Eid reflections: ‘Eid is never like before. I don’t think it’s meant to be the same’

Hussain Al Moosawi reflects back on what Eid Al Adha means to him and how it influenced him growing up.

Hussain Al Moosawi is an infograhic artist for The National. Mona Al Marzooqi / The National

As Emiratis, I believe we all celebrate Eid in a similar fashion. However, our unique experiences originate from the fact that we all interpret our experiences in a different light.

This is my personal recollection of Eid growing up as a child in Dubai. I will divide it into three parts: morning, afternoon and evening.

Morning: Dad and the community. I would wake up early for Eid prayers and wear a new kandura. Then I would go to the mosque to perform Eid prayers with my father. Other than performing the ritual, this gave everyone the chance to share greetings with the community.

Then we would return home to share greetings with my mother, sister and little brother – though my siblings would rarely be awake that early. We would share a quick breakfast, comprising balaleet (sweet vermicelli with omelette), local bread and tea with milk.

Then we would hit the road again to visit friends. Before doing so, I would check for any dirty spots on my new kandura, as I was – and still perhaps am – a clumsy eater. Male relatives would join us. We would spend a few hours visiting people, snacking our way through sweet treats. I particularly enjoyed the nutty ones, though we kept in mind that a feast awaited us for lunch.

We would return home, expecting my siblings to be awake. However, they were never quite fit for the occasion, yet. We shared greetings anyway. This was the time when my dad would give us Eidiya money.

Afternoon: Grandma and the family. After performing noon prayers we would go to my grandma’s place. This was my mum’s side of the family. Most of my father’s family lived in Abu Dhabi.

Grandma’s place was not a typical big family house. It was in the old souq area in Bur Dubai. To her, this was the old and true Dubai. She resisted relocating to outer neighbourhoods like most local families.

Everything was downscaled and compact when compared to an average Emirati dwelling. From the small kitchen came the most memorable meals. The main dish was qoozi (whole roasted lamb), which was served on a large plate in the middle of the sofra (the dining area). However, the turmeric-flavoured rice was my favourite.

This reminds me of the arrangement of the family around the sofra, which was on the floor. Each person had his and her own spot. My place was on one of the corners, close to the balcony. This brings me back again to turmeric rice. I was tucked in the corner far from the main show: qoozi. I was a shy kid. Shy enough not to ask people to serve me food. On the edge of the sofra, like me, was always the turmeric rice. You know the rest.

Evening: I have no memories for Eid’s evenings. Perhaps I spent them playing video games.

In 2005, I left to study abroad in Australia. I spent eight years there. Studying, working, living and struggling. In those eight years, I first lost my grandmother, then my father.

Now I’m back home living in Abu Dhabi. Half of my relatives, along with my wife’s family, live here. It makes sense to celebrate it here. Yet Eid is never like before. I don’t think it’s meant to be the same. It’s about time to create my own social rituals. Through them I cherish my memories, and for my kids – if I have any in the future – to enjoy, like I once did.