Sundown means the first meal in 12 hours for the Muslim women of Baton Rouge.
They are celebrating Ramadan, a month of fasting, self-denial and charity.
Many of the women wake in the morning before 5 a.m. and eat a small meal; for some breakfast is dates and water, for others it’s pastries and juice. Each evening, around 5 p.m., they congregate in the Islamic Center of Baton Rouge to break fast and share the Iftar meal.
The ICBR has an open room in the front, with a sign, “Please remove your shoes.”
To the far left is a door that leads to the women’s area. Here, they pray and eat together.
The women remove their shoes and enter. There are no men, only a few young boys running around their mothers’ feet.
Kaneez Fatima, a communication disorders senior, is one of the first women to arrive.
For Fatima, fasting through daylight is more than a sacrifice. It’s a privilege.
“When I was young and I saw [my parents and adults in the Muslim community] fasting, I wanted to do it too,” she said.
Being able to fast is almost a rite of passage, like riding a bike or getting to cross the street, Fatima said.
Lamah Massasati, a biological sciences senior, remembers wanting to fast as a child. Her parents first let her fast for only half the day.
“But I wanted to fast the whole day,” she said. “You know, it’s just that everybody’s doing it and you want to too.”
After a few more women arrive, Fatima begins spreading tarps over the floor of the women’s area, which is about twice the size of a large University dorm room. There are three tarps and they must be arranged so that they fill the floor.
Fatima leads the other young women. With confidence she directs them to “pull that corner” or to “put that against the wall.”
Some of the older women gather around a high table upon which the Iftar meal will be laid. They watch Fatima and the other women; they hold small children and talk about recipes and their families.
Fatima and Massasati begin to spread rolls of white computer paper over the tarp.
In a matter of minutes, women will be spread throughout the room, hungrily consuming the Iftar meal.
In the meantime, they begin to walk around and greet each other. The room is so full of women and children, they bump into each other again and again. Some of them complain about being hot under their hajib, or scarf, which they wear around their head.
When Natasha Ali, an international studies senior, walks in and spots Massasti, she greets her and then asks, “Does this look okay?” as she motions toward her hajib.
“Oh, yeah. That’s cute,” Massasati replies.
Then comes the adhan – the call to prayer.
The voice of Abed Mubarak, Imam of the Islamic Center of Baton Rouge, echoes over a loud speaker system.
“God is most great, God is most great” is the English translation of the first lines of the prayer. He chants over and over again, “I bear witness that there is no god but the one God.”
The room becomes quiet, but only for a moment.
Then women crowd around the small white table. Dates, apples, sweet cake and fried bread are spread on paper plates over the table. As the women take the food in their hands, they bow their heads and close their eyes.
“We are telling Allah, ‘I fasted today to please you’,” said Maryam Amin, an industrial engineering senior.
But the food is only a snack. After they eat it, the women crowd into another room – also separate from the men – and prepare for prayer.
Fatima and Ali lag behind only for a moment.
Ali’s scarf is not put on correctly. There is too much skin exposed. Fatima lends her a safety pin and fastens the hajib tight beneath Ali’s chin.
As the quiet sounds of children playing echo in the background, the women press their foreheads to the ground in worship of Allah.
When prayer is over, the feast begins.
All food is provided by Atcha’s Bakery, which is owned by Mubarak. To feed everyone costs $650. Members of the Muslim community donate that money to feed the community.
“When you give during Ramadan, the rewards you will receive in this life and in the next are multiplied,” Fatima said.
Amin walks into the small room to help serve the older women.
“I was drained in my classes today,” Amin said. “I didn’t eat this morning before sunrise. I slept through it.”
Amin joins the other young women. They carry plastic plates filled with yellow rice, chicken and salad to the women seated on the floor.
Once everyone else is served, the college-aged women sit in an adjoining room, which is much quieter.
They talk about their day, about being in college and about being Muslim.
Though the women gather every night, usually from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m., during Ramadan, they don’t find keeping up with schoolwork difficult.
“School comes second or third to this,” said Dalia Elemawy, a biological sciences student.
Though these women call themselves, “the best of friends,” they never see as much of each other as they do during Ramadan.
“It’s just such a time of community for us,” Amin said.
Amin said the bond of sisterhood between the women is strong.
“We do see each other often without the company of men,” she said. “And it helps. There are just some things you don’t want to talk about in front of them. It can be easier to be yourself and less distracting.”
Amin said one of the reasons the group is so close is that Fatima is so welcoming.
“She kind of takes everyone in and welcomes them,” she said.
And as new girls continue to approach the table, Fatima is the one who directs others to make room for them.
“I think most of LSU and the world has the wrong view of Muslim women,” Fatima said. “We are not oppressed.”
The women said they think people often perceive their hajib as a form of oppression.
“But we do it for self-respect,” said Nadia Haque, a psychology sophomore. “‘Oppressed’ is just a label they throw at us. We have to be classified because we are different. So we are classified as oppressed.”
But Amin said the hajib was actually uplifting.
“We are judged for our mind,” she said. “That’s the point of it. The truth is that it gives me confidence.”
For Haque, matching a hajib with an outfit is fun and a way of expression.
Elemawy said it is also an important form of identity.
“When you see another girl on campus wearing one, you don’t even have to know them – you feel connected to them,” she said.
The women see more of each other during Ramadan than any other time of year. During dinner, they talk about their plans for the night and for the future.
The community they find during Ramadan is an important part of who they are and who they will become, Elemawy said.
Fatima said the time is a blessing for all the women.
“It doesn’t oppress us,” she said. “It makes us stronger.”