NADIRS
Nadir ~ Funny
There is not much to say about this little village. Pebbled streets where we straddle, chase, pull carts, or when we're cool we can roll around on his back, as you can see today, it used to be a walkway no wider than two feet. Filled with shrubs on each side, like wooden fences painted light green. Lush, dense, home to a herd of rats, snakes,***-****, and other wild animals. Until regional projects come touching on our civilization. Giving an opportunity for the people of this village sparkling his eyes saw heavy equipment enter their village. Grinding the water bamboo trees and weeds that grow wild with wild. Grinding the ridge mercilessly. Until flat, change the gravel.
So, no need you wonder to see my village, it will look very crowded when the harvest arrives. The people of the city, since the last few years always come on time to buy the results of the citizens at a sloping price. A pile of reasons they are umbar, the price is down, the city people have started to get tired of cassava, the company that used to supply corn in Jakarta is burning, and many other magical reasons.
Of course, the middlemen first gave the farmers a mathematical percentage. And try to hear how great this sentence is, man:
“I hope you understand, the condition of corn and cassava farming business in our country is less steady, because commodity prices are always fluctuating.”
The light of a middleman in a leather jacket with that incredible intelligence and experience. Unfortunately, for most of the Village farmers who do not understand the market curve, just smile with happy mangosteen when the middlemen do not have a conscience it gives them a lot of money.
Except for Ama, he never wanted to sell his crops to the stone-hearted middlemen. Unless forced, if Mangge Raden can not pay the harvest. I have always been amazed at Ama's understanding of the law of buying and selling. To him; “It is better to be fooled by our own villagers, than to be deceived by those capitalist middlemen!” but calm down, Mangge Raden never once cheated Ama. He always paid for the produce of Ama at the market price. In fact, not infrequently much higher than the middlemen who said ama; “kapitalis”.
But it's not just that. This small village will also always be boisterous if there is one of the residents holding a celebration. Moreover, held by a big person like Mr. Kades, it is certain that the food is a lot, comparable to the many residents who come. The five cans of Ama's garden, which I brought yesterday, are currently lying softly on copper coats. The aroma is oozing, savory, making me and Wira have to wipe saliva occasionally. Seeing the wet cakes with banana leaves in the middle there, at first glance I remember Ama who is currently doing nothing in the field. I know, Ama really likes cakes like this. Suppose Ama was here.
In my heart, I felt wry, just in case Mr. Kades and his men had found out that it was me and the Hero who stole the mango kweninya that night.
“I'll spend all this, man.” The hero spread out his hands, like he was about to embrace all the legless dishes in front of us at this moment.
“Don't be crazy you, can pop your stomach it.” My protest.
Slowly the spacious house of Mr. Kades was turned crowded by residents who came. While I was curious, what kind of face was the girl of the number one person in this village. Actually Wira has told me about Mr. Kades's daughter, but I'm not satisfied, I want to see it for myself. Do intelligent people who can earn that college degree have a mark on their face? I wanna know. I'd like to see that sign, if there is one.
Not play admiring me when I see the look of ayu daughter Pak Kades. I looked intensely at his face. I traced every inch of her body, but I found no sign of what I imagined there. A sign of the luster that God gives to those who will become successful people in the future. Uh.
Mr. Kades continued to tell at length about his daughter to all the citizens who came, like a promoter. His happiness, his pride. Very deep emphasis every time say; “This girl of mine.” All the citizens were clucking, shaking, gawking, gawking, hearing the great story of Mr. Kades about his struggle to send his daughter to the capital of Jakarta which is said to have a historic monument called Monas with a golden crown at its peak. Haiss glittered my face and Wira heard that great story.
It is true that Mr. Kades, his daughter became the first female scholar of our village. Emancipation of women. As well as being the first person to successfully complete studies in the capital of Jakarta which is said to be very beautiful with hundreds of buildings at that level. With glass windows, anyway. If since the first women in our village are no more than housekeepers; kitchens, wells, mattresses, its presence proves women can also compete. Participate in the safety of his family, country and village.
Secretly my heart wants to be like Mr. Kades's daughter. Proud of the old.
At length we heard the great story of Mr. Kades, until some residents whose heads were no wider than the hilly food in front there, finally the Village Priest took over. Leading all attendees prophesies do’a grate. Worship the God-Guild that gives this little village a chance to hatch a beautiful scholar with sad eyes like Mr. Kades's daughter.
