Waking Up to Ramadan
There was no need to set an alarm, since the minaret projected the morning Muslim prayers throughout Kuala Lumpur and woke me. It’s Ramadan, the month of fasting. William, my Malaysian salesman, drives us to Port Klang on the coast to discuss business at the palm oil processor he represents. As we make our way southwest, the sky becomes hazy. William opens the car window, and I ask if it is the smell of burning leaves. He explains that this side of the Malaysian coast is very near Indonesia, which burns epic areas of scrub land to plant palm and vanilla. The smoke sometimes crosses the ocean and creates a haze over the city of Kuala Lumpur, as it does today.
Later, I look at the bead band on William’s wrist and see he is a Buddhist. I wear a rosary band I bought in Ho Chi Min City last year that looks similar, except mine has a little picture of the Blessed Mother, who looks Asian. Having established that that we don’t have to fast, we find an empty restaurant that is pleased to have customers. Sesame chicken, spicy green beans and peanut tofu make for a nice lunch.
Before dinner, I catch up on email from the US, and am gratified to see that there are no emergencies. Dinner is in a “Western” steakhouse in a major US hotel chain – $100 steaks, $15 pints of beer; predators for the corporate expense account. I wish I could tell them that I would be far happier at an outdoor cafe with a $2 Tiger beer and some lamb satay. I order the cheapest item on the menu, and I’m am told, of course, it’s unavailable. They say that the “ocean trout” is excellent – it’s a small piece of salmon.
Najah is Muslim, and she is not allowed to eat or drink anything, not even water, from 5:45am to 7:30pm during Ramadan. The table orders slowly to let the clock tick, and at 7:30 Najah takes a long drink of watermelon juice and butters some bread. We congratulate her on her sacrifice, but we only succeed in embarrassing her. What must she think of our wine drinking?
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