The midpoint of Ramadan was marked last night by the emergence of a full moon. As full and swollen as the moon was, my stomach was not much different after being stuffed at yet another iftar celebration. Some 24 hours after my final bite of qatiyef Jordanian Ramadan’s version of pancakes, I wonder how long it will be before my hunger returns. With only coffee and water having passed my lips since the evening before, my food coma has more than run it’s course.
As an American Christian in the Arab world, I have fasted for a handful of days of the Holy Month thus far. Not intentionally, that I did for one month before I came to the Middle East for the first time in 2002, but those were short November days, not long, hot end of summer ones. This haphazard fasting is the result of racing out of the house in the morning without my prepared handbag minibar morsels to consume in secrecy between meetings. Only two days ago, after nearly seven hours of meetings, and only consuming my own saliva I found myself famished, and light headed. So, I went to a corner shop to buy a bottle of carrot orange juice, which I gulped along side the three pairs of pants I used as a decoy to enter the dressing room at a local clothing shop. Feeling insanely guilty, I stared at myself in the mirror watching my throat undulate in gratitude after taking the final gulp. My previously blurring vision returned to normal only to realize I had an orange mustache, which I carefully removed before returning the decoy trousers that upon second glance clearly would not have fit me anyway.
Although I have spent Ramadan in the Arab world before, the extent to which observance is imposed in Jordan, compared to neighboring Syria and Lebanon is phenomenal. Nearly every travel guide, and rightfully so, instructs travelers to ‘avoid the middle east at all costs during the Holy month of Ramadan’. Neighboring Syria, is ironically a country far less open socially due to its political tradition, yet religiously is far less intrusive in the imposition of fasting. Yet another neighbor Lebanon, arguably the least restrictive socially, and also accused of harboring some of the most fundamental religious groups in the region prides itself in hosting the least publicly imposed restrictions in the region during Ramadan. While each country in the region delivers its own flavor of culture and tradition, Jordan’s neighbors are far more festive and while many places are closed during the day, there are certainly many more places than the handful of five establishments through which myself and many of my friends have been forced to rotate in Amman. Deciding where to have lunch elicited a texting conversation that looked something like this:
‘I can’t do Casper’s again for the whole of Ramadan, I love their food, but am dying for variety.’
‘Is there even anywhere else we can go?’
‘There is Books @, or a hotel’
‘Books @ it is, but will be packed’
Books @ Cafe’ on the infamously revived Rainbow Street and Casper and Gambini’s in the posh area of Abdoun being two of the now five establishments through which my friends and I have rotated for the last 15 days before sunset. After sunset, locals emerge from their daylight imposed mini rehab and fasting turns to celebratory gluttony. Everything craved during daylight, including food, coffee, and especially cigarettes appears in abundance as the ghost town of day turns into cosy evening at night. The frustration of sneaking food during the day is washed away, with the warmth of friends and gratitude of abundance.
Originally posted on www.stilettosinthesand.com
Once upon a time, in the not too distant past, there was a Woman who thought she was living the American Dream. Her childhood, although now not particularly memorable, was fairly normal.
She went to school. She got a job. She met a tall, blonde and handsome pilot and married him. It was all good. They were the perfect “Ken and Barbie” couple. The handsome pilot built her the house of her dreams in North Carolina, where she thought they would live for the remainder of their many, many days to come. Circumstances, totally out of the control of this lovely Ken and Barbie couple, changed everything.
Shortly afterward, they came to find themselves living a whole new life in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia. Oh, sure, they are still the perfect “Ken and Barbie” couple, but Barbie now wears an abeyah over her designer outfits when she leaves her house, she has given up her pink convertible because she is not allowed to drive, and she no longer has an office that she visits five days a week, instead choosing to spend her time as a stay-at-home wife and an over-protective, doting Mommy to their two absolutely adorable, much loved and very, very pampered four-legged “Kids.”
