Friday, June 9, 2017

Spirit of Ramadan

By Nadrat Siddique

I had the most incredible iftar the other night at Cheesecake Factory (Inner Harbor) with my friend, N. She is a beautiful, young, Pakistani-American who wears hijab, even living and working in a very red neck area. Very earnest and honest in everything she does, she has been going through some trials and tribulations in her life. It was quite late, and we were seated outside, sipping our hot chocolates/ iced coffees, admiring the Baltimore skyline silouetted against the harbor, and catching up on events in our respective lives. The service was very slow, and the waitress seemed determined to ignore us, after our day-long fast.

People who were not patrons of the restaurant occasionally passed close to our table. One of these was a homeless Caucasian man. Emaciated and bedraggled, he walked with some effort. He mumbled something as he passed our table, but did not ask us for anything. My friend and I discussed for a moment the sorrowful condition of the man, and pondered how to help him. I lamented that I had only $3 cash on me, relying instead on my debit card. N said we should buy him dinner.

Then, before I could blink, she left the dinner table. First, she chased down our elusive waitress, and ordered a basic meal for the homeless man. Then, she ran after the homeless man (he had moved quite a distance away) to find out how else we might help him. She returned shortly with surprising news: The man declined the Cheesecake Factory meal. They treated him badly there, he said. And- he was very cold and needed to go indoors somewhere and get warm. A cool breeze was blowing over the water. It felt lovely to us, who were well nourished. But- I could see why it might feel unpleasantly cold to someone who had not eaten a proper meal for days, and had been sleeping on the streets.

N quickly caught up with the waitress again, and cancelled the order. She and I both apologized profusely to the waitress. Given the hour, and the fact that most restaurants in Baltimore close ridiculously early on weeknights, we were at a loss of what to do. "You did the best you could. Allah knows your intent was to help him," I told my friend.

By now, the two White women at the neighboring table were intrigued. They complimented N on her efforts, and expressed surprise at the homeless man’s unwillingness to accept the profferred meal. Even the waitress, who had been quite cold toward us previously, was bubbling with compliments for my friend's generosity and caring.

I leaned over and whispered to N: “It looks like you just did some da’awah inadvertently. Alhamdulillah.”

A short while later, the homeless man reappeared. This time, we invited him to sit at the table with us. Under N’s questioning, he shared his story with us. His name was Michael, and he was a Muslim, although his family was not. He wasn’t from Baltimore. He had come here to do some construction work, but his work partner had scammed him, and taken off with his few belongings. He had asked numerous mosques and churches for help, but none of these were forthcoming.

N asked Michael if he had a home. He did, in West Virginia, where he’d lived with his mother prior to coming to Baltimore.

“Maybe your mother could help get you home?” asked N.

“She is paralyzed. So she can’t really work,” said Michael.

“Well you shouldn’t have to sleep on the street, if you have a home,” said N. “We will try to get you home.”


We paid our bill. The rest of our iftar evening was spent trying to buy Michael a bus ticket home, a bit of a chore, since he didn’t have ID (everything had been stolen from him by the partner), and we couldn’t simply pay for his ticket on line..