Dearest Mum and Dad, With Love

Chapter Thirteen - Madrasah

Chapter Thirteen - Madrasah

Thunder growled as I walked underneath the shelter to get to the void deck of my house. Rain was pouring mercilessly and quickly filling up the drains - and it didn't look like the water was going to be drained out soon. In the distance, I saw a familiar looking yellow taxi in the open car park. The driver got out of the driver's seat, slammed the door shut and rushed to the boot unguarded. I watched him take out a worn out leather bag and hide it underneath his -already wet - shirt before racing back to the driver's door to lock the vehicle and finally making a run for the shelter. My heart broke once I identified the man.

It was my father who was caught in the rain - drenched from head to toe like a drowned rat. His body disappeared from sight as he turned a corner where the lifts were located. It was painful for me to watch and I worried for his health - especially now that he has diab-diabit - whatever it's called.

I trudged home slowly in misery, keeping the lie that I told in mind. It was Ayah who welcomed me home the moment I stepped into the living room.

"Walaikumsalam Ida!" He said in response to my greeting.  "Have you eaten?" he asked just as I noticed he had already changed into a set of dry clothes.

"Yes, just now. You?"

"I'm going to eat now," he replied, walking into the kitchen. "Your mother isn't feeling well so do look after her for me, okay? "

I lurched into the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"To work, silly!" he said cheerfully over his shoulder as he scooped rice onto a plate before moving to the stove. "Where else?"

"But-but, it's raining!" I protested.

"Yes, it is," he said, pulling a stool from underneath the table as he set down his plate. "But if I don't work, there won't be any money."

And there my dad goes, mentioning about money again. I always see him constantly worrying and obsessing over it - how he would pull out his wallet and count the dollars he had as worry lines creases his forehead- that I wish there was something I could do to help but sadly, I am only a thirteen year old who could do nothing but watch. Sometimes I wish that the world is money free or that money will drop from the sky or grow on trees like they do in cartoons. But sadly, that isn't the case.

"Oh and before I forget.." My attention snapped back to his face. My father pulled out his wallet from the pocket of his pants and took out a few dollar bills. "Here's your pocket money for next week."

I stared at the cash held out to me in dismay and quietly took in. I didn't want to accept it especially knowing how hard my dad worked for it.

"And I've enrolled you for madrasah [Islamic religious] classes," he continued, pushing a paper bag towards me.  "It's at the mosque and it's once a week - every Sunday. " I took it and withdrew the first thing my hand landed on and found a thick-looking brown envelope. "Those are the learning materials you'll need." My dad explained. " There's also a jubah (loose-fitting abaya) dress and a tudung (hijab/headscarf) inside. Mudah-mudahan kelasnya bermanfaat untuk bekalan dunia ini mahupun di akhirat kelak. (May these classes be of benefit for this life and the hereafter) Ameen. "

My father left the house half an hour later, the skies still crying just as my heart.

***

"Girl Guides, " Joanna said as she strode in front of us. "I give you a five minute water and toilet break. Go have a drink and return to the Guides' room.  Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes Ma'am!" we chorused again, this time I could feel my parched throat.