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| The colour of passion: its not all grey on a rainy day. |
That was the question Aunty Jude asked me yesterday as we sat by the fire outside the Tent Embassy.
As I reflected briefly on which of the 20 something responses I could have given her, I became aware of the feeling in my gut. It was about 3 hours after lunchtime and my stomach was engaged in a kind of continued groaning. This dull aching served as a very constant reminder that Ramadan wasn't over yet.
"Well," I began, remembering yet another Ramadan inspired realisation, "I think its easy to forget what its like to be hungry."
"Most of us go through our lives so comfortably," I continued, "that we forget how horrible it would be to not have a choice. Fasting gives me a small taste of the agony that a lot of people are forced to go through everyday. In this way I'm not so separated from them."
Aunty Jude seemed to nod in agreement.
"Have you heard of that restaurant run by blind people where you eat in complete darkness?", I went on, "Its like that. You get an idea of the everyday problems one encounters when you can't see. It keeps you open to understanding people. In a way, its almost like you're speaking their language."
Jude just kept smiling and listening.
"Did you ever hear of that book 'Black Like Me'?", I persisted, "It was about a white guy from Texas in the 60s. He took drugs and went under sun lamps to turn himself black and then travelled through the segregated states in the South. It really opened his eyes to how chronic the racial discrimination was. He would have never believed it was that bad before he experienced it himself. So yeah, Ramadan is not as extreme as that, but its something."
I had finally run out of steam and Jude took her turn to speak.
"Yeah that makes sense," she agreed with a wry smile, "so if Ramadan ever gets too easy for you, you're always welcome to try living here for a month!"
