Ramadan
So the holy month of Ramadan just came to an end. Muslims all around the world spent the
month praying, fasting, and reflecting on their beliefs. To be honest, I do not know the
intricate details of everything that goes into Ramadan, so some of the things I
write may not be 100% correct. I may
be sharing information I thought I understood that someone explained to me in
Kiswahili, but it’s entirely possible that I didn’t fully understand (silly
language barriers). Please realize
that as with every religion, traditions and interpretations vary a great deal,
but the ones I’m going to write about are my personal observations.
As I currently live in a
predominantly Muslim community, it’s been interesting to see how my beloved
villagers have been celebrating and the various traditions they have. The most
obvious and universal one is that people who are able to will fast (children
less than adolescent age, pregnant women, elderly people and people who are
sick are all not required to fast, though some choose to). No swallowing anything (water, food,
saliva, medicine) during daylight hours.
Many adolescents are excited when they are able to participate in the
fasting, and my impression is that it’s a kind of right of passage into
adulthood. It’s a big deal to many
of my neighbor kids, as they burst with pride saying they get to fast!
My neighbors explained that they
are supposed to wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning in order to eat. After sunrise, they can’t swallow
anything. People continue working
as they would normally (go to school, work in the fields, open their shops) but
there are still many things that change.
In fairly Muslim areas, little shops that usually sell tea, food and
such will be closed. The owners
are probably Muslim, or they won’t get any business even if they are open, so
they might as well be closed. It
is almost impossible to find food during the day in places like Zanzibar that
are overwhelmingly Muslim. Entire
villages, towns, and even cities seem to be dead. It’s kind of eerie, honestly. Places that you’re used to bustling and being crazy are
suddenly like ghost towns. In my
village especially, people are tired and not as active (understandably so!).
Then there’s the actual breaking
of the fast. From what I’ve heard
from a few others, Tanzanians have pretty different food for breaking fast than
a lot of that found in the Middle East.
However, here, the general label for this food is “futari.” It’s usually something soft. My favorite is the stew that’s made
from boiled taro root and potatoes.
Plain pasta (sometimes flavored with sugar), sugar cane, porridge spiced
with pepper, cucumber…these are all things I’ve eaten when with Tanzanians
while breaking fast. Though each
family differs a little, I’ve noticed that the potato and taro root stew as
well as porridge are pretty standard everywhere. During this last week when I was in Korogwe for training
with the newbies, there was a whole strip of tables set up in the road around
dusk with mamas selling food for breaking the fast. One mama came to like Jeff and me a lot, and we ate at her
table pretty much every night. She
would give us a heaping plate full of Futari for 1000tsh (like 66 cents), then
a cup of porridge (known as uji, and surprisingly spicy with the pepper) for
100tsh. We would joke around with
her, and she thoroughly seemed to enjoy having the two foreigners hanging out
with her every night we were there.
During
Ramadan I tried to participate in the fasting while in my village. I didn’t do everything correctly, I
think. I wouldn’t wake up at 3 or
4 (I like my sleep!), but would eat and drink before 7. After 7 I wouldn’t eat or drink
anything until around 6:30 or 7.
While I was at school and distracted with working, it wasn’t too bad. I would get home around 5:30 from
school anyway, so I had enough time to make up food for myself. It was when I was in my village on the
weekends with free time that it was much harder! Fasting with my villagers made me feel better when I would
go around my village saying hi to people, as many exclaimed in surprise and joy
at Madam trying to fast with them.
I was only a village faster, though. When I was in town, I was bad and didn’t fast, as it was
hard for me to eat before 7 without being able to cook for myself. But my community still seemed thrilled
at my attempts to participate with them.
After
nightfall, kids would go around the village, banging on drums (actually they
were usually buckets – yet another use for them) and singing. They go by people’s homes and ask for
small presents (money or sweets. I
gave them bananas). I had kids
come by my house a few times, but I only gave them something once, because in
my village, when I give someone anything, I usually have a flood of people come
by who had heard I gave a person something. I know it’s selfish, but I don’t have enough sweets, money
or anything else to give to EVERY SINGLE village kid who comes by my house.
The
end of Ramadan depends on the sighting of the moon at the end of the lunar
month. The little sliver of moon
is something people look for, excited for the celebration that is Eid-el-Fitri
(spelled Idd or Iddi with Tanzanians).
People eat pilau (spiced rice cooked with meat, quite the treat when
villagers usually can’t afford to eat rice), spend time with friends and
family, go to mosque, and dress in their finest. The clothes that women wear for Iddi are amazing! So many colors, new materials,
beautiful fabric for headscarves – they all come out dressed to the nines. Many people in my community invited me
to come for the holiday, but I unfortunately wasn’t able to be in my
village. I was helping Peace Corps
do some training for the new trainees that arrived, and spent the whole week,
including Iddi, doing work for Peace Corps. When I went to tell my favorite neighbors that I would be
gone for a week, Mama Zawadi began to cry and asked “You won’t be here for
Iddi? But who will you eat chicken
with?!” She was really upset I
wasn’t going to be there for the holiday, and I hadn’t realized when I agreed
to do the trainings that it was during the biggest Muslim holiday. Hopefully nothing will keep me from my
village for the next one, though, so I’ll look forward to that.
On
the actual day of Iddi, Peace Corps had a few trainings in the morning, then
gave everyone the afternoon off.
Jeff and I had an easy day, during which we just kinda hung out. At one point we were going to get some
yogurt (quite the treat for us!) and passed by some mamas, who asked where we
were going to eat pilau. We told
her that we didn’t know if we could buy it somewhere. One mama told us to wait, then came rushing over with plates
full of pilau for us. We were
touched that they were sharing their personal celebration meal with us, and
ended up buying everyone a soda.
It was super sweet and kind that even though they didn’t know us, they
still were so welcoming.
Now
that Iddi is over, things are returning to normal. People have more energy, shops are open, and it’s ok to eat
and drink in public again. I have
a new appreciation for the amount of faith and dedication that Muslims have for
fasting for an entire month. It’s
not hard doing a few days, but it gets fairly difficult toward the end. I’m glad I got to take part, even
though I don’t personally identify with a religion. For me it was more of a community experience instead of a
religious one, but I’m happy that it helped me integrate even more with my
welcoming village.
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