Termux Work & Programming Language

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bonus novel:

THAT MORNING, when I was a child, I sat on a long bench

in front of a class. A cheerful old tree

shade me. My father sat beside me, hugging my shoulder

with both arms and smiling nodding at the

every parent and child is sitting in a row

another long bench in front of us. That day was a rather day

important: first day of SD. At the end of the long benches

there was an open door. The door was slanted because of the whole

the school building is already doyong as if it is about to collapse. At the door mouth

two teachers stand like the guests

the glitch. They were patient-faced old men,

Mr. K.A. Harfan Efendy Noor, the headmaster and the

veiled young lady, Mother N.A. Muslimah Hafsari or Bu Mus.

Like my father, they both smiled.

However, Bu Mus's smile was a bitter smile

forced because it seemed obvious he was worried. Her face

tense and agitated movements. He repeatedly counted

the number of children sitting on long benches. It is so

worry so that it does not care about the sweat that flows into the

his eye-pleasers. Monthly points of sweat all around

his nose removed the rice flour powder he was wearing,

making his face scrawl moreng like a show emban for

empress in Dul Muluk, the ancient charade of our village.

“Nine people ... Only nine Uncle Master people,

still less one...,” he said riled to the headmaster.

Mr. Harfan looked at him blankly.

I'm also worried. I'm worried about seeing Bu Mus

who was restless and because of the burden of my father's feelings spread all over

my body. Although he was so friendly this morning but his arms

the roughness that circled my neck drained the beating of the heart

quick one. I knew he was nervous and I knew he wasn't

easy for a forty-seven-year-old man, a

miners who have many children and small salaries, for

handing his son to school. Easier

leave it to the morning market tauke to become a grater

or on the beach to become a copra porters in order to be able to

helping the family economy. Raising a child means

tying yourself to costs for a dozen years and that

it's not easy for our family.

“My father's love …..

I did not see my heart in his face.

“Perhaps I should just go home, forget the wish

school, and following in the footsteps of several brothers and cousins

my cousin, be a coolie …..

But it's not just my dad who's nervous. Every face

the parents in front of me were impressed that they were not

sit on that long bench, because their mind, like the mind

my father, drifting into the morning market or into the keramba on the edge

the sea imagined his son would be better off being a lackey in the

sana. These parents are not at all sure that education

his son who can only afford them the highest fees until

SMP will brighten the future of the family. This morning

they had to be in this school to avoid themselves

from the reproach of the village apparatus for not sending children or

as a person who is caught up in the demands of the new age, the demands of

freeing children from illiteracy.

I know the parents and their children who sit

in front of me. Except for a dirty little boy with hair

the crimson curls were thrashing from his father's grip.

His father was barefoot and dressed in calico. I didn't

know the kids.

The rest are my best friends. Trapani, for example, who

sitting on his mother's lap, or Kucai sitting on the side

his father, or Shahdan who was delivered by no one. Our

neighbors and we are the Malay people belitong from

it is the poorest community on the island. As for the school

this, SD Muhammadiyah, is also the poorest village school

in Belitong. There are three reasons why parents register

his son is here. First, because Muhammadiyah schools do not

set dues in any form, parents only

volunteer as much as they can. Second, because of a hunch,-

their children are considered to have easy characters

misled the devil so from a young age should get

strong Islamic awareness. Third, because his son

not accepted at any school.

the highway across from the school field was hoping that it would still be

there is a new registrant . We are concerned to see such empty expectations.

Then it is not like the atmosphere in other SD that is full of excitement

when receiving new students, the atmosphere of the first day in SD

Muhammadiyah was full of worries, and the most worried

it was Bu Mus and Mr. Harfan.

These simple teachers were in a precarious situation

because the School Supervisor of Depdikbud Sumsel

warning that if SD Muhammadiyah only gets

the new student is less than ten people then the oldest school in

This hole has to be closed. That's why now Mr. Mus and Mr. Mus

Harfan is worried because their school will end, the history,

while the parents were anxious because of the cost, and we, nine

these little ones who were trapped in the middle were worried just in case

we're not a school.

Last year the Muhammadiyah Elementary School only got eleven

students, and this year Mr. Harfan pessimistic can meet the target

ten. He secretly prepared a

speech of the dissolution of the school in front of the parents of the students in

opportunity this morning. The fact that he only needed

one more student to meet that target led to this speech

it will be something that hurts.

“We wait until eleven,” Mr. Harfan said to Bu

Mus and all the parents who have resigned. Silent mood.

Parents may consider the lack of one student

as a sign to his children that they are good

it was registered to the judges only. While me and

it seems that other children also feel very painful: pain in the

our parents, who were unable to, watched the painful moments

an old school closed on the first day

we want school, and are poignant at our strong intention to learn but

staying one step away had to be stopped just because of the lack of one

pupil. We looked down deep.

It was eleven o'clock less than five and Bu Mus was getting

hapless. Five years of service in a poor school

he loved and thirty-two years of selfless devotion

Mr. Harfan, his uncle, will end this sad morning.

“New nine people Uncle Master ...,” said Bu Mus

it shakes once again. He could no longer think clearly. It repeatedly

say the same thing everyone knows.

His voice was as heavy as a person who was depressed.

Finally, time ran out because it was eleven past five

and the number of disciples was not even ten. My great passion for

the school slowly collapsed. I took my father's arm off

my shoulders. Sahara cried sobbing her mother because

he really wants to go to school in Muhammadiyah Elementary School. It wears

shoes, socks, headscarves, and clothes, and have books, books,

bottled water, and an all-new backpack.

Mr. Harfan approached the parents of the students and greeted

they are one by one. A glittering sight. Para

the parents patted her shoulder to encourage her heart.

Bu Mus's eyes sparkled with tears. Paks

Harfan stood in front of the parents, his face grim. Her

get ready to give your last speech. His face looks broken

asa. When he said the first word

Assalamu’alaikum the whole audience was aghast because of Tripani

yelling while pointing to the edge of the lawn field

that school.

“Harun!.

We turned around and in the distance looked like a man

skinny high-crossing stumbling. Her clothes and hair

very tidy. He wore a long white sleeve shirt that was inserted into

inward. The feet and steps form the letter x so that if

walking his entire body swayed violently. A lady

the middle-aged fatty who was beaming painstakingly held onto it.

The man was Aaron, the witty man of our all-round best friend, who had

fifteen years old and somewhat mentally retarded. It's very

happy and walking quickly half ran impatiently approaching

our. He ignored his mother who was overwhelmed

take her.

The two of them were almost out of breath when they arrived in front

Mr. Harfan.

“Bapak Guru ..., ” says his mother gasps.

“Receive Aaron, sir, because SLB only exists on the Island

Bangka, and we don't have any fees to send him to

sana. Anyway, I'd rather put him in this school than in

the house he was just chasing my chicks …..

Aaron smiled broadly showing off his yellow teeth

long-long. Mr. Harfan also stumbled, he glanced at Bu Mus

shrugging his shoulders.

“Genap ten people ...,” said.

Aaron saved us and we cheered.

The Sahara stands tall tidying up the folds of her hijab and holding it

his bag was so big, he wouldn't sit down anymore.

Bu Mus blushed. The young teacher's tears receded and he wiped away

the sweat on his face that was suffused as it mixed with

rice flour powder.