The wheels of a tuk-tuk carried me toward the heart of the city. This morning, I found myself in Medan, the capital of North Sumatra. The city was alive with activity—vehicles streaming back and forth, traffic jams forming everywhere. It instantly reminded me of Jakarta, the sprawling metropolitan that never seems to rest.
To be honest, I wasn’t eager to recall that kind of bustle. But at the insistence of a good friend, I agreed to take a brief look at one of the Republic’s largest cities.
My friend is not the type who makes random choices. Even when it came to transportation, he was selective. For him, the best option was the most eco-friendly. And so, we took a tuk-tuk—a three-wheeled vehicle powered by a motor. Unlike a becak, the driver rides alongside the passenger instead of behind. I sat in a capsule-shaped cabin with a glass window in front, enjoying the view as we drove.
To my surprise, I found the ride pleasant. Not as noisy as Jakarta’s bajaj, and the scenery of Medan in the morning unfolded freely before my eyes. The tuk-tuk weaved in and out of traffic, slipping easily through the crowded streets, until we arrived at a mosque.
The Great Mosque of Medan
I couldn’t explain why, but my heart immediately stirred at the sight of what people call the “house of God.” The building reminded me of a similar grand mosque in Aceh, with its strong pillars and elegant Islamic calligraphy. Its dominant white color soothed the eyes, while the blue sky above made the view even more breathtaking.
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A caretaker I met at the main staircase told me that the mosque was first built in 1906 and completed three years later. He explained that the Sultan of Medan had ordered its construction. “The Sultan wanted to pray conveniently, which is why the mosque was built close to his palace,” the elderly man, his hair now turning white, explained.
Indeed, the Maimun Palace is only about a hundred steps away from the Great Mosque, making the caretaker’s words ring true.
Unfortunately, he could not accompany us inside. So, with quiet resolve, I climbed the stairs. I counted roughly ninety marble steps before reaching the top. The cool touch of the white stone against my feet brought an instant sense of calm.
The staircase led to the mosque’s outer corridor. Seen from outside, this section reminded me of the Colosseum in Rome, complete with towering pillars surrounding the square perimeter. These pillars not only supported the structure but also filtered the sunlight, scattering it beautifully into the mosque’s inner chambers.
As the morning sun grew stronger, golden rays streamed into the main prayer hall. The beams of light drew my eyes to the magnificent space within.
Inside, the grand hall was adorned with sweeping Arabic calligraphy—verses from the Qur’an stretched across nearly every wall, leaving little space untouched.
Above the pulpit, shaped like a half-dome, my friend explained that this was a signature feature of Arab-style mosque design. The pulpit’s broad wall, spanning about three footsteps in width, was also inscribed with sacred Arabic texts, including the name of God.
One detail I found particularly striking was the qibla direction. Remarkably, it aligned perfectly with the Kaaba in Mecca. I had read on a website that someone had traced a straight line on Google Maps, connecting the mosque’s qibla with the Kaaba itself—a fact that filled me with awe.
Other ornaments stood out as well, green and white stripes on the partitions, reminiscent of the mosque’s sturdy foundation lines. These stripes contrasted sharply with the dominant green, while sunlight slipped between them, bathing the prayer hall in a gentle glow.
The pulpit carvings were also impressive. Handcrafted, they resembled the floral motifs often seen in Javanese batik—swirling tendrils, overlapping leaves, and intricate patterns that intertwined seamlessly.
Several parts of the mosque were illuminated by windows. Curious, I leaned out through a wooden shutter split in two. From there, I saw lush greenery behind the building and towering minarets guarding its corners.
It was then I realized. This was not just a house of prayer, but a testament to human artistry—a work of devotion carved into stone and space, built to endure across generations. (Sulung Prasetyo)
