Two days from now marks a week into the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, and so far, not a single person has asked if I am fasting.
It’s my fourth Ramadan, and I find this fact amazing, simply because at this point in my previous three Ramadans, I’d been asked “Wech katsawmi?” about 856 times.
Indonesia is vastly different than Morocco. Leaps and bounds.
Although Indonesia is very much a Muslim country – the way we put it in the Globe is “Muslim majority,” but the fact is it’s 88 percent Islamic – there are other religions displayed reasonably prominently.
Hinduism is the far and away No. 2, but Christianity is in there, too. In fact, among the holidays I get off are something about Budda’s birthday, the ascension of Christ *and* the ascension of Muhammad.
All this adds up to lots of calls to prayer but no pressure to fast. At all, really.
Now, there are some really extreme Islamic groups that hope to turn Indonesia into an Islamic state, but they’re not making a lot of progress. Part of this, I think, is that from the feelers I get (which are mostly from reading reader comments on the Globe stories) is that Indonesians, by and large, HATE Arabs.
But as far as fasting goes, there’s no pressure. The way Ramadan is approached here is totally foreign to me.
In my mind, Ramadan is an upside-down time. Since it’s been in the hot months lately – my 2007 Ramadan started Sept. 12 or so, and every year since then it’s started 10-11 days earlier, so right now it’s in the dog days of August, even though Jakarta is pretty much dog days all year – in Morocco, basically the theory is sleep during daylight hours, wake up a little before sunset to cook and then eat as soon as the Call to Dinner Prayer goes off.
After that, you party and throw in some work until the next meal, and then you party big time until the next meal, then you head to bed right after the early morning call. Lather, rinse, repeat – 28 or so times.
Not here. Perhaps in part because it’s the capital, Jakarta pretends to have some normalcy of working hours. As an administration, they’ve “cut back” the work hours to six a day during Ramadan – plus time off for lunch, which I don’t quite understand. But all and all, things are open.
This is a little weird for me. I’m used to having to hunt for stuff during Ramadan. Today I went to the grocery store. That in itself was foreign in Morocco, what since I didn’t have a Giant in the first place, but also because mostly, stuff just shut down.
Really, there’s not a lot different from Ramadan from any other day. I work with enough non-Muslims that it’s not offensive for people to snack and drink while at work. (We’re keeping regular hours, what since news doesn’t stop and all.)
At the Call to Dinner Prayer, there IS a big rush to the little kitchen, but it’s not a big deal.
There’s no hararia, no la byd (hard-boiled eggs), none of those fruit smoothies, no schpekia (which is a travesty), no Moroccan pizzas (travesty x2) and no invitations for the ftr, or break-fast meal. That’s a shame, because those were awesome times. In all, it’s just another way that demonstrates that Indonesians, while friendly, aren’t as hospitable as Moroccans. That’s not to insult Indonesians, just to point out that Moroccans (especially Berbers) are THE most hospitable people on the face of the earth.
During Ramadan, I was a bit concerned about my walk to work, honestly. In Morocco, people start to drive erratically during the afternoon – it has something to do nervousness as an onset of not smoking, I think – but here in Indonesia, I don’t get that. IMO, that’s because there’s ALWAYS erratic driving in Jakarta. I tend not to notice because it’s par for the course.
Due to the fact that post-sundown in Morocco was party time, I also kind of worried about my walk home from work. I’m still doing this at around 10:30 at night. Three months into my walking, most of the people in my neighborhood are used to seeing me walk around, and I see and wave at the same folks every day.
Frankly, I think I amuse them. I say ‘hallo’ to practically everyone (yes, ‘hallo’ and not ‘hello’) and I’ve noticed that other passers-by don’t do that. I guess it’s abnormal, but hey, I’m Southern. It’s not possible not to be nice.
But I was a bit concerned that there might be a greater number of strangers-to-me wandering about post-Ramadan, high from the caloric intake from that Moroccan pizza, those fruit smoothies and schpekia plus all that fellowshipping folks had by having lftr with their friends and neighbors.
It hasn’t happened. There are some additional people here and there on my walk home, but all in all, it’s the same thing. In some cases, less of it -- which is weird. Even some of the food stalls that are set up on my walk home normally haven’t appeared during this first Ramadan week. For some Moroccan reason I had in my brain, I really expected more food stall things to appear, and they just haven’t.
While I was in Midelt, the hour from 10-11 p.m. was really my favorite. That’s when I would go sit with my King of the Hill bunch in front of Zaka’s store and watch what essentially was a street party every night. We’d just sit, people-watch and shoot the breeze (sans beer). It was great.
Here, it’s just more of a letdown. I’m not fasting and have no reason to do so, but I kind of miss the camaraderie. It doesn’t exist here.
That’s not a complaint at all. I just find it really odd how different cultures of the same religion approach the holiday.
The paper ran some “fasting tips” this week. I found the whole thing to be a joke, really, because, basically, people eat three meals a day, just at different times. To me, giving newspaper space to telling someone to eat healthy was a little silly because … well, DUH.
Anyway, one of the tips was to brush your teeth and use mouthwash to stave off bad breath.
That’s another way that Indonesia is different. In Morocco, brushing teeth is totally forbidden during Ramadan. (Mouthwash is unheard of , so that’s not an issue.) Liquids aren’t allowed to pass your lips. Some people even spit instead of swallow their own saliva. They don’t swim, either.
So it’s fascinating to see how a different culture approaches the whole “holy month” thing. It’s the same overall religion, but the take on it is so different.
Separately, (yes, I know that’s an odd segue, but it’s more of a joke. That’s how our reporters completely change the direction of a story…like they’re writing about, say, corruption in some political department and then will say “separately, So-and-So, police spokesman, said that jaywalkers will be shot on sight." It has nothing to do with the story, but they had room and didn’t have more than a sentence for a totally unrelated story.) my neighbor monkey disappeared.
Well, one of them, anyway.
My apartment building is almost at the end of a block. Just beyond the building, sort of in the back, is a school. Little kids; I’m not sure how old, really. There’s also kind of a clear area and then a bunch of store/stall things with varying stuff. For some reason, there’s also a cucumber plant.
In that same open area-cucumber-store/stall area, since I moved in, have been two monkeys. They’re kept chained up, on short leashes maybe a meter long (yes, I have to speak in metric now). They pace constantly.
Normally, I go out the building and down the road from the other side, but on Wednesday, I went that way to check out --- I don’t remember. Something. But I noticed one monkey was gone.
I’m not sure how I feel about this. I don’t know where the monkey went. I can’t ask; I don’t speak the language well enough. The other monkey, the one who’s on top of the metal monkey-bars (I guess that’s a real enough term to use here), seems to be just as restless as before, but I can’t help but wonder where the other guy went.
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