LOVE SONGS OF LOLOBATA

BY ONESELF

It's not a scary thing for me. Death is not a scourge either. I think everyone's been indifferent to my stubbornness holding out alone in our hut. Afifa Syarif has now been known as a brave and independent stubborn girl. Thank God for fulfilling my life without a finger. Everything I need is enough. Every now and then my mom or my brother Fifi came to bring me a basin of rice without asking. Instead they took my long woven cloth, smoked fish or whatever was my hand that happened to be in our hut.

“Cain weaving sister beautiful. A lot of people like." Fifi praised my woven sarong fabric while smilingly smoothing the fabric surface on her smooth cheek.

“Hemmm.” I looked back to return her smile. A little bit of pride flowed into my heart.

Dock. Doc Doc. A moment later I returned to my work of weaving cloth. Weaving is a seasonal job that only some of our village women can do. One of the lucky women who mastered that simple weaving was me, Afifa Syarif. In addition to the shrewdness of hands and imagination, weaving is a curse of weaving and high patience.

It just so happens that this dry season of cotton harvest that grew in our garden a few months ago is quite a lot. Mama had diligently spun it into a roll of thread ready to be woven. Some have been colored with betel nut extract so as to produce a red copper thread color. Some are left white as their original color. While a small part has been crushed water suji leaves so as to produce a green thread roll. Because she was not good at weaving, she handed the cotton thread to me.

“The atmosphere in the new village is getting crowded, Brother. When did you move? What's it doing alone here? Mama said the graves of baba and brother Afan will be moved.”

I looked and smiled. That question has been asked too often by Mama and Fifi. No need to answer repeatedly. I don't want to change my mind.

“What the hell is sister keeping? Had Salman come home it would not have been difficult to find our home because almost all the villagers have moved to a new village.”

Thas right. My logic says the same thing, but my little heart denies it. I want to continue living in the baba hut. For long.

“There is no reason for sister to survive alone here. No more people survive here. After the construction of the house is completed, they will immediately move to a new village. Why is my sister alone here. Poor mom every day worrying about sister.”

I looked up at my sister's face, which was beginning to enter adolescence. He's getting smart talking. Ah sure is. Fifi has been chasing pack A and just passed the equation test. He plans to continue his junior high school in the sub-district city. Yesterday mama sold our cattle. He said the money from the sale would be used to buy a used motorcycle that would support the mobilization of Fifi to school.

I no longer have cattle. The last cow left by Baba has been sold. I love the cows I have cared for since childhood. It'sit's okay. Mama and Fifi need a motorcycle. I'm sure God will give us another way.

I turned my attention back to the wooden loom given by Kak Tias, one of the teachers of the jungle school who taught us simple weaving techniques. Maybe this loom next will accompany me to drive away deserted.

Doc doc doc …. The sound of wood clashing sounded alternately. My hands have become more skillful in arranging and moving yarn and wood to form a simple patterned cloth. If I am lazy to go everywhere, the process of weaving a sheet of sarong cloth can be completed within 2 weeks. The work of weaving is actually fun. Time doesn't feel so fast. But it's a pity that the work of weaving can't be done every time. Besides being bored, I'm not good enough at cultivating cotton trees. Of the many cotton seeds that I have separated from the cotton fibers from the previous harvest, there are only a few trees that can grow and bear fruit. Some rot because of the rain. Some more died under pest attack. Rarely can we harvest cotton in large quantities.

When the cotton fruit is crushed, I harvest it myself in the middle of a hot day. After I separated from the seeds, I dried the cotton fibers until they were completely dry. The next step becomes the work of the mother, which is to condense into the form of cotton sheets and roll the cotton sheets on the wood that will be inserted into a simple yarn spinning tool. Mama will give it back to me when it becomes a roll of thread ready to be woven. With these simple processes, it took months to turn cotton into a piece of cloth that we would later make into everyday clothes. If there are neighbors who are interested, they will exchange it for something we do not have.

“Come, Brother. We can move Baba's tomb to a new village. Mama said, the boss of the company was willing to give twice the amount of mercy money received by other citizens. Just accept the offer, brother. We can buy land on a few acres of certified property rights with that money. We can be rich."

I stopped moving my hands to thread, stunned to hear my sister's comments as a teenager. Apparently Fifi is getting smarter and money literate. Unfortunately my mind is not that small. They offered the most expensive price probably because they had stuck with my stubborn attitude. Twice the price given as a form of mercy on the citizens who are asked to leave our old village. That's a tempting amount because we can exchange it for several hectares of officially certified land in the next village which is a transmigration land sold by the owner who is not at home and wants to return to Java.

“The atmosphere of the village is no longer the same as it was a few years ago. Everything has changed, brother. We must always follow the changing times.”

I refuse to argue. My hands rearranged the thread and pushed the wood to close the woven thread.

Quite silent. I think anyone would have known my stubborn habits. Silence does not mean agreeing.

