Passing the Prayer - Day 18

Prayer is of course an important element of Ramadan and Islam in general of course. It is one of the 5 pillars of Islam after all. For the sake of it, if we are to be honest it's not one I always do well. Since this is the month for reflecting on our flaws, shortcomings and "room for improvements", prayer certainly falls in latter category. It wasn't always that way - then again mickey mouse stopped being my hero as soon as I picked up my first Danielle Steel at age 7. Otherwise I really have no excuse I cannot find a suitable rebuttle for thanks to the debate team in my head. Anyway, we should first off differentiate between prayer and praying.

To me prayer is the constant whereas praying is the action. Meaning that througout the day we may break into short prayers in our head upon an unseemly or seemingly unseen sight. We may lurch into a graceful monologue of hope and despair whilst standing in the rain waiting for the bus that just won't come. We may read out the prayer of protection as the gutteral plane engines lift us off the ground for the umpth time. There is no set time and space for prayer - its a constant and sometimes its even a reflex. I know for myself there is one praye that springs forth as a reflex whenever I see someone in a worse off physical state than me. No I am not taking about people with a bad hair day. I mean when I see someone in a downright dreadful medical state. Immediately I will thank God for what I have - functioning limbs and a conscious mind and ask God to grant to those what they need to survive. Since I cannot fathom what that may be I leave it up to God's better judgement. The arrogance. The pun. The intention.

Praying (sal'ah) on the other hand is a set action based on the person's ability to keep track of time, space and motion. The morning prayer (fajr - dusk), the midday prayer (duhr - midday), the afternoon prayer (asr), the dawn prayer (maghrib), the prayer of nightfall (isha). The day is divided into five solar segments (making it up to the sun for following a lunar calender?), each with its own sal'ah. Praying is done in constant motion. We stand, we bow, we prostrate and we repeat all this several times depending on the prayer. Throughout praying we pray, remember, give thanks, reel in some hope and keep the faith alive. As my dad once told me "praying is your hotline to God". Cheaper than an 0900 number.

Ramadan gives ample chance to work on this connection. Ample chance to pray. Pray for others this month. We don't always have to be selfish in our prayers. Ask that your sister's path becomes free of obstacle, wish good health upon your neighbour, pray that your friends finds the perfect job, hope that your parents live to see their great grandchildren, pray that the dead rest in peace, ask that wisdome become a condition not an exception, demand faith be restored to the lost, etc. There is always something. Maybe if we took a moment a day to remember someone else we would not be in this mess.

May we all be granted the gift of patience and humility.

Summoning the strength - Day 17

Life continues as normal in Ramadan and if you have to meet someone after work at a cafe then so be it. If the waiter continues to look at you confused and almost annoyed at your lack of willingness to order a beverage, then so be it.

This month is supposed to be practiced first from within, then with the family and then from within the community. A three tiered approach to achieving success! In simple terms: free yourself, please your mother, save the world. The latter being much easier than the former.

Throughout the entire day somehow all the little verbal or subconscious insults are registered more critically and I find myself doing my best to watch what I say and do. It is said that during Ramadan, the devil abstains from whispering in the ears of man to make them stray. Others extrapolate that the devil and his minions are locked in hell for this month. In any case, the point being that during this month the only person you have to blame for your mistakes and deeds is yourself.

Should you come to browse the plethora of webportals on the subject of ramadan you may come across the usual 'advice' section - the Ramadan Survival Kit. I was a bit taken aback by the advice that I should wear halal clothes. Somehow I am not convinced Nike did an ablution, prostrated himself and blessed his scissors before sewing my t-shirt. I could be wrong though. However, the alternative of wearing a "Go Team Allah" t-shirt is not any better either. Unless halal means Chinese sweatshop. I am sticking to my made in India/Bulgaria/Egypt basics. I've never been one to wear my religion on my sleeve - let's face it when push comes to shove we all wipe our faces with our sleeves. Imagine the consequences.

Point I am making is that Ramadan is not supposed to be the one month of the year wear your wear your 'Go Team Allah' t-shirt with pride only to stick it in the laundry till next year. Then don't wear it. Focus more on how you can exploit yourself for good this month. And when I say exploit I mean it. Bit like those sweatshop workers that made your t-shirt. Just do it. I have to say I took a short cut this year. Other than feeding complete strangers, helping out my sis with my monster of a niece (love her!), I have not done much else in the way of helping out my community. I just sent money to Egypt and told my mom to do some good. Usually I would send myself with it to Egypt to partake in this 'good' process. Good being a rather large word in this case. But here's the thing - it’s not some magical formula you punch numbers into to get the right configuration - it’s all about how you align yourself this month.

Truthfully this Ramadan so far is about setting new traditions for myself to keep it alive. I realise that a lot of what I equate with Ramadan has to do with family. Without the pinnacle of my family around this month it’s been rather difficult trying to re-invent the month to give it a personal space in my own life that I can then share with others. The best of Ramadan was passed on to me by my parents through their experiences and moral grounding. The concept of charity, goodwill and communal wellbeing is not something a priori but a rather nurtured state of mind. I watched them give more every year and never question where the next batch would come from. I watched them struggle with their health but never give up. I watched them generate smart charitable traditions and pass them along to others without a single claim of ownership. They are quite frankly two of the most selfless people when it comes to the perpetuation of good and equality. Don't get me wrong I am not putting them on some pedestal here (just in case they read it) - I am just grateful I was able to observe this from up close and soak up some of their wisdom.

I started with this blog for that reason. An attempt to upholster Ramadan with the fabric of generational experiences so that it doesn’t become yet another mass produced byproduct of a religious downturn. To an extent I want to prove that religion is what you allow your faith to make of it. The more we question ourselves the more we restrain ourselves from making misguided decisions. The more we remind ourselves that our actions are interdependent and of consequent to others, hopefully the more we take caution and realise that risks in this arena are best saved after steady calculation. Like inviting strangers over for dinner. Calculated risk assuming they would like my food. So, what new tradition will you start this year to pass on to the next?

Sampling the Suhour - Day 16

Waking up around 4am these days is tough. There is nothing quite as intrusive as being ripped out of your deepest sleep by the deafening sound of your alarm clock. Its reminiscent of those old Tom & Jerry cartoons - the Chuck Jones period. There's that one where Tom got his head stuck in a bell and Jerry hits it gong-like resulting in Tom's body bouncing off. That is exactly what it feels like - add a few raised eyebrows and yawns. Here my suhour is very humble and usually consists of a cheese sandwich or some yogurt with muesli. Anything that will not cause hurtburn or thirst basically. Back in Egypt, suhour is a whole different institution.

