Me, Weight Watchers and Ramadan—a Perfect Storm

When my Pakistani friend Ghazala invited me over for Ramadan (the dinner part) some years ago, I was hesitant. Sure it sounded like a possible off-the-beaten path adventure right here in NJ, but as a non-Muslim (Internet quizzes say I’m a NeoPaganBuddhistQuaker), I wasn’t sure how it would go.

Also and perhaps more importantly, I was on Weight Watchers.

Would it be awkward or difficult? Would there be a lot of religious chat I might not relate to? What about the food? Everyone there would have fasted all day and I would have been counting points. We couldn’t exactly compare notes, now could we?

But then again, Weight Watchers and the Ramadan fast aren’t all that different (excluding religion), are they? (If you don’t follow the rules, that is.) And I liked Ghazala’s family—and her cooking (generally light). Also, I was/am open-minded–truly curious about my friend’s tradition, religion and culture.

I decided to throw caution to the wind…I went.

Preparation

All day long, while my friend and her friends were fasting, I was, too…sort of. I followed WW religiously, eating two bags of carrot sticks and various boring in-season fruits—to save my “points” (= to the amount of food one can eat during one day). I also drank a lot of water to self-induce that pseudo fullness that most dieters are familiar with.

I also wore elastic waist-band pants…just in case. And I was glad I did; when I showed up, I saw that my friend’s guests were also wearing loose-fitting clothing. Unlike mine, though, theirs were were beautiful and flowing; a couple of the women wore gorgeous headscarves and coordinated jewelry.

While the sun began to set, I mingled and got to know the guests. Although I enjoyed the conversation, I was secretly and eagerly anticipating the meal. Perhaps they were, too. I knew I’d saved my points, so I would be able to indulge. A little bit, anyway.

But then, to my surprise, the food was not what Ghazala normally served. There were batter-friend shrimp pakoras and other yummy, but oily delicacies. The sun set, people dug in and I panicked.

I now had to make a fast decision—one that was lose-lose (or is it, gain-gain), a catch 22 and every other cliche you can think of.

Don’t eat the food and it’s a cultural faux pa. Eat it and you blow it.



So what did I do?

I blew the diet, of course. Didn’t want to upset Ghazala. I dug in to that fried shrimp and all the other great stuff on the platters and enjoyed every gram of fat I ingested. And I felt justified. I’d saved my points. It was OK. WW allows for that sort of thing, after all.

Also, I was dressed right for the occasion; my loose-fitting pants helped feed my dietary delusions. I half believed that I was actually losing weight from all that mingling I had done. Perhaps it counted as “light cardio”?

And then, my worst nightmare.

Someone said, “So where’s the food?”

Ghazala replied: “It’s coming any minute now.”

Food? Wasn’t that what we’d just had?

Then, the epiphany came. That was just the first course—the hors d’ oeuvres.

Soon, huge platters of shish kebobs, rice, more fried food, heavy pastries with yogurt were brought out and the real eating began.

“Come on—try it….eat!” people said and the peer pressured overwhelmed me. I was now in a roomful of Italian grandmas in disguise.

Time to Pray

After we stuffed ourselves, things turned serous for a moment. It was time for the religious side of things.

“We’re going downstairs to pray now,” Ghazala said. She had a handful of scarves and was choosing one. “Would you like to sit in on it?”

Now I’m pretty open minded and interested in other religions despite not having my own, so I said, “Sure—I’d love to.” Of course, I wasn’t exactly clear re: what “sitting in” actually meant.

Two women, Ghazala’s friends, came up to me and like Pakistani magicians, fitted me with a scarf. The three of us made our way down to the basement to where the prayer rugs had been set up.

I walked into the mixed-gender room confidently as if I’d done this sort of thing—”sitting in on” a prayer—before. No one even glanced in my direction.

I then realized that I wasn’t just going to be watching, but actually participating. “You can be over here,” one of the women said as she pointed to my prayer rug. I then realized I needed to follow along. I knelt, put my face down, etc. and copied what the others did. And things were good for a while.

Until the GI distress—gas, that is—kicked in.

And this was not good because of the various positions we put ourselves in to pray. What if I temporarily, um, lost control…and let it rip? I hoped and nearly prayed that I wouldn’t. I decided to focus my energy…I breathed deeply and carefully and did my own form of pseudo meditation and yoga.

Prayers Answered

And then, nothing short of a miracle. The moment of potential gas had passed. All was well. The scarf came off and we went back upstairs to have dessert.

Now, after sharing in all aspects of the tradition, I felt more part of the family. People smiled at me as they filled their plates with dessert. I smiled back while I used my remaining points. (OK—confession time. I dipped into the next day’s points. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do, right?).

The conversation was great, by the way. At times, it was silly but meaningful, like when they broke me of the habit of calling chai….chai tea.

“It’s redundant,” they said. “Chai is tea.”

“You mean that if I say ‘chai tea,’ it’s like saying ‘tea tea’?” I asked.

“Yes,” they said. “Don’t say it. It’s wrong.” The entire group laughed and so did I.

We also talked about world politics—some of it serious and some of it not. One of the men mentioned President George Bush (43) and some of his grammatical boo boos—and we all chuckled—and there were even jokes about Saddam Hussein.

And I felt right at home—with my Pakistani friends in Bergen County, NJ. Not a million miles away in their country, but off the beaten path nevertheless.

The night came to an end and I was satisfied with my first Ramadan experience. Would I do it again? Certainly. Do I recommend it to you? Absolutely.

But make sure you’re not on WW (the stress of counting points when breaking a fast is NOT mentioned in the guidebook) and make sure that you wear lose pants—whether you’re on a diet or not. The food is that good!

Your Thoughts/Opinions/Experiences?

Have you ever attended a Ramadan dinner (fast breaking)? If so, where was it and what was it like? Were you on a diet at the time? What sort of yummy foods did you get to eat?

Also (for those of you who aren’t full-time travelers), do you have friends at home from a variety of cultures? Do you find ways to keep the travel vibe alive by stepping into their world from time to time? If so, how?

Photo Credits/Disclaimers

1. For this post, I borrowed photos from Flickr and want to thank each of those folks for using Creative Commons, which makes this possible. Each photo (just click on it) links back to their account/profile.

2. Note: None of the photos, of course, are an endorsement of my silliness/opinions here—which are by the way, all part of a true story (which I’m sure you knew anyway).

3. I think Weight Watchers is a great diet—one of the best out there. In fact, I highly recommend it. Just not during any sort of food fest (unless you’re super disciplined).