As I got used to my new job as a house helper in Oman, I found myself stepping into a world full of tradition and faith. Coming from an Asian background and a different faith, this experience not only challenged how I saw things but also changed my perspective on family, connection, and spirituality in a big way.
I can still remember my first morning in the house. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but the place was buzzing with soft voices and gentle movements. It was interesting to see how disciplined the family was as they woke up early for their pre-dawn meal, Suhoor, before starting their day’s fast. They followed their schedule perfectly, and there was a kind of quiet respect that filled the air. Everyone had their part to play—there were prayers to say, and the day was off to a start.
The early mornings were always lively. The father got ready for work, the children rushed through breakfast, and the housewife balanced getting everyone prepared with keeping things calm. Each prayer, which happened five times a day, felt like a moment where time stopped. It quickly became clear to me that these rituals weren’t just routines; they were an essential part of their lives.
In the kitchen, the atmosphere varied from family to family. In more traditional homes, the women took control, preparing elaborate meals for Iftar, the evening meal to break the fast. I would watch them chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and rolling out dough with ease and familiarity. The kitchen filled with the delicious smell of spices and herbs, and I soon realised how important food was for bringing everyone together.
On the flip side, some younger families opted for convenience. They mixed traditional recipes with modern solutions, often ordering food from local restaurants or having potlucks with relatives. Still, they made sure to keep the spirit of togetherness alive, sitting around the table as a family. I found it interesting to see this balance between respecting their traditions and embracing a more modern approach.
The first week of Ramadhan was particularly special. Families prioritised coming together, with married children returning to their parents’ homes, creating a warm atmosphere filled with laughter and shared memories. Even though I wasn’t Muslim myself, it was inspiring to witness how important family was during this time. It really struck me that Ramadhan wasn’t just an individual obligation; it was a shared journey that strengthened their faith and familial bonds.
As the sun set each evening, the anticipation for Iftar grew. Seeing dates and water on the table served as a simple yet profound reminder of the day’s sacrifice. It was in these moments that I began to grasp the deeper meaning behind their practices. The discipline to fast, the patience in waiting for their meal, and the joy of gathering around the table all wove together a rich tapestry of resilience and love.
At first, I was unsure about joining them in the fast, but as the days rolled on and I embraced the spirit of Ramadhan, I decided to give it a go. It wasn’t just about being hungry or thirsty; it was more about connection—with the family, enjoying communal meals, and engaging with a culture that values love and respect. They welcomed my willingness to learn and understand their traditions, which allowed me to become a respected part of their daily lives.
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