As I sit to write this, on my cozy floor pad next to a pile of hand-processed sheep’s wook and the liter of water i’m trying to gulp down consistently within the night hours, I’m officially four days down in my first Ramadan, and going strong! (Though I guess most people feel that way after only four days). The pace of daily life has slowed, a necessary adjustment due to the fasting requirements of abstaining rom food and water (even chewing gum) from before sunrise to the evening call to prayer (7:30pm right now and not a minute later). This slower pace of life, and drastic drop in activities and work, has allowed me even more time for introspection and reflection, that is, when I’m not merely laying around, staring at the cieling and dreaming of cold water bottles. I’ve been thinking lately about my first-ever exposure to Ramadan, my freshman year in high school when a friend of mine in gym class desc ribed it to me (her family is Muslim and was observing the holy month of fasting). It’s scary to think that almost exactly nine years have passed since then, but when I stop to consider hwo much I’ve changed, and how much the world has changed, I guess it’s not very surprising.

The fall of 2001, my freshman year in high school, was a pivotal and incredibly consequential period of time for the future of mutual understanding and respect between Americans and the Muslim World. As I, a 14-year-old girl, worreid principally about mean Spanish teachers and hard cross-country practices, the juxtaposition of my first two, diametrically opposed, experiences of the Muslim World was significant beyond my understanding. Here, a good friend was describing, in familiar terms, how her family fasted to show devotion to God in a holy month for a religion devoted to Peace, while at the same time I walked into that horrible Spanish teacher’s class at 8am on September 11th, 2001, to see senselesss death and terrorism on the news, attributed to this same religion and culture, ostensibly at least. What an unfortunate way for our generation to be introduced to an entire culture and religion.

As most people readign thsi, I’m sure, are American, the details of the immediate fallout from that September are not worth listing or elaborating on. We were all there. Buty my p oint in re-hashing all of this (and there is a point, for all my run-on sentences and excessive comma use) is that I find myself in a curiously simmilar position now, nine years later, as that 14-year-old freshman fall semester.

I seem to have found my way back to the Middle East, after several stints in Jordan during college, yet this time I live here and there is no barrier or “safety net” between me adn the culture. The culture, in all reality, is my job, and the Peace Corps has informed us that it’s a 24/7 job (too corny?). After years of studying the religion, politics and culture of the Middle East, I’ve now been given the chance to live it, and what better way to truly understand something on your own terms, than to experience it for yourself? It is interesting to note, therefore, that as I step into my first real experience of Ramadan, living it, fasting it, I have become aware that Eig Sgrir (“small holiday”), the holiday to end the month of fasting, will fall on September 11th, 2010 in Morocco. Nine years later and here I am, once again facing my own understanding of the Muslim World, bourne now out of personal experience, as contrasted with THE symbol of, I daresay it, my culture’s collective misunderstanding of it.

And now, before everyone can decide how offended they want to be by all of this, I’ll pause for a disclaimer: As with any generalization, it is insufficient to say Americans misunderstand Muslims, their religion and their culture, period. Of course this isn’t true. But the fact remains that i didn’t know about Ramadan until I was 14, and that was not for lack of a worldly and culturally-open upbringing (thanks Mom and Dad!). For hw many pof my peers was the attack on New York their first exposure to the modern Middle East? It was very nearly mine. It was, and still is, a significant event and I don’t think anyone came away from it without their worldview being shaken a bit. My family was lucky enough not to have ben personally affected by the attacks, but so, so many families were not so blessed. So how do you ask a person, a family, a nation with little positive experience of a culture to try and understand it when they have only seen it’s violent, intolerant side? Not an easy question,.

But back to me (because blogs are, at their core, narcissistic, aren’t they?) I’d been thinkign about all of this a lot over the first few days of fasting, when my host-grandmother invited me to attend Friday-night prayers at my village’ mosque with the ladies. The men had recently invested a lot of labor and money in expanding the small village Mosque to accomodate a separate women’s loft. It opened the first night of Ramadan. Allow me to explain why all facets of this situation were exciting. Mosques, with the rare tourist-allowed excepton, are not open to non-Muslims. One of the most famous Muslim holy spots in the world, the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, was closted to me as a non-Muslim. Being invited to attend the Mosque, on Friday (the Sabbath), during Ramadan (the holy month) with the women in rural Morocco… woah. I can’t think on it too much or my had starts to hurt. In short, I was touched. Especially as these women known i’m not one to be converted, that they’ve (almost) given up on.

It’s incredibly progressive that this group of men in such a rural village saw it as a necessity to dedicate so many resources to accomodating their wives, daughters and mothers in the Mosque. This means a lot to the women here, though they also have an awesome attitude of “well, it was a long time comin’, boys!”. As we walked to the Mosque, I once again noticed how spectacular the night sky is here (perhaps especially following the headrush of breaking a 15-hour fast with delicious baked goods). the Milky Way is a nightly apperance, and the moon is so sharp and vibrant over  the mountains, it hast o be fake, but it’s not. The open-construction of the women’s loft meant I was treated to this night-sky view, set to the sound of crickets and the more-than occasional buzzing fly throughout the prayer service, it was so calm.

I was placed, like a child, on the ground, sitting cross-legged, as to my left and right women lined up and faced East. The Imam began leading the prayers and all aroudn me people sang softly the oft-repeated phrases: God is great, there is no god but God, Mohammed is His prophet. All the Middle Eastern history classes and research papers in the world couldn’t add up to that moment for me. Feeling the same calm, reassured sense I feel when I step into churches, but here I am in a Mosque, surrounded by people sepaking Arabic, in quite literally, the middle of nowhere. It’s not familiar, but it feels that way. Why?

Because it’s the same God, or even beyond that for people who believe in different gods, or no god at all… it’s a group of people gathering with faith that it’s worth something to do so, in the puruit of peace and fulfillment. It’s familiar becaue it’s humanity: people with bills, chores, stresses, disappointments, tragedies, coming together and hoping for something good. It’s not different at all from so many aspects of my life, the differences are in the details. And, with taht in mind, sitting there amongst my fellow villagers int eh Mosque, I threw up a few “Hail Mary”s , as I was up in the ladies’ loft, after all.

So, my first experience of Ramadan has, perhaps accidentally, started off on quite a philosphical and existential note, though I am nothing but grateful for this. Thinkign about my 14-year-old self, I realize it’s not a matter of how much or what I’ve experienced of Muslim culture, but mre how I’ve learned to approach it. I guess that goes for everything in life a well, not just this one little cultural exchange I’m working at over the next 2 years. People are people, adn it’s reassuring to see the holiday season bringing the best out in everyone around me, even if it’s not really my holiday season.

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