Lockdown life

Wake up, walk, walk, walk. Work, work, work. Snack, work, snack, work, don’t snack.. work, work late. Not a good day.. feeling stiff from sitting so much, anxious about my future working for who I do.. walk, walk, walk, stop, sit. There were cars on my beach tonight. Illegally, but that never stops them. The police asked some to leave; only locals were left. Write, like I used to in Egypt.

The murmur starts in the distance, ever so soft. Allah Akbar. Then it echoes from somewhere else. It gets closer, and closer, almost like they’re echoing each other, louder it gets, but not too loud. It’s almost like a round, but they call, as they choose, not as Allah is orchestrating. A sound once so exotic to me, now part of my daily existence, and now, no doubt, to be heard back home. The waves in front of me wash over the rocks on the shore and the birds always tweet a bit louder when the sun sets. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed the chirp of the birds more at this time of day. I now find myself gravitating to the beach at iftar, first it was because of the lack of others, now it’s a time to sit and reflect, and interestingly, relax. It’s an incredibly peaceful experience during Ramadan as the fast is broken. It’s week 2 of Ramadan so although it’s not as quiet as last week, it’s still got that serenity about it. Believers are settled into the rhythm now, physically, spiritually.
And the muezzin starts again, a second wave of sound, originating closer this time. Not as intense as before, not all join in. And then it stops, the sky darkens, thirsts are quenched, bellies are filled. Tarawieh prayers start soon, without the fellowship of the mosque, but at home. And this will continue, this week, this month until Eid and then it repeats next year. I wonder how it’ll be; will there be physical distancing then? And where will I be to observe this special time?
Walk, walk, walk, dinner, work, work, work. To bed, late. Lockdown life.