 |
| Mindfulness: my brother shows my 93 year old grandmother how its possible to spend 5 minutes eating a single sultana. |
As I was saying, 4 years ago I was living in a little room nestled just behind the Fontaine Saint Michel - not very far from the Cathedral de Notre Dame. 'Little' might be understating things slightly - the words 'minute' or 'miniscule' might be more appropriate by Australian standards. My whole living space: bedroom, wardrobe, kitchen, dining and bathroom amounted to a grand total of 16 square meters. This dimension is perfectly hospitable for one person, but when friends came to stay, I had to be quite inventive in how I described the living arrangements ("I know its small, but think of it like you're camping in the middle of the city"). It was on this understanding that my friend Hebbat came to stay.
Over the european summer, I had returned to Australia and sublet my tiny place to Hebbat. She had come to Paris looking for work. Although she had the good fortune of landing an engineering position with a company just outside the city, the whole process took a little longer than she expected. She had also hoped to have found a place of her own, but by the time I arrived back in town, she had only just turned her attention to the daunting task of finding an apartment. In Paris this is no easy task. It had taken me 3 months of solid searching to find my place, and even then expectations of size and price had to be constantly re-assessed. I reassured Hebbat that there was no rush for her to move out. She was a good friend and I didn't want her to wind up living in an overpriced, damp dungeon. As long as she didn't mind the urban-camping type conditions, we could stay in the shoebox together.
Hebbat seemed quite happy with that arrangement, and so while she worked at her new job by day, and searched for apartments at night, life fell into a kind of rhythm in "the tent". After several weeks of this, one evening we visited a place together. It was liveable, but the rent they were asking was astronomical. Suprisingly as we walked out, instead of expressing indignation at the inflated rental prices, Hebbat's expression changed to one of quiet determination.
"I'm going to take it", she said to me.
"What?!" I replied in shock, "but how would you pay the rent? You wouldn't even have enough money to eat!"
She shrugged off my surprise "It doesn't matter" she said "I'll find a way, I'll get a second job."
I shook my head in disbelief as we walked on.
"Look, there's something I haven't told you", Hebbat started, "you know I'm a muslim right?"
"Yes", I replied not really seeing the connection.
"Well Ramadan starts next week and I don't want to be working at the same time as looking for apartments - it will be too hard."
"Ramadan?" I asked, still not understanding.
"Yes, Ramadan. You know what it is don't you?"
"Well", I hesitated trying to cover my ignorance, "it's something religious, right?"
"Ramadan is where you fast everyday for a month between sunrise and sunset," Hebbat specified, "If I'm working full-time while doing this, I don't want to have the extra pressure of looking for an apartment at the same time. It would be too much, and I don't want to spoil my favourite time of the year."
We walked on in silence for a time while I struggled to understand. I couldn't work out how not eating everyday for a month could somehow be remembered as one's "favourite time of year". But even as I grappled with this concept, there was something else besides that didn't seem to add up.
"So why don't you just do the Ramadan while you're staying at my place?" I tried. "You can't take that apartment - its so expensive that life in Paris wouldn't be enjoyable for you,"
"Sorry," Hebbat said shaking your head "I just wouldn't want to put you through that. I may have already overstayed my welcome at your place, and Ramadan is a whole extra month on top of that. Ramadan also involves getting very early each morning to eat - in your tiny place, there is no way I could do that without waking you up and disturbing you. I know you're not a morning person and it would make your life very unpleasant."
We lapsed into silence again as I considered all of this. She seemed to have a point. There was no sense in both of us being unhappy urban campers, but I still couldn't accept the fact that in the long term, after Ramadan, this choice would leave her paying a horribly exorbitant rent. Paris was a city I had grown to love, but it can be a miserable place if you don't have any money to live on. I was sure that if Hebbat had just a little more time, something more reasonably priced would turn up. Walking a few more steps, I came up with an idea.
"Well, why don't I just do the Ramadan too?"
Hebbat looked up. "Really? Would you really want to do that?" She seemed concerned,"Its not an easy thing to do."
"Yeah, but you said it was your favourite time of year," I replied trying to pin down her contradiction, "Surely there has to be something fun or enjoyable about it."
"Well, yes, but for me its a bit different. I've been doing it since I was nine years old. Its kind of like Christmas for me."
An Islamic version of Christmas? The concept intrigued me, and it seemed I could almost justify doing the Ramadan out of sheer curiosity. "And besides," I thought with a triumphant return to boyish chauvinism, "if a girl can do it..."
"That's it, I'm doing Ramadan", I said, convinced now, "And you're staying with me until something suitable turns up. Just look how long it took me to find my place, Your search has barely started - I'm sure if we're just a little more patient we'll find something where you can be much happier."
At the time I didn't give it much thought, but looking back its rather puzzling: What was it that made me so sure something would turn up?
I'm sure Hebbat didn't give it too much thought either. I think she was rather concerned with my bizarrely casual acceptance of the challenge that lay ahead.
Little did she know, there was a little something I hadn't quite understood about Ramadan...
