As the afternoon wore on, I was amazed (and relieved!) to find that I had only the slightest feelings of hunger and thirst. An hour before sunset, I gathered a few friends and set off to a restaurant for the iftar meal. One of my friends told me that the sunnah (Prophetic way) was to open the fast with dates. I had never liked dates, but that Ramadaan I grew to love them. I frequented an Islamic bookshop to stock up on books, dates and Turkish Delight sweets.

Attending the first Jumuah (Friday) prayer in Ramadaan, I was treated as a special guest by the members of the Islamic society and referred to as 'sister'. A chair was reserved for me in the sisters' area, but I preferred to sit on the floor with the other girls and just blend in. From the back of the hall I would observe the movements of the students as they prayed in congregation. I was diligently trying to learn the order of the movements for prayer whilst making a mental note of certain members of the congregation: the drug dealer from Manchester… the credit-card scammer from Reading…the hip-hop gig organiser…. I felt such awe that these people were fasting — let alone praying for a change. Just a few floors below this prayer hall was the location where I usually brushed shoulders with such individuals: the student union's pool room. As a child I had always liked the parable of the lost sheep with the moral that God welcomes the repentant sinner. I was beginning to see how Ramadaan was a second chance for every Muslim. I purchased a hijab the following week and wore it for the subsequent Friday prayers.

My journeys to and from Uni illustrated how my character was a mixture of the old me, and my newly-adopted Islamic persona. The morning journey was in the rush-hour, so I'd stand with everyone else whilst listening to a Prince or Nirvana album on my personal stereo. In the evenings, the carriages would be emptier and I'd take the opportunity to read a translation of the Qur'an. I was slowly moving away from my non-Muslim friends who couldn't understand why I wanted to be Muslim. Even my Muslim friends couldn't comprehend why I didn't fancy going to the cinema after a day's fasting. I spent most evenings reading Islamic pamphlets and listening to lectures on my stereo, and enjoyed holding debates about religion in my room.

"I don't know much about my religion, but I know it's the right one," one Pakistani declared. This pretty much summed up the Muslims around me. None prayed five times a day. The girls didn't observe hijab. Some of the guys prayed Jumuah, but none prayed the obligatory five-a-day. Their adherence to Islam was through eating halal meat, abstaining from alcohol (but not marijuana!) and fasting in Ramadaan. The Pakistani crowd seemed to treat Islam in much the same way that the Hindu students treated their religion: more of a cultural practice than religious commitment.

As the month drew to an end, I was invited to an iftar put on by the Islamic society. The talk focused on Bosnia and the suffering of the Muslims all over the world. I felt outraged. Although I had been raised as a Catholic, there was no doubt in my mind that the Bosnian Muslims were the underdogs in this conflict. The Hebron massacre had also occurred during this holy month and I couldn't stop thinking about it. The thought of Muslims (including children) being blown to pieces whilst in prayer would prey on my mind. Even though I had yet to pronounce my shahadah (declaration of faith), I thought of these people as my fellow brothers in faith.

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