18/9/11 ISLAM IS BLESSED WITH BEAUTIES AND YET HERE WE ARE...

Muslim knows, Muhammad SAW belong to the honourable tribe of Bani Hashim within the larger Quraish of Mecca. Nonetheless his father Abdullah Ibn Mutalib was not a rich man. He was just a nice young man among the average Bani Hashim. He was then married to Aminah, who was also from the average family of the Quraish. Unfortunately, before Muhammad was born, Abdullah passed away while on his first and only trading trip. His mother later also followed suit. He then was raised by his uncle Abi Thalib, the younger brother of Abdullah. Coincidently, Abi Thalib was the poorest among Muthalib sons, thus Muhammad was brought up in a very hardship manner.

(2) Later as all Muslim must know, Ali Abi Thalib, his cousin, the son of his uncle, Abi Thalib, were among the first 10 whom embraced Islam. He was a very poor kid then. Then came Bilal, a poor Somalian slave. Of course, Khadijah, Muhammad wife was a rich honored lady. The same with Abu Bakar, Othman and Umar.

(3) Today, after having my breakfast, I took a walk to the Central Market. It is a real amazing place. Lively. Happening. It sale foods, fisheries, meat, fruits, flowers, clothing, kitchen wares, and surely the stone and jewelleries. The sliver works sold here are really great. The price are good.

(4) My T-shirt doesn’t feel good. A bit warm and I began to sweat profusely. The blend of the sweat and the clothing material doesn’t make me feel good. I dropped to one of the stall which sell nice cheap 100 percent cotton T-shirt: ”Sir, nice T-shirt for you. Five for Ten”. That sound great. I start selecting 10 pieces. Then I hand over U$5.00 to the lady, a jovial middle age lady: ”No sir, cannot. Not Five dolla. Ten for twenty dolla”, she lost her r when pronouncing her dollar.” 5 for 10. So that's correct. I give you 5 for 10”, I purposely want to fool a bit with her. No sir. You funny. Not 10 T-shirt for 5 dolla. I sell 5 t-shirt for 10 dolla she answered me back while laughing aloud. ” OK, now no T-shirt, how many dollar?” I teased her through. ”You funny. This T-shirt you try. Good for you. Many-many lady looking you….” that’s how she then able to make me take 5 for 10. Cheap and comfortable though.

(5) Later I walked and walked along the street. My mind was figuring the best place to go. Then I remembered passing by two mosque before I entered the City the other day. I asked from lots of tuk-tuk and try get me there with the correct pricing. None really to my satisfaction because not really due to the price, I was worried I might be landing somewhere else. All of them seem don’t really get to the place I meant.

(6) Then I came across a much matured and look good tuk-tuk man. I asked him to take me to the Japanese-Cambodian Friendship bridge and from there I want to roam around the area to seach for the Masjid. He can’t understand what I mean, thus he show me to a hotel operator nearby whom can speak real good English. I told him where and why I want to go. He is in fact a Cambodian whom had migrated to Washington DC and coming to give some hands to his family business. He was then kind enough to tell the tuk-tuk man where I want to visit and even made some better suggestion. He negotiated the price for U$$25.00.

(7) From the Street, I was later taken to the Diamond Island, where now massive development is underway for the setting of a Super Mall, hotels and apartments. I believe by this Christmas, the place will be booming. Diamond Island project is just the opposite of the Grand Palace and the gigantic Phnom Penh Hotel across the Mekong.

(8) Later I rode along the Mekong Waterfront, with lines of open space, hotel and eateries areas. It is a nice, clean and happening place. Once we took the Japanese-Cambodian Friendship Bridge, we rode into the lane parallel to the river. It was a small, winding, bad back lane. At a point, there was a cluster of interesting fishing boats. I requested the tuk-tuk to make a stop. I dashed out to have some shots. As I aimed my telephoto lense to zoom into the boat, suddenly I realised, the ladies in the boat were on head dress and batik. Gotch. These must be the Cham. The Muslim minority. The kids in ragged. The men, look hagged.

(9) My focus becoming blurred. I turned my faced away. I took a walk distancing. I really couldn’t believe myself. I cried in fact. My tears just streaming out. It took me a while to cool back and recomposed. MasyaAllah. How on earth they look so bad, so poor, so naïve. At his moment deep in my heart I pray: “Ya Allah. There are so much beauties in Islam, yet there is this Cham, naïve and real pariah. What is happening?”. Then I walked another distance. An old lady was alone in the boat. I gave her Salam. She replied fluently. She is a Cham, a Muslim, a drifting community.

(10) I passed her a small contribution. Her hand shivered. Her lips vibrating. She seem to pray something. I look into her boat. Nothing much there. A very simple, a drifting live. She remind me of an almost abandoned old lady in my kampong. When I used to drop by to hand her some clothing or money, she will hold to them and pray. Now the lady is much well taken care when her five acres of land I converted into and oil palm farm which earn her constant good income. She now had a much better house and food to take. Here, in this far land, I met a similar case, but I hope she is not being abandoned. I can’t do much though.

(11) To a distance away, another larger group of boat people were anchoring along the river bank. A man dressed in tabligh style stood close by. I gave him a salam, and he greeted me well. We spoke in Malay. He had been studying in Pondok in Perak. I asked him who are these people: ”They are Cham from Vietnam. They come here. They stay here, three to five years, then go back. They fish and sell fish at the wet market by the Bridge”

(12) He later shown me his Village, ie Kampung Dalam used to be known among the Malaysian Malay whom frequent the place. I went over to have a pray at the mosque. A small nice Mosque catering for about 100 families. There are four Muslim villages nearby, with the last fifth one had been removed to up river. Some renovation and expansion are in progress. Kids are gathering around some just having fun while some were attending to the Quran Reading Class.

(13) As I prayed, my sweat profuse greatly. In my sujud I again cried. Here am I, alone, discovering all these, with whom should I share this disturbing experiences. What should then I’ll be doing? I prayed to Allah, to give me all the strength to serve Him and His people well. I hope I could do something for this community here as well as those in Vientien.

(14) At the doa I remembered our fishing comunities in Semera, Jemukan, even those in Semarang, Sepinang, Muara Tebas, Paloh, Kabong, Awat-awat, Kuala Tatau, Kuala Niah, Kuala Bekenu, Kuala Lawas, all those, they seem to love the sea to their death. Now development has encroached into their villages, yet they remained to where they are. All by reason, because they have no land. Farming were never their blood. The villages becoming crowding and to a certain extend, unhygienic, dangerous in raze of fire.

(15) Then I walked around. Stopped by a house where a group of ladies were cooking. One of them can speak little bit of Malay: Dua hari lagi, anak saya nak kahwin. Masak untuk kahwin she explained when I gave my salam and told them I am a Malaysian: ”Buat serunding ya?” I queried and she agreed. I then asked her to help me to get a tuk-tuk from the Village to take me to some more Muslim villages nearby. She agreed and we negotiated the price. I will make my further search by early tommorow morning.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia
7 Sept., 2011