Guess what? It’s still Ramadan. You know what that means? That’s right: no eating or drinking while the sun is above the waterline; instead there’s just a lot of activity that takes place in slow motion for all concerned parties. Ramadan concerns us all, regardless of your faith. I’ll explain why I say that in a moment.

On my ten mile run I was almost completely past this sculpture before I realized it wasn’t a miserable dude crouching against the wall. Really, out of the corner of my eye I had chalked it up as another lethargic local, just waiting for the sun to take its scheduled dirt nap.

In the months leading up to Ramadan, several Senegalese “suggested” that I try my hand (or body, as it were) at fasting during the holy month. I considered the idea, but also said that I “fais du sport”  almost every day and thus need to eat and drink during the hot summer where I run outside like a damn fool. This is an excuse that makes plenty of sense to the faithful, but I still wanted to try and jeûne for at least one day.

So this past Monday I fasted. I got up extra early, ate a generous breakfast, and then headed to the office. I informed my Senegalese colleagues of what I was doing, and their slightly fatigued demeanor visibly lightened as soon as I told them. You’d have thought I just announced my decision to join Senegal’s inaugural K2 scaling expedition- they were really excited for me! My gesture of solidarity was appreciated, and I was even rewarded by an unexpected offering of dates, madeleines and tea as I sat in the back of a van while on the road at sunset. Really, this country loves to throw oddly humbling experiences like that at you all the time. It keeps toubabs like me from making too many generalities about life here.

So I did it. Great experience, and most of the challenge really does lies in your head. Round about lunchtime, however, I will say that I felt out of sorts for a good stretch of time. I didn’t even want to stand up because I felt a bit dizzy.

Take that disorientation, multiply it by 11.6 million, and it should have been no surprise then that I was called to help with a little car accident involving a friend at about 12:30 last Friday:

Her car was parked. This car beached itself on her car, on the wrong side of the street. Discuss.

I love the imagery of the French language. When we first got the call that the car was in an accident, the news was delivered in the obliquely French fashion: “quelqu’un a touché ta voiture”  (someone touched your car). Great. That could mean just about anything….

So we roll out to the parking area, and are greeted with the bizarre scene above. It’s not even an accident, and the culprit’s crappy car is far more bent in and scratched than the parked SUV. The driver, an older local gentlemen who is dressed in traditional Friday Muslim garb, is off to the side, wondering if the owner of this SUV is going to be pissed.  We are kind of bemused at the entire scene, and ask the on-scene police about the sequence of events. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “even he [pointing at the driver] can’t explain how it happened.”

It’s true- the guy feels bad, and even comes over to tell us he was wrong.  He repeats that he isn’t sure how he came to find himself on the wrong side of the road, rolled up on the curb, and strangely spooning my friend’s car. He might have no idea, but  now, after my Day In The Life experience, I know exactly how it happened.

Ramadan.

The rest of this afternoon is just a long and boring story, but after about 90 minutes of waiting for official permission to uncouple the cars, we finally do some CSI on the Jeep.  What’s that you say? You can’t see where the damage was done? Neither could we.  The pratiquant‘s car took all the damage, and lucky for him, he was allowed to get back in his car and take off in time to make 2pm prayers.  Alhamdoulilah.

So, there you have it. C’est pas évident, and I just might try to fast again for a day next week…but only for a day. And not when I might need to drive.