Mbak Rita

Jakarta’s main streets are mostly heaven for the famous trafficjam, and thank God for those creative people who willingly risk their safety to sell some stuff — crunchy krupuk snack, fried tofu, newspapers, even artworks– during the painful hours. Here are some daily activities I can capture from my window in busiest hours.

Wish you were here….*

(*speechless and in tears)

In a drizzling Monday morning

A little princess laughed in the royal wagon

Sheltered under painted trees

With a huge rainbow as her colorful umbrella

Keeping warm with daddy’s smile as her invisible blanket

While her knight brother protected with a twig sword

Keeping her safe from dragons and vultures

Whose faces hidden in daylight

And masked in our daily basis ignorance…

The pouring rain has stopped

time to leave the shelter

Clickety clack…clickety clack….

Welcome aboard in the voyage of Daddy’s wagon 

 Something surely went so wrong, I felt so sick and having nausea yesterday after reading Masseuses Say They’re Unbothered by Padlocked Pants, an article in The Jakarta Post.  As you know, the resort city in East Java, (m)Batu, has pioneered a padlocked pant for female masseuse, to avoid the possibility of genital contact with her (mostly) male costumers. 

Sexual encounter between masseuses and their clients in the massage parlour is considered illegal here. But it happens frequently too. What silly is, instead of enforcing the law or coming up with new hi tech monitoring system, the gov’t chose to simply move back into Dark Age!

To “imprison” the female genital when the “owner” was not around to keep his eye was known centuries ago, the inhuman practice that thankfully has been vanished for a civilized reason. And suddenly, today, about a hundred years after our very own founding grandmothers paraded their bravery to the Indonesian very first female national meeting “Konggres Perempoean Indonesia” in 1928, established a perfect example for their unborn children, you and me today, how  to behave as civilized citizens; by speaking up, having participatation in public domain, and never let the authority telling you stupid stuff just because you are a woman, I had to read that very annoying article. Surely the pride given by those heroines seemed to end up in deaf ear in mBatu resorts…   But the worst part was the reaction of the victims, those female masseuses who said that they preferred being locked like that. Honey, what they have actually done to you?

 Photo : Venus lock,taken from Intisari Magazine

Let’s have fun today.

Hmmm, how about finding reason why the capital city should be moved from Jakarta to, say, Jayapura? There is for sure no polluted air to breath and the view is fantastically beautiful!

Well okay, maybe Jayapura is too far for you who already felt home in BSD (Bekasi Sonoan Dikit), Binjay (not Bintaro Jaya real estate but “Bekasi nJuga Siy”) or that nDepokcity Maharame.. . Its okay, this archipelago is still plenty of choices.

About an hour driving and snorkeling from Jakarta, we can surely move the capital to Lampung  where we can always count on the Gajah Lampung elephant army for helping our PSSI “almost always lost” soccer squad in the upcoming Sea games. Good idea, eh?

What? Lampung is still too far for those mBekasians? Ahhh, okay, I’ll check out my Google maps further. Hmmm, how about Seribu Islands in the north of Jakarta? It was proven perfect for drug dealers’ business, so it could be much efficient for the self claimed righteous people like our very own governments, right?

Yea, only our government and its enormous staff should move from Jakarta. You know, it feels really hurt when you are in an almost routine bumper to bumper traffic jam, and then, in the middle of nowhere there comes sirens, a sign for you to pull aside, for giving chance to a glossy black European imported posh car with two digits police number in red, the government’s car, and its bodyguards’. They never know how it feels being trapped in the traffic for more than an hour, as Jakartan commuters like me have in daily basis.

After they all leave to a new place, I will happily stay with my friends and families, selling bananas, dancing Javanese hula in Monas Park during full moon, and living ever after heh heh heh

Once the capital city is officially moved to a new place there will be no fear the President will be hijacked again by the seasonal flood during his tour of duty. We can finally say good bye to the continous traffic jam because of those frequent massive demonstrations to Senayan or Thamrin.  Their old building can always be sold as new malls or maybe Pak Ciputra finally fed up with those malls in town and started by build a real happy place for all Jakartans regardless with or without big bucks, such as libraries, museums, and of course, parks.

