The very little hide was cooked with plenty of soup to the brim with black sauce added.
I pretended to see nothing when, as a matter of fact, almost all the villagers came to the house in Kaliwungu, Indonesia, hoping we would leave something for them. Hoping that the food that the female villagers cook is enough for all those who stood around watching us eating.
It's not a daily menu. So, it's a delicacy.
The china plates, some with chips, and utensils were borrowed from the nearby mini mosque, 'musollah'.
The last time it rained was 2 months before our group of 17 family members went back to my father's hometown in Kendal.
The day we were there, sometime in June 1994, there's heavy downpour. The villagers acknowledged that their village was blessed with our arrival.
On our journey back to Jakarta, we had our lunch in an air-conditioned restaurant but the meal made me sick. I was not able to eat.
Through the glass wall, I could see beggars squatting outside waiting for our humanity - They were shooed away like stray cats with brooms.
Tears trickled down their cheeks as if the restaurant owner has no compassion towards his own people. He regarded them as great nuisance that affected his business.
Should God answer to any of the beggers' prayer, what should the restaurant owner become?