The real deal

Lombok Reflections

The real deal

In Senggigi (my local town), the main street doesn’t shout. It moves with a calm that feels earned. Motorbikes drift past in easy lines, their engines blending with the soft clatter of spoons in roadside warungs. Shops and stalls sit shoulder to shoulder. One displaying baskets of bright fruit under a faded umbrella, another frying nasi goreng on a smoking wok that perfumes the air with garlic and chili.

I stepped into one of the smaller shops one afternoon. The walls were plain, the floor bare, the counter worn smooth by years of passing hands. Nothing was there to impress, yet everything was placed with care. The order wasn’t accidental. It felt intentional, as if someone had quietly said, this is enough. A craftsman’s pride, steady and sincere, content to speak through honesty instead of show.

Near the counter a row of jars waited. Each wore a casing woven from palm fibres. The colours were earth and bark and smoke. Yet it wasn’t the weaving that stopped me. It was the label printed loud in read:

“ASLI...!!! SAMBEL ENCIM LOMBOK — AWAS PRODUK TIRUAN”

“Genuine…!!! Sambal Encim Lombok — Beware of Imitation Products.”

I smiled. This wasn’t just sambal, it was their sambal, their recipe, their effort, their sleepless stirring. They were saying, this is original. Accept no copies.

SubhanAllah. If a jar of chili paste can stand up for its authenticity, what about me? Allah ﷻ already placed the most honoured label upon us.

He says:

“...It is He who has named you ‘Muslims’. Both before and in this (scripture)…” (Al-Hajj 22:78).

That isn’t a brand we invented. It’s a name bestowed, a trust to be carried. The question that pressed on me there between the shelves was plain and uncomfortable.

Am I genuine, or am I only wearing the word?

Counterfeits persuade because they imitate the wrapper. Colours, logo, even the weight in the hand. But the test is always inside. A jar earns “asli” by flavour, by recipe, by what happens when the lid comes off. So too with us. The label Muslim is vindicated by prayer that steadies the heart, by truthfulness that does not bend, by patience in trial and gratitude in ease, by humility before Allah when no one is watching.

The Prophet ﷺ warned us about hollow performance and named its signs with clarity:

“The signs of a hypocrite are three: when he speaks, he lies; when he makes a promise, he breaks it; and when he is entrusted, he betrays the trust.” (Sahih al-Bukhari; Sahih Muslim).

It is a frightening mirror, an audit for myself. Where have my words outrun my deeds? Which promises did I let fray because it was easier? What trusts have I treated lightly because no one would notice?

I lingered longer than the shopkeeper expected. He watched me study a sambal label as if it were scripture. But there was a lesson sealed inside those jars. If they could speak, they would say: “Don’t settle for the look of authenticity. Protect the recipe.”

And what is the recipe?

The Prophet ﷺ gave one measure that never spoils:

“Allah is in the aid of His servant as long as the servant is in the aid of his brother.”

(Sahih Muslim 2699)

To be genuine is to be useful. To ease another’s burden, guard a trust, or lift a worry when you could have turned away. The sincere believer doesn’t need to announce goodness. It shows in their quiet consistency, in small acts that carry weight with Allah even when unseen.

I thought of the early companions. Their Islam did not flex for an audience. Hardship did not bleach it, ease did not blur it. They were themselves in the dark and in the daylight. Their label matched their contents, and the world believed them because their deeds explained their words.

A verse from the Quran cuts through all performance and ends the argument:

“The Day when secrets will be put on trial.” (At-Tariq 86:9).

That Day is when every label is peeled away. No glossy packaging, no borrowed reputation. Contents only. Sincerity only. Deeds done for Allah alone will stand bright. Everything done for applause will blow away like dust in the wind. So, I asked myself, there in Senggigi with my hand on a jar, how do I protect my own recipe?

Mind the small acts.

Pray on time even when the schedule resists.

Apologise quickly.

Keep the promise without being chased.

Slip charity quietly into a palm.

Swallow the anger when I could have answered back.

And so many other quiet choices that honour the label of Muslim.

The label is honoured by these ordinary obediences. They are not showy, but they are unmistakably real. And when I fail, as I do, I return to the One who named us Muslims and forgives the returning.

If a humble product can nail its colours to the mast, “This is genuine. Beware of imitations.” What about the life of a believer? Perhaps the truest declaration is a silent one, where the day itself testifies: this person is as he claims. His dealings are clean. Her words are careful. Their prayer leaves a fragrance on their decisions.

May the label not embarrass the contents. May the contents honour the label. May Allah make us worthy of the name He gave.

O Allah, purify our hearts and make our deeds sincere. O Allah, protect us from hypocrisy and self-deception. O Allah, let our actions honour the name You have given us, and let mercy cover us when all is revealed. Ameen.