Monday, August 5, 2013

Ramadan is the name of the Game

It's that time of year again- the season of fasting, Ramadan, cranky season, fighting season- in Quaranic reality its a time of forgiveness and being thankful for all that Allah gives you. In practice it because a different monster. Last year, I fasted a total of 26 days. This year, not one. I am eating. Eating only. How could I not, last year, I learned a lot about myself, the culture, the spirit of community, made many life changes and generally grew as a person. Not kidding and not overestimating. It was a very therapeutic experience, and a recommend it to anyone to try. This year, I had a full food trunk, saved as I've become a food hoarder because I am so afraid of those times where there is no food. This year, I am on the outside looking in. Everyone in the village is fasting from sunup to sundown and I am living a more nutrition month than I have in a long while. I took it in different stride, I ate protein and I exercised everyday. It gave a great pattern to everyday, come up with exciting nutritious meals to make and plan the evening routine. I told everyone I was not fasting, and I always got positive responses along with the general Gambian teasing ones.

"Why are you not fasting?" "Mune I mun sung?"
"I am training instead." "M be training."
"Oh this is very good." " A beteyata baake."

"I am not muslim." "M munke muslim le ti."
*no response*

"I like food too much." "n leffita domoroo baake baake."
"oh Isatou, you are not brave of hunger and thirst." "Isatou, I mun hanni konko nin mindo."


A lot of women especially looked on in some what of a jealous nature as I explained that I was not keeping fast. Out of a whole village maybe 3 or 4 people have told me that fasting is good and it brings them strength. The rest complain, sleep all afternoon, bitch some more, yell at children, each other, their wives. I don't blame them entirely but really, the Quaran says no fighting people!

Women continue the cooking, for the breakfast, lunch for the children, tea and a small meal for the breaking and dinner. Not including carrying the water, going to the fields every morning for 5 hours to hand weed (its back breaking, I barely make it 2 hours) and keeping the children out of trouble. Yes, the speed of even already slow life, slows down even more. The men go to the fields in the morning for the same time as the women, and to be honest, some go back for 3 hours in the evening ( respect), seriously, I have no idea where they find the strength- I could barely stand up in the evening. But most of the men lay around sleeping on the bantabas. The younger girls, 15 and younger, take on more responsibilities, they carry more water, and generally help their mom's out. Boys too, more work in the fields, perhaps even taking the donkey cart to fetch water. Starting at age, you can walk without falling down, you start to have jobs. If you aren't old enough to weed the fields you follow your older siblings around picking up the weeds and placing them into piles. You can't carry a full pan of water on your head, then you carry a small bucket or a kettle. Its adorable to see a 4 year old walking home with a tiny kettle of water on her head, but also heart-wrenching.

Back to Ramadan-

I am learning equally as much about myself on an empty stomach as I did last year on a full one. I am also learning and seeing things I missed last year because I was too hungry to pick up on them. There is this deep level of power0 in the hunger- the lessons of carrying on to the finish and the knowledge that they and we all have the strength even without the food to do it, and with that strength comes power. There is a resilience that takes its highest form during Ramadan and breaths extra life into the community. This goes without explaining how resilient and strong the people are on a daily basis, they just reach into themselves and depend on one another during this time of fasting.

Dukuti le ka dakuti wulu. - Mandinka Proverb