Disappearing Acts

Whenever I read about lotsa what had happened recently (the good and the bad news), I cringed in embarrassment. The horror of missing our loved ones, the agony of waiting day after day for a sliver of homecoming news, the heart beating nervously while waiting for any signs, the longer prayers, supplications and promises made to Allah - nobody would ever wish for that to happen even to their worst enemies!

My newly joined housemate (she has a very long lovely name – 3 first names ok including ‘Melissa’) told me of her grandmother who went missing in Makkah ages ago. She (grandma) went alone (either for the main pilgrimage or the smaller pilgrimage) with the husband’s consent. Of course, it’s quite normal for husband and wife to take turn to go to Makkah especially when they’ve got small kids or financial constraints. She’s with a mahram too (tumpang Ustaz or male relative) as required by the custom’s regulations to enter Saudi Arabia. Even though we’ve been reminded time and again to take precaution upon taking the taxi or any other public transport whereby male relative is supposed to get in first and get out last to prevent the females from being driven away, there’s a tendency to ignore common sense and be lull by a sense of security from being in Tanah Haram (mak said Tanah je yang Haram tapi orangnya perangai macam…). Like when I was there for umrah, the hotel’s entrance is just a stone throw away from one of the Masjidil Haram’s (King Fadh) entrance. For us, it was a simple matter of a short hop here and there. So, instead of moving in groups as advised, there’re ‘single’ occasions like the urgent need to go back to the hotel for nature calls (more comfy – Malaysians tend to used a lot of water when it comes to clean up (and ablutions) after themselves & I had the extra problem of taking forever to do business especially after changed of place) thus not wanting to impose on other group members or distracted them from doing their ibadah.

Back to my housemate’s grandma. Before that, I say, we could never closely imagine what Nurin’s parents had to go through during the long missing month – the whole gamut of emotions from anger, denial, acceptance and pasrah eventually (no need to punish them more lah). But put ourselves in the victim’ shoes instead. A small hapless girl hoping and keep on hoping for being rescue immediately, while we can only imagine the torture that she had to endure. How she must have put her trust in the systems and the works to save her from the monstrous beast(s). (However, I do belief her innocence such that Allah takes care of His subjects. Rest in peace, Nurin)

What if you’re the kidnapped victims in Makkah? What if you’re still alive after all this years (more than 20)? Would you still keep on hoping that your husband (married for the second time), family or the government will someday come to your rescue? I also read in the newspaper about a young and newly married couples who also went for pilgrimage. They’re inseparable. However, it took only a single lapse of attention and the wife went missing. After a month of searching, the husband went home defeated.

Yes, all that happens are trials from Allah. It’s pre-destined and there must be reasons and meaning to it. But at the same time it scares the hell out of me such that I belief death is more than welcome to me if I was in such situations.

There were occasions when my silly (un)actions left undeletable print on the minds of my family. Me, who very much like to keep to myself. I’ll be in touch if only I’m in trouble or dire straits. Otherwise, they’re supposed to assume that I’m doing fine. Like when I was still using the public transports system – I sorta make a deal with my family that I will call anyone of them only if I hadn’t managed to reach my destination safely. This is before the advent of mobile handphone. Which is stupid really, considering the fact that if I haven’t reach my destination and thus public phone, must be that I was stranded elsewhere without a public phone right? Thanks to Allah, it never happen.

Then, I started to have mobile phones. Which means I'm always reachable, just a phone call a way. Back at that ‘early stone age’ period with bulky phones and battery that run dead often times than not (second hand Motorola from my bro –what do you expect?), coupled with the fact that I went to bed early (I was working long daily hours in KL, lotsa ‘activities’ on Saturday and really tired most times) and thus switched off my handphone as the next day was Sunday (a day of rest) where I slept in late. It was also a Pasar Tani day. Wake up, clean up and busy cooking by late noon only to have somebody knocking the door (I was staying with 2 housemates then). Surprise!!! My bro and his whole family came all the way from Shah Alam to check on me in Ampang. It turned out that my eldest bro had tried to contact me many times since the night before (since I went back hometown almost every weekend). Failure to so, he contacted other siblings (there’re 5 houses) in Seremban. Finally, my SA’s bro was entrusted with the task to track me down – to find out whether I was 'dead or alive'. (Er, I had the bad reputation of ‘asyik tidur aje’ among my nephews and nieces).

Another occasion that I remember now, happened not that long ago (2004/5?). When I started on further studies, I chose to stay in the hostel during the second semester after wasting lotsa time commuting from Seremban. By this time, I already changed to a better phone – brand new Nokia. But old habits die hard – I still hate talking on the phones. During one weekend at a friend’s house (coz her husband was away), the phone was in my bag inside a room. I spent most of the times (and slept) in front of the tv in the living room (bear in mind this was the early pre-thesis stage where I got endless spare time to never miss Sanay Wala Nang Wakas, Yo Soy Betty La Fea, Mis Tres Hermanas - to name just a few) and chatted with my friend. Somebody must have started looking for me coz after that everybody in the family were buzzing on my whereabouts. They tried to keep it from mak who was in Seremban (for one of her hospital checkups or something which usually mean I will join mak at any of the selected houses out of five – hahah!). That time around, my sis who already transferred from JB to Kajang was recruited : Find adik! (again)
Imagined my panic at 10pm when somehow she and family managed to track my friend’s house (she'd been there to pass on things to me some time before that) and made house call. I was stuck speechless! Never mind the lectures that I had to listen to - my ears singed. (Both occasions, the no. of missed calls are humongous! SMS takde lagi - came in much later)

The next day, when I went back to see mak – I was told how I had make everyone worry unnecessary overnite. Mak had caught my siblings whispering to each other and thus caught on the fact of my disappearing act. She cried and hugged me real tight. (the second part is not true lah).

I dunno whether I’m lucky or over-burden with such a protective family. Love them anyway.

Moral of the story (tak semestinya berkait ok):
1. Arrange to have at least someone in the know of our whereabouts especially when we’re moving from one place to another, even from office to home. Leave behind contactable numbers of friends and family. In print.
2. Teach our children: Don’t talk, follow, or try to help strangers.
3. There’s security in numbers.
4. Technology exists for our convenience – use wisely.
5. Bring lampu selait, payung, pegang kunci celah2 jari, as weapons when walking alone – daytime or at night. Pepper spray is no good if it’s stuck in our endless bottom of handbag.
6. Better be labelled as paranoid rather than ...? Whatever….
7. Learn some basic moves of street-fighting. (Mano sompek bukak buah silat oi!) Like a simple spitting on the hands of the very person who is holding you hostage will cause a reflex of releasing you as he goes - Yuck!! Or how much damage you can do to a nose. Or the trachea. Or that little spot in between tulang dada & perut- right under the sternum. Try me!