The Reality of Ramadan

(an unedited version of this writing... just posting so that my avid (ha!) readers might be assuaged...)

The Reality of Ramadan

If you ask any Muslim in Morocco “What is Ramadan like?”, they will undoubtedly answer, “I love Ramadan The food is wonderful So much food ” There is very little mention of the fasting part of the holy month. Families buy fresh herbs, bread, cakes and cookies, and then spend the majority of the afternoon in the kitchen, preparing the ftour (the breaking of the fast), the snack, and dinner. Three meals occur within a five hour span of time, the family goes to sleep until 3:30 or 4:00am, at which point they awake to eat before the first prayer. They eat, they pray, the go back to sleep before they have to get up again for work or school. After the first prayer, which occurs here around 4:30 am, there can be no drinking, no eating, and no brushing of teeth until the prayer call around 6:45pm. The days are brutal, and people generally feel sluggish, groggy, nauseous, and only want to watch TV and sleep.

Ramadan is a very beautiful tradition in Morocco. Everyone suffers together during the day, everyone rejoices together in the evening. Families come together to pray and eat, friends come to visit and share in the joy of the holiday. It is wonderful.

Now, for my reality of Ramadan. The first day of Ramadan in Morocco was last Friday, September 14. The oulama of Morocco saw the moon on the evening of September 13, and the sirens went off and the TV stations announced that Ramadan would begin the following day.
I woke up at 3:30 in the morning with my family to eat before the first prayer. The meal was small, but enough to make my stomach unhappy. It doesn’t like food in the middle of the night. I try to go back to sleep at 4:00am, but this is when the chanting of the Qur’an begins at the mosque next to my house. And at all the mosques in the immediate area. I counted five different voices loudly chanting over intercoms at 4:00. With my stomach upset and thus unable to sleep, I sat by the window and recorded the chanting. At 4:30, the prayer calls began, and my family prayed before going back to sleep shortly before 5:00. I laid down. At 5:00, a rooster who lives on the next roof, began to cock-a-doodle-do. He cock-a-doodle-dooed until 6:00, when the sun was finally up and he knew his job was done. I lay awake this entire time, curled into the fetal position, listening to my mp3 player, wishing I could sleep. Damn rooster. After this, the noise of the nearby street kept me awake. The last I looked at the clock was 7:00am. I slept for an hour, and woke up at 8:00 to get ready for school. Not a great way to begin my first day of Ramadan.
The day wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I was hungry, but soon the growls of my stomach subsided and I ran on reserve energy. I stayed at school until is closed early at 4:00pm (everything closes early during Ramadan), and then went home to sleep until ftour. By 6:30 the table was set and the family was ready to eat, but we had to wait for the all important prayer call to break the fast. The second Allahu akbar sounded, we dove into the food. The fast is traditionally broken with dates, so I ate a few and then started on a delicious lentil and vegetable soup.
The food, which at first looked so appetizing, quickly turned evil. It hurt my stomach, a lot. I didn’t want to eat anymore, but my family kept shoving food in front of me, saying, “Kuli, kuli.” “Eat, eat.” I tried to eat some more, but soon felt so awful I had to stop. My body was rejecting the food. I went to sleep around 9:00pm, missing the dinner that came at 11:00.
Saturday and Sunday I visited Casablanca with some friends, and went along with Quranic allowance that said travelers don’t have to fast. Still, I ate very little. All day Saturday I ate a piece of bread, a Diet Coke from McDonald’s, water, and then had ftour with friends at Rick’s Café. Yes, the Rick’s Café of Casablanca, the film, fame. It was beautifully decorated and very American, and a welcome respite from the filthiness of the city of Casablanca. I’m a sell-out, and lame, I know. But when you’re sick and missing home and Casablanca is disgusting and taxi drivers rip you off, Rick’s Café sounds like heaven.
After arriving back in Rabat (the love of my life), Carly and I went to McDonald’s (again, perhaps I’m a sell-out, but thank God for globalization, because McDonald’s is one of the only restaurants open during Ramadan) and to a café and sat with some other girls from school. Before I ate French fries, and drank Coca-Cola and coffee, the thought in the forefront of my mind was,
I have been sent to Morocco as punishment, and I have served my sentence. I want to go home.
I felt awful, I hated being there, I was ready for it to be over. After eating, I was laughing, thinking (thinking ceases when you have a pounding headache and your stomach is fighting you), studying, and enjoying the day. And I liked Morocco again. Thus ended my decision to fast.
The nail in the coffin of my “attempting to fast” story is that I had a visit from the Demon Diarrhea again last night. My body has reacted violently to the Ramadan tradition of evening binge-eating. I did my best, and I think that in America I actually might be able to do the Ramadan fast, because I could eat as much as I want, at times my stomach will allow. In Morocco, my family wants me to “kuli, kuli” until I either vomit or s*** it all out.

So, Ramadan fasting is very hard on my system. I’m done with self-induced nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and misery. Binge-eating before sleeping is not healthy, in any medical book.


I appreciate the tradition, and love spending time with my family when they celebrate. But no more will I suffer along with them. I only have three months in Morocco, and I refuse to spend one in a constant state of gastro-intestinal war.