Little Drummer Boy

Ask the numerous guests that have stayed with us at least one night over the last thirty days and they’ll all have the same story. You don’t need an alarm clock when visiting the Blans during Ramadan. Around 3 o’clock in the morning, every morning, a guy comes around beating a drum in an Energizer Bunny’esk rhythm.

Though most mornings it seemed as though he was right outside the window (we live on the fourth floor) or standing beside your bed, he was actually out on the street walking up and down in a slow fingernails-on-the-chalk-board pace.

I wouldn’t even have mentioned this on the blog, but today on the first day of the Sugar Holiday our sickly pet bird, a.k.a the doorbell, rang. I grabbed the bowl of candy and opened the door thinking it was the group of boys who have already rang our bird-bell too many times. To my surprise it was our little drummer boy (who was actually not very little) and his friend. He held his drum proudly and said “Happy Holidays,” with a big smile. Instead of busting the drum over his head like I wanted to, I handed his friend some candy. His friend then said, “money.”

If our friends who have lived here for a few years had not warned us beforehand I might have actually been upset, but I knew it was coming. I smiled and said, “I’m sorry, we aren’t Muslims.” My answer satisfied drummer boy, but left his friend with far less than a smile on his face.