Those of the Sea / The Voyagers 
by Muhammad Wahyudi 

Translated from Indonesian into English by Sebastian Partogi

Beyond these walls, the waves were assaulting us ferociously, with just a very thin line separating that black ocean and the fate of our people, who got stuck inside. Inside the suffocating hull of that wooden boat, there were 200 of us left stranded on the Andaman sea, amid depleting water and food supplies, leaving us only scraps. Two months ago, a group of fathers were working hard to find a ship which would help them get out of Kyauktaw, desperately seeking a glimpse of happiness in a different land by turning into boat people, sailing our way, no different from the Western adventurers who had been looking for a new continent. Several people refused to take on the journey, especially those who had heard the news about the refugees who were left in limbo once they reached their destination. 

“What then, do you have a better idea in mind?” asked my father to a young man who disagreed. That young man could not answer him. The soldiers frequently came and patrolled the area, looking for pretexts to cause trouble. Primarily, they were searching for the Arakan rebels, and if we dared say we had no idea where these rebels were, then these soldiers would just drag any of us at random to be tortured. It felt as if our foreheads bore a queue number which, when the time came, would be summoned by the apparatus. Finally, the fathers reached an agreement. Those who agreed to take on the journey were asked to register themselves and their family members. Meanwhile, the mothers and the young girls could only resign to their fates, just complying with the men’s decisions. 

Immediately as the clock struck midnight, we started walking toward the river. Ten kilometers from here the ocean stretched itself open wide. Last time I saw it was five or six years ago, before a big riot exploded in Rakhine. Covered by the nighttime shadow, people were talking about that plague from China, which had spread all over the place. My Father was also talking about it at home, but strangely enough he was convinced that this was exactly the perfect time to leave. 

“People will be preoccupied with handling the plague, loosening the beach security measures,” he said. 

The first night on board that ship, almost all the passengers were drunk. People no longer had time to go to the restroom or the deck to throw up. The floor was stinking while the wave kept beating on the hull of the boat, which freaked everybody out with its creaking sound. It took about a week for most of us to finally get used to the ocean’s wild swings. To finally get used to having to clean the room. The mothers in the kitchen started to be able to laugh again, while the fathers were standing on the deck, on the lookout of new lands; they occasionally screamed whenever they caught a glimpse of an island on the horizon. 

“Let’s not go there. That is a no-man’s-land. It’s also possible for the island to be populated by savage tribes, it’s better for us to go to Malaysia or Indonesia instead,” said the captain of the ship. Previously, the captain was merely working as a crew for a Thai fisherman’s boat. He was trusted to drive our destinies because he was the only one among us who had been experienced dealing with boats in all its nitty-gritty aspects. 

In the first week, our eyes got refreshed once again by the view of the quiet, super vast ocean. There was only blue, then the clouds, then blue again stretching out to us right to the crowns of our heads. The only thing we could hear was the beatings of the waves and the boat’s engines, and the friendly conversations among our people. There were no soldiers with cruel faces, no shabby houses or roads covered by puddles of water. There, right in front of us, we believed we would eventually meet the better life we’d always dreamed of, yes, beyond the long stretches of blue, there lie the freedom we’d always dreamed of. 

In the fourth week, all our hopes and dreams were dashed. 

Our food supply had depleted. Four people died of various ailments. We drowned their dead bodies in the ocean to prevent outbreaks. Our skin had become itchier, our throat felt as if it was cut to pieces. For the last four days, we had been drinking rainwater which we collected in a bucket. We still had a clean water supply, but what was left of it was kept in a bin jealously guarded by a group of men. Before our very eyes, all our hopes and dreams were dashed by storm upon storm which seemed to tirelessly come and visit us every night. Many times the men were fighting amongst each other over food and water. Occasionally at night we heard suspicious sounds from the top deck. We thought we were already halfway through our journey to our destination, but reality showed us that our destination stretched as far away as the stars; we had not made our way closer to it although our lands of origin had ceased to be seen. 

And now, two months after we’ve been living on the boat hull, surviving barely enough just to breathe and murmur, trying to sustain the flames of our sanity. Amid the searing heat of the sun, a man starts screaming from above. A ship! Malaysia! A ship! 

We are startled, all of a sudden harshly awakened from a long, very long, nightmare. Some of us go to the deck to get a firsthand account of what is happening. According to some news which we’ve just received, it is fairly easy to enter Malaysia and a few thousand of our people have already lived there. Without being overshadowed by violence, only cursed into poverty. But, really, who among us are not familiar with poverty already? Even the reason why we are born, it seemed like, is to be enslaved to that word. 

When that Malaysian ship inches closer to us, we can see people clad in military uniforms start scolding us. Their hands are hovering over us in the air. Almost all of the ship’s passengers are wearing face masks. 

