My earliest Ramadan memory has to do with my mother. I was a child in Singapore, no older than eight or nine. She woke me, my siblings and father for sahur, the pre-dawn meal. We ate rice, some salted duck egg and chicken or fish curry from the night before. Salted duck egg will always remind me of Mak. I broke my fast at midday when I was younger, until I finally had enough stamina to fast for the whole day.
Eid, or Hari Raya, as we call it in Singapore and Malaysia, was the day we all lined up, kissed our parents’ hands, asked for forgiveness and received our Ramadan reward. My siblings and I excitedly counted our money packets. We never got paid for doing chores, but we did get a dollar for each day we attempted to fast – even if we didn’t fast for the whole day. And as we did our Raya rounds by visiting family, we collected more Raya packets and saved up.
By the time we migrated to Sydney when I was 12, Ramadan felt different. Everything felt different. I had just started high school and I experienced my first scorching Australian summer. I was used to the humidity of Singapore, not the dry heat of Sydney. What was worse than the dry heat was how late sunset was. It wasn’t going without food that was the challenging part at first. It was going without water – until I got used to that, too. My first winter Ramadan was fantastic, though. I got to break my fast at 5pm! What a treat.
Raidah and her siblings with their grandfather. Source: Supplied
When the school holidays aligned with Eid, we flew back to Singapore to spend Raya with our family. Part of me wished we could fly elsewhere and explore cities we had never seen. We used to enjoy complimentary staff tickets because my father was an aeronautical engineer for Singapore Airlines. When we landed in the familiar heat and into the loving embrace of our extended family in Singapore, I would remember that it was all worth it.
If I thought Sydney summers were hot, they paled in comparison to the heat of the summer in Amman, Jordan. I moved there to study the Islamic sciences in my mid-20s and supported myself with a full-time copywriting job. My memory of fasting in Jordan included the dry, desert heat and how the skies were so blue without even a wisp of cloud. As the desert sun beat onto me, I felt so much closer to understanding what it must have been like for the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and his Companions.
My first day of Ramadan in Amman was incredibly lonely. I wasn’t as close to my roommates as they were to each other, and they had gone to a private iftar that I hadn’t been invited to. So I stood there, in the too-empty apartment, wondering if I should break my fast alone for the first time in my life. It hadn’t occurred to me until that fateful evening that I always had either my family or close friends to break my fast with. Iftar had never been a solo affair.
Some of the delicious dishes to break the fast. Source: Supplied
I took a risk and knocked on the door of one of the mothers in my apartment block, and sheepishly asked if I could break my fast with her and her children. She was delighted to see me and they all welcomed me with open arms. As I settled into my new life in Jordan and made close friends – some of whom I am still in touch with – I received many iftar invitations and even hosted some of my own.
I sheepishly asked if I could break my fast with her and her children. She was delighted to see me and they all welcomed me with open arms
During my last Eid in Jordan, my brother and I had become roommates. We had a Skype call with our mother to learn her recipe for kuah lodeh, lontong and rendang – delicious Raya staples from our childhood. I distinctly remember having to use macadamia nuts to substitute for buah keras, an ingredient I could not find at the local supermarket. Much to our relief, the end result was spectacular.
Now that I’m a mother in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, my fasting days begin with me sneaking down the stairs, trying my best not to wake up any of my three children. And without fail, at least one of them will wake and end up joining us, bleary-eyed but excited to be eating while it’s “still dark outside!” They’re thrilled to be joining us for our pre-dawn meal. The aftermath of that is usually too-tired children by the afternoon, and we all end up napping.
All routines go out the window during Ramadan. Instead, we have the Ramadan routine, which for the past eight years has been about survival. When they’re at school, I get to nap and catch up on some work. After I pick them up from school, they eat lunch, watch cartoons, play in the garden and do homework, if they have any. When I’m too tired, though, I just take a nap and they play magnetic tiles around me.
Raidah with her husband. Source: Supplied
My mother-in-law and I take turns preparing iftar. It helps that the Ramadan food bazaars in Kuala Lumpur are incredible, so we always have the option of buying food. Sometimes we bring our kids to browse the wares, and come home with tasty local desserts such as kueh ketayap, seri muka and fresh coconut water. When we get iftar invitations, we rarely go unless it’s at a relative or close family friend’s home. Crowded restaurants and overtired children are not a great combination.
This Ramadan is the first one in a long time where I will not be pregnant or nursing. I am both relieved and also nostalgic. Right now, my eldest is almost eight and wants to try fasting. I hope to continue some Ramadan traditions for my growing family, and build some of my own. Even though my own mother is in Sydney during Ramadan, I can carry on her traditions by preparing some salted duck egg, rice and curry for my kids to eat for sahur, too – with a side of high-fibre cereal, almond milk and gluten-free bread.
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