An Open Door
By Lila Hartley
AUGUST 2010
Two young parents nervously walk up the driveway to a stranger’s door, curious—or maybe unaware—their toddler following closely. The sun is setting, sky bright orange and pink, the warmth of August day holding onto dusk: iftar approaching, and the family approaching iftar. The man’s pre-glow-up hair, dark, long and curly, shifts with the soft breeze that offers no aid to cool. He wears a T-shirt and jeans. The woman’s brown hair drapes over her shoulders and touches her seven-month pregnant belly. She wears a dress that allows stretching around the abdomen. The toddler with her light brown hair, thin on top of her head, neck length, waddles like a penguin; she can’t take too far a step, or she’d stumble.
Next to the driveway, there is a prayer garden, small fountain, wooden bench and a little bridge if you’d rather go through the garden instead of the concrete path, if guests would like a moment of solitude before entering the busy home of strangers and conversation.
The family hopes that this is the right door, and knocks. When the door opens, they are warmly welcomed by a man who looks like how one would imagine an Ottoman warrior in ancient Turkey: built like a wall, tall and strong with short, dark hair and a mustache.
They are asked to take their shoes off at the door before they enter the house.
Immediately, the smell of delicious food invades their noses. They walk past the office and dining room, toward the living room. In this house, the living room is life, where friends and strangers talk alike.
Yellow walls are covered in paintings and décor. Every surface has an item or three carefully and intentionally placed, including a glass vase on the back patio behind the kitchen.
A semicircle forms in the sitting room, and the strangers go from nameless to acquaintances, acquaintances to friends. The hosts introduce themselves as Sel and Angie. Sel is Turkish and Muslim, and Angie is Filipina and converted to Islam. The two of them moved from the Philippines to Jacksonville in 2002 and started hosting these dinners in 2007 to share the nightly Ramadan tradition with friends and soon mutual friends. They started a charter school in 2007, Sel inspired from his brief work as a janitor when they first arrived in Jacksonville, his parents’ work as teachers back in Turkey, and his work building schools in the Philippines. They wanted to bring people together; they wanted to build bridges and introduce others into a tradition that may be outside of their own religious or traditional practices.
They talk about Ramadan, introducing some of the strangers to a foreign practice they didn’t grow up knowing. Ramadan is the Islamic holy month where Muslims fast and reflect on how they live throughout the rest of the year. Sel has said that it is a time for him to recharge or reboot, and to truly appreciate the food and water he has throughout the rest of the year.
The group gets into a line towards the potluck-style trays in the kitchen as the sun sets and iftar begins. As each guest gets their food, they trickle out to the screened-in back patio. The table becomes full of conversation about each other’s lives and origin stories.
While the mother eats, she converses with a fellow stranger. In this moment of distraction, the toddler wanders away from her mother and father. She does what any curious child would do: inspect everything with her hands. The girl lifts a small glass vase smelling of a subtle eastern perfume oil. A crash of glass shards follows shortly. To the young mother’s horror, she quickly realizes what her daughter has done. She rushes to the scene, partly to keep her daughter from hurting herself, partly to try and clean up the mess that her child had caused in these strangers’ house. But the host couple comes to the mother’s aid and tells her that she doesn’t need to worry.
“We will take care of it,” they say warmly comforting the mother.
The young mother and father worry whether they will ever be invited to iftar again, whether they will ever be invited to Sel and Angie’s house again. Did their toddler just sever any possibility of friendship?
* * *
I am that toddler who broke the vase in 2010. I can tell you Sel and Angie did not even wait until next Ramadan to invite my family back to their home and hearts. That iftar in August 2010 is exactly what started a friendship that has lasted over a decade now. After years of attending iftars, not a common experience for white, Christian children in the south—and for a time having someone in the house who was Muslim and fasted—I started to question what the deeper meaning of Ramadan was.
Ramadan is important to Muslims religiously and culturally. “Muslims observe this sacred month of Ramadan to mark when Allah sent an angel who revealed to the Prophet Muhammad the Quran, the Islamic holy book,” according to Trafalgar. Ramadan also fulfills one of the Five Pillars of Islam, called Sawm, fasting.
Sel discussed one of the reasons he and Angie were called to start hosting iftars: “…it is a cultural background, because prophet Muhammad said share your breaking fast with your neighbors, but doesn’t say your Muslim or any other religion, just says your neighbor. So, we are in Jacksonville neighborhood, right? Every day we see people at different times. Sometimes we understand people more than our real neighborhoods. So, that’s why I started bringing, because sharing is good.”
Opening one’s home to friends and family is not an uncommon practice among Muslims during Ramadan for this reason and others. It allows people to connect with each other and appreciate breaking fast in community together.
Sel talked about what the significance of Ramadan, saying “Ramadan is like a recharging for me, recharging spiritually and mentally and also physically, and it is the opportunity for me to get better person every year.”
Ramadan is a thoughtful time to recognize all the things that one takes for granted during the rest of the year. It is a way to empathize with the poor, hungry, and thirsty, and to remember to give to others when you can: helping our friends, family, communities and putting ourselves in each other’s shoes.
I began to notice parallels between the beliefs that have been instilled into me throughout my childhood and those of Ramadan and that have been brought out because of those evening iftars at Sel and Angie’s house. I see how my family and friends’ actions parallel with the ideals of Ramadan.
Regularly, my dad gives some of his extra cash or change to a homeless person on the sidewalk. My mom hosts dinners at her house to bring people together. At school, my classmates and I hype up each other’s writing and outfits and bring extra food for a friend who forgets to get lunch.
About the Writer...
Lila Hartley is a Creative Writing sophomore at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. In her freshman year, Lila fell in love with performing literary works. She participated in several open mics and in Douglas Anderson’s annual show, Extravaganza. She enjoys writing poetry and creative nonfiction. Lila is currently the Vice President of Literary Arts Honors Society at Douglas Anderson. Previously, her poem The Blue and Yellow was published in Élan Literary Magazine’s Middle School Writing Contest the 2022 Spring/Summer season and placed third in the writing category.
About the Artist...
Hana Minkin, 18, is an art student based in Savannah, Georgia. She plans on attending the Savannah College of Art and Design to purse Fashion Marketing and Merchandising.