1. My first Ramzan after graduating from university was a lonely ordeal. I hadn’t yet taught myself to cook anything more sophisticated than scrambled eggs (aka Rumble Tumble as we call it in our family) so sehris and iftaris were fairly pathetic.

2. Spoiled by fully catered MSA iftars and the camaraderie of friends (Muslim and non-Muslim) during the month, that Ramzan felt quite isolating.

3. The one redeeming thing about adulting was that I was in an apartment with a little balcony. I’d sit outside with my dates, Rooh Afza, and whatever food I’d concocted to watch the cars on my street and my neighbors walking their dogs as the sun set.

4. I eventually noticed that I wasn’t the only one breaking my fast al fresco. Across the street from my building was a little townhouse with fancy cars parked in its little lot. These cars would get moved around iftar time to make way for a table and a chair.

5. Someone (His son? A helper? No idea) would spread a white tablecloth, bring out a massive shisha, and set the table to the point where it was groaning under dishes of food. And out would walk The Arab Uncle.

6. Often dressed in a light, airy thobe, The Arab Uncle would sit out at the table by himself, looking thoroughly contented, eating his shish tawouk and smoking his shisha late into the evening, sometimes even after I’d gone back inside.

7. Was he a rich oil tycoon living out his retirement in suburban DMV? Or perhaps a former diplomat who didn’t want to return to his autocratic country? Did he want respite from noisy grandchildren and thus iftared alone outdoors? Or was he childless and alone?

8. What was The Arab Uncle’s story? I was so curious to find out, but I’ve never been good at neighborly snooping so I contended myself with the routine of having him as my across-the-street Iftar buddy, having quiet, contemplative iftars in each other’s distant company.

9. I sometimes imagined that he could see me too, sitting back in one patio chair bought off a coworker, using the other as a footrest, picking at an egg sandwich or a Trader Joe’s frozen dinner. And then, one day, as I was getting up to clear the table, he waved at me.

10. I nearly fell over the railing in my excitement as I waved back. The Arab Uncle had acknowledged my existence! I imagined going across the street to say hello, taking over a tray of open-faced egg sandwiches (like the ones my mum sends her neighbors).

11. I imagined Uncle would ask his son/helper to bring out another plate and invite me to dine with him, in the shade of the leafy tree and the Mercedes, and we would chat into the twilight about Dervish and Gibran whilst the shisha bubbled and the smoke scented the evening.

12. But I am thoroughly lacking in chutzpah and never got around to making those sandwiches. So, we continued to wave to each other in solidarity every Iftar, and have continued to do so pretty much every Ramzan since 2011.

13. It’s such a comforting sight to see Uncle having his Iftar outdoors. He’s sometimes joined by other older gentlemen, sometimes by a young couple I imagine are his daughter and son-in-law, or son and daughter-in-law. But mostly it’s just him and his hookah, alone and at peace.

14. I’ve never spoken to him, but he is a pretty big part of my Ramzan here in the US. And I’ve decided I’m finally going to take over that tray of sandwiches (because my mum is in town and will ask her to help me make them).

15. (UPDATE) Guys, it’s been a couple of days and I haven’t seen The Arab Uncle. His table is there, complete with white tablecloth, the lights are on, the Mercedes is parked, but no sign of Uncle. Should I be worried? Or has it just been too hot for him to Iftar al fresco?

16. (UPDATE) GUYS I JUST SAW THE ARAB UNCLE! He’s okay! And guess what ...

17. I THINK HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! I mean, she could be his wife, but I have never seen her before in the eight years I’ve “known” the Arab Uncle. I passed by them in an Uber on the way to the Halal store, and they were both seated outside in the shade, laughing and chatting away!

18. Here goes nothing...

19. I walked over to Uncle’s (and enlisted the support of my next-door buddies for moral support) and we knocked for a little while but to no avail. We could, however, hear sounds of an Arabic soap opera from an open upstairs window, so we guessed he couldn’t hear us.

20. We ended up leaving the sandwiches (plus a loaf of cherry chocolate chip pound cake) with a note in English and Arabic at his door. Shoutout to my next-door buddies for the translation help!

21: I hadn’t seen the Arab Uncle in a while, and have been especially worried about him because of COVID. He has, however, just parked himself outside on a patio chair in the sun, a sight for sore quarantined eyes.

22: Just spotted the Arab Uncle having tea and reading a newspaper in his driveway! Eid Mubarik, Uncle! (I’ve been trying and failing to wave from my balcony for about ten minutes)

23. Guys he is literally smiling and chatting with everyone that’s walking by. I hope he’s not been cooped up inside by himself. Contemplating trying to send some baked goods over again, but I’m worried about getting him inadvertently sick with the Rona.