Ramadan Revisited

After I moved away from my family, observing the Islamic month of fasting became painfully lonely— until I found a new community that made it feel like home again.

- Pacinthe Mattar

I WAS THREE YEARS OLD when my family moved from Alexandria, in our native Egypt, to Toronto. Even at that young age, I sensed that the month of Ramadan was an important time. I noticed that my parents weren’t eating or drinking from sunrise to sunset. The house grew still, and a kind of magic hung in the air—as if we had an invisible but noteworthy visitor, one who followed us across countries and cultures.

By the time I was six, I knew I wanted to be part of that magic, too. So one evening, while sitting down with my family to fitaar (the Egyptian word for “break fast”), I proudly announced that I’d only had a few chocolate chip cookies to eat that day.

“I fasted, just like you,” I announced, beaming. The pride in my parents’ smiles made me want to try harder the next day, and for years after that.

We moved around a lot while I was growing up, from Canada to Saudi Arabia and eventually to the United Arab Emirates. But wherever we were, Ramadan came with us. And when I lived in Jeddah, Dhahran and Dubai, these cities seemed to fast as one. Shops closed for the day, our work and school hours were shortened, and the streets were empty until they came to life again after sunset and evening prayers.

I would return to our house from class, fall into a deep sleep and wake up to the smells of my mother’s lentil soup, stuffed grape leaves, molokheya, stewed beef, okra, rice and breaded chicken. I’d sit down with my family, sleepy-eyed and quiet, and begin eating after the athaan announced sunset prayers and signalled our ability to break fast. Afterwards, there was tea, dessert and a selection of Egyptian soap operas custom-made for Ramadan season. With our bellies and hearts full, we’d pray and head to bed. The next day before dawn, we’d wake up for suhoor, our early morning meal, and do it all over again.