So we have one more day of Ramadaan in South Africa and I want to use it to reflect a little on Ramadaan in lockdown. The thing I miss most about my previous Ramadaans are the last ten nights at Westville Soofie Mosque, one of the few mosques in Durban that not only allow women

but have carved a safe, sacred and welcoming space for them. I’m not a big community person; I don’t get involved in a lot things and mostly keep to myself but prayer in Jamaat with my sisters, standing shoulder to shoulder makes me feel a part of something and reminds that

I am part of this Ummah. On the odd nights of the last ten nights (which we seek the night of power and forgiveness) after the long evening prayers, we turn down the lights and do a dhikr (a repeated prayer) that fills your chest with God’s name. Here in the darkness

amongst my womenfolk, I suddenly recall my blessings, my loss, my faith, my tenacity, my power, my love and my forgiveness. We sing God’s name. The carpets are often wet with tears. We are strangers opening our hearts together. On the 27th night, supposedly the greatest chance of

the night of power, the mosque is packed, there is hot tea and bhajias and cakes and pizzas outside and inside we sit on the floor, our shoes piled at the door and we listen to why we should be kind and merciful and why God loves us and our hearts soften and we remember

who we are and why we are here and how this journey is a struggle and how important it is to help one another and how we are all in this together. We sit in the darkness and praise God. My mamma, my sister, my neice are all close. We stay up most of the night. We weep.

I miss this. I miss remembering me and God and my community and how faith can be the ship that carries you through a storm. This Ramdaan has been so different. Not lonely but a kindof of loneliness. No sisters in burkhas around me. A sea of dhikr pounding against our ribcage.

A plea to the stars. The quiet desperation of grief as one calls out to the only One who can comfort. It’s a different Ramadaan, but perhaps in the next one we will appreciate the things we took for granted; the brightness of people, the darkness of a room shrouded in remembrance

The soft joy of praying next to someone. For a place that welcomes me as if I belong. For a place to remember who I am. Subhanallah. For all that we had.

For all we are protecting now to keep for the future.