And I can finally eat in public!

I arrived here right smack dab in the middle of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting. I’ve heard various explanations (and I’m sure it means something different to everyone), the most common one being to experience the plight of the poor. In practice, it means that some people go to the mosque more than usual (or as opposed to usual), some people act more pious, and NOBODY eats between sunrise and sunset. My program, of course, prepared me well, telling me that everyone would stay up late and sleep all day, but unlike them, I would have to wake up early and go to class. Too bad for me and have fun.

In reality, it was much smoother than expected. My family expected me to eat, insisted on preparing me meals, and didn’t make me feel bad about eating or going to bed early. One day over the weekend, I decided to fast (with water, unlike them, which no doubt made it easier) to experience what it was like for them (they tried their best to convince me to eat), and it wasn’t as hard as I expected. Don’t get me wrong, though—I was certainly excited to eat by the end. At sundown, everyone breaks fast and interestingly, turns on the TV to watch the prayer. They eat “futour” (breakfast) around 7, which consists of dates, milk, bean soup, grits, bread, fried pancakes with honey, and fried, candied dough.

It’s amazing to see how the whole society revolves around it; business hours change; behavior changes; everything, from grumpiness to traffic to subdued harassment, is attributed to Ramadan. Right before seven, roads become hazardous as everyone rushes home for futour, at which point the streets are completely deserted. At night, everyone goes out and the streets are filled with mass mayhem.

Last Friday marked the end of Ramadan. The Eid (day when everyone breaks the fast) was announced on TV (it has to do with seeing the moon, so no one is sure which day it will end until they announce it) and the partying commenced. (Well, they were already partying, so I guess the partying intensified.) But remember, this is Morocco, so partying looks a bit different here than it does back home. No one drinks, of course, but they do stay out late, go to the carnival (I’m getting awfully tired of the flying car ride), go shopping (the stores are all open late at night after the futour as well as during the day), dress up, and walk around town. On the Eid, we ate LOTS of cookies and visited friends and relatives, and ate some more.