Ramadan Kareem!

This past week was the first week of Ramadan. Ramadan is considered the holiest month of the year by Muslims, and it celebrates the time in which the Qu 'ran was reveled to the Prophet Mohammad. Although it's compared to the Christian Christmas in importance and scope, it's focus is much more personal, and much less commercial. To me, it feels much more like Lent and Easter. During Ramadan, there is an increased importance placed on the of praying and reading of the Qu 'ran, and all able Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset.

Unlike Lent, it's not just the giving up of certain things; nothing is allowed to pass through the lips until the sun goes down. In practical terms, this means that Ramadan is month in which nothing gets done. Business open late and close early, if they even open up at all. People are justifiably cranky over the lack of coffee, cigarettes and food (in that order, I've learned), and several hours before the sun goes down, traffic becomes absolutely horrendous as everyone tries to get home. The city takes on a carnival flare; colored lights are strung from every available surface, and everyone hangs up Ramadan Lamps (see the picture above).

The one redeeming feature of Ramadan (at least from a non-Muslim standpoint) is iftar. Iftar literally means "to break fast" and is normally the morning meal. During Ramadan however, it means the meal right after the sun goes down. Unsurprisingly the meal is huge, and there's a abundance of sweets and desserts. Iftar is like Thanksgiving every night for a month- lots of food, laughter, friends and family. Looking through the windows of my flat each night I can see large gatherings of family crowed around tables heaping with food, and the city is positively dead as soon as Iftar starts. There are also Iftar tables in the street, were anyone who can't make it home in time can eat and for the poor to have a good meal. Typically, people eat a ton of food at Iftar, and then stay up until two or three in the morning, eat again, and then go to bed.

I decided to give the fasting a shot for the first week of Ramadan. Let me tell you, it sucks. But I love Iftar, and the amount of food you consume would seem absurd if you ate anything during the day. I got pretty whacked out the first day (we joked that we were several minutes away from seeing smurfs climb the walls by the time iftar rolled around), so I decided that I would still drink water during the day and it's now become tolerable. I also decided to wear a higaab the first three days of Ramadan out of respect, and a touch of curiosity. Oddly enough I felt that I gathered more attention wearing one then I did normally not wearing one. However, I got lots of complements about how nice I looked (my higaab was a lovely shade of green, chosen to match my eyes and because green is the color for peace) so maybe it had something to do with my stunning good looks rather then the oddity of a westerner in a higaab. I'm sure that I won't wear a higaab on a regular basis, but it's an easy way to show respect, and to feel girly.

Iftar has also introduced me to lots of really good middle eastern food that I might not have been able to try otherwise. I've had lots of different kind of meats- spicy grilled kebabs, tender fried chicken, pigeon (very tasty dark meat morsels of goodness), stuffed vegetables and grape leaves of all kinds, soups galore (my favorite was a tomato orzo soup flavored with garlic, lemon and mint) and every kind of bread imaginable. The number one ingredient of desserts seems to be honey, and it's put everything from wheat cakes to ice cream. It's quite a punch in the gut after not eating all day, and I've developed quite a fondness for it.

Ramadan can also a humbling experience. I stayed late at school one evening, and ended up walking home because I couldn't find a cab. Just as I got off the bridge, I was grabbed by an older women, and pushed down into a chair in front of a row of tables. A sea of foreign faces greeted me; I was the only westerner in a group of about a hundred. I was sitting a mawa’id Al-Rahman, or a public Iftar table. There were whole families sitting at the tables, taxi cab drivers, poor people, African refugees and me. We were all waiting for that magical moment when the sun slipped far enough down the horizon so we could eat. The tables were tense, and did not feel partially welcoming. We sat in silence, the Nile breeze playing with the tablecloths and napkins for what seemed like hours. Then suddenly iftar was upon us, and the call to prayer echoed from every part of the city inviting us to eat. In no time I had a heaping plate of food, and was alternately chowing down and answering questions as best as I could. Belts and tongues loosened with the addition of food, and my arabic mistakes seemed to relax the people around me. It was a beautiful sunset, and I was sitting on the banks of the Nile eating a wonderful meal. But I couldn't help but be aware of the differences between myself and the people around me. I had come ten thousand miles to be there; At my feet was my backpack with my laptop and ipod. Both were worth more then what many there would make in several months. Looking at the worn faces around me, I was uncomfortable, happy and grateful all at the same time. It certainly made some food for thought that night.