In Egypt I would be woken up by smell rather than sound. Somehow my parents would always wake up hours beforehand or simply not sleep till suhour time. Back then it was common for one of the parents to be whipping up quite an amazing suhour that even if you weren’t hungry you would somehow find yourself scoffing down mercilessly. One of my favourites was eggs with pastrami a la Papa. Having at some point in his amazing life been a breakfast chef, one thing he does well is eggs. In all forms. And watching him at it is equally entertaining. Bit like when he dissects his chicken with a fork and knife while the rest of us neanderthalers attack it with our bare hands. Back to the eggs. Here's how he makes them. He takes some ghee, adds the dried pastrami and shallow fries it before adding finely chopped tomatoes, green peppers and a small onion. The man is meticulous in his chopping - no veg can be chopped small enough. He then cracks the eggs with one hand in a separate bowl seasoning it with salt and pepper, chilis and adding some milk. From behind it looks like the only thing moving are his 6 arms. The eggs are poured on top of the pastrami with the theatrical flare of a Disney character skipping through meadows. In goes a lot of grated cheese (preferably lots of different kinds) and on with the lid. Everything is left to turn into a beautiful ginormous omelet. In fact the word omelet does not do justice to this egg island of juicy meat and finely chopped produce spellbindingly held together with assorted melted cheeses and driven to excellence with that little bit of seasoning and spice. No one (bar vegetarians) can resist the temptation of this dish and to top it all off the great man himself, on a good day, may add some chopped coriander and parsley on top for good measure. We never garnish with herbs. Garnish is for wimps. Remember that.Meanwhile, my mother would prepare the fool/fuul [bean stew] in her drill sergeant manner of fact way of cooking. She makes it look so easy, so tight! She chops the onions whilst looking behind her at what’s happening with the bread in the oven and without turning back adds it to the pot on the stove. She repeats this with the tomatoes and only turns back to slice a green chili down the middle and de-seed it in two quick moves. It's like it was never there. With one hand stirring the pot, the other hand deftly mashes the brown beans with some olive oil, chickpeas and tahini. Adding some chopped coriander, cumin and cayenne pepper to the pot she lets the mixture simmer before adding the mashed beans mix. In another pot, which she magically made appear without having moved, she heats up some ghee, drops in little jewels of garlic and watches her tea's milk froth up on the other end of the stove. Once the garlic has turned golden she adds the ghee juice to the bean mash and stirs everything into a flavoursome existence. At this point, of course, the salivating daughters/cousins are all awake and head nose first into the kitchen.

On the table there would be a heart-attack inducing spread consisting of fresh warm bread, yogurt, feta cheese, marinated olives, gebna roomy [old cheese to put the Dutch to shame], molasses mixed with tahini [sesame seed paste], torshy [pickled vegetables], falafel with cumin and sesame seed, fig jam, halawa [helva], feteer [thick doughy pastry], etc :) Glorious food! Basically in Egypt the breakfast is the same as the suhour is the same as dinner is the same as lunch. Should you so wish. Of course this food leaves your stomach heavy, in need of water and on occasion may most certainly cause heartburn, but it’s all worth it! Imagine grabbing that warm piece of flat bread in your palm, slicing it open and spreading some olive oil laced feta cheese on it, then layering it with falafel before scooping some fool on top of it and adding torshy for good vegetarian measure. Then squeezing that bread shut and watching the melting feta cheese ooze out the sides onto your plate where a slice of egg paradise is waiting, and finally opening your mouth to un-human width to fit the first bite of that mouthwatering slab of pure goodness. And as soon as you close your mouth to start chewing and creating that whirlpool of taste for your buds to experiment with you feel an overwhelming sense of relief and an "ooh aah" hits you before you could brace yourself for the sensation. Not something you get from a cheese sandwich.

All across Egypt the suhour is an experience not for the faint-hearted - not only in terms of food but also levels of ambiance. Whether bargain or upscale there is something for everyone and for everyone there is always a surprise. Upscale suhour can be enjoyed in any large hotel where in the gardens they usually set up a Ramadan Tent. Large folklore stenciled tents garnished with fairy lights and fawanees everywhere that basically operate as late night restaurants with entertainment. Entertainment usually entails and overweight balding middle aged man with multiple rings on his pinky, a lucrative crooked smile and the occasional sauce stain down his shirt blaring out the most random songs in a husky voice perfected by years of smoking Egyptian tobacco (ground dirt). The songs really are about nothing and nothing is what they are about formulated in the gear grinding style of the latter sentence. "I am a fruitman and I like mangoes" being a top hit a couple of years ago. Dripping with literary finesse, no? Like the blood from our ears because the distorted speakers are always too loud. There is a reason all Arabs speak loudly. On occasion you are seated on uncomfortable garden chairs around makeshift tables covered with fine linen and pay through your nose for some fool and ta3meya served in plates that oddly enough look a lot like the ones from El Tawheed wel Noor [local Egyptian department store like Primark or Wal-Mart].

Somewhere further down the ladder you will find families having roasted chicken and quail at the likes of Chicken Tikka restaurants departing with garlic breath to make the next 3 days unbearable for their neighbours. Few blocks down others will be gnawing at a kilo of kebab and kofta at the infamous Abdou Kofta restaurant. The latter being one of my favourites. Nothing beats a decent kebab and kofta in a hot corn flat bread with some baba ghanoub [aubergine dip] and houmous. It can make a grown man cry.

All the way at the bottom we find the Egyptian staple diet to be found all across and beyond ranks of Egyptian society. The one and only koshari. This is en epic dish dieticians have no words for. It is a mixture of rice, macaroni, vermicilli, lentils, chickpeas topped off with a sauce of garlic, vinegar and spicy tomato salsa. If you are feeling particularly low on anything you can add fried onions on top. This is another one of Egypt's great vegetarian dishes. It is astounding and my mother makes it like no other and unfortunately hardly ever makes it. If you aren't as lucky as to have my mother cook it for you, then you should go to whichever restaurant (Koshari shop really) is recommended at that time. The picture here shows how it should be served.. including on the stainless steel dish too. For that added stench of authenticity. Honestly, for something so simple it really is a multifaceted dish worth more than anything served at a Michelin star restaurant. Not to mention its value as the glue that holds all levels of Egyptian society together. Everybody loves koshari - whether president M to the B-Rock or the street sweeper still waiting to get paid.

These are just some of the things that may occupy my mind whilst I am chewing down on my muesli with yogurt and under-ripened banana at 4.15am.

Yeah - I miss gluttonous "home."

Fasting and Football - Day 15

There has been a lot of discussion recently regarding the perils of fasting whilst sporting. Especially whilst playing football. There was an uproar regarding the Iranian football players who are prohibited from breaking their fast this month for the sake of training.On the other side of the world team captains are making concessions for their players to enable them to fast and train simultaneously; sometimes by simply moving the training to later in the day. Why Iran didn't catch on to that is beyond me; then again what other than surprises can we come to expect from a country led by Iamadinnerjacket. In fact Ali Karimi is now backon the national team and has even agreed to paying a fine of EUR 33,000 for breaking his fast. The fact that the national football association will be profiting from this is of course not ironic whatsoever.

