Community Ramadan Reflections
Shared moments, memories, and reflections from members of our community as Ramadan approaches.
Ramadan is a time of reflection, connection, and remembrance. In the lead-up to Ramadan, the Quebec Chapter invited members of the community to share personal memories that have stayed with them over the years.
The reflections below capture meaningful moments rooted in family, faith, community, and place - offering a glimpse into the many ways Ramadan is lived and felt across our community.
Every Ramadan is an invitation to connect with God and a time for reflection—to return to our fitra, soften our hearts, and grow in love and attentiveness. Ramadan is deeply special to me, but two years ago it became especially memorable while I was completing my master’s in Psychospiritual Studies at Emmanuel College. I invited one of my Christian friends from class, Michael, to fast with me for a day and to break the fast together. He received the invitation with openness and curiosity, asking how to prepare for the day. He described the fast as a day of contemplation and prayer, a time to intentionally connect with God and to seek the sacred.
Throughout the day, Michael walked in nature, embraced silence, listened to his favourite music, and reflected on the beauty of creation. When it was time to eat, he broke the fast with dates and water alongside me, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. He asked to join me in prayer, attentively observing each movement, and shared words of thanksgiving and love for God. That Ramadan made me feel connected to all of humanity, not only to my brothers and sisters in Islam. Michael’s curiosity, love for God, gentle heart, and wisdom opened a door of connection between believers who love God and honour one another’s traditions—a calling to connect to love and the shared longing of all humanity. - Ema
Memories,
Sounds of Ramadan, from Sunset to Dawn
These Ramadan memories are from my youth. The time is in the sixties. The place is Heliopolis, a quiet, residential suburb of Cairo, Egypt.As the sky darkens, a cloak of silence envelopes the place. Traffic stops, streets are empty. The whole family is gathered around the dinner table waiting for the canon to be fired. We hear it through the transistor radio. "Edrab!" (Fire!). It detonates, what a sweet sound! Immediately, the Azan (Call for prayers) reverberates from every minaret. It is time to break the fast. Another day of fasting accomplished, and now it's time for Iftar (indulgence)!
The canon is fired from a historic location, the Cairo Citadel. It is said that the tradition began in 15th-century Cairo when the Mamluk Sultan Khushqadam was testing a new cannon, gifted to him. The test-fire happened to coincide exactly with sunset on the first day of Ramadan, leading citizens to believe it was a deliberate signal to break their fast.
In another popular version, the tradition is credited to Princess Fatimah, daughter of Khedive Ismail (19th century). After soldiers accidentally fired a cannon during maintenance at sunset, she issued a decree to make it an official daily ritual. Many historic cannons in Egypt are still nicknamed "Hajja Fatimah" in her honor.
This tradition is still alive today.
A popular family entertainment was the radio programs, especially reserved for Ramadan; television was only introduced in Egypt in 1962. A series that I recall fondly is “Alf Laila wa Laila” (The One Thousand and One Nights), broadcast nightly. Contrary to other dramas, this one was recounted in classic Arabic. Every tale came alive with the voluptuous voice of Shahrazad, who kept the Sultan mesmerized night after night with her fantastic stories (and kept me up very late). I loved it.
The soundtrack in the background was selected from the famous musical with the same name, by the Russian composer Rimsky Korsakov. Now, when I listen to it, it reminds me of bygone Ramadan nights. I forgot most of the tales, but the pleasure of listening to Shahrazad is unforgettable.
As Fajr (dawn) approaches, coming up from the street, another distinctive sound of Ramadan, rings loud and clear: the call of the Mesaharaty, the traditional "dawn awakener" who roams the neighbourhood during the holy month for Suhoor, the pre-dawn meal before the daily fast begins.
He carries a small drum and a wooden stick to create a rhythmic beat and chants " IshaYa Na’im, Wahhid Al-Da’im" (Wake up O sleeper, affirm the Everlasting One).
The tradition dates back to the early Islamic era. Bilal ibn Rabah, the first muezzin, is often cited as the first "Mesaharaty". The practice was more formalized in Baghdad during the 8th century (Abbasid era) and later in Egypt during the Fatimid era.
