A Rp 50,000 banknote
A Rp 50,000 banknote
By Chairil Gibran Ramadhan
I have looked at this Rp 50,000 banknote many times. I have
studied both sides, carefully examining the letters, figures,
pictures and safety lines. I have been doing this for three
nights.
After coming home from selling noodles at the end of the road,
parking my cart next to my rented house, taking a bath,
performing the afternoon prayer and eating, I take the banknote
from under the newspaper on which I place the raw noodles in my
cart. I look at this banknote until my two children go to sleep
and my wife too, although she always reminds me that God would
exchange it for something more valuable.
I worked hard for the money. Twenty bowls of chicken noodles
had to be sold to get it. This means I had to put into bowls 20
lumps of noodles that I cooked. Then I had to put 20 pinches of
cooked mustard greens, 20 pinches of uncooked leek, 20 teaspoons
of salt, 20 teaspoons of flavoring powder, 20 ladles of gravy, 60
spoons of chicken broth, 60 spoons of semur chicken, 60 white
crispy chips, 60 spoons of sambal, 60 spoons of tomato sauce and
20 spoons of chili sauce.
Three days ago, a new customer paid for two bowls of noodles
with Rp 50,000.
"Do you have anything smaller, Oom?" I asked, holding the
money.
"Sorry, I have only these Rp 50,000 notes," he said. He took
out his wallet and showed me its contents. "Look."
My eyes grew bigger and my mouth watered. There were a number
of new and clean Rp 50,000 banknotes in the wallet.
"If you don't have the change, let me exchange it for you."
"Oh, I have the change. But then how can I give change to
other customers?"
"I'll wait if you want to exchange it," he said again.
"No need, Oom. I'll do it later." I gave him two Rp 10,000
notes, four Rp 5,000 notes, four Rp 1,000 notes and two Rp 500
notes. "Here's your change, Oom."
The man counted the money, folded the notes and put them into
the right-front pocket of his blue trousers. "Thanks, Bang. Your
noodles are delicious."
I was flattered. "Please, drop by on your way home from the
office. Hope to see you again. Don't forget to tell your friends
to eat here."
"Of course, I'll tell them about your noodles." He walked
toward his red sedan. He opened the door, got in, turned on the
engine and the car sped away westward.
I was happy. I had a new customer. I hoped he would come to my
cart regularly. He was a rich man. His face was uniquely urban.
His skin was fair, his hair was looked after, his clothes were
nice and the aroma of an expensive cologne emanated from his
body. And his car, oh yes, it was a a luxury car of the latest
model.
He was unlike me, my family, my parents, my parents-in-law, my
neighbors, the people living in this kampung, most of my regular
customers, the other noodle vendors who I stood in line with to
buy supplies like uncooked noodles, chicken, chili sauce and
tomato sauce, salt and spices, leeks and mustard greens. Their
faces were those of villagers. Their skin was dark and their hair
was not well kept. Their clothes were what they could grab to
wear. Their bodies never smelled of perfume. They went everywhere
by bus or on foot.
I had another customer to attend to. He was one of my
regulars. A young man of 20, he had been buying my noodles since
he was much younger. He worked in a hypermarket not far from our
village. It had opened many months before. He said he worked as a
shopping cart attendant, and I saw him there one Sunday when I
went to the hypermarket to buy shoes for Reza, as a gift to
celebrate his graduation to the fifth grade, and also for Ryan,
who had graduated to the fourth grade.
Many people from my kampung worked at the hypermarket, it was
so close the company didn't have to worry about employees being
late for work, and the employees didn't have to worry about
spending half of their salary on transportation.
Many people from the kampung also liked to shop there because
it was air-conditioned and clean.
"You working the afternoon shift, Tur?"
"The morning shift, Bang Ed. I worked overtime today. It's
Saturday and so crowded you can't even make your way through the
market. But I thank God because I got lots of tips today. It's
always like this on Saturday and Sunday, especially when people
have just got paid."
He gave me two Rp 1,000 banknotes and a Rp 500 coin for his
noodles.
