Failed Fake Fasting

So it just didn't really work. I fake fasted for a total of about five days, when I knew I would be home for iftar. The days I had capoiera or some other meeting, I didn't bother. And it actually was fun to "fast" those days, anticipating coming home for dinner to eat with the family. But my early excitement and expectation wore off after a couple weeks.

Some of those hard-core committed people I know also started to take days off from fasting. Apparently, Sheikh Fadlalah said that if you are able to fast and don't, you should pay L.L. 1500 ($1) per day to the local Muslim orphanages, which would be $30 for the month if you don't even bother trying.

Being able to fast means that you are not excused from fasting. Those who are excused are people who travel (I think it's 22 km from your house), pregnant women, women on their period, or someone who's sick (but I don't know how that's determined). Those days, however, are supposed to be made up. That's why Ramadan starts early for some people, because they procrastinate in making up their days from the year before.

The other day, I thought I was going to get killed in the taxi (of course, that isn't soooo rare.) I usually like that hour before iftar, when the sun is going down, that feeling of expectation. But God forbid if you have to be on the road at that time. Traffic is crazy, and those people who have been fasting all day can be cranky (to put it mildly.) Besides not having drunk or eaten anything, people's sleep schedules get majorly thrown off--from waking up early for sohur and staying up late. My taxi driver was losing his mind. Every time, a car would sort of block his way, he was shouting, "Move it! I want to get home! We want to eat!"

It's now Eid. It came the day after university started, so it doesn't really feel like a holiday. But that's of course, because I didn't fast. And no great spiritual breakthroughs. A let-down?

Silence

"People who write history devote too much attention to so-called events heard round the world, while neglecting the periods of silence. This neglect reveals the absence of that infallible intuition that every mother has when her child falls suddenly silent in tits room. A mother knows that this silence signifies something bad. That the silence is hiding something. She runs to intervene because she can feel evil hanging in the air. Silence fulfills the same role in history and in politics. Silence is a signal of unhappiness and, often, of crime. It is the same sort of political instrument as the clatter of weapons or a speech at a rally. Silence is necessary to tyrants and occupiers, who take pains to have their actions accompanied by quiet. Look at how colonialism has always fostered silence; at how discreetly the Holy Inquisition functioned; at the way Leonidas Trujillo avoided publicity.

What silence emanates from countries with overflowing prisons! In Somoza's Nicaragua–silence; in Duvalier's Haiti–silence. Each dictator makes a calculated effort to maintain the ideal state of silence, even though somebody is continually trying to violate it! How many victims of silence there are, and at what cost! Silence has its laws and its demands. Silence demands that concentration camps be built in uninhabited areas. Silence demands an enormous police apparatus with an army of informers. Silence demands that its enemies disappear suddenly and without a trace. Silence prefers that no voice–of complaint or protest or indignation–disturb its calm. And where such a voice is heard, silence strikes with all its might to restore the status quo ante–the state of silence.

Silence has the capacity of spreading, which is why we use expressions like 'silence reigned everywhere,' or 'a universal silence fell.' Silence has the capacity to take on weight, so that we can speak of 'an oppressive silence' in the same way we would speak of a heavy solid or liquid.

The word 'silence' most often joins words like 'funereal' ('funereal silence'), 'battle' ('the silence after battle') and 'dungeon' ('as silent as a dungeon'). These are not accidental associations. . .

It would be interesting to research the media systems of the world to see how many service information and how many service silent and quiet. Is there more of what is said or of what is not said? One could calculate the number of people working in the publicity industry. What if you could calculate the number of people working in the silence industry? Which number would be greater?" (189-190).

Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Soccer War, 1986

Having to do it myself

"I was driving along a road where they say no white man can come back alive. I was driving to see if a white man could, because I had to experience everything for myself. I know that a man shudders in the forest when he passes close to a lion. I got close to a lion so that I would know how it feels. I had to do it myself because I knew no one could describe it to me. And I cannot describe it myself. Nor can I describe a night in the Sahara. The stars over the Sahara are enormous. They sway above the sand like great chandeliers. The light of those stars is green. Night in the Sahara is as green as a Mazowsze meadow" (130).

Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Soccer War, 1986

Israeli Cluster Bombs in South Lebanon

"Israel dropped more than 4 million cluster bombs on South Lebanon during the war, 90% of which in the last 72 hours before the ceasefire went into effect. But more than 40% of the submunitions Israel dropped that summer failed to detonate, making them a lethal risk to anyone in the affected area.

Despite the known dangers, many Lebanese in the South go to places where cluster bombs still lie in order to cultivate the land. More than 50% of the areas affected by cluster bombs have yet to be cleared, according to Dalya Farran, the spokesperson for the UN Mine Action Coordination Center (UNMACC), and Israel has so far denied Lebanon’s repeated requests to access maps of where the bombs were dropped."

