Gifts of Ramadan

Yaseen and I wash and dress. Today Yaseen will stay at home and read the Qur’an, the book of Islam, with our father. Not me. I have to go to school.

“Why can’t I fast at home with you and Dad?”

Yaseen shrugs. “Dad says you have to go.”

“It’s going to be crazy hot in the classroom.”

“Yeah, it’ll be hot, and you’ll get thirsty and hungry, too,” Yaseen says. “It’s no big deal.”

“Easy for you to say,” I grumble. “You get to stay home in the air conditioning.”

Yaseen is eighteen years old, and I’m twelve. We’re brothers, but we don’t look alike. Yaseen has Dad’s dark, curly hair and dark eyes. He’s a little bit fat like Dad, too. I look like Mom, skinny with curly brown hair and green eyes.

Mom has prepared lots of food for suhoor: melon and strawberries, spicy lentils, cheese, and warm bread. Everyone has a tall glass of orange juice and another glass of water.

“Finish your drinks,” Dad says. He speaks in Arabic, the language of Syria, the country we left two years ago. “Your body will need the liquid today.”

Mom stands with me at the bus stop. I keep telling her I can wait by myself, but she still carries fears from life in Syria, where a civil war is still going on. Every day we pray for peace and thank Allah that we escaped to Texas.

“I don’t want to go to school,” I say. “The kids will think I’m weird.”

“I understand that fasting is hard, Asef. But it has much to teach.” She gives me a hug. “In school, you will practice your English. That is important.”

I almost fall asleep on the bus. I’ve been awake for hours and I want a drink of water. Miss Talia is my teacher this year. Some of the kids in my class are also in my ESL class. Alberto and Dulce speak Spanish. Dmitri speaks Russian, and Eddie speaks Chinese. No one else speaks Arabic. No one else is Muslim.

In the classroom I hand Miss Talia the letter from my dad telling her that I am fasting for Ramadan.

“Wow, Asef,” Miss Talia says. “An all-day fast is a big challenge. Let me know if you need anything, OK?”

A teacher comes in carrying a tray full of juice boxes, bagels, and little sausages. The smell of food makes my stomach rumble. It’s almost four hours since I ate suhoor. Miss Talia tells the kids to come get their breakfast. I get an anime comic and sit on the rug while everyone else eats and talks at the tables.

Alberto says, “Asef, how come you’re not eating?”

“I’m not hungry.” And that’s the truth, but boy, am I thirsty! I wish I were at home. Sure, I have a special reason for not eating or drinking, but here at school, special just means left out.

Miss Talia kneels down next to me. “Would you like to go to the library during breakfast?” she asks.

“I’m OK,” I say. My nose is twitching from the smell of the sausages. Even if I weren’t fasting, I couldn’t eat them. Muslims don’t eat pork, and the meat we do eat has to be halal, allowed by Islamic law.

‘’It takes discipline to fast,” Miss Talia says. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

“What’s discipline?” I say. I don’t know that English word.

“It means self-control. I admire your discipline, Asef.” She pats my shoulder and smiles.

During math practice, I really have to pee. I take the bathroom pass. In front of the drinking fountain I stop. No one would know if I drank some water. Some kids come down the hall. Even though they don’t know I’m fasting, I feel like I’ve been caught cheating and I walk away without a drink.

At recess time, Miss Talia says, “It’s awfully hot outside, Asef. I think you’d better stay in and draw or read.”

“OK,” I say. Once again I’m left out. Recess is the best part of the day. I want to climb on the monkey bars and play wall ball, but my head aches a little and my tongue feels scratchy. I draw monsters because it feels like monsters are fighting in my stomach. Miss Talia leaves me alone in the room to get tea, and I look at the sink. I could sneak some water; just sip it out of my hand. No one would know. Just then Miss Talia returns. I sigh and draw another monster.

When the kids come back in the room, they are red-faced and sweaty. They all get drinks at the water fountain.

“Why didn’t you go outside?” says Alberto. “Are you sick?”

Miss Talia helps me explain. “Ramadan is a special time for Asef and his family, kind of like Lent if you’re Christian or Yom Kippur if you’re Jewish,” she says. “There are rules for Muslims to follow, just like there are for Jews and Christians.”

“The Prophet Mohammed received the holy book of Islam during the month of Ramadan,” I say. “In the Qur’an, we’re commanded to fast.”

“Why?” Dmitri says.

I explain in the words my father taught me. “We fast to learn what it’s like for others who are hungry and thirsty, to practice good habits and charity, and to feel closer to God.”

“But aren’t you hungry?” Rosa says.

I nod. “A little, but I’m OK.” Rosa looks at me in a way that makes me sit up taller.

Before dismissal, the kids have juice, crackers, and cheese. My stomach twists. My mouth is as dry as sand. Miss Talia sends me to the office with a message. I almost gulp a drink of water on the way back. No one would know if I broke the fast. I picture lying to my family. Then I imagine telling them the truth. Either way I would feel awful because what’s important is that I would know.

It's so hot on the bus that I feel a little sick. At home, though, it is cool and quiet. I stay inside reading and playing video games. My mouth feels sticky and my head aches more than ever. I watch the clock.

At last it is sunset and time for iftar, the evening meal. We break our fast by eating one sweet, delicious date, just as the Prophet Mohammed did. We recite the maghrib, the evening prayers. Then we eat lamb stew, grape leaves stuffed with spiced rice, and slices of fresh mango and pineapple.

After iftar, Mom gives me a package. I open it and find a chocolate bar and a jigsaw puzzle of a castle with three hundred tiny pieces.

“For your first day of fasting,” Mom says.

Dad says, “We are proud of you, Asef. The first day is always the hardest.”

Yaseen gives me a high five. “See, Asef? You did it!”

I grin and take a deep breath. I’m ready for tomorrow.