Fasting for Ramadan, as told by a Christian

Fasting is not exclusive to Islam, the big three, Hinduism, Buddhism, and many others all have some sort of fasting ritual. Fasting for Ramadan is probably the most well known fast because so many people around the world take part. Ramadan goes according to the Islamic calendar so it is about a week after Ramadan the prior year and lasts 29 or 30 days, depending on the new moon sightings. From the first day until the last, a person will not eat or drink while the sun is out. They also should not do “sinful” behavior, like swearing, fighting, etc. The mosques, and plenty of internet sites, have calendars with the specific prayer times and sunrise and sunset times. Fasting is required for all Muslims unless they are sick, pregnant, menstruating, diabetic, travelling, or breastfeeding.

I did not want to fast. I love to eat and I am not a huge fan of being hungry, it makes me crabby. My in-laws did not request or require me to fast. My husband (sort of) requested that I do fast and honestly, it caused a bit of an argument. In the end it was the fact that I am overly stubborn that drove me to fast on that first day. As the days went by, I had to come up with more, better reasons, why I was choosing to do this. A big part remained as me just being stubborn. I could not believe that I was not able to do something that so many others are able to do each year and actually look forward to it.

Another large reason I continued to fast was that it made everyone very happy, the maids, my in-laws, my husband, they were all happy that I was fasting. As a people pleaser, that is huge for me because it also made me happy. I enjoyed joining the family in Iftar (breaking of the fast) in the evening, all of us in the same hungry and thirsty boat. It was a nice time to spend together, on the few days I did not fast I felt like I almost did not belong, not because of anything others said but because of my own feelings, because this snack/meal is for the hungry, which was not me.

I also thought that Ramadan could be a good time to kick start my healthy food lifestyle change. (I do not want to call it a diet because “diet” sounds restrictive and that is not the mindset I want to have.) I weighed myself at the beginning of Ramadan and figured I would lose weight. The Iftar meal/snack is different in different cultures and families. It usually includes dates, sweets, deep fried stuff, a snack made from chickpeas, some veggies. All in all, it is not really health food. After Iftar, I would feed Sam, have some coffee and biscuits (read cookies), give Sara dinner, get the kids to sleep, eat dinner myself, read or watch TV, have a snack, stay up way too late, have more food around three in the morning, brush my teeth, go to sleep, wake up around 9 or 10 and fast until about seven in the evening. I weighed myself again after Eid (the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan) and I was up two pounds. I cannot say that I am surprised. The fasting caused my metabolism to hit the floor.

Preparing for Iftar 

Setting the table (2013)

Each day as I fasted I would think that this is insane, why are we doing this to ourselves? I am hungry, I could sneak food, I am thirsty, and no one would know if I had a little water but that is when my stubbornness would kick in and – most of the time – I would resist the temptation.

On a few days, I would go to work and paint, which was exhausting. Many hours spent on my feet, trying to hold my hand steady. The director of the school smokes and combine the second hand smoke with the hunger and I swear, the only thing keeping me up was the sheer force of my will. After the day spent painting, I would catch a rickshaw to the Club to get milk and then home, on those days I could see the importance of food and water more than other days. On one particular day I went swimming. I did not work hard, I just enjoyed the feeling of the water, but by the time Iftar came round I think I gulped about a gallon of water in one go. To insure I was getting enough water, which I need a lot, I would drink about two liters in the hour after Iftar, about the same with dinner, and again with the “meal” at 3AM. One day, we were out of water (we cannot drink from the tap, there is an elaborate process to get drinking water which I can talk about later) and I nearly started crying. Sakib quickly ran out and got us some bottled water, smart man. I was more careful about preparing water after that.

Each day around 6PM I would go upstairs to my in-laws house and help with the final prep for Iftar. I would mix things, set the table, divvy out the food and juice, and do anything else my mother-in-law needed. This became my favorite part of the day. I loved having something to do that helped my mother-in-law and contributed to the family, no matter how small of a thing it was. My MIL and I would chat, which was nice, and then the whole family would sit, Sam and Sara too, and enjoy the food together. After eating, everyone, except the kids and me, would go to the bedroom for a short prayer and I would clear the table. Now that Ramadan is over, I miss having the reason to come together and share our time.

Enjoying Iftar (last year, 2013) 

Sara, at some point, asked why it was we were fasting. My brother-in-law told her that one of the reasons is so we can understand the poor people’s hunger better. On the final day of Ramadan, Sara asked me if I understood what it was like to be poor now. I said that to some extent, I understand hunger better but because I had food in the fridge and I know that there is a big meal waiting for me when the sun goes down, I cannot truly understand what it is like to be starving, but I can imagine better now. In the first few days and in the last, I felt why we say, “hunger pains” it really does hurt to be so hungry.

