What does Hiller do in Damascus during Ramadan?

by BETSY O'NEIL

Lifelong resident Betsy O'Neil, a graduate of Springside School, is a teacher at Penn Charter Middle School who has been on a leave of absence while living in Damascus Syria, where she teaches English and is taking classes in Arabic. This is the latest in a series of reports she has been sending back periodically.

 It is November 1, and we are smack in the middle of Ramadan. As most of you know, it is an integral part of the Muslim religion, a month of fasting (seeam) from sunrise until sunset. During the day, a Muslim must abstain from all food, drink, gum, cigarettes, anything that can be ingested. The month is timed by a lunar calendar (hejri), and so it moves about two weeks every year. The weather is nice now in Syria, and with daylight savings the fast usually ends around 5 p.m., The cool air, even the rain and the early darkness have shown me another side of Syria. Just last night I noted how I could smell the rain in the air. It was moist and earthy, reminding me of the mountains in summer.

Syria is predominantly Muslim, so much of the daily life changes here during the month of Ramadan. Some schools may cut down a bit on their hours, stores close from 4 p.m. until around 7 p.m., and the streets empty out at 5 p.m.

My friend Brooke and I were invited to our boss' house for iftar (the meal at sundown, could technically be called breakfast) one Wednesday evening. We had little idea what to expect. Brooke was expecting some kind of prayer ceremony before or during the meal. I was mostly curious to see our boss' house and meet her husband.

As we entered the house, I saw Brooke hugging someone, and I couldn't imagine how she knew this person so well. To my astonishment, I saw it was our boss, looking so young, so refreshed and so happy. Her veil was off, her hair blown out straight and she was wearing some cute camouflage-styled pants and a tank top. This was a far cry from the formality with which she presents herself at the language school.

We were whooshed inside amidst laughter and hugs. Our boss retreated to the kitchen with her housekeeper to get the iftar meal prepared. We got a tour from the husband. Exactly what I wanted. He was very proud to show us his books on philosophy and comparative religion. In a few years when I can speak and read Arabic, I said, I would love to borrow some. At this point I am lucky if I can make out the title. He was a perfect gentleman, so hospitable and chatty. We looked at the art, the garden, the books and the exercise equipment.

The table was set and the food steaming. To Brooke's and my absolute delight, we were all set to eat at the kitchen table. All formality was usurped by the innate intimacy of a kitchen; this was so inviting. There were no prayers that we noticed before, during or after dinner. Just delicious food and great conversation. We started with soup, a mushroom soup. It is very traditional to start with a soup, and easy to imagine how the soup gives immediate comfort and energy after a day without food or water.

On the table we had a noodle dish, a chicken dish, tabouli with pomegranate seeds (a new twist for the dish), corn salad, little cheese and meat turnovers (whole-wheat crust, another rarity in Syria), laban (thick yogurt) and much more that I cannot recall now. The youngest son, Keenan, who is 12, ate a bowl of just corn, followed by a bowl of just plain pomegranate seeds. We all giggled about this familiar culinary pickiness, an attribute associated with most adolescents across the globe.

After a delicious iftar, we sat outside in the garden, drank tea and ate the most syrupy, buttery sweets on this earth. A perfect evening. Cut short by me, because I had to go teach. At 6:45 p.m. That is another part of the month. Many activities that take place during the afternoon-evening hours are either canceled or postponed. My teaching schedule was pushed an hour later, so my last class finishes at 10 p.m.

Television is a big part of the month. Directors, writers, producers and actors in the Middle East look at this as a hot time. There are many series produced specifically to be shown during Ramadan, every night for the month. Perhaps 30 episodes. There are historical-fiction dramas, comedies and typical soap-opera-like serials produced specifically for this time. The women who work at my gym huddle around the tube from noon until 1 p.m. for a show about a Syrian girl named Ashtar who makes it big singing in Beirut. Before the stardom Ashtar was snubbed by a money-grubbing husband who abandoned her, a chubby, awkward young bride -- a Middle Eastern version of The Ugly Duckling. I am a bit hooked myself.

I moved near a mosque just in time for Ramadan, and this has made for some interesting experiences. The traffic is congested, because at this time of the year people go to the mosque more frequently. Women are abundantly filing into the mosques while they tend to stay away during the other part of the year. Beggars abound as well; I must admit this is a population I did not see much of before Ramadan. Perhaps the holy season is a profitable month for begging.

The muezzin (man who calls everyone to prayer) is busy this month. There seems to be more calls and longer pleas. I almost leapt out of bed my first night as he started his  fajr (dawn) call. Muslims are to rise, eat something, pray and read from the Koran. After this they may stay up or go back to sleep. The whole event may take a half hour. At this time of year, it happens around 4 a.m. If you are in the Ramadan habit of staying up late, socializing or watching TV, then you may eat before bed and skip the sahoor. To each his own.

Last night, I walked outside to gather the laundry (most people have a washing machine and no dryer) from our little terrace. Without a doubt, every evening, after the cannons have fired and the sun has just set, there is a symphony of cutlery. We live in the middle of five apartment buildings. From our little garden we can hear 20, 30 or maybe it is a hundred dinner tables commencing; the spoons, the plates, the glasses all lifted and used at the exact moment. The usual small din of the dinner table becomes a cacophony. It sounds like a cafeteria, but it is coming from many feasts throughout the neighborhood. I have come to love that sound.

Preceding this symphony, there are massive traffic jams as everyone speeds home to that moment at their dinner table. Honking, screeching, skidding and last calls for taxis and buses. Then, at around 5, the streets are silent. They are empty. It happens this way for 30 days. Ramadan does not come and go in a flash.

In Syria, a secular nation filled with different types of Muslims, not all Muslims practice Ramadan. I do not mean the wayward Muslims; I mean there are sects within Islam that do not fast. This was news to me. Two big ones in Syria are the Alawi and the Druze. The Syrian president Bashar Assad is an Alawi. I am wondering if he has been fasting these past two weeks. I heard that he does fast, perhaps to be connected with his people. Hmmm ...

I am typing at the Internet café and I just slipped a piece of gum in my mouth. It is still midday, and I feel a little guilty about it, sneaky. However, most Muslims are not concerned with how I eat in this month. There are many Christians and foreigners and even non-fasting Muslims. As my friend Maher said, "Religion is between you and God. And the land is for all." He means that his fasting is his way of expressing his thanks to God and that it has no effect on others. Maher likes Ramadan especially because it calls for dowrit al-tadreebee (a time of rigor and discipline and sacrifice) to glorify God.

In the beginning of the month I felt nervous and unsure of what to expect. Although I had already spent a Ramadan in Kuwait seven years ago, I did not know what the protocol would consist of in Syria. As the month has progressed, it is easy to see that it is a time for family and friends to gather. A time of much prayer. While most people I know are getting thinner, surprise, surprise, a tiny percentage get fatter. I think this depends on if you sleep all day and pig-out all night, or if you carry on with your normal routine and feast moderately in the evening.

My friend Nisreen has been having a difficult time in her home this month. Her mother is a chain-smoker and by nature not a very nice person. Without cigarettes all day, she is a witch. Nisreen burst into tears the other day because she cannot take the stress anymore. Ramadan is a time of abstinence within reason. It will bestow health, generosity and intimacy. Sorry to say, for Nisreen, it won't make a witchy mother an angel. That is a miracle, and those can come anytime throughout the year!