I saw that Fifi had the same kind of flat object that Arfa and the mine workers carried. The thing that Arfa says can lead us to information that is open to the rest of the world.

The existence of the company had a major impact on the modernization of some villagers. There is an asphalt road built seamlessly up

the company office is located not too far from our village. That road makes our access to the outside world easier. Some people already have a motorcycle and sell the fuel out of the village more quickly and easily. We began to recognize money as a medium of exchange.

The company built a communication and internet dating facility that made the lives of our villagers change. That flat object is always taken everywhere. Looks like it's worth more than a goat or a cattle. I don't know what it is. People can smile, get angry or upset alone after seeing that flat object. It's like a crazy person. I'm not interested in finding out what that flat object is. I was afraid to be crazy about what was in the flat object because I saw some people who used to hold the flat object so addicted and lazy to move. More than that, it is said that flat objects are more expensive than a goat and even a cow. If given a choice, I would choose to have a goat or cow rather than that flat object.

Several times the staff of the neatly-wired company came to see me and laid out the floor plan of the concession area that I did not understand. He explained the boundaries of the territory claimed to belong to the company. He said my garden and hut belong to that region. That is, they can dig the land up to within the limits of the territory specified in the picture.

“This land includes our company concession area, Miss.”

“I was born and raised in this place, Father. Every place in the world belongs to God. We just hitchhiked. The company has controlled tens or even hundreds of acres of previously wilderness land. Don't be greedy take anyway we have a place to stay.”

I wouldn't touch him. Both hands fold over the chest.

“Sorry, Father. My father and brother are buried here. No matter what father pays, I will not move from this place.” I spoke strongly but still tried to be polite.

“We can help move Miss's family tomb. Accept it! Miss can count the numbers first. We can renegotiate if we feel less. For information, with this money you can buy a much wider land in the village next door. I can help take care of it if Miss is willing.”

“Sorry. I don't want to move out of my house, Father.”

Attempts were made to persuade me. None of them are braving. That guy's gone. The next day came another man persuading in a different way for the same purpose, driving me out of my dwelling. I still don't budge. Fortunately because I was female and always polite, no one was acting rudely towards me. Everything is well talked about.

As a human being, I sometimes feel sad and alone. Especially since Arfa worked in the mining company. Deya joined his family moving to a new village. All of our villagers have sold their land but there are still some who still live near my house. Residents are still allowed to stay because our village land is not yet time to be excavated.

Arfa lives in an employee mess located not far from our village. Sometimes he visits me at recess for prayer at the mosque and invites me to enjoy lunch with a foreign menu that he brings from the company canteen. Of course, his visit is always peppered with stories in order to show off new things that make him feel a more modern person, including a new motorcycle that is now a means of mobilization outside the village.

"This motorcycle is very useful. Every Sunday I went to the town market selling resin or agarwood collected by some villagers. It's better than it was sold through Fred. Difference tolerable. I can profit hundreds of thousands." he said with a proud smile.

Each meeting with Arfa shows more and more bank account balances. Salaries and benefits of trading damar and agarwood are quite large.

"Not enough to propose to you?" goda Arfa while showing the balance listed in his savings book containing dozens of rows of numbers.

Vid. Many also.

My head shook. Against the desire to not be stunned. Arfa laughed and closed his savings book.

"I will continue to mourn for our future."

I shrugged. There is no need for me to take Arfa's words seriously. One day he must have realized there was no point waiting for me to accept his proposal. I just want to be friends forever.

Sometimes I drive away the lonely by sitting under the walnut tree while humming the verses of the prophet shalawat once taught by the baba. If by any chance the parrot is perched on the branch of the walnut tree, I invite him to tell me about my mood and what settles in my head. Nuri was indeed unable to provide a solution. It just repeats my last sentence or word. It'sit's okay. For me, something like that is a relief. I just need a friend to talk to, let me find myself a solution to my problem or pray for guidance from the Almighty.

“The foreigners must be rich and smart indeed, Nur. They have tools and large vehicles like monsters that can dig and level the ground quickly.” Honestly, even though they do not like their presence, they are actually amazed to see the greatness of these advanced tools. How to make it yes? They're terrific. Sometimes the thought goes to my head.

“Quick. Fast.” says the Nuri.

“You know, Arfa is good at driving big trucks that pass by in the open land. She looks proud.”

“Proudly. Proudly.” The Nuri repeated my last words. I smile. Her voice sounds funny. Chrysalis, unique and tickling the brain tells the body to release happy hormones. I was always smiling at him.

“Lately the river rice does not grow anymore. The weather is also hotter. Do you think it's because of the effect of the many trees they cut down?”

“Thump. Felling.”

Hihihi ... the bird seemed smart looking for news headlines. I'm more proud of him. His head stumbled to see me smile. We both laughed.

“You rarely stay here. Is it also because of being caught off guard by their existence?”

“They. They.” Nuri stumbled back.

That's how we're friends. Me and the talking parrot imitate human language can communicate with the same heart and perception. It is a unique friendship.