I woke up
at 3.15 am, went downstairs to grab something to eat. I opened the fridge,
nothing pleased my appetite. I took a yogurt and a handful of dates. Still,
nothing pleased my appetite. So I turned around the kitchen and found a
watermelon still intact. I took a large knife and cut it into two. It isn’t
cold. I took a part of it and put it in the fridge. In my mind, I was planning to
eat the yogurt and dates till the watermelon get cold. So was what I did. After
eating them, I looked at the clock and found it's 3.30 A.M. I woke my dad up to
Shour but he didn’t want to. It was the turn of watermelon, I took it off the
fridge and brought some bread and started to eat. And then it happened,
the Adhan started. I shouted at my father: is it the Adhan? I didn’t drink
water. I am still hungry. I only took two bits of the watermelon. Damn it.” he
told me I can drink a sip of water. That’s all. The Adhan means no more food,
no more water.
I went
upstairs and I heard my sister laughing at me; she and my aunt got up earlier
than me and ate as much as they wanted. I went to my room, prayed and got back
to sleep.
I woke up
at 7.30; got dressed and went to the taxi station. On my way, I figured out I wasn’t
angry because I didn’t eat. It’s the 1st day of Ramadan. I was
pleased and happy, for people are minding their own business: men and women; Men
lowering their gaze, and women covering themselves, no sexual harassment, and
they would do so for the next 28 days or so. I can’t ask for much.
I arrived
early to the office where I get trained, so I decided to go for a walk on the old
medina; I entered from Bab Biba. First thing to hit me, the shops where Bastila
paper was made and sold were the first to be opened. The oven was hot and the
baker was the white substance on an iron plate under the eyes of a crowd
waiting to buy some of that thing; as if Ramadan was all about Bastila. I
continued my walk down the street to find a bunch of people, two policemen, a
soldier and numerous civilians peering at something, when I stepped closer, the
sweet mouth-watering smell filled my nostrils; in fact they were queuing in front
of a Chebakia shop and at 8.30 in the morning. I turned rightward; the entire
street leading to Souk Assabat (Shoe market) was empty. A vacuum. All the shops
closed. The street sounded dumb and mute. I only knew them shouting the prices of
things, their quality and where they were made. Now there isn’t any material
for sale, neither buyers nor sellers. Few people walking that street. Actually,
I’d never had the opportunity to contemplate the houses above the shops. Now I
see beautiful houses, old and grotesque but picturesque. I turned backward to
the entry of Lagza, same thing, again. The street is swept. Where are the Rasta-men,
the stylish boys with their faded hippy clothes, unique as they are; where their
products are: US made clothes, unfamiliar and rare pieces and special jewelries
often picked up from flea markets, as I’ve heard, but sold at an expensive price.
I guess that’s all for today. I am back to office now.
I miss my
last week training days. I had the tendency to bring water, orange juice, chocolate and
some cake to breakfast in the office, but now!! I chewed gum while translating texts. I was entitled to a one hour
break to lunch, but now!! Even my instructor told me you can to lunch, as if he
knew that I missed the Shour!!
Now, it
is 13 P.M and my stomach is playing Mozart. My body is weary. My head hurt. My mouth
is so dry that I forget its existence. My breath is disgusting. My mind fools
around meals and food.
Still, 7 more hours to go.
*******
After I
left the office, I went straight home. I found my sister in the kitchen; she’d
just finished preparing some Briwate. I opened the fridge nothing else was
prepared. From my experience, I know that my father would keep nagging and
nagging because of the “empty table”. He would go like: “I’ve been fasting
all day, and at the end, to break my fast with this. Are you serious? What have
you been doing all day long?” his voice getting higher and higher and his
eyes about to pop out of their place. I can’t blame him, that’s the effect of
diabetes and 18 hours of fasting. I myself think that the table is in fact “empty”,
so I figured out that I would cook some Tortilla, and make some beet juice and
serve the table.
My mom
got back home. She herself decided to prepare some salad, she’s addicted to
salad whether it be summer or winter. I asked her to prepare one with lettuce
and orange. So she did.
After serving
the table, moving fro and to the kitchen to the living room, I was literally beat.
I threw myself in one of the Sdader, and admired the table. That made me so
damn hungry. In my mind, I was making a plan, with which to start, what would
come next, and next and next.
My father
and mother were used to fasting Mondays and Thursdays. For them, fasting is a
piece of cake. So, they started making jokes of their hungry kids: my sister
and me. My father, teasing, suggested that he would perform the call of prayer
just to please his beloved daughter. Me. Whereas my mother told me that I can
eat now and then the following day I would continue the fast from where I broke
it and she will sew the two days to make one fasting day from dawn to sunset. Yes,
my parents though.
*****
Hungry
as I were, I couldn’t eat after the Adhan of El Maghreb. With all the plans in
my head, and all the mouth-watering meals, all I did was filling my stomach
with water and water and juice. To be frank, I was at loss. I didn’t know with
which to start. Normally, as our prophet, peace be upon him, did, to break the
fast is to start with milk and dates. So did I: Lot of dates and one sip of
milk (I don’t like milk), and then water, water, water! The more I drunk the thirstier
I was.
