Ramadan in the night shift
Fasting while studying for finals in Dublin tested everything I thought I knew about gratitude.
How do you fast when you're alone in a foreign country? That was the question I faced during my second Ramadan in Dublin.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before the diagnosis, it was my favourite month. My father would start cooking at 2pm — jollof rice and suya. The whole street smelled of garlic and cumin by Maghrib.
That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while the iftar is bread and hummus. The hunger is different. In before, 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 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. Ustadh Ibrahim, who is 80 years old, leads taraweeh with a voice that makes grown men weep. Children who have seen more than most adults sit in circles memorising Quran as if the words are armour.
Maybe they are.
Last Ramadan, on the 27th night, the entire ward prayed together. 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.