When I was a child, we usually celebrated Eid in my grandparents' house in Madinah Al-Munawarah. I remember being woken by the adhan and running to the window to watch the spectacle of the day unfold. As light began to flood the streets, streams of people came out of every building making their way down on foot to Al-Masjid Al-Nabawi. They came from every direction, yet all headed towards the same point, all dressed in white, it seemed magical to me. The Eid celebrations always followed the same pattern. The whole family would assemble in Madinah, aunts, uncles, cousins, all sleeping under the same roof, in one big festive spree. On the day of Eid, the men and the boys would go to pray, led by my grandfather who on this day would not pray in the Haram as was his custom, but in Guba, the first mosque in Islam. When the men returned, the visits would start. My grandfather would sit smiling in his reception room downstairs, and men would come, present their Eid greetings, take a sweet and leave. There seemed to be a military precision to this little dance. It perplexed me that if everyone went to visit everyone, how would you know who was home? But there was a hierarchy to it, the young visited the old, in an ever-increasing circle around your closest family. We girls would be upstairs with the women. It was food, food, food – and sweets galore. We also got new clothes for the occasion and the adults handed the children envelopes with cash, not nearly as exciting as a present wrapped in colourful paper but a far more practical gift. But most of all, it would be the constant merriment of so many people in the same space, with people coming and going, and the telephone ringing constantly. That was then. My Eid now consists of text messages. I have not spent Eid in Madinah since my father died, it is a personal choice. Obviously, as a family we offer our prayers and have a special meal, but it is now small scale, partly because I live in Europe but also because times have changed. Speaking to cousins and relatives, what they describe to me is far from the community spirit of my youth. One of my aunts lamented to me that no-one comes to visit her anymore. Eid for many is now a holiday, a chance to escape somewhere, an exodus towards holiday resorts where you can relax a little as a family, and why not. But as I received my first text messages wishing me a happy Eid (a few always like to jump the gun and beat the crowds) I was struck by how meaningless a gesture it is. The same text is used to fire a hundred texts to everyone in your list. There is nothing personal about it. There are even websites where you can find content, from humorous to poetic, you can find suggestions for the wording of your Eid greetings. You do not even have to use your own words! And yet I will do it too! Come the day, I will send text messages though I will use my own words. Texts, e-mails, e-cards, a few phone calls to my elders, and I will feel that I have done my duty. But how far removed it is from when people came by on foot from house to house, the doors left unlocked so people could walk right in, a bowl of sweets on the table for people to help themselves. And if they did come when people were out, well they came in anyway, took a sweet and left a hand-written note to say they had come. Modern life has changed habits, now we have technology to enable us to make virtual visits. It's very practical and gives us the illusion of being right there in people's homes. It's wonderful to have all this technology at our disposal, but let us not forget, on this occasion as in every other occasion, that as nice as a text message is, it touches us less than a hand-written note, as nice as an e-card is it is less exciting than a real card in an envelope, and as lovely as it is to talk to someone across a screen, a screen is exactly that: a barrier between people. Only face to face, real contact between people, keeps communities together. Let us never forget the definition of the word ‘virtual': something that does not physically exist but only appears to exist.
— Imane Kurdi is a Saudi writer on European affairs. She can be reached at [email protected]
