First Day of Fasting

The first day of Ramadan technically started Saturday night at the dinner call to prayer around 9:30 p.m., but the crowds in the streets and people’s attitudes all day on Saturday made it clear that the following day would not be a normal Sunday. Upon entering the grocery store in Errachidia, you would have thought you were in Florida before a category 5 hurricane was set to move through. Everyone was sipping water and snacking on doughnuts and milawi (Moroccan fried bread) in the streets. For the next month, any consumption of food or beverages during the day – approximately 3:30 a.m. until 7:30 p.m. would be forbidden for Muslims in public.

It was a calm evening in general, and I had decided to spend it at my dar chebab chatting with the assistant director, since all the kids were out enjoying the last evening before fasting began. Suddenly, a group of about 100 people started trickling into the dar chebab to have a party for group of teenage runners at a local association – an event my assistant director seemed to be surprised about but still allowed to take place, even though he would have to stay quite late and clearly did not want to. It’s a little hard to say no here. I happened to have met two of the guys working with a running association at a café before, so they invited me into their awards ceremony. I agreed, figuring that it was a situation I could escape from easily if need be, since I was on my home turf at the dar chebab. The MC spoke mostly in standard Arabic, so I was a little lost, but the pain didn’t last too long, before one of the guys invited me to have dinner at his house with him, his friends, and four Spanish volunteers on a two-week trip to Morocco. It was 8:00 p.m., and I had no idea when dinner would be, since the next day fasting would begin, but I agreed again, hoping that I could escape if there were too much of a delay.

I ended up being sardined into a huge SUV, making a pit stop at the grocery store again to endure the painfully long lines and slow cashiers, and then arriving at one of the guys’ house to have tea and snacks and to learn how to play a type of drum that I hope to never have to play again. By 11:00 p.m. we made it to the other friend’s house to have dinner, but dinner didn’t come. By 1:45 a.m., the streets were getting quiet, and I was contemplating just going home and eating something before the sunrise prayer sounded around 3:30 a.m. signaling the end of eating, but the conversations were good, and there were cute, little, entertaining kids running around. I figured I should keep practicing Darija, so I stuck it out, and two tajines were displayed for our consumption just before 2:00 a.m. I ate the bread and salad and avoided the meaty, fatty tajines, knowing that I had leftover pasta at home. I scurried home through the deserted streets around 2:30, chugged three liters of water, and fell into bed, exhausted and ready to sweat my way through the night.

I had enough energy to get out of bed around 10:30 a.m., but I didn’t know what to do with my time, since I usually spend quite a bit of my day cooking my meals. There is very little pre-cooked food available in Morocco other than bread and snacks, so any decent meal must be made completely from scratch. I already understood within the first few hours of Ramadan why people say they have so much free time to do other hobbies. The problem is that I already felt thirsty and tired when I woke up! By 1:00, I knew I had to leave the house to avoid the temptation of eating, so I walked lethargically through the once more deserted streets to the dar chebab. Luckily, it was a mere 106 degrees. I figured I sweated out at least two of the three liters I had chugged the night before during the 30 minute walk.

I spent the afternoon chatting idly with the assistant director again. After a long search, we found batteries for the remote control for the aging air conditioning unit in the office at the youth center, and got it to blow air that was at least cooler than the outside temperature. One of the guys who usually comes to my English and Spanish classes showed up, so we all ended up chatting for about four hours, and then I headed to my Errachidia host family’s house, as I had told them the day before that I’d join them to break fast with them for the first day of Ramadan. There was still about an hour and a half before the sunset when I arrived, so I went on a quest for bread with my host brother, but it seemed like the bakers hadn’t yet quite gotten their Ramadan rhythm down pat, so most hanuts were sold out of bread or only had the few pieces left that everyone had clearly already picked through.

I had never been so happy to hear the call to prayer go off, and I promptly chugged nearly two liters of water. What followed was a little smorgasbord of sweet and savory delights: fried bread, white bread, jam, olive oil, moist dates, crushed dates, zameta or salew (a delicious peanut, flour, and oil combination), sweet scalding hot tea, fresh peach juice made from the kilo of dates I brought as a gift (even in Morocco one should never go empty handed, although I don’t think any family would be offended if I didn’t bring anything), and harira (a tomato based soup with chickpeas, pasta, rice, and lima beans). There wasn’t too much talking before the family retired to rest, and I went on my way home to prepare dinner and drink more water.

I probably never in my life had gone 17 hours without drinking water, especially in weather over 100 degrees. Many of you in the United States are probably wondering why I would be crazy enough to do such a thing. Perhaps most surprisingly though, many Moroccans ask me why I’m fasting and tell me that I shouldn’t do it since I’m not Muslim. However, even after doing it for only one day, I’m glad that I made the choice. Those 17 hours made me hope that I never again take water for granted or disregard someone who is in need of the basic necessities in life – food and water – which is the main premise of fasting at Ramadan. I don’t expect to get any spiritual return for my efforts, but I certainly feel that my mind and body will be stronger after completing this challenge. Also, despite the few Moroccans who have scoffed at my desire to partake in the country’s most significant cultural and religious period, most Moroccans are tremendously surprised and happy when they ask me, “nta syyam?” and I respond “daori.” “Are you fasting?” – “Of course.” Also, everyone fasts – at least in public. I won’t speculate as to what happens when people are alone, but during the day, the city is deserted. Day becomes night, and night becomes day. I have the slight impression that just by going out during the day I have been judged by passersby that imagine I am not fasting. I do have to say though that people have never been nicer to me than they have been in Errachidia in the days immediately before Ramadan. I left for a two week training in Marrakech and was nervous that people would forget about me, but I came back feeling extremely welcomed. I thoroughly believe that joining them for fasting has and will continue to strengthen my bond with my community, which is, after all, what I’m here to do.  

PS - I promise I'm not exaggerating that troupes of drummers and kids with pots and pans run around the streets at 2:00 a.m. to wake everyone up, so they can eat their last meal before the sunrise call to prayer!