Cosy and settled at Gloria Amanda Hotel here in Jogyakarta, just off the tourist strip of Malioboro, where Mr Sulaiman Dufford has been joined. This Arizonan convert recommended by Zainuddin demands a separate, particular study—shortly, Insha’Allah, as the Muslims say. (Bab would always remind to add, Ako Bog da, If God wills.)
This morning over breakfast Sulaiman continued endlessly fascinating; one of the minor matters here.
The becak trishaw drivers are a sizable feature of the tourist experience of Malioboro. From the Sultan’s Palace to the railway station, and then the chief roundabout another kilometer on, there must be 300 - 400 awaiting custom in their beautiful conveyances, some now motorized. The drivers present compelling visages, full of character and history; it is difficult not to stare, which of course gives the wrong impression to a workingman on the lookout.
What Sulaiman added to the picture this morning was that all these men hailed from one or two kampungs some distance outside the city. A guild of a kind involved, which showed in the ornament and decoration of the vehicles. The men wheel in and remain in town, sleep in their carriages and return to their homes at the end of their term. All this without any jealousy resulting over the wives left at home, Sulaiman commented.
Taking a ride still difficult for this particular traveler; same for room-service and suchlike master / servant scenarios.
The other discovery today was finally, after forty months in the region, sighting a muezzin in the action of calling to prayer.
There is a narrow, winding lane that cuts through from Jalan Sosrowijayan to Dagen, where among the dwellings a small mosque stands. For the Friday sermon it had been filled to overflowing with worshippers, a good number of young lads among the rest. It was going out for supper, however, during the maghrib call, that the muezzin was caught within the mosque at a microphone.
There is no minaret at this particular mosque; the man was spied in passing through the open doorway of the prayer-room immediately off the lane.
A glance had caught his solitary figure in the corner and a few steps back were needed to confirm the matter. In the very back right corner, the man stood like an adult version of the errant school-child disciplined by teacher a generation ago.
Average-size in B/W batik, early middle-age it seemed from the rear and from the timbre of voice.
In old movies from various locales across the globe among traditional cultures, one sometimes saw singers or town-criers place one hand over an ear while a call of some kind was delivered. Here in this instance in the back Jogja lane, the muezzin stood with the microphone in his left hand, while his right he placed behind his head just above the collar of his shirt.
The close corner position itself was striking, and then the unexpected hand for bracing and stability of address, it must have been. A limp or even stiff arm at the side was no good; neither of course hand-on-hip or in the trouser pocket.
Allah is great, Allah is great, the man declared in that particular pose in his place there.
This evening the voice of the muezzin was the lesser part of the effect.
Sulaiman too happened to favour Chow Kit above other neighbourhoods in Kuala Lumpur, the Pakistani mosque there and its muezzin known to him. A trained concert pianist, Sulaiman also revealed this morning it was captivating Iranian recitation of the Qur’an that had been a large factor in prompting his conversion.
Yogyakarta
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