Once home you dust off your coffeepot, squeeze your orange juice and labour over a well deserved breakfast. Which you don't have time to eat because you have to get to work on this side of the world! And so I did all cheery carrying my large Buckstars coffee mug ready to squeeze the last drop of caffeine from the disgusting stale milk coffee machine ...just... because ....I ...can. Lunacy aside, strutting into work with my brand new socks on I felt like the million rupee woman I was! This cathartic feeling lasted about 5 minutes - the exact time it took for my computer to start up, reboot and my emails to load. Still my resolve was unshakable and come lunch time I stepped in my tank and roared to the Arabian ghettos of Holland in search of baked goodness to give me some semblance of "home". Like a hunter I sniffed out the best sugary delights for my new tradition quizzing the bakers whilst marvelling at the goods like Hannibal at an unlcoked morgue (too far?).
Having turned my colleagues into cookie monsters and finished my work, I went off to town on my bike rearing to unleash the sugar fest in my carrier. Wind in my hair, crumbs on my chest, I arrived at the busiest square in town. And there we stood, me and my greatest friend and comrade in crime, armed with cookies and ready to fire at the unassuming Friday evening folk. Let the new tradition begin!
You know how much I love my strangers. The thought of including them in my fast as well as my celebration was too good to pass up. The idea is simple, Eid is about sharing. I wanted to share with complete strangers the simple gesture of giving. Again. Giving for no reason other than giving. And so we set off amongst the people offering cookies, stories and tumbleweed humour. That, and practically lining their stomachs for them. I was not out to convince anyone of Ramadan or Islam. I just wanted to hand out sweets, have a laugh with my friend, up that feel- good factor and go home with a smug smile on my face. That we also came to be seen as reactionaries was an added bonus.
There is no such thing as a predictable reaction - just a preconceived counter-reaction. And some of those were priceless. Some strangers were ever so friendly - grateful for the gift and keen to hear the reasoning behind it all. Some threw questions at us demanding our motivation and secretly wondering whether or not we had laced the cookies. Few others regarded us like filth, refused the cookie and looked for the nearest uniform in sight. The 75% that did enjoy it made it worth it! The ones who made the concise effort to say thank you and hold a thumbs up made it worth it. The idea that maybe some people may erase some of the hard lines around their preconceptions made it worth it. The fact that some people thought that by mere virtue of being a Muslim I would know why Iran's Ahmadinnerjacket is adamant about nuclear power made it worth it. That one guy who would only take a cookie if I would drink beer made it worth it. That the common reason women refused the cookie was on account of their diet made it worth it. That I got my cultural integration into Dutch society questioned by foreigners made it worth it. That one part of a couple loved the idea and the other hated it made it worth it. That above all else my non-fasting, non-muslim friend did this with me, in order for me to feel like I have a tradition, made it worthwhile. Eid this year was made special thanks to the many wonderful strangers and their ability to receive and react. More so, thanks to my best friend for never failing to be more than family.
With the cookie boxes empty and our minds full we went back home a thousand nights richer.
Eid may begin with the silence of dawn, but it always ends with the clamour of night.
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