Ramathan in Rusafa.

"Ramathaan in Iraq has its joys.

Being shaken awake at 4am to gulp water, was not something I looked forward too. Occasionally this dangerous job would be allocated to someone who wouldn't be shouted at by sleepy people. A few times i choked as my sister helpfully poured water into my mouth as i slept.

I remember the men of the family grudgingly walking off into the mosques. But their return was always happy, and it wasn't to do with praying or the maginficence of the building. It was definatley because of the chatter and laughter of the gathering. Jokes, losing at chess and verbally showing off your children is the gist of what seemed to happen in the men's mosque. My brother bored me to tears continually talking excitedly of cars and guns he and his friends had discussed.

When my mum repeatedly stressed that I go, I did. There was a shop just a few centimetres from the mosque. I took my little sister to it, who to my frustration could not make her mind what to buy. The guy questioned why she wasn't fasting. I stared at him for quite a while. Without saying anything, i walked out, my bright gold hijaab trailing behind me.it looked like fluid metal. Reading the quran and listening to the Imam was something that we were bribed to do. The guys got colourful guns, and the girls got flower hair clips. Occasionally i was emotionally moved by the passion of the Imam's voice. It would quiver and choke in the silence, as he talked of how everyone should give money, as orphans starved and had no joy."
Fog el Nakhal