“Turn back at once! Go home! Go home! Corona, corona!” they say. 

My father summons enough courage to talk to them, but either because his voice is too weak or he speaks in a language they can’t understand, these men still insist on turning us away. Stubbornly, we keep moving ahead, yet our boat is blocked. Similarly, the boat captain is trying to find a way to keep moving ahead. Someone shrieks in joy, startling all of us. 

“A coast!” that person yells. 

All of us rush to the deck and see clearly a land stretched open wide right before us, we can reach that land probably within just one-hour boat trip. Yet once again, that Malaysian boat keeps us at bay. As a result, several impatient men jump to the sea, swimming so he could touch the land. After 15 people jump, sounds of gunshot start to be heard. Repeatedly, bombastically. Two speedboats soon catch up with the swimming men. A dozen soldiers jump to our boat, armed with their weapons. The weapons’ muzzles are pointed toward us, some of them hold the muzzles against old people who’ve almost decayed in the darkness of the ship hull. 

“Silence!” they command. I remain unfazed at all, their yelling sounds so familiar to me, they sound exactly like the soldiers in our village.  

More and more soldiers jump on our ships. From afar, the speedboats come closer, taking with them some crumpled swimmers. Above us, seagulls are hovering over the ship, perhaps they think we are the fishes the fisherman has caught that day. I can only cry upon realizing that we, the boat people, are no different from the caught fishes, while freedom is a flock of seagulls which arrogantly circle in the sky, not yet making its way down to Earth.  

Orang-Orang Perahu

Di luar dinding, ombak menyerang galak, tipis saja antara samudera yang hitam itu dan nasib kami di dalam. Dalam pengap lambung kapal kayu, dua ratus orang jumlah kami terombang-ambing di laut Andaman, dan persediaan air minum dan makanan tinggal sejumput kecil. Dua bulan yang lalu, kelompok para ayah berjuang mendapatkan kapal guna pergi dari Kyauktaw, mencari sedikit kebahagiaan di tanah lain dengan jadi orang perahu, berlayar layaknya petualang barat mencari benua baru. Beberapa orang menolak, terutama mereka yang mendengar berita-berita mengenai para pengungsi yang nasibnya juga tak jelas sesampainya di tujuan.  

“Lalu apa kau punya usul lebih bagus?” tanya ayah pada seorang pemuda yang tak setuju. Ia tak bisa menjawab. Tentara-tentara sering datang berkeliling, mencari-cari apa yang bisa dijadikan masalah. Utamanya mereka mencari pemberontak Arakan, yang bila kami bilang tak tahu, maka akan menyeret siapa pun yang mereka suka untuk disiksa. Rasanya di kening kami ada nomor antrean yang bila sampai waktunya akan dikerjai oleh aparat. Akhirnya para ayah mencapai kesepakatan. Mereka yang mau ikut dipersilakan mendaftarkan diri dan keluarga. Sementara itu kelompok ibu dan para gadis hanya bisa pasrah mengikuti kemauan para lelaki.  

Tepat tengah malam, kami berjalan menuju sungai. Sepuluh kilometer dari sini lautan terbentang. Aku terakhir kali melihatnya lima atau enam tahun lalu, sebelum kerusuhan besar pecah di Rakhine. Sembari diliputi gelap malam, orang-orang membicarakan kabar mengenai wabah dari China yang sudah menyebar luas. Ayah juga membahas soal itu di rumah, namun ia justru berpendapat ini adalah saat yang tepat untuk pergi.  

“Orang-orang akan sibuk mengurus wabah, seharusnya tidak banyak penjagaan di pantai,” tuturnya. 

Malam pertama di dalam kapal, hampir semua penumpang mabuk. Orang-orang tak sempat lagi pergi ke kamar mandi atau ke dek atas untuk muntah. Lantai penuh bau anyir dan ombak memukul-mukul lambung kapal, berderak-derak membuat ngeri. Perlu waktu seminggu bagi kebanyakan dari kami untuk terbiasa pada ayunan laut. Mulai terbiasa pula kami membersihkan ruangan. Para ibu di dapur mulai bisa tertawa, para ayah melongok-longok di anjungan, kadang berteriak bila ada pulau tampak di cakrawala. 

“Jangan. Itu tak berpenghuni. Atau bisa saja penghuninya suku-suku buas, lebih baik kita pergi ke Malaysia atau Indonesia,” tandas kapten kapal. Sang kapten dulunya hanyalah awak kapal ikan orang Thailand. Ia dipercayai mengemudikan nasib kami karena hanya dirinya yang pernah berurusan dengan kapal dan tetek bengeknya.  

