FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 21 “Delusion Fajr Hari”

*Wardah Mustika Rahayu

After dawn, I immediately nodded. Intentionally not saying goodbye because if I say goodbye I will not be allowed to leave. I'll go home and buy vegetables. Knock on the front door that has been opened.

“Kak Wardah has come loooo. Nurin is still sleepy, Kak.” He's yawning.

“Already subuhan, Rin?”

She shook her head.

I hear Mas Nizam is still cratered inside. His voice was loud and good. He was the only man in this village with good religious ability. He is young and talented in many ways. Unfortunately, that doesn't concern many people in this village except those who are well aware that people like Mas Nizam should be detained from the village. He also has to move in the near future.

I sat in front looking at the fish in the pond. I heard the scroll closed with a soft landing tone. The motor then. Then, his mother Mas Nizam told Nurin to quickly get out of the room. The garage door opened. Mas Nizam's mom came out saying to me that she wanted to buy vegetables. Then, Mas Nizam came out to guide his bike.

“After leaving, Mas?”

“A minute. Nurin's still changing that shirt.”

“Begin only. We're both just as open as threesome.”

“It's okay, Mas?”

“Lumayanlah make sports all.”

He put his bike back in. Bringing his mountain bike and Nurin's bike out.

I imagine him who I often see with the appearance of a sarong and skullcap, what about when he was on that bike? Wouldn't it look unique?

Nurin stood in the doorway. His face was still laze.

“Nurin's habit of sleeping again, Sister. This is even invited to have the same surgery Paklek. How, anyway, Paklek ni.”

I'm rising.

The journey there. Three bicycles are on the same track. I'm behind, Nurin in the middle, and of course Mas Nizam in front of himself.

It was like a happy little family. Suddenly the man in front incarnated a priest in the family, then Nurin like a little angel in our middle. I ride my bike tirelessly. Glad to be happy just because of a little daydream at dawn. Sometimes, I laugh at Mas Nizam who looks funny wearing a sarong, but at the moment he is pedaling a bicycle.

“Monggo.” Once the reply when called and then the people will go to look for food, to the garden, or to the early morning rice field working as laborers.

Ten minutes later.

Mas Nizam stopped by the roadside. Me and Nurin did too.

“This is a turn. You go first. I'll pick up the phone first.”

Me and Nurin according to.

The front fence of the pesantren has been opened. With the pedal, I entered slowly. I thought with the main fence open, anyone could come in. Inside the mosque, all the students have been prepared. Cool to see this view.

“Kak, why are we here?”

“Mau naji, Rin's. Brother Tika brought the Koran. Later you with Brother, yes.”

I stopped moving after getting off the bike.

One santri princess came out to approach us.

“Who are you looking for, ngggeh?”

“Inggeh, Mbak.”

“Come please come in, Ma'am! Join the other Mbak.” He's loosening the way.

“Come, Rin.” I pulled Nurin's hand.

“How old is the park, brother? Where to?” He looked back.

“Still call earlier said.”

“Nyuwun sewu, Mbak.” I walked in front of them.

I encouraged Nurin to come in first, sit in front of me.

Nurin shy. He's sulking. We are the center of attention of all students. Their views asked who we were. Just entered, but it made a noisy atmosphere.

Santri-santri who were lined up at the door automatically rushed to loosen the road. They left until there was a space of half a meter so that Mas Nizam could pass.

“Packle?” chirps Nurin. Sound is loud enough.

Mas Nizam looked at Nurin. Giving smile. Then, sit cross-legged on the prayer mat and table that has been served a glass of coffee and mineral water. He is appreciated here even though it is in the village of the father who remains in power. His wires radiate instantaneously.

At first in the greeting, singing an Arabic song that I could not follow at all. I'm just listening. Nurin. Because it is still morning, some santri there are those who look lazy to follow their activities. From the beginning it has been going on. Finally his head rested on the back of a friend in front of him. Others keep mimicking while holding back sleepiness.

One woman sat at the front, she was very excited to follow the rhythm. Then, Mas Nizam appointed him to give an example before being followed by other students. At first glance there is the most prominent sound, clear and loud. Apparently that beautiful voice belonged to that appointed santri. Its pronunciation and rhythm can be very precise with Mas Nizam.

And, funny thing is I was also appointed. I've heard it twice. I'm ashamed other than that I'm not used to tilawah tones. I refused, but Mas Nizam told me to still dare to show off.

“Come, Sister Tik!” Nurin.

I'd rather be told to dance and dance than to lie down. Moreover, listened to by the santri-santri whose recitation of the Koran is good. I keep trying even though I'm sure one hundred percent of my reading won't be as good as exemplified.

Sudden silent voice. It was my voice that sounded the loudest afterwards. In the middle of the verse, I disconnected it out of confusion over the variation. Kontan Mas Nizam gives another example more slowly. It is more obvious that the tone deflection is from its medium tone which only needs to be swung and softened to the other medium tone that is crooked. I can feel the softness of this tone.

“Tried again,” pinta Mas Nizam.

After I tried it until the end of the verse, he told me, “Although with a very slow tempo, but whose name is mad thabi’i it should not be more than two. Don't rubberize. Earlier, variations in mad jaiznya less play. If you meet two mad namely Jaiz and must use to play many variations. Especially in mad ‘aridis sukun section. People who listen will tend to provide recreation if the mad is read intact and with variations that land perfectly. Playing variations at the tip of a verse like this includes challenges for the short-breathing. But, Ma'am Tika breath is qualified.”

Relieved to hear him comment so wisely. The more there is no room for me not to admire him. How much do you praise Kang Darya for persuading me to accept her proposal immediately, but instead, she planted the seeds of love that had grown blooming with prayer.

“But, Mas, I'm ashamed to admit that actually my awe has turned that into an immeasurable sense, my inner”.

At the end of the activity, I was detained by the beautiful woman. He was the one who greeted me first, asking if I was a singer or had studied vocal. He gave me appreciation when I answered that I had been in the world of sinden since the age of elementary school. The question widened until I was left by Nurin and Mas Nizam. I can't refuse to be interviewed. Some students seem enthusiastic when I am not how weigh them. But, bertubi women's question was stirring other tastes.

“Proud to have a young soul of achievement such as njenengan, Mbak. Ma'am Tika, right, her name?”

“Inggeh, Mbak.”

“Try using one song only. I want to hear you. Oh, ngggeh, my name is Ala.”

“Walah, Ma'am Ala, this is a mosque made nyinden. Many people will hear later.”

“It's okay, Ma'am. Just little. We want to hear. None of us have ever learned.”

I hung half a song called Jagad Anyar Kang Dumadi.