I remember Ramadan when we were younger, living in Nirvana, in what was then known as Pietersburg. It was the ghetto reserved for us brown people in the old apartheid days, simply called ‘the Indian area’.
Everyone in our neighbourhood would be out on the street squinting up at the skies for a glimpse of the new moon. No news of new moon would bring a pang of disappointment and the announcement of the start of Ramadan would spread the spark of excitement. Plates of pies or samosa or whatever our mothers had made were exchanged so you had a taste of what everyone in the immediate vicinity was eating at their table, and also ensured everyone around had something delectable to eat.
Now our homes have high palisade walls and we’re scattered around the city, moved to different places, no longer confined to a specific area. But we take our celebration to a different level as the years trudge forward. Grateful always for every single day of blessings, good health and loved ones.
PS: The moon has not been sighted tonight in South Africa and so Ramadan will begin on Tuesday, 7 May.
By Shafinaaz Hassim
Image by ambroo/Pixabay