Ramadan 2007 began, quite literally, with a bang. The fasting season was marked by an earthquake in southern Sumatra, and Medan was hit by a city-wide power-cut and a storm. For the following month Muslims will not eat, drink, smoke or have sex during the hours of daylight. This means that many of one’s favourite food places will be shut at lunchtime, western bars will have to pull down the blinds to hide their illicit drinking and the general populace will get a little crazy towards sunset.
I feel that somebody more thorough than myself might back these hunches up with some statistics, but I can’t help thinking that there must be more accidents and injuries than usual as the sun slips down behind the hungry city and the residents manically prepare to eat, drink and pray. On the streets, agitated drivers perform ever more dangerous maneouvres in an effort to get to their nearest place of prayer; pedestrians run heedless amongst the weaving traffic, motorcyclists swerve dangerously around the rapidly lane-changing cars and becaks; each driver causing his own piece of mayhem as he tries to find a route through the like-minded, crazed throng.
In the classroom students pay even less attention to their teacher than usual as they turn one ear to the instructions of the muzzein crackling through the loudspeakers of every mosque around the country; each one counting down the minutes until the official sunset. Surely this is the only time of the year that an Indonesian pays any attention to time-keeping.
Soon the streets are clear of the majority of the populace; just the Christians, Buddhists and Fallen are left to enjoy a rare and all too brief peace in the city while the rest sate their hunger, initially, with a little tea and maybe a bite of cake; a restrained response to fifteen hours of abstinence. In the mosques, houses, shops and schools prayer mats are unfolded, baggy clothes are donned, heads covered and pointed towards Mecca as the praying begins.
Like most religious rituals, this one strikes me as a collection of half-hearted, antiquated superstitions. Surely a fast should last longer than two-thirds of a day, shouldn’t it? I’m sure we have all at some point in our lives inadvertently gone without food or drink for that long; usually when hungover. Fasting has traditionally been a way of getting closer to God for many religions, usually as a way of inducing a mystical experience after coming close to starvation; merely having your stomach rumble a few times during the day before pigging out in the evening seems to me to be missing the point somewhat. The abstinence of sex during the day isn’t too much of a hardship either; most people work. The only provisio during this month as far as sexual activity is concerned, is that one most wash afterwards while reciting a prayer; washing your right side first with your left hand and then your left side with your right hand. Sounds all too much like throwing salt over your right shoulder or touching wood to me.
All these shennanigans will come to an end in a month when Eid ul-Fitr is celebrated; a time for family gatherings when it is almost impossible to get staff to work at your local bar and so limited opening times are introduced. That’s more than I can bear; I’m off for a walk in the jungle for the week so that I don’t have to witness the soul-destroying sight of a closed bar.
Welcome to the Jungle (Part One)
“So, one hundred euros for five days jungle-trekking?” I had no idea why we were dealing in euros.
“One hundred and fifty if you don’t want any other tourists to come with us.”
“One hundred and fifty euros for five days trekking with two porters and two guides. Everything included; tents, food et cetera?”
“Yes.”
“We return to Bukit Lawan by raft?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t give me a better price than that?”
“If I give you a cheaper price, I take you into the jungle and we walk around in circles for five days and I cheat you. You will never know.”
“Will we see any tigers?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Elephants?” This was the last place in the world where these animals co-existed in their own natural habitat.
“I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you took someone trekking?”
“Nineteen eighty seven.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yes. We might get lost.”
“OK. Consider yourself booked for the day after Eid ul-Fitr. Sunday 14th October.”
We shook on it with our left hands.
“What about your arm?” We both looked at the bamboo-splint wrapped around his broken forearm.
“Maybe it will be OK.”
