Hear no Evil, See no Evil, Speak no Evil
There is a folded quilt in the middle of the floor in my guest room. It’s been there for over a week. Before I tossed it on the floor, it had been sitting in the middle of one of the twin guest beds. From what I understand, it had been there, folded neatly on the bed, since our house guests left, June 7th. Rusnati told Curtis there was some problem with the quilt. It was while I was away. During our daily phone chat (evening on one side, early morning on the other) Curtis mentioned it. He asked how the quilt should be cleaned. “Have Rusnati wash it,” I told him. Had she? There is a cracked lamp in our other guest room. On a carved jackfruit tree table, beside the window. The crack swirls completely around the globe from the base up to the middle of the lamp. I have no idea how long it’s been that way. Guests slept in that room for two weeks and no one said a word. Was it broken then? Before then? Rusnati cleans the room, goes in it every day, and doesn't notice? Or hasn't said?
Just to the left of the back door, there is a large bamboo plant. It is covered in white fuzz—bugs. No telling how long that plant has been resting there, silently screaming while tiny bugs gnawed on it, nested in it, smothered it.
This is how it is in Jakarta. It is how Javanese people get along: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Is it why, once out of the traffic, everything seems so peaceful-why everyone seems so smiley and friendly? So relaxed?
I can’t say whether or not it is different in other regions. I have heard, for example, that Javanese people aren’t particularly fond of people from Madura. They call them “loud, aggressive, rude.” I wonder if this translates to, “They speak up—say what they think, or see, or feel?
Here in Jakarta, in my house. No one looks—or sees. Or if they do, no one says anything. It’s like a game of Stare Down, the first one who blinks loses. In this case, the first one who says something loses. But loses what?
International Lettering System—Jakarta Style
Today is Curtis’s birthday. We celebrated with dinner out. (We actually celebrated twice, but this story pertains to the first time.) Sriwijaya Restaurant is an elegant—translation haute cuisine and high priced—dining experience. When I made the dinner reservation, I also arranged for a birthday cake to be presented after dinner. “Will you put his name on the cake?” I asked.
“Yes, Madame, so it will say Happy Birthday Mr. Bennett.”
“Instead of Bennett, please put his first name? Curtis?”
“Let me spell that Madame.” The concierge began with K for Kurtis, and I left it alone. (Ok, Curtis doesn’t spell his name with a K, but in Indonesia, the letter C is pronounced “Ch” so Curtis ends up being Churtis or Kurtis when it is pronounced correctly.) Besides the Kurtis spelling amuses me. So we moved on to the next letter, U.
U is U, pronounced Uoo so that was easy, but that was as far as we got. A complicated back and forth ensued, with me saying letters, the concierge misunderstanding them, transposing them, or adding extras when I repeated bits.
Frustrated, I tried the International Lettering System (ILS)—using a common word for each letter. Unfortunately, I don’t know the ILS beyond A-Alpha, B for Beta. However, recalling my previous experience with an ILS, I tried that city/country lettering system. I decided against going back to C is for Cuba, U is for Uruguay and pushed on: K-UOO-R for Rome?
“Apa Madame? Rome??? Mr. Rome?”
Success was finally achieved when we created our own lettering system, a blend of the traditional International Lettering System and our shared vocabulary.
“K like in my name, Kelly…Uoo…R like in Romeo…T-Tango…I, like Islam…S, like Sambal.
He laughed. “I like Islam, S like Sambal?” He repeated. “Betul? Correct Madame?”
“Betul, correct.” I assured him.
“May I repeat, Madame…Happy Birthday Mr. Kurtis Bennett.”
“Yes, that’s nice, tapi, but, can you only put his first name?”
“Oh, so how?"
"His first name only…Kurtis sendiri.”
“Oh yes, not Bennett.”
“Betul, correct.”
“So, can I repeat for you madam, Indonesian style.”
“Yes, please.”
“Happy Birthday Mr. Kurtis…Kay-UOO-Romeo-Tengo-Islam-Sambal.”
Yes! Success!
As planned, after dinner a cake was presented to the table. A luscious chocolate glazed confection. Across the top was a white chocolate banner upon which, in chocolate letters, was written: Happy Birthday!
No name. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.
Secret Stores...A Good Thing?
