Experiencing Ramadan in the Gulf
Ramadan is a holy month, marked by communal fasting and deepened devotion to the Islamic faith. It’s like a Christian tent revival + Lent that every Muslim does simultaneously. This shared experience strengthens solidarity within the Ummah, the Muslim community. As my friends describe it, breaking the fast each evening serves as a reminder of what matters and fosters gratitude.
On Tuesday evening, we had an iftar with our Jordanian friend. We’ll call her “Khadija.” Iftar is the sundown meal to break the daily fast. It typically begins with dates, a first sip of water, and a brief prayer.
We chose a Turkish joint that we enjoy called Al Bosphor. They have a lovely outdoor patio and some of the best Iskender Kebab I’ve had in my life. We go there frequently in the winter or as we dub it “outdoor dining season.” Khadija underestimated traffic and was running a tad late. Hope and I sat waiting for her, chatting about the week ahead.
As the prayer sounded, the servers started offering us plates. Instead, we waited for Khadija. When she arrived, she was like “oh, you didn’t have to wait for me.” I scoffed and responded, “Bro, I ate like three hours ago—you ain’t ate all day.”
The first time we experienced Ramadan in the Arab world was on a trip to Morocco in 2013. We were traveling through Spain that summer and decided on a whim to jump across the Strait of Gibraltar. We hadn’t planned especially well; we knew it was Ramadan but hadn’t processed what that was going to entail. When we arrived in Tangier, I remember sitting in this crowded cafe by the ferry dock. It was deep into the evening and the sun was low and blood red. Everyone was ordering their meals, so we looked at each other like “bet.” But as our food arrived, it dawned on us that although people were ordering, they weren’t eating.
They dutifully peeled their hard boiled eggs and seasoned their food… and sat there… waiting for the Adhan or prayer call. I felt out of place, like “Megan”, trying to fake it through the Electric Slide at the cookout. It probably was only ten minutes but after the ferry ride, I was hungrier than a hostage. We could have dived into the plates, it wasn’t like they would have taken us to jail. But in that moment I realized we were in the middle of something bigger than the pangs of hunger I was feeling.
We were in Morocco for less than a week and we had a tough time finding the rhythm of things. The Moroccan heat was overwhelming, it’s as hot as Abu Dhabi but with less air conditioning. Because Ramadan started in July that year, the fast seemingly went on forever each day. I was trying my best to be respectful and not eat in front of fasting people, but I also wasn’t willing to do the legwork of heading out at 4:30 am to grab provisions. At one point, I may or may not have shame eaten some Pringles in an alley.
I was a mess. I went back and read some of my Insta posts from the trip. They’re ridiculous:
“The Medina in Tangier. It’s Ramadan and I am hungry” (July 22).
“Waiting for the mosque to bellow out the evening prayer call, so the cafes open for dinner” (July 23).
“There was a minor discussion about heading back to Spain but we woman’ed up and are headed to Fez” (July 24).
That trip was a learning experience that shapes how I approach Ramadan in my classroom.
This is my fifth Ramadan teaching here in the Gulf. Society contorts around the observance. Work days shift: Our school day ends at 1:30pm. Many offices shift to a later start, meaning reduced traffic during the morning commute. Everything seems to move a bit slower, as people are more prayerful and fasting. The exception is the grocery store—I have learned to avoid making runs after 5:30pm—it gets wild at Spar. The society becomes also more nocturnal, as people rest in the afternoon and in the evening, before breaking the fast. Then, way past normal bed time and deep into the night, the parks are packed with children and families frolicking and sometimes having a midnight BBQ.
Those same kids and families will then be up at 4-something in the morning for Suhoor, the pre-dawn meal and then in the classroom at 8:30am.
Unlike in Morocco, now in Room #308, I try to be cognizant of the fast. Although we live in the Gulf, we work at an American school. I’d say roughly a third of the students and a quarter of the faculty are fasting this month. In our class, if someone who isn’t fasting wants to munch something or drink water, the practice is that they step outside the room and do it. I feel like it’s the least we can do to accommodate our classmates. I also have two couches in my classroom. Fasting students often use them to rest during the twenty-minute mid-day break. I think it’s important to alter our routines to respect the traditions of our host country.
Ramadan offers a glimpse into a world transformed by faith. It's a time of shared sacrifice, heightened spirituality, and a beautiful display of community spirit. While my initial experiences in Morocco were humbling, here in the Gulf, I've witnessed a society gracefully bend its routines in observance. For me, this month serves as a reminder of the importance of empathy and adapting to the needs of those around us.
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In 2022, I interviewed a colleague about her experiences with Ramadan as a student and as a teacher: What Everyone (Especially Teachers) Should Know About Ramadan - #160. I think it’s a conversation worth revisiting and I hope to record a similar conversation with an Egyptian colleague this week.
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