Nocturne

By Labiba Laith (10-10-2004)

The days go by, I await impatiently as any lover does, to the sleepless nights and drowsy days of Ramadan. Anticipation makes my heart throb from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my curls, round and round till it vibrates energy, carrying me higher to unknown levels mystique.

I look deep into my closed eyelids and recall those days from childhood when we looked forward to Ramadan, when we were forbidden to let our tiny minds wander to foods and little white lies! As it waited at our doorsteps the eve of the lunar month, we gathered to feast for suhoor (the last meal at night prior to holding the fast) to prepare for the day ahead.

I lay me down on my magical carpet that takes me across my memories on a mystical ride from Baghdad to Casablanca…


Casa (as it is fondly known by all who’ve been charmed by it); the tense buzz of the fasting day can only mean exciting nights of times of yore. We stroll through the souk amongst the little shops displaying their wares of Jilbabs and fine cloths and we hear the muezzin’s (the mosques caller) sweet voice beckoning the faithful to Maghreb (Sunset) prayer and breaking the fast. The shop owner pleads with us to share his glass of milk and his neighbour offers us his Harira (a fragrant Moroccan soup), another brings a boiled egg whilst a fourth one offers a shabbakkia (a potently sweet mesh of honeyed dough) their Iftar (break of fast) is light lest they hesitate to lift their observing bodies to prayer, the dinner follows much later, a gentle coaxing for the system to slowly awaken itself to the feasts ahead.

I close my eyes and smile, I am back to that life that I’ve only read about in long told tales, of nights and days, perhaps a thousand, maybe more by one, the spirit of humanity lives on in that little street down the old souk of Casablanca.

At home we prepare the foods and drinks that will take us through this month of twenty nine odd days, and I prepare, my mind, body and soul to reflect and in this pensive state to discover, yet another dimension in its infinite capacity to surprise me of its tolerance.

It is not a mere cleansing process, rather, a purification of the psyche, the id, the spirit, the essence, call it what you may, the nether part of ones being that wakes us up of our somnambulist reverie when we forget for a moment who we are.

I dream of Palm trees and their beckoning fronds swaying to the mystical words whispered by dwellers of the night, of the crescent moon bowing its head in reverence of the day ahead, of the waters edge curling its grasp on the banks that it embraces. I dream of Iraq.

Body and mind abstain.

The days were long and hot, the nights short and sweet, as sweet as the multitudes of sugary delights displayed on everyone’s table. We gather across a long table cloth placed on the ground, hands aloft as eager as falcons who pounce on their prey. A cool yoghurt drink and a thick apricot sherbet sit side by side whilst the fragrant lentil soup teases the slivers of crispy onions atop it. The long plate of teshreeb (a.k.a. Thereed, a.k.a. Fereed in Emirati; cut up squares of bread covered with a meaty vegetable stew) with boiled eggs crowns the centre. From the side, the simmering plate of Hareess (a porridge concoction of grain cooked with finely shredded lamb) drenched with melted butter, ground cinnamon & sugar reaches out to the finest of senses without hesitation.

We roll away reaching out to fragrant, tangy dried lemon teas.

As the second third of the month folds away, us children prepare our sacks (or even old pillow cases) to go out for Gergeeaan (in the UAE it’s called Hag il Layla; for this eve, and it’s usually in the middle of the previous lunar month of Shaaban) the arabic manner for trick or treating. All across the world, whether its October or Shaaban or Ramadan, kids become supremely excited at the prospect of sacks full of candy, sweets and nuts, maybe even if we’re really lucky, some coins are dropped in to add to the excitement. And we as children of the world become one.

January 1998, Ramadan in Dubai, My father hurries me and I stall… I am mesmerized b the echoing of prayer calls, and a spell is cast, I fall and tumble hopelessly in love with the melodious resonance across the twilight air, a rosy glow covers the shadows and for once it has a myriad of colours unlike any other.

As we prepare to set the table for Iftar, it should have been only natural to hear a soft knock on the front door; I peek through the curtains and see a little boy carrying two plates. As I open the door and greet him, he bows his head with a shy smile, passes me the plate and rushes away before I have a chance to thank him and his mom for their kindness, asking God to bless him & his family.
I turn back inside and look at my parents with dewy eyes and awe transcribed poetically on my face. I had just been hit by the sweetest and oldest of customs; share your blessings and delights with your neighbours. I felt lucky to have experienced this tradition, that may only have existed in the countryside of anywhere in the world. It reached out its hand and held me in Dubai, it may have been sixteen years since Casablanca, but humanity still thrives over here.

With age comes maturity, and a forlorn longing to the simpler past that we hurried at so we may grow up faster. Ramadan seems to bring back many of those times. It is not only a time for fasting and feasting, but a time for some spring cleaning of the soul. After satiating our earthly appetites, a need comes calling deep into the last third of the night to satisfy a never ending hunger for blessings & forgiveness. The spirit convenes in a multitude of ways with its creator and in those deepest and darkest of hours one finds solace from the scorching noonday heat of thought; revelation. A shroud of patience descends to envelope us, help us understand our fellow man, ourselves, our misgivings, our short-sightedness at a life we think of as eternal, and one lets go of worldly delights, of all that binds us from absolution. We thank the Almighty for being able to observe this holy month, for being capable of doing the good deeds to fellow humans as we must, for blessing us with life to see it for another year, It is then that we wish that all our days were Ramadan…