Ever wondered how African Muslims celebrate Eid in different parts of the world?

‍‘WHAT EID MEANS’‍

Eid comes from the Arabic ‘Īd, meaning “festival, feast,”. The name Eid-ul-Fitr means ‘festival of the breaking of the fast.”

Muslims celebrate Eid-ul-fitr in different ways depending on the geography they reside in. The Takbir recited in mosques signifying the appearance of the crescent to mark the commence of the month of Shawwal (a month after ramadhan in the Islamic Calendar). Salaams passed amongst believers with a feeling of spiritual elevation after days of abstinence from food and worldly desires.

Eid is distinguished by the performance of communal prayer at the daybreak on the 1st of Shawwal. This festivity is a time of official receptions and private visits, where family and friends greet one another, presents are given, traditional delicacies served, new clothes worn and most importantly the zakat-ul-fitr (alm) shared to the lesser fortunate so that they get to experience a comfortable celebration. 

EID IN THE ALLEYS OF DAR ES SALAAM.

To me Eid is ‘memories’. I and my twin brother grew up in the capital of Tanzania ‘ Dar es Salaam’ in the outskirts of Tandika. It was a shanty town back then and we referred to it as ‘Uswazi’ or ‘Uswahilini’ a place giving homage to people of different cultures and origin.

Although we housed Magorofani ‘project housing system’, the alleys in this neighborhood created memories which we still carry with us in this adulthood life of ours. Eid was a four day long holiday. Eid day then followed by 3 days we nicknamed ‘idi ndogo’ (small Eid) in Kiswahili.

Although we hated putting on matching clothes, our mother punished us every Eid with these matching attires. Eid meant four pairs of matching clothes for me and my twin brother to last us the four long days of celebration.

After the communal prayers, which we usually conducted in the community football field, the day officially begun. We could walk in these childhood alleys in groups of camaraderie visiting houses.

We knocked every single door of the neighborhood demanding for ‘mkono wa idi’ (a gift given to kids during Eid celebrations in Swahili populated areas). This tradition dated even before our grandparents time.

Our porches full with coins and our bellies full with all the delicious meals the neighborhood could offer, adorned in our matching first class Mitumba (secondhand clothes), we swayed our tiny selves to Makadara. Eid was not Eid back then without visiting Makadara, these amusement grounds brought life on Eid day even food couldn’t compete. The bembea, the singing ice-cream bicycles, the face painting and the ta’arab orchestras all these  were a fixation looked forward to seeing every year. ‘The memories we still treasure.’

‍EID THROUGH  THE LENSES OF MY BROTHER.‍

Decades later, we found ourselves in the gulf country of Qatar in a desert city of Doha. Regardless of the tall skyscrapers and well maintained roads, Eid never felt the same for an African immigrant worker in this desert meadow.

‘I remember drinking just water and kubza(bread) one Eid’ my brother narrates to me, has we were on a voice call.

In 2019, my brother found himself in a small town of Al-Zubarah. He was posted in this town for his security services since he was a security guard. In a land too foreign and the atmosphere terribly hostile, shops we not in his reach. Since he was on duty on Eid day, most places were closed and he couldn’t get food so his only option was a slice of bread and water. A man used to celebrating this memorable day with family and friends, found this experience so depressing and homesick.

With the poorly drafted employment laws in the gulf countries, lesser privileged workers like house helps, security guards and other similar jobs which fall in the line have a different narrative of Eid celebrations in these countries. Every person has a different story to tell regarding Eid in the gulf countries. Some are terribly heartbreaking and others are otherwise. For me and my twin brother in these modernized Oasis, created a huge void.

When the phone called ended, the voice of my twin brother still rung in my subconsciousness, how he endured the lonely festivities, away from home, away from our childhood alleys and cheerful comrades. How he survived the homesickness. All the beautiful things Africa could provide.

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