Hayeon Lee, NOW Lebanon, September 9, 2008

On Being a Foreign Correspondent

"But our job is like a baker's work–his rolls are tasty as long as they're fresh; after two days they're stale; after a week they're covered with mould and fit only to be thrown out."

Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Soccer War, p.141

Fake fasting

I’m fake fasting

I live in a Muslim household in a Muslim neighborhood. Ramadan started last week; therefore, I’m fake fasting. (And I’ve only done for about half the days.) What’s a fake fast? you might ask. First, I wake up when I feel like it and eat. If you’re fasting, you’re not supposed to eat once the sun starts to rise, so people wake up at 3:30 to eat Sohour. Second, I drink water. So this isn’t fasting for the people in my neighborhood, but for me, going without food for 12 hours is a BIG DEAL.

I love the jouw/ambience of Ramadan, especially about an hour or so before Iftar, when everyone is running home and buying juice and Jallab (sweetened grape juice with rose water) and sweets and all sorts of food. Supermarkets and shops are packed. Dusk is always my favorite time of day; yogis say it’s the best time to do yoga.

The rush is exciting. Everyone is expected to be at home for dinner, or at least out with friends, family, or colleagues. It’s fun waiting for the azhaan/call to prayer. In Shia mosques, the muezzin generally reads from the Qur’an before starting with the “Allahu Akbar” so you have a little final rush preparation time, setting the table before you can dig in. Now it comes around 7:30. The fast is generally broken by eating a date, and there’s always fatoush salad and some kind of soup. After dinner, people watch TV. The soap opera, Bab al Hara, starts at 10. People stay up late; it’s a party every night.

Some people criticize certain aspects of Ramadan. When I first lived in Beirut, I was inconvenienced by shops closing early. Others complain about that man who walks in the streets banging pots and pans at 3 in the morning to wake up the people to eat their Sohour. (But these same people must always be put out by the Fajr azhaan that is recited every morning before dawn, even when it’s not Ramadan.) Then there’s the deadly driving that happens in Gulf countries, where people speed in fancy sports cars down German-like autobahns to get home in time for Iftar.

There’s also the blatant hypocrisy. You’ll see people eating in their cars. Last year, I was going to my friend’s house, walking down the empty alley that I always take when I go to her house (in order to avoid the way-too-crowded streets of my neighborhood.) I was drinking from a water bottle, and two shebab teenage guys on a scooter, yelled at me, “Saimee?? (Are you fasting?)” and laughed as they sped by. As if I were being all sneaky, taking the empty back road to swig from my water bottle.

But “Saimee?” is a very common question. It seems to come up in every conversation, which means that people do not assume one is fasting. In my house, the twenty-something-year-old guys don’t fast. My fiancé’s stock response is “Next year.” He says that every year. His mom will go off a little when Ramadan starts about how he’s going to hell and he’s not a little kid anymore, but then she drops it and makes him sandwiches and packs his lunch.

Only one of the girls doesn’t fast. That’s because she’s thin and weak and faints. She needs to go to work. The girls who don’t work out of the house sleep until noon, then clean the house and later make food, which is a big production. If they have the opportunity, a lot of people seem to sleep during the day during Ramadan.

The big complaint about Ramadan, like the rest of the year, is the price of food. People are complaining enough about it already. (Lebanon hasn’t escaped the plight of the rest of the world’s developing nations concerning rising food prices.) But the prices are even higher during Ramadan. Go figure. They don’t eat all day, but they make up for it at night. People seem to buy more and eat more. Like I said, it’s a party every night.

Last Sunday, a Christian pastor told his congregation that they should fast too, that they should take advantage of the jouw/ambience. Ramadan is the month of repentance and forgiveness. Muslims are supposed to mend relationships at this time, go to people they’ve wronged and ask for forgiveness. At the same time, they are expected to forgive. Of course, as Christians (and as Muslims) we’re called to do this all the time, but it’s nice to have a special month for it.

And what’s our holy month in America? That time between Thanksgiving and Christmas when we’re overtaken by the “season of giving,” which of course means consuming. It’s a time when you can’t find a parking space at the Walmart or Target or Best Buy. It doesn’t really even pretend to be remotely religious. If Jesus is the Reason for the Season, how is that supposed to affect my behavior? Am I supposed to do anything?

People in my neighborhood consistently tell me how they feel closer to God during this month. Some say the gates of heaven open. This year, I’m hoping the fake fast will bring me sort of spiritual renewal. I’ll take whatever I can get.