“How many days left until Eid?” is a question that’s repeated countless times by children during the last days of Ramadan. A question that’s filled with the same excitement each time. Houses all over the UAE are filled with a vibe of happiness that sneaks into everyone’s hearts. Mothers and grandmothers are discussing the desserts that they’re going to prepare for Eid. Fathers are asking their sons to make sure that they go to sleep early to wake up in time for Eid prayers. Children are excited about meeting their cousins and the freej (neighbourhood) kids, even though they play together on a daily basis. This time it’s different: they’re going to meet wearing brand-new clothes and looking their best.
I remember that childish sense of excitement clearly. It’s the night before Eid and I can’t fall asleep because of how excited I am. I hang my new clothes with my shoes underneath, and display all the accessories that I’m going to wear on my bedside table next to me. I tell my elder sister that I’m going to collect more eideyya (money given to children during Eid) than her this year, and she replies that she will leave me behind, as I won’t be able to wake up early since I’m not sleeping yet. I quickly close my eyes and soon surrender to sleep with a big smile on my face, thinking that I’ll wake up before my sister and get all the eideyyas for myself.
Eid is finally here. My siblings and I wake up earlier than usual. We run downstairs to have our first breakfast after Ramadan. The sofra (a sheet of nylon that Emiratis traditionally spread to dine on) is filled with traditional Emirati food. There’s my favourite, balaleet (sweet vermicelli with fried eggs), scrambled eggs with tomato purée, muhalla bread (a traditional sweet bread) and karak tea. After having breakfast, we meet our parents and grandparents with Eid greetings and get our first eideyyas from them. My father takes my brother and joins my uncles and grandfather as they go together to perform Eid prayers at the mosque. Meanwhile, my sister and I get dressed and let our mother braid our hair, then wait impatiently for the door bell to ring. Neighbours and family start coming over. Sweets are everywhere and the morning calmness turns into joy and laughter.
Once the men return from prayers, we go together with my father to visit the rest of our family members, house by house. The final destination is my eldest uncle’s house, where the whole family gathers for lunch. Usually, women gather in the majlis, while men gather in the tent outside. The doors are wide open and everybody is welcome to join. We chat, laugh, play and eat all day until maghrib – and that’s when everybody returns home. But the fun doesn’t end for us kids; we’re as excited to return home to count how much eideyya we collected, and show off as we meet our cousins the next morning.
This is my memory of Eid; this is how I define it. Family gatherings, love, laughter, kindness, good food, respecting each other and sharing it all, even with the poor. It was all about pure happiness and joy in the simplest things.
Zainab Al Mousawi, 26, is a clinical social worker at Mafraq Hospital.
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