Abu Dhabi Nomads

Ramadan Diary - the end is in sight...

Anna Seaman

As the queues for the shopping malls grow every night and the pile of presents collecting in people’s homes get larger, my fasting month is drawing to a close.

For most people Eid al Fitr is a celebration, a time for families to get together and exchange gifts and appreciate each other’s company. Much like Christmas is at home in the UK.

But for me, with all my family and most of my friends still at home in rainy England, Eid al Fitr will be only a personal celebration. It will signify the end of a whole month of fasting, holding my tongue and refraining as much as possible from swearing and gossiping.

One might think I will enter the month of October rebelling against these self imposed restrictions, but somehow the idea of gorging myself on rich foods all day long whilst pausing to ridicule others isn’t exactly appealing. In fact, I shall be entering it reflectively.

During Ramadan I learned to structure my days around sunrise and sunset. Instead of allowing my time to slip through my fingers I suddenly became much more aware of it and conscious of how I was going to use it. As well as finding a new appreciation for food, I have a new appreciation for my time and therefore my life.

Fasting has had its ups and downs. There have been days where I have really questioned my actions and days where I have found it very difficult to function due to lethargy. I also think I have been more clumsy. I’ve broken three glasses and a plate this month — prior to Ramadan my kitchen was casualty-free.

But there have been other days when my awareness has been heightened, my thoughts clearer and my energy levels boosted. On these days I haven’t felt hunger and thirst, neither has the challenge been difficult. It has made me realise that the toughest hurdles happen in the mind. Telling yourself you are hungry, thirsty and tired will only exacerbate these feelings. If you think good, you feel good.

Ok, ok, it’s an age old adage but it helps to realise it yourself.
When I started this fast I believed that Ramadan would make anyone who fasted a better person, now that it is nearly over and I have succeeded I’m wondering if that statement was true.

I suppose that like any habits the bad ones are harder to break than the good ones but I hope that I have picked up a few pointers about myself and how to be better to my fellow man.

You’ll have to ask me later whether these changes will last...

So this week as the Eid holidays begin and families all over the region gather, I shall be taking myself off to the Red Sea and getting acquainted with the fishes. As I have blogged about previously, scuba diving is my biggest passion and a good friend of mine believes that on account of my surname, my home is in the sea. Therefore, although I won’t be spending Eid with my biological family I will be joining my marine family under the sea and I can assure you that on land, mid dives, I shall certainly be enjoying some hearty meals.

Same, same but different

Suryatapa Bhattacharya

Even though Abu Dhabi and Toronto are connected by a direct, non-stop flight, little is known about each city, no matter which way you travel – and that traveling takes a good 12 hours, and its over Greenland. So while mutual cultural understanding may be lost over the Arctic ice caps, it is amusing to answer the question, "how is it there?"

How does one describe Abu Dhabi in a sentence? Especially since the geography of the city takes up the first minute. Its vicinity to Dubai helps, but that only piles on the stereotypes.

It is softer, I found myself saying. Not quainter or quieter but softer. That didn’t answer questions such as, “Do people walk the streets in the height of summer? Do I? Am I allowed to?”

So I borrowed one of my favourite expressions from the streets of Abu Dhabi to explain my expat life to friends and family in Toronto. Taxi drivers use it, shop keepers use it, and even my tailor – so why not me?

"Same, same but different," I said, describing the similarities in lifestyle but the difference in basic culture.

From the difference in currency to how I greeted those around me – there’s been a perceptible shift, which is hard to explain because it is embedded in the eccentricities of daily life. In its simplest form, I had gone from hopping on the subway (politely standing in queue to get on) to hailing a taxi (trying to elbow my way through those who stole an approaching vehicle), everyday to get to work.

The last nine months in Abu Dhabi did occasionally make me homesick for Toronto. I missed the changing of seasons, organic bazaars and the downtown culture – from the art galleries and impromptu musicians on street corners to eateries. I missed multiple public transport options: The streetcar, bus or subway?

