Shibuya district and designed by Turkish architect Muharrem Hilmi Şenalp in keeping with the Ottoman Islamic architectural tradition. It has a main dome 23 meters high, a minaret 41 meters high, and a capacity of approximately 2,000 people. Stones and marble brought from Turkey were carved using traditional carving and tile work techniques, and the interior space achieves both aesthetic and acoustic harmony with domes, calligraphy, and wooden details.

Architecturally, it is a striking structure representing traditional Ottoman Mosque elements in Tokyo’s modern skyline, blending harmoniously with its surroundings through balance and simplicity. Tokyo Mosque is not only a place of worship for immigrant Muslims; it is also a social, cultural, and educational center. It strengthens the Muslim community’s sense of belonging and integration in Japan through events, classes, and community gatherings that promote Islamic culture and Ottoman art. Its open and accessible design facilitates direct interaction between visitors and the interior space and surroundings, strengthening social bonds and building bridges of dialogue between different cultures. In this sense, Tokyo Mosque is a lasting cultural and religious symbol that combines architectural aesthetics, cultural continuity, and social impact.

Sometimes we should ask this question not to immigrants, but to the countries, cities, and neighborhoods they have migrated to: ‘Where do immigrants live?’. This question gives us a clue related to our next article, Spatial Experience in Immigrant Life.

Referances

Tokyo Camii. “History of the Tokyo Camii.” Tokco Mosque Website, History Page. Accessed October 28, 2025. https://www.tokyocamii.org.