The Holy Month
A few weeks ago, I downloaded TikTok because I wanted to see what their advertising options were. Through my shop/brand, I put out a tee shirt to raise money for the United Farm Workers Foundation, and I wanted to maximize my reach in hopes to create some kind of movement, some kind of Fuck You to our president y’know?
Kim Gordon posted herself wearing the shirt. It happened in a casual way. Luisa and Roddy were going to get lunch with Kim. I couldn’t go because I had to work on designs for my shop’s upcoming product. “Kim would wear the shirt probably,” said Luisa (or Roddy? I can’t remember). I had made a sample, a size medium, so I could take some product shots for my website before I announced the shirt launch. About an hour and a half later, Roddy sent me photos he took of Kim at the restaurant, and out on the street in New York wearing the sample. An hour later she posted it and things really took off.
So I downloaded TikTok. I was on there, and I swear to God, for no longer than two minutes before I had to close it.
You know when you eat too much and then you have a dessert on an already-full stomach and afterward you feel like you never want to eat again? That’s how I feel about social media. I seriously cannot look at anymore user generated content. No more get ready with me’s, no more hot takes, no more videos from (my favorite) podcasters doing their shows, no more comedy videos from someone pretending they’re in a conversation or on a stage or impersonating a celebrity, no more dog videos (though, I do love dogs), no more cat videos (I hate cats, but they love me). Just all of it. No. I hate it.
About a week ago, I was bored and needing to take a break from work, so I opened TikTok again, you know, just to see. Again, two minutes later, I didn’t get it. But I persisted. I wanted to see what people were selling, what people were doing, what the features of the app were. I was recommended a page by an older Turkish man who was sitting so that his pants were creating a huge bulge. Well, that’s interesting. So I clicked on him. And then I scrolled, and scrolled, and then more men sitting with big bulges, and then videos of Turkish women, and then videos of Turkish food, now we’re in Syria… Now back to men with bulges, now men are doing live streams with other men sitting in the same way displaying their same bulges. Now they’re competing to see who can win the most gifts? How do I send a gift? Oh my God, you have to pay to send gifts? Do they get the money? I google to see if TikTok keeps the money you spend to buy gifts to send to people so they can win fake battles — they keep 50% of the money. Well that’s shitty.
And then I keep scrolling. Bulges, young women, Turkish food, and then… A man with two kids by his side. He’s looking into the camera. Sort of smiling. I’m the only one watching. He’s live and I join. His profile name is in Arabic but has a watermelon emoji in it, so I’m assuming he’s in Gaza. Behind him is a concrete wall, the lighting is low, there are blankets all around him and the kids. It looks like a basement.
I click his profile and I see more of his videos. Some are of him and his children from past live videos. Some of them are walk-throughs in rubble, I’m assuming in his town. He’s making his children beans, scooping them from boiling water onto a plate that his youngest eats first while the older ones wait.
I went back to his live video and decide to pay for “gifts,” about $20 worth. I send him the gifts, and he starts praising Allah, telling his kids what’s happening in Arabic. They start praising Allah, and blowing kisses, touching their heart and their head, “thank you, thank you, thank you” in broken English. I pay for another $20 of gifts and send them to him again. This time, he can’t believe it.
His kids are out of frame, and he just stares into the camera in disbelief. Quiet. It’s dark, but there’s light on his face. He starts to cry and wipe his eyes with his hands. He’s quiet about it. Shocked. I start crying.
I message him. “Are you in Gaza?” Yes. “Is that your family?” Yes, thank God. “Are you okay?” I do not have work nor money. We are desperate but we can now get food thanks to God because of your gift.” (there’s a lot of “God” in our chat that I’ll omit mainly because it feels weird as a white guy to try and articulate the nuance of how Muslim Arabs seemingly bring God into almost every one of their sentences — just know it’s a lot).
I ask him if he has WhatsApp. He gives me his number. I thought he may have been hustling me because the country code was from the UK (+44), but then I learned a lot of SIM cards in Gaza were donated from other countries, so it’s normal for people living there to not have phone numbers that are from that region.
