Trash or Treasure?

Lombok Reflections

Trash or Treaure?

The southern coast of Lombok holds beaches that feel endless, vast stretches where the sand seems to pull you forward and the horizon keeps retreating. On that morning, I stepped onto one such shore, its silence carrying a strange anticipation, as though the emptiness itself was pointing me toward something I was meant to see.

In the distance, a lone figure caught my eye. He moved steadily along the shoreline, carrying a sack in one hand and something metallic in the other. His movements repeated. Walk a few steps, pause, bend low, place something in the sack, rise, and continue again.

At first, I couldn’t quite make out what he was doing. Perhaps collecting shells washed up by the tide, or driftwood to take home, or maybe even fishing bait. The ocean leaves behind all sorts of things, gifts for some, discarded remnants for others.

As I drew nearer, the mystery became clear. His sack was half full. Not of shells or wood, but of rubbish. Bits of plastic, wrappers, bottle caps. The kind of litter the tide carries in, or careless visitors leave behind.

There was no uniform on his back. No parked truck or council badge, no indication this was anyone’s official duty. It was simply a man, alone, cleaning a shoreline so long it seemed impossible to finish.

When I greeted him with ‘Assalaamu Alaikum’ and in my limited Bahasa, he responded with no words, only gestures. He pointed to the rubbish, then to his sack, then to the sand ahead. His meaning was plain, 'this is what I do.'

It was only when I extended my hand to greet him that I saw it. His right hand was deformed, the fingers curled inwards, unable to open fully. Yet that same hand bore the weight of the sack, while his left hand worked the picker with steady persistence.

That image has stayed with me. Many people with full strength walk past litter without a thought. Yet here was a man with a clear physical challenge, bending down again and again to remove what others had discarded. Where others might have excused themselves, “this is not my job,” “I can’t manage it,” “let someone else do it”, he had chosen to act. His body carried limitation, but his will was stronger than many who are able-bodied.

The Quran tells us:

“So whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it, and whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it” (Surah Az-Zalzalah 99:7–8).

Each piece of litter was small in itself, but together they spoke of something larger. Atoms of good that were being recorded, unseen by people, but never missed by Allah.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“Removing something harmful from the road is charity.” (Bukhari & Muslim).

If removing harm from a path is a form of charity, then surely removing it from a beach, where children play and families gather is no less.

I stopped for a moment longer, watching him work. There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign of fatigue or complaint. Each bend, each step, each lift, was done with quiet determination. It struck me that his disability, which could have been his reason to avoid such effort, had instead become a backdrop to highlight his resolve.

Allah says:

“Indeed, Allah does not allow the reward of those who do good to be lost.” (Surah At-Tawbah 9:120). This man may never be thanked by the countless visitors who walked this sand, yet his reward was already secured.

Before I continued, I felt the need to acknowledge him. I reached into my pocket and offered some sadaqah. Not as payment, but as a token of appreciation for the service he was giving, unseen, to everyone who stepped on that beach. He accepted it with a nod, lowered his gaze, and turned back immediately to his work, as though my presence had been nothing more than a passing wave.

And I thought, was this his daily routine? Did he walk this shore every morning, filling his sack before the day grew hot? Or was it simply something he did whenever he could, a quiet duty he had chosen for himself?

Perhaps he did not think of it as charity or service at all.

Perhaps it was just who he was.

A man unwilling to let what was broken stay broken, even with a body that many would have considered broken itself.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“The most beloved of deeds to Allah are those done regularly, even if small.” (Bukhari & Muslim).

Small in the sight of men, heavy in the sight of Allah.

And as I continued my walk, I wondered, on the Day when we are each handed our records, what will be inside my own sack?

Will it carry the weight of sincere deeds gathered quietly along the way, or will it rattle with emptiness, light with neglect?

Will it testify that I, too, stooped to pick up what others left behind, or will it expose me as one who walked past opportunities, only to stand empty-handed before Allah, wishing I had done more?

O Allah, make us among those who see the value in every small deed, and accept from us even the hidden acts done only for Your sake. O Allah, do not let us come to You empty-handed, but fill our records with sincerity and goodness on the Day we stand before You. Ameen