Our Daughter the Shredder.

Daughter of S.A.M. got a summer job at the embassy. Often kids can’t work on the local economy.  They do a great job of creating positions for kids on summer breaks either in late high school or home from college. A lot of the jobs are kind of important.  Creating housing photo displays or working on events for high powered people.  

Daughter’s job was not one of these jobs.

I can’t recall the name of her department. It sounded very techy and edgy.  But, it’s neither of those.  It’s the mailroom.  

“The mailroom!” she exclaimed, “Could be exciting. I do like organizing things!”  

It is not that either.

Apparently, they created this position because they thought regular employees would be short staffed for the summer.  But, plans changed and it seems they are, in fact, overstaffed.  

So, she’s been given a windowless room, a desk, a computer, and 8 hours a day of time to kill.

This is her first real job beyond babysitting, so it’s been interesting to watch. We press her daily for details of her office experience. “I did a task today.”

“Oh? Do tell!”

“I turned in my time sheet.”

“Oh… That’s it?”

Shrug. “There wasn’t anything else to do?”

“Can you ask them for something to do? File something? Tear up boxes? Be proactive!”

“I did.  They said there is nothing.  I just sit and read. Sometimes my boss comes in and tells me to go do something like go get coffee or lunch.”

She came home the other day and announced that she got sit behind the service counter and hand out packages for 15 minutes. But, no one came, so it was back in the box for her.

“It’s alright”, she said, one week into the job.  “I get paid. It’s only for a month, three weeks now.  I can do anything for three weeks.”  

We asked. “Can you find a higher up and ask them for something do?  Do you want us to call someone?”

“NO!  Please don’t!  I’m fine” She pleaded.

So, of course, we called. Well, I didn’t.  Mrs. S.A.M. did.  And if you know Mrs. S.A.M., you know that things happened.

Up the chain it went and back down it came.  Down upon Daughter’s poor Indonesian supervisor, who, according to Daughter, also lacks a great deal to do on any given day.  But, down upon him it came, so he approached her.

“Hello.  So, I’m really confused about what I’m supposed to have you do.”

“Yeah.”

He handed her a 20 inch pile of papers and walked her to the shredder down the hall.  “These can be shredded.”

“Shredding! I can do shredding. My dad had us shred things when I was younger”

On a side note and in my defense, I had my kids do lots of things.  Setting fire to things, riding motorcycles, catching fireflies, sending  them off to camp.  jumping off the high dive. All those high points and apparently shredding things made the list of memories.  

“Wait! Don’t do all of this.” He begged.

“I don’t think it will be that hard.”

“No.” He held up a hand. “Seriously.  How long are you working?”

“Two more weeks.” she replied.

He pointed to the pile. “This pile has to last you two weeks.”

And so she shreds 1.5 inches per day.  

Ever the optimist, Daughter of S.A.M. put a positive spin on the experience while driving to work the other day.  “I gotta say, I learned a lot from this job.  I learned how to manage time. I learned how to work in an office environment.  I learned how to break one large task into smaller tasks..  That will look okay on a future resume, right?”

Momma Jockeys

I've talked of traffic lots.  Jakarta traffic jams are the worst in the world, based on the number of times drivers apply the brakes over a given distance.

The whole of traffic allows for a good look at economics. I'm sure there must be some theory that can be applied. But, here's how I see it.  

Jakarta has a burgeoning middle class. It's growing by leaps and bounds. There are millions of newly moneyed and they all want. Want. Want. Cars are a big status symbol.  It's what they see on tv and in the movies, so they aspire to having a car, or three or four.  Cars are also a way to get around in a place with chaotically poor mass transit.

If you can't  have a car, you still need to get around, so many families opt for a motor bike. 2900 new motorbikes hit the roads here each day. The government, in an effort to keep the economy turning makes low interest rate loans available to consumers so they can buy cars and motor bikes.  It also subsidizes fuel for all.  

In addition to the lack of mass transport, there is an abysmal lack of good roads.  There are only a few main thoroughfares and access on or off them is a choke point issue.