In Egypt, the Mesaharaty wasn’t appointed by any religious authority and hence he didn’t receive a fixed salary. Instead, he collected donations, gifts, or sweets from the community at the end of Ramadan during the Eid al-Fitr celebrations.
What was his name? We never knew, he would simply introduce himself as the Mesaharaty. He disappears till the next year. Nowadays, he has vanished forever, obliterated by wild urban development, replaced by modern technology.
When I compare this with my Ramadans in Montreal, I have to travel in space and time. But this is another story.
Ramadan Kareem to all. - Samaa
A meaningful Ramadan memory for me is experiencing it with my family. Growing up with three brothers, suhoor and iftar were never dull. They were filled with tired eyes, love, and laughter. I was always exhausted and quiet during suhoor, and undeniably hangry by iftar - something my brothers never let me forget and constantly teased me about.
I miss those days deeply, but I now welcome the blessing of creating new Ramadan memories by teaching my son the meaning of fasting and the beauty of this holy month. I hope that as he grows older, he looks back on these moments and feels the same warmth, love, and sense of togetherness that Ramadan gave me. - Kainat
Dedicated to my Shiroma and Bhaiya, Grandmaman and Grandpere. With love, for my Dadi and Dada, whom I long to meet in heaven. May we all reunite in Jannah with our loved ones, Ameen.
Girl: December, 1999.
Dear Diary,
Christmas cheer is everywhere here in Thunder Bay. We miss our home, the big city, especially knowing that Ramadan festivities are at full swing. Here, Ramadan feels invisible. Not because of the bone-chilling cold or the physical sensations of a new space, new school, and landscape, but the loneliness inside. There is no mosque here, diary. The Muslim community, in two handfuls, embraced us warmly, and every weekend, we have iftar gatherings at rotating homes. The community is not new; perhaps a few decades and for them, the most notable month being unnamed and not celebrated in Thunder Bay, was normalized. Even our peers in these families are clearly ashamed of their identity. I realize this makes us feel even more lonely when our own community is complicit and internalizes the racism (let's call it what it is!). We don't belong. My friends at school, the non-Muslims mostly, are warm, curious and embraced me in their group but we never spoke about Ramadan. My parents don't have a solution; they gather advice from our complicit community to ensure our safety and success in our new city. I am going to call Shiroma . See if she has any advice. Phone call to her is expensive but my parents will dial her for me, this is important. Update: Shiroma asked if I told my friends at school about the powerful meaning and rituals of Ramadan, the significance of reflection and resilience through withholding basic needs and desires, and the spirit of community. She suggested an iftar at our place with our interfaith friends! Update, update: Voila! We hosted iftar at our new house and invited friends from our schools, and some parents even came. In a small town, word travels fast and there are only two degrees of separation. Someone from the city reached out to my parents and asked us if we would be interested in organizing a multifaith event at a local community center where Christmas, Ramadan and other faiths can bring their food and art/dance and learn from one another. Our first interfaith gathering of the city was born, inspired by my Shiroma across the country. The loneliness in Ramadan has not dissipated but it's certainly fading; I am asking the most merciful Allah SWT for elevation of our faith, equity, and safety of our people in this otherwise homogenous community. My parents are talking to others about renting a space for prayers. My dad spoke to the Superstore about bringing halal meat (there is one supplier in town but they were limited in quantity and selection). Well, diary, it's 3:45PM, sunset in the winter here in Northern Ontario, time to break fast.
