SEPT 23 — These are men and women whom you will never read or hear about. They may be well known to their community, but their “fame” stays there, in that circle.
You are probably familiar with the sight of them, on their kapchais or small, beat-up cars, wearing a kopiah or tudung as they go about their days. They are greeted with delight when they visit their young students’ homes to teach them tajweed and Fardhu Ain, but they will never be revered as the ulamas who rule this country.
They are your neighbourhood ustaz and ustazah, who teach your children and perhaps adults how to read the Holy Quran. They guide their students on how to pray; the meaning of fasting, and it is they the community turns to during times of need. They visit and act as the imams of a family jemaah during a kenduri. Blink and you might miss them.
Ustaz Z is one of these. In his mid-30s, Ustaz does not look like the regular neighbourhood preacher. His countenance is calm and he vibrates a youthful energy. Z was educated locally and in South Africa, and is currently finishing his master’s in Islamic studies.
He enjoys being an ustaz, because he gets to educate and empower a community, and his pet cause is Muamalat Islam — Muslim economy, an aspect of Islam which needs more encouragement.
After all, Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him) was a businessman too. Islamic economy needs a revival and Muslims ought to push this agenda. So far so good, he has met with success when he preaches at the mosque on the wonders and benefits of an Islamic economy which marries social justice and economics.
“The thing with the Malays is that, we think Islam is all about Fardhu Ain, when Islam covers everything, including business and wealth. Imam Malik and Imam Abu Khalifah were not only leaders of their communities, they were also rich in their own right,” Z says.
However, the public perception of how an ustaz should behave continues to frustrate him. Men and women “of the cloth” should stay “poor”, and not conduct businesses. They cannot be more than a person of religion; they cannot aspire to greater heights.
“Where does it say in the Quran and Hadith that we cannot improve just because we’re ustaz?”
His days are taken up by his business which is selling cars, and at night he gives talks at the mosques in Cheras. During weekends he is based in the mosque near Taman Desa where he meets and counsels members of his congregation who are in need of a listening ear. When night arrives, he reads books. He reads fiction and non-fiction, anything which piques his interest.
When asked why a big portion of the Malays get involved in all sorts of social “ills”, Ustaz Z shakes his head. The Chinese don’t do (incest), he said softly. He thinks it’s a punishment from Allah that has befallen the Malays. “Because we’re more Malay than Muslim. And our focus is not on doing good things. That’s why we are problematic.” He gets up, and asks for leave, he has to go to work.
In contrast, Ustaz N is your typical neighbourhood “priest” whom you grew up with. A permanent resident of Malaysia, his life has been full of challenges. He started out working for Kuala Lumpur City Hall before he turned to his original path — teaching young children tajweed and Fardhu Ain.
In between the teaching, he takes on odd jobs, as long as the work is halal. From helping his more wealthy students’ families move house, to buying satay for another family, Ustaz N can be considered a jack of all trades.
Unlike Ustaz Z who is tri-lingual, Ustaz N speaks Indonesian and Arabic. He does not have a degree in Islamic studies. He hopes to gain a diploma in it though.
Sometimes he does not turn up. It is not because of laziness; he probably accepted an odd job — helping roof a house in Segambut — because it would help pay for his children’s school fees and supplies. When he comes back to teach, he is overly apologetic. But this is the life of a poor pious man.
The pride and joy of his life are his sons. They are first-generation Malaysians, and two have been accepted into UiTM. They were going to pursue what had been denied to him all this while: a university degree. Never mind that to the educated, “exposed” Malaysian, local universities are decried as bastions of incompetence, and perhaps fascism; for Ustaz N, UiTM is his family’s future.
Still, being “poor” in Malaysia is better than being “poor” in Indonesia. Here, they eat. They have been lucky: their furniture was donated by the parents of students. His neighbours tease him, “You have the most ‘well-dressed’ house in the kampung!” Somehow, somewhere, though little, there is money. Allah provides.
“Ustaz. Ustaz kan tahu, ‘ngajar anak murid Ustaz doa-doa dan zikir-zikir untuk mencari rezeki. Kenapa Ustaz tak buat sendiri?” his students ask.
He smiles. This is his fate, he says. Men of the cloth stay poor.
The one common denominator the two men share would be that they are the ones who their communities turn to in times of need. Help heal us of this illness. Help us counsel our errant children. Please help us become rich.
These are men of the cloth you will never read or hear about. They are not the Abdullah Yasins or Ismail Kamus of the present and future. These are ordinary men, who just want to spread the word of God, and lead lives that many other Malaysians do.
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