I also missed the Canadian Rockies and cottage country. The lushness of Canada and its lakes brought home the point when I attended one of my best friend's wedding, as her bridesmaid, which took place in a tent in the heart of cottage country in Long Sault, a town bordering the provinces of Quebec and Ontario. The maple leaves were already turning brilliant hues of yellow and red and nightfall brought a chill in the air that warned of winter. The wedding dinner menu consisted of seasonal and locally grown-produce and the biscotti, placed beside each plate had been baked by her neighbour — things that can’t be re-created in the Middle East, not even with fake snow and an indoor dome.

When I decided to move to the Middle East, I knew there were compromises to be made. I was going to miss watching my nephews grow up and be part of my friends' lives, but as the bride and I sat exchanging notes about our lives in the past few months, she said that this was a small price I paid for adventure — of discovering life in another culture.

Indeed.

Our kosher iftar

Tala Al Ramahi

My involvement with various student groups during my undergraduate period at Stanford University has taught me a lot in terms of leadership, public speaking, and social awareness. But it was really Ramadan of 2006 that taught me one of the most profound lessons of all: compassion for “the other”.

It was custom for the Islamic Society of Stanford University, a Stanford-funded faith-based student group, to host free iftar meals for Muslim students throughout the month of Ramadan. Members of the Palo Alto community would also contribute, by sacrificing their time to cook large meals, in order to accommodate the almost 200 fasting (and hungry) members of the Muslim community. As college students (and I am sure any young adult who has lived alone would sympathize), free food is always good food — especially when the current bank account starts to indicate double-digit numbers on the withdrawal receipt. But saving money was not really the point of our daily communal gatherings.

Most of the Muslim students (myself included) were miles away from home, and the holiday season alone is not as delightful when family is not included. The “holiday spirit”, whether it be during Ramadan, Christmas or Hanukkah is fostered by company. Pleasant, warm and welcoming company. And one evening during the Ramadan of 2006, the Muslim community hosted an unlikely contender given the on-campus circumstances: the Jewish Student Association.

Tensions were rising between Middle East-focused political organizations at Stanford. So much so, that key members of the organization that I was involved with at the time, the Coalition for Justice in the Middle East, were forced to attend joint and supervised meetings  (by university faculty) with members of the Stanford Israel Alliance, in an effort by the university to curb the chaos and avoid further political turmoil on campus. Our disagreements and our respective event agendas were politically-focused, however, just like politics in the real world, and religion inevitably got filtered into the rhetoric (which is unfortunate, I may add.)

But as the sun set on Oct. 2, 2006, Muslim students were preparing to break their fast to the aroma of savory food, while one hundred Jewish students were observing their final minutes of Yom Kippur, a 25-hour day of fasting. A sense of common purpose brought both religious communities together: sacrifice and compassion. Practicing Jews had to abstain from food, drink and marital sexual relations (sounds familiar?) for twenty-five hours, to mark the final moments of Yom Kippur. When I asked some of the Jewish students attending what the significance of Yom Kippur was, their reasons were not very different from our own: “soul searching” and “repentance” were their most common replies.

At that moment — when both Muslim and Jewish students were complaining about their hunger pangs to each other, but also embracing the spiritual significance of their fast — I realized how similar we humans really are. On most days, our political and ideological differences divide us, but when our differing ideologies are set aside for brief moments of introspection, it becomes clear how religious plurality can bring us together.

Before we broke our fast, we prayed, to Allah, to Adonai, to God — for the blessings we take for granted — and then we all rushed to, what else, the kosher/halal buffet.

A blessed delay

Haneen Dajani

“Finding luggage at the airport will never be a pain again,” I thought as I packed my clothes into my new fuchsia suitcase. I thought the colour was unique, thus the bag would be easy to spot on the luggage belt, which meant I wouldn’t have to double check the name tag on every suitcase, like I usually do with the common plain-color ones.

