The ojek driver
The ojek driver
By Kirk Coningham
He had first seen her 94 days ago when she had moved into one
of the small, but comfortable apartments, whose affluent tenants
provided work for ojek drivers like himself.
She always dressed in suits with matching shoes and handbags.
Her hair was a shining black mane that was luxurious even when
bundled into its formal restraints. She wore little makeup and
needed less. Her only jewelry was the small silver cross he
occasionally saw around her neck. Her body was perfect, in the
full bloom of youth, but the best thing about her was her scent.
The smell of her filled his senses with roses.
He had never known the scent of a rose as a child. He was the
eighth of 11 children from a very poor family. The arrival of
every new child made the family poorer still -- pushing them
inevitably into one of Jakarta's many shantytowns. Forced by
crushing poverty to leave school at nine years of age, he had
eked out an existence for himself, becoming known on the street
for his hard work, his smile (as quick as his wit) and his
willingness to help his family and friends when he could.
With a lot of hard work and careful management, by his 13th
birthday he had saved several hundred thousand rupiah. The fund
was his ticket out of the shantytown, only a few hundred meters
geographically, but another world away in reality. Disaster
struck when he was on the verge of making his move. His friend's
little sister was standing too close to a food cart when a wok
full of hot oil upturned over her small face. The burns were
atrocious but the worst thing was the damage done to her eyes.
Without immediate and expensive medical attention she would be
blinded for life. Sharief did not hesitate: "Ahmad, take this
money and take her to the hospital, now." Ahmad and his family
had no time to protest. They understood that the money
represented more than years of hard work -- they understood that
Sharief was handing over his future. But they also understood, as
did Sharief, this future was of less importance than a little
girl's sight.
Sitri's sight was saved. It took another seven years but,
eventually, so was Sharief's future. Although Sharief accepted
the necessity of his gift of the money at that critical time as a
fact of life, Ahmad and his family, who moved back to their
village soon after the accident, never forgot his generosity.
While by no means wealthy, Ahmad's family had prospered in the
village. On Sharief's 20th birthday they were able to repay their
old friend's kindness ... with interest.
Sharief's windfall came on two wheels -- he was given (repaid,
as Ahmad put it) enough money to buy a small motorcycle. He soon
put the bike, and his good sense, to work, taking people home
from bus stops for small change. Now 26, he owned five ojek but
continued driving, both to make the extra money and to keep an
eye on his investments. He would never be rich, but he was
hardworking, smart and willing to take a risk. He had retained
his good nature from his youth, and had continued to help those
around him when he could. His compassion for his friends had
ensured he had many more friends than dollars. He was sensible
enough to hope that it would ever be thus.
He was happy with his lot in life until 94 days ago when he
had first seen her. Most people scoff at the idea of love at
first sight, but that was what it was, plain and simple. The
instant he saw her, a bomb went off in his chest. His heart,
along with his safe existence and contentment, was taken from
him.
The cruelest part was that his good sense had already
convinced him that this love could never be. She was in a
different class to his. The closest he could ever hope to be was
perched in front of her on his motorbike as he dropped her home.
Knowing this did not stop his longing, and it did not stop the
flickers of hope when she started to look for him and he became
her regular evening driver. The morsels of hope only served to
increase his hunger. He carefully hid his feelings lest he become
the brunt of the jokes that must follow in the face of such
folly.
***
She had noticed him first when riding behind him sidesaddle
after another 12-hour day in the office. She first sought him
out because he was always clean and she hated the smell of days-
old sweat that permeated so many of the ojek drivers. Then she
had noticed that he was actually quite handsome. The revelation
had surprised her, not so much because he was, but simply because
she had noticed. The curious intimacy forged out of having to
hold on to a stranger on the back of a motorcycle had always set
her on edge. It was not like the crowded buses; on the ojek you
were forced to hang on to the driver, to reach out and touch him.
Like many other women her means of coping was to dehumanize the
drivers to the point that they were the merest extension of the
motorcycle: Automatons.
Sharief (she had heard his friends call him) had changed that.
Now she found herself looking forward to her trip home in the
evening. She had even smiled at him and been amazed at how his
face lit up in delight. When he smiled he was not only handsome
-- he was gorgeous! After the smile she started to notice a
little more about him. His body was strong. He was at least 15
centimeters taller than his friends, with broad, well-muscled
shoulders tapering to a slim back: an athlete's body. People
looked up to him, not just because of his height. She could see
people liked him, respected him.
