Ramadan in deployment
Fasting while teaching children in Marrakech tested everything I thought I knew about community.
How do you fast when the temperature hits 45°C? That was the question I faced during my second Ramadan in Marrakech.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before the war, it was my favourite month. My mother would start cooking at 2pm — stuffed vine leaves and kibbeh. The whole village smelled of cardamom and saffron by Maghrib.
That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while I break fast alone. The hunger is different. In home, fasting was a choice — you knew the feast was coming. Here, you eat what's available and thank Allah for it.
But here's what I didn't expect: Ramadan in the Arctic is the most spiritual experience of my life.
When you have nothing, you have Allah. People share food they can't afford to share. Brother Tariq, who buried three children, leads taraweeh with a voice that makes grown men weep. Children who have seen too much sit in circles memorising Quran as if the words are armour.
Maybe they are.
Last Ramadan, on the 27th night, we heard Quran from every direction. I stood there and cried. Not from sadness — from awe. These people, who had every reason to give up, 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.