As Fasting Ends, the Lessons of Ramadan Linger
By Faiza Saleh Ambah
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 Before
we began our three-day Eid al-Fitr holiday, marking the
end of Ramadan, I came across an article in a Saudi
newspaper with a checklist of what makes a successful
Ramadan.
First on the list: Recognizing that one can change for the
better and acquiring patience and strong will. This month
my deficiencies have shone as if spotlights were directed
at them.
The article continues: Successful fasting means not only
abstaining from food, drink, and lust from dawn to dusk,
but also being honest, patient, and forgiving. I lose my
temper with my children and argue with my sisters
regularly. But, because I'm fasting and conscious of
Ramadan's requirements, I have become aware of that single
moment, as quick as a finger-snap, when a person gives
themselves the green light to lose their temper.
Be more charitable, says the article.
On Tuesday, I made some quick calculations to figure out
my zakat, money for the poor due every Ramadan,
which is 2.5 percent of what's left of my income after
I've calculated all my expenses. A devout friend, also
named Faiza, distributes zakat for herself, her
family, and her friends. I collected money from my sisters
and joined her.
We drove to a neighborhood called Sabeel, which is mainly
populated by illegal immigrants from Somali. We got out of
the car to follow a janitor who lives there and who works
at the university where Faiza teaches. Children ran after
each other in the dark, garbage-strewn alleys. We moved
cautiously, sidestepping a thin trail of sewage.
The janitor knocked on an iron door. Inside, children ran
around a dirty room. Faiza insisted on entering to make
sure the people were truly needy. "Why aren't you
working khala [aunt]?" she asked an old woman
surrounded by three small children. "You used to be a
janitor at the university, as well."
"I worked there for 25 years. Then I broke my arm,
and they replaced me," the old woman answered.
"God is with you," Faiza said and handed her a
small envelope. We went from house to house where the
stories were different, but the desperation is the same.
Another woman's husband is in prison, and her landlord has
thrown her furniture out because she can't pay her rent.
In the car on the long ride back, I was quiet; the stories
and the smells stayed with me. But, Faiza was bubbly,
energized by her good deeds. She seemed animated even
though I could see only her eyes through the slit in her
face veil. "The prophet, peace be upon him, said it
makes God laugh with pleasure when we give charity to the
poor," she told me. "Charity can put an
adulteress in heaven," she rattled on, telling me a
story recounted by the prophet of a prostitute who went to
heaven for giving water to a thirsty dog. "Tomorrow,
I'm going to another neighborhood to distribute more zakat,
do you want to come with me?"
I shook my head, and she smiled. "Do you know why God
prescribed zakat at the end of Ramadan? Because
you've tasted for a whole month the hunger of the poor,
you've empathized with them, and now you help them out.
It's Ramadan coming full circle."
"But the poor are not only hungry and needy during
Ramadan," I said.
"And charity shouldn't end there either," she
countered. "We don't worship Ramadan, we worship the
God of Ramadan. The God who said he prefers good deeds to
be modest and continuous, instead of grand and
infrequent."
As we drove, I heard bits of Koranic verse from mosque
loudspeakers at different intervals. The imams go through
the whole Koran during the month of Ramadan and for
several hours each day verses are broadcast throughout the
city.
 Three
on the checklist: Sensing the unity of Muslims.
Last Monday, I performed another of Ramadan's regular
rituals, the pre-dawn Tahajud prayers that are encouraged
but not obligatory. Dozens of women were streaming into
our neighborhood mosque as I arrived with my mother and
housemaid, Mahbooba, at 1 a.m..
There were close to 500 women there, and we took our place
at the end of one of the rows. Ten minutes later, a woman
came in and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me. I felt
uncomfortable at her proximity and moved closer to
Mahbooba.
We were holding Korans and reading the verses the imam was
speaking. But, I was so irritated by this woman who stuck
to me that I couldn't concentrate. I complained to my
mother during an interval. "That's how it's supposed
to be. You're supposed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder like
that."
"With strangers?"
"You're Muslims praying together," she answered.
Almost two hours later, we were done, and the imam started
the supplication.
"God help us follow your guidance. God help us move
closer to you and away from evil." I heard a sound
like ocean waves breaking, but I couldn't tell what it was
"God help us move towards the light and away from
sin." The sound grew more distinct but still eluded
me.
"God help our brothers in Palestine, Iraq, Chechnya,
and Kashmir regain their occupied lands. Help them defeat
their enemies." The muffled roar took shape; it was a
chorus of amens from the men's section. "God keep our
parents healthy and our children healthy," said the
imam, his voice breaking.
"Amen."
At the end of the 10-minute supplication, women grabbed
tissues from boxes in front of them, wiping tears and
blowing their noses. The energy in the mosque was clearer,
lighter. I felt lifted and at peace, and the woman whose
shoulder touched mine no longer seemed like such a bother.
Also, on the Ramadan check list: an increased mindfulness
of God's blessings.
When the crescent moon was sighted Friday, Ramadan ended
here. Drinking green tea when I woke up yesterday was a
treat that I had been looking forward to, but I still
find, strangely enough, that I miss Ramadan. I miss the
city's mass immersion (at least the intention of it) into
God and charity and trying to be our best. I miss the
guidance of the sun, whose setting permitted me to eat and
whose arrival forced me to abstain. And, I miss looking
for the companionship of the moon and studying its shape
to determine the days left of fasting.
Lastly, the article prescribes drawing closer to Allah. I
have become very conscious of God during Ramadan -- when I
ate, when I drank water, and even when I didn't. I thought
about God every time I wanted to swear or get angry or
think negative thoughts, which I came to realize is more
often than I expected. And, I think that's all part of the
lesson.
But, the one lesson that I'm still striving to learn is
balance. I pray that though Ramadan is over, God remains a
presence in my life, not in grand gestures and
infrequently, but consistently and in small doses.
Reprinted with
permission.
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