Di minggu pertama, mata kami mulai bugar melihat lengangnya laut yang maha luas. Hanya ada biru, awan, lalu biru lagi sampai ke ubun-ubun. Yang terdengar hanya debur ombak dan mesin kapal, dan obrolan ramah sesama orang kami. Tak ada tentara berwajah bengis, tak ada rumah kumuh dan jalan becek. Di depan sana kami yakin ada kehidupan yang lebih baik, ya, di sebalik biru yang panjang ini, ada kebebasan yang kami impikan. 

Minggu keempat, semuanya amblas.  

Jatah makanan semakin sedikit. Empat orang meninggal karena sakit. Kami melarungkannya agar tak jadi penyakit. Kulit semakin gatal, tenggorokan rasanya tersayat-sayat. Sudah lima hari kami minum air tampungan hujan. Persediaan air bersih masih ada, namun hanya tinggal sebuah tong yang dijaga ketat oleh beberapa lelaki. Bermacam harapan di pelupuk mata dilenyapkan badai demi badai yang seperti tak kenal lelah datang hampir setiap malam. Berkali-kali para lelaki bentrok sendiri perihal makanan dan air. Di malam hari kadang ada suara-suara mencurigakan dari geladak atas. Tujuan yang kami kira hanya sepenggalahan, ternyata merentang sejauh bintang; tak kunjung mendekat walau tanah asal sudah lama tak terlihat.  

Dan kini, dua bulan sudah kami hidup di lambung kapal, sekadar bernapas dan menggumam-gumam, mencoba menjaga api kewarasan. Di tengah terik, seorang lelaki berteriak dari atas. Kapal! Malaysia! Kapal!  

Kami tersentak, tiba-tiba terbangun dari mimpi buruk yang panjang, amat panjang. Beberapa orang pergi ke geladak untuk menyaksikan langsung apa yang akan terjadi. Menurut berita yang kami terima, Malaysia cukup mudah dimasuki dan beberapa ribu orang telah tinggal di sana. Tanpa bayang-bayang kekerasan, hanya terliputi kemiskinan. Tapi siapa dari kami yang tidak akrab dengan kemiskinan? Kami bahkan seakan lahir memang untuk mengabdi pada kata tersebut.  

Ketika kapal Malaysia tersebut mendekat, orang-orang berseragam militer menghardik-hardik. Tangan mereka memutar-mutar di udara. Hampir seluruh penumpang kapal tersebut menggunakan masker. 

“Pusing lagi! Pulang! Go home! Corona, Corona!” ujar mereka. 

Ayahku memberanikan diri berbicara dengan mereka, namun entah karena suaranya terlalu lemah atau bahasanya sama sekali tak mereka mengerti, mereka tetap bersikeras. Kami tetap melaju, namun kapal kami dihalangi. Begitu pun, kapten kapal mencari celah untuk tetap maju. Seseorang berteriak kegirangan, mengagetkan kami.  

“Pantai!” serunya.  

Kami menyeruak ke anjungan dan melihat jelas sebuah daratan terhampar luas di depan, mungkin kira-kira hanya satu jam perjalanan kapal. Namun lagi-lagi kapal Malaysia menghalau kami. Hasilnya beberapa lelaki yang tak sabar meloncat ke laut, berenang guna menyentuh daratan. Setelah lima belas orang meloncat, suara tembakan mulai terdengar. Berulang-ulang, berdentum-dentum. Mereka yang berenang disusul oleh dua buah speedboat. Selusin tentara melompat ke kapal kami, lengkap dengan senjata. Moncong-moncong senjata itu mengarah ke kami, beberapa menodongkannya ke orang-orang tua yang hampir membusuk di gelapnya lambung kapal. 

“Diam!” perintah mereka. Aku tak gentar, bentakan tersebut sangat kukenal, persis seperti tentara di kampung kami. Semakin banyak tentara yang melompat ke kapal kami. Di kejauhan, speedboat mendekat pula membawa perenang yang telah kusut. Di atas, burung-burung camar mengitari kapal, mungkin mengira kami adalah ikan tangkapan. Aku baru menangis setelah menyadari bahwa kami, orang-orang perahu, memang tak ubahnya ikan tangkapan, sedangkan kebebasan adalah kawanan camar yang dengan angkuh berputar-putar di angkasa, tak kunjung turun ke bawah. 

Muhammad Wahyudi was born in 1992 in North Sumatra. In his childhood, he was fascinated by comic books, leading to further reading into literature. He was selected for Ubud Writers and Readers Festival’s Emerging Writers. His first book, entitled Serayu Malam, was published by Comma Books/KPG in 2018.

Thank you to Sebastian Partogi for translating Muhammad’s story.