Fasting is the only thing my father ever forced me to do. On the whole he never imposed anything on us, he understood too well how much more compelling it is to get someone to do something out of conviction rather than submission. When it came to fasting however, he was intransigent.
The first year I fasted, Ramadan fell in early July. We broke fast after 9 p.m; we barely had time to eat a meal before it was time for bed. What I remember most about that first year is the smell of coffee. I did not drink coffee yet I found the smell of coffee overpowering, so much so that one day I decided to break my fast on a cup of freshly ground coffee. I found the taste so bitter, I almost spit it out! Yet the following day the craving returned. It was only a matter of time before I became a die-hard coffee drinker, and now, what I find hardest about fasting is getting through the morning without the crutch of caffeine.
The following year, Ramadan meant going to school fasting, in a school where I was one of only two Muslims in my class. The other Muslim, a boy two years older than me, did not fast and raised his eyebrow at me when he heard I was fasting. This was not unusual, many of the Arab Muslims I encountered in Britain did not fast, at least not then. In my extended family it was a fifty-fifty split, whereas now they pretty much all fast.
Is this a trend or just an observation? Do more British Muslims fast today than they did twenty years ago? I think they probably do, or at least those that do have become more visible. It’s a little like the headscarf, its visibility has mushroomed in British society. Be it at the airport, the supermarket or the bank, it is likely that you will encounter at least one woman wearing a headscarf, whereas this was definitely not the case when I first arrived in Britain.
The last decade has seen an increase in confidence in the Muslims that I meet. Partly this is due to increased politicization among Muslims worldwide. It is also part of the immigration experience.
The first generation tends to either cloak itself in its home culture or go the other extreme and try desperately to shed its original identity. With the second generation begins the integration process, perhaps because once you are born in a country it is easier to beat off the “foreigner” label. Once you reach beyond the third generation, you have a generation that is strong enough to develop an independent identity and quite often this involves a renewed pride in its root culture.
The environment has also changed. Britain is more Muslim-friendly than it once was. In today’s climate, it is easy to see Muslims as embattled and misunderstood, the terrorists have taken over the political spotlight and there is a danger that we will become increasingly defined by their actions. But pre-9/11, it was different. There was genuine cultural interest — it is probably still there, but now it has a different frame of reference. Take Ramadan. Whereas when I announced to my schoolteachers that I was fasting I was met by bewilderment and a notable sense of alienation (“not even water? That’s barbaric!” was one comment from a teacher), now it is common to find teachers giving lessons on Ramadan. There is greater awareness of Ramadan and what it means to Muslims: Newspapers run features about it, television stations run documentaries about Muslim families fasting in Britain, some local councils even run public celebrations for Eid. There has been a definite attempt to make more information available about Islam and to bring Islam into the British mainstream. This of course is led by demographics. Islam is now Britain’s second largest religion and its fastest growing religious group. It has become a salient feature of British life.
Globalization has helped too. Satellite television for instance links us vividly with the rest of the Muslim world. It may sound trivial but it does make a difference. I remember when MBC first came on the air, it had a phenomenal impact on the Arab community in London and never more so than during Ramadan.
Fasting in London has definitely become easier since I started fasting. For one thing, I no longer have to sit exams whilst fasting! For another, the days are mercifully shorter now that Ramadan is not in the summer. Still, it is hard to fast in the minority. Whenever I have spent Ramadan in Saudi Arabia, I have been struck by the difference. Over there I feel lifted by the sense of shared experience. There is all the ritual and tradition, the familiarity and sense of security that comes from breaking fast with your family, friends and neighbors.
What I find most powerful about fasting is that it gives you a great sense of perspective. My father died during Ramadan, on Leylat Badr as it happens. He died in Riyadh and was buried in our hometown of Madinah. Fasting during that difficult time was a real solace, it helped me get through my grief. I found myself thankful for being forced to fast all those years ago.
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