Woman: August, 2016
Dear Diary,
The first week of Ramadan is sadly blurry; coping with the heat, the 18-hour fasts, and adulting without the familiarity of my family and Muslim community back in Toronto. The reprieve comes when my friend and I meet at my place, nightly, to walk to taraweeh at the mosque with a liter of water in hand, grab a coffee, prepare seheri, and sleep for a few hours before the call of dawn (around 3:30am). A few months ago, I moved here for a short-term opportunity and paused my life in Toronto; I reminisced about my childhood Ramadan days at our childhood home only a riverwalk away from my current dwelling. The in-between child had called many places home but it is in this city where I first became an adult, and returned on my own volition as an adult. I was excited to see the mosque my parents and their friends started, the diverse community, the farm-to- table food culture, and backdrop of nature in all four seasons. I had old friends who never left, and new friends who became family. However, not too much has changed. Work and the city recognizes there is a "holiday" called Ramadan but that is where it begins and end. There is no cheer and a lack of belonging which is heightened this month. Diary, I don't fit in with the Muslim community as there are hardly any "in betweens" like me-most are newcomers who have their own niche group (and many whom invite me to joyous iftar gatherings), and a few transient folks who are not interested in cultivating new relationships. There is a cocktail of reverts, social justice advocates and the University MSA. There are self proclaimed "Ramadan" muslims culminating in muslim "misfits." In the same area code, only two decades later, am I faced with a similar question: how to bring the now myriad of muslims together in solidarity while creating awareness in the broader community? This tour has been propelling me: once upon a time, my family and childhood innocence provided me with safety and a strong sense of identity, a child of the diaspora whose home was both everywhere and nowhere, already having spanned five cities in a few different countries. I wondered now about who I’d become on my own. I am quite social and grateful for my friendships here with never a dull moment but just during this month, the differences within my social groups surfaced. Only in my solitude, I feel rejuvenated and renewed. So naturally, this conundrum begged for an overdue conversation with my parents and of course, my grandpa. With ease, my grandpa echoed my grandma's words from 1999. We lost her too young but her wisdom was and will stay with us. This evening, I connected with the various groups and the church community to plan a Breaking Bread event to bring together the city. Someone offered to donate the up front costs. Stay tuned! Update: the event will be the last weekend of Ramadan and the University will rent space for free. The non-Muslims once again showed up with curiosity, kindness, respect, support and encouragement. Final Update: The event was a roar! City officials joined us as well. There was baraka in food and friendships; and the sakina I longed for was always there. It was just different. This was me as an adult, with a similar inception of a night of solidarity, on a different route, but the same destination. It reinforced what I could not articulate two decades ago: connections are not always deep neither organic amongst folks who look like us or have certain social identity attributes, and affinity. Sometimes the deepest connections or sense of belonging comes from being seen, heard and celebrated in rooms and spaces which appear different but in core, very similar. Our shared identity does not equate a sense of belonging that will sustain beyond the simple seasons of life. The night of the Breaking Bread event was a kind of homecoming for me, with old friends and new, a reminder of what Islam is, and a reminder of my roots and the tenets of our faith. Ramadan does not have to look the same to be whole. - Anna
Ramadan Memories
Abdul Rahman appears in the apartment doorway with a big brown paper bag in his arms. After slipping off his shoes he puts the oily bag down in the center of the circle where we are all sitting- in the middle of the picnic tablecloth.
Ah! The delicious smell wafts as the bag is opened and plump golden triangles spill out.
The empty space is filled with satisfaction and love as we munch together in silence. - Munirah
Coming from a Middle Eastern background, and war-torn country, Lebanon to be precise, I was born and raised for around 3-4 years of age in Ottawa, Ontario the capital city of Canada. My family, siblings, and I moved to Southwestern Ontario, as trucking employment was thriving near the US border for one of my parents.
I remember vividly when we travelled back up to visit our relatives in Ottawa, Ontario such as our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends for Eid each relative would give myself and my siblings an envelop with money in it. Our parents in return would take the money from myself and siblings (I am assuming due to accountability and responsibility of money, as we were young of age). My parents would state to keep the envelops with them, and they will purchase something nice for us later. Overall, the family gatherings, made everything amazing and full of love, care, unity, and joy. In comparison, to living in isolation within Southwestern Ontario away from relatives while being in a foreign country (Canada), it’s not easy to practice Ramadan. Having a presence of an Islamic community and a positive environment goes along way. Alhamdullilah, myself and family with time developed and connected with other Muslims in Southwestern Ontario. Attending occasionally, iftar dinners, and celebrations with diverse Muslim organizations and/or charity led program initiatives. - Hiba
The word "Ramadan" itself, conjures up the image of "Sharing" and sharing 'A' memory of Ramadan (Ramzan in Urdu) is difficult as there are MANY attached to it. However, today is the time to share a Childhood memory and the memory that comes to my mind right now is the one of my FIRST fast. It was celebrated with so much enthusiasm, in Karachi, in my phuppi's house (paternal aunt). I was her favourite (sicnce she did not have children of her own). The whole day she kept coming to me saying "You are only 9 years old, I can give you some water, some food and I shall not tell anyone". Of course stubborn as I was, I refused and completed my fast to the end.
