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Timphan

>Timphan is the way the Acehnese colored the Idul Fitri. Lebaran is incomplete withot timphan. But when the conflict occurred in Aceh, some people became refugees outside Aceh. But they still make timphan as a way of treating the longing for the village. The idea of this short story departs from a real story in the era of conflict that I though to be a fictional world.

Short story: Mustafa Ismail

My mom always makes timphan when you miss the village. It’s a typical snack from our region, Aceh. Usually the timphan is contrived on Idul Fitri, Eid al-Adha. Incomplete a house without timphan for Lebaran. The basic ingredients are rice flour, which is pounded itself with jeungki (this is our typical rice powders / flour), filled with the srikaya, wrapped with young banana leaves, then steamed by sangku, cooking ware made of clay.

We have never wear flour that is pounded with a machine, let alone a factory, because the taste of timphan is not good. Unless very forced, such as the rainy season, so people can not go out to pound rice in jeungki, which is only available in certain homes.

Lebaran ago my mom had time to make timphan, but not much, only about 50 pieces. Its timphan snacks for the guests who came to the place where Mother, both guests from our own area, as well as other guests. Every Lebaran, always many guests come to Mother’s place. They consider mother as parent.

Not only Eid, on a typical day, they often come to mother’s place. My mother becomes a place for them lamented. Hence, the mother herself has considered them as part of the family, even though all they have known when they were in Jakarta four years ago.

My mom and dad moved to Jakarta after Idul Fitri Eid seven years ago, because they feel uncomfortable in the village due to endless conflict. Father and mother leave quietly from home, no one knows, including the neighbors. Only the closest family circle knows.
Mr and Mrs went midnight to the main road to stop the bus that departed from Banda Aceh to Medan. From Medan, they boarded the PMTOH bus to Jakarta, traveling overland for two days-two nights. There is not much money they carry. All your money, amounting to Rp 8 million from selling motorcycles, was sent earlier to my account.

That motorcycle is the root of the matter. My sister, Maneh, who studied in Banda Aceh, wrote the story in one letter: “One afternoon, someone came to loan the motorcycle. Dad did not give, because you do not know that person. The man then went home. Soon the man came back with three of his friends, and insisted on lending the motorcycle. ”

“Dad insist on not lending. In addition to not knowing them, the next day there is also a need to visit a sick relative in Sigli. Then one of them pulled a pistol out from under his shirt and banged it onto Dad. Dad fell back, then limp. Motorbikes are then brought.”

“The motorcycle was repatriated a week later at one midnight and laid out in the yard. Mom and Dad know when they come, because brisik, but do not dare to go out. Though not in curfew, night out is dangerous and has immeasurable risk. ”

“Father was sick almost a month because of the incident. After that, Dad is no longer out of the house. Then, Mother suggested that the motorcycle be sold and Mr and Mrs moved to Jakarta. Dad agrees. After selling the motorcycle, dad immediately sent the money to your account.”

That was the beginning of my mom and father leaving the village. Previously, it was very difficult to ask them to stay with us in Jakarta. In fact, when comes anyway, father and mother have never been more than two weeks in our place. In the past, before retiring – Father was a civil servant in the sub-district office -the main reason could not stay where we were because Dad had to go to work. That makes sense indeed.

WHEN came, mother and father did not want to stay with us, but contracted a house in the community of people from Aceh in this city. “Let the atmosphere as in the village itself,” so the reason Mother. I did not mind my mother’s wishes either.

Because Mother is the oldest among the community, be mother as a parent. Mother is have fun and feels like at home. Unlike dad, who often feels uneasy. Dad always remember the house and its contents that dititipkan to the neighbor to live in, remember the mango gardens no one takes care of, also remember the sister in Banda Aceh.

Father also remembers abusyik and misyik tombs, his father and mother, who probably no longer cleaned regularly after he moved to Jakarta. Every three months, Dad always comes to their tombs to clear the grass, as well as sending prayers. After moving to Jakarta, practically it can not be done by father.

Especially before Idul Fitri or Idul Adha, my father are always grumpy if remember the village. Dad had several times intended to go home, but always prevented Mother and other villagers. “Why go home, I’m the one in the village to flee here,” they said.

And you were silent when they, who had just come from the village, told more and more unreasonable incidents there, for example there are people who sorenya healthy wal afiat, tomorrow morning has been found to be a corpse. In fact, there is no sense anymore: the cow was shot dead.

Hence, when my father are so missed to go home, mother is always looking for ways to comfort her. One of them, by making timphan and inviting some Acehnese families to taste it or hold a small feast to send a prayer to the deceased of my mother and father’s parents. With many coming, father was comforted.

So, within a year, my mother can be up to five-six times to make timphan. At mother’s house, practically two or three months, there’s a kenduri event. That does not include a makmeugang event every one or two days before the fasting month and Idul Fitri and Idul Adha. People are always invited, especially, young people, to enjoy the mothers cuisine

For my mather and father, makmeugang remain mandatory even in the rantau. The difference is, if in the village, we buy buffalo meat or ox on the day of mass cutting in the market district. Being here, just buy in the traditional market or in the supermarket.