While our hands were looking up, I unceasingly looked at the scholar girl, looking around for the mark that I had in mind. But I didn't find the mark I wanted there. Look at his sad face, the curves of his melodious smile like the song of Mr. Kelana sung by Ama, his sharp nose, his clear skin, his curly hair that was scattered over his shoulders, oh I admire her slowly. One thing I understand, the crease of his neck that level gives a smart impression on him.
After the solemn Do’a ritual, Mr. Kades invited us to taste the dishes. This is where the peak of excitement every event for Village children like me and Wira. How our hands run against each other, fighting over food. How parents grumble when they lose quickly to their own children. And how about the crowded room would be filled with burps after our stomachs were filled. Oi, the beauty of this familiarity.
As I had planned, after almost all the residents came home with sloping steps due to the glut, I took Wira to the kitchen. Meet Mother Kades and her daughter named: Cantika Fitri Lazuardi, S.pd. Wishing her mercy gave me the remnants of the cake I had to bring to Ama at home. My face stiffened, there was shame in my heart when my sad-eyed sister smiled, but it's okay, all this for the sake of Ama.
Undoubtedly the kindness of Ina Kades and her daughter, with all her generosity she allowed me to bring the rest of the cake to Amaku. I'm thrilled.
“Thanks, Ina... Sister Beautiful... a...” I said, intentionally stuttering. Giving the impression of emphasis on the word “cantik” for Mr. Kades's extraordinary daughter.
“Iya, equally, Uti.. send your greetings to Amamu later,” Ina Kades said.
I took out the crackle bag, I poured the cookies into it. To the brim, until all kinds of pastries are complete. I think I did it, it turns out my friend who has been quiet the same since. Hero, with all his expertise put the remnants of the cake into a much larger crackle.
“For whom are the cookies, my friend? Didn't Amamu also come, earlier?”
Wira smiled, “This is not for home people,” He said.
“Then, for whom?”
“This Melody. Last time I brought Melodi here, she said she didn't have time, for helping Inanya at home. Well, Melodi told me to tell you to wrap her a cake for her and Inanya who was cravings.” Bright Hero.
Oi, my friend's heart is great. His concern for others is worthy of appreciation. Medals if needed. That night, for the sake of Inanya our friend Melodi who craves mango kweni Wira invites us to take mango beside the house of Mr. Kades. Even though we almost lost our lives.
I was running around, a bag of crackles filled with cookies swinging beside me, happy my heart thought of Ama. Surely he's happy not to see the bitch's favorite pastries I brought.
I saw that Ama was seriously putting bamboo baskets around the corn field that would be harvested tomorrow. The sweat flows through the body. Her bare back and chest were glistening in the sunlight. I gave the cake to her with pleasure.
“Where did you get this, Uti?” ask Ama.
“Ina Kades who gave it.” My answer. “He also sends greetings to, Ama.”
Me and Ama were sitting on the porch of the corn hut. I watched Ama enjoying her favorite cakes. Glad to my heart.
“Hopefully our corn crop goes up this time, Uti.” Mumbled.
“Iya, hopefully, Ama.”
I told Ama excitedly about the great Kak Cantika. about the capital and the building pegs to gouge the sky, about the great Monas.anything side of Jakarta with its beauty, I told him, I told him, with explosive spirit. Shining Ama's eyes hearing my story.
“Sabar, Uti, if Ama is still alive.. I will try to make you a great person like her!”.
Like the previous harvest days, Ama was always busy. At dawn he was awake, even when I was still sound. Ama prepared all the needs of the harvest in the field. Sacks, sickles, baskets, rattan rains for corn binder or pitcher, then cooking in the kitchen for breakfast. Poor Ama has to do everything herself. Even so, he never burdened me with heavy work. Only the limited that I can afford. Even so, if I do not want to do it, Ama does not force. Just like when I brought the baskets of Ama to the customer, he never allowed it, because he said it was hard work. But sometimes I force. My heart can't let Ama do it all by herself.
Like last night, I told Ama not to go to school today, I wanted to help her harvest corn. But he scolded me instead. Just last night I heard Ama talk that hard to me. Heart wrenching.
