After the last two years, I really did not think I would be
spending this Ramadan outside of the comfort of the Adhaan ( Call for prayers), the family gatherings, and the fuss
over what to cook for Iftar. I remember distinctively writing about Ramadan in
London last year for the Art Dubai blog, thinking to myself, next time, I will
have nothing to write about, my experience will be just like everybody else’s
in Dubai.
Fast-forward a year later and here I am in a city I never
imagined I’d ever reside in, a city of narrow canals, and foot traffic that is
in its essence, a city that struggles to survive. Ramadan this year came with an official
warning from the Italian media of the impending heat wave that will hit the
country; a heat wave that media claim has no parallels in the last 10
years. It is not a pretty weather, with
structures too old to handle Air Conditioning, and alleys so narrow for
ventilation, Venice in the summer is a difficult city.
Venice in Ramadan, is almost impossible.
With 50,000 residents give or take, I did not really expect
to fast with fellow Muslims from the community here, neither did I anticipate
paper crescents adorning the lamp posts, but I expected that the spiritual fasting
would be the most difficult given that I am now living in Italy, a country that
aims to satisfy quite literally all of your senses. But no, I actually was
challenged physically to the point that I did not even imagine I could fast;
the heat, humidity, long hours of the day and the walking everywhere were not
easy; never in my life did I feel that Ramadan was exhausting physically until
I moved to Venice.
I spent a couple of days fussing over my body, and when I
took control of it, I took a glance at my heart and smiled at my foolishness in
focusing on the ritual rather than the worship. I walked every morning trying
to find ways in which I can be spiritual; I thought of sitting on a bench in Giardini facing the Grand Canale and mediating a little; but mosquitoes found their way
to my legs, arms and face and it did not feel spiritual at all.
I tried to sit on my couch and read Quran or watch Moez Masood [1]speak
of faith and God but these setting were interrupted by the most-needed showers
during the day to cool off. What I believed would be tears this year over my
beautiful Quran pages, were actually drops of sweat that just made the whole
experience simply uncomfortable.
I really was not feeling the spirituality. I even fetched
dates from Dubai with me to feel closer to home, made some lentil soup which
Mom always makes sure is on our Iftaar table, but nothing worked. Until that morning I left Arsenale where I
work and went to buy some stationary for the office only to be stopped by the
crowds of people weeping standing in front of the church in Via Garibaldi,
saying goodbye to a wooden coffin carried by sad strong men. I couldn’t believe
it at first, it felt like a scene off a movie; the sounds of people crying was
too loud, and the silence of the street was too quite. I stood there and stared
at that coffin for as long as I could, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I
wondered who was in it, and what has happened, and what life did he/she lead. I
kept staring until I felt my tears cooling off my burnt cheeks. I looked around
me fearing for a second that they will figure out that I was an imposter, but
my tears were too real.
The crowds of mourners started going inside the church and I
couldn’t help but follow. I sat there with them along with my tears, they
prayed together, I prayed alone but all under one roof. At that moment, I
forgot that I had a scarf on my head, and a Quran application on my phone, I
only thought of God, and His glory, and this short-lived, almost trivial life.
I stayed for a while inside on the wooden bench, with closed
eyes I tried to find that spirituality again. Yes, there are no mosques in
Venice, but there are houses of God, and at that point I knew I was the closest
to Him.
I left the church and the mourners alone, and walked slowly
back to work thinking of the next Ramadan, praying I would live to witness it.
Ramadan is somehow a harsh reminder of Death; there is that sense of relief at
the end of it that I had lived through it all, and a genuine fear that I will
not live to witness the next one. That wooden coffin accelerated all of these
feelings usually stretched out over a month in few minutes. That wooden coffin
was my reminder of what Ramadan really meant.
I am not sure what I will write for Art Dubai next year on
Ramadan, somehow I wish that I will be in Dubai with family, but I also have a
feeling that I might be somewhere else. It doesn’t matter really where I am, as
long as I am somewhere to witness it again. And pray for Him in all his glory.
[1] Egyptian
television and radio presenter, religious leader and activist who focuses on
the fields of spirituality, inter-faith dialogue, and Islam in the modern
world.
* Originally Posted on Art Dubai Blog: http://www.artdubai.ae/blog/that-wooden-bench/
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2 comments:
The wooden bench attracted my attention - I have sat on that wooden bench in so many places, letting that place come to me. Then you brought me to another world. We are so far apart in years and places but so close in thought.
Thank you
Mariam in Phoenix (age 86 and making every year count special now.)
Dear Mariam Cheshire,
Thank you for the lovely comment and apologies for the late reply.
You are wonderful.
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