The sun sets high in Yogya<\/p>\n
Chairil Gibran Ramadhan<\/p>\n
I arrived at 6:15 a.m., weighed down by my backpack. I wiped the
\nsweat from my forehead, with my mother's words of worry still
\nringing in my ears: \"A girl shouldn't travel alone. And what will
\nyou get up to anyway?\"<\/p>\n
I did not answer because I was leaving for no purpose and
\nnobody. I was simply sick of staying in my room, my city, staring
\nat the numbers on my computer screen, trudging through life.<\/p>\n
It was from boredom rather than aversion to anything.<\/p>\n
A becak driver rode close to me.<\/p>\n
\"You need a place to stay, mbak? I know a cheap homestay. Just
\npay me a thousand rupiah for the ride. Come on, mbak, don't
\nworry, it's safe.\"<\/p>\n
\"What's the room rate?\"<\/p>\n
\"Only Rp 12,500. It's not so bad. A thousand for the becak,
\nyeah.\"<\/p>\n
\"OK.\"<\/p>\n
The pedicab left the station, into the simmering Yogyakarta
\nmorning heat.<\/p>\n
I got my room, and prepared to rest. I was not in a hurry. The
\nnine-hour train ride left me sore, and I had been worn out by the
\ntalkative young man sitting next to me.<\/p>\n
\"Going to Solo or Yogya, mbak?\"<\/p>\n
\"Yoyga.\"<\/p>\n
\"I'm stopping at Solo Balapan. On your own?\"<\/p>\n
\"You, too, are alone, aren't you?\"<\/p>\n
\"But you're a young woman.\"<\/p>\n
\"Any difference?\"<\/p>\n
\"No, but...\"<\/p>\n
\"Sorry, I have to rest, so sleepy,\" I said, turning to the
\nwindow.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
I woke up as the call to prayer gradually snuck into my
\ndreams. I took a cold shower and set off.<\/p>\n
I left Sosrowijayan for a walk along Malioboro. It was a hot
\nday. Vendors of food and drink, clothes and handicrafts packed
\nthe sidewalks. Before my departure, Wiwik, my childhood neighbor
\nwho moved to Yogyakarta 11 years earlier with her police officer
\nfather, called and warned: \"Don't forget to ask the price of any
\nfood or drink first. All food stalls here often overcharge. It's
\nno use to complain after eating because they won't give in.
\nThey're only thinking about today's profit.\"<\/p>\n
\"My friends who've been there told me the same thing.\"<\/p>\n
\"It's because the tourists give them a big profit. But only
\ntourists, particularly foreigners, are their target.\"<\/p>\n
\"So they don't do it to you locals?\"<\/p>\n
\"Of course not.\"<\/p>\n
\"What if they demand a high price the moment I ask?\"<\/p>\n
\"That's the risk. So try to speak Javanese.\"<\/p>\n
\"Doesn't it create a bad image of their city, if the tourists
\nrefuse to return and the bad news spreads by word of mouth?\"<\/p>\n
\"Unfortunately they never think about it. And the charm of
\ncity is too strong to resist.\"<\/p>\n
\"They should realize that not all tourists are well off. Lots
\nof them have to save their money for months, even years, or
\nborrow from their family for their trip.\"<\/p>\n
\"Yes, like you used to do.\"<\/p>\n
We both laughed.<\/p>\n
I didn't want to bother Wiwik though she and her father Pak
\nBahruddin offered for me stay with them while I was there. But I
\nthought one or two nights would be all right as I missed her,
\nthough in fact I preferred to be all by myself.<\/p>\n
\"Mbak, you want to buy bakpia or T-shirts? Only five hundred
\nfor the ride,\" was the same offer I heard dozens of times. Then I
\nwent by a horse-drawn carriage without bargaining for the fare.
\nWiwik told me to pay only two thousand rupiah from Malioboro to
\nthe palace, so I didn't need to haggle with the coachman.<\/p>\n
I saw that Yogyakarta was a neat city, where pedestrians had
\nno fear of being hit by motor vehicles when they crossed the
\nroad. It was not like Jakarta, where drivers had no respect for
\npedestrians but stood to lose their life at the hands of an angry
\ncrowd if they accidentally ran into someone.<\/p>\n
\"Eight thousand in change, ya,\" I said as I stepped down from
\nthe carriage in front of the court, handing a ten thousand rupiah
\nbanknote.<\/p>\n
The coachman returned two thousand rupiah to me.<\/p>\n
\"Six thousand more, mas.\"<\/p>\n
\"That's enough, mbak.\"<\/p>\n
\"The fare is just two thousand, isn't it?\"<\/p>\n
He did not answer.<\/p>\n
\"Eight thousand rupiah from Malioboro?!\" I gave him a wide-
\neyed stare. \"It's too much!\"<\/p>\n
The coachman left without a word.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
I gazed at rain-soaked Malioboro. It was my ninth day in this
\ncity. I gad stayed two nights with Wiwik in my first few days.<\/p>\n
I ordered a complete gudeg dish and a glass of hot sweet tea.
