So I had a crack at the 2011 World Nomad Travel Writing Scholarship.. to no avail. Here it is anyway:
I am in Sabah. The Malaysian state of Borneo and the scene before me yields a peculiar air. The city in the peak of the afternoon is quiet. Restaurants are closed. People seem wary and on edge and can be seen silently napping in the stall side chairs and hammocks.
It occurred to me I had arrived during the religious month of Ramadan where Islamic devouts abstain from food, drink, sex and cigarettes between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Things already move quite slowly in this corner of the globe and it seemed as though the world had eerily come to a standstill.
It was difficult to judge the mood of the people, especially the ladies, their heads and faces veiled with the hijab. In much of the Western world the thought of an Islamic culture breeds nervousness. In the past images of serious white clothed Arab men with checked scarves nestling on their heads and women in full length black would flash across my mind. Although I was fairly well covered I still felt the piercing stare of wandering eyes. I was as intriguing to them as they were to me. But as I wandered through the streets I felt no need to fear the unfamiliarity of the unknown culture I was witnessing for the first time.
As the sun fell lower in the sky the streets took on a new atmosphere. The golden afternoon light bathed the city in colour as roadside stalls were hastily constructed touting a myriad of sticky sweets, colourful jelly drinks and other tasty treats patiently awaiting my discovery. The mood was transformed into one of jubilation as children rushing home from school and parents passing by from work picked up snacks to savor for later.
I foolishly assumed - and you could be forgiven for thinking the same - that Ramadan is not about food. In fact, Ramadan is all about food. As the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon every day the family gathers inside to celebrate breaking the fast with a modest feast of fruit, rice and meats. Younger members of the family laugh and poke each other playfully as they offer each other stories from their day past while – in keeping with good Malay hospitality - the wise, but plump grandmother makes sure that no-one has an empty plate.
As she turned to offer me fruit the family seconded her invitation; beckoning for me to join them at the low, round table. Accepting a curiously pink, hairy rambutan I couldn’t help but beam with delight. Terimah kasih banya, thank-you very much! And although I could see only the grandmothers’ eyes through the slit in the daintily bedazzled cloth adorning her head I no longer had difficulty in reading them. Behind the hijab she squinted as her cheeks pushed toward her kind eyes in a smile.
