Photo: yeowatzup (Flickr)Perhaps my life’s greatest accomplishment is the creation of a blended Muslim/non-Muslim community consisting of friends and family that offer support, love, and all that great stuff that makes life livable.
(Editor’s Note: Over the course of Ramadan we hope to share reader experiences fasting as well as their memories of celebrating the holy month. This is the first in what we hope will be a series of posts. Ramadan Mubarak!)
By Esther Reiser
As Ramadan begins, I am visited by the usual feelings of both excitement and anxiety—excited for a month of (I hope) spiritual fulfillment and anxious about the toll of fasting during long, long Canadian summer days.
Yet, as a practicing Muslim, I can proudly attest that Ramadan is about more than the grumbling of empty stomachs, as moments of bodily discomfort are often overshadowed by the opportunity for religious and self-reflection the month offers. This very atmosphere of such reflection causes me to reminisce about the past Ramadans in life and the effect they have had on me.
The most poignant Ramadan memories I have, take place during my teenage years—the years of tenacity and hormones that spare none. There I was, a teenager, in a medium-sized town in British Columbia.
The only Muslim in my school, circle of friends, and family.
There was a tiny Muslim community, but they were few and highly dispersed. As I look back on this time of relative isolation, it may come as a shock to some that these were some of the happiest Ramadans of my life.
I was a Muslim convert who felt equal affinity with the Muslims suffering post 9/11 scapegoating and the Goth/Punk/Metal subculture of angsty, tormented teens. I was the Muslim girl who simultaneously donned a spiked collar and ayat-al-kursi pendant.
I was the white girl who practiced rituals that both her cultural and religious “groups” so to speak often find, at best, “odd.” I was too religious to be “punk rock,” too rebellious to be the exemplary convert. I did not, and still don’t, fit into either “Muslim” or “non-Muslim” mainstreams, yet this did (and still does) not prevent me from making excellent friends and meeting awesome people in either “camp.”
Perhaps my life’s greatest accomplishment is the creation of a blended Muslim/non-Muslim community consisting of friends and family that offer support, love, and all that great stuff that makes life livable. As I converted at the onset of high school, much of my “community” building started there, which possibly explains for my nostalgia for Ramadans and Eids of that era.
This is not to say that my high school experience wasn’t brutally painful at times, nor that all my school mates were either enthusiastic or supportive of my religious convictions—I was sometimes teased about my fasting, some of it pretty malicious.
Furthermore, I wish not to detract attention from the painful Islamophobic bullying that Muslim teens face around a variety of issues, including the Ramadan fast— factors that go into any North American Muslim’s experience, and I’m not at all suggesting my story is broadly representative.
Yet, in my experience, the counter support I received from friends and my family was enough to stifle out any alienation and, oddly enough, make me feel nostalgic for the very years of my life that I wished so vehemently to escape from.
Looking back, the first thing that comes to mind was my A&W iftars (sunset meals). Back in 2002 when the fasting day ended at around 4:30-ish, a friend and I, usually one of my two closest friends, Jenn or Paula, would walk down to the downtown A&W after school and partake in a small iftar together.
To this day I hate A&W fries, so it became an unspoken rule that I, having not eaten all day, got the burger and my friend got the fries.
This bonding over fast food became an almost daily ritual in which I would tear into a chicken sandwich, remark on how hungry I was, then we would launch into either a lengthy and angsty discussion about whatever was on our minds or make each other laugh with what, I realize now, was decidedly Ramadan unfriendly humor.
When financial resources did not allow for mama burger iftars, my fast breaking usually took place at home, sometimes with a friend or two. All my life my mother has taken a zealous stance over matters surrounding all things to do with my health, therefore home cooked iftars consisted of healthier fare, with “Egyptian Bean Stew,” which I would come to learn is locally called koshari, standing out in my memory as an iftari staple.
Of course, my mom gave into my demands as well— after a class on the Irish Potato Famine, in an afternoon at the zenith of the day’s fast, I made it obligatory that every iftar for the rest of the month contain a potato product of some kind. On a great day, this resulted in unhealthy but very delicious homemade French fries.
Even with friends I was not as close with, there were instances of support.
My post iftar msn chat (remember that?) sessions would be a barrage of instant messages expressing astonishment that I got through the day and wishing me “happy eating time.”
