`Ondel-ondel' artists deplore disappearance of Betawi villages
`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.