Remembering Ramadan in Saudi Arabia
By Pit Menousek Pinegar
I
am always lonesome for Saudi Arabia during Ramadan. My former husband, a Turkish linguist
in the U.S. Army in the mid-'60s, had traveled in the Middle East and fallen in love with
that part of the world. We took our young family there in 1982 and stayed for five years.
Because the Islamic calendar is lunar, the start of Ramadan, the ninth month on the
Islamic calendar, comes at a different time each year. Although many calendars, like mine,
have a day marked "first of Ramadan" (this year it was Oct. 26) and "Eid
al-Fitr," the festival marking the end of Ramadan (this year it is Nov. 25), it's not
as exact and predictable as that. When the new moon is sighted, Ramadan will begin. When
it is sighted again, Ramadan will be over, and the Eid celebration, the first three days
of the tenth month, will have begun.
It was magical for me to be in Saudi Arabia at the start of Ramadan. The day holds a sense
of quiet expectation. It is as though the whole country holds its breath. Night falls
softly. And when the new moon is sighted - I always wondered who was responsible for the
sighting, for telling the world - a cannon sounds. Ramadan begins.
To be a non-Muslim in a Muslim country during Ramadan is to be acutely aware of culture
and the need for cultural sensitivity. Muslims do not eat or drink between dawn and sunset
during this high holy month. To eat an ice cream cone on the street in the light of day
would be insensitive. In Saudi Arabia, especially if Ramadan falls during the 120-degree
summer, the workday is likely to start early - well before dawn - and end by noon, so that
Muslims can sleep during the heat of the day. Summer days are long, so families gather for
their main (perhaps only) meal of the day between nine and midnight. At best, most Muslims
are sleeping in two four-hour shifts separated by many hours. Afternoons are quiet during
Ramadan.
A couple of days ago, I received an e-mail from Jasmine, a Saudi woman I've never met, but
whose concerns for peace have overlapped my own. I think of her as a friend. Her letter
said: "Ramadan will soon begin ... I would like to take this opportunity to forward a
few wishes that come from the heart, wishes that include each one of us as members of one
large family on Earth ...
"For all my friends who ... admit to being secular while respecting and commending
our faith in Allah, I transmit all my respect and admiration for their high sense of
morality and compassion."
My elder daughter is in Egypt, where she's lived for much of the past 10 years. She was
diving in the Red Sea this past weekend. I wonder how she and her companions, mostly
Muslim, marked the sighting of the new moon. A cheer? A shared sigh? A sacred silence?
In New England, my backyard maple is at the peak of its gold, resplendent glory. I marked
the first day of Ramadan by re-reading the end of Jasmine's letter:
"May Allah guide us on the right path, together ...
"May Allah Ta'alah bless our children with the legacy of peace and love that we
struggle to achieve ...
"In peace."
Amen.
Pit Menousek Pinegar lived in Saudi Arabia from 1982 to 1986. She is
the author of "Nine Years Between Two Poems" (1996) and "The Possibilities
of Empty Space" (1997), both published by Andrews Mountain Press. |