Believe it or not but I stared at the two prompts for this week for five days. I couldn’t think of anything.
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The first prompt asked me to write about a tradition from another religion that we have experienced or wish to experience. Truth is that I’ve never truly been intrigued by another holiday at this time of the year like the Jewish Hanukkah to the point of dreaming about being a part of it. Sadly, I don’t even know anything about it.
The second prompt wasn’t any easier. It asked me to write about a decoration, item, or ornament that my family used when celebrating special holidays in childhood. That one made me laugh because my family never put up decorations on Christmas day.
No Christmas tree.
No exchange of gifts.
No Christmas garlands.
From observation, many middle- class Nigerians are just like my family. Even though they did, it was just a string of Christmas lights in the living room.
Christmas for us is characterized by new clothes, new naira notes from visitors, school and church end of the year parties, red and white hats, rice and chicken and new braids with beads for the girls. This is what my Christmas looked like growing up.
So now you see my dilemma.
Nothing exotic to write about.
But last night, I had a light bulb moment.
I realized that I have been part of a ritual from another religion. It wasn’t a grand celebration or holiday. It didn’t even happen in December but it still counts.
It was Iftar.
My school is in the northern part of Nigeria where Islam is the predominant religion. Ramadan is the fasting season for Muslims that happens every year. At the end of the day, they break their fast and this breaking of fast is called Iftar.
This year, I attended my first Iftar party organized by my class and even though I am not Muslim, I was invited to join.
I remember feeling nervous because I had no idea what to expect.
Was there a way to behave?
Was it disrespectful to attend?
But my classmates made me feel welcome, and that took away all my worries.
I wore an abaya for the very first time. I covered my hair with a matching black scarf. There were mats and rugs everywhere in the room so I sat on the floor with everyone, cross-legged, waiting for the call to prayer.
To be honest, I wondered how they could comfortably sit cross-legged for so long. It was uncomfortable for me that I couldn’t help but change my sitting position every five minutes.
When prayer was called, I quietly watched as their forehead touched the ground.
When it was time to break the fast, everything moved smoothly. I had never seen so many dates in one place in my entire life. I learned that it was advised by the Prophet to eat them during Ramadan. It was like our appetize and I had some.
There was biryani which I enjoyed, suya sticks, samosas, fruits and arabian tea which I was quite familiar with. Everything tasted so good and I enjoyed how we all ate together as a family.
It was also wholesome how the faces ofpeople who I barely spoke to lit up when they saw me there. I wasn’t the only Christian present.
There were about five of us and I like to think we were given VIP treatment.
My second iftar was organized for the leaders of the faculty which I happened to be part of.
I was less nervous this time. My class Iftar gave me a template to work with.
I wore the same outfit since it’s the only abaya I own. Funny how it was a gift from one of my best friends who is a muslim.
This time, I paid attention to the sweet melody of the quranic recitation that was being done by one of the leaders. The room cheered when he finished. Even though I didn’t understand anything about it, I enjoyed the musical flow of it.
I still struggled with my sitting position, just like the first time. I had to ask my friend beside me how they managed to do it comfortably and she laughed, saying it was a normal thing. They have been doing it all their lives.
Participating in Iftar didn’t make me Muslim, and it wasn’t supposed to.
But it gave me a newfound appreciation for a faith I had only observed from a distance. It reminded me that traditions aren’t just about decorations, holidays, or childhood memories.
Sometimes, it’s the small and meaningful moments like being a part of a small iftar party.
I may not have a sentimental Christmas ornament from my childhood to talk about and I also don’t dream of celebrating Hanukkah, but I have two evenings spent witnessing a ritual that wasn’t mine but welcomed me anyway.
I’m grateful to have experienced it.
Thank you for reading 🤍
If you’d like to connect or collaborate, feel free to reach out on Instagram:
🔗 @estella.
Grace. Growth. Greatness. ✨