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TRANSCRIPT
It’s five in the morning on Home Island.
A tiny kampong, surrounded by crystal clear lagoon, coconut palms, and the isolation of the Indian Ocean.... nearly 3000km away from the Australian mainland.
At this hour, almost everyone here is awake.
Inside one home, the curtains are drawn back.
It’s still dark.
But for the island’s Muslim community, the day has already begun.
Ramadan means waking before dawn.
Across this island of just 460 people, kitchens are lighting up as families prepare to eat before sunrise.
When the call to prayer comes, the fasting begins and no food or water until sunset.
In this home, the morning routine belongs to Haji Ramnie Mokta, known locally as Nek Su, and his wife Ayesha Jan Young.
Nek Su is 83 years old, a descendant of the settlers who shaped this island’s Malay Muslim community.
For him, faith has always been central to life here.
“Our shared faith is sacred to us, it provides a moral compass that guides us to treat one another with fairness, respect, and a deep sense of harmony.”
Ramadan, he says, becomes easier with time.
“The first time it was hard. The second time it was easier and after the third time we feel it's normal.”
But the story of this household also reflects the island’s unique mix of cultures.
His wife Ayesha arrived from England decades ago.
She first saw the Cocos Islands as a child in 1957, but it was her return as a nurse years later that revealed the islands’ complex social fabric.
At that time, the territory was deeply partitioned, and Home Island, the traditional Malay 'Kampong,' and West Island, the administrative hub, were strictly segregated.
Integration was rare and movement between the two was heavily restricted, a reality Ayesha remembers vividly.
“When I first came here in 1980 we were very separate. People from Home Island weren't allowed to go to West Island and people from West Island could only come to Home Island on very special occasion. On Home Island there was always this community here, the kampong. As I said, there was very little integration.”
Over time, that changed - and so did her life.
Ayesha married Nek Su in 2009 and chose to convert to Islam.
“Having nursed and looked after the people, the health and living in this community, you really understand how strong the culture is and how important it is.”
Today she says the daily rhythm of prayer brings a sense of calm and that Ramadan also deepens empathy.
“It's an opportunity when we feel hungry and thirsty to know that there are people in the world that go through life feeling hungry and thirsty. And it makes you feel especially when we break our fast we feel very grateful.”
But outside the island, misunderstandings about Islam remain.
“It's been a journey you know. Within my family there are people who don't understand that. They are like get that thing off your head. This time in the world there's a lot of not good thoughts about people from other religions. And if people were a bit more open in their hearts, they would see that everyone is the same and we have the same good intentions. There's a lot of things that are similar in Christianity as there are in Islam. The principles are all the same really. Respect your neighbour and love each other.”
While some families have lived here for generations, others are only just finding their place.
"So this costume is called Punjabi. We wear this Punjabi during our Friday prayer.”
Twenty-six-year-old Abdul Baset Rahat arrived from Bangladesh while studying in Australia.
He now works as a housekeeper on the island.
It's his first Ramadan away from home and he says the community has embraced him.
He’s the only Bangladeshi Muslim living here.
“They greeted me by giving salam and then they were very humble. Like they were trying to be my own friends. I feel like I was not isolated and part of the community because everyone was Muslim, it was easy to blend.”
For him, the holy month carries deep meaning to reset.
“These 30 days is a golden opportunity for me as a Muslim to make as much blessings for me and my families and have a good wellebeing today and in the afterlife.”
And the small community makes Ramadan feel more personal.
“I haven't had such an experience with a small community like this before. So looking forward to Ramadan I just plan to visit some of the houses and break my fast with them.”
As the sun sets, the kampong's quiet streets slowly come alive again.
After a full day of fasting, families gather to break the fast at Iftar.
And I was invited to a Cocos Malay family dinner table, to see what it was like.
“This is usually the best time for the whole family to get together. This is the time we exchange food if you like, where your closest family members might give you what they cook and then in return, we might give them something, the next day."
Afer Iftar, many return to the mosque for Taraweeh, the special night prayers during Ramadan....
...the coming together a symbol of community unity.
A drum beat marks the end of another day.
And in just a few hours, the cycle will begin again before dawn.
