Ballad Inmates
Inmate Section (Part 4)

By Dalem Tehang

UNTIL the voice of the dawn Adhan sounded unpretentious from the mosque around the mapolres, not an instant I could close my eyes. Thousands of thoughts intersect with feelings.

“Pak, congregation yes,” a voice surprised me. A young man was standing at the end of my foot. I'm nodding.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Wudu. When I came out of the doorless bathroom, I was shocked. There are nine people lined up. Waiting for your turn to the bathroom.

“Mario, you are a priest. There are only four, so replace the prayer,” said Edi.

Unimagined before, if in a holding cell I was appointed priest of prayer. All this time, I was just a prayer priest at home. My wife and children as his mother. 

The Fajr Prayer I went through this time, was full of various flavors. Powerlessness within limitations. A reality that never existed in fantasy. Also, a far cry from sincerity.

The young man who had invited me to the congregation, took two places of drinking water from plastic. He stood behind an iron tarnish.

“Arpan. Arpani. Room 10,” he shouted. Many times he screamed. 

I leaned against the bathroom wall, staring at the young man. Shown by my firstborn. They're the same age. 

Suddenly the young man turned his body. Staring at me, smiling. Approaching me.

“My name is Ijal, om. The Rizal Ahmadi. I need everything here. The term is OD, kitchen guy,” he said. And smiling too. 

He stuck out both his hands while bowing. Ethical. We shake.

“What do kitchen people mean?” my many. Slowly.

“Because can not pay room dues, I take care of all the needs of friends, om. Nyiapin drink and arrange food. Also wash clothes and clean the room. Nyapu. My kayak is the term OD aka kitchen people. And every room, there must be its OD, om,” Ijal explained lightly. 

The young man's face was full of sympathy. A smile never leaves the corner of his lips.   

“O. So you're the busiest person in this room huh. By the way, who did you call?” my spoken.

“O, arpan means yes, om?!” the answer. I'm nodding.

“Arpan means hot water, om. Not calling people,” Ijal said with a smile. I smile too. Close shy. 

So polite. My ignorance is not overwritten with shame. A courtesy behavior of an educated person.

“What is Arpan ready for?” ask again.

“There's om. Name's tamping. It's not a people's name either. It stands for escort prisoner. Those who are our connectors are the same guardians. They are the ones who manage all our affairs with outside the room, om,” said Ijal again.

In a hurry Ijal thrust the place of water he had prepared. After the second place of water was full, he went to the front of the bathroom. 

Open a small bucket in the corner. Apparently, it's a place for eating and drinking utensils. There are cups, plates, and cups. Also sugar, coffee, tea, and instant noodles.

“Om copy what ngeteh?” ask her.

“Coffee, Jal!” I answered while looking at him doing his job. Deft and seem accustomed to light hands.

“Om bring a glass? What to wear first,” continued him.

“Not brought a glass, Jal. Yes already, wear the existing yes,” I said. Ijal.

“The coffee is sweet what bitter, om!” said.

“Jal, don't ask much. Make-up. If not drunk, siramin to his face,” suddenly a loud voice echoed in the previously silent room, because the occupants back soundly in his sleep. 

I looked at the origin of the sound. It was Doni who was screaming. He spoke loudly without getting out of bed. 

“Let's om, don't worry. It's about Doni. All wrong in her eyes,” Ijal said in a half-whispering voice.

“Don't say much to you, Ijal. Cave pake just know you later,” said Doni again. Stay with the loud voice. 

Ijal just smiled. He keeps doing his job. Prepare coffee and warm tea for room residents. Shortly after, he offered me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks yes, Jal,” I said, and sipped the coffee he gave. Ijal just nodded.

“This is a cigarette, Mario. Let's eat it well,” suddenly Joko woke up from her sleep. He gave me a pack of cigarettes, but it was just one stick.

“Already, cigarettes only. Relax ajalah,” said Joko. As if I understood my doubt. 

“Mario, here we learn to enjoy and be grateful for what is there. All these limitations do not make you numb, numb, dead of faith, dead of patience, and dead of hope yes,” said Joko. Befalsaphah.

I'm speechless. Joko's words seem very simple, but save the value to keep the balance of the soul. Far past the wise expressions of the motivators in the outside world. 

“Thanks for the cigarette yes, Joko!” I said as I lit the cigarette. Joko just thumbs up and goes back to sleep.

I smoked cigarettes. Deep. I breathe the smoke slowly. Spread by the morning wind rushing into the detention room. 

I close my eyes. Trying to unite the mind and inner khalwat on a rhythmic humming. Thank you for existing. No matter how bad (connect).