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Published: September 29th 2006
4.25am: I open my eyes, stunned that I can have energy at this time of the morning. Geni, my roommate is already in the kitchen, eating her pre-prepared breakfast of rice and fried chicken. I am still full from the night before, but I eat my usual yogurt, oatmeal and fruit. We down a few glasses of water and soon the horn from the mosques start to sound - the fast for the day has begun. She goes off to pray, I go back to bed.
7am: My alarm rips me out of a dream for the second time of the morning. For a moment, I am resentful of this sadistic tradition which robs me of sleep and food for a whole month. I meditate for 30 minutes and feel renewed. I dress in my muslim-appropriate clothes that I've gotten used to and walk the few minutes to work, saying hello to the usual faces along the way.
10am: My ability to focus on each task feels amplified and I finish reports and assignments with speed and clarity. I’m puzzled at these effects...is it the fasting or is it because I am leaving here in 3 weeks?
12.25pm:
I haven’t even noticed it’s already past noon. Why am I not hungry? I leave the office, walk home and do some stretching/light yoga for a half-hour. All the stores and schools are closed during the day. The little girls across the street are practicing their traditional dancing. They smile and wave me over to watch.
3pm: The staff are in high spirits yet things seem slower at the same time. I can sense the camaraderie among them and no one complains about hunger or thirst. It’s amazing to see the mind conquer the body, or is it the body conquering the mind?
4.30pm: The Indonesian staff end their work day a bit early since most work through lunch. I finish up my work items and spend an hour on the internet hoping to discover what my next job will be. I absent-mindedly use my hands to drum on my stomach and enjoy the loud, hollow sound it emits.
6.36pm: The horns from the mosques sound again - the fast can be broken. A sweet snack is eaten first and then everyone goes off to pray. The open-air mosques, are a beautiful sight - filled to the
brim with people in colorful sarongs against the evening sky. Since I don't go to pray, I'm left to salivate over the spread of food while I wait for them to return.
7pm: The feast begins! I am one of many guests at a friend's house whose wife has prepared delicious holiday food. It is tradition to alternate hosting a “breaking the fast” meal each night with friends, family and neighbors. In some communities, families bring their dinner to the mosque and set it out on a blanket. Then they swap places with another family - eating each other’s meals.
8.30pm: Motorbikes, cars, and people pack the streets as the stores, restaurants and markets open up. We pause when we enter our usual coffee shop - despite the extra tables outside, there’s no place to sit and have to wait for a table. We see some friends and squeeze ourselves in.
10pm: I’ve been fully smoked out. The guys, not able to smoke all day, seem to make up for it by smoking double time and I feel sick just breathing. Time to head home even though I'm not tired. I'm on the back of a motorbike,
weaving through traffic, smiling at the people looking at me, the foreigner. Over the mosque speakers, the soothing late night call to prayer begins and I feel completely happy.
11.27pm: I look around my bedroom and feel sad and excited about the day, three weeks from today, when my one-year contract will end and I will have to pack up and leave Aceh. Faces of friends and happy moments flash through my mind and I feel an emotional pang in my stomach that travels up to my throat and tightens when I swallow. I close my eyes and fitfully turn until I fall asleep. I dream of home.
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auntie
non-member comment
we will celebrate your home comming with the usual family fan fare. so happy that you will be with us for the holidays.