The End of Fasting

 In retrospect, I probably could have planned it all a little better, but honestly, when I asked around, everyone said it was very unlikely that Hari Raya, the end of the fasting month, would be celebrated before Monday. So I didn't bother to factor the celebrations into our trip and instead booked a bed in K.K. for Saturday night. And yes, in retrospect this might be seen as tempting fate. So I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise when the young guy in the stall at the night market mentioned that he was heading home as soon as he could shut up his stall, to prepare for the two days of feasting that would start in the morning. The problem was that we were meant to be driving south east in the morning, a 3-hour journey to a village called Nabawan. Instead, I found myself having to accept two invitations in Ranau, resulting in a 2.5-hour detour home, then a 3-hour drive south to Nabawan.

There's a lovely custom in Malaysia called the "open house." These happen around religious festivals - Christmas, Lunar New Year, and, of course, Hari Raya, the king of them all, the Muslim celebration of the end of Ramadhan. People literally open their houses on a set day, put out loads of food and a stack of chairs, and then simply welcome every single person from their extended family, their village, their kids' school, and every other possible source of vague acquaintances. Sometimes they even get an orang putih or two. Because Hari Raya isn't set until the new moon is sighted, people will invite you to their open house on either the first or second day of feasting, or perhaps a later day during the official week of holiday. This year, the moon was sighted on Saturday, so the invitation I'd received from my friend, which I'd expected to be for Monday, when I couldn't possibly attend, suddenly became Sunday, when I could. So I dutifully responded to Suryati's invitation, and when another arrived from one of my teachers, I said yes to that too. 

And thus it was that on Sunday morning, after a restless night of celebratory fireworks, Aurelia's first journey in Sabah was up into the mountain range to little Ranau. Dropping in at home for a short time, we met Lungkiam and Othman leaving for their niece's open house, so we joined them for that. After an acceptable amount of time and food, we said our goodbyes and drove onwards to Suryati's house to coo over her gorgeous newborn baby girl and laugh with teachers from my village school about finding a Malay husband. More food. More dirty jokes. Ah, a day in the life... Suryati's beautiful children and husband were dressed in brand new Hari Raya clothes in coordinating colours and I had to ask them to pose for a photograph before I left. This unfortunately meant that I had to give baby Nur Qisya back...

Then we travelled out to Lohan Village where one of my headmasters was holding court at his enormous house. More food. Sweets. Coffee.

We joined one of my teachers here who was visiting all her colleagues on one long day, together with two other teachers from the same school, and their families. All Christians, but still made so welcome by their Muslim hosts.

From the headmaster, we went to the deputy head's house, a beautiful blue wooden house on stilts. As we walked up, I saw her husband preparing to greet us, and, realising from the clothing and beard that he was a strict Muslim, had to hurriedly whisper to Aurelia, "Don't offer your hand until he offers his!" He didn't, and she didn't, and it was all fine. He welcomed us into his home with a gracious dip of his head. We ate some more food, a lovely curry this time.

And then, of course, because I'd eaten at the headmaster and the deputy head's homes, I couldn't leave before also visiting the home of the head of the afternoon school, so off we went down the road to one last house.

And it really did have to be one last house, as it was by now an hour and a half after my deadline for leaving Ranau. Well-fed-and-watered, we finally set off on the road south, arriving at the house of a very patient colleague well after dark. Her village - little Nabawan - is the last stop before Tawau, a city on the east coast. Between the two lie nearly 300 kilometres of road, most of it untarred and straight through rainforest.

Roadtripping Sabah

My friend Aurelia arrives tomorrow. I promised her that she would see Sabah, and so we shall: I'm dragging her straight from the airport into the car and off on a one-week drive around Sabah. Literally, around. South to visit a colleague in tiny Nabawan village, then through the wilderness of the Maliau Basin on a dirt road to the cities of Tawau and Lahad Datu in the east. Into the rainforest and mud volcanoes of the Tabin Wildlife Reserve, and up to the enormous Gomantong Caves on the Kinabatangan River, before heading to Sepilok and the orangutans for a couple of days. A boat ride to the Turtle Islands once again before finally returning home to Ranau on Sunday night.

As if that wasn't enough, I'm packing her off on a climb up Mount Kinabalu on Monday morning. I myself will be too terrified back at work, so won't be joining her... 