The last month has proven to me that I get to choose what I eat or do not eat, even if it hurts. In light of that, I have decided to ride the momentum of Ramadan and give up my sugar addition. I do not look forward to fasting next year but I do look forward to the way the family comes together and shares our time.

Eid Mubarak! 

Home

There’s no place like home… but where is home?

Home is… safe… where the heart is… where you hang your hat… where you are comfortable enough to walk around naked…where the pants are stretchy and the wifi connects automatically…a person or place you want to return to, over and over…where your story begins…wherever we are together…

Home seems to be some magical place that only exists in our minds. We build houses, of all sorts, fill them with our things and call it home. Then we collect our stuff, leave that place and put our stuff in a new place and suddenly we have a new home. The magic place that gave us so much comfort no longer exists; you cannot go home again, as they say. So does that mean our stuff defines our home? Is it the comfort of the familiar? Perhaps it is the people around us that make us feel at home.

So, what happens when you leave the building, the stuff, and the people behind and move to the other side of the world? Nearly two years ago, when I moved from my house, sold most all of my stuff and left America with six suitcases, my husband, my daughter, a growing pregnancy, and as small amount as expectations as I could manage, I did not ask myself these questions about home. I knew that we were going to have a roof and a bed and comforts; I thought that the magic of home would travel with me and be in this new place.

Homesickness is a funny thing. It creeps up when you are not paying attention and grabs you by the whole body. There is no medicine or treatment to help, it is hard even to diagnose. Suddenly the things that used to bother you about the place you left, like the scratchy carpet, the barking dog next door, even shoveling snow or mowing the lawn sound like heaven compared to cement floors, new annoying sounds, and not having tasks to keep yourself busy. The food, the weather, the smells, the language, everything that is different can trigger homesickness.  So I grasped onto the familiar, my husband, my daughter, facebook, books, writing my blog. I held onto to these things so tight, without realizing that my hands were too full with the old to experience the new.

People kept telling me how well I was adapting. Was I adapting well? Maybe. I really do not know. I hid behind my pregnancy. I was completely dependent on my husband and his family. I felt like I gave up my freedom and I was now stuck in this new place, and I resented that I had freely given up who I was. I would kick and scream (sometimes literally) against my new life, resenting everything, desperate to go home. Then those feelings would pass and I would step back and see where I was, I would actually look at the people and the things around me and I would get overwhelmed with the idea of excitement. There are so many possibilities, so many things to see and I needed to do something in that moment, to experience this new place. I would go out with someone, swimming shopping, family’s house, I got a (short lived) job. Then a holiday would come, holidays are the worst for homesickness, and I would spiral back into the resentment and regret that are the symptoms of homesickness.

Sakib experienced homesickness when he first moved to America and did not find his home in Minnesota until he went back to Bangladesh for a visit and then returned to America. He suggested I try the same trick. My visit to Minnesota, to home, was wonderful. I did most everything that I missed. My first time driving after a year away was the best. I went to Target (which was awesome too), and then drove home. There was very little traffic and it was wonderful. I smiled the whole way. I was in Minnesota for three months and I knew I would miss Sakib, and I did, but I was surprised to find that I missed other things as well. I actually got a little homesick for my home and family in Dhaka. I never believed that it would happen. It was nothing compared to the homesickness I felt for Minnesota, but it was there.

It has been six months since I left America. In the last six months I have done more here than I did the whole year prior. I take rickshaws on my own, I have multiple job opportunities, I go shopping on my own, I have made more friends, and I no longer feel that the walls are closing in. I still look forward to the day when we move back to America but I am no longer desperate for it. People keep asking if I will visit America again this year. Before I would have screamed ‘yes’ from the top of our building for the whole city to hear but now I want to travel, I want to see other places and I want the people I miss to join me in those travels.  

So, what makes a home, the place, the stuff, the people? I used to think it was these things. Now I think a magic fairy follows people to their new homes and sprinkles magic dust on a place to make it a home and the farther you go the longer it takes her little wings to carry her to your new place and sometimes she may get lost along the way so you have to go back again to help her along. It is really the only logical explanation I can come up with. 

Boycott of The Village Restaurant.

Generally, I try to keep the theme of my blog positive and try to see the good parts of Bangladesh and the people who live here. Unfortunately, because of the continued disrespect shown by “The Village” restaurant, I cannot find the positives in this situation.