I also made it a point to wear fuchsia myself, “so if the bag gets lost people will know it’s mine,” I joked.

As I expected, my fuchsia suitcase was easy to spot when my family and I recently arrived from Syria at Abu Dhabi airport. It was the first bag to come out, so I pulled it off the conveyor belt, and insisted on not putting it on our trolly because I thought I looked cute holding it.

All of our luggage arrived, except for one red suitcase. As we waited, a similar red bag kept circulating on the luggage belt, but my sister Dana insisted that it wasn’t ours. My younger sister, Nisreen and I were busy chatting and making jokes, so we did not bother to go check it ourselves. After waiting for over an hour, Dana finally decided to give in and check the circulating red suitcase. She opened it and guess what? It was ours after all.

As I opened my mouth to complain about her lack of wisdom which lead us to wait an hour for nothing, I started rolling my fuchsia suitcase to the exit, running it over another girl’s toes in the process. The girl turned towards me and spotted my bag, and all of a sudden she stopped me and said: “This is my bag!”

I checked the name tag and sure enough it wasn’t mine. “Then where is my bag?” I exclaimed as I turned towards the luggage belt. At that exact moment my real bag appeared at the luggage belt. I ran through the gathered people and yelled: “This is my bag, please stop it!”

I was amazed at the turn of events. What I thought was a useless delay turned out to be a blessed one. Because if we hadn’t waited for the red bag, I would have left with the wrong fuchsia bag, and it would have been a hassle to find mine afterwards. Moreover, If I had put my bag on the trolly, I wouldn’t have run over that girl’s toes, and she wouldn’t have stopped me. I then appreciated how Allah with his wisdom shapes events to reach certain outcomes. I also thanked him for accepting my prayers that everything would turn out well throughout the trip.

Now the old Syrian saying “behind every delay there is a benefit” makes more sense to me, proving that proverbs indeed have wisdom.

Tales from the deep

Anna waves from the boat that took her out to dive in the Red Sea off the coast of Egypt in this 2007 photo.

Anna Seaman

There is one passion in my life that I know will remain constant. Throughout the ups and downs of loves lost and found, I take comfort in the fact that as soon as I get underwater I will be happy.

I discovered scuba diving when I was 14 years old. Now I am 28 and that means I have spent half my life getting excited about blowing bubbles.

My first dive was in the warm turquoise waters of the Caribbean, and it was like jumping into the pages of a National Geographic magazine. The sea off the coast of Antigua was full of colourful corals, small pretty tropical fish and bigger fish like barracudas and moray eels which I found scary and fascinating at the same time.

I was at the age when I didn’t want to be enthusiastic about anything. I thought my teenage strops and adults’ responses to them were far more interesting than the prospect of scuba diving. But after the first foray I was hooked.

I came back to England and relished in the task of learning my new skill. I became interested in the science, competent at the mathematical side which involved calculating depths and bottom times to work out correct surface intervals and I actually looked forward to taking exams.

In July 1994 I got my qualification. For the next seven years I made diving an absolute must in my diary. I travelled to Cyprus, Malta and even tried a few dive sites in the freezing UK waters before finding my version of paradise — Egypt’s Red Sea coast.

When I started visiting Egypt in 1997 it looked nothing like it did today. Sharm el Sheikh was a small town with a few hotels, an old fashioned souk and not a sniff of the Hard Rock Cafe. My best memory was eating fish freshly caught that day in a restaurant with a corrugated iron roof and rickety garden furniture.

The coral reefs were also pristine. You only had to travel a few metres off the coast and there was a plethora of marine life all living comfortably and it was a pleasure to see.

Now a lot of things have changed. Sharm el Sheikh is a busy tourist resort and you have to travel much further off the coast to find unspoilt dive sites and clear water. But one thing remains the same — my love for diving.

