Somehow in the quiet, without what would have been sounds from masaajid all around the neighbourhood, it feels more like Ramadhan than it ever has. For with quiet are we able to hear what would have otherwise remained muted.
I want the quiet of the sticks, to breathe in; and to use a tired cliche- fresh air. I want to hear the birds sing, to awaken to the crowing of the cocks. Not by the screeching of alarm clocks or matatu touts calling for passengers