Every time I message him, I write out what I want to say or ask. I select all, then go to translate it in Arabic. Then I copy that new text, then I go back to the text box and paste it. When he sends me a message, I copy his message, go to translate it, and then read it. It goes like this every time we talk. It’s tedious.
His name is Hassan. He has three children, two boys and one girl. He used to have an older son but he, along with Hassan’s mother, were killed. Now he is raising his two grandchildren. So there are five kids, Hassan, and Hassan’s wife.
When I first texted him, it was important for me to communicate to him that I hated how our country was supporting Israel’s military. I told him that not all Americans agree with what’s going on, and that we march and protest for Gaza. I tell him this over and over, “Please believe me, so many Americans stand with you. Please believe me.”
He tells me there are no sides to believe in, or “us” or “them.” That, he just wants his family and him to live. Of course. How do you think about politics when you’re not sure if your kids are going to eat?
I sent him more money today. He has a friend who has a PayPal account, and I told him I didn’t want to send him money (or “gifts”) on TikTok because they kept 50% of it. $85 was enough to feed seven people for almost a week. I asked him if there was anything to buy, and he said yes but there are shortages (Israel is blocking aid and supplies to Gaza). I asked him if he could tell me what he needs besides food, and tally up how much it all costs. He said he doesn’t want to be a burden. I told him the only thing that could possibly bring me any joy right now would be to help his family have supplies. After about 10 minutes of dancing back and forth, “I couldn’t ask you for more,” “Please tell me Hassan,” “No, it is too much,” “Hassan, please…” he finally told me he would speak with his wife to figure out what they need and how much it will cost.
Honesty time? I saw people posting in their stories GoFundMe and CashApp links to donate to people in Gaza. I never donated, not because I didn’t want to help, but because I didn’t know if what I was seeing was legit or not. I donated to trusted orgs, but at this point, so much aid is being blocked by Israel, it’s making more and more sense to find people to help directly.
Earlier when Hassan told me about his family that died, and his friends, and his home, and how he can’t sleep and how his kids don’t play because they are traumatized, I started to pray, and I immediately stopped. I cried. Hassan and his family are closer to God than I’ll ever be, and I’m going to pray for them? I cried because so many people in Gaza have prayed throughout the day and night, to God, and so many died.
My friend told me that practicing Muslims believe that their life and death are predetermined, and everything else in between is free will. It’s a belief that carries into quite literally every sentence. It gets monotonous, honestly. The “my brother” and “praise God” and “God willing” and “To God be the glory” and “If God allows,” almost tied to every sentence. My friend told me their faith is how they move through the world they live in, and suggested maybe I try to pray again to deal with the raw feelings I was experiencing. I cried again.
Hassan told me it’s the holy month. He said, “… it is a generous month. In this month, the doors of fire are closed and the doors of heaven are opened. This is from God Almighty.” He was remarking that we found each other randomly on TikTok. We both couldn’t believe that we connected. He said, “And of all months, during the holy month.”
He tells me he and his children are praying for me. He asks if I want to see videos of them. Today we video chatted for the first time. He hasn’t seen me yet, and we both smiled. We couldn’t speak to each other, but we smiled and he showed his children and grand children to me and we blew kisses and waved for a few minutes. He always tells me that he wants God to give me peace and happiness. He asked about my life, I reluctantly told him I had a boyfriend and I hope that didn’t offend him. He wasn’t offended and reiterated that he just wants everyone to be happy.
I’m rambling (nothing new), but it’s crazy where just a few days will take you. The last few months I’ve been inside my head, searching for new ideas for new product, trying to find some footing to go into the next season for my shop. Thinking about continuing education, thinking about a new apartment with my Roddy, thinking about getting healthier, eating cleaner, swimming more. Just all me stuff. And then Hassan, and now all I can think about is him and his family.
I’m not going to do anymore fundraisers at the moment, but I do have a request. Go on TikTok and find someone to talk to. The translating is tedious, but you’ll find eventually you don’t need words, just generosity.