>SUMBER FOTO: Tribunnews.com

******

While in Jakarta, my mother still uses rice flour for the basic ingredients of timphan. The difference, the mother did not pound with jeungki, because pounder rice and flour typical of our village was not available here. Mother pounded rice flour using tool for pounding chili pepper made of stone.

The result is not selicin flour pounded jeungki wear. But, as the saying goes, there is no rattan, roots are so. To be sure, Mother still does not want to use the flour that is pounded with the machine, let alone the factory-made rice flour. The problem once happened once, when the mother was sick, while she wanted to make timphan.

My mother then asked me help to pound the flour. Then, I give advice, better to buy just rice flour. “Because, I do not feel any difference between the flour that is pounded itself with flour is so,” I said. My mother was angry at my suggestion. “You are like a fool, like people do not know the rules.”

I was silent, did not want to argue with Mother. Because, if I argue, Mother’s anger will be more intense. In the afternoon, after work, I went to my mother’s place and brought rice to pound at home. When I finished, I immediately delivered the rice flour to my mother’s house. The next morning, though not quite healed for sick, my mother was in the kitchen making timphan and steaming it.

When I came to mother home after work, I saw Mom with my father and some other people enjoying Mom’s timphan. “Do you know who pounded rice flour to make this timphan? That’s the guy. So it’s better, because it’s more slippery, ” my mother said, pointing at me who was coming into the house.

I just laughed at it. “In fact, if it’s pounded with a machine or flour, it’s definitely slippery, and definitely better,” I interrupted. “Not necessarily, Bang,” one of the young men responded. “The old people said, to make timphan it must be from the best quality rice flour. The process for producing the flour is different. If we, the best rice we soak it first, then we mash. The flour sold in the market is not necessarily so. ”

“But the important thing is the flour.”‘

“Make no mistake, not all the good flour to make timphan. Must be rice flour that we grow ourselves.”

My mother nodded then chimed in. “He’s already a city man. I wish that was easy. Not willing to sweat. He does not know his art makes timphan. Tomorrow, Mother will not ask your help again to pound rice flour, “Mother said in a half-angry voice.

“It is not like that. It’s an exchange of opinions,” I said.

“This is not a matter of opinion exchange. Say you’re lazy to help me. Mother regrets asking for your help.”

Seeing my mother’s emotions rise, I did not respond anymore. I was afraid Mom would get angry and maybe all those timphans were thrown into the trash. Mother is a hard and explosive person. If you’re angry, get ready for any casualties, plates, glasses, and so on.

Then one of the young men said half whisper to me. “I once ate timphan that was made with flour from the market, it is not good. Could be because the flour was made not from choice rice and not soaked when pounded.” I just nodded.

“So the timphan sold in Warung Wak Leman is rarely bought, because made from flour sold in the market.”

Again I nodded. This is true. I myself have tried to taste the timphan at the stall, the taste of timphan is indeed a bit strange, very different from the timphan made by Mother. But why do not you make timphan all for sale or take orders, I thought suddenly in my heart. If that is done, surely my mother’s timphan will be a lot of behavior.

On another occasion, I tried to ask mother why not make timphan for sale. Mother’s explanation really startled me: “Timphan it’s the tradition of Eid. So the timphan is contrived not for sale, but to be distributed and served to the people who come. ”

Mom momentarily paused. I’m still waiting for what Mom will say next. Before saying more, Mother took a breath first. “Actually Mother lazy to make timphan on a typical day. It makes the timphan not typical anymore as Lebaran snacks. But for mom and dad, when making the timphan the atmosphere is like being in the village.”

“In the past, when I was a kid, my mother and my brothers always helped your grandmother make timphan for Eid. Rice from the rice fields themselves. Ordinarily, neighboring children also come to see us make timphan. Your grandmother made a five hundred pieces of timphan. It was distributed to the arriving guests and the neighbors.”

“Mother often miss the village. Mother often remembers your grandma who is now very old and sickly. Mom often dreams that your grandma told we to go home. But mother’s intention to go home always disappeared with horror stories from village. I hope your uncle can take good care of your grandmother.”

Mother paused for a moment. Then continued: “Hopefully our village will be completely safe. At some point, Mom and Dad have to go home. If you and mother die here, we want to be buried in the village. Not here. Because this is just a refugee ground.”

I did not say a word, saw a few drops of tears streaming down my mother’s face, which began to wrinkle. “But mom is confused. We have nothing left. All have been swallowed by the tsunami. “Mother wiped a tear that was swift with the tip of her hood.

“Our house is still there shape, but no one fix, because no one takes care of it. Your mom and dad have no money to go home to take care of our home improvements. Though your mother and father really want to celebrate Lebaran in the village, in that house, in the home where you were born.”

Mother sobbed. But, he hurriedly wiped his tears. “In a few days Lebaran. You must help mother pound flour to make timphan. You want it? “Mom looked at me expectantly. I just nodded, then hugged him. I could not resist the tears seeping through my eyelashes. ***

—————————-

NOTE:
This story was published in Sinar Harapan, Saturday, October 6, 2007
>Sumber foto utama: Panjimas.com

#life #mother #mymother #ibu #ibukita

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