The house was a few minutes walk away. Bamboo fence and gate greeted them and Uncle Macky entered and announced, “Assalaamu ‘alaykum.” Someone answered “Wa ‘alaykum mussalaam” but Uncle Macky walked inside like he had always been there the rest of his life. Then slowly people emerged out the three houses inside the compound. The house near them was the only one built of the common hollow blocks and cement while the other two were made of wood with metal roofs. He noticed also a sort of big grayish concrete cube structure. Upon close look, he observed a faucet sticking on its side and some basins and clay jars around the cube. Weird, but he might ask Uncle Macky what it was.
They were ushered inside the concrete house. Uncle Macky gave a gesture of respect by taking the elderly men’s and women’s right hand and touching his forehead gently with it. Raza, like he, was given yet another set of ‘sniffing’ kisses. After exchanging pleasantries, they were asked to sit down on the sofa in the living room and the table in front of them was immediately filled with a cold pitcher of orange juice, glasses and platters of assorted biscuits. Despite feeling queasy, Raza was both hungry and curious so he took a bite of one that looked like dark pretzel while the people around him talked animatedly and excitedly. Some were sitting down the sofas and others who didn’t find a place to sit just stood there. Raza thought the people in there was much more excited than the last one he visited. They were all smiling faces. He noticed that the house had three bedrooms, it seemed, which stood side by side, the place where the doors should be was only scantly covered with curtains—no bedroom doors. The living room where they sat stretched in front of the bedrooms. There was a television set near the door which was either not working or was turned off. He looked up and observed no ceiling separated the roof from the entire house. A sewing machine and a rickety chair stood in the corner; a cardboard box below it held snipped cloths of varying colors.
A string of introductions got out of Uncle Macky’s lips. He introduced practically everyone. Raza didn’t fight hard to remember. There were so many names—his uncles, aunts, cousins, grandaunts, granduncles, granduncle’s grandchildren and so on, all his relatives. Someday, he would really construct a very large family tree. He only made it a point to remember his grandparents; after all, they were the reason he was there, if he discounted the iPhone. His grandpa was a balding man, with white eyebrows and short white beard. His nose was pointed like Raza’s and his eyes were gray with age. His hands were tanned and callused. His grandma had long dark wavy hair with tinges of white and gray; wrinkles apparent on her face and arms; and her back arched slightly forward. His father once said to him that he had a total of ten siblings. Wow, when Raza only had a younger sister.
Kids ran around the house and Raza bet were given orders to keep quiet and play outside. He couldn’t keep count of them because they kept coming and going and he heard them playing outside, giggling and laughing. Later, he learned they were his little cousins and cousins’ playmates.
When Raza thought that Uncle Macky would be the only one he would be talking to for the entire week, he met Jamil. He lived a few houses away and went there like everyone else because he heard about the guests. Raza assumed he was another distant relative or a family friend. He learned that he could speak English very well. He was shorter than Raza though he was a few inches above five feet with dark crew-cut hair, pointed nose and bright eyes. Raza thought he knew him from somewhere, his face looked vaguely familiar.
“Jamil knows English well because he is one of the top students, if not the top, in class,” Uncle Macky explained. Other people came and went to meet Raza. He shook hands with so many people than he could remember in a day. The platters and glasses filled endlessly to offer to the visitors who wanted to see the new guest in town like a politician had just landed in the vicinity.
Jamil was asked by the family to stay and maybe accompany Raza since they would most likely understand each other. He was four years older than Raza, he was told. Jamil ate dinner with them without anyone asking him to join; but it seemed like an unspoken offer in the thinning gathering. They had dinner in one of the two wooden houses in the compound. Unlike the concrete one, the two houses were the kind that stood above the waters. One house belonged to his grandaunt, the other wooden house had two areas, one was the bedroom and the other was the kitchen-cum-dining area. About eight people sat on two benches on both sides of the dining table which was unsurprisingly wooden covered with flowery tablemat. A fluorescent lamp hung above them. The kitchen area was unlike he’d ever seen. Woods were stacked beside the place where cooking was done. Dying embers of burnt wood were apparent on the cooking area high above the floor. Pots and pans hung on one side while plates and glasses were placed neatly on an improvised plate stand.
They had dinner of fried and grilled fish with soy sauce-calamansi-chili dip, seafood broth with vegetables, agar-agar and native tomatoes salad and the ever-present rice. He sat beside his grandmother who served him food on his plate and kept urging him to eat more. “You eat,” was what she managed to say in English. Raza already got the hang of eating with his bare right hand.
After dinner, Raza went around the house and discovered that the strange cube structure was a water tank. He walked down the boardwalk of coconut lumber between the two wooden houses that led to open view of the sea. He found a small thatched area just behind the kitchen.
He was surprised to see Jamil resting on the hammock which was tied to the posts of the small area. Bunches of firewood were piled neatly on the floor while fishing nets scattered above it. “Hello,” Jamil greeted when he noticed him.
