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Sat 23 Oct I am still struggling with the idea of weekends, especially having Fridays off and classes on Saturdays and Sundays. Anyway, Amani had very kindly invited us to her family home for futuur (break-fast) Ramadan. We three khawajas are sat patiently in our house waiting to be collected. It was 5:30pm. Amani was late.
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| Bahri Fatuur with Amanis Uncle |
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The last hour before breaking fast is usually frantic; shops start to close, people try to get home or away in time to eat. Traffic is heavy, congested and crazy. There is an informal tidal flow system by which the imaginary dividing line between the traffic veers from the middle of the road to the side. What is normally a two-lane, two-way highway becomes a five-lane outbound with the occasional inbound tuk-tuk, or minibus trying to buck the trend.At last there is a knock on the door. It is 5:40pm. Amani is looking shorter, hotter and definitely more stressed than I remember her. Her skirt is long, her steps are short; we cannot hurry. She leads us back down to the Souq (market) and out the other side to the waiting buses and tuk-tuks. On this occasion we get into a jumbo rickshaw, a kind of three wheeler golf caddy with two rows of seats behind the driver and a canvas roof. The motor is tinny. The whole vehicle would be more convincing as a pleasure boat in a family park. We chug along towards a nearby suburb. We watch the sun set. This is bad news. We have only a few minutes left to walk from our landing stage to Amani's house in the backstreets. We arrive. We meet her family. After going the whole day without water and food, everyone is pleased to see us. Everything is ready. The imam cries "Allah Akbar" beginning the dusk prayers. Break-fast begins.
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