Ramadan in a submarine
Fasting while teaching children in Zanzibar tested everything I thought I knew about community.
How do you fast when the sun doesn't set? That was the question I faced during my third Ramadan in Zanzibar.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before I moved here, it was a community event. My mother would start cooking at 2pm — rendang and ketupat. The whole block smelled of turmeric and chilli by Maghrib.
That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while the iftar is bread and hummus. The hunger is different. In the old country, fasting was a choice — you knew the feast was coming. Here, the feast is whatever the canteen has.
But here's what I didn't expect: Ramadan in the night shift is the most spiritual experience of my life.
When you have nothing, you have Allah. People share food they can't afford to share. Abu Khaled, who is 80 years old, leads taraweeh with a voice that makes grown men weep. Children who have seen things no child should see sit in circles memorising Quran as if the words are armour.
Maybe they are.
Last Ramadan, on the 27th night, someone put candles in every doorway. I stood there and cried. Not from sadness — from awe. These people, who had been through the worst, were still reaching for the holiest night of the year.
Ramadan taught me that worship is not about abundance. It's about what you offer when you have almost nothing left to give.