The Ramadan Diaries, Chapter 2

I've remarked to several people, perhaps much to their concern, that I've been feeling as though I'm the subject of an isolation experiment, left to my own devices in a confined space day after day for observation. Look, look, he's at the computer again. Fascinating. Now he's walking to the other side of the room. Yes, write it down. Write it all down...

As the furnace rages on outdoors, I remain a prisoner to my house until the late evening hours when escape is possible, into the still-not-brisk-but-at-least-not-scorching night air. The days are very much the same, filled with nearly identical activities, only in a different order.

We're now a little over halfway through Ramadan. On our nightly walks we've watched the moon grow from its sliver to full; now it wanes its way toward darkness again. The first faint traces of the crescent visible after the new moon will indicate the end of Ramadan, and we'll celebrate l3id sghir, the small feast.

I haven't found the hunger to be particularly any more tolerable. It is an ever-present sensation, continually tugging, reminding. I've noticed that in the hour or so before breaking the fast (about 7:20 PM), I feel lightheaded and a little loopy. When I do finally eat, I've learned that I'm not able to consume my normal portions without some serious discomfort, feeling wayyy too full. Of course when one is so hungry, it's hard to resist not engulfing everything in front of you, or going back for a heaping bowl of seconds. It took me some time to stop doing that. I've observed that the Moroccans don't eat much during lftur (breakfast) either, having a bowl of soup and a nibble or two of this or that, hardly making any noticeable dent in the cornucopia-esque array before them.

I've been making the rounds, having breakfast with the families of my friends and local acquaintances, which has been great. Last year I kept pretty much to myself, but I'm really enjoying getting to know the families better, and the visits are tremendously pleasant. I've adopted the practice of eating a late dinner around eleven or midnight, and dropped the suhoor meal in the pre-dawn hours. My body clock has shifted; I stay up a few hours later and, proportionally, sleep in a few hours later.

I am looking forward to finishing. While I do enjoy the spirit of the time, I am not crazy about the lack of energy and torpor that seems to be self-perpetuating. I fantasize about getting "back on track", physically and mentally. Without the religious obligation, I have to make my own relevant reasons for doing this, otherwise it's just sitting around being hungry until you can eat. My motivations are very much in accordance, at least in my understanding, with those of the Muslim world-- practicing patience, developing a more deliberate intent toward kindness and giving, and reflecting on what you have. It's good stuff.

A friend's succinct words regarding Ramadan:

I watched an interview with a woman on television, and she was talking about the time of Ramadan, "when all the Muslims make themselves suffer", and she thinks we are crazy to do it. But she doesn't know at all. We are happy, and we want to fast. Ramadan is one of the best times in the life for us.