Chapter 26 | The one with the Goompy

It wasn't compulsory of me to fast, but from the age of eight I strived to do so for the entire month of Ramadhaan.  I wasn't getting anything out of it, no one promised me money as an incentive to fast yet still, I persevered. The more I was told: ‘You’re still young there’s no need for you to fast’ the more I pushed for it.

For one Ramadhaan in particular (which coincided with the summer holidays) I was staying by my Aunty Aasiya in Transkei. It was a real farm like atmosphere and despite being a thoroughbred city girl I found the breakaway soothing for the soul.

Mama’s youngest brother, Abdullah Mamajee was not married then. He would crash by Aunty Siya’s place with a bunch of friends and other unmarried cousins and I would wake Sehri time to find the table filled with faces I had barely familiarized myself with. I’d make do with a bowl of cereal and if I could manage, a toasted sandwich.

One sehri in particular stands out for me; we were all seated at the sehri table when Abdullah Mamajee said to me ‘Don’t fast today. You don’t have to anyway.’ I didn't say anything but moments later I was sobbing silently in my cereal bowl. A mixture of salty tears and fresh farm milk filled my mouth and I tried to swallow but without ease.

Someone remarked on this, I can’t recall who, and in a haste to make amends they quickly tried to soothe me. I know that one of them had called Mama and I felt better after I had spoken to her. I could never forget their sense of concern at the sight of my tears and even now it still brings a smile to my face.

Aunty Siya had these ginormous glass sliding doors that braced the entrance of her house. It was mint green walls followed by three conjoined doors that led directly into the lounge/dining area. Even though the outside area was as dusty as one would expect from a farm town, Aunty Siya made sure her windows were cleaner than a glass fresh out of a dishwasher.

I don’t know if it was out of sheer absent-mindedness or whether, I was trying to access platform 9 and a ¾ but I walked right through that door. I came in with a bump on my forehead the size of ½ a golf ball and my Aunty Siya’s daughter Asma, a tiny buddle of adorableness points at me and says: ‘Mummy see, Goompy (referring to the lump on my forehead).’ My family, being the comedic bunch that they are never let that slide and ever since then, I was referred to as Goompy. A nickname that, unfortunately, stuck with me even through my adult years.