Mana
Turnip cakes in Lodok
Indonesia and almost one quarter of the world’s population is now on day seven of Ramadan, a period of fasting, reflection and ritual that will last until August 8th at which time there will be concomitant celebration and feast. According to Muslim concept, Ramadan was the period in which God sent the Quran to the lowest heaven in preparation for its revelation to Muhammed by Gabriel (Jibraeel). Ramadan therefore signifies Muhammed’s first communication with God. The Quran states:
“And whosoever of you is present, let him fast the month, and whosoever of you is sick or on a journey, a number of other days. Allah desires for you ease; He desires not hardship for you; and that you should complete the period, and that you should magnify Allah for having guided you, and that perhaps you may be thankful.”
I know that it is exactly the 7th day of Ramadan, because I too am participating in the fast. When you are hungry or thirsty, you count the hours or days until you can satisfy your hunger or quench your thirst. You become distinctly aware of the feeling of water on the lips. Stale bread becomes a heavenly meal.
The rules of the fardh is that you take no food or water between sunrise until sundown. In Jakarta because it sits on the equator, this basically means from 6am to 6pm. In Minnesota because of its northern position and construct of daylight savings this means no eating and drinking until after 9! This is the only reason think of Minnesota.
My American coworkers think I am crazy. I tell them that it’s not a big deal. I just want to experience part of what the majority of our Indonesian colleagues feel, let alone 90% of the people rolling on Jakarta’s streets. It almost seems disrespectful not to. Admittedly, I haven’t added to my life the additional twenty-one prayers, or solat, since I never bothered with the first one. Nor do I wake up at four a.m. to share in the first meal, or Suhoor. At that hour, I could never eat. But I figured it is the deprivation of food and water and the awareness and conclusions that come with, which distinguishes Ramadan. Barring a background in Islam let alone religion, this is the best that I do.
EMAS staff working with Serang staff
Whatever should happen, I vowed from the beginning not to complain. In the past, I was always bemused by those who gave up luxuries for Lent and could never quite stop talking about it. Oh the sacrifice of forty days and forty nights without chocolate, wine or potato chips! I always thought, why choose anything if you can’t be happy. This isn't Communist China. By the way, there are different types of grains and sweets.
Up to this point, not eating has not been a problem for me. One can always eat later at which point the problem is over-compensation. For me, the challenge is not drinking water. I have found that drinking fluids is an entirely normal process; that good ol fashioned H2O feels is bar none the best beverage to pour down the gastrointestinal pipe; that not drinking water produces bad breath. I have always feared being a man associated with bad breath.
I have tested the limits.
“How about when I play basketball?” I asked my Indonesian teacher Mila who is Muslim, “I play every Saturday and its very hot in the gym. Can I drink water then?”
“Ramadan is a period of moderation,” she replied, “you can play less hard.”
“I always play hard,” I said.
“That is fine,” she said, “but prepared to be thirsty.”
“How about if I faint?” I asked
“Then you can take some water,” she said, “Ramadan is a time to appreciate that which we take for granted. This may also be your ability to keep pushing when you are stressed. But it could also be understanding stress when you are unable to do anything about it and accepting this as a unique experience or as a reminder of times when you are not stressed.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It’s not.”
“How about saliva from a tiny mint, a freak accident, a rain storm with mouth opened up?”
“No.”
“Beginners? Small children? Those with small children?”
“Well yes if you are a small child. I started at five. But you are not a small child, Pac Wilson.”
This shut me up.
I haven’t decided how long I am going to continue this experience. I admire those who can believe so hard or those who try so hard so as to produce belief.
Last week in Kalimantan, a group of children asked me what I believed.
Girls from Asri Kids-- Sukendana, Kalimantan
