This past weekend I traveled to Marrakech during Ramadan, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. I had read about the holy month, but didn’t quite understand its significance in Islam. I knew that a core part of it was fasting occurred from dawn until dusk. But experiencing it firsthand in a place where the entire city moved to the rhythm of the fast was something entirely different.
As a Catholic, I’m no stranger to fasting. Lent is a season of spiritual reflection and sacrifice, a time when we give up certain comforts to draw closer to God. But Ramadan in Marrakech showed me a deeper, more communal aspect of fasting that I hadn’t quite experienced before.
From sunrise to sunset, the city seemed to slow down. The streets, usually
bustling, were quieter during the day. Restaurants were closed, and people conserved their energy patiently waiting for the evening call to prayer that signaled iftar (the breaking of the fast). Despite the physical challenge of going without food and water for long hours in the Moroccan heat, I never once heard a complaint. Instead, there was a sense of calm, of deep devotion, of a community fasting together not as an individual sacrifice but as an act of collective worship. What struck me even more was the joy on their faces—despite the hunger and thirst, they carried smiles, radiating warmth and patience. You would have never guessed they were even fasting at all.
It struck me how different this felt from the way many Catholics approach Lenten fasting. Often, we fast in solitude—giving up chocolate, coffee, or social media in a personal act of discipline. It’s meaningful, but it can sometimes feel like an individual burden rather than a communal journey. In Marrakesh, fasting wasn’t just a personal commitment; it was a shared experience. There was an unspoken understanding of unity in self-denial that I found incredibly inspiring.
What Ramadan in Marrakech taught me is that fasting is not just about abstaining—it’s about intention. It’s about spiritual discipline, yes, but also about solidarity, patience, and reliance on God. In Catholicism, our fasting can sometimes feel like an individual endeavor, but in Islam, it is deeply woven into the fabric of their community. I left Morocco with a renewed appreciation for both traditions, inspired to approach fasting not as a burden, but as a privilege—a way to grow closer to God and to those around me.
I truly admire how deeply faith is woven into their culture—it is not just a part of their lives, but their very identity. Everything they do, from their daily routines to their most sacred traditions, is centered around their devotion to God. It made me reflect: how often do we, as Catholics, put our identity in our faith, in Christ? Do we allow it to shape our lives so completely, or do we keep it compartmentalized? Experiencing Ramadan in Marrakech challenged me to let my faith be more than just a belief, but the core of who I am. Marrakesh gave me more than beautiful sights and memories—it gave me a new perspective on faith, sacrifice, and the power of fasting.
