Ramadan Nights

The sun went out like a light bulb and hidden muezzins called from their minarets over the entire township.
Hundreds of men in white gowns, flooded the narrow streets like blood cells running through veins, accompanied with the roaring sound of their footsteps. They headed toward a mosque, their sandals flung off at the entrance. This pursuit was driven by hunger- after prayer it was time to eat.
Prayers spilled out of the mosque, like a force that could not be contained. Those first to finish stepped out and sprinted down the road, shoving and leaping like a wildebeest migrating across the Masai Mara. In hunger, I left the hostel and joined the pursuit. We turned corners. People overtook and I overtook them. I was knocked with elbows and tread on with feet.
But that didn’t matter because lit up like Christmas, were stalls selling fried beef, mutton, potato, and fresh barbequed seafood. Others were filled with cocoa and spiced teas. Elderly women with toothless grins called me over for a ‘good price’. People were standing, sitting, chatting, eating and no one was alone. Mothers were feeding their children; women were gossiping together, and a few muscular Masai Mara tribesmen were munching amongst themselves. Stray cats and dogs hid under benches, licking up the crumbs. From this I learnt that food is our common ground, our universal. We worship it in religions; it brings families together at home. The belly rules the mind. Those who take part in Ramadan practise discipline, where the mind rules the belly. Not only was Ramadan a religious event, but social too; bringing the whole town together.
I sat on a bench with my paper plate piled high with beef and chips, and I gorged. Oil dripped down my chin. The meat was sweet and the potatoes, peppery, lifting my mood to relief and satisfaction. Talk was replaced with smacking lips. I looked around and knew everyone felt the same as they patted their stomachs- we had tamed our internal growling monster. We were full.