So despite subsidizing an auto culture, the government admits there are too many cars on the roads. 10 years or so, it put in place laws to promote carpooling. It required 3 passengers in a car during 7 of the busiest hours of the day. The fines were pretty substantial for the everyday Indonesian,  perhaps 50 dollars or so.  

It's left to the police to enforce the laws. Law enforcement though is not a well paying job if you rely on your salary alone. So it seems the police used carpool violations as a means to make money. Pulling over cars and checking for passengers.  You can either pay the full fine downtown, or pay the lower “fine” right there on the spot and go about your business. What happens? People pay the lower fine and drive wherever they want.

Enter the 3-in-1 jockeys. These entrepreneurial Indonesians, sensing a money making opportunity stepped in and organically grew a system whereby people rent themselves out as passengers so drivers can skirt the rules and get where they want.  Jockeys sometimes earn 15 bucks a day just sitting in other people's cars for a while.  They've got regular clientele and everything.

Once every so often the police sense some encroachment on their fines and so move into clear the streets of the jockeys who scatter into the slums.  Some who are caught are put in detention for a few days, but they're back at it soon after promising not to do it again.  

The rule is 3 people per car, so if you're driving alone you have to pick up two strangers.  Jakarta mothers found a further advantage.  If they rode along with their toddlers, the drivers got 2 people in the car for around the price of one.  

So, every morning and afternoon, you see moms with toddlers strapped to their waists hustling for a ride. The kids, though, are always sleeping, slumped over on moms shoulders. All very docile.  No one, it seems, wants a noisy kid sitting in traffic, so moms are alleged to drug the kids, so they stay quiet during rush hour.  

Now some mothers struggle.  It's hard to run a household while sitting in traffic earning a living. So, they've got a drugged kid and a house to keep, why not just rent out the kid and let someone else sit.  

This is apparently where the line is drawn.  It was found out that this was going on and then confirmed that these kids were being sedated and possibly put in danger. The whole thing racket has fallen apart.

The government, now seeing that it's future citizens are at risk, decided to do something. Not by removing children from moms who rent them out, not by restricting the sales of narcotics, but by ceasing the carpool laws.

Police are up in arms because they worry the roads can't handle the traffic.  Everyone thinks what they're really worried about is the loss of their revenue stream. There is worry that they may tie up traffic just to prove a point

The jockeys lament the reduction of income. Many of them have nothing else to do that can earn 15 dollars in a day.

We all lament the potential increase in traffic.

The children, though, should come out ahead. They may wake up and be able to experience the world. Perhaps they'll learn to read or think or play or scheme up some new ways to make the money.

On the Rock

I'm back in Papua New Guinea, the other end of the island. Not much has changed in Port Moresby. Major road construction projects are winding up and it's easier to get around it seems.

One such project is an overpass built expressly for a big regional political meeting coming up in two years time. This overpass will swish dignitaries directly from the airport to the meeting site and

by-pass all the traffic and potential carjacking points and scenes of poverty. These meetings are great to expose these countries to world leaders, but I wonder about resources better spent on things like food and water and health care. But maybe there's some bigger plan.

The Australians have contracted with the Papuans to put a refugee camp here.  The Aussies  have taken a hard line against people coming to their shore by boat.  It may not make the news back home, but they intercept folks coming by boat and put them in camps where conditions are considered pretty bleak. On the island of Nauru, distressed refugees are immolating themselves to protest conditions. Recently the Supreme Court in PNG ruled that these camps in Papua New Guinea violated the constitution and they should be closed.

Coincidentally, on Papua, some refugees have been let out of the camps to live in the community as regular citizens.  A number of them, though have asked to move back into the camps citing safety reasons.

I just finished reading “Savage Harvest” by Carl Hoffman. He goes back and investigates the disappearance of Michael Rockefeller way back in 1961.  The grandson of John D  Rockefeller was off collecting primitively art in western Papua when he disappeared while boating off the coast. Despite an extensive search his body was never found. It was thought he was swept out to sea or was even by sharks, but was also rumored he swam ashore and was eaten by cannibals. I leave it to you to read more, but the book is fascinating look at some of the ageless spirituality that infuses the people of this region.

On my way to the airport, the driver told me an interesting story.

