Ramadan and Eid recap
Oct 21st, 2007, 11:56 pm
Ramadan, which began on the night of September 12 in Buenos Aires, was such a unique and incredible experience. Few Americans have the opportunity to experience this special month in South America’s most culturally dynamic capital city.
I always look forward to Ramadan because it’s the only time of the year I get to meet so many Muslims. I know it’s all about spiritual revival and whatnot, but the prospect of having the opportunity to spend time everyday with fellow Muslims is what really excites me.
To meet Muslims from various backgrounds, I switched up mosques every night to break fast and pray. Sometimes I couldn’t go because I had so much to study and couldn’t afford to spend a total of an hour and a half each day traveling back and forth in the subway or on the bus and by foot from my apartment to the mosque.
Iftar at Mezquita Al-Ahmad.
Two of the three mosques in Buenos Aires provided free iftar, the meal to break fast, every night. I usually went to the Centro Cultural Islámico Rey Fahd (King Fahd Islamic Cultural Center), Latin America’s biggest mosque, but sometimes I went to Mezquita Al-Ahmad, a smaller, more Argentine mosque, unlike the other one, which is completely run and funded by the Saudi government. I also went to the Instituto Argentino Árabe Islámico (Islamic Arab-Argentine Institute), an Islamic school affiliated with Mezquita At-Tauhid, a small, primarily Shia mosque, twice (iftar there was from Thursdays to Sundays). Given that most Argentine Muslims are of Arab descent, these three venues offered pretty much just Arab food: hummus, rice, beef, chicken, and some other stuff which I don’t know. Unsurprisingly, it lacked spiciness and zing like most Argentine food.
During Ramadan, I met dozens upon dozens of Muslims. People from around Argentina, Buenos Aires and its suburbs, and Algeria, Senegal, Liberia, Guinea, Ghana, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Turkey, Nicaragua, Bolivia, France, Canada, and other countries I can’t think of at the moment. About halfway through the month, I met these two guys, both brothers (brothers as in being born from the same mom), from Monrovia, the capital of Liberia, who have lived in Buenos Aires for about three years. First time I had met anyone from that country. I had read much about Liberia, about how it was founded as a homeland for former slaves from the US, so I was ecstatic to meet people from this fabled country. Their English was a bit hard for me to understand since it sounded like a really thick version of stereotypical Caribbean English, but we eventually overcame our communication troubles and became iftar buddies.
I spent a lot of time with the Bangladeshi guys. Because I was born and raised in the US and come from a much different background than them, I don’t feel we have much in common besides the fact we’re brown and have Bangladeshi ancestry. I mean, I can barely even speak Bengali. I usually just spoke Spanish to the ones that knew it and English to the others. Some of them barely spoke much of either language, so when we talked much of our communication was reduced to them speaking to me in Bengali and me replying in English or Spanish. I figured it’s better to reply in some language instead of just keeping silent.
This one guy doesn’t seem to understand that I understand Bengali almost perfectly even though I can barely form a basic sentence. Haven’t I made it clear that I can understand but not speak it? One day, I was sitting at a table with a few Bangladeshis and Argentines, and the Bangladeshi guys were telling me how I should learn Bengali since it’s a part of my heritage. And this one guy was telling them, in Bengali, that my parents must be so proud of living in the US that they don’t teach their children their native language. Ugh. I’d like to see them raise their kids in Argentina and teach them to speak Bengali well.
We celebrated Eid al-Fitr on Friday, October 12. After much debate, I decided to wear my fancy maroon kurta that I brought with me from the States, complete with a vest, scarf, black kufi, and fancy golden sandals. I looked I came straight out of one of the many tens of thousands of Bollywood movies released every month. I wasn’t sure whether to wear it for two reasons: a) to avoid sticking out so much when I’m outside and b) to prevent it from getting wet and dirty from the rain. I mustered up the strength to wear the outfit. I’m glad I did it because it made me feel like a Bengali superstar.
Children playing at the Centro Cultural Islámico Rey Fahd
I went to the huge mosque for Eid prayers. With enough room to hold about 1,600 people in the prayer halls, it’s normally pretty empty given how few people actually frequent it. Still, even with so many more people than usual, just barely a quarter of the space was filled, if even that.