My husband's grandfather purchased the land our home sits on long before Dhaka became the mega city it is today. At the time he bought it, it seemed like a foolish purchase because it was not a coveted spot. He built a two-story apartment building with four large flats for himself and his extended family. As the family grew, two more floors were added to make it what it is today.

My husband, the oldest of three brothers and one of many cousins who grew up in this building have fond memories of playing cricket on the street, on the roof and even in their homes. They played with the neighbors who (mostly) lived in single-family homes that dotted the nearby roads. The pictures and stories of their childhood look and sound beautiful and fun. I would love to visit Dhaka ten to fifteen years ago, it sounds like a wonderful place. 

Fast forward to present day, the city has changed – grown, and is now over crowded. Our building is ageing but still a nice place. The family has done well maintaining their homes. The location is prime. We live inside the "diplomatic enclave" the safest and most sought after real estate in Dhaka. We live near the major road but our street is relatively quiet. 

There is a lot of noise in Dhaka, like any major city. Construction, people yelling, dogs barking, mongoose fighting, ceiling fans, cats, car horns, crows, and the foot falls of the upstairs neighbors. All this creates almost a musical cacophony that we are able to get used to and tune out. 

We have the extreme misfortune of living next to “The Village” restaurant. Zoning laws are more flexible in Bangladesh so this very large restaurant was allowed to be built right next door to our home. This restaurant features outdoor seating and outdoor kitchens (which we can see directly into from the higher floors and have observed animals climbing over the cooking surfaces during the night and early mornings). One of their kitchens happens to be right next to our bedroom windows. All day (and most of the night) we suffer having to hear the industrial exhaust vent motor, the clanging of dishes and silverware, and the employees shouting at each other over all the other noises. If this was not enough, they also feature music. All day they play a loop of Eastern and Western music. George Michael's “Careless Whisper” played every few hours. In the evenings, on weekends and holidays, they have live music. Terrible singers scream out the same songs and drown out everything else. We cannot watch TV or have a conversation at a regular volume even with all our windows closed. Sam wakes up frequently because of the sudden loud sounds of dishes or music changes. It is very hard for anyone to fall asleep before the restaurant is done washing the silverware and they do not finish until midnight or later.

"The Village" restaurant's wall on the left, our bedroom windows on the right. 

Sakib has been working with the management and managed to get them to redirect their exhaust fan so our home does not smell like their food (but does nothing for the noise) and to keep the volume at a reasonable level. This was working for a time; management was even calling to ensure the volume was okay. Management is changing and now, our problems are starting again. This time, they are not being reasonable. They have told us that, “the music will not have the right feel unless it is very loud.”

The owner of the restaurant is a member of the same club my father in law has belonged to for the last nearly thirty years. I met her and her children at the club restaurant when my mom was in town. She knows about our struggles with the noise and does not seem to care. Profit comes first relations with neighbors are inconsequential.

Sakib has tried so hard to handle this diplomatically with little results to show for it and he grows tired of it. I hope that those of you reading this, who live in or visit Dhaka, will join me and my family in our boycott of The Village Restaurant, maybe then they'll take a look at our point of view and respect the neighborhood they moved into. 

"The Village" One of the outdoor dining areas. 

Taking the lead.

Are you playing the lead role in your life or are you a supporting character?

When Sakib and I first started looking at our five-year plan, two years ago, I was the one who suggested that we move to Bangladesh. We were struggling, like so many others, trying to live the “American dream” on a tight budget, and like so many others, it was not working out well for us. However, I think, when it comes down to it that is not the reason I suggested that we go. I often felt that life was happening to me. My decisions were made for me and I had few options. I felt stagnant. I wanted to travel, to experience life and have an exciting life with many adventures to share with my family.

It is probably an extreme solution, moving to Bangladesh, but sometimes the best way to fix something is just to bang on it really hard, so we banged on our lives. After living here for a year, and having a few great adventures, experiencing so many new things – facing new challenges – feeling overwhelmingly – I can say that I am happy with our choice to move. It is not an easy happiness, because living here is not the easy choice, life here is not as easy, for me, as in the US.

Our children get to grow up in two worlds, speak two languages, and be able to live in both worlds, without being out of place in either. Sakib is able to work and play cricket and make up time with his family who he sorely missed during the ten years he lived in the US. I get to be at home with my young children.

Our plan is to live here for three years. One year is past and I understand some Bengali. My goal is to understand 90% of what is said and to be able to respond simply and appropriately by the end of the next year here. I want to find a way to make money by writing, maybe even attempt a book. I want to see more of the beautiful Bangladeshi countryside and spend more time at the village home. I want to see some of our neighboring countries and some that are not so close. Perhaps then I’ll feel ready to return to the US to live.

