‘No Human Being Is an Accident’

 Rick Warren of “The Purpose-Driven Life”

“God has never made a person that he doesn’t love,” Warren proclaimed in his sermon. “God has never made a person that he doesn’t have a purpose for. No human being is an accident. There are accidental parents, but there are no accidental children.”

Rick Warren is my role model.

CHRISTMAS IN THE BARRIO

 

Six children of the 3 Ambonese families in the barrio understand a little bit about Christmas.  They are brought up by their Moslem mothers.  Their houses are decorated with plastic Christmas trees with glittering balls and lamps although the women could not care less about the story behind the trees.  For them, as long as their husbands are merry, they will be perfectly satisfied as most wives are destined to be.

The three Ambonese gentlemen, probably were refugees from the war-torn Moluccas islands in the late 1990s married local women, adapt themselves with local culture and habits easily.  They blend with locals who are all Moslems, setting an excellent example to their less fortunate peers back in the Moluccas.  They for instance feel obliged to send parcels containing saffron rice with some dishes and fruits to all members in the barrio, a local habit, when their children are celebrating birthdays.  When we had sermons in our home though, they came without the wives.  A spirit of tolerance ?

I hear Christmas songs played on their music players.

But I don’t hear them sing. 

I long to bring the Lord’s good news to their homes and have the children read some Christian books.

This way, they’ll know our good Lord who brings them happiness to their homes.

Simple families, joyful Christmas trees, God is there

 

HAPPINESS IN A BOWL OF NOODLE

happy-go-lucky-noodle vendor

I don’t know his name, but he’s a familiar figure in our neighborhood.  He wears his long wavy hair tied back in a pony tail fashion.  He is somewhat tall for the size of most men in the barrio.  He is –most of all- a very happy and funny noodle-meatball-and-wonton soup vendor who enjoys talking and joking with his customers while serving them his products.  When he smiles or laughs, all his neatly packed teeth are visible from one kilometer away.  I think he is well liked by old and young, men and women in our barrio.

Noodle and meatball and wonton soup are favorite foods all over Indonesia, and although they apparently came from China centuries ago, the present products are well adapted with Indonesian taste.   “Mee” (=noodle) is eaten in between meals, scarcely a staple food.  The noodle then is added with several “bakso” (= meatballs) and “pangsit” (=wonton; a fussily-like cracker with ground meat inside, deep fried), sprinkled with some leaches, spring onion, fried onion and chili sauce, then voila!  You have the complete dish called “bakwan Malang” as prepared by this guy.  By the way, Malang is a town in East Java where the most delicious noodle and meatball and wonton soup first being spread out to other regions.

He sells a bowl of “bakwan Malang” for a mere US 0.5, so when he sells out his trade of about 75 bowls a day, minus his margin of maximum 50% he gets around USD 12 net a day, a relatively high income compared to most of the people in the barrio, enviable to many and good enough to attract women in the bario.  No wonder, a lot of women feel comfortable talking with him for no obvious reason, even when they plan not to buy his bakwan Malang.

happy faces and bowls of noodle

THE VOICE OF ANGELS

The orphans prepared themselves for an appearance in one of the most beautiful choirs in Jakarta

 

I attended my son’s school Christmas celebration in an Orphanage cum Old People House.  The institution is managed by a Christian association and apparently well financed.  Names of donors lined up the wall and on banners in the main hall.  The school principal deliberately planned to have something different for this Christmas; it should be organized in an orphanage, thus giving the chance to the pupils for contemplation.  That they are more fortunate than the orphans and that all their comforts within their own families should not be taken for granted.

One thing that caught my eyes was the children’s features.  They are all or almost all  from the same ethnic group; the Ambonese.  The Ambonese live on the islands of Moluccas, on the Eastern part of Indonesia.  Centuries ago these islands had a respected place in the global commercial world.  They produced spices which at that time were as expensive as gold.  European nations fought each other for the control of the spice trade.  The Portuguese eventually took hold of the region, exchanged them with the Spaniards for the Philippines islands through the Zaragoza Treaty (1452 AD), although the Dutch snapped from them in the 18^th century.  Up to now there are still some Portuguese family names in the Moluccas such as Fernandez, da Lopez, de Coelho (spelled in the Dutch spelling de Queljoe like my Elementary School teacher’s name back in the 50’s).  They are merry people who sing at whatever occasions, they are natural singers.  Until the 1980’s the Ambonese are dominantly Christians.

Blood bath between Christian and Moslem populations occurred in the late 1990s, an unnecessary and sad episode of the Indonesian history.  Loads and loads of Moslem fundamentalist warriors from Java and all other islands poured into Moluccas and killed many, many innocent people who probably were trapped in the chaos that followed. 

The Divine Hands were there to help …. as children –suddenly orphaned- were evacuated by those who cared, Christian brotherhood that knew no fear.  They were brought to this peaceful retreat in the South of Jakarta, under the shade of big fruit trees in a well managed (or so it appeared) two storey building called PNIEL.  I remember that PNIEL foundation and homes are everywhere in Christian strong areas on Java island.