Of all the Dutch teams, PSV Eindhoven and Ajax Amsterdam are those with the most Muslim players. In order to ensure the loyalty of the players the clubs have made changes to the training schedule, tailored a new diet for them and even held workshops on Ramadan for players and supporters alike. Meanwhile, across the Arab world fatwas are being generated exonerating the players during Ramadan. This is all fine to soothe the guilt of the players; however, the principles remain the same. If you cannot fast for whatever reason either make up for it at another time or pay your dues. There should not be an absolute exemption like in the case of those who are ill or pregnant. This is different - football is a sport with an entertainment value and even if an occupation it remains a choice. A surgeon who has to preform a 10 hour surgery gets no exemption either...

fasting top scorer for Sevilla - Freddie Kanoute

The only sport I don't practice whilst fasting is swimming. Somehow the thought of breaking my fast by gulping down a mouthful of chlorine water is enough for me to give up this excellent sport for a month. Everything else though remains on the table. I recently joined the women's football team in my city and I did not want to miss any trainings on account of Ramadan. I explained to the coach that I may seem slower and tire quicker but that this is also equally possible after Ramadan! Somehow for me the toughest hurdle is the warming up which includes sprints and jogging. In general I pretty much hate jogging; and even more so when I am fasting and I end up feeling the burn at the bottom of my chest that much faster as pretty much any liquid in my body is thrashed out through my pores. Luckily though I live in a country that never lets you down on one account - rain. In my mind the rain kept me hydrated and the rest of the training, though tough, was completed. Luckily in between the "warm up" and a training match the sun had set and I broke my fast with a symbolic sip of water. I say symbolic because there was no way I was going to drink a cup and run around the pitch sounding like a half full jerry can.

There is something compelling about exercising whilst fasting. Too much is not advised but everyone has a different limit. Given that I have been fasting for nearly two decades now, I am quite used to the effects and know when my body has had enough. It's never a bad thing to push yourself.

Passing on the Proposal - Day 14

Every now and again my parents remember that I am not getting any younger and that it is high time for me to find a mate. This has been the case since I was about 14.


There is no point in trying to refine the terminology to 'the one’,’ life partner', 'soulmate', 'lover'?, etc. At this point, it just boils down to a mate. Somehow Ramadan is always a peak moment to scrabble for a potential proposal so that the family has an additional celebration to rub in the family's face during Eid. Now I know you must be asking 'how could you agree to this?'. I don't. Nor do I have any inclination of getting hitched this way. However, my parents are obliged to inform me of any proposal made; and I am obliged, for the sake of my sanity, to reject every proposal made. Honestly, they don't seem to really do much other than sit back and wait for people to come to them and randomly request to marry me without having ever seen my picture let alone read my blog! Probably a good thing. I am not particularly bothered by this - in fact I am time and again amused at the endless slur of very wrong potential men presented to me on a silver platter. I would have far more luck kissing frogs than attempting to make sense of these potential disasters. Now I know that the parental units are simply passing on a message and therefore I never feel the need to necessarily express my anger at "their" choice. Sometimes I wonder though which part of their psyche takes over to hide all they ever knew and still should know about their daughter.

A recent favourite potential hazard was described by my dad as being “so devout he doesn't even have any friends because he does not want to be wrongly influenced". This was enough information for me to wonder about the perils of staying away too long from my parents... for their sake. There were so many things wrong with this statement I had no idea where to begin or end, so I simply asked "catch 22?". My dad ignored my pending query and told me to let him know in the morning. I really didn't need that long as my hand was already grabbing my phone to call my sister to enthrall her with some serious verbal diarrhea no diaper could sustain. Let's discuss. No friends? No friends! If he really was devout, to talk on his level, he would have figured that friendship is one of the most important elements in life and that the prophet, like all prophets, achieved great things with the support of friends, even if they were a mere deus ex machina! How my dad managed to overlook this point is a mystery. In any case, I do not mean this to be a rant against Mr Jeopardy, or my parents. If it does somehow turn into this, well, what do you expect with such a ludicrous statement! I feed strangers, I make friends faster than I make houmous and I am damn good at making houmous. How would I be able to take someone seriously with statements like that? I barely take myself seriously…

In any case, there is a moral to this story. Somewhere. I can laugh about this because I have a choice. Like I said, my parents are mere messengers in this tale. They are not actively pursuing a husband for me in the sense of staging an arranged marriage. They did not have an arranged marriage and are far more romantic - if not illogical - in their notion of love than I am. In fact, Egypt does not have arranged marriages like in other parts of the Arab world or South East Asia. One term used to describe them is ‘living room marriages’ – based on where the potentials usually meet. I see it more like speed-dating turned down a notch. You have a very limited amount of time to meet said potential and size each other up basically. At the end if you both feel there could be something there, you agree to courtship. All very civil of course, with chaperones and all - controlled internet dating if you may. Phones are not usually checked though. Often these potentials see a girl at a wedding/party/social event and have their mothers/aunt/cousin set up a ‘living room’ meeting. Or someone knows someone who would be great for that other someone. All very fiddler on the pyramid sort of thing. If a girl were to look at a boy that way, well I am not sure, maybe ask her father to stalk him and his family for a meeting. All is possible.

Unfortunately, not all women are this lucky. In the villages in Cairo arranged marriages are still very much the staple condition, and now with the economic downturn marriage has taken on a whole new meaning. It has become almost common for some villagers to "rent" out their daughters for marriage. The suitor may request to marry the daughter for a week, a month, an hour.. as long as a contract is signed and a dowry is paid. Does this sound familiar to the oldest profession in the world? Problem being that they do not see it that way. It’s not only in villages, a decade ago there was a rise in the number of Urfi marriages in the big cities across all social classes. Urfi marriage is basically a non-contract marriage whereby a couple verbally states they are married and sign any piece of paper claiming such and have it countersigned by two witnesses. In order for the marriage to have religious validity one of the witnesses must be the guardian of the bride. This is of course not the case as Urfi marriage is used as a means of legalizing pre-marital sex. Today though with the rise of little Russias all over Egypt, Urfi has been returned to the 11th century and activities take place sans contract (not counting receipts). Joking aside, Urfi marriage is very problematic. In a male dominated society for a women to get hold of this piece of paper, the only contractual claim to be upheld in court, is not always as easy as the verbal statement made in vain. Without this piece of paper a woman cannot get a divorce, let alone re-marry. In Egypt we know have the Egyptian Centre for Women's Rights which operates a hotline and many questions often revolve around legal status of Urfi marriage. Aside from the legal issues, the societal repercussions are far worse. Somehow the middle ground is often forgotten in Egypt and so society is divided in the extremely religious versus the religious by name. However, in both cases, the woman is the one to bear the brunt of entering into a Urfi marriage and is often considered as 'damaged goods' and therefor no longer marriage material. Even if the male suitor himself has signed multiple Urfi contracts in his adult life, chances are when he asks his mother to find him a bride, he wants nothing less than a spotless record from his soon to be missus. So what's the solution? Open discussion about sex, marriage, relationships and moreover contraception. There are almost as many orphanages as there are schools! It is important to continue supporting grass roots organisations who work hard to promote public health programmes with an added focus on removing societal stigmas. Though abstinence may be the overarching goal of these rules, let's bear in mind the world's oldest profession again and realise the obvious conclusions.

