A Higher Hummus

I’ve jammed myself within the throbbing crowd. It’s pushing forward-the destination is beyond my line of sight. Cotton-candy colours, third world deformity, high street couture, pocket pinchers; a cattle crush of all humanity. This is why I travel. Partaking in this synchronous chaos, we are a united body. Iftar is almost upon us. That is the evening meal to break fast during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. The roller-shutters on the shop fronts are hurtling closed. Traffic and bodies interweave as the towering minaret clears its throat through tinny speakers. Glancing back I am beckoned toward a weathered plastic table. My fellow travel companions eagerly take their seats. The ravenous crowd has corralled us into an acrid alley that has been transformed into a makeshift restaurant. This is no El Bulli. Hashem, however modest it’s decor is one of the most famous falafel houses in Amman, Jordan.
At once the prayer begins to scratch its way out of the speaker’s horn. Plates of thick hummus garnished with olive oil, foul (traditional Arabic fava bean dip), fresh khubz (traditional flat bread), vibrant crispy fattoush, babaganoush and impeccably seasoned hand-rolled falafels have arrived. The fasted masses seated around us resolutely stare down this feast as if to look away might cause the feast to disappear. Or perhaps they are in deep contemplation. It is the holy month of Ramadan after all, a reflective period with an emphasis on reasserting one’s faithful connection with Allah, sharing worldly excess with those who are less fortunate and abstaining from the vices of modern life particularly physical desire. Despite this journey through Jordan being one replete with frenetic activity and hectic schedules, reflection overcomes me. I am a tiny bleb on a rickety plastic sun chair dining in the company of an ancient city and new friends. An elbow digs my side. My plate will remain eternally empty if I don’t tuck into this sumptuous feast. Ma'a salama.