More Than a Meal: Finding Home at SPIR-Nott's Iftar with Dari Dapur
- Amina N'Diaye
- Mar 24
- 8 min read
When you think of Iftar, you think of family. You think of gathering around a table, the smell of your mother's cooking, the warmth of loved ones waiting for the call to prayer. But what happens when family is thousands of miles away, and home is a place you can never return to?
This question lingered when SPIR-Nott partnered with Dari Dapur, an organisation that connects refugees with students through food, for an Iftar dinner that promised more than just a meal. It promised a seat at someone's table.
But why food? What made Dari Dapur (Malay for ‘from the kitchen’) choose this as its medium of exchange? Well, its founder Szening put it simply: "Because everyone loves food. And our goal is to bring Malaysian students together with refugees."
For a few hours, food became more than just something that brings people. It became a way of saying: this is who I am, this is where I come from, this is what I have lost, and this is what I still carry. Because after all, taste buds don’t check passports.
A Table Set with Stories
One by one, Dari Dapur introduced themselves and refugees stood to present the dishes they had brought.
Ahmed Khan, a refugee from Myanmar's Mon State, brought dates, a Ramadan essential and a Sunnah (Islamic teaching) of the Prophet Muhammad. He also brought Pae Let Thoke, a chickpea salad that Myanmar families prepare only during Ramadan.
Setayesh from Afghanistan brought Qabili Palau, soft rice with carrot and raisin. In her culture, this dish symbolizes endearment, love, and respect for the person it’s made for.
Mohammed from Pakistan brought potato-stuffed samosas and Rooh Afza, a red rose syrup that's a Desi cultural staple, meant to restore energy after a long day of fasting.
Mumu from Bangladesh brought Peyagu, lentil-based potato cutlets. The dish was dear to her as it reminded her of two things she misses dearly, her home and her mother's cooking. She explained that her mother, who taught her this recipe, had passed away, making every bite full of memories and vulnerability.
For dessert, Melinda from Bandung, Indonesia, brought kolak pisang, a banana dessert containing palm fruit, coconut, and banana, an Indonesian staple when breaking fast.
Of course, SPIR-Nott could not come empty-handed. They incorporated a taste of home into all these different cultures with bubur lambuk, a Malaysian porridge popular during Ramadan that you can find in Malay bazaars.
On paper, it looks like a feast’s menu. In reality, it was a map of loss, memory, and love.
What is a Refugee?
Before we ate, they asked us a question: "What is a refugee?"
Is it someone escaping war? Persecuted? Or is it a person who, if they returned, would be imprisoned or killed?
For Ahmed, returning to Myanmar meant military conscription. "If I go back," he said, "they will take me from the airport to the front line."
He left behind a chronically ill aunt. Most of the mosques in his hometown have been destroyed. Ramadan is supposed to be about gathering. About family. But for refugees in Malaysia, it can be a season of acute loneliness.
Hari Raya comes, and friends ask: "How is your mother? Her food was so good." And you have to explain that you don't know. That you can't know. That the distance is not just miles but survival.
Adapting to a New Home
How do refugees actually adapt to Malaysia? Is it really that easy?
Ahmed said Malaysian food was different. Some refugees, including him, had eaten coconut in sweet desserts before, but curry with coconut milk was strange at first. He did fall in love with nasi lemak and nasi goreng ayam, though.
People expect refugees to adapt easily. But they are human. They have emotions, opinions, and taste buds. Dari Dapur connects people through those taste buds. Because who doesn't love food? Food holds so much cultural and emotional value, whether it be memories, sadness, or even love.
According to Dari Dapur, many refugees try to change the environment instead of adapting, which are common issues and tendencies that Dari Dapur is committed to addressing. The organisation emphasises that there are many ways to connect across cultures. In Selayang, for example, Ahmed found the local culture very similar to Myanmar's, making it easier for him to respect local customs and build connections with the community.
Privilege and the Power of Choice
Dari Dapur asked us another question: "How do you know if you are privileged?"
I didn't know what to answer at first. It's a question we rarely ask ourselves.
"As a refugee, I didn't know. I had no option to choose," Ahmed said.
And everything started to make sense. I have the choice. And you probably do too.
As a Muslim, during this Ramadan, my first with Dari Dapur, I reflected on a beautiful Hadith (saying of the Prophet Muhammad) I knew yet had never truly understood: "Whoever among you wakes up physically healthy, feeling safe and secure within himself, with food for the day, it is as if he acquired the whole world."
How do we really measure wealth?
In a world that associates success with material abundance, this Hadith restores perspective: health, safety, and the assurance of food are blessings so fundamental that possessing them is like owning the entire world.
Many of us wake up each morning with the ability to choose what to study, what to wear, what to eat. These choices may feel ordinary, but they reflect stability and opportunity that many do not have.
