Where life remains simple and food bazaars are absent

IT’S Ramadan again in Senegal, and for the most part, it seems like any other month of the year. For a country that is 94 per cent Muslim, this is simply mind-boggling for a Malaysian like me.

There are no Ramadan bazaars clogging the streets in the evening, no Ramadan sales with extra discounts at the stores, and more importantly, no change in the way life is lived during daytime.

The only evidence that it is the fasting month again are the traffic jams around 5pm or so as everyone tries to make their way home in time for the breaking of the fast.

This is a simple way of life. It is a way of life that is necessitated by scarcity and strong familial ties.

If we think of Malaysia in the 1960s, when bazaars were not yet a major part of our lives, and when people worked a stone’s throw away from their houses, this is how Senegal is in the 21st century.

Malaysians are obsessed with food. We take pride when outsiders tell us that we have such a dazzling array of rich food, and we tout Malaysia as a foodie’s heaven.

Thanks to the abundance of food and charity groups that work hard to ensure access to food, “going hungry” is a term we only associate with missing our breakfast or being too busy to eat.

We are blessed to the point of wastage, and the girth of most of the population bears testament to this fact.

Here, in West Africa, where they eat to live, food is something that merely sustains you.

There are no food bazaars that Malaysians seem unable to live without; shopping malls are meant for people to shop, not to eat at food courts; and food delivery services barely make enough to survive.

Most Senegalese eat their one proper meal a day only with family. This doesn’t change during Ramadan, only the timing of the meal is done to coincide with the breaking of the fast.

In the first year that I was here, my Senegalese friends found me funny.

As soon as the azan sounded, I would rush to fill my plate with food and then sit there devouring my evening meal like I did in Kuala Lumpur.

The Senegalese would come back to the table with three dates and a hot drink. That would be it for their breaking of the fast.

Then it would be time for prayers, and while they were still supple and active in performing maghrib prayers, I would be rushing to finish that full plate, only to struggle through prayers with a full stomach.

Needless to say, I was soon converted into their way of breaking fast.

When Ramadan came around last year, Senegal was under lockdown, as was Malaysia. But here, the lockdown meant a curfew from 8pm to 6am, which was just as well since this was always family time.

This year, as Malaysia reopens its bustling Ramadan bazaars and hotels start offering their usual Ramadan buffets, the fasting month in Senegal remains much as it was last year — without much fanfare, with no big gatherings for ndogou (iftar), and with people remaining indoors and at home.

It was pretty much the same scene in 2019, and the year before that, and the years before that. In short, food never quite figured as prominently in Senegal as it has in Malaysia.

If there is a difference between Ramadan in Senegal last year and this year, it is perhaps the throng of people along the coastline of Dakar around 9pm, when all the prayers are completed.

This is normally the time when the Senegalese would be out jogging, brisk-walking, using the exercise equipment on the beach, or just working out in the cool night sea-breeze.

Last year this was not possible because of the curfew.

But this year, now that things have returned to normal, people are again out in full force taking care of their bodies and their health.