Day 15: God Bless FaceTime

Guest Blogger: My dear friend Aisha Rahman (Executive Director of Karamah)Every Ramadan brings me an opportunity to reflect on my life, my spiritual path, my family, my community, my work … and there is one thing that I have been struggling with for many years. Islam as a faith, and many practices within it, calls for community and congregation. Praying in congregation is better than praying alone. Feeding fasters, as many as you can, is a great blessing. Yet, for me, it has always been the quieter moments that have resonated with me the most. So, though there are many Ramadan traditions that I cherish, I am going to tell you about my most cherished secret. Praying in the middle of the night with my mother.

Ever since I was a child, I could be found sneaking quiet prayers, talking to myself, or reading in my room. My brothers and I were not encouraged to spend time alone in our bedrooms—they were for sleeping. My parents built a family home—we ate together most nights spending endless amounts of time in the kitchen. We watched the Cosby show together every Thursday night, all piled up on the same couch. And every night we prayed maghrib together—it is a tradition that my father inherited from his mother and father. My childhood was blessed, and I enjoyed these moments.

When my brothers and I were younger, especially when Ramadan was during the school year, my parents prayed tarawih at home. We would break our fast over daal pakoras, baby samosas, black channa, and fruit chaat. After maghrib we would enjoy dinner—daal, chaaval, sabzi, and gosht (because according to my father, it is not a meal if there is no meat). After tarawih the house would quiet down and we would all drift upstairs—it was time for bed. The best part of my day, though, was still yet to come.In the middle of the night, I would sneak out of bed and tiptoe to my parent’s room. I opened the door quietly because I knew that daddy would be sleeping. Quietly avoiding the floor-boards that creaked, I made my way to the back of my parents room to their walk-in closet. I knew who was waiting there for me. I peered behind the door, and found my mother, sitting quietly in prayer on her janamaz. There was such peace in that room. Dim lighting, my mom’s quiet murmers soothed me. There are two reasons that I sought these precious nights. The first is that my mother left me alone as I worshipped. She knew the tenderness of the moment, the magical nature of the nights in Ramadan, and she knows my baseline, loner spirit. The second, though, is that in between the qiyam, dhikr, and reading of the Qur’an, I would lay my head in her lap and she would tell me stories. These stories ranged in topic, some religious and others about her childhood. She shared her memories of my Nana who was blessed to pass away in the month of Ramadan. She remembers still the iftar they had that night and the final, loving words he said to her, his hand on her head, as his stomach gripped in pain. Every year, in that dimly lit room, my mother finishes the Qur’an in Ramadan for my Nana and my Dada. These moments, are my Ramadan tradition.Now, as I sit several hundred miles away from home, I know one thing. In Ramadan, if I make a call home in the middle of the night, my mother will answer. She will be sitting in her closet on the janamaz, just as I am, and we can still share our nights together—God bless FaceTime.Day 15, Tradition 15: Praying in the middle of the night