\nOn my right were two young men with guitars singing a Javanese
\nsong. On my left, a woman of about 40 shook her tambourine and
\nhummed an unfamiliar tune.<\/p>\n
Two steps away from me, a long-haired youth played his guitar
\nand sang a song once granted the Yogyakarta sultan's award.<\/p>\n
Nobody could tell the number of street singers at night. One
\nsinger to deal with was alright, but what if they came one after
\nanother?<\/p>\n
Fortunately, they knew how to behave. A raised right palm was
\nenough to turn them away. None of them pushed like in Jakarta,
\nwhere such singers should more properly be called muggers. I was
\nonce a victim around the National Monument, one of their hunting
\ngrounds.<\/p>\n
I ate the gudeg. It was far less tasty than the cooking of
\nBude Nani, whose stall opposite my college was my favorite dining
\nplace. Commercialization had again spoiled everything. All the
\nfood was cooked fast and in large amounts without any culinary
\ntouches. It was all about the money.<\/p>\n
\"Are you from Jakarta, dik?\" asked a woman carrying a big
\nleather handbag who sat beside me.<\/p>\n
\"Yes ...\"<\/p>\n
\"So am I.\" Then she talked at length about herself: she was in
\nYogyakarta to find her husband, who had gone away with their only
\nchild. She was sure her spouse would be in his hometown.<\/p>\n
\"Do you know his address?\"<\/p>\n
\"That's the problem, dik. I've visited his parents' house,
\nonly to find it already sold. Neighbors and new residents said my
\nmother-in-law and her other four children had moved six months
\nago.\"<\/p>\n
\"Where to?\"<\/p>\n
\"To Magelang, the neighbors said, but they had no idea of the
\nexact place. They were embarrassed by my father-in-law, who was
\njailed for corruption. Many people are corrupt now, dik.\"<\/p>\n
\"So, what do you plan to do, mbak?\"<\/p>\n
\"I'm going to carry on my search, dik. At worst, I'll have to
\ngo back to Jakarta.\"<\/p>\n
\"Have you eaten yet?\"<\/p>\n
The woman leaned toward me, her eyes brimming with tears.<\/p>\n
\"All my money was stolen by pickpockets on the train. Now I
\ndon't know what to do. I've been roaming the streets for two
\ndays,\" she said.<\/p>\n
She lowered her voiced and leaned in closer.<\/p>\n
\"The thought of making money at Sarkem sometimes occurs to me.
\nWhy should I go back to Jakarta? There's only a small house with
\ntwo months' rent overdue. People at the station say Sarkem is a
\nplace to earn money.\"<\/p>\n
My smile turned sour as I heard her words. Wiwik told me
\nSarkem, the flower market, was where men could find prostitutes.
\nI beckoned to the waiter and ordered another helping of gudeg and
\nhot tea. Though not a good meal, it was enough to fill an empty
\nstomach.<\/p>\n
\"No, dik ...\"<\/p>\n
\"Never say no to luck, mbak. I know you haven't dined yet.\"<\/p>\n
She grinned. While savoring every mouthful, she told her story
\nagain in detail, from her parents' disapproval of her marriage
\nbecause of differences in faith, to her husband being seduced by
\nanother woman.<\/p>\n
The evening was getting late and chilly.<\/p>\n
\"If your search fails, why don't you go back to Jakarta?\" I
\nsaid after she had finished eating and talking.<\/p>\n
\"I have no relatives there. My parents and seven brothers and
\nsisters live in Bandung. I'm the eldest.\"<\/p>\n
\"Then you can just go to Bandung.\"<\/p>\n
\"I'm sure they won't accept me, especially abah. I've been
\ndisowned since I went off with mas Suryo.<\/p>\n
\"You should keep praying. God will listen, trust me. But I
\nthink the best thing to do is to return to Bandung if you can't
\nfind your kid. Apologize to your parents. That's better than
\nliving alone in Jakarta and renting a house, let alone working at
\nSarkem.\"<\/p>\n
She stooped over again, \"I'm in a muddle, dik...\"<\/p>\n
\"And if you later find your husband and get your child back,
\nyou'd better seek a divorce. You still have many nice men to
\nchoose from, take my word.\"<\/p>\n
She remained silent, taking a long sigh.<\/p>\n
I looked at her face. It's the fate of some women to be the
\nvictims of men: betrayed, ordered around, scolded, beaten up,
\ntortured, raped and killed. Yet I don't sympathize with women who
\nhate men and choose to turn to their same sex by claiming it is
\ntheir right. For me, it's not a solution. It's ignorance,
\nartificial and overly dramatic behavior. We've got to use our
\nbrains.<\/p>\n
\"I can't afford more than this, mbak.\" I slipped her Rp
\n30,000.<\/p>\n
\"No, dik, you needn't ...\"<\/p>\n
\"Please accept this. It's a blessing from God through my hand.
