Naan bi jot na

It’s the last few days of Ramadan, an important holiday in this Muslim country.  Nearly all adults, most teenagers, and some children fast for the 29 or 30 days of this holiday.  I, for one, am eager for the month to be over.  I’m looking forward to Korite, which occurs the day after Ramadan ends, and I’m looking forward to the end of the fast.

It began nearly 4 weeks ago.  Senegal does not have a schedule for its holidays; instead, people judge the commencement date by examining the moon.  When the first glimpse of the moon is seen, then the holiday begins.  Thus, the month begins 1-3 days after the official date written on my calendar.  Children are usually the heralds of the holiday, carefully searching the sky and bringing the message home to their families and village when they view the moon.  Once it’s been seen, everyone eats a hearty dinner and prepares themselves for the fast ahead.  They’ll wake again at 5 am with the call to prayer to eat their morning meal before beginning to fast.

Life continues as normal despite the fast.  It’s particularly difficult when Ramadan falls at this time of year: not only is it hot and humid, but it’s also planting and weeding time and families must go out to the field every day.  Additionally, since they haven’t reaped the benefits from the harvest yet, money is particularly tight, and it is difficult for Senegalese to afford the large meals required of break fast.  Nevertheless, despite these hardships, people can be seen working hard in their fields.  They arrive early and often stay in the fields until late in the afternoon, skipping the customary mid-day break (usually lasting from 1-5) since there is no lunch.  Men and boys lead manual tractors pulled by donkeys, horses, or yoked cows.  Women and girls follow behind the animal, weeding around the crops with hoes.  It’s exhausting work, but they don’t complain.  They know that carefully caring for their peanuts, millet, beans, and corn now will pay off later.

By late afternoon, they’re exhausted.  They return home, and the entire village is quiet as everyone takes an afternoon nap.  Even with nourishment and drink, the work would be difficult; the fast and weather only exacerbate this.  They all lay and watch the sun, waiting for it to dip below the horizon.

Then, at 7:45, the imam’s voice can be heard ringing from the center of the village.  My host brother comes to call me: Naan bi jot na! (Drinking time has come!)  My family gathers in the backyard to eat a date, drink coffee (made from leaves of a local plant), and eat bread.  I use this time to down 2 or 3 liters of water, replacing my fluids for the day.  As soon as I’ve consumed this water, I can feel sweat starting to drip down my body, normal for this heat but absent during my dehydration.  I feel much better now.  Suddenly, voices can be heard ringing out, children playing, and laughter resounding; the village has come back to life.  I break fast with my host parents and siblings, but after finishing my meal there, I am promptly called over to my host grandma’s hut where I am given another cup of coffee and another loaf of bread.

An hour later, it’s time for dinner.  Dinner during Ramadan consists of the nicer food eaten generally for lunch only.  Once again, I eat one meal with my host family and then another with my host grandma.  When I go to bed soon afterward, I am stuffed with food, liquid, and contentment from the antics of my host siblings.  Ironically, I find myself more full during Ramadan than during the rest of the year.  I’ve consumed so much food that I’m not hungry until the following evening; it’s just the water I miss.