I still remember, my aunt had made new clothes for me and that was the first time that I had worn a dupatta (veil), I even remember the special way she tied it for me with a beautiful broach. There were LOTS of guest invited to this "Roza Kushayee" as it is called in my language, basically "Opening of a fast" - here 'the first fast of my life'. I remember the siren going off to remind us of the time to break our fasts and how the taste of that date still lingers in my mind, the first sip of Rooh Afza tasted (a sugary drink) tasted out of this world that day, the pakoras were extra tasty too, then of course all the other goodies that are associated with the IFTAR (opening of the fast). Only now do I realize that the value of food and drink INCREASES for you when you are fasting. Even the aromas smell amazing. I guess that is what makes Ramadan SPECIAL. I pray God Almighty make it easy on all of us and we enjoy it again this year, as we did all the other years. - Shaheen
Growing up in Toronto in the early 1990s, there were very few masjids that served or were led by the Sri Lankan Muslim community. We were a small community, still finding our footing, and access to religious space and resources was limited. Many who fled Sri Lanka due to the civil war in which Muslim communities were also impacted were often never spoken of.
My earliest exposure to interfaith work did not come from formal dialogue or structured programming, it came out of necessity during the month of Ramadan. Because we lacked a dedicated space for prayer, our community male elders approached the Regent Park Church and asked if they could rent their basement to hold Eid prayers. The request was granted.
I still remember those snowy winter months of Ramadan. While church hymns echoed upstairs in preparation for Sunday service, a small group of fewer than 90 Muslims gathered quietly in the basement below, listening to the khutbah. When prayers ended, we would walk out at the same time as the Christian congregation (sometimes earlier). At the entrance of the church, Muslims exchanged salaams while our Christian brothers and sisters did the same. I was around 9 years old and that image is imprinted in my memory.
It was in one of those moments that I asked my mother about the connection between our faiths. She told me the story of the People of the Book, and in particular how Khadijah’s cousin, Waraqah ibn Nawfal (Christian scholar) guided her in advising the soon to be Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him). That explanation stayed with me. What I learned that day without panels, policies, or podiums was that coexistence is not abstract. It is lived. It is practiced and sometimes, it begins in a shared doorway. - Safra
My earliest memories of Ramadan are from Pakistan where I grew up. We lived at our Grandmother's house so our studies would not be disrupted, as Dad was in the army and kept getting "posted" to various cities. We would wake up 1 hour before Sahar, and my Aunt would prepare the food for us - we were 8 of us and my Great Grand Mother was alive at that time. We would finish Sahar and we all had to listen to Doa e Sahar and as we grew familiar with the text, she would make us read it out loud. She would make potatoe chutney for all of us, and before we knew it it was time for morning prayers. At iftar, we would break our fast reading "Inna Anzalna hu fi Laylatul qadr ----" I so appreciate those years as they formed the foundation of my faith. Namaz, roza, faith in the Almighty, the sanctity of the month of Ramadan, Laylatul qadr nights, Hazrath Ali's shahadat - The all important nights of Ramadhan.
And then Eid!! We all had new outfits, bangles, and it was such a happy time. We would visit all the members of the family to wish them and we looked forward to the brand new 4 anna coins every child got when we visited one of the senior members of the community. We knew we would get "khari sevi" at a certain home, sheer khorma in another and because it was Pakistan, everyone was on the same page. It's a struggle with my own children but I am grateful they observe Ramadhan in their own way. They do the aamal via the internet, they fast, and they too break their fast reading "Inna Anzalna hu fi Laylatul qadr ----" - Soraya
We are grateful to all community members who shared their voices and memories.