“I wrote this story as a personal reflection—a testimony from a TPQ Qur’an teacher who once took part in Indonesia’s official transmigration program, with hopes for a better life. The process was long and exhausting. But in reality, we were manipulated by irresponsible officials. This is the true story of my sister and me. We’re not sharing it just as a personal narrative, but to make our voices heard and to demand justice—not only for ourselves, but for others who have gone through the same thing, yet remain voiceless”
By: A Qur’an Teacher in Indonesia
“Why join transmigration? Why not just get a job?”
I already tried. In fact, I was offered one.
The offer came from the father of one of my dad’s congregation friends.
His son was opening a new branch and needed an admin.
I was asked to learn Excel. I trained for six months, every day.
They said there would be a test.
My father was so happy.
Then one day, that man came to my rented room—
He came with my father. He entered… without taking off his sandals.
He looked around the room and said:
“So this is your room? At my place, the rooms are better.
Would you like to move in? I feel sorry for your dad...”
I tried to stay confident.
“If possible, check the location before moving,” he said.
So I visited the first branch—my dad took me.
But the staff there said:
“The interview isn’t here. It’s at a different branch, a bit farther away.”
The day finally came.
My dad and I left after dawn. We arrived before the shop opened.
I waited for two hours.
My dad said:
“I’ll pick you up this evening. Be enthusiastic, they said you’ll start working right away.”
I went inside.
The staff were carrying mattresses.
Young boys, probably junior high school graduates.
“What do you need, miss?”
“Interview for an admin job…”
“Have a seat, the boss isn’t here yet.”
Later, an office staff member came and took me upstairs.
I waited there with another woman who was also applying.
In my heart, I thought, “At least I’m not alone.”
Then a woman staff member came and asked:
“You can use Excel, right?”
“God willing, yes…”
She opened a computer.
“Here’s the data. Try to calculate the total and average revenue of our company over one month.”
We were tested.
No small talk. I did the work.
“Use formulas, not manual input…”
I used SUM, AVERAGE, then—
“Done.”
“Okay. Now fill out this biodata form.”
I answered all the questions with confidence.
Then the boss came into his office.
Eventually, it was my turn.
“What did you do before?”
“I was a Qur’an teacher.”
“Actually, we already have someone for the admin job. The woman who was tested earlier.”
“If you want, you can clean, carry mattresses, mop the floor—like the guys downstairs.”
“You’ll be on a one-week trial. Then Ms. X and Ms. Y will evaluate your performance.”
“Work starts before 7:30 AM and ends around 9 PM.”
I replied softly:
“But Mr. Z said I was applying for the admin position…”
He just smiled.
“I also need someone who can do physical labor.”
I excused myself.
I walked out… sat down.
Tears started falling. I was so thin.
The office workers were huge, easily five times my size.
Most of the sales staff were men.
Am I that worthless in their eyes?
I had no phone credit.
I borrowed 2,000 rupiah emergency credit and called my dad.
“Dad… pick me up…”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask. Just come.”
“But I just got home…”
Then the boss came down.
“Still here?”
“Yes. Waiting for someone to pick me up…”
We went home.
I cried on the motorbike.
My dad sped up, afraid of missing the call to prayer.
We nearly crashed.
Sometimes, poor people are too confident…
They think they’re friends with the rich.
Why transmigration?
Because we wanted a better life.
We didn’t want our suffering to repeat.
We often went without food.
We fasted without iftar.
Four days without food or drink.
Slept at mosques two kilometers away, walking there.
Sometimes took turns using a bicycle.
So is it wrong if I raise my voice now?
Because I was played with—by corrupt officials.
They say I’m lazy:
But I’ve rarely been at home since I finished school.
I’ve done all kinds of work—
As long as it was honest and didn’t harm anyone.
Factory worker, duck farmer,
Selling coffee at night, coming home at dawn,
Selling noodles, fried snacks, odd jobs, housemaid, babysitter,
Helped kids with schoolwork, sold food by order,
Tried gardening fruits and vegetables, wrote a book, created YouTube content, and taught Qur’an.
And finally—I was deceived.
We’re not lazy. We are fighters.
A childhood full of neglect.
A youth full of abandonment.
An adulthood still under struggle.
My sister and I are partners in this battle.
Fighting ignorance.
Fighting patriarchal doctrines disguised as tradition and religion.
The root of generational and inherited poverty.
People think single women like my sister and I are carefree.
But our burdens are heavy.
In poverty, there are countless risks and pressures—
Especially between the duty of being a daughter and a woman.
I once wrote a book—
About how marriage brings both joy and pain,
Fulfillment and regret.
A book that explores marriage through 11 different lenses and how marriage affects each one.
I care about marriage because that’s where life begins.
That book, born from a wounded soul trying to heal others,
Was meant to shift marriage from a prison into a place of freedom.
I submitted it to the Ministry of Religious Affairs in Surabaya, accompanied by my sister.
I even sent it to the President—Mr. Joko Widodo—in 2018.
Our history of poverty led us to apply for transmigration.
It was a long, exhausting process—
Only to be toyed with by heartless officials.
We were tossed around like a ball,
Chasing a promise that was never real.
No comments:
Post a Comment