I haven’t been to Sharm since 2000. For the last few years I have preferred to travel further south in Egypt to places like Hurghada and Marsa Alam where the diving is better and the towns are less commercialised. However in just over a week I shall be returning there. I know that I will not be going to the place I left and due to certain last minute holiday changes (caused by the collapse of XL airways) I will be forced to dive only from day boats which will mean not such good quality diving. However, I am really excited. I will complete my 100th dive while I am away and hopefully I will get one more speciality qualification under my belt.

My life has come a long way since teenage angst and the innocence of youth but every time I sink underwater and start hearing the sound of the bubbles around my ears I lose all sense of time and my stresses melt away with the currents. For that at least, I can’t wait.

Flying in private jets spoils the fun of going commercial

Mahmoud Habboush

I was about to board the plane heading to Damascus from Manama. Everything seemed lame and I knew exactly the reason — it was my first trip on a commercial flight after three consecutive trips on Royal Jet’s luxurious planes, accompanying official delegations.

I couldn’t decide throughout the trip from Abu Dhabi to Damascus — which included an unfortunate stop in Manama — whether to simply be grateful for the fact that I had the chance to fly in a private jet and not have to deal with all the lines, security checks, and luggage dragging that most passengers must deal with nowadays, or make the painful comparison between the two experiences.

Accompanying official delegations proved the most fun and relaxing travel experience. All I needed to do was drop my luggage at the airport’s entrance, hand my passport to a PR officer and then move straight to the plane after waiting for some time in an extravagant VIP lounge.

I only booked my flight to Syria three days in advance, which nearly left me no choice of airline, explaining why I was forced to take a connecting flight through Manama instead of a direct flight from Abu Dhabi.

I started to remember my carefree private jet journeys when I had to wait in Bahrain International Airport for one extra hour simply because it took a group of Pakistani pilgrims so long to board. Draped in white Haj cloths, most of the religious travelers were struggling to find their boarding cards, passports or even friends and relatives. Ten or 15 minutes before the original time of my flight some of them were running back through the boarding gate to get a relative who was stuck somewhere in the airport, or that’s what I thought what was happening at the time.

I went to ask an officer at the gate to triple check that it was actually my gate and he confirmed it. Minutes past the original departure time I heard over the PA system that they had changed the boarding gate.

I probably shouldn’t be complaining. Because delays and stuff like that happen. But I was still angry to see how the flight was delayed for a silly reason: because the passengers were not organized enough or, perhaps, didn’t know what they were doing

Nine days later, I received a text message on my mobile phone saying that my return flight was delayed by two hours.

“Goodness! Not again,”I said to myself.

I called the airline and they told me that the original plane had some technical problem and needed to be looked at by a mechanic. At least they found out about the problem before we actually took off, I thought.

The good part of the whole trip was that they upgraded my business class seat to one in first class, and once again I was given the luxurious treatment that almost equaled that of a private jet.

Mosque hunting in Abu Dhabi

Faithful arrive to pray at the Seikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi recently. Andre Forget/The National

Haneen Dajani

A wave of suspense brushes over me every night after hearing the Isha athan ever since Ramadan started. As men and women rush from their houses to the nearest masjid (mosque) for tarawih prayers, my friend Zabna and I have been cruising the dark alleys of our neighborhood “masjid hunting”.

On a quest to find the best voiced imam in town, we have prayed tarawih at a different masjid every night, not knowing what to expect, and discovering a new side to tarawih, mosques and jama’a (group) prayer with every new mosque that we visited.

“Does the imam have a nice voice? Will we see anyone we know? Will the imam pray eight rakaas or 20? Will there be a lecture in between?” Those were the questions we usually had in mind.

On the first night of Ramadan we tried a mosque located right next to the Bain al Jesrain co-op. After facing a parking challenge, we arrived right in time for the Isha prayer.

