ISHIHARA (Blind Color-Real Story)
Ishihara 2's

“Sympang Surabaya!!”

exclaim Mr. Driver.

“Everything down here,” order Mr Driver which means no more stops after this.

This place is the end of my journey, because the bus will turn around.

But isn't this Banda Aceh?. I looked outside, from the glass of the bus looked lonely shophouses in the concentration of dawn. The drivers rickshaw with turbans, because it's cold. It was clearly so cold outside, as cold as the coastal cities

east Sumatra at dawn. The cold that shivers the body. This Banda Aceh.

Banda Aceh rises from tsunami.

Banda Aceh is establishing itself from military conflict.

Simpang Surabaya the last stop of the bus in Banda Aceh. Perhaps from this five-way gap

people who want to go far from Banda Aceh, as far as the bus trip to Surabaya. I thought about the reason why the name Surabaya

tucked away in Banda Aceh.

At 5:45 or 6 less than 15 minutes of dawn before reverberating. The cold air of early morning smothers the meat. Luckily our jackets and thick clothes protected us. It was me and Dad getting off the bus dropping off our suitcases and bags on a thick morning. Motorcycle rickshaws approaching. I

I see the faces of people around me. In Banda Aceh, his face line is different from that of me and Dad. There is a mixture of Hadramauts. His skin is whiter and some are darker. His nose is more pointed with a firmer eyebrow line. The body is a larger mixed Arab. But the accent is loud, fast, and friendly. The language used is very different from Malay. Bahasa Indonesia

uniting us.

“Ho jak?” ask Motorcycle Rickshaw Driver.

“Jak Berawe,” I replied. I've understood some Acehnese words from the passenger chat I heard on the bus.

“Beurawe.” Reset Motorcycle Rickshaw Driver it clarifies the different eu pronunciation with e.

“Iya. Here's the address.” Dad handed me the paper. Address of an ustazah from our acquaintance in the village. The family of the ustazah will

accommodating us for the first time in Banda Aceh to get to know the Darussalam area and find costs.

Three years ago it was still clear in my eyes. From television I saw thousands of people running from the tsunami wave after the 9th Righter scale earthquake struck. At dawn I saw that along the street there were still some old buildings that were damaged, and the lights of the shops were dim. Then our bike rickshaw turned into an alley, a residential complex. Then stop at a big house with a Malay architect. The tempo doeloe noble house.

After the bike rickshaw drove away from me and Dad. We were stuck in front of the house.

The street and the number of the house are in accordance with the paper in our hands. My father and I looked up, and it just so happened that the gate wasn't locked. Back me and Dad looked.

“Bismillah..” We entered, dragging a suitcase and carrying a large bag to the homepage.

The door to the house was not open yet. Want Me and Dad to scream, say a loud greeting because it is so customary in our village.

“Wait a minute Yah.” I held Dad back from saying hello. I saw an object on the wall, similar to a light switch. I'm going forward and I'm going to press that button, bell. But before

I pressed the bell, the main door of the house creaked. The handle is turning, the door is open. A woman wearing a white face appeared in front of us.

The woman smiled kindly with a white face and turkish sea.

“Saleummualiacum.” The woman held her palms high forward. Salute form respect but not worship.

“Salamualaikum Bu,”

answer me and Dad.

“Seulamat come in Banda.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“This is who graduated medicine?” Ask the mother.

“Iya Bu, we are from Riau”

“Please enter.”

***