Darfur and the City...
It was a day that could have been filmed for a documentary, or at least a subpar reality TV show where attractive people get into unfortunate situations involving whipped cream and desert islands. Just kidding.
Thinking tonight was going to be pretty slow, we strolled into the Hilton yesterday night and asked the Concierge if he knew where the nearest video store was.
"Just around the corner, 28th and 6th," he said. Then he paused, looked us over, and blinked. "Wait, what kind of video store?"
We didn't end up finding one. But it wasn't a problem after all, because today was one of the most interesting days I've had in New York.
My roommate knocked on my door at 5 am. "Are we still eating?" she asked. One of my roommates is an observant Muslim, and she's been fasting regularly all through Ramadan. We'd promised her that we'd keep her company today. I staggered into the kitchen and the three of us worked our way through cereal and bagels. "This is my only meal until tonight," I said. I've never been one of those people who can't eat because it's too early or too late or I'm too full. My stomach is a bit of a revolving door (that metaphor is too strange to examine up close.)
At 5:45 we washed up and I put on long pants. She unfolded her prayer mat. When I was in India, I often saw Muslims praying in the streets, on the trains, in the alleys between vegetable stalls and department stores. In the morning I heard the muezzin's call to prayer coming from the nearby mosque. I heard it five times a day. But I'd obviously never answered it before. It was dark in the living room and we didn't turn on the lights. She angled the mat so we each had a place along its side. "I can lead or we can do it quietly," she offered. But we asked her to lead. I watched out of the corner of my eye so I knew when to bend, bow and touch the ground. She chanted the Arabic softly, but the syllables sounded to me like the Hebrew I'd heard at Seder, or the Sanskrit that Hindu priests use for every ceremony. It's possible that it would also remind me of classical Latin, if I'd ever heard it. The thing that moved me, when I was standing in the dark, in my pajamas, was the fact that it did sound so much the same. That prayer is so similar between people, or at least it's always the same thing to me.
At work, I tried not to look at the parade of muffins and cookies moving down my co-workers' desks. Around 4 pm I started getting very hungry, because I was fasting. By 4:30 my muscles (such as they are!) were starting to twitch. By 6 I was ready to dash out, man I was that ready to break my fast. Of course, that's the moment my editor decided to review one of our articles. I flipped pages, tapping my palm against my knees like I had a nervous tick. "Listen," I said at last, "I have to go eat. I've been fasting for Ramadan." He looked alarmed. "Were you doing it all month?" "No." "I didn't realize you were-" "I'm not." "Eh?" "My friend is." "What?" But I was out the door before our Mad-Libs of a conversation was over.
I squeezed into the iftaar dinner late. I tried not to inhale my food, nodding politely as everyone else actually made decent conversation. One of the speakers made me laugh. "You think Ramadan will be forever," he said. "You think, I'm going to spend a whole month giving up all the stuff my parents look down on? A month without eating during daytime? A month looking the other way every time I see a pretty girl on the street? No way." He paused here for dramatic effect. A month is a long time. 1/12 of the year. 1/888 of the average human life, since we're getting technical. That's a hell of a long time to be looking the other way and passing on the drinks. But then he laughed. "But now it's Day 19 and I'm thinking, it can't be halfway over already! I'm still a sinner!" It's true, too. The more I observe religion of any kind, the more I feel like the captain on a sinking boat, insisting on going down with his ship. On the other hand, I also feel safe. Go figure.
The next speaker sent shivers down my spine, and not because of his heavy, unplaceable accent. "I've lost fifty relatives to the genocide in Darfur," he said. "Two are - were - my brothers, one, my sister." Most speakers about world events flatter their audiences, but perhaps this man didn't have energy for flattery. "We are all Muslims in Darfur. 100%. But our brothers - the Muslims - have done nothing for the people who are dying every day. The Arab nations have done nothing. In Islam, it says, "He who kills one man, it shall be as if he has killed all of humanity. And he who saves one human life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity." I have to say this much: it is worth it to fight the genocide in Darfur, on whatever level and to whatever degree. There are definitely people who argue that a handful of college-age liberals aren't going to end this crime against humanity. But then again, what exactly do the critics expect? Miracles? Rains of frogs? A plague to wipe out the Sudanese president's firstborn son?
And after that presentation we were off again, this time to a chic Chelsea press event held in a newly-opened club. (My other roommate works at a publication that gets invited to events like these. She's the one I went to the Four Seasons with.) Waiters in black kept handing me cups of passionfruit creme brulee and gourmet chocolate sauce. Bartenders served up cosmos and champagne
(I, keeping with the Ramadan theme, looked the other way). Women in very high heels toasted themselves with glasses decorated in fresh daffodils. Mood lighting, low music, delicious food...it was an evening of Sex and the City-like elegance. At the end, on our way out, we got goodie bags full of little gold candies and card cases.
In one day I fasted for Ramadan, contributed to Darfur, and scored free chocolate. I can promise you one thing: no one else in the entire city had the same day I did (except for my two roommates). I'm beginning to see what people like about New York.
