Ramadan in the night shift

How do you fast when there isn't enough food to break your fast? That was the question I faced during my first Ramadan in Vancouver.

I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before I moved here, it was my favourite month. My father would start cooking at 4pm — jollof rice and suya. The whole street smelled of turmeric and chilli by Maghrib.

That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while I pray between shifts. 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 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. Hajia Khadijah, who arrived last month, 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 lost everything, 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.