As we prayed through the eight rakaas we started feeling the Ramadan spirit of togetherness. Worshippers will gather every night at the same time for tarawih; the sunna prayer that most Muslims are keen on performing, as a hadith of the Prophet Mohammed (PBUH) implies that whoever prays qeyam (optional prayers prayed after Isha) throughout Ramadan with strong faith and pure intention, will have their sins erased.

The next day we went as a big group to the large Sheikh Zayed Mosque. I was amazed by the beautiful flowers carved on the walls, fancy ceiling, lighting system, chandeliers, carpet and unique design. I felt a sense of optimism and happiness. The trip turned out to be a 2-in-1 affair, combining both sightseeing and praying.

To our surprise, our goal was soon achieved on the third night. We went to a mosque on the corner of Bain al Jesrain near the highway and it turned out to be great. The imam’s voice was amazing, there were no children and there was plenty of parking space. Although I felt immense spirituality and satisfaction praying there, I also felt there was still so much more to explore. So after praying three times in a row at that mosque, my sense of discovery pushed me to continue the hunt on my own.

As I entered a mosque located at the end of Bain al Jesrain, I was hit with memories that took me back 19 years in time. As I climbed the stairs to the women’s section, I was that four-year-old again, anxious to feel the warm spirit of the mosque and to meet with friends.

The mosque was very similar to the one I attended while growing up in Doha. Although this one was much fancier and more modern, it nevertheless had the same style. Before the prayers started a woman entered carrying two cups of water. She saw me look at the water, and before I even asked she offered me the second cup. Although, it seems like a simple gesture, it took me by surprise and I highly appreciated it. Because when I entered university I was shocked at how individualistic people were. Even the closest of friends refused to do good deeds for one other, if it had no personal gain for them, even though it is at the core of Islam's teachings to help others, even by the smallest deeds which are rewarded greatly.

I thanked the woman and asked her where I could get some water, and she pointed to the kitchenette outside the praying area. While standing there collecting cups and drinking Arabic coffee, a woman greeted me warmly and started making conversation. We then prayed next to each other and got to know one another between prayers. Then it hit me why I felt so at home at that mosque. The women had a sense of sisterhood, strangers made conversation with each other, which is the whole point of praying at a mosque. This is why people in the past always prayed at the nearest mosque, so they could meet up with their neighbors and develop strong friendships.

Despite having always gone to the mosque with my whole family as a child, last weekend I went with my family to a mosque for the first time in 13 years.

We went to the mosque near the co-op, and I was annoyed at the number of children present and started criticizing mothers for bringing their children with them. But then my mom reminded me that taking me and my friends to the mosque when we were kids was one of the reasons we grew up so fond of the practice.

Who Speaks for Islam?

Indonesian Muslim men attend Friday prayer at the Istiqlal Mosque, the biggest in southeast Asia, in Jakarta, Indonesia, on Friday, Sept. 12, 2008. Muslims around the world are now in the second week of Ramadan, the holiest month in Islamic calendar. Irwin Fedriansyah /AP

Tala Al Ramahi

Who speaks for Islam? According to a new study by John L Esposito and Dalia Moghed, it certainly is not Osama bin Laden. Prof Esposito and Ms Mogahed’s book Who Speaks for Islam? What a Billion Muslims Really Think, was recently released in the United States after six years of extensive research. Over 50,000 interviews were conducted by the duo, in more than 35 predominantly Muslim nations or nations with sizable Muslim communities, in order to ensure that the study is not only comprehensive, but also representative of the 1.3 billion Muslims in our world today.

The findings of the book may come as a surprise to many Americans, particularly US public officials, who have based their foreign policies on the beliefs of the extremist minority of Muslims. “They hate us for our freedoms” has been pounded into the subconscious mind of many an American, so that a book such as Prof Esposito’s is not only timely, but imperative.

