The onset of Ramadhan inevitably brings with it many fond memories of my boys in Paulsboro, New Jersey. Their love for fasting is admirable as some of them would fast in Rejab, Syabaan and Ramadhan. The only drawback for me, as we usher in Ramadhan would be suhur...I remember I used to muse aloud, saying to myself, "...here we go again!"
The dilapidated building we proudly call our school had five apartments on the second floor and each apartment had two to three rooms. The boys shared one apartment which is linked to mine via intercom. So prior to heralding the revered month of Ramadhan, I would ask then via the intercom who wanted to fast so that I can wake them up for suhur. As fasting in the months of Rejab and Syaban were not mandatory, I thought it would be great training to encourage the younger ones to fast. That particular year, these revered months coincided with winter so it would definitely be easier as the days are significantly shorter and we'd break our fast at times as early as 4:20 in the afternoon. Inevitably, though, that would mean that the boys need to eat suhur around 2 or 3am in the morning.
Having made a mental list of those I need to wake up for suhur, I'd sleep early and would wake them up through the intercom. Suhur for the boys means either peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or cereal. Usually the older boys would volunteer to help serve the little ones out of our pantry and that would save me the trouble of waking up to serve them. The pantry is actually one of the smaller rooms in the other apartment which we converted into a pantry. In it is two big refrigerators, one vertical freezer and shelves and shelves of well-stocked condiments and east-meets-west grocery items. As if those were not enough, we also have two brimming big deep-freezers downstairs where we'd keep an entire cow that we'd slaughter at the farm alongside two to three lambs or goats and cases and cases of chicken parts, i.e wings and ribs.
Having been through horrible winters, blizzards and ice storms, I made it a point to keep my pantry, refrigerators and freezers well-stocked as I have this recurring nightmare where all my 25-30 boys would eat my husband and I alive if we didn't have enough food!! On the lighter side of things, a friend remarked that she should just bring her trolly and shop in my pantry instead of going to the neighborhood Walmart because it seemed that I was better-stocked that they were!! Besides, I was probably the only one that stocked both American and oriental groceries in this heavily Italian-populated borough.
These fasting tales rushed back into my consciousness as I was looking back at some old pix today for my class presentation. Many fond memories were curated throughout the 13 years we lived in USA. With the passage of time, one might have thought that all these memories would have faded but with the advent of each Ramadhan, a small fire would stoke it back into a satiated glow...and now instead of brimming my shelves with groceries, I'd brim it instead with stories from the past...even though we're straddled by distance, most of my boys are on my facebook and by posting these priceless pictures, it would rekindle the times we spent together, braving the odds and celebrating their achievements, however small they were. Their piquant commentaries in slang American English regale me and makes my day.
I remember how some first came to TGA with chips on their shoulders the size of Gibraltar but it didn't take long for my husband to transform them...even though at the end of each day we'd feel like leather bags that had taken a beating no cow would have endured, we would be satiated with a sense of fulfillment. Many times, too, we had to be deliberately obtuse as a post but persistence was the name of the game...There were times also, when hope was a scarce commodity, we'd placate ourselves and clamor for Allah's attention through prayers & muamalats; then we'd amble right back to face the seemingly endless kinks that came with nurturing, caring, feeding and educating these boys.
The boys at TGA came from varied circumstances. About 99.9% came from dysfuntional or single-parented families. Most have gone through a lot, some grew up on the pestilential streets of West and North Philly while some others came as far as upstate New York and Atlanta.
Both my husband and I had to run the academy ourselves, so we decided to divide the academy into three components: Taqwa is the islamic component, Gayong the silat component and Academy the academic component.
Now, back in Malaysia, as I settle myself into a comfortable niche, looking back, it seems futile to be frustrated. I read somewhere that frustration fosters resentment, and resentment breeds pain and with pain comes disillusionment...
Before the establishment of the academy, I thought myself as one who has never really had to face real adversity in life but throughout the 13 years of sweat, blood and buckets or tears, there were definitely times when I was on my knees, too overwhelmed to face the seemingly endless problems that plagued the academy. Looking back now, the students were actually the ones who taught me to fight back with the resilience of youth that I borrowed from them to strengthen my inner resolve. It was also these boys who taught me the true meaning of Islam. Not only that, it was also them who taught me the true meaning of submission to Allah when they spark the floors trying to race each other to the intercom each morning so that they can be the one to call the azan for Solatul Fajr!! All these from boys who used to spit forth streams of profanity!
On the nights of Rejab and Sya'ban, I'd wake the boys who wanted to fast through the intercom. It never fails...A few minutes later, there'll always be someone who'd change his mind and decides to fast...true enough. So, as I got out of bed to serve him a bowl of cereal, I thought to myself, where on earth do these boys get the resilience to fast at the tender age of 8? When I was their age, fasting meant gobbling an apple up behind the kitchen door when I thought no one was looking!! Nevertheless, as annoyance from being woken countless times throughout the night has yet to abate, came yet another gentle knock on my door, 'Assalamualaikum sister lisa, can I eat suhur?'...