A few ways I have changed.

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” 
― Laozi

I imagine a person cannot spend a year in a totally different culture and not change at all. I did not notice some of the changes much until I went home to Minnesota for a visit.

The first, and most obvious, change has been physical. I was fifteen weeks pregnant when we moved here and very hungry. I ate a ton but Sam was taking all my calories. While I was pregnant, I watched my body slim down as my belly grew bigger. Through the whole pregnancy, I do not think I gained any weight. If I had started out thin then I may have worried about this but I had weight to burn and I was healthy so I just enjoyed eating a lot and still losing weight.  A week after Sam was born I was down fifteen more pounds (about 7 kg). I am now down about fifty pounds (23 kg) from my pre-pregnancy weight and eighty pounds (36 kg) down from my highest weight. I imagine there are multiple factors attributed to the weight loss but two main ones, first, the food here has less in it – less additives, less chemicals, less preservatives (although we do have to watch out for a formaldehyde mixture they treat fruits and veggies with as a preservative) and second, my meals here are structured. Each meal is at a certain time and I snack less between meals. I am sure the breastfeeding helps too.   

January 2011

July 2013

July 2013

June 2009

One change I did not notice until I left Bangladesh is that I am more willing to “put myself out there.” I would never really call myself shy but I would shy away from social situations. If I did not know anyone, except the host, at a party I usually would not go. If I could not arrive with someone, I would not go. Now, I do not know anyone. I often go to parties where I am the only white person and many people do not speak English well or at all. My in-laws are excellent at introductions and people are curious enough about me that they’ll come talk to me and I have grown so used to this that my prior nervousness is gone. I have also gotten to the point where I sometimes (at the smaller dinner parties) forget that I look different from everyone else. This may sound strange, I do not forget that I am white and they are brown, I forget that it matters, or that it is noticeable. I am just part of my husband’s family, I am my children’s mother, and they are friends or family – no different from in the US. Other times, at large weddings or out in public I am painfully aware that I am different but even that is getting easier to handle.

Me, my mother in law and some of her colleagues.

I am now bothered by waste. Especially plastic bags that are used once and thrown out. We all have cabinets that are stuffed full of Tupperware that can be easily thrown into the dishwasher so why not use it?

I want to look good when I go out. Honestly, I used to not really care and sometimes, as a mother to young kids, there are times when I cannot manage to put in the extra effort when going to the park or the grocery store still. I am noticed here as different, I know I do not blend in and because of that, I want to look nice, not for them, for me.

I am more open about my opinions. I often am asked for my opinion about many things, from religion to US politics to celebrity news. I have always tried to be informed but now I am more diligent about finding my opinions on those issues and voicing those opinions instead of regurgitating what I heard or read.

I hate the cold. I did not mind winter too much while I was living in Minnesota but now that I am here and the coldest it has gotten is mid 50 F (10 C) at night, I like not freezing. I like not having to bundle the kids and start the car ten minutes before going out. I do not miss digging my car out of a snow bank or driving on glare ice. I still miss the warm winter days after a fresh snowfall when the air is crisp but the sun is warm or watching the snowfall from the comfort of my couch with a warm blanket and a good book, taking comfort in the knowledge that I do not have anywhere to go the next day. But, then I see news about a “polar vortex” and I am glad to be warm.

I am sure there are a lot more ways in which I have changed and I will continue to change the longer I live here and the more I experience. I hope that the changes will be good and make me a better wife, mother, daughter, and person. 

A few things Bangladesh gets right.

There is a lot  could say about the challenges of living in a developing country but that seems typical and whiney so I decided to mention a few things that Bangladesh gets right.

Plastic bags. Shops are not allowed to give plastic bags to customers. Net bags, thin cloth, or paper bags are offered instead. Sometimes, if the shop receives products wrapped in plastic bags they will give those out instead of throwing them out. Which brings me to the next point…

Reuse. My mother-in-law is the best at this. Very few things are actual trash to her and the things that she cannot reuse she sells to a man that collects “trash” to reuse or recycle. The “trash” that leaves the house everyday is about half a bucket of food scrap.

Clothes are made to order. Sure, you can buy premade clothes of all sorts but it is more common to buy fabric and bring it to a tailor who makes it to fit you (sometimes it takes a few tries to get the right fit, depending on the tailor and what he is good at making).

Hospitality. You will always feel welcome in the home of a Bangladeshi. If you are a fourth cousin twice removed, you are still treated like the closest of family members. Drinks and snacks will be offered in abundance and you never feel unwanted.

