Ramdan has begun and I've encouraged the boys to join me this year. It feels especially hard at times- my only comfort being a million other people are feeling this way too. After surviving this year with 2 weeks of "sufferance" at the end of every month, it's more than ironic that now we actually have the food- we just can't eat it.
It's left me reflecting evermore on the purpose of Ramadan and the uses of food. I remember this from years past. Fasting has the potential to leave me feeling hungry and tired and grumpy. It's easy to doubt the purpose of it all. There are moments when crabbiness just takes over. We walk around the house scowling and nipping at each other like little dogs. Sleeping is a common distraction- and often a necessary one- as well as a way to escape the stomach pangs. But you're not meant to sleep the days away and feast all night. Flipping day and night is cited as one of the big tips NOT to do. I can see how it might be an easy habit to fall into.
This year I feel much more in the rhythm. It might be the fact that Muslims are so prevelant and present in our neighborhood (and in the city in general. A far cry from Kinshasa where the Muslim population stood out as a clear minority.) I am enjoying getting up early and preparing a complete breakfast for us. Previously, I'd been of the mind that the kids should sleep until they wake naturally, assuming if they're sleeping it's because they need it. Breakfast was usually an on-your-own kind of meal, everyone choosing their favorite and eating in various degrees of togetherness, except for the occasional Sunday. It seems hectic now, my hovering between kitchen and table, eating, making lunches, packing bags. The boys shuffling around, nibbling toast or crunching cereal, trying to find school supplies.
Our mornings have become a sharp contrast as we all wake early. The breakfast has already been prepared and we sit together to eat and talk- no multi-tasking. I see the benefits of waking up at the same time every day and having plenty of time to spare before heading off to school. Of course, the boys are on vacation and I know they can nap if they get tired so I don't feel bad at all about waking them. Naps fit in with the rhythm du pays in Ivory Coast. Getting up so early requires an early bed time, which they've always had (and mostly stuck to) since their days are so action packed they are literally exhausted by nightfall anyway.
The in-between times are a little trickier. I end up spending my time analyzing why I want to eat, especially on those long weekend days at home. (Distraction by way of going to school, talking with someone or generally keeping busy goes a long way towards a successful fast.) I want to determine how often I am truly hungry as opposed to using food as a pasttime. I find myself answering that 'I just want to feel good.' I am happy to note that for me, eating has a component of feeling healthy. I don't crave junk (even my once so frequent chocolate bar has gone the way of the dinosaurs lately. We occasionally visit but it's less and less often. I did make my own chocolate bar recently. It was super tasty, and much simpler by way of ingredients which, in my mind equals, healthy.)
Eating to feel good includes eating for comfort. Sometimes, especially on those rainy Abidjan days, I want nothing more than a cup of tea and warm milk, a spicy soup or rice and sauce dish. In a bowl, of course, a cozy, cuddling ceramic bowl that fits exactly in two hands perched atop the knees while huddling under a blanket. I know then I am using the idea of food to pad my emotional memories with warmth and security. Since the tea and the soup are not really options, I search for other ways to keep cozy and relax. Without food. Using the other senses, smell for instance, can create just as powerful and nearly as cozy memories.
Sometimes feeling good means creating community. I am looking to use food as a means for sharing an experience, not just something we can do together (eat cookies and tell jokes) but something we can feel together (hot, melting chocolate chips and full belly rolling laughter.) When this is the case, I usually enlist Nabih to help me prepare something. We peel and slice and chop together. We beat and stir and cream together. And we try to remember not to lick our fingers.
Often, I find that "feeling good" means showing others how much I care. Whether it is a "language of love" or a form of wish fulfillment, cooking for others is most often pleasurable. While I do admit to falling into the cooking-is-a-dreadful-unappreciated-duty-and-I-wish-I-could-order-take-out perspective at times, cooking during Ramadan is kind of like a month of Thanksgiving. We plan our favorite dinners and a simple dessert. The boys take a few nights of cooking to show off their skills and concoct a winning combination. The joy of cooking flows both ways. The eater and the preparer reap rewards.
Another one of the tips to avoid during Ramadan is spending too much on fancy meal favorites, however. I find after a whole day of fasting, any food is going to taste great so keeping it simple is easy. Our menu is not too different from what we normally eat, it's just the planning and anticipation that is different. The best desserts involve a lot of fruit, though we've had cookies on a night or two. I have come to really enjoy the completeness of our meals. Just as I am thinking it would be great to do this all the time, I realize it is better to keep it as our Ramadan tradition. (I don't think it would be sustainable for me, though, at the same time, I am realizing there are people who eat this way every night.) I'm feeling happy to be finally giving my boys some memories and bona-fide traditions of their childhoods.
Another realization all this reflecting has resulted in is that, as a parent, I have often unknowingly assumed my children have acquired the same background knowledge as I. It's not at all logical, but I think as parents we somehow feel our experiences are transmitted by osmosis and our children gain- not necessarily the details and real life knowledge- but the essence of what we know.
I had a rather unusual and lucky childhood in that I was exposed to most of the major religions. My mother sent us to Catholic school, my parents were Methodist, their best friends were Jewish and my step-grandmother was....Evangelical? (I'm not exactly sure, but her brand of religion scared the heck out of me. That makes it Evangelical, right?) I know stories from everywhere. Added to all of that, I then embarked on my own grand search and discovered Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam and a smattering of other, smaller belief sets. I'm happy with what I know and my journey to uncover it all. But I realized my boys don't have any of this knowledge. And it's pretty much my fault. I didn't want their minds closed or filled with absolutes. The result was creating a void.
I still get nervous when I think of sending them off to be educated- or exposed. I've begun trying to share my stories and my knowing, but it's a long tricky road. Sometimes it feels like a long, tricky, lonely road. I want them to make their own journeys (and of course I would be inwardly rooting for them to end up exactly here, where I am....but I know that anything can happen on a journey and anything should happen. That's what makes it a personal journey. It's just hard to have faith sometimes.)
Mohamed has a few friends observing and he's begun going to mosque with them. This is good. The beginning of his road. I like to think once he is connected with a mosque, he will find himself at home anywhere. I remember a drummer friend from long ago. He'd arrived to the US young, new, and overwhelmed. One of the first things he'd done was to find a mosque and trek across town every Friday. It was a way of returning to the security of his home. A way of keeping cozy. Maintaining his identity and connecting with others. It is what religions are meant to do?
In the meantime, I continue my own journey. As we try to keep the fast this Ramadan,I am striving to do more than remember people who are hungry. I want to understand the complex role food plays in our lives. There is far more than just sustenance to be grateful for.
