An Acehnese child and the voices of ghosts

An Acehnese child and the voices of ghosts

Santi Soekanto, Contributor, Aceh, santi-soekanto2001@yahoo.com

Nina recounted her story to me in the Lamsujen refugee camp in
Lhoong subdistrict, Aceh Besar, on Jan. 3. This is what she said:

"Assalam mualai'kum. My name is Nina Maulidia Rizka. Call me
Nina. I am now 11 years old. I was born in a beautiful village,
called Gleebruek, in the sub-district Lhoong, Aceh Besar
District.

There was no place as pretty as my village. Along with dozens
of other villages, Gleebruek lay in a valley at the foot of a
hill that overlooked the Indian Ocean.

My parents, Sabri and Jamiah, gave me that beautiful name
because I was born on the day that my villagers celebrated the
birthday of Prophet Muhammad; we called the day Maulid. Growing
up, I spent my days the way other children my age did, going to
school, doing sums, and playing in our spare time.

My big brother Ilham, my younger brother Sidik, and my baby
sister Dinda Sulisna used to play by the sea where there were
lots and lots of coconut trees and visitors from out of town
spending their holidays. Very often, Dinda tagged along behind me
even though I did not like it, but my mother made me mind her.

One day, all this changed.

I was minding Dinda and playing by the foot of the hill when
suddenly we felt the earth shake. "It's an earthquake!" I heard
someone shout, shortly before I saw my neighbors rush out of
their homes in panic.

There was confusion but a short while later we had gathered in
small groups outside our homes. Then, suddenly, we heard the most
horrible, horrible sound of the ocean crashing against the beach,
a noise as loud as hundreds of helicopters!

'The waves are rising ... run, run!' I heard people shout. I
took a second to look at the black tongues of the ocean, as high
as the coconut trees rushing toward us, before fleeing in panic.

I remembered to drag Dinda along but the water came very
quickly. Its tentacles kept lunging at us. Soon, I saw people
overtaken by the waves, drowning, drowning. I kept running while
dragging Dinda with me, but the water was much faster and it took
Dinda from my hands.

Then I saw somebody fish her out of the water before carrying
her while he kept on running. I followed, until we reached the
hill. We beat the waves.

But the waves beat my parents. The ocean took my parents away.
My brother Sidik disappeared too. I met Ilham among people who
reached safety at the military post and the subdistrict head's
office. But the rest of my family is no more.

I still have my grandmother, Al-hamdu lillah (thanks be to
God), and my blind aunt, 22-year-old Yusmanidar, and llham and
Dinda. But we have no home now.

What we have now is a beach that is completely ruined, no
longer beautiful after so many bodies were found there. Pak
Camat, the subdistrict head, and all the other grown men spent
days burying those corpses. I would have known if they found my
parents; I think the ocean really took them away.

Dinda, Ilham and I are now living together with hundreds of
people from the other villages by the sea, in a school building
in a hilly village called Lamsujen.

Lamsujen is a funny name. In Acehnese, it means "the voices of
ghosts." Sometimes I think I really hear the voices of ghosts. If
I shout at the top of my lungs, the hills answer back with
strange noises. I do not do that very often because people will
stare. Sometimes I try to find the voices of father and mother
among those voices of the ghosts.

Several days after the earthquakes and the waves, some friends
and I went down to the sea to look at what used to be our homes.
The ocean had left nothing. Not a single house was found.

Every building that had ever been erected was now gone except
for maybe several blocks of tiles. Trees and concrete pillars
were uprooted and lying every which way.

The soil became a sea of yellow sand. Seaweed was found on the
tree tops at the foot of the hill.

My beautiful village is no more.

It is strange being among so many people who do not have a
mother or father. Thankfully, Pak Camat works really hard to make
sure that we have food every day, but actually, the food is never
enough. I go to bed hungry all the time.

I wish I could be back home again with mother and father,
going to school and doing my lessons. Now my school is no more.
My books are all gone. I am thankful that unlike many other
children, Dinda and I are not sick.

I do miss my mother and father, but so do the other kids in
this refugee camp. That's Amirullah from Cundin village. He is 14
years old, and he lost both his parents too. Anwar, who is a year
older, lost both parents and three siblings.

Then there is Linawati, who is about my age, who also lost her
parents and is now in the refugee camp only with her younger
brother, Edi Saputra, and sisters, Siti Rahmah and Nurlia.

In this single corner of the school building alone, there are
more than 50 children like me -- children who have lost their
parents and brothers and sisters and homes. I know that there are
hundreds and hundreds of other children in Lhoong who are now
orphans.

Today, we have guests -- two doctors from Banda Aceh and a
woman who said she was with an organization in London . This
woman said there are Muslims in far away countries such as
Britain who wish to help my friends and me Al-hamdu lillah.

I would really like to have more food, a change of clothing,
and books. I would like to go back to school. I would like to
have a home of my own. I do not wish to stay at a shelter any
longer.

My friends would like to stay on in Aceh, but I would not mind
leaving for Java or another place with my sister, Dinda; a place
where I could go to school and not to have to worry about the
waves.

I asked the woman for her address, and her promise that she
would return and come and get me. I shall write and remind her of
her promise, as soon as there are people who can take my letter
to Banda Aceh because we no longer have a post office here now."

(This story was first published on islamonline.net)