This is a sensitive issue to discuss during Ramadan, but this is the month of regaining some moral ground. In order to regain it, we should understand it. The rule of thumb is that sex, and all other forms of sexual gratification, are a no no during Ramadan with a caveat that only if you feel your unfulfilled desires may lead you to commit sin, then you should go onto your wife. I like to think this counts for women equally, so; or, go onto your husband. The point being that you deny yourself of this ‘worldly’ pleasure and learn to curb your needs/desire/lust i.e. find a new hobby. More specifically, use the time you would spend pursuing such activities in a more constructive way with a focus on your religion – read more, pray more, give more charity, teach your children/cousins/nephews verses from the quran and so on and so forth. This is, despite the non-contextual interpretation of the Koran, by no means religion’s way of saying that sex is bad. On the contrary, Islamic philosophers were the first Love Doctors of the world writing volumes on a man’s duty towards his wife in the bedroom and vice versa. There is the infamous Treatise on Love by Ibn Sina [Avicenna]. Islam does not preach celibacy, rather control of desire and equality in the arena. And given the way Urfi marriage is practiced in Egypt, it may not be such a bad idea to issue out copies of the treatise written by our great philosophers, like on the art and practice of Arab love.

Lighting the Lantern - Day 13

After work I took the leftovers from Saturday's dinner over to my sister. I walked into her house and for a moment I thought I saw a pussyca.. no I thought I saw a Fanoos Ramadan. A fanoos is special lantern associated with Ramadan. It was in fact not a fanoos hanging in her house but some visual oddity of a hanging decoration made of plywood or something. Definitely not a tin fanoos. I wish it was, if only to give some semblance of what Ramadan was like for us as children. Somehow no Ramadan was complete without this simple object. My mother - yes she is amazing - once brought over a giant fanoos from Egypt and hung it outside our old house during Ramadan. She had pimped up the fanoos covering the inside with fairy lights and the outside with micro-fawanees [plural of fanoos]. At that time Ramadan still coincided with the Christmas season so our neighbours just thought we had a funny looking Christmas tree hanging by our door.

There are many stories about the origins of the fanoos set around the time of the Fatamid caliphate in Egypt i.e. the 10th Century. There is a lot to be said about the times of the Fatamid caliphate, so I will say nothing. As for the fanoos stories, in fact there are so many it would do absolutely no harm to add my own to that list. Here's what I think happened.

Once upon a day in the 10th century, a poor street vendor who had lost all his produce on account of a camel strike, came across a discarded tin lamp. He picked up the dull looking thing and decided to decorate it with the shards of coloured glass from the door his wife had slammed in his face that morning. He figured he would take it to the market and try to sell it to some gullible travelers. That none other than the caliphate court jester should come across this old salesmen's lantern was a small ramadan miracle. The jester bought the fanoos off the vendor and ordered him to make more with the money he would give him. That night after buying all the dull tin lanterns he could find, he went home and started arguing fiercely with his wife making outrageous claims just to rile her up. The wife no longer able to contain herself starting slamming doors and throwing glassware at her husband. The more she threw the louder her husband laughed. Soon she tired of his charade and went to bed. Her husband picked up the broken glass from all over the house and retired to a small shed to create his lanterns. By noon he had sold all the argument laden fawanees to the jester and bought his wife new glassware. His wife had already forgiven him for when she had woken up the house held no trace of the fight from the evening before and she assumed this was her husband's way of apologising. On the other side of town the jester had started handing out the coloured fawanees to the local children and ordered more street vendors to make fawanees. Before the end of Ramadan, the streets of Cairo were lit with fawanees hanging from doors and trees, or carried by children who sang rhymes and stories taught to them by the Jester to entertain the people. The Jester and the once poor vendor would sit back time and again to watch as the town lit up with their colours and sounds.

Nice, no? I am not the only who felt the need to re-create the story of the fanoos. Apparently Pepsi felt the very same inclination - except I am not trying to sell bottled fizzybubbly to anyone - still just CLICK HERE!.

Today children still carry fawanees, now with small led lights as opposed to candles, and they still sing songs. The most famous Fanoos Ramadan song was composed by one of the great Egyptian composers Ahmed Sherif. It goes like this:

Wahawi ya Wahawi [ light from fire i.e. candle]
Iyaha [meaningless word for rhyme's sake]
We Kaman Wahawi [and again light from fire]
Itaya
Roeht ya Sha’ban [gone you are Sha'ban {month preceding Ramadan}]
Gheet ya Ramadan [come you have Ramadan]
Iyaha
Shahr el sayam [month of fasting]
Iyaha
Bint el Sultan [daughter of the Sultan]
Iyaha
Labsa el Fostan [wearing her dress]
Iyaha
Allah ya Ghaffar [God the forgiver]
Idoena el hidiya [Give us the month's presents]
Allah ya Ghaffar

Every time the word "Iyaha" is sung the children would twirl the fanoos and often their hips as well. Let's face it - all Egyptians are born with loose hips, Ramadan or not. However, once again the translation of the song remains somewhat meaningless without sound and youtube is not helping me this time.

Now of course the lanterns are imported from China and don't require the kids to sing anymore because they come already with little voice recordings in them. Luckily not in Chinese. This is so unacceptable. The traditional makers of fawanees are losing their livlihoods on account of cheap import fawanees that break after the first half song ends. Luckily I am not the only who thinks like that. The Daily News Egypt did a small segment on the rise of imported Chinese fawanees They also show you how a fanoos is made and relay a bit of the real stories behind the fanoos.


The more logical meaning lies in the simle act of lighting a space. In Arabic light is often associated with wisdom. Hence "lightbulb moment". Another important facet of Ramadan is in the gaining and sharing of knowledge. The idea is that we spend time educating ourselves about our faith and share with those who wish to learn. The knowledge gained is to ensure that our path in life remains illuminated so that we may foresee obstacles and learn to overcome them before its too late. The fanoos is so much more than just a children's lantern; its a guide to all of us carried by those who represent our future as much as they are a product of our past.

Reckless Resting - Day 12

What a strange weekend or rather a weekend full of strange(rs). You would think after such a full day yesterday I would have just retired to my bed and gone to sleep after my first pack of strangers/friends left. I did - just quite a few hours later after I had dramatically reduced the years on a car and made sure my partying friends made it home safely. Indeed, I was the BOB i.e. the DBD - designated bad driver. And somewhere in between I also turned some more strangers into friends. Once home my dreams of an extended lie in were abruptly destroyed by my neighbour who felt the overwhelming desire to vacuum clean his car right under my window at 9am on a Sunday. The vacuum may have stopped a while later but it was still rather loud in my head so I got up and decided to get my clean on.

I walked into the warzone formerly known as my kitchen and tried to find an inch of an empty surface to start the re-build. With the kitchen cleaned I had every intention getting household things done. Instead I found myself parking my monster truck on the smallest street, to the chagrin of onlookers, to have a pleasantly surprising breakfast (hiatus ongoing..) with one of my shiny new friends. Not before long breakfast turned into tea with more happy strangers which turned into a sing along with some more unknowns. Indeed, in one cafe we were met with the delights of the Dutch Patti Labelle and a Christopher Lloyd doppelganger singing tunes from the early 80s on a karaoke machine. Well, singing slash repeating lines comically. After picking up more friendly strangers off the street we seated ourselves in a tapas restaurant and somehow ended up singing along to classic 90s tunes drummed out on a flamenco guitar played by a Dutch man.

