Ahlan Ya Ramadan And Memories

I didn’t realise that Ramadan is literally 3 or 4 days away. I was at my parents’ house this morning and mama was talking to my older sister about whether she and her husband are going to have futoor here or at her parent-in-laws on the first day. I was actually in the garden dragging heavily on my cigarette when I heard the conversation. My first thought was: I’ve been smoking like a chimney recently and now I have to cut down, drastically, so that I can be ready for the long days of fasting. And took one last drag and put it out. (I haven’t had a ciggy today since then, although I’m craving for one so badly I’ve taken the straw from my three-year-old niece’s carton drink and have been dragging air through it all day!)

Aah ya Ramadan! Creeping up on me like that and catching me off guard!

We’ve always observed Ramadan wherever we were. I’m not really a religious person, more spiritual than religious, but there is something about Ramadan. I had thought that it was just the hype that my family created about it, the flurry in the kitchen and the throngs of guests that came to be fed by my mother that made the atmosphere – that created that ambience of it being a special time. But alone in Liberia (a time when I was on the verge of proclaiming myself an atheist) I felt it ebb in with its holiness – you see, it carries something in the air with it and changes you. For the first week or so I pretended that I didn’t care. I ate during daytime hours and drank beer and wine (although normally I wouldn’t drink so much except for a special occasion). It was almost that I was doing it out of spite. Spite for whom, I have no idea… But it didn’t feel right. This was the first Ramadan that I wasn’t fasting. Ever. A lump of guilt just sat in the pit of my stomach, making everything tasteless.
I had a long talk with myself and to a God who I was having difficulty with believing in, on a Tuesday evening on a secluded beach littered with cuttlefish bones. The talk continued in the taxi ride home. And went on in my head as I tossed and turned. But something happened. It wasn’t an epiphany, it wasn’t like I suddenly believed. I don’t know where it happened. I just decided to wake up for Suhoor the next day and fasted. It was at that point that I stopped drinking, but took up smoking, something that I haven’t been able to quit since

And so Ramadan is creeping in. It creeps in like a shy guest. But leaves an impression and when its time for it to leave you don’t want it to. But it can’t outstay its welcome. It has to make room for a boisterous, fun-loving guest called 3eid! I’ll come again, Ramadan whispers, next year, I’ll come again. A little earlier than this year, but I’ll come again…