Ramadaan in lockdown
RAMADAAN is a special time of the year for millions of Muslims across the globe.
It’s an opportunity to reconnect with family and friends we wouldn’t normally get to see during the rest of the year. A random invite from someone asking you to join them for boeka (breaking fast) is nothing out of the ordinary, and we normally return the favour the week after.
But Ramadaan 2020 was nothing like we had experienced before. We had no handbook on how to observe the holy month in the middle of a hard lockdown and a pandemic - it was just our family of four who sat down every night at sunset (Magrieb) to share a meal. At first, I tried to make an occasion of it and set up our dinner table with delicious varieties to tempt their taste buds after a day of fasting - but after the first week, the novelty wore off. Breaking our fast with a few samoosas and dates was sufficient enough.
Three weeks in, my son asked if anyone was coming over. My response was a curt shake of the head. He didn’t ask again.
As Eid al-Fitr drew closer, so too did my anxiety. Years of tradition dictated us making the trip to my in-laws after the men had returned from mosque.
The day would start off early with the women congregating in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the big lunch while the kids run around, swiping chocolates from the sweet treats table. It was a special occasion, one where the occasional ring of the doorbell would see you welcoming people that you hadn’t seen in years.
And that’s the beauty of Eid - it’s a social event where everyone comes together for one day in the year. Everyone had their job to do. My mother in-law was tasked with making the breyani, a speciality of hers that no one’s attempt comes close to. Days before Eid, I’d get messages asking me to pack in a plate from Aunty Jazz’s breyani. Suffice to say, I’d end up walking out of her place with Tupperware filled with breyani.
My job was easy. I was on chocolate brownie duty. This is where I confess to my limited range of cooking skills. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s also not something that keeps me up at night. I figured that if I’m good at just one thing, then that’s fine. That one thing for me is chocolate brownies.
Last year we broke tradition. No new outfits. No excited screams from the kids when they got Eidie money from relatives. No overeating yourself into a food coma. There was nothing.
Because my husband’s parents are both over 60 with comorbidities, we chose to spend the day at home. It felt eerily like we were stuck in a time loop from a dystopian future.
The silence surrounding us settled into our home like a rain cloud threatening to burst at any moment. As we sat down to share Eid lunch, I looked across the room at my children’s faces and they smiled back at me. My daughter took my hand in hers and whispered, like she normally does, that she loves me. My husband squeezed my shoulder lightly and declared, “Bismillah, let’s eat.”
I think it was at that exact moment I realised that despite the watered down fanfare and the omission of Aunty Jazz’s famous breyani, Eid wasn’t about the fancy outfits and decked-out lunch table.
It’s about celebrating an auspicious occasion with the ones you love. And as we make it into our third week of Ramadaan this year, it’s a thought I keep in mind because this year Eid we’ll be making new traditions of our own - ones I’m hoping my children will keep alive and share with their own families when the time comes.
Ramadaan Mubarak to all those observing this year.