I remember buying “Hemp Hogs” –very delicious chocolate hedgehogs stuffed with hazelnut and hempseed oil filling—with some of my…um… rebellious… friends, who were nice enough to wait with me until sundown so we could inhale the chocolate together. I remember how much I loved going to local concerts after a speedy iftar and how I used to pretend they were being put on to honour my holy month.
I knew they weren’t, but I still dreamed.
The absolute best example of the cross religious esprit de corps of my teenage Ramadan was in grade 11 when my friend Amanda decided she would fast with me. To this day I don’t know what exactly prompted her decision—she was, at least to my understanding, a confirmed Atheist.
Proselytizing was and has never been a priority in any friendship. Perhaps it was a sign of solidarity. Perhaps it was a testament to our friendship. For whatever reason, during Ramadan 2003, I had a fasting buddy. We would sit together outside at lunch and complain endlessly to each other about how hungry we were.
Ok, whining is not quite conducive to the spirit of Ramadan, but the act of fasting together did strengthen our bond. It did give two spoiled North American teenagers perspective on the sufferings of others, albeit a tiny one.
Most importantly, it taught me a lesson that I am very grateful I had a chance to learn: that love and friendship crosses religious boundaries. That even the lone Muslim girl in a small town can find a supportive and caring friend. That the Atheist teenager can have such a great capacity for empathy that she will support her Muslim friend by taking part in a foreign and, frankly, a relatively difficult ritual.
During this time, we were embarking on the beginning of our short lived career as DJs on local late night radio (to a sprawling audience of…oh maybe 200 people). I will never forget the shared excitement of an iftar of supermarket sushi and soft drinks while putting together the nights playlist and finding fuel for conversation of that Friday’s episode of “Two Annoying Bitches, One Microphone.”
In one of the few times the widely dispersed Muslim community was drawn together, Amanda and I partook in a community iftar. I can’t but wonder what passed through the minds of the congregants when we stormed in-two pierced teenage girls with dyed hair and combat boots.
Juxtaposed against a predominantly middle aged South Asian congregation, we stood out to say the least. Yet, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience, as we were quickly joined by a younger man whose name I sadly forget. (I think it was Faisal.)
He never put us on the spot—we weren’t once barraged with “What are you doing here”/ “Do you have the slightest idea where you are?”/ “What is your Religion?” /“Don’t those hurt?” type of questions. We were served, we ate together, got to know each other.
I remember Amanda and I expressing “shock and awe” that Faisal would decide to move from Vancouver to our “hick town.” (His defense was, “It’s quiet.”) Even in moments of alienation from the larger Muslim community, Faisal will always remind me of how relaxed and welcoming Muslims can be and the kindness that my religious community can readily offer.
Since that iftar, I have been to the mountain top—the next year my family moved from medium-town BC to medium town Ontario. With Ontario having a considerably more diverse population, I suddenly found myself surrounded by the ummah that I hitherto had very limited contact with.
Ramadan became a somewhat different animal: the interfaith Ramadan dialogue that I had grown used to was quickly replaced by intrafaith and cross cultural dialogue. This new dialogue would prove exactly as challenging and as enriching as my experiences explaining why I’m not eating my Hemp Hog to my high school classmates.
This is not to say I have not thoroughly enjoyed the scrumptious iftars of South Asian delicacies of dahi baray and biriani, Somali sports and Arabic katayef. This is also not to say that I did not achieve spiritual fulfillment and communal unity going to tarawih prayers and doing i’tikaf (spending the night in the mosque) during the last ten days of Ramadan.
I have always appreciated when motherly Mosque “Aunties” would force food upon my exhausted self during the i’tikaf sahoor (pre-dawn) meals. Yet, more so, I enjoy the deep and introspective conversations about religious identity and faith that are often shared over private iftar meals with my Muslim friends.
It is these moments of private sharing that have enriched my religious life more than any religious authority or institution.
Ultimately, when considering both my teenage and adult(ish) Ramadan experiences, the knowledge and strength I take from the very experience of Ramadan (the fasts, the prayers) is that, even when alone, whether religiously, culturally or simply as an individual, caring and empathetic people can always be found, and, however unlikely, communities can be built.
Esther Reiser is a 25 year old woman living in Canada. She passes her time reading, writing and over thinking things. Although she has a BA in Religious Studies, she is unsure about what she wants to do with her life, but she’s sure it will involve Religious Studies in some capacity. Her favorite food is poutine. You can contact her at pamplemousse.1986@gmail.com.
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