I’m not a mother, but I live as one. It’s been around three years since she was born. She is my niece. She has curly hair and beautiful eyelashes. She’s always been curious about everything, asking simple questions like, ‘What is this?’ or ‘What is that?’, this little conversation with her makes me excited to explain anything.
We go through our days as usual. Early in the morning after tidying up the house, I go to her house. It’s Saturday, and I have more freedom to spend the whole day playing with her.
I’ve never mentioned this before, but we live on a hill. From November to January, thin refreshing fog usually blankets the area. The contours of our village follow the hills. Houses are arranged from the main road up to about three-quarters of the way to the peak. Strong winds typically occur in March towards the summer season. The bamboo trees at the hill’s peak sway quite intimidatingly.
To the east, there is a mountain, making it a bit challenging for us to fully enjoy the sunrise. The sun starts to appear high in the sky around 9–10 o’clock. The western sky is wide open, and far off in the distance, there is a range of mountains forming a silhouette. Usually, at night, the constellations are neatly arranged, accompanied by the moon whose brightness is most dominant.
Today we ate together with Mother’s homemade fried chicken. Like many Indonesian dishes, this fried chicken is rich in spices. She prefers the crispy chicken skin over the meat. I feel the same way, especially with crispy chicken skin and chili sauce.
In every bite, she says, ‘Thank you, Tata.’ She indeed calls me Tata. I playfully respond, ‘Say thank you to Nenek, for cooking this chicken.’ She says the same thing, ‘Thank you, Nenek’.
One time, I whispered, ‘Oh ya, this food is from Allah. Say thank you to Allah too.’ Innocently, she asked, ‘Where is Allah?’ I was slightly surprised and fell silent for a moment, scratching my temple softly.
“Dear, Allah is everywhere, He resides in your heart,” I said.
She asked again, “Is Allah many?”
I grew even more surprised, realizing I had explained incorrectly. “No, no. Allah is one, Ahad,” I corrected myself. To ensure clarity, I asked, “How many Allahs are there?” She replied, holding the chicken skin in her hand, “One.”
And then, she remained curious, asking, “Where is Allah?” Now, I replied gently, “Allah resides in the magnificent ‘Arsh. But Allah is close to us and provides us with food. Alhamdu…” I asked her to continue the words.
She said, “Lillah”.
I simply smiled faintly as I continued to cut the chicken skin. For three years, this was the first time she had asked about Allah. My heart was deeply touched and filled with happiness. I don’t know why.
Perhaps this is why a mother never tires, even when she has to accompany her child 24 hours a day. Simple talks, endless joy.