By Nor Zakiah Senin
Our Yayasan SALAM Malaysia’s Cambodian Humanitarian Mission has been carried out every year since 2005 in conjunction with the celebration of Hari Raya Aidiladha.
In 2023, I joined four volunteers on a visit to Madrasah Darul Quran in Ratanakiri Province, Cambodia. Our purpose was to hold discussions and see for ourselves the selected sites for our planned activities. Upon arrival in Phnom Penh, we were welcomed by Ustaz Bilal, one of the teachers there.
The journey to the northeastern province took eight hours, and we reached the madrasah grounds at 10:00 p.m. The silence was broken only by the tapping of woodpeckers and the chorus of jungle sounds. I wondered — where were the students? Had they already gone to bed? Four houses used as dormitories stood in complete darkness.
We were invited to sit and rest awhile on the veranda of a teacher’s house while waiting for dinner to be served. Ustaz Bilal told us that the meal would be something special. We could hardly wait, especially since we had only nibbled on French bread during the long journey.
Fifteen minutes later, five students arrived carrying trays of food. We were served prawns in spicy red sauce, fried fish, egg omelettes, and salad.
At first glance, they seemed ordinary — but once we tasted them, oh, they were extraordinary! Especially the prawns: sweet, spicy, salty, and tangy, all in perfect balance!
I had just taken one ladle of rice, but the prawns kept being replenished on my plate until it was piled up with prawn shells.
Embarrassed, I decided to decline after this, but the more I refused, the more prawns were being placed before me.
As our elders would say, never turn away a blessing.
The madrasah children occasionally peeked in to see how much of the food had been eaten, quickly refilling the dishes. We invited them to join us, but they only smiled shyly and shook their heads. I, meanwhile, kept shaking mine in disbelief — marvelling at the deliciousness of their cooking.
After dinner, a fellow volunteer and I strolled among the cashew trees around the madrasah, hoping our swollen stomachs might settle in nicely eventually. We wandered toward the surau, dimly lit by a single lamp on its veranda.
There we found the same five students who had served us earlier, now eating their own meal from a single tray. The rice was divided into portions, and they ate slowly, smiling bashfully when they noticed us.
Beside them sat a bowl of vegetable soup. I looked around — where were the prawns in red sauce? Perhaps they were already finished, but why was the rice still plain white, with not even a trace of the red sauce? No prawn shells in sight either. Were they eating only rice and vegetable soup?
“That is indeed their daily meal, Kak Lang,” said Ustaz Anwar with a gentle smile when I asked about it the next day.
According to him, rice and vegetable soup are their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Often, when the soup runs low by evening, water is added so that all 50 students can still taste it. If extra funds are available, the children might enjoy a boiled egg each as a special treat at night.
“So, what about the feast you served us yesterday?” I asked. Ustaz Anwar smiled, his gaze drifting forward.
“That was different. For Kak Lang and your friends, we had to prepare the very best — because guests must always be honoured.”
I looked straight at him, though I knew he would not answer my unspoken reproach. Dissatisfaction welled within me — at the madrasah’s decision, and at myself for indulging in prawns without restraint, while the children had nothing of the sort.
Too young, it seemed, to be asked to endure such hardship. Too tender to be trained in struggle.
Ustaz Anwar continued, as if responding to the questions crowding my mind. “Do not worry. These children are trained to be strong in facing trials. Last night’s prawns were merely a test. We teach them to serve guests wholeheartedly, so that guests leave satisfied and willing to pray for us. The prayers of travellers will be answered, God willing.” He smiled.
I smiled too — though mine was faint. Perhaps his smile was one of contentment. Mine, however, was born of comparison — feeling small in a place where its people strive to discipline their hearts.
(This reflection on volunteerism — an ethos close to my heart — is also shared in my book, Suka Rela Sukar Lawan, published by Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka in 2024. For inquiries, contact zakiahsenin@gmail.com.)
Nor Zakiah Senin is a volunteer with Yayasan SALAM Malaysia, an NGO dedicated to volunteerism in Malaysia for over 30 years.