Jakarta’s imported food situation has reached CODE RED--CRISIS level. Thanksgiving 2006 was the first time we were personally affected by imported food shortages—canned cranberries and pumpkin, stuffing mix and marshmallows were no where to be found. Everyone American we knew was hunting for them, searching cupboards, sending SMS updates with markets checked, hording was rumored, clandestine trips to Singapore grocery stores planned. Since all the other usual imported goods were available, we chalked that shortage up to a general lack of knowledge about necessary Thanksgiving foods—after all, it is an American holiday.
The next imported food crisis moved into the CODE YELLOW category as it included alcohol thus affecting the entire Ex-pat community. Word was it was due to Muslim Indonesia’s aversion to alcoholic beverages—or someone didn’t pay off the right customs people.
The crisis after that followed the Melamine scare and met with a sympathetic CODE GOOD. Sure we were all irritated by the unavailability of our favorite comfort foods, including mayonnaise, salad dressing, cheese, cereal—specifically bran cereals (those of a certain age worry about regularity), and pickles, but we appreciated the Indonesian governments quick reaction to the Melamine scare and their efforts to protect us from possible harm. (That scare, you might recall, prompted the great Pickle Making Experiment of January 2009. For more than you want to read on that see the blog posting Jan. 7: “Pickled.”)
Government Line has it that the current food shortage is because certain…most… seemingly all of the usual imported foods do not meet the rigid labeling requirements for imports. This stuck me as funny since I didn’t know Indonesia had labeling requirements at all.
This current food crisis, which has already lasted 6 or more months— with no end in sight— is forcing Expats in need to take action. Visitors are being sent shopping lists with items they must hide in their luggage before relatives will welcome them into Jakarta. Back in the day, as the old-timers tell it, bringing back coolers stuffed with forbidden pork items, including diapers and kiddie food was routine. But that was in the good old days of generous baggage and weight allowances on airplanes. Suitcases are being checked on day-long doctor trips to Singapore so they can be stuffed full for the return flights and…”Secret Stores” are springing up.
This morning my e-mail included a note from one of the most active Secret Stores.” The advert read: OUR "SECRET STORE" HAS LIMITED SUPPLIES OF THINGS YOU MAY BE LOOKING FOR! Order NOW while supplies last!
The note went on to list “necessary” items available including:
- Downey Fabric Softener, 40 sheets Rp 45,000; 90 sheets 90,000
- Texas Pork Breakfast Sausage, RP 70,000 per pound
- Oscar Meyer Bacon, 1 pound, Rp 70,000
- Oscar Meyer Hot Dogs, 8 pack, Rp 70,000
- 8 Hot Dog buns (no brand noted—don’t hot dog buns usually come in packs of 10?)
- Velveeta Cheese-ish product, 8 oz; Red Cheddar Block, 8 oz; Rp 40,000
- Imported Cream Cheese, 8 oz, Rp 50,000
- Gold Medal Flour, 5-lb. Rp 60,000, 2-lb. Rp 30,000
- Whole Wheat Flour, Rp 40,000 per kg
- Imported Pure Cane Sugar, best for baking! Rp 60,000 per lb.
- Powdered Sugar, for icings! Rp 60,000 per lb.
- Brown Sugar, Rp 60,000 per lb.
- Chocolate Chips, Rp 50,000 per 12-oz. bag
- Vanilla Extract, Rp 40,000 per 100-gram bottle
- Desiccated Coconut, Rp 50,000 per lb.
- Baker's Angel Flake Coconu, Rp 70,000 per lb.
- Cocoa Powder, Rp 50,000 per lb.
- PAM Non-Stick Cooking Spra, Rp 90,000 per can
What interested me about these "secret stores" (aside from the exorbitant price one pays for contraband) is this: with the exception of PAM Non-Stick Cooking Spray, local substitute are readily available for each of them—including bacon, sausage, and hot dogs for which beef and chicken versions abound. Sure the flavor, texture, and bakeablity is different, sometimes odd—for instance, local flour is much finer and fluffier than good-ole Gold Medal so more is needed to make cookies puff-up; and in the case of the chocolate chip substitute, a baker has to smash up Cadbury bars thus creating chunks instead of tidy chips. If, however, one is truly desperate, the local products work
What really made me stop and think was the cost of these items. Sure, if one really, really, really needs Hellman’s Mayonnaise, as I do, even though a local version and Curtis’s fav, Miracle Whip (gag) are sold, then one will do just about anything including pay through the nose, break laws…break legs and backs, to get them. But seriously, Downey Softener Sheets???
