Fasting and Feasts

So we are in the midst of Ramadan. This is the Muslim holy month – a month of fasting (like the Prophet did when the first verses of the Qur’an were revealed to him), spiritualism, mediation, tolerance and giving to charity. In practice, for non-Muslims, it’s a month of living in fear of forgetting it’s illegal to eat, drink or smoke in public during daylight hours, and trying not to get stuck in horrendous traffic jams. Most people work fewer hours, but my boss takes the view that if you’re not Muslim, why should you work less when the pay’s the same? Annoyingly faultless logic.

So I’ve removed any chewing gum from the car and my handbag, just in case I forget. Apparently two blokes who were staying at the Four Seasons hotel last Ramadan left the hotel mid-afternoon drinking cans of Coke. They were picked up by the Police, put in prison, and not released until the Eid that marks the end of Ramadan, 3 weeks later. And they had to fast in prison. That does not sound like fun.

Meanwhile, the most immediate Ramadan effect is shops being closed whenever you need something and the standard of driving deteriorating. I’m not convinced a young man not eating, drinking or smoking all day then eating loads, drinking sugary soda and puffing on shisha before taking control of a Porsche is the best idea. The resulting sugar rush seems to encourage weaving between lanes of traffic at 100 km/h which is absolutely terrifying. Other men drive their Landcruisers one-handed whilst holding their toddler on their knee. Luckily I didn’t personally witness the guy who decided to visit the Cigale Hotel Food Hall in his car, through the glazed façade (I didn’t take this photo – it was sent to me by a friend), where once there were tables and chairs.

And there is no alcohol in Qatar during Ramadan. The only alcohol shop is closed for the entire month. No restaurants serve alcohol, no bars are open. Mr A stocked up last month in preparation for this, so should anyone want a can of Strongbow, pop round.

One should also be more sensitive to cultural norms during Ramadan – not baring too much flesh (damn, a month without hot pants) and no public displays of affection, heavy petting etc. I bumped in to a male friend in the supermarket who greeted me by kissing me on both cheeks. Surrounded by Qatari shoppers, I was momentarily paralysed by the inappropriateness of it all. Then I realised that no-one was taking the slightest notice of us. Perhaps because it was 2pm which meant all the Muslim shoppers hadn’t had anything to eat or any water (in 40 degree heat) since 3am that morning, yet were surrounded by mounds of fresh fruit and vegetables. I can’t imagine anything so excruciating and tempting, and can perfectly understand their indifference to two heathens air-kissing hello.

The fast is broken by the Iftar meal at about 6ish. My office is surrounded by restaurants so when I leave work the place is packed with cars and men walk between them offering dates to the drivers who can’t find a parking space in time to break-fast inside the restaurant. The Prophet was big into dates. I feel like an utter fraud accepting them when I had lunch four hours previously, and have just finished my late-afternoon cup of tea (we eat and drink relatively freely in our largely non-Muslim office). In face the whole atmosphere of Ramadan makes you feel like it would be fun to be part of it – kind of like Christmas going on for a month.

The later meal is Suhour, which is eaten between 9pm and 3 am (before dawn). All the big hotels have large ‘Ramadan tents’ (Disney-style decorated ball rooms) with ‘traditional’ entertainment and huge buffets. Dervishes whirl to Allah-themed music, as the diners help themselves to huge mounds of tempura prawns and sirloin steaks. I’m not sure the Prophet was big in to all-you-can eat buffets, but I would recommend it. You can get mini lemon meringue pies.

Off the Ramadan theme, Mr A and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary yesterday. In a brave move, he offered to cook me supper at home so that we could drink a bottle of Champagne between us through the evening. Not a natural cook, he had carefully planned the menu in advance (at least 4 hours ahead) and had settled on a smoked salmon with salad for starter. Opening up the expensive packet of rocket he’d found in Carrefour, he was hit by an overwhelming smell. 10 minutes later I entered the kitchen to be hit by an overwhelming smell, and we decided the rocket was definitely not a go-er. Buying overpriced, rotting food from French supermarkets appears to be our thing when it comes to special dinners (see here). Next time we’ll stay clear of any posh lettuce, or shellfish. Once we’d flushed out the poo-smell and opened the Champers, we sat on the balcony where the temperature was pleasant, the light breeze refreshing, and being 20 storeys from the ground meant no-one could tell we were drinking banned liquids in public.

I bought him some expensive wine glasses as an Anniversary gift. So, despite no alcohol being served in the whole of Qatar, you can still go in to Waterford Crystal and purchase two ‘Red Wine Glasses’ from a friendly lady in a hijab.

The temperature does seem to be coming down a little bit, or we’ve got very used to it, but it’s still too hot to really go out during the day which makes us feel a little claustrophobic. We broke our usual routine of watching DVDs, reading, drawing and sleeping last weekend to visit the Catholic Church. The first of the churches to be completed, it sits in the middle of nowhere just outside Doha surrounded by other churches (Indian, Coptic, Anglican, Orthodox – ‘Church City’) in various states of completion. None of them are allowed to look too Christian from the outside but it’s a big building so you can tell what it is if you know what you’re looking for, which is lucky because any map you may have will no longer bear any relation to the roads.

Inside it’s a striking space, not least due to (or perhaps despite) its most extraordinary paint effect – kind of blue sky, with clouds, and angels/trees/mystical figures hovering in mid air then fading out as they get closer to the divine. Bold. And a little bit dreadful.

Finally, I went to Marks & Spencers last week to buy some pants (some things never change wherever you live) and was queuing behind a niqab-ed lady (black abaya, black hijab covering her head, black panel over her face so all you could see were her eyes) who was returning some rather risqué underwear. Another niqab-ed lady came up as I was contemplating the chocolate biscuits next to the till, and queue-jumped in front of me. At that very moment the first lady had walked away to check something, so the (Eastern European) shop assistant starts talking to Ms Niqab 2 about knickers, under the mistaken impression that this was the same woman….. Obviously it is somewhat difficult to differentiate when you can’t see someone’s face. I was the only one who realised the hilarious confusion, and took the opportunity to clarify the situation whilst asserting my position at the front of the queue. You cannot make these things up.

Happy Ramadan,

Ms A

xx