Soulparking

Thursday, 2 December 2004

Now I have to wake up in the middle of the night to pee.  I must be getting old.  And its always around the same time – and I hear the mosque and the Muslim prayers being chanted / sung.  And the summer sun is just about to break across the bay.  I can’t see the bay because skyscrapers and luxury hotels block it – but I can see the flecks of orange lighting this massive mountain I live in the shadow of – Table Mountain.

I sometimes listen and try to make out the words of what the prayers are saying. 

And on the first couple of days I lived in Cape Town – pre-working my ass off (PWAO 2004) – I heard a massive explosion that rocked my flat.   But it was the noon cannon on Signal Hill.  Every day at noon the cannon blasts.  It commemorates in the old days when a ship would approach the harbor – and the cannon signals their arrival. 

But instantly I thought it was a bomb blast.  Damn terrorism – I am forever tainted.

I am a minority in a majority Muslim city.  The Muslim part of town is just across Buitengracht Street.  And my arrival occurred just before the start of one of the Holiest Muslim holidays – Ramadan.

Being a typical Southern Baptist American I knew nothing about Ramadan.  A friend of mine explained that it’s a way that Muslims can appreciate their own lives and understand what the poor and hungry have to experience every day.  You fast for 30 days.  You can eat at 4 AM before the first morning prayers and then you can eat at exactly sunset.   But nothing inbetween.

And the fast in the beginning is hard for some.  Because usually the weekend before it begins with the clubs, bars, and discos being packed – as well as the fast food places.  And then bam!  Nothing for 30 days.  Probably the local hot spots must store up money for this 30 day fast – like union workers save up to be out of work for a month – just in case there is a strike.  Because business goes to a complete halt – EXCEPT for grocery stores.  Grocery stores? 

The feasts at night are huge.  And that’s when family and friends get together and celebrate being able to eat.

A lot of my co-workers would become edgy.  Okay down right cranky.  But near the end – their bodies were adjusted.  I asked one of my co-workers at the office as the end of the fast loomed.  I asked what he was looking forward to most on Sunday (the day of Eid – Muslim Thanksgiving / Christmas).

“Lunch.”  He said.

I laughed hard.  I hadn’t thought of that. 

Because I haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving for two years, Eid made me homesick.  Eid – most Muslims explain it as their Christmas – is a HUGE thing.  Instead of Christmas gifts – kids get money.  And this Eid – the sky was cobalt blue and the sun high – but the persistent Cape Town wind was howling…  So you would see these Muslim families in their beautiful costumes fluttering and blowing in the wind, traveling to family and friends home to feast.  And the kids were smiling and full of energy.  It was a beautiful day.

Eid.  The end of a fast.  And me approaching Christmas and New Years’ – which is the end of gluttony and the peak of commercialism and 4^th quarter earnings.