So cross your fingers that we won't run out of fuel on one of the wildest roads in Sabah, or accidentally move into a shack on a pristine, palm-fringed beach, and I'll have Aurelia back to her nice safe job in Switzerland in no time at all ;)

Puasa

3am:

Awake. Kitten No. 1 just bit my nose, but I think that was about 5 seconds after I actually woke up - something is being heavily and noisily pounded in the kitchen.

3:15am:

Lungkiam phones: breakfast is almost ready if I want to join them in the main house. I rub the sleep from the corners of my eyes, throw on a jumper and stumble out of my flat. "Oh, I do hope I didn't wake you with the kitchen pounding," she says, but I'm pleased she remembered I'm fasting today and has invited me to join them.

3:30am:

Breakfast is on the table, and Dr Othman comes down to join us. He's dressed for breakfast and prayers in a sarong (before we all stole it, this was originally a Malay word meaning 'sheath') and kopiah - a traditional, round, white hat.

They thank Allah for everything, and then we can eat. Lungkiam is a master Dusun cook, but for this morning she has prepared a range of food from Western rye bread, to Malay fried noodles, to Dusun kampung vegetables, to plain-and-simple (and perfectly ripe) papaya from the garden.

There's also plenty of warm water to drink, and coffee - Othman won't be going back to bed, but is off to pray after eating. We sit and eat and talk. They are an interesting couple - Lungkiam converted to Islam in her teens so she could marry Othman; they moved to America to study for their PhDs; on returning to teach in Sabah in the 1970s, they were drawn into politics, with Othman entering parliament, and Lungkiam working with the Women's Division in the same party. Anyone who says that Muslim women are all oppressed needs to meet Lungkiam - a powerful, strong-minded, liberal woman who has more drive than most Western women I know. And Othman - well, he tells me for the second time of his glee at arriving at Heathrow at sundown one day, and giggles as he describes how wonderful the prayer room was - because every major religion was represented in the same room, with not even a fence to separate them. They are a wonderful pair who are truly becoming like family to me.

4:39am
We all gulp down the last of our water in the last minute before dawn officially arrives.

4:40am
Everything packed away, we say good night to each other and I return to my flat, where the kittens have celebrated a suhoor of their own, chewing my pillow to shreds. I stand on the balcony for a few minutes and listen to the extended morning prayer wafting through the pale light from the nearby mosque. Then tiredness kicks in and I head back to bed for a couple of hours.

11am
I'm on my way to Kota Kinabalu. I'm not hungry in the slightest, but I am thirsty. Very thirsty.

1pm
Driving through Kota Kinabalu city centre, I tut at a young American girl crossing the street, dressed in teeny-tiny shorts and waving a bottle of water at her friend. "Honestly, doesn't she know that some of us are trying to fast here?" I think the thirst is getting to me.

3pm
I stop for fuel on my way back to Ranau, and as I pay the cashier, I give in and ask for a small bottle of water as well. It's only 150ml, but it's a huge relief, and totally worth the guilt pangs.

6:15pm
Sitting on my balcony, I read to pass the time, anxiously watching the clouds over Mount Kinabalu turn from white to red to grey. There're other people in the common area of the homestay, mostly sitting and quietly talking. The Christian housekeeper is in the kitchen putting the final touches to the evening meal, but she's turned off her radio, and the air has a surreal calm to it. Everything holds its breath.

6:32pm
A prayer issues from the mosque. Lungkiam and Othman call me to join the other guests in breaking our fast with iftar, the evening meal. This is normally begun with a date, but tonight we have deep-fried Sabah bananas instead, with fruit juice - which is fine with me, as my blood sugar has plunged from its regular 90%+ level :) The fruit juice tastes better than ever before, and everyone breathes out as they nibble cautiously on fritters, before taking the plunge with the enormous meal laid out for us. This breaking of the fast is a very communal time for Sabahans, who take turns to open their homes to other villagers to come and eat together. Any food left over will be taken to the mosque to feed those praying the evening prayers, and those less fortunate - who, again, will all eat together.

7pm:
My fast is broken, and although I didn't quite make it all the way through the day, I'm proud that I managed as much as I did. It gives me a new respect for my teachers who do this every day for a month, and still manage to teach their classes! And I take comfort in the fact that they have all had years of training - children as young as 5 or 6 will fast for half-days, while still drinking water if they feel the need.

Not too sure that I'll be doing it again though. That dried-out-throat feeling is just too off-putting!