The musical theme on this day of rest reminded me of something rather unique to Egypt during Ramadan. The mesaharati. The mesaharati (usually male) is someone who would walk around the streets beating his drum and singing a short tune to wake people up from their slumber so they can eat before the dawn prayer. The chants always begin along the lines of "wake up sleeper.." and follow on to made up verses (not always in iambic pentameter!) such as "praise your God, make this month count, wake up sleeper, before its too late and hunger sets in". Obviously translated into English it loses all its charm. The idea clearly originated from a time when our alarm clocks and iphones were still iota particles in their unborn inventors' minds. The idea that one man (or woman) would take it upon himself to wake up an entire neighbourhood with his drum and song for the sole purpose of making sure the people would have some suhour [pre-dawn breakfast]. There is something quite timeless about being woken up this way around 3am without having to rely on my trusted iphoney to belt out some hideous 80s tune. Then again I am sure someone will make a mesaharati app soon enough [hint hint]. The rhythmic drumming of the magnanimous mesaharati is not something I ever found to be intrusive - starting from a distance it would come closer until it almost felt as though he was drumming right next door as opposed to on the street. When I was younger I would always try to rush to window to catch a glimpse of the mesaharati as he walked off into the distance again with his long flowing galabiya [kaftan/men's robes] and white turban illuminated under the orange streetlights. To my young self the mesaharati was always a rather mystical figure with his drum lulling people hypnotically out of their sleep. The Arabic version of the pied piper if you may.

As with all good things - the mesaharatis are a dying breed. Nowadays they are met with criticism even for waking up the Muslim (and non Muslim) bourgeoisie who do not partake in Ramadan. I suppose being woke up by youngsters who hang out underneath people's windows nightly for lack of a better place to go, is a different awakening process? It is sad that even this tradition is suddenly hurled into the backwaters of a wider socio-political shift in paradigm regarding religion and the state. Somehow in Egypt we always wear this discussion inside out and backwards. Instead of fearing the rise of certain religious political groups who's theories would wreak more havoc than a natural disaster, Egypt focuses on the eradication of peaceful traditions that make up the country's rich cultural fabric. Just to say "look.. we are doing something!". Yes Egypt, you are doing something. Something that once again completely misses the point. However, one thing to note about Egyptians is that they can be surprisingly resilient. In the case of the mesaharatis one charitable organisation is active in recruiting mesaharatis annually for Ramadan to post them to different neighbourhoods in Cairo to keep the tradition alive. Grass roots organisations as such are popping up like .. grass roots, to ensure the survival of those traditions Egypt can be most proud of. From the mesaharatis to the twirling dervishes [okay its more Ottoman]; and from our houmous stands to our fool [brown bean stew] carts; collectives everywhere are making sure these finely woven threads that make up the design of the nation do not unravel. Egypt already lost half of her heritage to the British Museum - should she have to lose the rest to the modern appetite for homogenous assimilation where no room exists for a culture of song, dance, street food and merriment? Then we may as well throw in our turbans and give the mesaharaties vacuum cleaners with which to wake up the neighbourhood.


Foto by A. Viskadourakis

Food for Thought- Day 11

Day had come to make my momma proud and prove her right - after all this studying I ended up in the kitchen after all.

I woke up early to get the final rudimentary ingredients i.e. a giant soup pan..and rice cooker.. and toilet paper... :) By noon I was in the kitchen with my apron on and trying to make sense of the menu I fathomed and whether I bought the right produce! Fear not I am a master at chaos management! I failed to reveal that last night I had in fact tried to make the desserts - I stayed up till 1am making rice pudding and basboosa (semolina cake) only to have them both end up in the bin. The dutch dessert rice clashed severely with the Egyptian vanilla and the Moroccan semolina did not get along well with the Turkish cream or the Dutch milk. All in all my culinary fiddler on the roof tactics failed miserably. Cooking is as much an art as it is a science. I failed chemistry badly in high school! But I learnt my lesson! I picked up my trusted ingredients and by 1.30pm I had a stunning rice pudding and basboosa with lemon sugar syrup ready!

I started on the moussakka - not the usual Greek moussaka. This one has no potatoes - or Cypriots - and is made with fresh bechamel sauce according to my momma's recipe. Instead of frying the aubergine, capiscum and courgette each veg was separately baked in the oven with olive oil and lemon salt. The mince meat was shallow fried in olive oil and a small tea spoon of ghee and lots of shredded onions. Once all the meat was cooked I added a concoction of fried onions with fresh garlic, nutmeg and cinnamon to the meat. The salsa was a combination of oven baked vine tomatoes with tomato puree and tomato sauce from a can (they are allowed!) infused with basil, cinnamon and nutmeg and a super secret ingredient. A very good friend of mine once gave me a pot of paternal made harissa - I have no idea what is in it but it is the best harissa on this planet. And I use it sparingly to add that extra pezaz..rather hutzpah.. to my dishes. Once all the separate ingredients were ready I layered the moussakka and let it breath for a couple of hours before baking it off in the oven.

One down... more to go! I had some left over courgette, aubergine and capiscum so I quickly combined some rice, mince, parsley, puree, tomatoes, coriander, celery and herbs and stuffed the hallowed out veg. The leftover rice I placed in a cooking bag - this is not the best option. If you have left over stuffing rice best to roll it in lettuce or cabbage leaves and add it with the other stuffed veg to steam. Bet Nigella didn't think of that! The steaming trick is to layer the bottom with sliced carrots and add some stock instead of water. So with that done I turned to the houmous - which turned out really well thank you... yeah not revealing this recipe with the upcoming cross continent houmous competition!

On to the ma2'looba (Upside Down) - this is traditionally a Saudi Arabian dish made with fried everything - lamb or chicken, aubergine and cauliflower ontop of a bed of rice with nuts, seeds and raisins. I of course did not stick to this recipe of friedom - just the basic principle of turning the dish upside down! I poached the chicken in some stock with onions and coriander then layered the dish with it, added some baked courgette, steamed carrots, and the rice which I had infused with star anise, cinnamon, cardamom and cloves. I should mention that I use Egyptian short grain rice for this dish [bought from the local Med/Ayrab store]. Thing is you have to wash the rice thoroughly until the water is clear, otherwise you will just get starchy rice and no one likes starchy rice.

Then came the brown bean stew aka 'fool'. This is a traditional Egyptian dish - the staple diet - with variations seen all over the Arab world; the Palestinians make it with houmous, the Turkish with too much cummin and so on and so forth. I made this one with lots of onions stirfried with garlic and cummin in olive oil and then I addedd the wet brown beans and a teaspoon of tomatoe puree. In a separate pan I heated up some ghee butter and fried some onions and garlic golden brown. I added this to the brown bean stew and stirred it along with some freshly chopped coriander. Et voila!