By the way, I have a big idea, how about selling the building of House of Representative in Senayan into a new hotel, where a particular room in it can be sold as tourist destinations titled “Maria Eva”. It would be another Vegas in real Tropic World, eh?

Oh, and don’t worry about the money. We are already in big debt for the next century, so why bother the increase?

What do you think? Should we start our own petition to relocate Jakarta to our glittering legislators? Would they give it a damn? Ahhhhh……..

Dream on, Baby!

Yea, I am living in a hollow dream….,ouch!

Her name is Eneng Wati, thirteen years old. I met her in the posh Riau Boulevard, Bandung, West Java, where the famous local boutiques like Cascade or Heritage and giant bookstore  Gramedia’re located.

She came from a village named Gantungan, Padalarang.  “We went to Bandung by train, all of us, about 15 kids to sell these cobek,” Eneng pointed the stoned plate for traditional cooking she tried to sell. “Would you buy,” she asked me, politely.” It is only 20,000 Rupiah, Bu?”

Eneng with other kids, the youngest is only 5 years old; go to Bandung’s busiest street every weekend. They always spend the night in Local Park,”Sleeping here is cheaper because, right now, it is getting harder to sell such cobek. Sometimes I can’t even sell a piece,” explained Eneng who had four heavy cobek stone to sell. I can see her friends selling the same plate near us.

What a heavy burden, and, oh, no,  I am not speaking about those cobek….!

Pretty in pink, this stall captured my attention on one busy morning in town.  In an instant it gave me a warm feeling, thinking about home and my days as kid where such snack and beverage were easily found. As you know, today it is much more easy to find Starbucks coffee here than our very own bajigur or kopi tubruk.  B471gur or bajigur is a traditional hot beverage and its best companions are “oldies” snacks shown in the glass tank; steamed cassava & banana, combro (”oncom” inside) and  nagasari cake. Ahhh…those old good days…!

Another human tragedy hit the headlines this week.  This very sad story came from Makassar, South Sulawesi. No, I didn’t mean the seasonal attack from those so-called-students who are now famous for being like a mob, crashing their own campus over any simple rift between them, not at all, I am talking about a pregnant women, mother of three, a wife of a pedicab driver named Daeng Basse. The 35 years old Basse suffered malnutrition and later a very bad diarrhea. Three days of starvation and without proper care, the neglected woman was found dead with her youngest kid, Bahir. This kid, Bahir, was only 5 years old, followed his mother miserable departure while his big brother and the oldest kid, a daughter, survived the terrible fate. Those two children now are, thanks to media spotlight upon them, treated with good handling in local hospital and showing a good sign of healing.

Please just don’t blame Basse’s neighbors for the very late help to her families. Those people are living in their own poor condition, the slum place where a cabin like Basse’s was available for rent at Rp 50.000/month, equivalent to just five bucks! And don’t start to mention rumors about her husband drinking problem. A man without skill and future, who has to live a hard life of such big families with a pregnant woman and three very young kids, is more than enough for me if sometimes, as scapegoat, he tried to escape the burden in such stupid ways like drinking. The real ghost in this tragedy is their poverty. Our very own poverty….

Well, not literally, I guess. It is because the official statistic said there are “only” 12000 street children in 12 millions Jakarta’s population number. It is far for being a million, eh? But, Honey, the number is increased like the new malls in the capital city, so high, and available on every corner of the town.

I certainly see this problem as our failed attempt to be a financially independent nation for having so much short-term economic policy. Those strategies simply give an obvious profit margin in a very short period of working for the government and its allies but in the same time kill the power of survival for the marginalized people, which in this country could be translated as our farmers and fishermen .  These groups have been losing their land and profession simply to survive their hard life, having nothing but a dream somehow there is a miracle in a big city like Jakarta like Harry Potter’s wand that could magically turn their miserable fate into a bright colorful one.

