T A B L E_T A L K Why can't Africa get its act together? A discussion of this and of the meddling of non-African nations can be found here in Table Talk   How-to, why-not and what-for -- find it all at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Mediterranean reverie By Anne Dowie Nestled in the rugged mountains overlooking the Ligurian Sea, Cinque Terre is the source of endless scenic and culinary delights (03/28/99) Ring in the loser By Mark Schatzker What you do on New Year's Eve 1999 says more about your economic -- and social -- status than anything else (03/26/99) Night of the living kava By Eric Hansen A traveler trips out on a magical root in the South Pacific (03/25/99) May I help you? By Jack Goldfarb From saffron to leather to edible silver paper, Johnny the market boy knew where to find it in the teeming Calcutta marketplace (03/24/99) Transylvanian nightmare By Jeffrey Tayler A young man bears the lasting burden of Romania's depraved dictator with a dignity that transcends his grim surroundings (03/23/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		-----Going without at Ramadan ----------At the beginning of the Muslim fast, -------a traveler decides to do as the Marrakeshans do. BY EMILY ZUZIK | I am not a pious woman. I didn't go into Ramadan with a long history of restraint. In fact, the most I knew about fasting was from my Catholic childhood during Lent, where you went without some chosen item for 40 days. There were also meatless Fridays, but you still got a good fish sandwich from the church that night. No one expected me to fast in Marrakesh, not even my traveling companion, who had chosen to do so to practice self-discipline. But we had decided to swear off Western extravagances on this trip -- no e-mail, no expensive indulgences, and with luck, no expat communications -- and hey, when in Rome ... Besides, I thought, if I couldn't go without food during daylight hours, what kind of weak human was I? I spent the night before the first day of fast with many other Moroccans and tourists in the Place Djemaa el Fna, a large open market area jammed with food stalls, snake charmers, musicians and general business. There was a continual procession of cars, buses, motorized bikes, bicycles, scooters, horse-drawn carriages and every other conceivable form of transportation. Exhaust hung gray-blue against the road. I saw two parents and three children crammed on one bike. Motion was in every direction. I was eating what would be my last large meal until tomorrow sundown. I wasn't praying or analyzing the challenge ahead of me; in fact, I wasn't really thinking about it. I was simply absorbing the general commotion that extended late into the night and drinking mint tea, which was affectionately called the "whiskey of Morocco." Ramadan is practiced by Muslims to develop an Allah-consciousness in the practitioner's heart and soul. But it's not merely a fast from food; it also includes drinking, smoking and sexual relations. It is mandatory for all sane adult Muslims with exceptions for pregnant women, the elderly, ill and those responsible for heavy machines, like pilots. The fast begins every day at the Salatul Fajr call to prayer, or break of dawn, and ends at the Salatul Maghrib call, or sunset. I knew with my low blood sugar that if I were Muslim, I could be exempt from the fast, but I had decided to tempt fate and the peaceful rapport with my traveling companion by fasting anyway. The morning of the first day of Ramadan I awoke to the cry of my empty, aching belly -- and figured it would be best for both of us if I had something small to keep my head together. I decided to eat. This added an extra challenge to the morning: There was no food at our hotel, and we had to find one of the few hotel-cafes in town that catered to Western tourists, where you pay for the privilege of eating during the fast. In this setting, I could partake of my few guilty bites without pressing my Western weakness upon those fasting and still respect the public restraint. We stopped at the Hotel Ali. Ironically, I ended up feeding more of my bread to a scruffy street cat who was begging at my feet than to myself. I resolved to make a go of it for the rest of the day. With the decision to fast, whether to prove self-restraint or to respect the prevailing culture, came a contempt that I didn't expect. I found myself sneering at Western tourists who didn't know it was Ramadan, except that they couldn't get an espresso because most cafes were closed. Members of large French tour groups puffed away on cigarettes while being led through the markets. I watched one scene where an older Moroccan woman stared in disbelief while a camcorder-toting tourist ate a large pastry beside her. He seemed to have no clue about how rude he was being. I raged over his ignorance. I was embarrassed for Western culture and its post-colonial insecurities. It was as if that action were screaming out: Your country may no longer be ours, but we don't care about your culture and it will never rival our own. The sun burned from above, drinking all moisture from my body, and I found myself dehydrated by 2 p.m. My friend had gone without food, but decided to splurge on water. Since thirst hadn't consumed my mind outright, we decided to push on. Temptation was everywhere. At least five orange-juice stands stood near the edge of the plaza. Each owner called to us, outbidding his neighboring competitor. I smiled and answered, "No thanks. Ramadan." This reply elicited some odd looks from them. I can only imagine what they were thinking: She's white, she's Western (meaning: she's rich), why would she be fasting? After a while, I took my shaking hands as a sign that I should probably have something to drink. This situation led to another challenge -- where would we be able to drink water out of sight? There was the Hotel Ali or our hotel deeper in the medina. We were closer to the Hotel Ali, so we entered the closed cafe, found a shadowy corner and drank from the bottle of Sidi Harazem, one of two national bottled-water brands. After the drink, I felt a renewed sense of possibility, and we set back out into the fray. It was as if that little break had healed all the weakness that was beginning to show. Despite my determined spirit, I had begun to feel faint before the water. This is another problem with the Ramadan fast. I was told later in my trip that the mental resolve to fast often has health repercussions. One man told me how his mother, who took shots for diabetes, went against doctor's orders and refused to take her insulin in order to keep the fast. She was hospitalized the next day. Both he and his uncle shook their heads and said this was quite normal in Morocco. N E X T+P A G E | A hungry, angry city   DETAIL OF PHOTOGRAPH BY KENNETH MANNING