That day the orphans sung such beautiful songs, I felt my heart sunk and tears dropped indeliberately.  The children choir with some lead singers was apparently trained by the authoritative lady director, and I heard they produced and sold also VCD cassettes. 

With my simple video camera I recorded the choir; such beautiful voice of angels !

 

MOURNING TIME IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

The mourners lined their motor bikes up on the small street

Last Monday, a lady in my neighborhood died of a fatal disease; brain tumor.   Her husband said that the wife has had it since 1997 when she had her first breast surgery.  I was moved by the pouring condolences from the couple’s friends; most of them are motorbike taxi drivers.  The motorbikes lined the small street of the bereaved house.  A lot more came by walking, simple people with good hearts and empathy.  The couple had only one daughter.

 

 

THE SHACKS THEY ARE LIVING IN

 

You may wonder on the condition of the shacks they are living in.  Two times 5 meter square ?  Or 2 X 3 meter square ?  Their conditions are so poor, they built their shack from whatever leftover of a building construction, strips of plywood, wood pillars, tin roof, plaited bamboo, anything.  The floor is generally hardened earth or rough mix of cement and stones.

Some are better than the others, especially rented “one-room studio house” which are built from cemented bricks, tile floor and wavy roof.

Don’t ask me about hygiene and running water and plumbing and drainage.  In one picture, you will see a water hand pump that is used by about 6 families who collect the water in pails to take to their make-shift bath rooms.  In other picture you can see a “normal” house in the background as a comparison.  In fact the shacks were built unto the “normal” house’s back fence wall.

What will amaze people from other planets is that THEY LOOK, FEEL AND SAY THAT THEY ARE HAPPY.

where they are living in

WELLNESS AND SPA THERAPY, MBOK STYLE

 

Mbok smiles

 

We call her ‘Mbok’, meaning ‘mother’ or ‘elder lady’.

 I think she earns more than the average persons in the barrio near my house.  For her service that lasts 2-3 hours (depending on your taste) massaging, manipulating, scrubbing and may include steaming with aroma therapy such as you find in a professional spa, you get to reward her with USD 3.  I said “reward” because she never charges her clientele; you pay whatever you feel like.  The price above is an estimate.  On a good day, she can provide massages to 5 clients, 3 in the morning till afternoon and another 2 after ‘maghreeb’ (Moslem’s evening prayer time).  This way she’ll get USD 15.  But the order is not continuous and difficult to predict. 

She lives alone in her one-room “studio house” although her married son lives nearby with his family.  Do you think she lives more prosperous than her peers?  Not at all.  I asked this question good humorously, fearing of her being offended. She said she had to divide her earnings for the family of her sons, her husband who lives back in the village and for saving whenever she needs to go to her village in Central Java, a 12 hours train drive. 

Clients are to be massaged on the floor with mattress or thick carpet.  She first rubs some cream or oil on the skin; distribute it evenly to the parts that are to be massaged.  She has a massage pattern and system which I come to notice. First pressing, then massaging with her 2 thumbs in an upward direction, pressing again, then pinching or pulling. These are done on all limbs and back and nape and stomach and breasts. 

By the end of the massage session you normally feel relaxed and often sleepy.  You won’t wonder that I prefer to have the massage done in the evening, because afterward I can take a warm bath and go to sleep in peace.

Mbok shows her magic pot

FRESH VEGETABLES, OLDER AGE AND DISABILITY

 

She wakes up daily at 2 in the morning, even earlier than me when I prepare things for my son’s swimming practices that start at 04.30 and have to drive him to a swimming stadium some 12 kilometers away.  She goes to the big wet market fetching fresh vegetables, chicken and fish, soya bean curd which is a favorite amongst the population, fruit and whatever is in the season.

the vegetable lady

 

When she was already 45 years of age, she got pregnant again, for the 10th times.  She and her husband apparently agreed to get rid of the fetus, but it was too late and too dangerous.   The baby girl was born with multiple disabilities, physically and mentally.  Because of their poverty and thanks to their ignorance, the girl remains in a poor state, sickly and although growing taller and bigger she still cannot talk.  She simply purrs; make little voices and lies down in “bed” almost all the time.  Sometimes when it is not raining outside, her elder brother carries her outside to have some fresh air.  I saw her limp and cannot move her hands or legs.

Her husband works whatever comes in hand, food peddler, wood cutter, plumber and what not.  Her eldest son, looking rather good looking like the mother, is a divorcee and helps her push the cart with the vegetables from the market.  People say his wife divorced him because he was too dumb (huh !) so he stays with the parents.  Their rented “studio” house is occupied by 5 adults.  The only “normal” child is a boy of 16.  She must put her high hopes for the boy and I heard he said he would not disappoint her.  He learns economy and book- keeping at a vocational school.  When my own son migrated from an old PC to Notebooks, he gladly donated the PC to the boy, now he can do his book keeping lesson with Excel sheet on the computer that he shares with another, a neighboring girl.  

vegetable lady and her stuff

Her rented house is way much better than the shacks we know in earlier postings.  It is a brick building with tile floor and earthen roof.  It hosts four “studio houses” which I suspect, not sound proofed.  Well, they don’t need to have it anyway, ‘intimate privacy’ is not in the vocabulary of those simple people and families.

