Dealing with reality as the ghosts of uncertainty

Dealing with reality as the ghosts of uncertainty

I imagine I am "Narko", living in the poor enclave of
Penjaringan, North Jakarta. I have just been woken up by the
concert of manual water pumps being used by our neighbors to pump
up underground water.

It is a Monday morning. The hustle and bustle of the city has
started again. But actually, for people like us it is not a
matter of starting over again on Monday. It is rather starting
over again and again every day. As if all days are Mondays. No
Saturdays or Sundays to break one week from the next.

"Hurry up To. You have to be there on time to take the test,"
my mother shouts from the front of our five-by-seven meter wooden
house, while helping my father, who was about to depart for work.

This morning I will join a recruitment test with a private
company in Tanjung Priok. I really hope I get the job.

After my rice-and-tempeh breakfast, I walk toward the nearest
bus stop, where I board a public bus. I disembark at a bus
shelter near Tanjung Priok and then take a taxi to make sure I
arrive at the company on time for the test.

The taxi fare is Rp 18,700, which is based on the new rate.
But when I give the driver Rp 20,000, he does not give me any
change. He just says, "This is a normal practice here."

When I enter the company building, an employee tells me that I
had been excluded from the test. "We're very sorry. We made a
mistake in sending you an invitation letter to join the test. We
thought you were a university graduate. But in fact you only have
a diploma," she said.

I feel so disappointed. I leave the building quickly and take
a public bus in the direction of Pulogadung terminal, where my
father conducts his business.

A minute later newspaper boys board the bus. "The government
has raised fuel prices by an average of 120 percent. It's too
much. Unemployment, poverty will be increasing. We already have
50 million poor people. Read this paper," one of them yells.

The driver lurches forward, zigzagging through empty lanes as
if a monster is chasing us. He seemingly wants to impress upon
people that he can do anything he likes -- right or wrong -- as
long as there as there are no police around to look out for.

After some time, the driver stops far from a bus shelter. Two
men get inside, while having a serious discussion. "Don't expect
too much from the government. It is money, not the people, that
rules this country. And when money talks, the truth is silent,"
one of them says.

About a kilometer from the terminal, the bus driver and
conductor tell all the passengers to get off the bus and take
another one.

"But you promised to take us inside the terminal. Now you have
broken your own promise," a passenger complains while getting
off. But the conductor and driver just smile and go on making a
U-turn.

While other passengers take another bus, I just walk. All the
distressing realities flash through my mind: Taxi drivers
'extorting' passengers by rounding off the fare on the meter. Bus
drivers who do not feel obliged to take passengers to the
terminals as they have promised.

People have to pay much more for public services, such as
identity cards and passports although the cost stipulated by the
government is much lower.

Many other laws are just pleasant realities on paper. But when
it comes to the practice they could become monsters.

Suddenly, I see public order officers conducting a raid on
street vendors. The vendors scramble to rescue their belongings,
but the officers manage to take most of their goods.

A woman, helped by her two small children, desperately defends
her belongings. "Please sir, don't take my goods," she pleads.

But the security officers just take the goods and throw them
mercilessly onto their trucks, leaving the woman crying and
yelling. "We got permission from the local administration. Now
you say this is illegal," she barks angrily.

Like other common people, the woman cannot do anything about
it. The realities for them no longer hold any certainty, but are
the ghosts of uncertainty.

Seeing the realities here is like seeing the beautiful ghosts
depicted on Indonesian films. We see them as real, but they are
not actually real. When we start dealing with them they turn into
various kinds of scary faces.

A melancholic song from noted singer Bob Tutupoli is heard
from a small radio held by an old man who managed to rescue his
goods from the raid: "Sampai Kapankah Aku harus
begini...Mungkinkah terus begini?...Mengapa?..." (Until when I
will have to endure this. Will it be forever?...Why?...")

The song carries me deep inside my head until, not
concentrating on the path ahead, I run into an iron pole, banging
my head on it. I look up and it is a traffic sign that reads:
"Sampai Rambu Berikutnya" (Until the Next Traffic Sign).

I continue walking down the road, my forehead throbbing with
pain and the traffic sign keeps echoing in my mind: Sampai Rambu
berikutnya... It is a real traffic sign. But it does not show
what kinds of signs lie ahead. -- Benget Simbolon Tnb.