"Do you have some change, Tur? So I can give change to
customers. Here's a Rp 50,000."
"Sure." He opened his bag and pulled out a small pile of Rp
1,000 notes. "Already counted back at the hypermarket, Bang."
I took the money and gave him the banknote I had received from
my new customer.
He took the note and rubbed it with the thumb and middle
finger of his right hand. He held it up and looked at it against
the light. I did not know why.
"It's fake, Bang."
"Hah?!" My heart missed a beat. "Fake? Impossible, Tur! I got
it from a rich person."
"To pay for the noodles?"
"Yes! It can't be fake."
"The rich always prey on the poor, Bang."
I felt weak all over.
"Do you remember his face?"
"Yes! But he only came here today. He was here just before
you."
"If he comes again, give it back and ask for a real note."
I said nothing. I gave him back his Rp 1,000 notes and took
back the Rp 50,000.
"You must be really careful now."
I could only look at the banknote.
Fake? Fake money?
***
I kept looking at the Rp 50,000 note. Front and back. I
studied the letters, figures, pictures and safety lines. I have
been doing this for seven days, after coming home from selling my
chicken noodles.
Still, I couldn't believe I had received counterfeit money.
Fifteen years earlier, I worked in a factory. I was only there
a year. I asked for a raise and the company decided to fire me
instead. The factory owner told me to go find somewhere to work
where they would pay a junior high school graduate like me a good
salary. He said there were thousands of people who would
willingly work at his factory for the salary he offered.
"I'd better quit. You pay people you can fool. I'll find a new
job that pays more money for someone with my education. I'll find
a new employer who does not exploit his workers," I told the
factory owner that day. I was 19 years old.
I had been sure that he would agree to give me a Rp 7,500 a
month raise, as this amount was nothing for him but for me the
money was vital in keeping together the body and soul of my
family. My father was a bajaj driver and he didn't make enough to
feed himself, my mom, my four brothers and sisters and me.
I was wrong. My employer was too tightfisted. I looked for
another job but nobody would pay somebody like me a good salary.
So I decided to open my own business.
Why is it that rich people are wicked and are never satisfied?
Why don't they ever stop exploiting poor people like me? Do they
prey upon us because of our sheer ignorance? Do they prey upon us
because we are weak and because in their eyes we are born to be
exploited and preyed upon?
***
I looked at this Rp 50,000 note many times. Front and bank. I
carefully observed its letters, figures, pictures and safety
lines. I have been doing this for 11 days, after coming home from
selling my chicken noodles.
Well, I worked hard for this money. I still can't believe I
received a fake banknote.
For many days when I left home to sell my noodles, I put the
money under the newspaper on which I put the uncooked noodles in
my cart. I waited for the rich man to come again, but he never
turned up. Six months passed since he bought my noodles.
Then one day I had a new customer, a woman. She gave me a Rp
100,000 banknote to pay for three bowls of noodles that she and
two of her friends had.
"Anything smaller, Tante?"
"No, Bang. It's all I have." She opened her purse and showed
me its contents. "Come on, have a look."
My eyes grew bigger and my mouth watered. Rp 100,000
banknotes. Clean and new.
"Please change it, Bang."
"No need. Take your money. You don't need to pay me."
"Is it really all right with you?"
"That's OK."
"Do you have Rp 7,500, Mel?"
Her friend shook her head. "I only have Rp 100,000 notes."
"You, Tris?"
Tris also shook her head. "I don't have any small change."
"It's all right, Tante. Take your money. I mean it."
The woman took her purse, opened it and put back the banknote.
"Thanks. Your noodles are really delicious."
"You're welcome." I smiled. "Hope you come again. Don't forget
to bring small change."
"I'll tell my friends at the office about your noodles." She
went to her luxury car along with her two friends. She opened the
door, got in and turned on the engine. The car sped away to the
east.
That was the first time I made a donation to a rich person.
It's much better than allowing the rich to suck my blood.
Bang : older brother (intimate);
Oom : uncle;
semur : meat cooked in soy sauce;
bajaj : motorized three-wheeled pedicab;
Tante : aunt
Translated by Lie Hua