F'tour

F'tour...

... Such a small word...

... Such a huge ordeal...


This past weekend, the freshman class and I, with the help of parent volunteers, put together a f'tour for the entire freshman class, plus any family members who wanted to come. To give you an idea, just in case you do not know, "f'tour" is the Arabic word for "breakfast." And that is exactly what it is. Breakfast. Since this is the month of Ramadan, food is not eaten from the time the sun first rises to the second it sets. So f'tour is quite literally the breaking of the fast.


Most of the students do not wake up in time to eat the first meal of the day. That would mean waking up before 5 o'clock in the morning, and what teenager do you know that does that? Starving beats fatigue. Except for the fact that the students are fatigued anyway. For starters, they are not eating all day. They also stay up late at night to have dinner. Yes, that's right. Breakfast at the setting of the sun. A few hours later... dinner. Anyway, the point is, that by sunset, our teenage kiddos are near starving. Ravenous young men and women.


So, there must be plenty of food at f'tour. To run out is h'shuma, or "shameful." And, oh, how these kiddos can eat. I have been to a few f'tours. Food is gone in fifteen minutes. Pancakes. Cookies. Soup. Pastries. Dates. Milk. Juice. Water. Figs. Little, bite-sized meat pies. Small, individual pizzas. Hard-boiled eggs. Salt. Sugar. Bread. Meat. Overflowing the tables.


How does one feed an entire freshman class of 32 students, plus potentially their families? One asks for help. Beaucoup de help. Each student was asked, by their class officers, to volunteer to bring an item of food. An item of food in the large quantities needed to feed everyone. It is always a risky thing to ask students to remember and be responsible for something this important. You can remind them. You can threaten them. You can offer extra credit. But, you still have to trust them. And, when the day of the f'tour comes and you have one jug of water, three liters of milk, one kilo of cookies and one kilo of dates, you get a little stressed. Okay, I'll be honest. You get A LOT stressed.

The day wears on... still no more food.

Then school ends. F'tour is at 5:56. School ends at 3:10. I go to the gym. There sits two of my four class officers and one other freshman student. I learn that one of my officers went home sick. We begin to work. Luckily for us, one of my class officers has a grandmother who runs the school cafeteria. She let us borrow plates, silverware, tablecloths, and other beautiful decorations. Candles were put on every table. A carpet lined the entryway. Ten tables with paper placemats. A center table with flowers and candles and food. Or, at least there was supposed to be food. Though we had acquired a bit more food, most of it had gone onto separate tables because they are a must for all people to have within their reach at all times. Our middle table still needed the necessary soup, bread, pastries, pancakes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

And then, at about 5:35, my kiddos began coming, with food in hand. First, we got the eggs. Then, the coffee. Then some pastries. Then more pastries. Then pizzas. Then more pizzas. Then cookies. Then more cookies. And just when we had about five minutes left, the soup arrived. I don't know why I worry. God always provides. And, my kiddos impressed me. They remembered and provided the items we so desparately needed to make it work. The room looked gorgeous and the students and families were able to sit down with one another and feast.

I mean, really feast. We ate and ate, and talked, and then ate some more.















We also had a couple little games to play which the youngins enjoyed, especially since the prizes were always candy. (I know, the parents loved us.)

All in all it was a success. My kiddos even admitted to having a good time. They were smiling and were pleasantly full.

...And my heart, too, was smiling and was pleasantly full.