Raza thought of going back but instead said, “Hello” too. “Can I call you Raz?” Jamil said casually; his English and accent was quite good—better than Uncle Macky’s, not quite American but really good.
“Sure, can I call you Jam?” Raza said reluctantly.
“No problem.”
“So, how do you find the place?” Jamil asked.
“Nothing like I’ve seen. At least there’s water and electricity. Though, Uncle Macky explained, the water connection stops after one or two hours during the day. Then electricity’s there for a few hours of the night and stops at midnight. Maybe I can handle it, just like camping. I don’t intend to stay forever.”
“Of course you don’t. Even I find this way of living a little hard.”
“Do you study here?” Raza asked out of the blue. He’s got to be studying somewhere.
“No, remember that island where the plane landed? That’s where I used to study,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Used to?”
“I just graduated college last month.”
“Oh. Congratulations. So, you used to ride a boat there everyday?” Raza asked unbelievably.
“Not like that; I stay at my aunt’s during school days. I come here every weekend.”
“Aren’t there any schools here?” Raza asked concernedly.
“There are. But there’s no college institution here.”
That explains it, Raza thought. The island was not heavily populated. He glimpsed only a few motorcycles in the place. There were mostly bicycles or just people walking. Raza thought how depressing it must be and can’t imagine that his father lived half his life in the place.
“You know, your grandpa and grandma are really glad you came. They missed you so much,” Jamil said after a few minutes of silence hung between them.
“I can’t imagine missing someone you barely knew. Besides, with the number of grandchildren throw in other neighbors’ kids who frequent here, they have quite a handful of little ones to handle. I don’t see why they’ll think of someone they haven’t seen for years.”
“That’s because they’re your grandparents. You have their blood running in you,” Jamil answered matter-of-factly.
“Well, I’ve seen children abandoned by their parents even though the same blood runs through them.”
“There’s always good and bad in this world, Raz. God hands you the test and it’s up to you if you want to cheat or answer it honestly or maybe just live it blank,” Jamil answered, a little bit sagely.
Raza thought about it. “Doesn’t it matter what the outcomes are?”
“The results are but reflection on how you did in the exam. It shows how much you’ve learned, what you’ve neglected, it shows your preparedness—what you brought with you before you braved the odds.”
Raza didn’t know where it was going and why Jamil was suddenly acting all wise but he played it, nonetheless. “But you never know what the test is unless you’re already in it and sometimes your preparedness in not enough.” Say something about that, Raza thought smugly.
“True,” was all Jamil said. Raza smirked. Maybe he wanted to show Raza that being older than him meant he knows more of this world than Raza did; but it got exhausted immediately.
Jamil stood and paced outside the thatched area with his hands clasped behind his back. “That’s true. But we are forgetting that sometimes we can’t strive to get things perfect no matter how hard we try. It’s not always success at the end that is the ideal result. There should be two choices—to succeed or to finish unscathed.”
Raza caught himself. The guy may be no expert but he got a point.
“That sounds like a good choice. A win-win if you ask me,” Raza conceded reluctantly.
Jamil walked to the edge of the wooden pathway and sat down, his feet dangling just above the tide. In the dark, Raza could see the silhouette of three small native boats moored just below where Jamil was sitting. Raza followed his wake but fought the urge to sit down and looked instead up the dark canvas of the sky scattered with specks of light. “The sky is filled with stars tonight. You don’t always get this view in the city with all those lights and tall buildings,” Raza said, more to himself.
“Really? But it’s not always bright stars and blue seas in here. Life is really rough. Most of the time, the stars in the sky are the only things you can enjoy for free.”
Raza shifted his gaze to Jamil; he had that longing look as he watched the stars adorning the sky.
“What are you thinking?” he asked Jamil curiously.
“I’m just thinking; the stars are so big, right? But it’s so far away that it looked so small. Distance makes it small though it is bigger than the sun.”
“Yes,” Raza said slowly, not sure what he meant by it. He looked up again. He knew he was right. His grade school lessons taught him that already.
“But God created distance. He encompasses it, He’s not subjected to its law; He subjects distance to His law. So even though He’s light-years above the heavens, don’t you think that even if He lifts the veil to reveal Himself to us, He’s grandeur would not decrease in any way?” Jamil said this slowly to ensure he delivered the message clear.
Raza let himself absorb what Jamil said. And then he understood what he meant. “It won’t decrease. Because He’s Al Qahhar—The All Compelling Subduer. The laws of all creation do not apply to Him, instead, it serves Him,” Raza suddenly caught himself saying. It was like it wasn’t him who said it. Then added, “Allahu a’lam”
Jamil smiled brilliantly up to him and said, “Sahih”
Then they looked at the sky, both lost in their reflection of the greater things that spread above them.