The Struggle Of Gaza Girl

About Indonesia

Her name was Yumn Shequeena AzZahra, though everyone simply called her Yumn. She was eleven years old and had a younger brother named Zain. Five years earlier, her family had fled to Gaza from Palestine's capital city. At that time, Zain had still been a toddler.

Conflict had forced them to leave their home and seek refuge there. Five years ago, life had been somewhat better. Now, although things looked much the same on the surface, Gaza was still far from safe. The war had never truly ended.

---

"An angel? What did that volunteer mean when he said that?" Yumn couldn't stop thinking about his words.

"I'm not beautiful. I'm poor, and my clothes look like this. The only way I could ever be considered an angel is if I made it to Paradise."

That night, another thought occupied her mind.

Was everything her mother had told her about a country called Indonesia really true?

The more she thought about it, the more curious she became. Her sleepiness disappeared entirely. She decided that the next day she would visit the volunteer again. She wanted to learn more about his homeland.

The following morning, after the dawn prayer, Yumn fell asleep again and woke up later than usual. She quickly headed to the volunteer post near her home.

From a distance, she saw the volunteer unloading and organizing supplies that had just arrived in a vehicle. He looked busy, so she approached quietly and waited for him to finish.

"Hello, Yumn. Is there something I can help you with?" the volunteer asked when he finally noticed her. "No food aid arrived today. We only received clothing."

"I just wanted to talk to you, sir," Yumn replied. "I want to learn more about your country."

"Oh, I see. Give me a little time to finish my work first."

Yumn sat on a plastic chair beneath a tent supported by iron poles and covered with a canvas roof.

She waited patiently for nearly half an hour.

Eventually, the volunteer walked over carrying several brand-new pieces of clothing still wrapped in plastic.

"These are for you and your brother, Yumn," he said, handing them to her.

"Thank you very much, sir."

A moment later, another volunteer approached and handed her a tightly sealed plastic package.

"This is for you as well," he said.

Yumn looked at the package in surprise.

"There's so much in here, sir. What is it?"

"Open it when you get home," the volunteer replied with a smile.

Yumn nodded before asking the question that had been on her mind.

"Sir, may I ask something? Are the people in your country as kind and friendly as you are?"

The volunteer chuckled.

"Most of them are, Yumn. It seems you're very interested in Indonesia."

"That's true, sir. My mother has told me many stories about your country, and I'm amazed by them. That's why I came here today. I want to know more."

"Hmm..." He thought for a moment. "I'm not sure where to begin. Indonesia is a very large tropical country. We have forests, mountains, and seas. Almost every Muslim in my country knows about Palestine, Yumn. They respect your people very much. But not many Indonesian Muslims can speak Arabic."

"Really?" Yumn asked. "Then can they read the Qur'an?"

"Of course they can. They may not speak Arabic, but they can still read the Qur'an."

"I understand now." Her eyes brightened. "Tell me about the natural scenery in your country. Is it like here?"

The volunteer smiled.

"It's very different. You might even cry when you see it. There are vast forests, tall mountains, beautiful beaches, and endless oceans. We have almost everything—except deserts."

"Is it true that there are many mosques in your country?"

"You can hear the call to prayer echoing from one mosque to another, Yumn. In many places, you'll find a mosque every few hundred meters."

"Really?" she gasped. "SubhanAllah, that's amazing! What about the cities? Do you have shopping malls there?"

"Of course we do."

He paused before asking, "Let me ask you something, Yumn. If you could visit Indonesia, what would you want to see first?"

Yumn thought carefully.

"A lot of things, sir. I once saw modest Muslim clothing in a magazine, and I'd love to see it in person. I heard many Muslim fashion designers come from your country."

She hesitated before continuing.

"And frogs. I want to see frogs."

The volunteer blinked.

"Frogs? Why would you want to see frogs?"

Yumn looked completely serious.

"I'm curious. Do they really jump? In the pictures I've seen, they're always sitting down. How can they jump if they're sitting like that?"

The volunteer burst into laughter.

Yumn looked worried.

"I'm sorry, sir. Was my question strange?"

"No, no," he replied, still smiling. "Not at all. Frogs are rare here, or at least not something you see often. I understand why you're curious. It's just a funny question."

Then he gently patted her shoulder.

"In my country, Yumn, there are places where it feels like you can touch the clouds. If I could take you there myself, I would."

His smile faded slightly.

"Being here has made me realize how fortunate I am to have been born in Indonesia. Sometimes I didn't appreciate what I had back home. But seeing the hardships people face here reminds me every day how blessed I am. There are shortages of everything here, Yumn. Muslims across Indonesia sincerely hope that one day you and your people can live in peace and prosperity."

Yumn lowered her gaze.

"Sir, how could someone like me ever reach your country?"

"Hmm... I don't know. Maybe as a student. Maybe as a tourist. Or perhaps one day you might marry an Indonesian."

"I see."

A sad smile appeared on her face.

"All of those things seem impossible. I'm very poor. I can't become a student because I've already left school. And marriage?" She shook her head. "I'm not beautiful, and I'm poor."

The volunteer looked at her kindly.

"Didn't I tell you yesterday? If you were in my country, people would think you looked like an angel."

"I still don't understand what you mean."

"You'll understand when you get there."

He smiled warmly.

"Yumn, I pray that Allah will one day bring you to my country. Ask Him. Pray to Him. We don't know what path Allah may choose, so leave that matter in His hands. For now, focus on taking care of your mother and your brother. Aren't they the most important people in your life right now?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

She nodded firmly.

"When I grow up, I'll go to Indonesia. I hope these difficult times end soon. I'll work hard and save money so I can see the country my mother dreams of visiting—the country I want to see too."

---

When Yumn returned home, she gave the packages to her mother.

Her mother's face lit up as she opened them. Inside were beautiful abayas and hijabs.

"Try them on, Yumn," her mother said with a smile. "I think they'll suit you. You're growing up now. It's time for you to start wearing a hijab."

"Yes, Mom."

Yumn quickly changed into the new clothes.

When she stepped out, her mother smiled proudly.

"You look beautiful, Yumn. And when you go outside, wear this face veil as well. There is so much dust and sand here."

"Is that something Islam requires, mom?"

Her mother gently shook her head.

"No, Yumn. A woman's face and hands are not considered awrah. But some women choose to wear a face veil, especially after marriage. Different Muslims follow different practices."

She spoke softly, offering motherly advice.

"What's most important is modesty, good character, and sincerity before Allah. Clothing should help us remember those values."

Yumn listened carefully.

Her mother then added,

"Always remember this, Yumn. Beauty is a gift from Allah. It should never become a reason for pride or arrogance. Just as Allah gives wealth to some people and less to others, He also gives different blessings to each person. What matters most is gratitude, humility, and the goodness in your heart."

Yumn nodded quietly, holding her new clothes close as she reflected on her mother's words.