Ramadan in space
Fasting while caring for patients in Vancouver tested everything I thought I knew about community.
How do you fast when you work 12-hour night shifts? That was the question I faced during my second Ramadan in Vancouver.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before I lost everything, it was a celebration. My aunt would start cooking at 3pm — fattoush and hummus. The whole street smelled of cardamom and saffron by Maghrib.
That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while I fast in a hospital ward. The hunger is different. In home, fasting was a choice — you knew the feast was coming. Here, you learn not to expect.
But here's what I didn't expect: Ramadan in deployment is the most spiritual experience of my life.
When you have nothing, you have Allah. People share food they can't afford to share. Ustadh Ibrahim, 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, a stranger shared their last date. 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.