To cut the heaviness of the moussakka and stew I made something similar to tzatziki using Turkish/Greek yogurt (wait till we get to the feta!), creme fraiche, freshly chopped mint, garlic, salt and pepper and the tiniest bit of cummin powder. I also forgot to serve this. Alongside that I used the leftover baked capiscum and made a fresh mezze by mixing the veg with balsamico vinegar, olive oil, 1/2 teaspoon of cummin and half a clove of garlic. A fresh tomato salad with chopped mint, vingegar and olive oil and some cummin. By now it was 7 and my guests would be arriving in an hour. My wonderful sister had prepped the house I left in a mess so I started cleaning my work station. By 19:45 I was finally out of the kitchen and desperately trying to mask the cooking smells lighting candles and incense everywhere! My hand I rubbed with some parsley to get the onion and garlic scent out...in case you were wondering. DOORBELL!!

My guests had arrived - I opened the door to a stream of people led by a rather pretty woman holding a huge bunch of flowers! So, we had the official family member who had signed up for the dinner - the pretty lady with the flowers-, her father (Dutch), her aunt (British), her aunt's partner (British), her aunt's partner's son (..British!) and his girlfriend (New Zealand). My sister kindly led everyone into the living room as I tried desperately to find some befitting music and listen out for the sizzle to come from the oven. I had laid out a traditional breakfast as an aperitif, namely dates with milk. The blandness of the milk cuts through the sweetness of the dates making it a very pleasant and light way of breaking one's fast. Indeed. After several oohs and aahs (even from the sister) I returned to my smoldering enclave of a kitchen, the ma2looba wasn't going to turn itself upside down! By 20:50 everything was on the table and it was officially sunset.


At one point I returned to the table to find my sister and the aunt trying to decipher an Om Kalthoum song with the one trying to remember the melody and the other the lyrics to Enta Omri. The rest of the table was rather amused at this spectacle. Who wouldn't be? Event though I had 6 complete strangers in my house it never actually felt like that. To partake in something like this requires a certain degree of humility from both parties involved and a callous amount of curiosity and enthusiasm. We certainly lacked none of the latter. So the ice was broken within moments - and let's not forget, nothing works social miracles quite like food! It is very rewarding to know people are enjoying a home cooked meal because of your efforts. I may have been in the kitchen for hours but I enjoyed every single minute of it. The conversations that ensued ranged from family to religion, to football to traveling, everything and anything a family would cover over a dinner time conversation. The family had shown such tremendous interest in Ramadan, Egypt, the food, the history, and even experienced their own nostalgic moments on account of the food and setting. There's nothing quite like watching people remember good times - somehow their happiness spreads like wildfire infecting everyone with an immense sense of appreciation and bliss. By the time we had rounded our bellies with savoury and sweet it was already midnight and time for my lovely guests to catch the last tram home.

After several exchanges of contacts and lots of warm hugs my home returned to being a house again. Rather empty. I don't expect everyone to understand, but somehow sharing our experiences, channeling my mother's skills through the food and genuinely enjoying the company of strangers who transformed into friends, gave me one of my most memorable Ramadan moments. So thank you my dear guests for being such lovely, welcoming and open strangers ;)

Reigning in the rants - Day 10

Today was one of those days. We all have them. We all know them and we all have no idea how to explain them. I managed to foresee this day somehow and had aptly taken half the day off. I left work in the early afternoon and headed towards the one person who was loud enough without uttering a single word - my niece. The little ginger monster is capable of drowning out even the most imminent of thoughts and worries. Perfect. Yet there is no audience more critical that this bundle of joy and torment and as I try out all my accents whilst reading to her the one she prefers the most is the French Garcon wiz hiz zzz and rrrrrr. That's right - one afternoon with mini here and you forget your native language. When she soon tired of him I sang to her made up lullabies about finding babies at the riverbed and eating monsters. Its a good thing she doesn't understand me yet.

By the time I was back on the highway my mind waz prrrrty much emptiii of all the day's qualms and quarrels. This left me sufficient time to think about tomorrow's meal plan. I had previously mentioned that I signed up to cook a meal for complete strangers i.e. those interested in finding out more about Ramadan and more importantly the iftar (breaking of fast meal). Somehow I just could not pass up on this opportunity to accrue guinea pigs for my culinary try-outs. And lets face it - what constitutes a stranger these days anyway with the whole 6 degrees of separation thing? So I signed up here and got a call a while later and set the date for Saturday 21st - Day 11. And more importantly a weekend. There is no way I -daughter of my mother with the a priori ingrained "need" to make at least several different complicated dishes - can churn out a meal for 10 in the two hours I would have for it on a week-day. Though I wouldn't mind that challenge actually... hmmm. Anyway, I went through my mental roller-index of recipes that I never stick to and put together a meal to show-case delights from across north africa and the middle east. Vavavoom! How it all panned out we'll find out tomorrow...

I would love to call the exaggerated emphasis on food this month a subtle dichotomy but it is nothing more than a gluttonous paradox. The last couple of years in Egypt food retailers have been hiking up the figures around this time of the year knowing people will pay regardless of the price. And those who cannot pay will simply have to make due with less, or rather depend on the ma'edas [food tables]. It would of course make far more sense to profit this month by holding Ramadan sales and since last year a couple of supermarkets have finally caught on to this, but nowhere near enough to strike a balance.

I suppose it is very similar to what happens during all religious holidays be it Christmas, Easter, Hannukkah, Lent, Eid, Diwali, etc. There is a sudden furor about the lack of food. It is just that much funnier in the case of Ramadan given that the emphasis should be on eating only what you need.


This is never the case in the Arab world. An iftar is made up of too many dishes heavily laced with ghee butter and spice followed by desserts so sweet the mere sight of them makes your teeth dissolve. So what have we achieved? In some cases we double what we eat and try to smoke an entire pack and jug of coffee to make up for the day's savings. Don't get me wrong - I love my meat, coffee and sweets, but the excessive indulgence that takes place is far removed from this month's goal let alone any viable health warning!

Discussing the damage - Day 9

Ground zero mosque. Nuff said.


And thats how Sarah Sees It!

It would be remarkably presumptuous to put it down to coincidence. No not the building site but rather the flaring of the debate right around the start of Ramadan. It is nothing new. Saddam was executed on Eid. Maybe they considered him to be a replacement sheep? Who knows. I don't. Back to the GZM aka Victory Mosque aka Durka Durka Jihad.

GZM VM DDJ, officially registered as the Cordoba Community Centre, was already given approval in December last year with no real issue. As Jon Stuart of the Daily Show commented "maybe it was approved in the spirit of the Christmas season". I cannot comment as to the amount of church plans Egypt approves in the "spirit of the holy month of Ramadan" but I reckon its a similar number. We do like our skyline adorned with as many religious symbols as possible. Now I am not going to go into some full blown discussion about the pros and cons of locating this centre a few blocks away from ground zero because other than not being there, or an authority on planning, I also do not wish to engage in a political debate where all my funny anecdotes have already been stolen by Charlie Brooker in his commentary here.