Invitations are accepted. You know when you have a party, wedding, graduation, birthday, or whatever, if it is a big thing you may send out a save the date card. Next, you send evites, facebook events, paper invitations and you ask for RSVPs. Maybe a quarter of the people RSVP with a definitive ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and everyone else says ‘maybe’ or just doesn’t reply. When the event finally arrives, you really have no idea who will be there. People who said they would go do not show up, one or two of the ‘maybe’ people go and, if you are lucky, some of the people who did not respond at all will go. This sort of thing does not happen here. When we arrived last year, just before Sara’s birthday we organized a party for her and invited people the day before the party. Everyone, save a handful of people, showed up, I was amazed. I continue to see this with each party I attend. Unless you are ill or have a different invitation at the same time, you go if you are invited. During the holidays or wedding season, some people will have three invitations in one day, one for each meal and they will attend them all.

Salons are affordable. I understand why the prices are high in the US. The overhead is high, the people working there do not get benefits, I get it, but I still love the fact that I can get pretty much my whole face threaded (which we should all do in place of waxing, it’s great!) for about $2.

There are switches on all the outlets. No need to unplug your appliances after each use. Just switch off the power to that plug. Instant conservation. 

The food is made from scratch. Again, I understand why this does not happen in the US. We do not have maids and cooks and drivers but that does not mean I cannot appreciate it. 

There are many other good things, mixed blessings and challenges of living in Bangladesh and it is always interesting to experience each one.  

What we eat.

I have gotten many questions about the food here in Bangladesh. One person facetiously asked me to write a blog about cheese. I do not think I can keep this interesting enough if I only write about cheese, and it is really hard to get good cheese here.   A small pack of American cheese slices cost about $5. A small block of cheddar could be $6 or $7. The local cheese is called paneer, it is a very soft cheese and I do not care for it. We went to A&W once and the cheese on the burger was very strange – defiantly not the American food they advertised. Now I want a grilled cheese sandwich.

Rice is the staple food here. Some people eat it for breakfast lunch and dinner. One cup of cooked white rice is the suggested serving size in the US but here that is not the case. When I was pregnant, and very hungry, I was eating up to three or maybe even four cups per meal. Our driver fills a big bowl each meal, it is a lot of rice.

The typical breakfast here is parotta, flat flaky bread that our cook prepares in advance and freezes. It cooks in a few minutes in a fry pan.  With the parotta we have a sweet (sweet malt-o-meal type thing, a syrup soaked doughnut hole thing, or a custard) and commonly some leftovers from dinner (chicken curry, a dish made from lentils, beef, etc.) or fried potatoes. This is usually not the kind of thing I want for breakfast; I will have toast with jam or egg and toast. Sometimes, I will make Sara some French Toast. I have not yet found a good wheat bread. The “brown bread” from the bakery where we get the white bread from is ok but I suspect that they add molasses or something just to make it brown. The white bread is delicious, especially toasted.

Our cook will usually make a vegetable, meat (chicken, beef, fish, egg and sometimes shrimp, goat or duck) and dal. Dal is one of my favorites; it is made from lentils and different spices and water, the consistency is like soup. We eat it over the rice and it has become my comfort food. Everything is made fresh and from scratch. There are no prepackaged meals like Hamburger Helper. Even the spices are freshly ground. We do not buy ground beef, the cook cuts the beef into small pieces and my mother-in-law grinds it in her food processer. 

Around six every evening we have snack, crackers, cookies, vegetable rolls, samosas, chips, sweets, fruits, toast and jam… there are a lot of options. Sara usually has chips or an apple. I am not fussy but I like to have a fruit with whatever else I have.

Sara and I eat dinner around eight and even with the snack at six we are hungry. Dinner is the same stuff as lunch. We finish the leftovers from lunch but the rice, vegetable, meat, and dal are usually on the table. Sometimes we will have variations from this, like the lentils will be prepared with the protein so there is no dal but that is unusual. Sara is “so sick of rice and whatever!” so occasionally she will get a special meal. Sometimes it is an egg sandwich for lunch or a hotdog or breaded chicken patty (two things we buy instead of make) for dinner. She dislikes all cooked vegetables so I try to give her cucumbers and carrots, which I can peel and give to her and I do not have to worry about her getting sick. Meals are quite the battle with her right now.

Unlike the grocery stores in the US we can only have the fruits and vegetables that are in season. Right now, we are enjoying some gourds, spinach, oranges, carrots, apples, and other winter foods.

When I first got to Bangladesh, I really missed food from home and sometimes I still do. I still miss sandwiches, salads, and mostly tacos for lunch but I am now used to the food here and missed it when I was in America (or I missed having a cook!).