\nIt may be just enough for the train fare. But you could still add
\nsome more by selling your earrings.\"<\/p>\n
\"I don't feel I deserve all this.\"<\/p>\n
\"It's OK, mbak.\"<\/p>\n
\"Thank you, thank you,\" she said, bowing low as she walked
\naway.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
I was waiting at the station when a young woman holding a big
\nbag sat next to me. \"Are you going to Jakarta, mbak?\"<\/p>\n
I smiled and nodded.<\/p>\n
\"Me too ...,\" she said without being asked. \"Any business
\nthere?\"<\/p>\n
\"Going home.\"<\/p>\n
\"Vacation over? How long have you been in Yogya?\"<\/p>\n
\"Two weeks,\" was my terse reply. I began to dislike her
\ninquisitiveness. I wished she knew I was not a talker.<\/p>\n
\"I'm trying to find my husband,\" she told me. \"He ran away,
\ncarrying all my jewelry and our five year old. Neighbors said
\nhe'd gone to stay with his brother in Jakarta. Both his parents
\nin Yogya are dead. When I asked for help, all his relatives
\ndisowned him and me. We lived in the same village and he was my
\nnearby neighbor.\"<\/p>\n
Deja vu? I was smiling inside. Like Indian films churned out
\nwithout any flair, the story this time had a different setting
\nand actress.<\/p>\n
\"I had back luck. I was robbed of all my money on the bus,
\nleaving only my bag.\" She pointed at the bag she's hugging. \"It
\ncontains only clothes.\"<\/p>\n
I forced a smile. The face of the woman from the other night
\nflashed into my mind. She could be enjoying herself with the
\nthirty thousand rupiah I'd given her.<\/p>\n
\"I'm not sure if I have to remain in Jakarta or not. I don't
\neven know if I can eat tonight. It makes me ashamed to return to
\nKaliurang. How can I ask for more money? I may just make money at
\nSarkem this evening.\"<\/p>\n
\"Why should you be ashamed? You're not going to steal. They're
\nyour own parents. So you'd better go back first to get some money
\nfor the Jakarta trip.\"<\/p>\n
The woman gave no answer, her eyes showing uneasiness.<\/p>\n
\"Sorry, I can't help.\" I held tighter onto my backpack.<\/p>\n
She looked down, in tears.<\/p>\n
\"I must go now, the train is here.\"<\/p>\n
\"Perhaps you could spare two thousand rupiah for my dinner?\"<\/p>\n
I gently pushed away her hand. \"Sorry, find someone else. I've
\ngot just enough for myself.\"<\/p>\n
The woman sneered. But I didn't care.<\/p>\n
I boarded the train. From the window I saw the woman
\napproaching and speaking to a youth. I couldn't hear her words
\nbut I watched her taking a handful of money from the long-haired
\nyoung man.<\/p>\n
The sun was climbing high in Yogya.<\/p>\n
Translated by Aris Prawira<\/p>\n
Glossary:<\/p>\n
Becak : pedicab\/tricycle
\nMbak : Javanese term of address for a woman
\nDik : term for a younger man or woman
\nPak : term for an older man
\nMas : Javanese term for a younger or older man
\nBude : Javanese term for a woman or aunt
\nAbah : Sundanese term for a father
\nBakpia : steamed dumpling with various fillings
\nGudeg : Young jackfruit cooked in spicy coconut milk, a specialty
\nof Yogykarta<\/p>",
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