For many international Muslim students in Australia, Ramadan is one of the most emotionally challenging times of the year. While it is meant to be a month of reflection, spirituality, and togetherness, observing Ramadan far from home can be deeply lonely.
I know this feeling well from my own student days in Malaysia and later in Canada, and I see the same struggles reflected in the experiences of students studying in Australia today.
Australian universities attract more than 830,000 international students each year from around the world. Within this diverse cohort, an estimated 70,000 students come from Muslim majority countries such as Bangladesh, Pakistan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, and others.
While not all students from these countries identify as Muslim, this provides a useful sense of the size of the Muslim student community in Australia.
International education is one of Australia’s largest export sectors, contributing around A$51.5 billion annually to the economy and supporting thousands of jobs across education, housing, hospitality, and local services.
Students from Muslim majority countries, like all international students, bring not only economic value but cultural richness, strengthening Australia’s global educational reputation and campus life.
Yet during Ramadan, many of these students fast while attending lectures, sitting exams, and working part time jobs. Life around them continues as normal.
There is little public recognition of the month, and many students return to quiet rooms to break their fast alone. Limited finances can make preparing traditional iftar meals difficult, and some students feel uncertain or uncomfortable asking lecturers or employers for flexibility.
Eid can be even more confronting. While families gather back home to pray, eat, and celebrate, Eid in Australia often feels like an ordinary working day.
Phone calls across time zones help, but they cannot replace family, familiar food, or the warmth of shared celebration. The sense of distance and emptiness is often strongest on Eid morning.
I remember one such Eid vividly from my student days in Malaysia. After Eid prayers, I returned to my hostel room on campus. The university was completely empty, except for a few security staff at the gate.
I sat alone at my desk, staring out through the open window. Across the road was a boarding school, and I could see its canteen in the distance. As I sat there, lonely, heavy hearted and hungry, I noticed two canteen staff gesturing towards me. At first, I did not realise they were trying to get my attention. Slowly, it dawned on me that they were inviting me to come over.
With some hesitation, I walked across to the canteen. The two young staff members warmly welcomed me and served me their Eid delicacies. I ate with gratitude and real hunger, as there was no food in my room and everything was closed for the holiday.
When I went to pay, they gently refused, smiled, and said, “Hari Raya, abang.” To this day, that simple act of kindness still makes me tearful when I remember it.
Later that day, my friend Aslam Haneef, now a Vice Chancellor, came to my room and took me to his home for Eid ‘makan’. He then took me to visit several of his local Malay friends, including the late Tun Razak’s home.
What had begun as a lonely Eid became a day of belonging, warmth, and generosity, simply because people chose to open their hearts and doors.
I also experienced this loneliness while studying in Canada. Although there were moments of support from the Muslim diaspora, Ramadan and Eid were often marked by absence rather than celebration.
The shared loneliness among international students became a form of companionship, offering comfort in a time when home felt very far away.
I remain deeply grateful to my friends and teachers in Malaysia and Canada who invited me into their homes for iftar and Eid. Their generosity eased my loneliness and taught me the enduring power of hospitality. Those simple invitations made a lasting difference in my life.
This is where Australia’s Muslim diaspora can play a vital role. Inviting an international student to your home for iftar is a small but powerful act.
Including them in Eid prayers, meals, and family gatherings can transform what may be the loneliest day of the year into one of connection and joy.
Mosques and community organisations can also do more by actively reaching out to international students, organising inclusive iftars and Eid events, and creating welcoming spaces for young people from diverse backgrounds.
Universities and Muslim student associations deserve greater recognition and support for the essential role they play during Ramadan.
There is also an important strategic dimension. International students are not only contributors to Australia’s economy today. They are potential ambassadors for Australia tomorrow.
Positive and inclusive experiences ensure graduates return home with respect and appreciation for Australia, often moving into leadership roles in government, business, and civil society.
Supporting their spiritual, cultural, social, and mental wellbeing is not just an act of compassion. It is an investment in Australia’s future soft power.
Well treated graduates become advocates for Australia abroad, strengthening international relationships, trade links, and people to people diplomacy for decades to come.
Ramadan reminds us of empathy, generosity, and care for others. In a country where so many students are far from family and home, one invitation can turn isolation into belonging and make Ramadan and Eid meaningful not only for the student, but for the host and the nation as a whole.
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