Ojek

Ojek

By Chairil Gibran Ramadhan

No! My wife and two children must never know about this. I must
keep it a secret from them, my family, my wife's family and my
neighbors. What will they say about me if they know that I -- who
for six years made millions of rupiah each month, worked in an
air-conditioned room, ate good meals, bought nice shirts, shoes
and expensive perfume and provided my wife and children with
delicious food and expensive clothes -- am now only an ojek
driver.

I don't mean to look down on the job. It is in fact a noble
job, much nobler than resorting to begging in the streets,
stealing or cheating. The point is I just have not been able to
accept the fact that I, who used to be waited on, now have it the
other way round.

It would be different if, from the very beginning, I had
started working as a porter, an office boy or an ojek driver. I
would, of course, have treated the profession with disdain but I
would not have resented my current fate now.

I come from a wealthy family and I when I got married I had a
life as decent as my parents'. The problem is that now I have
plunged into a position which my wife, children, family, my
wife's family and neighbors might regard as drastic, totally
changing my daily life: From a life of comfort to mere survival,
a life fraught with struggles to make both ends meet.

Every morning I start my motorbike, excuse myself and leave
the house, advising my wife to be alert and mindful of burglars
who might break into the house any time not only during the night
but also in the daytime. I kiss my wife on the forehead then
Rizky, my one-year-old son. His sister, Imas, has left for
kindergarten, taken by a neighbor's child.

After I moved to this village to live in a house given by my
father six years ago, I have passed the same street and greeted
people by nodding my head, blowing the horn or responding to
their greetings.

I have never told them about my job because I do not think it
necessary to tell them. And besides what could they do if they
found out that now I'm only an ojek driver? I'm sure there is
not much they could do to relieve my burden.

To give advice, extend sympathy and to tell me to be patient
in facing my ordeal are what they would be able to do at best. In
fact, I do not need their comforting words, because I know they
are financially no better off than I am.

Basically speaking, they have lived a harder life much longer
than I have. (I do not wish to look down upon or insult them).
But deep at heart, I am proud of the way they live: Slow and
easy. Never have I seen a frown on their forehead and this is
probably due to the fact that they are used to a hard life.

Poverty has been part of their lives for ages, from one
generation to the next. Had they never experienced any hardship
before, I am sure they would have felt what I now feel.

I have to thank my wife, my children, my family and my
neighbors for preventing me from ending my life in a foolish
manner. They have gradually made me realize that this is all just
a trial from God. They, particularly my neighbors, have given me
a mirror with which I can see all of their experiences in life,
that life is beautiful if you know how to cope with it.

Without them, without a role model, without their happy faces,
I am certain that I would be lying in a tomb today. And perhaps
right after receiving the letter informing me that I was being
laid off three months ago, that very morning, I would have jumped
to my death through the window of my office on the 16th floor.

That morning, I thought that I had to be strong and prevented
myself from feeling sorry for losing what I had enjoyed for
years: A good job with a substantial salary.

What makes me strong is that even my economically weak
neighbors, who have never enjoyed life, have never expressed
regret or complaints. It is they who have encouraged me to move
on.

And here I am now -- an ojek driver.

***

I enter the back of the foodstall where I always have my
meals, far from my house and away from my former office or the
area where people would recognize me. The food stall, sandwiched
between office buildings along the city's main road, stands near
a street leading to a luxury housing complex.

I take off my long-sleeved white shirt, black pants, my tie
and shoes. Then I put my helmet on the table. Afterwards I put on
my sandals and a different helmet to cover my face because I
don't want my wife, my children, my relatives, my neighbors or
other people who know me to see my face. I change into a T-shirt
and a pair of jeans that I have had the foodstall owner keep for
me since I started my job here. Then I leave the dirty clothes to
be washed. I put them on alternately. When a piece of clothing
begins to make me itch then I wear the other one. Of course I
need their help as it is impossible for me to ask my wife to wash
my clothes.

Only the food stall owner's family know about my previous job.
They, helpful and understanding, only charge me Rp 35,000 a month
to use their back room to rest and store my belongings plus the
laundry.

I have promised to myself and God, because I believe He is the
only One who can help me, that if one day I get everything back,
a nice job and good life, I will give them money to renovate
their food stall.

Yes, only the foodstall owner's family know about my previous
job. They can understand me because their parents were once rich
but became destitute and impoverished after being cheated by a
business partner. Their late father had to pay all the losses to
the bank, otherwise he would have been failed for eight years,
while his good-looking, sweet-talking business partner vanished
without a trace.

However, they never regret their fate as they are sure that
God is responsible for everything.

"Everything we have in this world belongs to God. If He wants
to take it back from us, we have to be prepared for it. There is
no need to regret. Perhaps we had some ill-gotten wealth with us
before."

I listened attentively.

"You see now we practically have nothing but we can live more
peacefully. We used to have everything we wanted: A beautiful
house, several cars, a lot of money and holidays at dad's villa
or other famous recreational resorts, but we were restless. God
knew we were restless and He relieved us by taking all the joys
that He had temporarily lent us, which according to a cleric,
means that God still loves us."

I kept on listening.

"So Mas Ari, you don't have to feel ashamed about working like
this, as a laborer, an office boy or an ojek driver. You only
need to be ashamed if you are a beggar, a thief or a swindler. We
ourselves are not ashamed of being a food sellers. We should only
be ashamed if we possess ill-gotten wealth."

I was quiet, but his words kept ringing in my ears.

"When we first became poor, we were temporarily ashamed in
front of our neighbors and relatives but gradually we got used to
it. People keep on reminding us that all we have in this world
belongs to God and if the Owner wants to take it back, we have to
be prepared. No need for regrets, much less resentment".

But to me, it seems hard and it will take me a few months
before * Oto tell my wife and children about my present job. I am
not used to being poor and still feel ashamed about living in
poverty, although I am fully aware that everything we have in
this world belongs to God. I am just not ready to live in
poverty.

For the time being, within these days, these weeks, these
months, my beloved Daike, my sweethearts Imas and Rizky must not
know about my job. I will continue to keep it a secret from them.

Translated by Faldy Rasyidie

Note:
- ojek : motorcycle taxi
- Mas : big brother