In the TaHuKah basecamp, the darkness of the pre-dawn hours was abruptly broken by the shrill sound of a cell phone alarm, ringing earlier than usual. Outside, a thick blanket of early morning fog was gently pierced by the distant drumming of children. They were carrying out the time-honored Ramadan tradition of roaming the village to awaken those observing the fast. The rhythmic beats, echoing softly through the trees, infused the air with a serene melody, suggesting that nature itself was partaking in this sacred ritual.
It takes determination to unzip the warmth of a sleeping bag, allowing the crisp, cold air to sneak in, greeting the skin and forcing the eyes to open. Footsteps softly echo on the cold cement floor as the TaHuKah field team begins to stir, moving towards the bathroom or the kitchen, where the clatter of cooking utensils is interspersed with the strumming of folk guitar from a small Bluetooth speaker on the dining table. The aroma of cooking—a blend of onions and spices—wafts through the air, filling the room with a warmth that contrasts starkly with the chill outside.
I am not Muslim and do not observe fasting, but I never miss the pre-dawn meal with my friends during Ramadan. There is something about this month that makes the early hours feel special. Food is usually prepared according to personal tastes—whether cooked or bought—the night before, so it only needs to be warmed up at sahur. However, following an unwritten custom, we exchange dishes when sahur arrives. “The grass is always greener on the other side,” we joke as we swap dishes, savoring the variety of flavors from each other’s plates.
“The hardest part of fasting is the first week; after that, the body begins to adapt,” a friend explained. While this might make the concept of fasting during conservation work seem manageable, the reality is often more complex and demanding. From my observations, the field activities carried out by the TaHuKah team are strenuous enough on stamina, even without the added challenge of fasting. I’ve seen team members, hungry and thirsty, mapping in the rain, shouldering backpacks loaded with supplies as they navigate narrow, slippery trails flanked by nettles bushes on one side and sheer drops on the other. They frequently have to navigate their motorcycles over dozens of kilometers along rugged off-road tracks that cut through the wilderness, far removed from any human settlements. I’ve also watched them climb rope ladders to retrieve camera traps set high in the treetops. These cameras capture the activities of primates on constructed canopy bridges. I believe their missions are completed successfully, more due to their spiritual resilience than mere physical strength.
The extreme conditions and various risks faced during field activities in the month of Ramadan highlight a spiritual dimension to conservation work that is often overlooked during other months. Fasting while performing duties in the open air, often under the blazing sun or in extreme weather, requires more than just technical skills; it is a true test of physical and mental endurance. The TaHuKah field team must navigate numerous challenges: managing exhaustion, overcoming intense hunger and thirst, and maintaining the obligation to pray five times a day. Moreover, they must remain constantly vigilant against natural hazards such as wildlife and treacherous geographical conditions. All of this demands an extraordinary level of dedication and resilience.
Ramadan provides a unique opportunity for deep reflection and spiritual strengthening, turning conservation efforts into a profound medium to explore the intricate relationships between humans, nature, and the Divine. In this holy month, each day at work transcends routine task execution, evolving into a genuine act of devotion. Here, the commitment to environmental stewardship intertwines with spiritual obligations, elevating the practice of conservation from a mere profession to an enriching spiritual journey that nourishes the soul and redefines our connection with the earth.
My colleagues have developed several effective strategies for maintaining stamina and effectiveness while working and fasting. Firstly, they ensure to consume nutritious meals at both sahur and iftar, which are crucial for maintaining energy levels throughout the day. Secondly, they wear appropriate clothing and gear to protect themselves from the sun’s harsh rays, a necessity in the open-field working environment. Additionally, they make it a point to rest whenever possible, using these moments to rejuvenate and regain their strength.
One of the most striking observations from my time with the team is how they consistently remind each other to prioritize safety. This work ethic demonstrates a strong sense of solidarity and team awareness, where the safety of each member is regarded as the utmost priority. It’s not just about individual protection but ensuring that the entire team can operate safely and effectively under challenging conditions. This sense of togetherness and awareness not only strengthens them physically but also forges deep bonds among team members, reinforcing that their safety and health are integral to the overall success of the mission.
However, the greatest challenge for the TaHuKah field team during Ramadan is not physical exhaustion or a demanding work schedule, but a profound longing to be with family. In Sumatra, Ramadan is a celebration deeply rooted in family traditions—moments of preparing meals for iftar together, and evenings filled with stories and laughter with loved ones. Experiencing this sacred month far from home, the solitude feels more intense under the cold night air, and the nostalgia for family gatherings stings sharper.
Each year, as the fasting month arrives, our basecamp, usually filled with lively banter and bustling activity, becomes a quieter place at night. We replace the warmth of family with the warmth we create together as a team. Our iftar is communal, gathered around the kitchen table with dishes that are simple yet rich with stories. As we share tales of Ramadan from our hometowns, we also forge new traditions here, in the heart of the Sumatran jungle. Though far from family, this togetherness eases our longing and reminds us that here, in this place, we have found a new family.
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