My Little Ramazan - Day Three

Fri 13th August 2010

Day Three of Ramazan and my husband is positively gleeful. He bounds home from work as if he’s a distant relative of Mr Motivator. He skips round the kitchen preparing food for himself, tossing salad, frying Turkish sausage, splitting eggs into hot oil. He eats it with all the enthusiasm of a toddler with a bowl of ice cream. What the flip is going on? Usually I have to trick him into even making a cup of tea. Where has the new-found passion for culinary activity come from? Hunger, perhaps?

But no, I don’t think it is hunger. I think he’s actually in his bloody element. He (and forgive me for the dramatic intensity of the following phrase) is serving his God. He is performing a ritual which not only earns Muslim brownie points, but also opens up a communication, a conversation, a chat, no less, with the Divine One. At least that’s what seems to be happening.

Through his actions (i.e. not eating or drinking or swearing or kissing or smoking) during the day, Mustafa is opening himself up. He is showing his God his commitment, his ability to be disciplined, his gratitude for a healthy, happy existence. He’s saying “Hey Almighty One, look at me. I bloody love you, I do!”. He seems more relaxed. He seems more at ease. He seems more empowered. Could that ever be a bad thing?

I must remind myself that it’s only Day Three and Mustafa’s nicotine withdrawal has not yet kicked in. Will he really be so empowered when he’s gagging for a draw? But no matter which way I look at it, and no matter what happens from now, I am secretly impressed by my husband. He works in a kebab shop for twelve hours a day for goodness sake (I know, the stereotyping is hilarious). How can he not at least sneak a chip or an onion ring? Would Allah really object to that?

Regardless of my awe, Mustafa is happy with his efforts and seems to be basking in the glory of Ramazan. Good for him. The question now is, can I do the same? I have a weekend coming up with absolutely nothing planned other than entertaining my two-year-old. No exciting activities to distract myself from the task I will be undertaking. No appointments to break up the day. Unless, of course, you count stamping in puddles and changing outstandingly dirty nappies. Hmmm. Maybe that is enough to curb my appetite.

Anyway, I have reached the end of the last day of my period and have celebrated by inviting my friend Jo over and sharing a giant takeaway from Mustafa’s kebab shop. Plus many delicious chocolates with many cups of tea. We have sworn to celebrate the end of Ramazan in true non-Muslim style, i.e. something fuelled by plenty of Chardonnay. Jo has also offered her help and support during the fasting period and I wonder if she knows what she’s let herself in for. Does she really want to become a live-in nanny under the employment of a constantly sleeping mother? Sleep has always been my fondest form of escape.

Right now, I’m playing with the idea of getting up before 4.23 tomorrow morning so I can have breakfast and brush my teeth. Not liking that idea so far. I can see how it would work with a whole family rising to gather round a morning meal. Squinted eyes, whispered banter and hungry hands grabbing precious food, the sun teasing gently behind clouds outside. I can’t see how it’s going to work for me. Rising alone (Mustafa is impossible to wake up), blurred vision, stubbed toes, pouring fruit cordial on my Weetabix. Nope, I think I’m best going to bed armed with a jug of water and a couple of biscuits.

So, I’m armed and ready for the night ahead. Let’s hope the morning brings me strength, courage and naturally high levels of hydration. Goodnight.