The fun of the fast.

Last year I remember Ramadan being unpleasant, frustrating and hungry. People fought, pregnant and breast feeding mothers fasted, and the sick fasted. Kids were hit harder, women fought more and people fainted from exhaustion. I fasted for 2 days and than gave up. My other experiences with fasting on Yom Kippur was always painful; I remember being very hungry and spending the day at temple where everyone is trying to hide how bad their breath is, debating whether or not brushing your teeth is breaking the fast.

This year was different.

I fasted for...(drum roll please) TWENTY DAYS and learned the ultimate Ramadan secret- fasting can be fun.  For most of the people in my village it is more of a game than a period of religious reflection. When you look beyond the hunger, the health issues and the exhaustion, you realize that it is the one month out of the year where your boring routine is completely changed. And for these villagers who go through the same cycle, day after day, year after year since the day they were born, this tradition is warmly welcomed because it is a reason to do things differently for a little while.

Of course there are complaints, but its something to talk about other than how hot it is! It is a game of strength, bragging about how many days you have fasted for. Young boys try to prove their manliness by fasting as many days possible. Older men boast that this is the 15^th year that they will have successfully fasted for everyday. Some chose to fast for an extra week after Ramadan is over, just to solidify their strength.

For me, this year was much more pleasant because I was part of the conversation. I bragged to everyone who asked and teased kids when I surpassed them in the number of days fasted. It was refreshing participating in the tradition and they were so proud that their 'toubab' or 'white person' had joined in.

The most meaningful event was the night of Kiitimo, when everyone is supposed to go to the mosque and pray until call to prayer the next morning at 5 am. While this was not exactly how it played out, it was a very insightful evening as it was my first trip to the mosque.

The intensity of my village's religious beliefs was always something that I felt built a wall between me and them. I have felt uncomfortable disturbing people while on their prayer mat, in case I was interrupting their prayer. I felt uneasy when people asked me to pray with them. I would always decline and explain that I was going to my room to pray and mutter the shema, demonstrating my 'words from Allah'.
 

But on the evening of Kiitimo this barrier was broken as I realized that in practice, there are many similarities between the Islam that is practiced in my village and the way that I have practiced Judaism. 

The day began as a 'Senegalese Halloween'. Kids walked around with an assortment of containers to people's huts and asking for sweets. Some women worked all day pounding beans, corn and sugar into a sweet like dough. Men passed out biskets and candy. I decided to join the fun and brought out a handful of cheap mints. After being attacked by 20 children and I decided against passing out more.

After breaking fast with 'mono', a corn sugar porridge, I ventured out with young girls to the mosque, proudly carrying my mat. We were late and so we were rushing with the other stragglers along the sand paths to the mosque. Like the last guy that forgets his yamika in shul, I forgot a headscarf and there was frantic search for an extra to drape over my brow. 

I took a place next to the young girls in the back of the women's session, in the dirt outside of the mosque. I felt like I was part of the cool kids group that hangs out in the back of any church or temple I have attended. As I adjusted my mat, all the men slowly filtered inside of the mosque while the women waited and bowed to the oldest, most respected men, reiterating the male dominated nature of Senegalese society.

Eventually the praying began. I awkwardly used my peripheral vision to spy on my neighbor, making sure I was correctly following the motions. My group of girls burst into giggles watching me. Like an annoyed Bubbe at temple, a grandmother in front of us sharply turned her head and gave us an angry glance that said all. The peanut gallery next to me tried to stifle their laughter.

After a few rounds of bowing down, kneeling, yoga-esque childs pose, and back to standing, I was enjoying the cathardic motion. I had been concerned that I would be unwelcome because I could not repeat the Arabic prayers but I realized very few were making attempts at saying the words. Like me at my Bat Mitzvah, reciting the haftarah from memory and not from understanding, they have no idea what they are saying.

The praying went on for over a dozen rounds and afterwards we were able to relax. I stretched out my legs and sat up straight, trying to pay close attention to the Imam who began to say prayers and a sermon in Jaxanke. I was taking serious mental notes- make sure to fast next year, help more villagers in school so they can go to France, give money to our mosque, etc... I soon realized I was the only one in my section even paying attention. The rest of the girls were laying down, heads rested on each other's stomachs discussing what was for dinner or gossiping about the men.

Several elderly men were given the opportunity to speak and they proudly preached on the importance of fasting, praying and giving money to the mosque. The ones with a few extra coins demonstrated their generosity by showing us the money and announcing how much they were giving before handing it to the Imam.

By 10:30 pm I was quite hungry and very glad to be given the cue that the service was over. Similar to my reaction after a long morning at temple, I eagerly stood up, wished my neighbors a healthy year and swiftly walked away to be first in line for the oneg- or rather my dinner of oily rice.

El hadji, Gnima and myself on Korite, ready to go great the village

Allah mu xi sun diyala le. Allah mu san diyala le. Allah mu moxo jarra la.

May your fast be sweet.

May Allah bring you a sweet year.

May Allah heal the people.