Thinking tonight was going to be pretty slow, we strolled into the Hilton yesterday night and asked the Concierge if he knew where the nearest video store was.
"Just around the corner, 28th and 6th," he said. Then he paused, looked us over, and blinked. "Wait, what kind of video store?"
We didn't end up finding one. But it wasn't a problem after all, because today was one of the most interesting days I've had in New York.
My roommate knocked on my door at 5 am. "Are we still eating?" she asked. One of my roommates is an observant Muslim, and she's been fasting regularly all through Ramadan. We'd promised her that we'd keep her company today. I staggered into the kitchen and the three of us worked our way through cereal and bagels. "This is my only meal until tonight," I said. I've never been one of those people who can't eat because it's too early or too late or I'm too full. My stomach is a bit of a revolving door (that metaphor is too strange to examine up close.)
At 5:45 we washed up and I put on long pants. She unfolded her prayer mat. When I was in India, I often saw Muslims praying in the streets, on the trains, in the alleys between vegetable stalls and department stores. In the morning I heard the muezzin's call to prayer coming from the nearby mosque. I heard it five times a day. But I'd obviously never answered it before. It was dark in the living room and we didn't turn on the lights. She angled the mat so we each had a place along its side. "I can lead or we can do it quietly," she offered. But we asked her to lead. I watched out of the corner of my eye so I knew when to bend, bow and touch the ground. She chanted the Arabic softly, but the syllables sounded to me like the Hebrew I'd heard at Seder, or the Sanskrit that Hindu priests use for every ceremony. It's possible that it would also remind me of classical Latin, if I'd ever heard it. The thing that moved me, when I was standing in the dark, in my pajamas, was the fact that it did sound so much the same. That prayer is so similar between people, or at least it's always the same thing to me.
At work, I tried not to look at the parade of muffins and cookies moving down my co-workers' desks. Around 4 pm I started getting very hungry, because I was fasting. By 4:30 my muscles (such as they are!) were starting to twitch. By 6 I was ready to dash out, man I was that ready to break my fast. Of course, that's the moment my editor decided to review one of our articles. I flipped pages, tapping my palm against my knees like I had a nervous tick. "Listen," I said at last, "I have to go eat. I've been fasting for Ramadan." He looked alarmed. "Were you doing it all month?" "No." "I didn't realize you were-" "I'm not." "Eh?" "My friend is." "What?" But I was out the door before our Mad-Libs of a conversation was over.
I squeezed into the iftaar dinner late. I tried not to inhale my food, nodding politely as everyone else actually made decent conversation. One of the speakers made me laugh. "You think Ramadan will be forever," he said. "You think, I'm going to spend a whole month giving up all the stuff my parents look down on? A month without eating during daytime? A month looking the other way every time I see a pretty girl on the street? No way." He paused here for dramatic effect. A month is a long time. 1/12 of the year. 1/888 of the average human life, since we're getting technical. That's a hell of a long time to be looking the other way and passing on the drinks. But then he laughed. "But now it's Day 19 and I'm thinking, it can't be halfway over already! I'm still a sinner!" It's true, too. The more I observe religion of any kind, the more I feel like the captain on a sinking boat, insisting on going down with his ship. On the other hand, I also feel safe. Go figure.
The next speaker sent shivers down my spine, and not because of his heavy, unplaceable accent. "I've lost fifty relatives to the genocide in Darfur," he said. "Two are - were - my brothers, one, my sister." Most speakers about world events flatter their audiences, but perhaps this man didn't have energy for flattery. "We are all Muslims in Darfur. 100%. But our brothers - the Muslims - have done nothing for the people who are dying every day. The Arab nations have done nothing. In Islam, it says, "He who kills one man, it shall be as if he has killed all of humanity. And he who saves one human life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity." I have to say this much: it is worth it to fight the genocide in Darfur, on whatever level and to whatever degree. There are definitely people who argue that a handful of college-age liberals aren't going to end this crime against humanity. But then again, what exactly do the critics expect? Miracles? Rains of frogs? A plague to wipe out the Sudanese president's firstborn son?
And after that presentation we were off again, this time to a chic Chelsea press event held in a newly-opened club. (My other roommate works at a publication that gets invited to events like these. She's the one I went to the Four Seasons with.) Waiters in black kept handing me cups of passionfruit creme brulee and gourmet chocolate sauce. Bartenders served up cosmos and champagne
(I, keeping with the Ramadan theme, looked the other way). Women in very high heels toasted themselves with glasses decorated in fresh daffodils. Mood lighting, low music, delicious food...it was an evening of Sex and the City-like elegance. At the end, on our way out, we got goodie bags full of little gold candies and card cases.
In one day I fasted for Ramadan, contributed to Darfur, and scored free chocolate. I can promise you one thing: no one else in the entire city had the same day I did (except for my two roommates). I'm beginning to see what people like about New York.
posted by Anika at 8:53 PM
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