I still don’t understand why the Saudi government built such a huge mosque given how small the Muslim community is.
The food distribution was really unorganized. There was an area where these guys were making shawarmas, and there was no apparent line. People huddled around them, and they randomly handed the shawarmas out. I was thinking, is it really that hard to form a line? I wanted to tell these people to form a line, but I didn’t feel that anyone would actually listen. The rest of the food was distributed by waiters walking around with round trays. Distributed meaning people grabbed the food without any sort of order and not saying thank you. Yeah, not too efficient.
That night, two of my fellow American Muslims and I ate dinner with the Bangladeshi guys in the apartment building/hotel where many of them live. Three of them had Peruvian wives. Random, I know. These guys made rice, beef, salad, and shemi (is that how you spell it?), a noodly Bengali dessert. It was a pretty cool experience since I had never eaten Bengali food with Bangladeshis, Peruvians, and their half Bangladeshi, half Peruvian Argentine kids.
Man preparing halal chorizo (sausage) for choripan sandwiches.
The festivities continued the following day. The Centro Islámico de la República Argentina (Islamic Center of the Argentine Republic), had a big party last Saturday. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were there. Where are all these people the rest of the year? Choripan (sausage sandwich), hotdogs, shawarma, popcorn, and baklava were served. Scrumptious. Of course, all of it was 100% halal. Man, I could really go for that choripan right now…
Band playing “Ya Rasulallah” by Sami Yusuf.
That night, I ate dinner with my friends at the Islamic school I mentioned earlier. It was a pretty upbeat party, with speeches by various local leaders and a band playing Arabic music with Islamic themes, including the crunk song “Ya Rasulallah” by British singer Sami Yusuf. It was nice to see Muslims not being boring.
Sunset in Ezeiza.
The following morning, Sunday, October 14, I woke up bright and early to leave for an asado, or an Argentine barbeque, at a ranch in Ezeiza, a city located south of the city of Buenos Aires. There, I bonded with my friends, both American and Argentine, and ate lots of chicken and beef. It was pretty nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city for the first time in three months, listen to the chatter of Quaker parrots, and watch the gorgeous sunset. I’m so grateful for having that opportunity. None of this would have happened had I not met this group of Argentine Muslims around my age two weeks and two days ago.
The Eid celebrations finally came to a close on Monday, where I went to another asado in the province of Buenos Aires. It wasn’t in the country this time, but in a small house/masala (prayer space) in a not so picturesque neighborhood. Unlike the previous asasdo, it was just okay. I think it would’ve been slightly better had this one nineteen-year-old guy not told me that he feels like he can be closer to me since he now knows I’m not Shia. Someone recently told him I was Shia, probably because I had ate iftar twice at the Shia-affiliated Islamic school (since when did this become a crime?). Plus, he probably already thought I was Shia since I told him sometime back that my sister-in-law is of Iranian origin. So two nights before, at that school, he asked me who the twelfth imam was. I said I didn’t know, and he was shocked and said “¿Sos chiíta y no sabés?” (“You’re Shia and don’t know?”). And then I broke the news to him. At the asado, I asked him why it would even matter if I was Shia, to which he replied, “Importa” (“It’s important”). What a bigot. I wasn’t personally hurt because it’s not like we were ever buddies, but I was disgusted that someone actually admitted he kept his distance from someone because of their perceived theological differences. He made it sound like I had some disease. To refrain from using strong language, let’s just say I no longer have a positive or neutral view of him nor wish to associate with such appalling people.
That’s Ramadan and Eid in a nutshell, folks. Unfortunately, I had to skimp on many, many details due to time constraints. But yeah, that’s life.
, ok but if you ever want to the know the theological difference I do not mind pointing it out , although I do not believe it as shiasm really does not make sense , one other point the reason why sunnis can not stand shias , is because shias hate the sahaba omar, abu bakr, and othman (ra) . I would not consider it bigotry , I would consider it ignorance as majority of shias are very clueless about their own beliefs.