Rasha al Raisi - This year marks the 30th anniversary of my first fasting experience. When I was eight years old, my mum decided that I was old enough to start fasting. I wasn’t really happy about the decision as my younger sibling wasn’t fasting. We did everything together; we even wore the same clothes. How come he wasn’t fasting too? Obviously he was too young for the endeavour.
It was a Friday; the only day off we had on those days. I remember waking up early for Suhoor feeling sleepy and grouchy, while the adults around me were either looking fresh and happy ( my grandparents and mum) or grumpy ( my dad, uncles and aunts who didn’t see the point of waking up to eat and then go back to sleep again).
The most energetic was my grandma, God bless her soul. She had woken up almost an hour back to prepare the feast of heavy breakfast we were having in front of us.
Mum urged me to drink as much water as I can, as it was going to be a long hot day. I ended up feeling like a bloated frog; I could hear the water swoosh inside my belly as I turned sleepless in my bed.
The morning wasn’t bad, but my energy started seeping away by noon. My dad decided to take us to see uncle Farooq in his farm. I remember lying down on the back seat of our car, giving my brother accusing looks for not showing the usual camaraderie spirit we shared. As we reached the farm, I stayed in the car not having the energy to move.
I remember my uncle Farooq popping his head through the window to see me. I could see that he was feeling sorry for me and heard him tell my mum that I was too young to fast. Mum replied coolly that it was the right age and I’ll get used to it.
When getting back to my grandpa’s house, I continued lying down, this time on the couch in front of TV. In those days we only had two TV channels: Oman and Dubai. On Oman TV they played Captain Majid cartoon, the footballer who took two episodes to score one goal. Then it was time for Layali al Hilmia, the famous Egyptian series that we waited for every Ramadhan. Time was passing so slow as through mud. My tummy was growling and my mouth was parched. I kept dozing off and dreaming of food and cold water, when I was suddenly woken by my peppy mum: “Time to hit the supermarket!”
All at once, my zombie feeling was shaken off and my battery was charged as I stepped inside the supermarket. I went on a rampage, filling the trolley with everything I liked and didn’t really like. I came back with a big white plastic bag filled with junk, tied carefully and stashed at the back of the couch so my non fasting brother and cousins wouldn’t find it.
Iftar time was the best thing that ever happened to me. I ate and drank like there was no tomorrow, despite my mum’s warning to slow down. Again, I ended up lying on the couch this time feeling too stuffed up to move while the adults congratulated me for passing my first fasting day.
I didn’t touch the junk bag till the next day and didn’t share it with my brother. I was the one who went through the fasting ordeal and deserved the treat all by myself. No camaraderie spirit at all!
Rasha al Raisi is a certified skills trainer and the author of: The World According to Bahja. rashabooks@yahoo.com
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