Contrary to the overtly simple and inaccurate reasoning of members of the US government on the rise of anti-American sentiment in the Middle East, the findings suggest that the majority of Muslims actually admire Western values such as freedom of speech, democracy and access to knowledge, with the caveat that most of those interviewed did not think that Islamic values should be compromised in the process. The study revealed that Americans and Muslims are equally likely to reject attacks on civilians as morally unjustifiable. In fact, according to the study, those who do choose violence and extremism are driven by politics, rather than piety.
The data does not support many of the persistent and popular perceptions the West has of the Muslim world, and what is particularly revealing in this latest study is that, for probably the first time in Western discourse, a representative number of Muslim women are actually given a voice to express their hopes and dreams for themselves, instead of relying on Western feminists and politicians, or on extremist Muslim scholars to express their desired fate.

So what do Muslim women really want, many Americans may wonder. They certainly do not want to be “liberated” by their Western counterparts, says the study. The popular yet misconceived image of the Muslim woman needing to be “saved” from her culture and religion is not only wrong, but is in sharp contrast to what the Muslim women have expressed.

The majority of women in virtually every country surveyed by the authors said they  deserved the same legal rights as men. And while these very women have not accepted a second-class status in their communities, the majority nevertheless did not yearn to become more like their Western counterparts.

Muslim women across the globe did not feel like their culture or religion obstructed the recognition of their right to emancipation and gender parity. Even the most educated of Muslim women in American intellectual discourse have expressed a certain ambivalence with white Western feminism. Feminist theories taught in classes in the United States just did not strike a cord with Muslim women, and for good reason too. Their struggles, no matter how noble at the time, do not represent the struggles and hopes of Muslim women today. Over half of women in the Muslim world today are illiterate, and millions are living in poverty. It is no surprise then, that the study finds that Muslim women’s concerns are not particularly gender-related but rather refer to the economic grievances of their societies.  

A better US foreign policy can start by understanding the people they are trying to "help", and actually listening to their grievances, hopes and beliefs. You cannot enforce a culture or a set of beliefs on someone, and it is certainly immoral to assume that you can do so militarily.

John Esposito and Dalia Mogahed's book will hopefully bring some insight  into the misunderstood Muslim world. Muslims in the study (men and women alike), said that the most important thing Westerners can do to improve relations with their societies is to respect Islam and to “regard Muslims as equals, not as inferior.” And maybe it is high time that America do just that. It is crucial for Americans to understand that while extremists dominate their news coverage, it is the Muslim moderates that actually dominate the faith. Let's hope this new book makes that clear.

Trying to decipher my dog’s allergies

Nog-Nog being held by my friend Marvin.

Rasheed Abou-Alsamh

TAKING care of dogs must be like taking care of small children who cannot talk yet but are active enough to crawl around and express a range of emotions.

Since both cannot talk, trying to decipher their behaviour that’s linked to health problems becomes part educated guessing and part smart investigating. My dog Nog-Nog has been having minor itching fits for sometime now. Whenever I come home he jumps up and down in joy at seeing me, but then starts to frantically rub his nose on the floor and rub both sides of his snout with his paws. At first I thought this was just a passing irritation, but he’s been doing this for months now. Not only that, but his eyes are frequently red and he keeps scratching himself, sometimes incessantly.

It was a comment by a colleague at work recently that spurred me on to finding a solution to Nog-Nog’s allergies: “Oh, Bruce* always gives his dog a Benadryl for his allergies,” said May*. Which of course made me think, ‘why not for Nog-Nog?’ Tracking Bruce down at the back of the office, I asked him what he would recommend locally (since Benadryl — scientific name diphenhydramine — is not available here in the UAE).

“Try Chlorohistol,” said Bruce. Looking it up on a dog health website I found out that its scientific name was chlorpheniramine maleate, and that it’s side effects included dry mouth, lethargy and diarrhea. ‘Great,’ I thought to myself. ‘I can look forward to puddles of poo in the kitchen.’

The website also suggested giving dogs with scratchy allergies doses of omega-3 fatty acids, as this helps them have healthy and shiny coats and skin. But, the site warned, I would have try this therapy for 9-12 weeks before deciding whether it was helping or not!

