COVID-19 AND PARTY

 

At 05.00 the sound of waning (drums) and the clatter of gongs were already echoing to greet nature. Greet people who are still enjoying the remnants of their dreams. Greeting a world that is increasingly tangled up, hit by the Covid-19 pandemic. Greet the sorrowful universe, the lost of mind, who have lost hope of fighting against the magic Crown.

The busyness at Mo'at Bura's house was inevitable. The hustle and bustle in the middle of a crowd of people who are dressed up to make up their brides are also decorating themselves. Mo'at Bura will marry off his only puppet girl to the youth of the next village. Nobody listens to each other anymore. Everyone sounded loud but as if the voice resonated in a private room. No one responded. No response. Busy and very busy preparing everything for the success of the first celebration held at the house.

At 08.00 the groom arrived and was about to pick up his soul mate. The bride has not seen her nose. She is still sitting pretty in a chair, in her bridal room accompanied by two human figures who are doing her makeup. One fixes his eyebrows and cheeks. Others tidy their hair, then clothes and other things that are not understood. It has been given blue, replaced with pink, then exchanged for bright red. It has been tied up, replaced with bun, then exchanged for free fall and fall. Only around the face is the main focus.

At 09.00 the groom looked nervous. He is still sitting in the pendopo chair with his whole family. Every now and then he looked at the clock from his smartphone. Restless. Get down. Look up. Lyrics glance left right. Turned to see his father. Staring at his mother. He was upset because the schedule given by the pastor had already been exceeded. Not to mention the complicated travel procession. After all, there is a papak (pick-up dance) dance waiting at the gate of God's house, which is sure to take a while.

At 09.30 the bride came out of the dressing room. Towards the pavilion. Facing the groom. Editing flowers and receiving a bouquet of flowers. Hold hands and walk towards the car. Little maids helped hold the dress that almost brushed the dust of the house yard. Other little girls walked back and forth in front of the bride and groom while sowing potpourri and yellow rice. It is said that he said that the bride and groom would give offspring who could color the world. The family is increasingly crowding the bride and groom. The mask hangs on the chin. The sink did not stop by, left languishing, alone.

At 10.00 the bridal car moves to leave the bride's home page. In front of it is another pick-up complete with a set of gong waning (traditional Sikka music) and the musicians are also dressed in complete Sikka custom. Lipa prenggi (a typical Sikka sarong), a long-sleeved white shirt, plus a random accessory (a Sikka shawl) hanging diagonally from just over the waist, and a lensu (a Sikka-style headband) on the head. They accompanied the bride and groom with the rhythm of todu (fast) to inspire the whole group, especially the bride and groom. The accompaniment was made as slowly as possible so that the parade rows looked elegant.

At 10:00 am the parish priest crumpled at the door of the church. The group of papak dancers was silent in silence, lined up left and right at the church gate. They are embarrassed. They are angry. They panicked. The Pastor's words hurt more than the coronavirus. “You are busy with worldly things that will soon disappear. Your liturgy is not well prepared. No choir. Ajuda hasn't practiced yet. Lektor somewhere. How could this ceremony be wise and sacred? " that was the sermon the pastor gave in front of the church.

At 10.30 the bride and groom arrived at the church. The music of Gong Waning grew blaring as the bride and groom got out of the car. However, the dancers still stood rooted in their place. Nobody started dancing. The bride and groom and their families are lined up neatly at the church gate and it should be at that time that the dancers should start to act. Then gradually Gong Waning quieted itself. A voice was heard from the front door of the church, “Make sure everyone who wants to join this ceremony wear masks. Without exception. Please wash your hands with soap on the faucet near the church gate. Try to keep a distance from one another, 1-2 meters. After that, measure the body temperature of the duty officer. Thank you."

All the families present looked shocked. Feel each other's noses. Feel each other's mouth. Feel each other's ears. There are those who fix their masks. Some ran quickly to the stall in front of the church. Some were looking down. The bride and groom are no exception. Apparently they were reluctant to wear masks. Look at each other. Then glanced at the makeup artist. Then look at the priest who is standing staring unblinkingly from the front. His eyes asked for dispensation. However, the priest shook his head. Mouth please exclude. However, the pastor said nothing. Finally, the masks were forced to stop at their place. Lipstick is gone. The eyebrow pencil disappeared. The rouge disappeared under the mask. The sweet smile disappeared along with the organic accompaniment from inside the church as a sign that the mass was about to begin.

At 12.00 the mass was over. There is no shake. No handshakes, not to mention photos and selfies. All families leave the church with sad faces. Come home without music.

12.30 the bride and groom arrived home Gong Waning reverberated. The crowd was inevitable. All rejoice. Dancing and crying happily. Everyone is partying hard (blebuk meruk) by forgetting health protocols.

8:00 am the following week. Thirty three people rapid reactive test. The covid task force team picked up. Quarantine for 2 weeks.