Eid al-Fitr — the festival of fast-breaking, which falls at the end of Ramadan — arrived faster than I had expected. On Friday, the last day of the fast, work passed in a blur and then it was time to leave for my family’s home in Durban. Soon after I was being smothered in hugs by my siblings — and it was time for Eid.
Getting up early and helping my mother with a small breakfast for my uncles to be enjoyed after the Fajr Salaah (early-morning prayers before sunrise) and before the Eid Salaah (special prayers on Eid day after sunrise, held in open spaces) brought back memories of previous years.
The number of faces at the early-morning breakfast table has dwindled over the years, but it is still a family ritual. Samosas freshly fried by my mother; Eid milk boiled with sliced almonds and pistachios, dried dates, cardamom powder, coconut and a little vermicelli to help thicken the milk; and sweetmeats and sweet lagan, sent by my grandmother, are the basics — not forgetting the tea, of course.
Eid lunch was at our house this year and the preparations were going well. Mum’s chicken biryani was what I was waiting for. Since the day was proving to be clear we laid the tables in the garden under the awning. My mother hoped that there would be enough places set for everyone to eat together; I also thought we’d be short a few chairs, but I was proved wrong.
The smell from the oven was heavenly. The biryani was being steamed and the aromas were tantalising. Lunch could not come soon enough. The family arrived and the usual greetings of ”Eid Mubarak (Happy Eid)” were resonating through the house, followed by laughter, pinched cheeks and the showing-off of new clothes. Eid is a joyous time among Muslims across the world: not only do we mark the end of the fasting period, but we also celebrate being with family.
Eid lunch at our house is served early, at 11am. After everyone found a place at the table the food was dished up — sweet sooji as a starter and then the main course of biryani. The smell of the saffron was heavenly. I felt hungry enough to eat the whole pot, but it did feed about 20 of us and still there were leftovers. Biryani and dhai — Indian sour milk — must be one of my favourite dishes, and Eid biryani is the best. It just tastes different, though my mother maintains it’s the ”same same” as always.
Lunch proceeded at a leisurely pace, and the noise and laughter of the family was music to my ears. It had been a while since most of us were together. After lunch, everyone relaxed. The men went off for Zohr Salaah — midday prayers — and the women, as usual, cleared up.
As Eid day is all about overindulging, afternoon tea arrived with homemade ice cream, chocolate biscuits, burfi (Indian sweets made with condensed milk), gulab jambu (dark, spongy balls in sugar syrup) to be savoured. Chit-chatting, a cup of tea in my hand, I found that catching up with my relatives was not that hard — my family is full of talkers and no one can stop them from telling their stories.
Then comes the exciting part — though the younger you are, the more exciting it will be. Gift-giving on Eid day is a tradition referred to as ”Eidee”. Any gifts — they may be monetary or simply a sweet or chocolate — are exchanged by most members of the family. It’s like a second birthday.
My Eidee list included my brother and sister and some of my cousins. I was fortunate enough to have had prior knowledge about what my sister wanted, but her gift was indeed the hardest to find — where is a red belt when one needs it? For my brother I had a lovely simple white shirt.
For my cousins I resigned to getting them bottles of ittar — Indian perfume, usually made of jasmine, rose or sandalwood — that smelt like original perfumes: Dunhill Desire for the boys; Lacoste Touch of Pink, Cool Waters and Hugo Deep Red for the girls. They really do smell like the originals and, because they are not alcohol-based, can be worn at any time. The scents were so pungent that not too long after, everyone in the house seemed to smell the same.
Visits to other family members come later in the afternoon. Such visits mean plenty of kissing on the cheeks and hugs and pinches. My cheeks soon felt like bright tomatoes. The usual ”How are you?” is quickly followed by the most important enquiry of them all: ”When are you getting married?” I usually act like I did not hear the question in the first place.
Eid culminated, as usual, with a braai. Chicken and sausages, skewers and chops were staples, as was garlic bread, roasted over the flames, with big green and potato salads — simple and plentiful. My stomach was gorged, but I was content after a month of fasting and a joyous day spent with family, friends and food.
This is the third of a three-week series of three articles on Ramadan. Read the first here and the second here