Sitting with my grandmother in her house after the Thuhur prayer in Mohammed bin Zayed city in Abu Dhabi I heard a knock on the door. "Do you have some tomatoes?" asked our neighbour's boy, Saood, sent by his mother. I was pleased to have something like this happening between neighbours. I had usually seen people do this only in soap operas of old emirate society on TV. After seeing my glee my grandmother told me: "Last week Um Salem sent her maid asking for a small spoon of tumeric while her lunch was on the stove. When I gave her a small plastic bag with some, she said no, no, just one spoon. She opened the pack and took a little in her hand and left."
The neighbours have few borders between them. They are comfortable with each other as if they belong to the same big family. But this is seldom the case. Nowadays everyone has a driver. Supermarkets and groceries are all over the place. Who needs to get a spoonful of sugar from next door? The other day I remember being in my grandmother's room when her mobile rang. It was Moza, her neighbour. She was in the co-op and asked my grandmother if she wanted anything. I smiled at her response: "Yes, six bananas, three lemons and black seeds for Mabrook, the parrot."
Ramadan is a time of generosity and hospitality and those aren't just the slogans that everyone hears. It means the lovely and long sufra at al futoor. Yesterday, I was preparing for futoor at my grandmother's before the adhan declares the breaking of the fast. The doorbell rang about six times. A plate arrived from her neighbour Moza, one from Um Salem and then a different dish from Um Sultan. Some harees arrived from Um Mohammed. All of a sudden a long table was filled with food. Every house had shared with their neighbours some of their main dishes. This makes one feel as if you are eating in all the homes of the freej.
Even in other neighbourhoods of Abu Dhabi you'll usually find children, drivers and maids passing the houses and majlises distributing plates. It is considered discourteous to return the plate empty to its owner, so another plate is served and it goes back and forth. The phrase "beena eesh oo malh" is translated, "so we have drunk and eaten together". It means much more than that. When you eat or share food with someone, you have an obligation of kinship between you.
When the weather is better during the month of Ramadan than the heat we're experiencing these days, children from the neighbouring houses play together every day from aser to maghrib prayer. Introducing a neighbour to a stranger is the same as introducing your brother. "Hatha weld yeerana" a boy will say, meaning, "back off, he is in my territory". They form a kind of comfort and trust among one another.
On the other hand, Um Mohammed, who may be near 70 years old, enjoys walking around the freej. She will collect young girls around the age of 13 and 14 to tell them stories of the past - about how when she was young she never wore what they like to wear these days - definitely not trousers. She always arrives at noon to my grandmother's with her dalla of coffee along with her, wearing the old kandoura and shaila without an abaya, as if at her home. It's this safety and peace between people that was such a priority for Sheikh Zayed in building the young nation and has been continued by the leadership today.
Concern for your neighbours, their health and needs and sharing the food on your table with others is not just something integral to Emirati tradition and society but also an obligation of our faith. Jibril, the angel, always recommended treating neighbours with kindness and respect. The Prophet Mohammed also taught us that a neighbour is not only the person next door but that our neighbours include those behind seven doors in all directions. A neighbour is someone who should be treated like family with great kindness: "The best companion of Allah is the one who is best to his companions, and the best neighbour to Allah is the one who is the best to his neighbour."
We fear that the gestures and simplicity that were once at the core of Emirati society are fading away. Someone has described the atmosphere that we're living in as a concrete jungle. But the extended family and extended neighbourhood is something we can hold on to and learn from. It's not hard to drop a line or to knock on your neighbour's door to ask for something. The sudden knock on our door is an expression of our heritage itself. We should welcome it in.
The pace of life is fast in this day and age. Technological change can sometimes be overwhelming. But especially during Ramadan, we see and share in the wonderful traditions of our families and neighbourhoods. These don't have to change with the times.
Bushra Adel Alkaff al Hashemi is a graduate of Zayed University and winner of the Anasy documentary competition, Sheikh Zayed category. Ms al Hashemi wrote the Abu Dhabi diary column in The National's M magazine this summer.
