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This is the first of a monthly column in collaboration with the Sock Mob and reporters from the streets of London.

By: Ian Mason, Reporter from the Street

The fast began at five, breakfast had been taken at four. This did not spare men or women and they knew that after the first meal and until half past six there was a period of time to be filled. For some it was occupied by free study, for others by menial tasks; for all prayer was the cornerstone of each day during the period of Ramadan.

The day before he had experienced Muslim kindness and discipline. Fast was broken strictly at that hour in the evening. Men and women ate at tables laid out minutes before. Cakes and savory rice cakes, figs and watermelon, sweet tea was the fare for the first part of this meal. They went away to prayer ten minutes later and returned to “feast” on rice and chicken. He had seen food parcels delivered to the Mosque one hour before supper. They prepared the foods carefully and quickly. He had not yet broken fast at five with them. He could see that they were also hungry.

A young, attractive Muslim woman asked if he wanted milk and brought a cup of milky tea. A Muslim man arrived later than most, scolded a young boy and left the refectory to cool down. It looked like a business venture or meeting had got the better of his calm and the kid behaved as kids do at that age with cheek and he blew a red hot chili. The teenagers on one table broke fast and drank sugary carbonated drinks, ate the figs, watermelon and rice cakes with famished eyes. The green clad Muslim woman he had spoken to brought more melon and figs.

He found out that rice, the staple diet of millions of Asian men and women, is the perfect food. It is usually eaten cold in Indonesia, some told him. He thought “they’re just saving on gas and electricity”. He had commitments that same evening, excused himself, was offered a choice of rice based meal, took one plate and left the mosque. He continued his supper. Both meat and rice were still warm and he ate hungrily.

On his return, a man running uphill at a brisk pace, made him reach for his right thigh. He had not twisted an ankle and wanted to be running fit the following morning. His right big toe bled the following day and he purged.

He had experienced his second time at a Mosque, that active community of men and women who offered him love and charity. He chuckled as he walked by a training centre for social welfare and thought there was a movement of those two cardinal qualities and virtues in that working community. The Nepalese man, who was drunk when he said that the mosque offered care, had still not shown his face and he concluded he had returned to Nepal.

The library was closed and the leader of the refectory told him it was the librarian’s day off. He had done what all the librarians do here and shown him where the books of non-Asian content were to be found. It was quiet. He was homeless; he made good use of his time.