One thing Indonesia does have, which rivals or surpasses any available anywhere, is fresh, fresh, fresh, fruit and vegetables, eggs, fish and chicken—and so cheap. So I ask myself and you, whether shopping in a “Secret Store,” smuggling, or cruising Wal-Mart or Whole Food aisles: Beyond the cost in terms of money or freedom, what is the cost of these items in terms of our health?
P.S. The spellchecker in Microsoft Word has Hellman’s, Velveeta, and Wal-Mart pre-loaded in the dictionary. Go figure...
Be Warned Monster Ikan Lele: Maybe Your Days are Numbered
Yesterday, offhandedly, when Rusnati and I were discussing the need for more fish food, she commented on the size of the Ikan Lele--the slimy, bewhiskered, suspected murderous fish currently occupying our pond.
“When they are big enough is Rohemon going to eat them?” I asked.
She nodded, considering. “Munkin, maybe,” and giggled. “Munkin Rohemon and Sugiman."
“Good.” I nodded, remembering the last time she and her daughter Andrea wadded in to catch the pond fish. I want to be there for this Great Lele Capture, too.
Beware! Be warned! slimy monster fish lurk beneath these seemingly harmless drain-clogging water lily leaves.
“Maybe Mister will want to eat them,” Rusnati continued.
Ignore It...It Will Go Away
The lease on our Jakarta house has been renewed! Both parties are delighted. The landlord is happy we are staying; we are happy to have the process done with…almost.
Rusnati and I have discussed this vacant house problem with regards to Rohemon’s mother’s home in the Kampung, a village near Cirebon.
His mother, Ibu Rohemon, passed away about 4 months ago. (Ibu means lady and mother.) It is common to address a grown woman as “Ibu” followed by her given name, or the name of her child, in this case it means Mother of Rohemon. (A maiden lady, either unmarried or young, is called “Nona.” I want to be called “Nona.”) Ibu Rohemon’s passing left her home, with all her belongings inside, empty and vulnerable. A situation that has caused Rusnati and Rohemon ceaseless worry.
As I mentioned previously, the lease renewal process is complicated. Unlike rentals in the States, before resigning a lease the tenant and landlord negotiate what repairs/changes will be made. Also unlike in the States, often the rental price goes down a little or stays the same—the landlord’s way of saying thank you for not leaving me with a vacant house. The nice part about this lease renewal system is, as a tenant, one has the opportunity to have the house repaired, repainted, and even remodeled. Some Expats, my friend Rena, for instance, love, love, love lease renewal time! She had every bathroom updated, the kitchen completely remodeled, and a covered patio built; another friend, Beverly, had them knock out walls and expand her closet. In comparison, our list is small—painting, refinishing woodwork, oh and to replace a tub in one bath with a shower. (I decided to be nice and leave the pond as is for now. The monster ikan lele are grow fast—bigger and more sinister every day.)
During the negotiation process, I heavily stressed that our house is a showcase, and how several other families have moved into this and other complexes owned by the same family after visiting us. So, when the landlord’s representative, Ibu Adiz Lin (spelled as it sounds), phoned to make an appointment to finalize the repair list with me, we set the stage. Rusnati and I had the house ready: clutter hidden, candles lit, music playing, when she arrived.
Adiz Lin is a delightful Chinese-Indonesian who looks 20, is probably 35, and speaks perfect English (lucky me.) As we walked through the house discussing each item on the list, Adiz Lin commented on how lovely everything was. I thanked her, smugly congratulating myself on being a model tenant and brilliant house manager.
On the way out the kitchen door to the servant’s quarters, I emphasized that item #4 on the list: Paint Outside of House included the servant’s quarters. I spoke in a tone intending to convey “you have seen my home; my servants deserve the best, too.” Everyone was busy busy in the back of the house: Losari, who helps Rusnati with ironing, stood in one bedroom (sweat cell) ironing away; Rohemon sat fiddling with gardening tools; Rusnati hung laundry; Aan sat on his perch in the garage. All was right in our little world.
