I was freshly married. I was floating in a universe of joy and peace. I was happy and blessed. Things were not perfect. I only believed they were.
But anyway, back in 2011, I made the choice to fast for our first Ramadan, as a married couple. Wherever you go, whoever you meet, you’ll be fascinated by the light that shines in Muslim people eyes, when you talk about Ramadan. They seem to all wait for this month to start.
When you don’t know anything about it, you may wonder what’s exciting about it. It, more or less, looks like a great challenge, a real trial.
I wanted to make up my mind. I wanted to have a go. It was also a way to thank God for his blessings and presence in my life.
Till the last day, I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I had wanted to fast the year before that one and it had been a total failure.
Then one evening, there was a documentary on TV about Somalia and starvation. One woman was being asked whether or not she would fast this year. She was only skin and bones. She had 3 children to feed. She looked like a ghost but she answered this: “I’ve always fasted. I will do so this year as well, as long as I have enough for my children. God will provide for the rest.”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. The face of this woman is carved into my memories. This evening, I knew that I would make it. I knew that if this woman could do it, I could do it with her, hand in hand, so far away and still united by the same wish to get closer to God.