The drums of the musaharati echo through the dark alleys of the city on these nights, waking the faithful to eat sahur, the last meal permitted before the fast, as soon as possible.
It’s 2:30 in the morning, and I look out the window. A young man, seated on the back of a slow-moving scooter, plays a drum through the neighborhood streets. I’ve set my alarm, but sometimes this ancient tradition is more than enough to open my eyes. The powerful, ancestral sound of the drums transports my mind back in time, almost giving me the impression of a call to battle: “Awake, it’s time!”
I go down to the kitchen to prepare something substantial since I won’t be able to eat or drink before 7:30 PM. I’m not hungry; my body still needs to get used to these morning meals, but I’ve been told that the first and last weeks are the most difficult, so I force myself to eat, following the wise advice of those who have observed Ramadan for years. I lightly toast a slice of bread on which I spread a generous amount of avocado, while the water in the pot where I’ve placed an egg boils and crackles. I peel an apple, cut it into four wedges, and pour myself some orange juice into an elegant, transparent glass. I carry my breakfast on a tray to our courtyard to enjoy the city’s awakening.
Ramadan nights are my favorite time. During the day, under the scorching sun, the city suddenly slows down; people walk at a measured pace on the street and speak in low voices to conserve energy. But at night, at the hour of sahur, the lights in the houses turn on, and the clatter of dishes mixed with laughter comes from the windows, while the scent of spices and freshly baked simit spreads through the air. I try to eat my meal slowly, savoring every bite and drinking water in small sips as I reflect on the meaning of what I am experiencing.
Many people these days, upon learning that I was observing Ramadan, asked me with astonishment and perplexity why. Some ventured to assume I was Muslim, even though my attire makes it clear to my interlocutors that I am not.
Why am I fasting?
Ramadan is something I had wanted to experience for a long time. I chose to fast driven by curiosity and the desire to immerse myself in the religious culture that surrounds me, namely Islam, moved by the conviction that I could neither judge nor fully understand until I had experienced it myself.
It’s a simple answer, I think, yet the fact that someone tries to overcome, in their way, that curtain of prejudice and suspicion that today surrounds Islam, fills my interlocutors with an unexpected joy. People hug me and smile happily, greeting me with the words:
“Allah kabul etsin” (May God accept your fast).
A young man yesterday hugged me, expressing his regret and sadness towards a West that fears all Muslims, without any distinction. Now, when my Muslim friends see me, they ask if I’m still fasting, they cheer me on and jokingly call me “the 50% Christian, 50% Muslim,” and although I feel neither one nor the other, I try every day to conquer the fear of the other in my way.
Happy Ramadan to all.
Ramadan Kareem
