As the cannon fires at sunset near Qasr Al Hosn, a deep echo ripples across Abu Dhabi’s skyline. For a moment, the city stills. Then, with the maghrib call to prayer, thousands of fasts are broken in unison – for some with water and dates.
This is the first Ramadan I have spent in the UAE, and over the past few weeks I have found comfort and calm during these dusk hours. It is also the first time I have attended an iftar and suhoor.
“Oh Allah, we thank you for the blessings you have given us. May we always be grateful and generous in sharing with others” read the dua for gratitude printed beautifully on a sheet of crisp white card that the host of my first iftar had kindly printed for non-Arabic speaking guests. A small gesture with great impact that to me signalled inclusivity, kindness, compassion, and community – allowing an outsider to be welcomed into tradition.
Before moving to the UAE, I spent more than 15 years living and working as a journalist in Singapore. It is a multicultural society, where about 15 per cent of the population is Muslim, but it is not common for non-Muslims to be invited for iftar.
The Chinese Lunar New Year, from my experience, would be the equivalent. Networking lunches with corporate contacts, colleagues, friends and family are booked throughout the two-week period; oranges are exchanged and yusheng, a customary prosperity salad, is tossed to welcome abundance in the year ahead.
Attending my first iftar, I had no idea what to wear or do. A friend from Singapore now living in Abu Dhabi kindly lent me the most beautiful abaya and told me to “relax”. Later, I prepared to attend my first suhoor at 10pm. Hosted at Park Hyatt on Saadiyat island, the outdoor venue glowed, live music played and, despite it being a corporate invitation, conversation flowed and new connections were made. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect – the invitation had stated “until 11.30pm”, but at midnight I was one of the first to retire for the evening.
Over the past two weeks I’ve experienced corporate iftars, company events and more intimate iftars with friends. The venues have varied from outdoor buffets, to hotel restaurants, to more personal settings. From this experience, I understand that the act of breaking fast in the capital is not just about food – it is a powerful expression of national togetherness.
This year, Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque has provided more than 35,000 iftar meals daily during Ramadan, distributing them free of charge. Through collaborations, a further 45,000 iftar meals are being distributed daily. That is 80,000 meals a day.
Beyond this, throughout Ramadan, my inbox has been inundated with press releases about similar enterprises being rolled out across the country.
For example, the International Charity Organisation launched a series of initiatives to support 60,000 orphans in the UAE and abroad during Ramadan. And, in Sharjah, the emirate is aiming to distribute 900,000 iftar meals throughout the holy month for its Iftar Saem-Fasting Meal initiative.
These aren’t just acts of benevolence. They’re rituals of belonging. The UAE, home to more than 200 nationalities, has become a tapestry of cultures, stitched together with mutual respect and shared tradition.
The iftar table reflects this beautifully – an experience I wanted to share with my young children. As we attended an iftar as a family, we enjoyed Emirati machboos, Indian samosas, Moroccan harira, Filipino lumpia and Levantine fattoush, served side by side.
When I planned this piece, I envisioned it would be a review of the different iftars and suhoors I had attended. And, while the setting changed from night to night, from majlis tents to high-rise apartments, a greater realisation manifested that, regardless of venue, the intention remains the same: to gather, to share, to give thanks.
In this fast-changing world, such values are a beacon. The UAE reminds us that community is not just something we inherit, it’s something we actively create, one iftar at a time.
