I smile as the news comes through that Ramadan has begun, knowing that somewhere the crescent moon has been sighted and that for the next 29-30 days of this lunar month my life will truly change.

My mind drifts to memories of Ramadan spent as a student in Egypt: I was swept away by the intense atmosphere of worship and generosity which seemed to emanate from even the poorest alleyway. The Fanoos lanterns with their colourful glass panels would glow all over the city, special food stalls dotted the pavements and enormous tents with brightly patterned coverings housed the Table Spreads of Mercy: serving free food to anyone who might arrive at sunset. No one went hungry during Ramadan in Cairo.

Restaurants, dormant during daylight hours, awoke as the muezzin’s call began to echo and sunset drew in. The energy in the city rose as surely as blood sugar levels did, and Cairo came to life: endless rows of people overflowing from mosques onto the streets, standing in congregational prayer throughout the night behind imams who wept as they recited, bringing grown men to tears all around them. The reverberation of loudspeakers coupled with the radiance of street lights created an inimitable atmosphere.

In London Ramadan has its own demure charm. Unlike in Egypt, most people around me won’t be fasting, food will still be all around me and so there will inevitably be those awkward moments when I’ll just have to explain that I’m not eating or drinking anything at all during daylight hours, and people will look at me with mild alarm.

But still, I will feel a sense of unity with those thousands in the UK and millions around the world who will be experiencing what I will — waking up before dawn to eat the suhoor meal and then again at iftar time we will gather around our dinner tables and thank the Creator as we feel the joy of quenching our hunger and thirst, grateful for even the simplest foods, conscious that so many around the world experience that same hunger involuntarily.

And fasting will not only be from food and drink, it’ll also be from sexual relations (not too difficult, since sex tends, more often than not, to be a nocturnal affair). And it will be a fast from all the most unpleasant sides of my personality.

The hunger pangs of fasting bring about an incredible level of self-awareness, making Ramadan ideal for analysing my least desirable characteristics and developing habits I would like to have and the will power to be in command of my ego. When my children test the boundaries I will try harder to be patient; if someone harms me, I will forgive; if I am angered I will exercise self-restraint and I will be more careful about what I say and do. It is a sort of 30-day spiritual detox.

The children feel the buzz of Ramadan, and my son wants to try to fast for half a day. The ill and the elderly (my mother-in-law included) won’t be fasting but will feed a needy person for every fast they are unable to keep. My friends Aliyah, who is pregnant, and Yasmeen, who is breast-feeding, may opt out and make their fasts up later, and we won’t be fasting when our period comes along (though we’ll keep a low profile while munching so as not to be insensitive).

After the meal at sunset, the mosques will be full and the Taraweeh night prayers will begin when the Koran will be recited over the next 30 days by an Imam who has memorised it in its entirety. My husband takes his holiday in the last ten days of Ramadan, when worship intensifies and many people camp out at the mosque.

Well, with so much to look forward to, I’m off to check out the new Ramadan aisle at the 24-hour supermarket. I want to avoid shopping there during the daytime: I end up spending a fortune, since everything seems an appetisingly great buy when you’re fasting.

Fatimah Barakatullah writes and lectures on Islamic philosophy and is a columnist for Sisters magazine