Lingga; Home Of Whiteness
Now I’m at Lingga, Sarawak. Peaceful. Birds were chirping, playing the notes of the sadness. Thanks a lot for Pak Haji Salleh that allow me take a ride his old rusted bikes, Lambretta. I was arrived, to find some great opportunity to become the one that I’ve been before, someone who can conquer others by power. Without money, without friends, I’m nothing here. It’s a nice kick start for me to start the new day, my new future with the great breakfast.
“Hey, Selamat pagi”
There are silent moments through that time. The time that everybody ignored him, just focus on their own jobs. There is a lady beat her son with the branch of coffee tree because he is playing in the river with his school uniform, the old man in 70’s take a great deep of smoke, from gambir that he believes can regain his energy, and there is also a tipical Malay girl, with her simple hijab, she walked by the warung and staring me.
“What’s wrong with the folks? I’m not doing anything wrong. Is it because of my skulls and demons pictures on my shirt? Is it because of my rude?”
“Boy, come on and follow me to my house. I know you are not from here. Better come to my house. My wife can cook make some food for you, for your three days lust, because you look so hungry. “
“I am Fakri, from Perlis.”
“You can just call me Pak Haji. Let’s go young man”.
I was wonder, in this millennium era, nowadays, there is still have some great people, and very nice. Though my look like a rock star that drunk after a great party, he is still openly ask me to come to his house.
“Change your shirt first. In this Malay village, you must be polite and good manner, because we here still adapt the traditional ways of life. There is lots of longhouse here, and we are not allow development, because we believed that development is a new Satan that can drag us from the guide of Islam, and make us forget Our Creature. Allah.”
“Can you teach me how to shalat? Be a good man. I am very bad and I feel ashamed to Allah, because I am His very bad slave, denied his order. I feel I am not eligible to ask for His forgiveness.”
“Fakri, everyone does mistakes, but not everyone will get hidayah like you get it today”.
“Thank you Pak Haji”
Day after day passed. I was nearly two months in this village. I feel a different emotion. Though the folks are living in a simple life, they can still feel happy. Happy. I miss my family. I was in doubt when Pak Haji asked me to marry his daughter, Saleha. I was nothing here. No money, no family, and the most importantly,
I am not the right person to become her imam.
“Fakri, for the sake of my family, and also Saleha, please accept this marriage. We will arrange everything”.
Pak Haji or abah is serious today. I was thinking this marriage for the past two weeks. I tried to find the peace in Lesung Mountain; perhaps I can find the answer. I know I am not a perfect khalifah for Saleha, but I tried to be.
“After this marriage, I will bring Saleha to Johor; perhaps I can find my family there. Perhaps”, I tried to persuade my heart.
“Abah, I want to bring Saleha back to meet my family. Perhaps they still live in Johor. I am really hopes that Mak Usu still remembers me, though with my bald head now”.
“Saleha is your wife now, my son. She is now your responsibility. Go, and find your family young man”
So, I decide to go to Johor, to find Mak Usu. Perhaps she loves Saleha, as much I love her, my beloved wife, a typical Iban’s woman.