There is something I do wish to discuss and that's the rise of irascible religious leaders. The word leader should in any case get those alarm bells ringing, especially when followed by religion. I like to think that I make the distinction between those who wish to be referred to as religious leaders and Islamic scholars. Unfortunately they don't. I remember reading a while back a job description from the 14th century for an imam. Given the common argument regarding the "backward" nature of Islam in that it leans towards a different century, this should come as a bit of a surprise. The qualifications expected of an imam in the 14th century were quite extensive. Beyond knowledge of the quran and the hadith [sayings of the prophet], imam's were also to be versed in all sciences including law (jurisprudence), have extensive understanding of astronomy and knowledge of alchemy; be readers of history, politics, philosophy and theology to encompass all religions and beliefs; be fluent in Arabic, Greek, Latin and an Asian language; have skills in calligraphy and art; be masters in elocution and public speaking; charismatic and meticulously well groomed (details regarding the upkeep of their beard is also described); be diplomatic, approachable and have humble mannerisms and good looks.

Well, they don't make them like they used to in the 14th Century then! Now we are met with imams who barely speak Arabic, never finished school and who's only qualification is their ability to regurgitate the Quran to an equally ignorant flock who for lack of better knowledge inevitably perpetuate their status from Quran teacher to imam to religious leader. They look like they have never come across a razor let alone a loofah and don out fatwas like hot bread in a rations queue. If those are imams of the lower classes, mid class imams are hardly any better. They may wear their ray-bans out but they are equally at fault for misguiding their congregation with over zealous advice based on rabbit-out-of-hat tricks as opposed to deeper understanding of the time-context nature of the religious texts. There was the shining beacon of an example in Egypt (where else...) where one imam had the audacity to recommend to a woman working in a male dominated office that should she give her male colleagues 5 breastfeeding sessions so they can be alone in one room because then the men would be considered relatives and hence not potential mating partners. Fabulous. I cannot even use the joke "this has set us back centuries" because really this phenomena of faulty fatwas and unintelligible imams is something inherent to this century. Upper class imams are comparable to Scientology 'leaders' - high on charisma and charm, low on just about everything else. My question is clear - where have all the good imams gone? Where are our scholars? Has the great religious institution of Al Azhar not been able to churn out one decent imam in the last century? Its not leaders that are required. What Islam needs is a scholar capable of knowing that after a life time of study he is non the wiser for it and therefor is far more cautious with his words and actions.

Having said that I also commend Egypt as being one of the only countries in the region to produce decent Muslim televangelists. The one example I can think of now is Amr Khaled. He is Egyptian but his programmes - mostly narrations of the prophet's life - are produced abroad because the government, paradoxically, is afraid of popular religious programmes and claim his popularity is dangerous. This is the very same government that banned the ma'edas (meal tables of Day 2) when the bird flu epidemic was in full swing but did not ban stadium attendance at football matches. I am not necessarily a fan of televangelists myself; however, if this should be the crutch upon which wider society is to lean upon at least knowing that there is more truth than fiction in their words allows me to rest somewhat easier at night.

Finally, this month is about taking responsibility for your actions and being held accountable to the highest living court - your self. That part where the daily internal struggle (jihad..)ensues to align your decisions and ensure we limit the amount of damage there is to control. God gave us free will, not collective will - so in the end we are nothing more than the byproducts of our own decisions. Someone may very well lead me to the bridge but in the end it is I who chooses to jump.

Handling the Hastle - Day 8

Karma, fate, destiny, 'el maktoob'[the written], etc. The method in our daily madness incarcerated within buzzwords to make us feel less cheated. Or as some would have it, god's way of reigning in free will.

Wednesday morning my bike was stolen.

Nothing quite to kickstart the day like theft. All sins are quintessentially theft - we may rob ourselves of our health, steal another man's wife, deprive someone of their loved one - basically take what is not ours to take. The violation experienced is insurmountable at times. Well. Don't get me wrong, I don't have my panties in bunch over a stolen bike. It was a wonderful mode of transport and special in that it was given to me by my sister, but otherwise it remains naught but an object. I am more concerned with the act of theft. I wonder whether thieves justify their behaviour similar to how some of us justify taking those tiny bottles away from hotel rooms? Or simply gather that we, as owners of desirable items, are sufficiently well off that we may not miss such a commodity? Point is we work hard, reap the benefits of our labour and wish others to respect this, should they not and still be able to get away with it, then clearly something is dreadfully wrong.

How is this related to Ramadan? An enormous amount of self restraint was exercised when I discovered my bike was stolen by someone in the middle of the night with giant padlock pliers. One friend told me to see it as Ramadan charity. "Pretend you gave away, better yet, donated the bike". I am angry at the violation, but as my friend suggested, I do hope that whoever I "gifted" my fabulous bike with the red floral bike bag to makes good use of it and buys an even bigger lock. Or parks it beyond reach....

An Amicable Anamoly in America - Day 7 of Ramadan

Variation is the spice of life. Or so they say. In any case I felt I should provide insight of a different kind on the 7th day of Ramadan. I asked a partner in crime across the Atlantic pond to deliver his thoughts on this month in spark notes format. I also thought it relevant to ask for a male perspective on the off chance anyone feels I may be presenting a rather gender biased overview.

So, after 24 hours to deliberate 5 questions, here's what our Amicable Anomaly in America had to say:

Q1 - A fasting Egyptian in bumblepoop US and A? What's it like? Notice anything fishy?

Fasting is the same anywhere;however, the scent of a full menu buffet at noon doesn't help at all. Not to mention the sound of a coke can crashing down the vending chute never having sounded so appealing !!! Anything fishy? Yes...everybody comments on how I am losing weight and why I am soo quiet all the time....oh....and they all say they`re tired!!!! Tired they say?!

Editor's Comments (EC): Other than the overwhelming use of exclamation marks our dear friend suffers from delusions of grandeur (mineur rather). In any case - good to know that regardless of where you are - be that a place where a full blown nationwide discussion about building a mosque near ground zero has everyone in a durka - fasting is the same.

Q2 - What do you with your lunchbreaks now?

I normally work through it which gives me an advantage, cause now i can leave at four rather than 5 or 5 rather than 6.... since i worked during lunch!

EC: I must be doing something wrong....

Q3 - Which vice do you miss the most?

I miss the company of women !!! Even though I know it is more of a sin than a vice, but something about a woman is definitely soothing ! (no pun intended woman !) Yet, after Ramadan, sometimes the less I`m around women, the happier I remain !! Strange how man is.....

EC: First off, let us salute his honesty. Secondly, ignoring the raging insult towards women, he does have a valid point. This month is about parting with our "less than stellar" ways. For one month we become better versions of ourselves and try our best to maintain that status beyond the 30 days. Some people manage to give up smoking, others quit drinking and the occasional man gives up women. Shortly. There are also those who just improve upon their already impeccable ways. We salute those and wish to count them amongst our peers some day.



Q4 - What practice do you wish to continue after Ramadan?

I wish to keep praying after Ramadan ! Same wish I have every year...

EC: Ramadan is almost comparable to making new year's resolutions - we all make them, most of us try to adhere to them, only very few actually achieve them. BUT - our intentions are solid. And given that intentions can win you a nobel peace prize these days...you never know!

Q5 - Which lucky charity is getting your vote this month?

The mosque always gets my vote...i already pay medicare, medicaid, and social security , and i wont see those dimes again i`m sure !!!

EC:

AOB -

what the hell is AOB ? What really grinds my gears holland, are these random acronyms that people give to a sentence e.g. Any other business " AOB " I mean really !!!

EC: Well I never said I picked the brightest fish in the pond.