Rusnati has a list, too,” I told Adiz Lin. On cue, Rusnati ran to get her list. Aan popped his nosy head in from the garage. Instantly an animated discussion began with everyone chiming in with needed repairs. Rohemon wanted branches cut off the mango tree because the leaves blew everywhere—even over the roof to the front of the house, clogging the gutters, making more work; Aan wanted to be sure “his” garage was painted, along with the rest; Rusnati wanted the latched fixed on the kitchen door, etc. etc. When the chatter died, I started on my list:
“Are there were any other repairs needed in the bedrooms?”
“No.”
“The kitchen area?”
“Paint only.”
Adiz Lin walked beside me looking in and taking notes as I continued.
“What about the mandi? Adiz Lin started toward the bathroom door.
Rohemon jumped in front of the door, blocking her entry.
“No,” Rusnati called.< Everyone fell silent. They looked at each other.
“What?” I asked.
“Tikus,” Rohemon muttered. A rat was trapped in the mandi. A huge one I surmised from the distance between the hands he held up—they were about 18 inches apart.
“In the mandi?” Adiz Lin repeated. “A rat? Show me.”
Another rapid-fire discussion ensued during which even Losari took part. No one wanted that door open. No one wanted to see the rat.
Adiz Lin did, though.
Rohemon stepped aside. The women-folk (me included) pushed back against the walls to make room for the rat to run unhindered. Aan took a step back and Adiz Lin reached for the handle.
She eased open the door.
We watched, waiting.
Rohemon peeked inside. Rusnati, Aan, and Adiz Lin peeked inside.
She opened it wider. The rock covering the drain hole had been pushed off to the side. The rat was gone. But there were plenty fish oil capsule-sized poo-poos surrounded the drain hole to prove its existence.
Aan and Rohemon continued the “tikus” tour. It seems that there is a hole in the garage, too. Rats come into the garage at night leaving poo-poos behind.
The garage is attached to the house…attached…inches away…could that be what’s making those night noises?
Rohemon pointed out a hole in the screen leading to the back yard. “Masuk,” he stated, the entrance. 
I go from shocked to humiliated, embarrassed, mortified…MAD. There went my House Beautiful/Model Tenant of the Year Award—and my bargaining chips. And after all my bragging about how well we take care of their property…
Why hadn’t anyone told me about the rats? It’s not as if we have never used rat poison before. Like the time I spotted that giant rat drinking from the pond waterfall and after we found the rat’s nest behind the pillows on the Bali bed…and then there was that rat, when Mike and Liz were visiting, the one that ran behind Liz’s chair during dinner and we pretended not to notice so she wouldn’t freak. This is April for crying out loud. It’s not Ramadan, when you’re not supposed to harm anything, that’s months away. Between Aan, Rusnati, and Rohemon, you’d think one of them would have told me we need RAT POISON. (Come to think of it, maybe this is why Losari makes up excuses to leave work early, and why she hides in that sweat cell.)
And here I thought Rusnati told me everything. She certainly tells me plenty; so does Aan. Now, come to find out, a dog-sized rat and its rat family takes full run of the back of the house, eating, chewing, biting whatever they chose and no one, not one of them, says a word to me about it. They simply closed the door.
Ignore it, and it will go away… Seriously?
International Letters
An infected eye prompted a call to my eye doctor in Singapore, Dr. Heng. Although Singapore was once governed by the British, and most everyone is a native English speaker, they don't speak the same English we Americans do; they don't even speak English the way the English do. Singaporean English sounds like that of a non-native speaking Asian person--it is cloaked in a heavy accent. So, communicating with people in Singapore is sometimes a challenge. It can be especially challenging when trying to convey character-sensitive information as Dr. Heng's assistant was trying to do this morning. Dr. Heng had given her the name of 2 eye medications I should suggest my doctor in Jakarta prescribe for my eye infection. Her method for insuring that I wrote the letters correctly was a twist on the familiar radio method--Alpha Bravo Tango--a uniquely International twist that worked beautifully while tickling my funny bone and highlighting our increasingly smaller world. "Can you spell those medications for me?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "B-Burma, L-London, E-Europe, P-Philippines, H-Holland, A-Australia, G-Greece..."
I chuckled and commented on how much I liked her way of spelling. There was a long, puzzled pause. Finally, she said, "Yes, it works." Dr. Heng's Assistant spelled out two other medications in the same way, using India for I, Thailand for T, Pakistan for P...she finished spelling the medication with " Xylophone for X." Surely some city or country name begins with the letter X? Alex Trebek where are you?