The disable girl may need a wheel chair soon, a thing which is outside the family’s budget capacity and neither mine.  It is such an expensive thing here.

 

 

FIRST CLASS FOOD FROM DOWN-TO-EARTH KITCHEN

 

I don’t get his name until today, but he’s popular in our neighborhood as the “satay man”.  Satay is skewed-meat (can be beef or chicken or pork or fish or lamb) pieces grilled on flaming charcoal then poured in with sweet peanut-and-soya sauce. Some prefer to put some fresh ground chili in the sauce.  When he passes our street in the early evening peddling his satay, the smoke from the grill will spread around and we will utter : hmmm ……  His satay has recognition from food lovers along his daily 10 KM route.  The price ?  Packaged price of 10 skewers of satay and 1 boiled rice cake in banana leaf plus the sauce is USD 1, plus nil tax.  And with this combination of grilled meat and carbohydrate, one’s appetite or hunger normally is fulfilled.

left: satay, right : cuts of rice cake

 

I visited him yesterday, a great chance because that day I ordered some 400 skewers of satay plus rice cakes for a church gathering.  I found him cutting the chicken pieces while sitting on his shack’s hardened earth floor.  I had also the chance to look around his shack, a 2 m X 5 m scantily lit wooden structure, almost bare except for rundown cotton mattress on the floor and a small TV on a make-believe cupboard.  I was told that he normally gets some USD 10 to 15 a day, with a margin of 50%, meaning he earns between USD 5 to 7.50.

He lives with his wife and 2 kids, a boy of 15 and a girl of 10.  His step-daughter, who married a security officer in an elementary school, lives nearby and his wife often has to babysit her baby.  Besides that the satay man and his wife have big enough heart to take care of 2 neighboring orphans, with his earning.  His son attends a vocational high school and is hoping to make life better than his parents.  Last year the boy had my little support of his annual school fee and books.  He may need some support again come January if the government decides that his school subsidy must end for whatever reasons.

When the satay man is not fortunate enough to grab some special order like yesterday, all his earnings will go from hands to mouth, what with those people in the household that he must feed.  I include the family with the big heart in my daily prayer.

 

Satay-man at work, satay push-cart, his shack

      

SUPER ‘5-in-1’ MAN IN ACTION

Every morning at 9, midday and afternoon at 4 and 6, all inhabitants of my neighborhood can hear the music blast from his battery-operated loudspeaker installed inside his strange but funny vehicle. It is an “odong-odong” in the local language.  Odong-odong is a tricycle taxi turned into a vehicle for transporting some 6 to 8 children with a head decoration usually depicting mythical animal like Garuda or Naga (dragon) or whatever.  Nowadays it is not only for transporting but more of a recreational vehicle for kids of lower economic social status.  The fee for riding the odong-odong is Rp 1000 at the most, which is equivalent to USD 10 cents and will last for like half an hour ride.  One more interesting thing in an odong-odong is that it has the music box in it, hence the sound blast.

The operator in question is a man named Wahab.

 

I knew him since I moved to my present house in 1997.  He was a noodle-hawker at the time.  His (first) wife helped me out with chores when my own maid had her leave occasionally.  He had 4 children with the wife, 3 girls and a boy whom she gave out to somebody to be adopted.  Wahab has another 3 children, and today 4, with his second wife so no wonder he has to work hard, very hard.  Early in the morning he would wake up and bathe his children and prepare the older children for school.  Since his 3rd child is of the same age with my own son, I helped him finance her schooling until she finished Elementary School.  By that time his first wife eloped, taking the first 3 kids with her.  When the kids are gone to school, Wahab will help a bit with household chores.  This is not much of course because his “house” is a shack of about 3 X 4.5 m square where all activities are taking place.  Then at 9 he would pull his odong-odong out to earn money from parents who are glad to be free of their kids for about half to one hour.  By noon he would go home and have his lunch at home, have some rest that includes probably a nap. At 4 he would again circle the neighborhood for another client until 6.  The hardest time is his night time.  He is a full-time night watchman on payroll.  Early in the morning at 4 am when I have to drive my own son daily to the swimming stadium to practice, I would meet him on the street.  Oops, I forget.  In between the time of his chores as odong-odong man and night watchman, he would drive his motor bike to wherever a client asks for a fee, yes he is also a motor bike taxi operator.  I call him the Super 5-in-1 Man.  Wahab will need extra money to send his 4 kids to school soon, but he has not mentioned the need yet, perhaps they are still too young now.

 

odong-odong-man-in-action