Ramadan in space
Fasting while serving in the military in Accra tested everything I thought I knew about faith.
How do you fast when you work 12-hour night shifts? That was the question I faced during my third Ramadan in Accra.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before the divorce, it was the highlight of my year. My grandmother would start cooking at noon — samosas and biryani. The whole block 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 before, 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 prison is the most spiritual experience of my life.
When you have nothing, you have Allah. People share food they can't afford to share. Hajia Khadijah, who is 80 years old, 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, 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.