A Fasting Journey Through Ramadan

The reason for the season

The ninth month of the Islamic calendar, Ramadan is a time of worship, study and reflection for the world’s estimated 2 billion Muslims. Ramadan is the month that Muslims believe the Holy Qur’an was revealed by the Prophet Muhammad and that believers draw closer to God through fasting, prayer and acts benefiting their community and those who are less fortunate. In reality Ramadan is an integral part of Saudi culture.

Saudi Arabia, the land where Islam originated, naturally has been deeply influenced by Ramadan traditions. But even within Saudi Arabia, different families and different regions celebrate Ramadan in their own ways, from lavish to restrained.

As a non-Muslim, I have experienced Ramadan in a handful of countries over the years, in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Indonesia and Sudan, to name a few. For the past decade, my family and I have lived in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia, and I have occasionally skipped a meal out of common decency when my co-workers were fasting.

While I didn't grow up in a culture where fasting was practiced, I had Roman Catholic friends who gave up favorite foods (usually chocolate, sometimes red meat) for Lent, and fasting also features in Hinduism, Buddhism and other faiths. Across cultures, the motive of fasting is the same: purification, building empathy for the disadvantaged, removing distractions from one's spiritual growth.

Last year, I took the leap. For the month of Ramadan, I committed myself to fast when my Muslim colleagues fasted, eat as they did, attend late-night functions and prayers and wake well before dawn for that last drink of water for the day. Ramadan is a rich cultural, spiritual and communal tradition, and so I prepared myself the best way I could, reading up beforehand and asking for advice along the way. What I learned astonished me.

While my initial concerns were mainly physical—getting enough food, water and sleep to make it through the day—I found that Ramadan brought me a sense of community with those around me, sharpened my sense of empathy for others and strengthened my commitment to help others in need. I learned that the human body is incredibly adaptable in terms of changing sleep schedules and in one’s sense of time. And even after a month, I felt like I was just scratching the surface of what I could learn.

3:50 a.m.: The alarm goes off. I look at my phone, push the snooze button. Then I remember: It’s the first day of fasting. Better get up, Buttercup. Walk to the kitchen, take out yogurt and iced coffee. Cut up a banana for the yogurt. From now until 4:33 a.m., I eat and sip iced coffee and then water until I hear the adhan, the call to prayer.

4:30 a.m.: Panic! Three minutes until the call to prayer, I remember I also have to brush my teeth and take my meds.

4:33 a.m.: The adhan starts. Outside the sky is starting to lighten.

5:15 a.m.: Turn off the light and try to go back to sleep.

6:50 a.m.: After a shower, I notice a dry feeling in my throat. It’s nature’s way of reminding me to have a glass of water. Thanks, nature, I’ll wait.

8:30 a.m.: Go to work. Compare notes with a fellow non-Muslim colleague who is also fasting.

10 a.m.: Take a short walk. I find myself going a little slower than usual. I feel more conscious about my body, noting every twinge or sense of weakness.

The first week is interesting. My body is adjusting slowly to the new routine. I have been vigilant about drinking water. I don’t feel hunger, strangely. I can only attribute this smooth transition to the advice of many friends. Thank you, friends.

The food part

On social media, we are pummeled with all sorts of programs for fasting, for detoxes, for cleanses, usually pushed by celebrities or hyper-muscular fitness experts who swear it will change your life. I didn’t particularly want to change my life.

Like my friend Santiago T. Morales Jr., a Houston native now living in Saudi Arabia, I was curious and thought I might get an inside view of the powerful bonds that form when people face a common challenge together.

“I think it’s a special time,” Santiago said. “It builds a sense of community, a shared experience, and it’s great to break the fast together.”

Like Santiago, I was amazed how the body adapts when you stop making food and water the centerpiece of your daily routine. I found that my sense of smell became razor sharp, picking up the scent of coffee when I wanted it the most. My sense of hunger actually diminished over time.

At nightfall, I kept a bottle of water close by and sipped it, so my body had time to absorb it. And again, just before the morning break, I drank water again to power me through the day.

Learning the Islamic concept of time

My greatest concern on this journey was this: What if I sleep in? I set phone alarms for suhoor, the pre-dawn meal; for fajr, the morning prayer, when fasting begins; alarms for maghreb, one of the evening prayers. All just so I don’t miss the chance to eat and drink.

The question struck me: How did early believers of the Islamic faith keep track of all these constantly changing prayer times?

I talked with a Saudi friend, Quriyan M. Al Hajri, about how he manages time during Ramadan. Quriyan spent the bulk of his career working in remote locations in the oil and gas industry, and he maintained the Bedouin traditions of his family. Now retired, he is a living, breathing history book about Bedouin culture.

He remembers as a child his father would wake up first during Ramadan and then wake up the family. “He would tell all of us, ‘Come, come, come, it’s time for suhoor,’” Quriyan said. His father didn’t have an alarm clock; he just knew it was time to wake up.

“You know how if you have something in your mind, you will wake up? It’s like that,” Quriyan said. “You teach your mind to wake up when it’s time, before the fajr prayer.” Unconsciously, I was already doing this. Even in a normal night, I find myself waking up before the alarm clock rings. It’s a window into the power of the human mind, tapped centuries ago.

Developing empathy

There is nothing quite like doing without food and water—the ground floor of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs—to spark a period of introspection. Feeling hunger or thirst during daylight hours gives one a chance to understand the plight of the poor who go hungry every day.

A friend, Mahjabeen Kamal, told me how fasting affects her own spiritual practice and her commitment to help others. It all comes down to the concept of sadaqah, which loosely describes acts of charity in Islam.

By exploring the Qur’an, Mahjabeen said, she can find inspiration for making positive change for those we empathize with: poorer people, refugees or those affected by conflicts. But empathy is not enough. Islam also impels believers to take action to make the world a better place.

As with many things, positive change starts at home. “If you love your parents, you keep doing good deeds so that your prayers for your parents are heard,” Mahjabeen said. “If you raise good, righteous children, then you will have to be a good, righteous person yourself, so they can see how they should behave.

“And the cycle goes on.”

Lessons learned

By the end of Ramadan last year, I had learned more about the Islamic faith in 30 days than I had learned in more than a decade in Saudi Arabia and two decades on my travels. Fasting not only helped me to reduce my dependency on things that are probably not good for me—coffee and the temptation of the “midday snack,” among others—it also opened me up to the experience of many close friends.

Here are a few things I learned:

● The body is incredibly resilient and adaptive. We can all do with less and maintain an active life.

● Charity is at the heart of Ramadan. Fasting at this particular time in history made me aware of the suffering of the less fortunate, particularly those living in areas of conflict. It also reminded me of my duty to take action that benefits others.

● The physical part of fasting is just the surface; the spiritual side is much deeper. Muslims use this time to deepen their knowledge of the Qur’an, of God’s word, and to be better people.

● Fasting alone can be difficult; fasting as a community builds bonds.

I don’t know what I expected from fasting, but I was grateful to those who reached out with advice, personal stories and invitations into their homes for the fast-breaking evening meal, iftar.

Needed light in the world

For Mona and Raja, Ramadan will be a welcome period of reflection in these uncertain times. They will decorate their house with brightly colored banners and lamps to symbolize how the message of the Qur’an brought needed light to the world. They will gather with their extended families for iftar meals and pray together for peace.

Celebrating a little-understood holiday in a non-Muslim land has its challenges, Raja admitted, but he said, “We are privileged. There are Muslims in other countries who face much more difficult challenges.”

“This is our way of life,” he added. “I am blessed to have a partner to keep each other on a good path.”