Ramadan
We are surrounded by the faithful. Every muselman… Astou, the night guards, my French teacher, the Club Atlantique lifeguards, the construction workers, the fish ladies, the fruit vendors, tout le monde is observing Ramadan. Fasting begins with sunrise and continues to sunset. Those observing give up food and water for a long hot day. The wet of the rainy season combine with the heat of the hot season to make a thick soup. Day after day the fasting continues for a lunar month. Astou shifts slightly during the day from prayer, to ironing, to prayer, to mopping, to napping, to prayer. The Dakaroise become more and more in repose, napping under cars, in the dust next to the telecenters, on the low benches where they usually sit waiting for customers. Bronwyn wonders why it takes 20 minutes to buy a cucumber. They joke with us and ask us if we are fasting. “C’est dur, n’est pas?”, we empathize. The test of faith continues on.
Allison and I began the month getting up early each day to scurry outside under the scented plumeria, We paused briefly to “ca va?” Cisse as he pounded down his last meal of the night. Our mission was to see the moon, big and full and clear, upstaging the stars and planets. The frogs, the crickets, the praying mantises amused us, but the moon called our name. As the month continued, our moon watch interest waned, until we were just letting things celestial go on without us.
The end of Ramadan approaches, with a Tuesday Tout Saint and then the big holiday, Korite, on Thursday, or maybe Friday. Korite…n’est pas fixe. Not only is it’s date based on the lunar calendar, but it is also based on whether your confrerite of muslman actually sees the thin sliver of the new moon rising. A city full of fasting faithful wait, like news photographers wait on Groundhog Day, for the word. See the moon, and you eat tomorrow, Allison gets a holiday from school and Astou doesn’t show. Can’t quite find the moon, and you’ve got another day to fast and life goes on until the sliver appears. Allison and I eagerly search the evening sky for a sign. “Ou est la lune?” we ask Cisse. We don’t see a moon, but our vote doesn’t count. We go to bed without knowing the official results.
We are surrounded by the faithful. Every muselman… Astou, the night guards, my French teacher, the Club Atlantique lifeguards, the construction workers, the fish ladies, the fruit vendors, tout le monde is observing Ramadan. Fasting begins with sunrise and continues to sunset. Those observing give up food and water for a long hot day. The wet of the rainy season combine with the heat of the hot season to make a thick soup. Day after day the fasting continues for a lunar month. Astou shifts slightly during the day from prayer, to ironing, to prayer, to mopping, to napping, to prayer. The Dakaroise become more and more in repose, napping under cars, in the dust next to the telecenters, on the low benches where they usually sit waiting for customers. Bronwyn wonders why it takes 20 minutes to buy a cucumber. They joke with us and ask us if we are fasting. “C’est dur, n’est pas?”, we empathize. The test of faith continues on.
Allison and I began the month getting up early each day to scurry outside under the scented plumeria, We paused briefly to “ca va?” Cisse as he pounded down his last meal of the night. Our mission was to see the moon, big and full and clear, upstaging the stars and planets. The frogs, the crickets, the praying mantises amused us, but the moon called our name. As the month continued, our moon watch interest waned, until we were just letting things celestial go on without us.
The end of Ramadan approaches, with a Tuesday Tout Saint and then the big holiday, Korite, on Thursday, or maybe Friday. Korite…n’est pas fixe. Not only is it’s date based on the lunar calendar, but it is also based on whether your confrerite of muslman actually sees the thin sliver of the new moon rising. A city full of fasting faithful wait, like news photographers wait on Groundhog Day, for the word. See the moon, and you eat tomorrow, Allison gets a holiday from school and Astou doesn’t show. Can’t quite find the moon, and you’ve got another day to fast and life goes on until the sliver appears. Allison and I eagerly search the evening sky for a sign. “Ou est la lune?” we ask Cisse. We don’t see a moon, but our vote doesn’t count. We go to bed without knowing the official results.
posted by Kat | 3:19 AM
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