`Ondel-ondel' artists deplore disappearance of Betawi villages
By Johannes Simbolon
JAKARTA (JP): On Tuesday morning, last week, two old artists of ondel-ondel (traditional Betawi puppet show) together with three young apprentices left their respective villages of Tegal Tangki and Rawa Meneng in Subang regency, West Java, to try their luck in Jakarta.
After a day-long trip by bus and train, the five street musicians arrived in the city in the evening. Being strangers with no families to take them in, the five musicians spent their first night in a bus shelter near Jl. Palmerah Selatan, Central Jakarta.
"We haven't had lunch or dinner because we ran out of money," Rawan, one of the old artists, told The Jakarta Post about their first experience in the city.
Each of the visiting traditional artists had paid Rp 750 (35 US cents) for bus fare from Subang to Cikampek, West Java; Rp 800 for a train ticket from Cikampek to Kota train terminal and another Rp 300 for ticket from Kota to Palmerah railway station.
The five humble men had apparently decided to go to the Palmerah area believing that many Betawi villages still existed in the western part of the city.
At 11 p.m. some of them, looking very exhausted, slept soundly on plastic bags in the shelter despite hunger and thirst. The obnoxious smell of urine pervading the shelter seemed not to bother them.
One of the boys, the one-armed Yani, even snored as if he was dreaming of living in paradise.
Rawan took the first shift to watch over their property, two man-sized colorful puppets, named "Sumber Jaya" and "Sari Jaya" and three percussion instruments, while the others slept seemingly peacefully.
For his part, the illiterate Rawan, who had no idea of his age, was unhappy with his first night in the city and talked of his misfortune of having no offspring despite his marriages to ten women in the past.
"When the Dutchmen were still here, I married my first wife," he recalled.
In the wee hours, Rawan woke his partner Waris, another old man, to take over the night watch. Waris yawned several times, before glancing to the deserted street and making himself comfortable on the concrete seat.
Queen Wilhelmina
Waris was also illiterate and had no idea about his age. "I was still young a boy like them when Pak Wilmina governed this country" (mistaking the former Dutch Queen Wilhelmina for a king), he said pointing to the three sleeping apprentices on the bus shelter's filthy floor
Waris had a simple judgment of the pride for the economic success of Indonesia after almost 50 years of independence.
"There is not much difference between now and the Dutch or the Japanese colonial era. Then we also had clothes and food. The difference is now there are much more vehicles cruising the city streets," he said.
He paused a moment, watching the street, where several taxi drivers were still rushing in a last ditch effort to get extra income.
"Sorry. I'm wrong. It's better now. Now we have much salt in contrast to the 40's when we did not have any," he said.
Jakarta might have shed motherly tears that night upon hearing someone belittling the economic success of Indonesia.
Jakarta need not to cry for them, but blame herself. The concentration of development in the city has widened the gap between the rich and the poor and between the metropolis and the rural areas, such as the forgotten and neglected villages where Waris and Rawan lived.
Drought
Waris then told the story of how the present drought hit farms and rice fields in their villages.
"There is no rice field to plough. All is dry. Hundreds of my villagers have left and have come to Jakarta to get money, including me and my friends," he said.
Waris and his friends, apparently fearing the gruesome stories about the alleged harassment of illegal residents by the Jakarta municipal officials might befall them, bribed officials of the village office to procure surat jalan (travel permit) at Rp 10,000 prior to their departure.
Waris sat on the concrete bench until morning to guard the two puppets because they are the only valuable assets they have. Waris said they bought the puppets from a craftsman for Rp 300,000.
At daybreak, they would wake up and then work the residential areas, especially the ones where many Betawi people live. Two of the apprentice kids would work the puppets and dance to the percussion music played by Waris, Rawan and Yani. At the end of their performance, the street musicians usually receive money from the audience.
Waris and his group never go into the posh housing complexes as they understand that the modern, computer addicted kids are not interested in their simple music.
The five street musicians are aware that the rapidly changing Jakarta, where it is the poor, not the well off, who often help the marginal communities, is not fit for them.
"It seems that Betawi people have grown less in number today. Where do they go?" Waris sighed at last.