6

I

t’s the start of Ramadan, Islam’s holiest month, and

I’m trying not to think about my empty stomach

as the train speeds south. For 30 consecutive days,

Muslims around the world will fast from sunrise

to sundown, eating only before dawn or after dark.

I’ve rarely had cause to deny myself when it comes to

food, and as an atheist, certainly never on religious grounds.

I come from a family where there’s no such thing as a missed

meal. Growing up, my parents approached eating with the

same determination as long-distance runners — never mind

how long it takes to finish, it’s the turning up that counts.

The reason I’m travelling on an empty stomach is that

I’ve been invited to my first iftar — the nightly feast during

Ramadan where Muslim families gather to break the day’s

fast. The invitation itself made no mention of meal-skipping;

I decided to turn up hungry, in truth, after a friend raised a

valid question: “Don’t you want to eat as much as everyone

who fasted?”

Tuba and Ahmet Ozturk have been hosting iftars for

non-Muslims in their house in south-western Sydney for the

past three years. Born in Turkey, they met while working in

Amity College, where Tuba still teaches. Ahmet now works

as a general secretary for an educational consultancy and

volunteers for Affinity Intercultural Foundation—anot-for-

profit that fosters ties between Muslim Australians and the

wider community.➤

Atherirstiftar,

CANDICE CHUNG

experiences the fasting,

feasting and warm

sense of hospitality

that go hand-in-hand

with Ramadan.

PhotographyJASON IERACE

Above: Iftar hosts Tuba and

Ahmet Ozturk. Opposite,

clockwise from top

left: börek, dates, fried

capsicum with homemade

yoghurt, stufed capsicum,

fried okra, pickles and

stufed vine leaves at the

Ozturks’ iftar feast.

GOURMET TRAVELLER 75