Every day, a hungry child wakes up and finds no food or life bestowing its gifts upon him, he endures the pain of hunger and ties his stomach to escape the feeling, and every day the father wakes up searching for food for his child, who is being ravaged by the grip of hunger and pain—if they are not already dead. Every day, someone wakes up dead; life’s disputes and struggles have consumed them... Every day, misfortunes and disasters manifest in their alley where no one hears their cries for help or their screams, which equal a single laugh from those who are well-off.

Yes, they really do exist in this world, which ties its belly with a band to protect it from the sufferings of hunger, the one who awakens with the birds searching for worms to feed their family, the one who wipes the tears from the faces of humiliation that have risen atop them, the one who shouts: no water and complains about the scarcity of food in their house... Yes, they exist!

This was when a widow, with two children, emerged; she had no provider other than herself, stepping out every morning with the early risers from the dawn prayer, carrying a bag concealing what she exchanges with the “container” with hesitation and fear. Whenever she peered out and found no one, she resumed her initial path.

This happened after she had been spoiled with her husband, adorned with jewelry, laughing without experiencing the strains of thought and life in every smile. This happened when she awaited a glance from someone wealthy, the glance of a well-off person who could remove from her the robe she could not keep up with—poverty and responsibility. This all occurred when Ramadan arrived and she found she did not have enough to feed her children throughout the month, merely the bare minimum that is deemed necessary in the corridors of life and its realities. All this happened when I found myself one Ramadan night turning the pages of my bed before God, laying aside what I did not need, entrusting my affair to God... She walked wearing her old prayer clothes, adorned with little rags, only revealing a hollow face ready for conflict, adorned with the harsh marks of poverty and oppression, carrying in her hands bags that contained the goods she had previously bargained for with the “container,” and she walked quickly, her steps not allowing anyone to observe their nature.

When she approached it, she ensured its emptiness of customers and those around it surrounded by onlookers. She feared the humiliation of herself and her shame before merciless people, and she went to search for what might support her children and save them from the hardships of life. I have never seen her except in this month that reveals the features of spirituality; until she heads toward what completes this spirituality, turning to prayer and supplication to God, for it is a month that reminds you of the hungry, desperate, impoverished person and shows you remarkable wonders that are hidden from you and your eyes cannot believe.

This occurred when an elderly man with an unusual Arabic dialect came to work. His work was close to my window, as he would wash cars every morning to avoid the blazing heat of the morning... and talked to his friend: (Hey, I didn’t have my morning meal last night, I want to save food for breakfast).

These recurring events happen all the time in every country, city, village, corner, and street. They exist, but is there anyone who can magnify the picture and clarify the vision?

Completed

Written by/// Malak Mohammed Abu Taq