“Since fatty acids need to be incorporated into cell membranes, they usually do not have an immediate effect. Often a pet must be on a fatty acid supplement for a month before any positive result can be seen. Many veterinary dermatologists recommend that fatty acids be used for 9-12 weeks before considering discontinuation because of lack of positive results,” wrote the veterinarian Holly Nash on the peteducation.com website.

Determined to get Nog-Nog his drugs, I stopped by my local pharmacy this morning on the way to work and showed the pharmacist my list of three antihistamines that I was looking for. “Do you need all three?” he asked me a little perplexed.

“No, just one of them. Whichever one you have,” I said. He must recognize me as the guy who always comes in and asks for medication for his dog, as I had previously been in asking for an antibiotic salve for Nog-Nog’s eyes when the skin around them became red and inflamed from so much scratching. He had immediately given me a salve and assured me I could use it on my dog.

But this time I decided not to mention that it was for Nogy. ‘Best not to tell him it’s for my dog or he might think I’m running an underground veterinary surgery,’ I thought to myself.

In the end I left the store with the Chlorohistol and a bottle of natural omega-3 pills. Now I just have to figure how much of each to give Nog-Nog and how to get him to swallow them!

*Names of my real colleagues have been changed to protect their privacy.

Ramadan - Day 14 - We're nearly half way there...

Anna Seaman

Tomorrow marks the official half way point of Ramadan. The moon will be full and every day from then on is one step closer to the end of the month and the fast.

For me I would like to say “so far so good” but in truth the last week has not exactly been plain sailing. The troubles began with a classic Ramadan mistake — overeating.

After a particularly difficult day of hunger and thirst I headed to the nearest food court and as soon as the azan (call to prayer) filled the mall I made a giant food order relative to the giant emptiness in my stomach.

My previous protestations of having adopted a new and healthier way of life went out of the window as my eye scanned the menu at the fast food diner.

I felt slimmer than I had in a while and considerably hungrier so I threw caution to the wind and ordered everything I wanted.

In less than half an hour I had wolfed down a huge burger, potato wedges, a mound of coleslaw and two glasses of a vanilla ice cream milkshake. My satisfaction was short lived compared with the discomfort that followed. My blow out ended up being a recipe for disaster...

The fatty feast left me with a terrible stomach ache and I was so lethargic that I felt I was slipping into a food induced coma. I knew I had shocked my system so I decided to go to bed and sleep off my excess.

However the next morning I was really ill and although I struggled into work, I vomited in the bathroom almost as soon as I got into the office.

Breaking my fast was then a must. I had some water and hoped it would settle my stomach but I felt awful. I went home and spent most of the day in bed sipping water and dehydration salts.

By the time the evening came again I was well enough for soup but that was the first day I didn’t make it through the fast.

The next day I was still weak and I had to travel to Dubai. Again feeling the need for sustenance and having my safety in mind I drank sugary drinks to keep me going through my drive.

Once I was sure I was back to health I began fasting again the following day. I was surprised at just how challenging it was.

It was almost like starting over again. It was a weekend day so the fact that I wasn’t working or preoccupied made it tough. Also I was out and about in the heat and that too was draining.

However at around 5 pm something really surreal happened. I got into my car to drive to a friend’s house for iftar and I felt as if all my perceptions were heightened. I could see things far in the distance in complete clarity, I noticed things on the side of the road that I’d driven past hundreds of times before but never seen and I could even hear the words to the songs on the radio more clearly. In short I felt a new affinity with the world.

Having since described my sentiments to others, apparently this is not an uncommon side effect. In fact some people believe that fasting induces relaxation, energises the mind, body, and emotions as well as promoting greater spiritual awareness. This may well have been what I was experiencing. Whatever it was it definitely gave me a renewed encouragement to continue and I am now looking forward to the second half of the month.