East of Eid June 6
“I ain’t fastin’, but I sure feasting,“ says Naipaul, grinning mischievously over his bucket. Intense KFC fumes waft from the guard tower. In ecumenical spirit, he does not do anything special for “Indian holidays“ either—but feast, of course. When I mention how he conceals so many meals in his lanky frame, perhaps a hollow leg, he gently corrects my misconceptions between hearty bites.
“Hindu is Indian, but Indian is no Hindu. T’ey is Muslim too.“ I am mindful that a perpetual subcontinental war is based on the same false equivalence. But Trinidadians, including cousin Naipaul, know better, honoring each faith evenly, with yet another day off to celebrate diversity. No pork, no beef, no work—no problem—only the Colonel’s eleven herbs, chemicals, and yard fowl.
The Muslim holy day is called Eid, and it begins at sunset. The feast, Eid-ul-Fitr, breaks a month of Ramadan fasting. The Islamic calendar dictates that the start of Eat-un’ align with the first sight of a new crescent moon, by someone, somewhere in Arabia. This distant tradition creates scheduling problems for the T&T government. Indeed, June 5 was not set as the official date until May. Fortunately, Trini time accommodates.
My student’s mom has purchased her new burkas at the mall. She has packed them but will not wear them here. Dad has already relocated to Saudi Arabia, following the oil. They are from Ecuador, which seems so far away from Trinidad, but this new move really scares the family.
“Tres años! Sin empanadas!“ Her mom has been encouraging me all year to visit Ecuador, but now she wonders when she will see her beloved homeland again. She feels she is heading in the wrong direction.
“Como Medieval,“ says the chemical engineer, and her husband has to agree. Here is the scientists’ rub.
Some 5% of this country practices Islam, within a variety of associated and independent mosques, springing from Indian roots in faraway places like Pakistan and Bangladesh. In public, covered heads and faces contrast sharply with the general population, which, in this heat, exists in various states of undress. Lord only knows what the orthodox do during Carnival.
Added to the burden of faith is the name given to Rasta City’s rival mafia cartel: The Muslims. And then there is the 1990 coup, the ongoing jihadi threat, and Abu Bakr’s resonant assertion that all hell broke loose when he lost control of the streets. Despite shooting the Prime Minister, Bakr served barely two years in jail, as no one would bear witness against him. He still lives a free man in his native country. Meanwhile, the Muslim narco-traficantes have their ranks bolstered by recent ISIS-Mujahideen veterans, effectively keeping T&T on the international terrorist watch list.
These are some of the burdens placed on the 5%. I myself cannot say that I know a single Muslim here, which is statistically significant because I definitely know more than twenty people. I am afraid my Ecuadoran neighbor is my best source of information.
My student jokes about the Arab desert adventures ahead, but quietly she is seething. She does not want to cut her hair off. Her mother absolutely refuses, so she will have to wear a burka—for three years.
“Estas son las creces que llevamos,“ says her mom. Her sense of the absurd might make it easier to bear those crosses.