Despite never having experienced the Islamic holy month in a lively Muslim community, food has made up for those missed experiences.
It’s Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar year, and city streets all across the Middle East are filled with the smells of fried delicacies; bazaars and homes are lit by the flickering lanterns known as fanous; and the soothing sound of the taraweeh prayer echoes well into the night, every night, to commemorate the month during which the Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad.
Or at least, that’s how my mother describes it. While Ramadan in a Muslim-majority part of the world is a vibrant and lively time of community gatherings, more frequent prayer, and increased self-reflection, for me, growing up in the suburbs of Northern Virginia, it mostly conjures up unpleasant memories of kids in school questioning why I couldn’t drink water during gym class, or wondering why I wasn’t eating during lunch.