I can’t get enough of bashing those policies that in my opinion have deserted those people into sorrow ness, I mean, instead of empowering the main character of this agrarian country, by empowering our farmers and fishermen (or women ), the government have preferred to spoil the industrial community with those six-figure-US-$ easy loans, that later proved as the biggest mistake because it didn’t even pay off and instead, pulled Indonesia to its unfinished monetary crisis since 1997 with a high growing number of the getting-more-poor  society  plus 40 millions of unemployment in 2007.

Ah, what that I know about monetary crisis, I was only having a-standard-B-minus on my economic lesson in high school so I guess I am just talking nonsense here, right?

What I know for sure was the feeling of powerless when I saw this drama on my daily hectic Monday morning, from my window in the usual bumper-to-bumper-traffic-jam in town; there was a scream of a little girl. And then I saw her, being pushed by another little kid, maybe her brother, somewhere in a crowded boulevard. It seemed that she regretfully disagreed with that little boy but she had no choice. Later I saw her following him, jumping into a Patas AC Public Bus to work. Yeah, I can imagine she would sing in the bus with that little boy for a pitiful coin after coin from the bus passengers.

I am sorry, Kiddo….

The best thing about living in Indonesia, the melting pot of all (mostly Asian) cultures, the “nusa-antara” or  “between islands”, is the various holidays that we have. Last month we celebrate Islamic new Lunar Year and today it is the turn for the Chinese new Lunar Year or the Imlek Day.  Millions of Chinese Indonesians will celebrate the Year of Rat with traditional barongsai dragon dance and a hope for a raindrop that, people said, represents good luck and prosperity.

Years ago when Imlek New Year was officially granted as a public holiday here, I managed to write an article about its traditional costumes. I made a call to fashion designer Chossy Latu who has a Chinese descend and famous for his cheongsam dresses for an interview. Chossy did mention about the power of red as the best choice for the Chinese big day because red represents courage and all the power to start such a long walk.

That’s why last year I wore red when being invited for an Imlek party in big restaurant. To my surprise, all of my Chinese Indonesian friends didn’t pick that color. Even, I was—with a male friend–the only ones who did wear red. Heh heh heh.

There goes the funny thing in this melting pot society. Those who have no Chinese heritage want to show a respect with wearing red while our Chinese Indonesians friends, in the other hand, simply want to celebrate the new year in a humble way, don’t want too much attention, by ignoring the eye catching red outfits. Look by yourself what I found on 2 live music shows today in our national TV stations; Indosiar and TPI. All the non Chinese Indonesian talent seems to underline the Chinese New Year by wearing red, but there is an empty red from the Chinese Indonesian artists’ side.

  In Superstar Show (Indosiar TV) we have the two MCs with a very red tie (Eko Patrio) and red-and-gold-stripes-shirt (Ruben Onsu). There is also Judge Hetty Koes Endang with red headscarf & tunic while Judge Ari Tulang shows up with red shirt under his black suit. The performers are also rich with red (and all of its variant colors) for their costumes like those worn by Duo Maia and Happy Salma.

Even Okky Lukman who hosts the traditional Dangdut show called DangdutMania  in TPI TV station is all red. The same thing goes to Dangdut judge Ira Swara and also adopted by co host in Dangdutmania, namely “Queen Mommy” Sophie Navita and “Princess” Kiki Amelia.

But look at Chossy Latu himself. The famous fashion designer who is acted as another judge for Superstar Show (a singing contest for celebrities in Indosiar TV Station), along with Hetty Koes Endang and Ari Tulang, doesn’t even having a single red in his outfit. Chossy humbly chooses a blend of dark silk with golden ball ornament for his shirt. The same rule goes to the famous Chinese Indonesian dr Sonia Wibisana who performs as contestant number 4, with her pal Vivi Buntaran. Dr Sonia and long haired Vivi pick yellow-orange-brown and silver with a little pink for their costumes. Not a single red is available on their stage. Funny, eh? I think it is a good sign, a warm communication from both sides, to honestly show each other a deep respect.

Gong Xi Fa Cai, Guys!