Story from the coast

Hawa Arofah

The rugged, crew-cut man drove into the coastal village in his jeep, stopping at the sprawling home with the gurgling fountain out front.

He handed an envelope to the village head.

"There's a check and a message inside, probably the same as previous ones," he said. "I'm just a messenger," he added before leaving.

The village head opened the envelope and read the letter. "Another order!" he murmured with a smile.

"Who sent it, pak?" asked his wife, approaching him in the sitting room.

Instead of answering, he gave the letter and check to his wife right away.

With a frown, she looked over them. "Are you going to meet the order again, pak?

He sighed deeply. "Yes, because it's our only way to make a lot of money."

"But you've sent too many teenage girls from this village already. You don't know what's become of them."

"We may not know their fate, but at least they can send money to their parents. And they're none the wiser, thinking their daughters are working at factories in Jakarta."

"What happens if they return home and tell about their real work, pak? Won't you be in trouble?"

"Ah, come on, you shouldn't worry too much. I just send young girls as ordered. I'm not responsible for other things. It's the risk they take!"

His wife stopped talking, twirling her expensive necklace and looking out at the new sedan that ferried her to the market every day.

"You've got to help me, bu. You just pick the young girls bound for Jakarta yourself."

"What about recruiting them from other villages, pak?

"It's up to you."

"What if other village heads become suspicious?"

"I'll take care of them if they're too inquisitive. I can explain what's going on and ask them to cooperate if need be. You know how it works."

* * *

In a shack by the side of a dusty road near the coastline, a mother crouched down next to her daughter.

"You needn't go to secondary school, nduk. You'll just be unemployed afterward, because your father can't afford to pay for more school fees."

"I'm scared, mak.

"No reason to be, nduk. You won't be alone in Jakarta. Lots of your friends from here and neighboring villages will be with you. Besides, a lot more girls have been working there for a long time."

"But will I be really working in a factory, mak?"

"Where else would you be going to work?"

The girl was silent for a moment.

"It's rumored that the girls sent by the village head to Jakarta work as entertainers. Do they mean prostitutes, mak?"

"Hush! Don't you talk nonsense. The village head will slap your face if he hears."

"The rumor is everywhere, mak. It's the talk of the village."

"Don't believe any of it, how dare they say such things."

"I just don't want to be sent to Jakarta. I want to continue my studies."

Her mother was silent. She had heard the rumors, too, but didn't take them seriously. Besides, she needed her daughter to get to work.

In another hut nearby, a father was also talking to his daughter.

"I don't want to be a sex worker, pak."

"So you think the village head is a broker of prostitutes?"

"I just want to go to school."

"Stop putting on airs. Know your place. You're only a miserable fisherman's child. Don't give us more trouble!"

"OK, I agree. But I won't be back to this village again!"

Her father felt torn. His daughter was unmarried, with no job prospects here, and she was a burden on her family. He wanted her to work in Jakarta; he didn't have to know what she did.

In fact, some of the women had returned home, building the fanciest homes in the village. Only the village head's house was grander.

* * *

And so the next batch of young girls was gone, as per the order. In a few years, they would be back, hopefully, dressed in fine clothes, driving cars and building new houses for their parents.

It's how the small coastal villages along Java's barren coast continue to survive despite dwindling fish stocks and their parched land.

The life of the fishermen is always like a small boat rocked by high waves, scorched by the sun, soaked by the rain and hit by a storm. It's a small boat that's rolling heavily and about to sink, with their children taken with it.

Translated by Aris Prawira

Notes: Pak: term of address for a man or husband Bu: term of address for a woman or wife Mak: local term of address for a mother or woman Nduk: Javanese term of address for a young girl