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The beauty is memorising the Quran, praying Tahajud in congregation, planting vegetables, and herding goats while studying in Islamic boarding school. What on Afif's mind along the journey from Washington DC to the Soekarno Hatta Airport, Jakarta, is about. His heart was restless, sometimes looking at the blue sea, sometimes noticing to the actions of the plane passengers, most of whom were not Indonesian. Only one thing soothes his wound, going to Al-Huda Islamic boarding school, Jombang, where he learnt and completed his memorisation of the Qur'an. And the most crucial thing is meeting his teacher.

Above the Pacific Ocean, his hand opened a small brown book with a little dull paper. There are the the hadiths of the Prophet on it. He started reading one of them. Certainly, His memory turned back to Ustadz Ahmad, whom he really wanted to meet and was the reason for him to go back again to the country he left for 5 years.

The journey from Washington Dulles International to Soekarno Hatta Airport for 23 hours did not make him neglect praying. Arriving at his home country, his memories went back to 15 years ago, when he decided to choose the University of Washington and ignored Al-Azhar University. He prefered the Economics to the Hadith major. Recently, he regretted his decision.

He landed up at Pahlawan City Airport, Juanda, finally. Someone already picked him up. Fatigue plagued his mind and heart, He could not bear slumber. His eyes were closed, while imagining the memories of his former school. It is flowed by a river and has views of beautiful green fields and a lot of shady trees. He fell asleep for a while in the car.

The wheels stopped. He opened his eyes wide. His sight was focused on the small street. The road to Islamic boarding school, surrounded by kapok trees on the sides, which he planted with his friends. He stopped at a kapok tree in the middle of the road, He stared at it with longing, bursting His tears. It was full with weeds, large cottonwoods and juwet fruits, the signs of that time, when he had a big fight with Ustadz Ahmad. He stepped back to the ground of beautiful green grass like the grass he had in Washington.

Raeching the courtyard of Islamic boarding school, right in front of him was Al-Huda board, no more than 1 x 2 meters, made of wood and brittle with age, making his heart beats. His eyes saw every detail of the place where he first learnt.

Looking at the building which was once well maintained, now it is an old building, swallow's nest alike, He broke out His tears again. It is neglected and left uncaring, the clear river behind it is still unchanged. His footsteps led him to a large rock near the river, He always sat on it when he read the Qur'an. The gusts of wind along with the falling leaves reminded him of the time he learned reciting the Quran there long time ago.

Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to the right. "Fif," said the man wearing a white cap. “Zaki? Are you Zaki?” "Yes Fif, I'm Zaki" They  hugged. "How are you Fif ?  we haven't seen each other for so long" "I'm good, Zak, but not as good as before, when I studied here. So, why are you here?” "I would never thought we would meet again here Fif. I've been teaching here for a long time. But, it's not like you've been successful in America. Your name often appears in the mass media and national TV".

So, what brings you back here?” Zaki asked, his forehead wrinkled. He thought, Afif was like foreigners who would buy the fields near the  boarding school or he came back to laugh at this  fragile boarding school. His mind was clear at first, however, now he was wondered, with his wealth, Afif could do anything, he thought.

In just a few seconds, his mind was wandering. They looked at each other, now, it was much different comparing to the last time they were students, wearing sarong. Newly, Afif looks neat in a black suit and pink tie and wears shiny black loafers. Meanwhile, nothing about Zaki has changed at all. He is still the same, the cap and sarong are his trademarks, but with more charismatic look, for sure, it is because Zaki has devoted his life there  for more than ten years.

“Apologies and happiness.” "What do you mean by happiness, Fif, aren't you delighted with your success?" "You know Zak, I live a successful life in Washington, leaving in the morning and coming home at night. I have got barely little time to get me closer to Allah SWT. Most of it is taken up by world affairs. I don't feel at all what is the basis of life in this world, the true happiness."

“Then, as for an apology, what do you mean?” For a few moments the conversation stopped, Afif reflected again. His hands clasped together. Then he put his mouth close to it and said.

“I've made a big mistake Zak, a huge mistake. I should have chosen Al-Azhar, not Washington. I should choose the afterlife, not the world. I should have listened to Ustadz Ahmad's saying. I even said that he hated if his student was successful and went to America. You know Zak, I don't know where the words I said came from. I had blamed Ustadz Ahmad. My insults must have really hurt him," said Afif. He said with unstoppable dripping tears. "After dozen years, why are you here now, Fif?" “Actually, I came here five years ago. But I didn't dare enter this boarding school. At time, I wasn't as successful as I am now."

In the old hut near the river, they conversed with each other, about work, trivial matters, to their boarding school. Zaki told the boarding school now in critical stage. Previously, there were more than 600 students, now, there are no less than 100 students. The reason is because Ustadz Ahmad suffered from stroke in his leg. He has to use a wheelchair everywhere and sell some rice fields he owned. The school has become increasingly vulnerable lately. Only a few parents still entrust their children's education here.

Alluhu Akbar Allahu Akbar 

The echo of Azdan from the mosque stopped their conversation. They went straight to the mosque. Afif's presence among the students of course made him the center of attention. Zaki said, Afif is one of the most successful alumni from Al-Huda Islamic boarding school. The teachers, frequently, told about His success story to the students.

"Are you ready, Fif, to meet Ustadz Ahmad?" "Yes, i'm ready." "Apologise sincerely to him." They come to Ustadz Ahmad's house, located inside the boarding school area.  Ustadz Ahmad's voice was heard reciting the Quran, beautiful and pleasant, catched to the front of the house, where the two waited patiently. Ustadz Hadi, Ustadz Ahmad's eldest son, opened the door. Afif's tears could no longer be stood when he saw the condition of his teacher, who taught him the knowledge of the world and the hereafter.

They chatted while waiting in the guest room. No one dared to interrupt when Ustadz Ahmad was reciting the Quran. Afif was allowed to enter the living room by Ustadz Hadi. There were lots of photos. Tears dripped from his eyes again when he found his photo with thropy of Mathematics Olympiad and the National Tahfidz displayed in the front side with honor. Also, photos of him attending the TV program was on display. 

"Bah, a guest for you," called Ustadz Hadi. With his slightly rusty wheelchair, he headed to the living room slowly. Afif immediately approached and greeted him, then kissed his teacher's feet. “Ustadz Ahmad,  I apologise for my miserable mistake. I didn't know myself before. I used to be a really ungrateful person, Ustadz," said Afif with a pitiful face, sad tone and shedding tears. "I have forgiven you, Fif. Just stand up, don't kiss my feet!” said the middle-aged man. Meanwhile, Afif didn't want to stand up and stayed still, kissing his feet.

"Ustadz Ahmad is right, happiness is not measured by the wealth. I'm sorry. I should have chosen Al-Azhar, studied religion, and practice it, not  Washington," said Afif with tears dripping from his eyes. Now, he is determined to leave his world in Washington to return to Santri City to find the afterlife he so longs for.

Published in Ritzen Republika: By Wildan Pradistya Putra, Language Teacher of Thursina International Islamic Boarding School