***
She remained a profound mystery to him. He was sure she didn't
know he existed, then three weeks ago she had smiled openly at
him. The smile had flashed out like a fishing hook into his
chest, catching his breath and making his senses real. His entire
being lit up and shone through his face and eyes. If he wasn't
sure that it could not be true, he might have allowed himself to
think that she was pleased to see him. "Perhaps she is," he
chided himself, "I am her lift home after a long day."
The gloomy thought matched his mood as heavy drops of rain
fell from a gray, sponge sky. He cursed his luck, not solely at
the prospect of another rain sodden night, but because she always
took a taxi when it rained. At 7:30pm she didn't get off the bus
as usual and he was sure she would not be coming. He persevered
with the night until just after 11pm. He was saying good night to
his friends when she suddenly appeared only a meter in front of
him. She had stepped unsteadily out of a cab into a large puddle
of water. She stumbled again as the heel of her shoe skipped on
the uneven surface beneath the water. He reached out as she began
to fall and held her steady.
Close now, he realized that it was not just the rain and the
shoes that made her unsteady. Amazingly, she had been drinking!
This was the first time he had smelled anything more than roses
on her person, but there was a definite scent of alcohol. As he
held her steady he also realized that, far from being affronted
by his attempts to help her, she was smiling broadly. "Malam
Sharief," she hiccuped.
***
Her head was reeling. She had accepted two glasses of wine at
the office farewell of a colleague. The night had been fun, but
she was not a drinker and was now anxious to get home. She
realized, of course, that she now included Sharief as part of her
thoughts of home. The last time she had held him on the back of
the motorbike she had thought about holding him in a very
different way. The thought was far from unpleasant. Somehow she
had developed a crush on her ojek driver. She had found herself
thinking more and more about him. She thrilled at the chance to
put her arms around him. She was also almost convinced that he
felt the same way. But was he ever going to say, or do, anything
about it? In the end her decision to get out of the cab in the
rain was not as spontaneous as she wanted to believe. Two glasses
of "Dutch courage" had made her want to spur him along a tad.
***
As she stood in the driving rain smiling at him Sharief
thought he would die. Was she thinking what her face was showing?
The frustration of it choked him and he was pleased the steady
rain quickly washed an uninvited tear from his cheek as he helped
her over to the bike. She appeared unsteady still, so he
suggested she sit a moment and sent a street urchin for water.
Tucked in on a rough wooden bench under a plastic roof that kept
out most of the rain, she looked more beautiful to Sharief than
ever. The urchin arrived back with a cup of hot, sweet tea that
had been provided by a kindly old women who was watching the
proceedings with a smile playing around her wrinkled lips. The
cup was dainty, circled in flowers and sported a fine saucer that
was hardly chipped at all. Someone's pride and joy had been given
over for the sake of Sharief.
The girl sipped her tea appreciatively as a towel was passed
through. Sharief sat uncomfortably close to her in the cramped
refuge. Stripped of the license provided by the motorcycle, he
had become overtly aware of the feel of her thigh against his
own. He went to move from under the shelter but she asked him to
stay. "I'll be fine, thank you, it's just that I'm a little
cold." He sat back down, heart pounding, stomach churning, palms
sweating as she held his arm and leaned against him.
She laughed when she had finished her tea and felt a little
embarrassed. "Thank you Sharief, I'm fine now. Thank you."
"Astaga," she thought, "I can't do it all for you!"
Seeing his moment passing Sharief did not know what to do,
what to say, what to allow himself to think. In his panic at her
impending departure he blurted the first thing that came into his
muddled head. "It's raining!" he said. As soon as he said it he
looked at her rain-flattened hair and wet clothes; she looked at
his sodden jeans and T-shirt and the water trickling off his
face, and they burst into simultaneous laughter.
Their laughter was heard by many that night. They were left in
peace. Fresh tea was passed quietly through at the instructions
of the old lady, along with two small, sweet cakes -- on dainty
plates with the same pattern as the cup. On that crowded,
jostling, rain-soaked street the pair was left to talk and laugh.
No one interfered, joked, pointed or whispered.
The owner of the little shelter that the pair had
requisitioned smiled up into the rain as he abandoned his refuge
to his friend Sharief and the girl that everyone knew he had been
in love with for months. All of the quiet watchers understood the
difference in their social stations, but the thoughts of the old
lady who had shared her tea were broadly held. "Ahh," she
thought. "You would be a lucky woman if you married a man such as
Sharief".