“You know why Ama never forced you to work? That's because Ama doesn't want to interfere with your learning process, so you can be like other children, so you can be a smart person, “No need for you to help Ama in the field. Your job is to learn, learn and learn. If Ama had enough money someday, I would have sent you to the city... in the Capital of the Country if need be!”.
Oh, how great and glorious is the hope of Ama.
So this morning I went to school in the spirit of 45. Fiery. Ama's speech last night I've been recording in my head. I wrote it in my diary, to show it to the Wira and Melodi. I show it to my teachers who are no less great. Every time I had free time, I opened my diary again, read Ama's words on page 31 and I embraced the book. I kissed Ama's name which I deliberately wrote thick and large there. I don't want to laugh at him. “Oh, Ama.”
From Mr. Hambali at the morning apple, I heard good news. In the future we no longer need to go to school far in the district. This year, in the hamlet 1 Tanjung Jati will be built Junior High School by the government. What makes me amazed is not playing, reportedly SMP is public, not private. Said Mr. Hambali, SMP whose work began next month, began to receive his first students next semester's new school year. That is, right when I graduated from SD. Oi, I can imagine the greatness of my SMP later.
After school, Wira asked me to stop by her house. Lunch with him. Then we went to Melodi's house, said they wanted to get to my bar, help me and Ama harvest corn.
Along the way up, we were constantly telling stories about our dreams going forward. Wira wants to be a soldier like his brother. Melody wants to be a teacher, the noblest job on earth, he said. As for me, when they asked, I just said:
“Cita-cita I want to make Ama happy. Whatever it is!”
After changing clothes, I immediately took Wira and Melodi to the cornfield, meeting Ama. When I got there, I saw Ama working alone, cutting down the corn trees with sickles, separating the fruit from the trunk, putting it in a sack, then sewing the sacks with rattan bolts, everything was done by Ama herself. I could see, great admiration in Melodi's eyes as she watched the expanse of corn fall as wide as her gaze. I'm proud to see my friend amazed like that.
Like most girls, Melodi doesn't have enough energy to do hard work. Hence, me and Wira, as a man, only gave him light work. Burning corn under the cottage for us to eat together later.
Not long after all the corn was harvested, Ama told us to rest. From earlier Wira had indeed complained, the smell of grilled corn made by Melodi disturbed him. Not wanting to see Ama angry anymore because I did not obey her orders, I took Wira to the cottage, met Melodi.
Amazed I saw a very skilled Melody. Although only a dozen years old, the soul of motherhood seroang melody is already obvious. Not infrequently I and Wira found him cooking in the kitchen, helping Inanya. Cooking rice, frying fish, making rice sauce, and another thing I know of him today, he is good at making grilled corn so fragrant. I asked what the recipe was, he said it was because of the coconut oil sambal chili he made. True too, I saw Melodi smearing half-cooked corn with chili sauce oil she made, then burning it again, until it matured just right. No more no less.
“Oi, someday, there will be many men who want you, Mel, rarely girls your age can make grilled corn as good as this!” praise Wira, devour the grilled corn while sighing with pungency.
I can see Melody's cheeks are reddened by Wira's praise. The thick-bodied girl was getting more spirit to burn corn. No matter what smoke and embers make the sweat flood. Wira's praise made him more excited.
The hornbills in the towering Kenanga trees fenced in the fields, roaring, the stone magpies whistling, as well as the herds of forest kneels, nature's earthquake welcomed the evening. The three of us told a great story that was deliberately exaggerated about our ideals someday, before Wira and Melodi finally came home. Ama gave each of them a piece of corn, a wage because it has helped a lot―just a meal is also included. I stared at the backs of my two friends, as soon as they were lost in the forest, I felt bad. ‘Hopefully they are okay on the road.’
Footnote :
¹. Storytelling
². Bamboo Webbing
³. Father; Father
⁴. Bamboo; Bamboo iron
⁵. Om; Uncle; a term for people who are the same age as parents.
⁶. Call for boys.
⁷. Coconut
⁸. 9-string stringed stringed stringed instrument shaped like a pda rowboat generally. (This musical instrument is simply the result of the author's imagination).
⁹. Fairytales
¹o. Fairytale creatures that are said to come from heaven.
¹¹. Mother; Mama; can also be used to greet women who are the same age as our parents.
¹². Shamans
¹³. Grannies
¹⁴. Freshwater fish; similar to mojair
¹⁵. Mother; Mother
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