Hari Raya in Singapore

Before I left Cambodia to attend the Hari Raya festival celebrating the end of Ramadan in Singapore, my Country Director told me some of his fondest memories from his own Peace Corps service in Malaysia were of the same festival … and the food that goes with it! After this past week, they are certainly some of my own as well. After five months in-country, stepping off that plane in Singapore felt like a homecoming. The obvious reason being because I had five whole, uninterrupted days to spend with Goy and his friends and family, but also – admittedly – because things are just easier there. I could drink water straight from the tap. Made-to-order sushi at the touch of a computer screen. Working public transportation. No stares, no discrimination, no unwanted attention. It’s easy to forget how absolutely wonderful those simple pleasures are when you’re boiling your own water and trying to keep a low profile amidst the constant celebrity status of being one of a handful of Westerners in rural Cambodia. You know you’ve crossed some line when you feel the tiniest impulse to tear up while watching students study in Starbucks sipping on a chai tea latte. Uh… that being a purely hypothetical example, of course. The festival itself and days leading up to it were incredible. Since the festival is all about food, I’ll start there …

Hari Raya celebrates the end of the Muslim month of fasting called Ramadan. During the festival, everyone visits family and friends to spend time together, ask for forgiveness, and—of course—share a meal. During our visits, I ate four meals in seven hours, putting me in a blissful food coma for the rest of the evening. The whole thing makes Thanksgiving look like a light snack…trust me guys, slow and steady wins the race. Beef rendang, pineapple tarts, chicken korma, cookies made from green peas, chocolates, curries, cakes. The list goes on. The most interesting thing I think I ate was those pineapple tarts. They’re about the size of a quarter with a dollop of pineapple preserve in the middle. The dough tastes similar to shortbread, but when you place the tart on your tongue, it soaks up ALL the liquid in your mouth and crumbles into dust. It’s impossible to talk with it in your mouth, but the whole process is deliciously fun. Almost every house we visited had its own version of this traditional treat, so I got to do a true taste test. Without fail, every time I’d stick one in my mouth my host would ask how it tasted. Answering was easy: delicious, duh! … it’s the struggle to answer the question without raining cookie crumbs all over the carpet that’s the real challenge. Always the lady, I know.

The other really striking thing about the festival is the clothing. And you all know how I feel about clothing. A few days before the festival, I went to the night market at Geylang with Goy, his cousin Inn, his wife Tria, and their daughter Farisha. Let me just say, the night market is crowded…and as someone coming from Cambodia where I literally have to throw elbows to get through the market sometimes—that’s saying something. The later in the week and later at night it gets, the lower the prices fall and the more people that come to bargain. Aside from traditional Malay clothing, you can buy snacks, carpets, fabric and textiles, and an assortment of beautiful goods that I would have needed another four days to even begin to fully explore. We were on a mission though. We all needed to find outfits for the big day. Since we would be going as one “family unit,” we all would wear the same color (black). At each house you visit, you can always identify who belongs with who by what color they’re wearing. All the greens are one family group, all the pinks belong together, all the blues, etc. etc. It made putting names with relatives a little easier for sure! It took us a few nights to collect all the pieces and accessories we needed, but once we did, I have to admit we all looked pretty stunning. The pictures speak for themselves, so have a look at my summer album for the hard evidence.

But what I liked best about Hari Raya was the spirit of forgiveness at the heart of it. At each house, members of the family would kneel before each other and whisper things they were truly sorry for and ask for forgiveness. That person would then forgive them and offer their consolations before the exchange was complete. Although the process is a very personal and private expression (how could it not be when you’re articulating your faults so earnestly to another person), each request for forgiveness is an open act of love rather than a form of judgment. It was extremely touching to watch and an important part of the celebration. It made me realize just how hard it is to take ownership of our daily shortcomings and how beautiful the unconditional love between family and friends really is.

The celebration is a time to appreciate those people, start fresh and find the best within yourself, share your blessings, and spread some joy. Really, who can ask for more?