In my earliest memories, I would wake to the sound of dishes clattering as they made their way from the kitchen bench to the dining table – a pre-dawn feast to get ready for another day of fasting. Like all children, I was exempt from fasting during Ramadan, but I loved running out of bed to join my grandparents for another round of eating (and dare I say, treat snatching) whenever I could get away with it. My childhood memories of Ramadan end there; the fasting within our household died along with my grandparents.
Ramadan's approaching. We know you grew up in Australia but you do fast, don't you?
Growing up in a non-religious household, fasting wasn't something that was ever discussed, although my parents went to great lengths to teach me the importance of kindness and charity. My mother and I made food hampers to deliver to our neighbours and my father was always buying random things – a hat, a broken knick-knack – from the homeless, in a move he insisted "helped them keep their dignity". On top of that, it wasn't unusual to find random people seated at our dining table – just because – and soon, my brothers and I started bringing home all sorts of people for my parents to feed. I distinctly remember meeting a backpacker outside a factory and bringing him home to stay with us for a few days. Only too happy to help, my parents said, and they meant it.
When I booked my ticket to Istanbul at the age of 18, it was all about discovering my roots and getting to know my gaggle of cousins, aunts and uncles left behind in the 'old country'. I envisioned exotic landscapes and mountains of food accompanied by a wailing soundtrack designed to make you weep. What I didn't expect upon arrival was the question: "Ramadan's approaching. We know you grew up in Australia but you do fast, don't you?"
I immediately knew that if I were to continue staying in my uncle's house and everybody else was fasting, that it would be rude not to fast too. I also knew that since it would be my first time (and I'm the kind of person who thinks about food every minute of the day) that it was going to be difficult for me to do so, particularly with an audience watching my every move. "I've never fasted, but I'm keen to join you," I told them. They were, of course, thrilled.
I wish I could say it was easier than I could have imagined, but it wasn't. I have a super-speedy metabolism which means I have to keep grazing throughout the day and when I suddenly went from eating every hour or two to not eating or drinking all day, I became unwell. Migraines plagued me, often rendering me helpless and curled into foetal positions in dark rooms for days on end. My stomach gurgled and I felt so hungry and lethargic that I couldn't bring myself to go anywhere or do anything. Until the call to prayer sounded and I could race to the dining table (food prep was the worst time of the time), I was the epitome of teenage misery.
I wish I could say it was easier than I could have imagined, but it wasn't.
Looking back now as someone much older and wiser, I can see that education would have been everything. Had I prepped adequately and lined my stomach with good amounts of whole, unprocessed foods high in fibre and protein, that would have made the difference. Had I consumed four to six glasses of water between sundown and bedtime (rather than the tiny glasses of tea I insisted on), that would have helped also. I didn't listen to advice from my elders so I really had no one to blame but myself.
I stayed the course and I'm glad that I did. There's nothing that makes my extended family back in Turkey have a good laugh more than the time that their sullen Aussie niece rolled into town, a one-woman showcase on how not to do Ramadan. I'm glad I could at least give them that.
