I had studied Islam in university and knew something about Ramadan, but was unsure of what to expect. I wondered: “Will the streets be empty? Will everyone be starving and ill-tempered? Will I be able to find food during the day?”During the first week, I learned that Ramadan was not exactly the solemn time that I'd assumed. Certainly it was a spiritual time for Muslims, but it was also festive and celebratory. To my surprise, the daylight hours seemed almost normal. Streets continued to be congested, traffic jams continued to thwart commuters, shops continued to bustle with activity. The only exception to normality was the noticeable increase of empty restaurant tables. Evenings in İstanbul, however, were a different story. At sunset, the streets, the sidewalks, the parks and the restaurants overflowed with festivities. Contrary to my assumptions, cafe diners wore eager smiles as they sat in front of their untouched meals waiting for the sound of the ezan (call to prayer). Others rushed home with a fresh loaf of pide, eager to break the fast with friends and family. I quickly learned that Ramadan was a joyful occasion, a holiday.
Often I was awakened early in the morning by a drummer parading through the neighborhood, waking families for breakfast. As the drumbeats grew in intensity, windows all around filled with light. I could hear tables being set, forks hitting plates, dishwashers loading and families chatting and laughing. I was delighted to find that Turks were enjoying their season of fasting. Having been raised in a different culture and religion, I wanted to make my own experience more Turkish. The only way was to fast myself.
I thought the fast day (from around 4:45 a.m. to 7:45 p.m.) would be long and tedious, but not overly difficult. I had skipped a meal or two before while working long days. I thought that fasting would be similar -- merely an inconvenience in my day's schedule. Many Turks around me were doing it every day with no complaint.
I was wrong. Really wrong. The level of difficulty far exceeded my expectations. I followed all of the guidelines I'd learned from Turkish friends: I woke up at 4 a.m., ate a big breakfast and fasted.
Easy to say, easy to plan, not so easy to do. My day was one of sharp, gnawing hunger pangs, fatigue, thirst, dizziness and, before it was over, a killer of a headache. I was unable to focus on anything expect my aching head and my tortured stomach.
Yet at the end of the long day, fasting proved to be a positive experience. I learned the strengths (and limits) of my self-control, bonded with fasting friends, gained an increased awareness of the world's truly needy and, best of all, learned a little more about daily life in Turkey. And was that first fast-breaking evening bite of bread delicious!