Ahmed explained how the ability to plan your day, attend school, and make personal decisions reflects a level of security that refugees often lack. According to the UNHCR, millions have been forced to flee their homes due to conflict, violence, or persecution. For them, health, safety, and daily food are uncertain. Education is interrupted. Housing is fragile. Survival becomes a priority.
Refugees are not allowed to continue their studies in Malaysia, let alone having access to education, a pure privilege.
But another privilege Dari Dapur highlighted is family. That’s why Ramadan makes a difference. This iftar wasn’t only a platform for refugees to share their stories, but a chance to gather with Nottingham students as community, as family.
Trauma Without Borders
In an emotional conversation, each refugee shared their journey. Ramadan, a time of gathering, can also be a reminder of loneliness. Even if you can gather at mosques, it's hard knowing you can't do it with family.
The refugees discussed how sometimes they cry, but the situation is out of their control. Food became their coping mechanism.
Mumu explained how cooking her home country's food makes her feel happier, but she knows loneliness is part of her life. She came to Malaysia but had to navigate life in fear after being betrayed by her agent. Her ex-husband ended up in jail, so she had to sell all her gold. Later, she gave birth but her ex-husband secretly married someone else, and they divorced. Eventually, both her parents passed, and her ex-husband took her children away.
Now, she is alone. She needs to study to earn money and is carrying a weight of trauma most people will never understand.
You would think a refugee's trauma would stop in their country of origin. But Mumu's story proves trauma can follow you across borders. She deals with this wound and isolation by keeping busy, by having friends, though it only fills part of the void she feels away from her family and her two young children.
I related to how she felt. When I lost my grandpa, I tried to do everything to make myself busy, I filled every hour with noise and motion. I understood, crestfallenly, that grief doesn't need a shared country. It just needs a heartbeat. That's where we can start sympathizing more with refugees. We have different experiences but similar feelings.
Setayesh, like me, had lost her grandfather, followed by her uncle and grandmother. She mentioned how you can't change depression or loneliness, nor fully get over the passing of your loved ones. She can never really get full closure, as she can't go back to Afghanistan nor visit their graves. But "I know what they wanted for me: to create a legacy. To build a future. To make their dreams come true."
Ahmed's story was also very heavy. He survived a genocide where over 200,000 people in Myanmar were killed. He protested and almost got shot. Now the military needs manpower, and Ahmed is eligible for conscription, military service for men aged 18 to 35. The only options to avoid it were to flee the country or die. So he came to Malaysia.
Mohammed arrived three years ago. His family has been persecuted in Pakistan since independence because of their Ahmadiyya faith. Saying "Assalamualaikum" can lead to ten years in prison. They cannot even celebrate Eid openly in Pakistan. His mother's uncle was killed and college students are brainwashed to hate them. His mother was terrified the same would happen to him, so they came to Malaysia for a second chance. For education. For another life.
Melinda came through bundo, the transfer process for Indonesians seeking work in Malaysia. She deals with loneliness through video calls. "But it's not the same," she admitted. Being in contact with your family brings peace, but it's not enough. Meals here are smaller. The taste is different. Home is far.
Why Malaysia? Why Dari Dapur?
What brought them here? A better life. Education. The chance for a future,or legacy.
But Malaysia has not ratified the 1951 Refugee Convention. Refugees do not have the right to drive. They are not recognised as legal workers. They exist, but they are invisible to the law.
Dari Dapur is a way of spreading awareness. A way for refugees to have rights in Malaysia. A way for them to be seen as more than just "refugees", and as humans.
"They are human too," Szening reminded me as I spoke with her. "They have emotions. Opinions. Taste buds."
All of them said food keeps them connected. "If we cook our food for you," Mumu said, "then you taste our home. And maybe you understand us a little more.”
Staying Connected to Culture
At the end of the night, I asked them: How do you stay in touch with your culture? And if you had the chance, would you go back?
And that's where food comes in again. By cooking. By sharing meals. By showing hospitality so that others will blend with their culture too, and feel connected.
Some wanted to go back. Some didn't. But the truth is, even if they wanted to, they couldn't. So they have to make a new home.
And this Iftar, with SPIR-Nott and Dari Dapur, was truly a big family gathering. Full of love. Full of understanding. Full of culture.
More Information on SPIR-Nott and Dari Dapur
SPIR-Nott is UNM’s Society of Politics & International Relations, and serves as a platform for students to become more aware of politics, because politics is always aware of you. They hold events throughout the academic year that are open to all UNM students, and will be organising a conference on the 11th of April that’s all about making politics more accessible, relevant, and engaging for today’s youths. For more information, find them on Instagram here: @spirnott.unm
Dari Dapur aims to build human rights-based narratives and promote a culture of welcoming migrants in Malaysia, by using food to create common ground and a safe space to reimagine dialogue on migration. They continue to connect refugees and Malaysians through food. Cooking. Sharing. Teaching others. For more information or to support their work, visit their social media here: @daridapur.my
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