It’s 2008. I’m ten years old. I have a henna cone in my hand and I’m not afraid to use it. I squeeze unrecognisable flowers onto the women, and I paint wonky footballs and messy rockets onto the boys.

With the crescent moon that signals the start of Ramadan this weekend, henna artists across New York City are mixing their paste and clearing their schedules for one of the busiest times of the year.