Becoming a queen isn’t as glamorous as people think. They bear no idea, behind her sharp gaze, The Conqueror prayed. Prayers from a mother to her children.
Yanti Dian Mustika Sari (42) stood on top of a small wooden stage in front of a huge barrel. The stage was a little bit damp–the drizzle that night just stopped by then. The blonde-haired woman gazed to the commotion around her and fixed her fingerless gloves. She didn’t really pay any mind to the young man who sat on the side of the stage with his mic.
“Tong Setan! Tong Setan! Witness the mighty performance of Yanti The Conqueror!”
When Sekaten goers filled the balcony inside the huge barrel, it was Yanti’s cue to get ready. She slid into the pit of the barrel through a small door. Her motorcycle was already waiting there, anticipating yet another show.
And a show it was, a spectacular one. Yanti rode her motorcycle confidently up the barrel’s walls, spinning and spinning and reached out her arms. She felt it–people’s amazed eyes, the wind waving her hair, and the motorcycle’s clamorous roar. All of it heightened the adrenaline rushing in her veins.
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Being a conqueror isn’t as glamorous as many people would think. Her performance partners were all males in their twenties. In another hand, Yanti is a mother. After her shows, she packed her bags to go home, to where her children waited for her.
In Yosowilangun, her village, she carried her role as a mother. “All of my children go to an Islamic boarding school,” she said proudly. It was the same school she attended many years ago—Miftahul Ulum Banyuputih Islamic Boarding School.
Yanti spent her early days at Banyuputih. With her wide headscarf, she and her friends sat on the floor to recite Quran phrases. She was never absent on doing her –five-times-a-day prayer. She held strong values; never forget to salat, and always recite your shalawat.
She passed her values to her children. She drove them up to the school, then went home to cook spicy chicken, their favorite meal. When her children got home, she liked to turn on the television and watch religious TV series. Hidayah is one of them. “The series that has Opick’s soundtrack,” she said.
When she had to take off her headscarf to ride a motorcycle, she was faced with a dilemma.
Her husband introduced her to Tong Setan. He owned that ride. Together, they managed its operation. With a smile, she said, “We have our own staff.” She recalled, there was a staff who acted difficult. “When things got busy, he didn’t wanna perform.”
So, 25 years old Yanti decided to take the matter with her own hands.
To say that her parents were worried was an understatement. What if their daughter got into an accident by riding the motorcycle? But she kept trying to prove to them that she, indeed, could get the ride under control. In two or three weeks, she already mastered the art of riding a motorcycle high on a barrel wall.
“I haven’t had any accident,” she admitted, “and I hope I won’t.”
Now, after roughly 20 years of performing in Sumatera, Kalimantan, Bali, and Java, her old dilemma resurfaced.
“Honestly, I want to quit.” Her eyebrows frowned behind purple-tinted glasses. She wanted to go back to her village and take care of her orange garden and little café. But she couldn’t just do that. “A lot of people are depending on me.”
Along her career, she also experienced a couple of unfavorable things. But she didn’t want it to be written. She said, “The most important thing is, I can make my children proud. They’re proud that their mother can do something very difficult.”
So yes, people passed Yanti’s posters without any assumption. Posters that showcased her prowess in the barrel. They didn’t know, behind her sharp gaze, The Conqueror prayed. Prayers from a mother to her children. Behind puffs of motorcycle smoke, she yearned the one that comes out of her frying pan at home.
Yanti was still a mother. “A mother’s happiness isn’t when their children get filthy rich, but when they’re faithful to God.”
Noctifer 