By Zakiah Senin
A story from a friend moved me to write it here.It began with his visit to the hospital to see his uncle, a Parkinson’s patient.
“What illness?” I asked. “His foot was injured. Quite badly.” “How did that happen?” I asked again.
He recounted that his uncle had just finished Friday prayers and stopped by a nearby row of shops to buy necessities. As he climbed a flight of stairs, his foot suddenly stumbled and was cut. He grew unsettled and considered going straight home.
But the wound grew more painful, and blood began soaking his sandals. He decided to look for a clinic first.
Along the shop lots, he dragged his injured foot, struggling to steady his body already weakened by illness. Alas! No clinic was found. Blood dripped onto the pavement. Suddenly, he saw the word “pharmacy” on a shopfront.
He rushed in, hoping for help. But again, disappointment. The pharmacist stopped him, glancing at the blood on the floor: “Uncle, this is a pharmacy, not a clinic. You need to find a clinic.”
He had already struggled so far, yet no clinic appeared, and no help came from the pharmacy. Did they not pity him? His mind grew blank. Many eyes watched, but no one came near. He asked, “Where is the clinic?”
Some pointed vaguely, some shook their heads with displeasure, others pretended not to hear, eyes glued to their phones.
Oh Allah! Why was no one willing to help? Perhaps his trembling body and bleeding foot frightened them, made them hesitate. He was close to tears.
Then suddenly, he felt a small hand touch his right arm, and a gentle voice reached his ear: “Uncle, what’s wrong?”
He turned to see two schoolchildren, about nine or ten years old, gazing at him with sympathy. They waited for his reply. “U-n-c-l-e…is looking…for a…c-l-i-n-i-c.”
“Uncle, there’s no clinic here, but across the road (there’s one),” one child answered, pointing ahead.
He looked up — and found that it was not just one road, but two busy roads to cross. Allah! With his slow steps and pain, how could he stop traffic to cross safely?
“Uncle…we’ll take you to the clinic, okay?” one of them reassured.
Both his hands were held tightly — one child on the right, the other on the left. Tears fell. Oh, the purity of your hearts, children. They guided him all the way, raising their hands to signal cars to stop, coaxing him to stay strong through the pain.
Thank You, Allah, for lending these two little angels. At last, they reached the clinic. After the doctor’s examination, he was referred straight to the hospital.
At the hospital, the story of the two little angels was always on his lips. A quiet regret lingered in his heart: he had not asked, “Whose children are you? Who raised you so well?”
Children, though seen as naïve, knowing little of life, truly know how to live rightly among people.
Though seen as immature, their judgment shows more maturity than that of many adults.
Though sometimes mischievous, their souls remain pure — no prejudice, no judgment, no conditions for kindness. Congratulations, little angels. May God bless you with endless goodness throughout your journey in life.
(My thoughts on volunteerism — a principle close to me — are also contained in my book Suka Rela Sukar Lawan, published by Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka in 2024. For inquiries, contact zakiahsenin@gmail.com)
Zakiah Senin is a volunteer with Yayasan SALAM Malaysia, an NGO dedicated to volunteerism in Malaysia for the past 30 years.