Dapper Decisions of a Dabbler - Day 6

The sixth day is an ever so important day - let us not forget that god created the universe in 6 days. I will refrain from going into an ever so futile discussion about the concept of "day" or that the sun was not fathomed till day four - hence time did not yet exist, et al. Tumbleweed. Right, what have I achieved in 6 'holy month' days?

Well I reckon I set myself up to fail there by making my achievements relative to the creation of a universe. I barely created an edible concoction in six days let alone watered a plant. However, in the same way that God rested thereafter, so did I. Being a woman and all I am not able to fulfill my fasting obligations for 30 consecutive days without the inevitable hiatus.

The reason why women cannot fast during their periods, other than the obvious pain some of us endure, is that they are more at risk of compromising their health. It is safe to say that for a couple of days a woman's immune system is on red alert. No pun intended. Some women of course wish to turn this caveat into an anthropological minefield whereby this ruling is nothing more than another means by which a misogynistic religion is able to claim that men have the upper hand. To them I say go solve your daddy complex at home and stop prying on Papa New Guinean men. And arguments like that are rather worthless given that you resume the fast after your cycle and you make up for the lost days after Ramadan anyway. So nothing lost nothing gained. Except your health.

Fasting is one of the main pillars (there are 5) of Islam. However, this does not mean that everyone is cut out for it. The first time I fasted I was 6 years old. Everyone around me was fasting and so I wanted to fast as well. Did I know what it was about? No. Did I care? No. I just wanted to belong. Similarly with praying. Of course my parents explained it to me. Of course I pretended to understand for fear of sounding like the 6 year old I was. And of course I had no idea what was being said whenever my mother bowed down her head to the ground. So, while she was praying to God I would grow up healthy and safe, I was muttering "mickey mouse, minnie mouse" under my breath. Because that is simply what it sounded like to my 6 year old ears. Fantasia made me do it. I suppose a Mouse God is not that far off from a Golden Calf now is it? Like I said - I was 6 and determined to make my new religion work for me. Even if fasting back then included lunch every now and again.



Anyhow, as I was saying, fasting is not for everyone. There are many exceptions; the traveling, the pregnant, the poor, the sick, the elderly, the children (including Mickey Mouse crazed 6 year olds), etc. Your inability to fast does not make you a lesser of a Muslim. It is how you proceed with your non-fasting that may determine your position vis-a-vis your faith. There are those who choose to make up the days not fasted in another period of time during the year. Personally, I am waiting till the clock turns back. Cheeky. There are those who due to circumstances other than those stated above choose not to fast. Should you simply not be able to cope with the mounting pressures of life/work/kids/iphone without your 5 cups of coffee an hour, don't fret. We all have different limits. God is fair people. Just make sure you pay your dues and give to charity as applicable to your means. No smiting with His wrath involved in this scenario.

At least not to my limited knowledge. Plus if anything were to happen you couldn't sue me anyway. Right? On a more serious note, I am very aware of the overwhelming amount of fictitious information on the internet. Too many people feel they have the right to pass judgment far too easily. For example I came across a posting that claimed that if you do not pray beyond the month of Ramadan you are a Kaafir ( a non-believer). Websites like that always worry me. So do recent converts to Islam, while we are on the subject of things that worry me. Then again I also saw a Christian website that headlined with "gay marriage allowed in California - expect the wrath of god". So you see, where there is religion there is lunacy. Where there is faith, there is enough cynicism to cut through the lunacy. One may hope.

Critical Comments of a Confrere - Day 3 to 5

Somehow after day two things go a lot faster - or I just get a lot busier. The fasting time has by now been cut by 10 minutes. This may seem like nothing and in fact when you are stuck in traffic at 21:00 it is nothing. Because even though you have a juice box in your bag there is no point trying to drink it knowing in the next three seconds you have to swap 3 lanes, and go through a rather sharp corner where every idiot tries to overtake you just to prove that his fiat punto is as fast as your v6. It's not... obviously and obviously I end up having to step on the brakes. Imagine this scene with a juice box. Not pretty.

The above shows how little - sometimes - Ramadan has to do with your day other than that it has stopped me on numerous occasions from calling people names under my breath (or above) in traffic. I suffer from road rage you see - even on my bike - so this little feat is a bit of a miracle really.

No - it is not easy this year. The lack of food is not the issue so much as it is the little time in which to try and eat a nutritional meal. Pre-Ramadan I would stop eating after 7pm at night - just because it makes sleeping a more pleasant experience. So obviously having to eat a meal at 9.30pm is a bit of a change and my stomach and sleep do not like me very much anymore. All good though - its just for a month I keep telling them, and I am not voluntarily inflicting a McDonalds diet on them so be nice! I want to say its the fasting that has me talking to my organs as though they were humans but I would be lying and I am so trying to refrain from fibbing this holy month.

Other than the fasting, praying and not fibbing I have not been up to much holy the past 3 days - unless power drilling and visiting car dumps have accrued new meaning in the last few days. If we wish to fetch rather far my power drilling was an act of holy intentions - I fed my sister. That's right. I drilled the holes that hold the plank that carries the oven that bakes the pizza. Ta-da!

Otherwise I had a highly intellectual conversation with my niece about the demise of Dutch politics. She concurred that it did not matter much how the cabinet will take form because it was certain it would collapse before Christmas (Eid el Adha if you will..) anyway. I also taught her how to growl like a tiger. Did I mention my niece is 3 months old? She's quite gifted in the art of imitation and kicking rubber ducky in da tub....rub a dub dub?

Yeah - not much Ramadan-ingly events this weekend. I signed up to cook an iftar meal for a bunch of strangers as a way of showing non-Muslims what Ramadan is all about. The idea is that they would have a meal with a family. I suppose I will have to represent the nuclear family unit all on my own. Can't wait!

Come to think of it I suppose it makes sense - Ramadan does either one of two things to families: bring them closer or ensure complete polarisation. The sensation is very different when you break your fast with family as opposed to home alone with your single serving tray watching re-runs of CSI. Don't get me wrong, I love CSI's unfathomable ways of randomly finding crucial clues in everyone's spit. Somehow it just doesn't beat the eager scooping of food, the tired mastication of day old bread and the underlying tension of unresolved family issues. Yes those wonderful commercials on Arab TV with large families of 3 generations gathered around the table all smiling, laughing and patting each other on the back don't quite capture the reality of it all. Instead picture family members moments before sunset circling the dinner table like starved vultures eying up the biggest chicken leg. At this point no one is talking - they are preserving energy for that chicken leg. As soon as the canon fires signaling sunset the beast is unleashed and everyone scoffs down some dates with milk and scurries off to pray in 5 or 6 separate corners all facing the same direction. A slow trickle of pawns return to the kitchen with the usual cousin/daughter/youngest staring at the oven while it heats up bread/the previous night's meal or just for the heck of staring at something. Soon everyone is seated around the table silently passing plates and wondering where that chicken leg went. Occasionally a senior member will look up from the paper to signal absolute disgust at the state of affairs in the country and throw bone at the nearest contender. Try turning that into a marketable commercial.

In any case, I am sure I will represent the 'family' just fine.