We passed by a rock, a huge boulder of granite. He told me that back in 1990 as they were building the road to the airport they had to carve a pass over a mountain.  They carved down through the mountain and hauled all the rock down to the harbor and dumped it there. They packed it all down and have started building on it as reclaimed land.

But, he pointed to the big boulder that had been fenced off by the side of the road, and said that they hauled that particular rock down to the shore 5 or 6 times, but every time they did they found it moved back to its original site up the hill.  After a few times, they decided they needed to talk to the rock to see what the problem may be.  

They found landowners who had some rights to the land and they asked them to come talk to the rock. They did, but the rock didn't listen until finally, they found an ancestor of some of the original people of the Port Moresby area. They had been displaced to up into the hills when the city was built. These people came and they talked to the rock and the rock talked back and they were able to reach a compromise where the rock would agree to be moved to the side of the road, but didn't have to go down to the beach.

So there it sits. Some 5 tons of stone. They've even built a little wall around it. Whether that's to keep the rock in or people out is not known.

He proceeded to tell me about a sacred spring that is inhabited by a snake spirit.  No one is allowed to swim there or fish there.  But, a the end of the dry season, when everyone is hungry and tired of the dust and the heat, they send someone up into the hills to splash about and make noise and soon after a flood comes and usually kills some people or destroys things.  

The loss is a payment to the gods, but at least they have rain.  

“Yeah, we've got a lot of stories about spirits and ghosts. It all goes way, way back.”  All that from a cab ride.  Well worth the fare.

Oleh-Oleh!

Oleh Oleh is a tradition here. The practice of bringing back gifts for people when you go away on a trip. Most Indonesian airports here have dedicated Oleh Oleh shops for just such gifts. Nuts or cookies or key chains. Often there is a regional flair; something that the area is known for.

I travel a lot, so I've taken to picking up things for the office or my house staff. I'm not sure where the boundaries lie, but it seems to be appreciated. Nothing big and seldom anything permanent. I've not seen their homes, but I imagine them to be small and I don't want to contribute to their cluttering up. Tea, coffee, chocolate. Is that the perfect gift?  Something you savor with all your senses and then flush?

On a recent trip to Oz, I brought back kangaroo jerky.  Mrs. S.A.M. wondered if it were halal.  Could Muslims even eat it?  This was a true concern. Was I being an insensitive jerk(y) by offering it?

I gave it, but later I confessed that I didn’t know if it were halal and apologized if they couldn't eat it. It brought about an interesting discussion.

Turns out that my driver and housekeeper had talked about this very issue. My driver who is the most pious in our immediate environment opined to our housekeeper that because kangaroos mostly eat grass and seeds, they were like sheep, and so they could be eaten.  This might be how they got that Monty Python skit about how to if someone is a witch.

I thought this an interesting tidbit, so I asked if that were the dividing line? Whether something eats grass or seeds made it legal. Sheep eat grass. Cows eat grass.  They were okay. Pigs were dirty because they eat anything.

Mrs S.A.M. asked,  “What about goats?”

Housekeeper: “Yes. We can eat goats!”

Mrs. S.A.M: “But, goats eat anything.”

Pause… Awkward laugh. Change of subject. “We can eat fish and shrimp! But if something lives in two worlds, like a salamander then we cannot eat.  But sometimes a frog lives in the water and in a tree, but we need to eat it for medicine. Then, it is okay.”

Hmmm. Another exception.

I asked the next day how she liked the kangaroo jerky. She said it was good, but was a little too strong so she cooked it in fried rice. Her family loved it.

My driver and his family ate his all up without question. Once it was established that kangaroos are bouncing sheep, all was kosher, or whatever. He revealed that he once ate tiger.

“Please tell me about that, Pak?” I'm dying to hear about this rule.

It seems that his brother was in the army and was posted in Borneo back before the island was a giant palm plantation and tigers still roamed. This brother found himself face-to-face with a tiger and having no other choice, shot it. Having done that he cleaned and brought the meat back to share with his family.  Not sure where the exception is.  Whether it was dead already and so could be eaten or some other rule.

Tiger Killed, Chopped Up, Eaten

Then I found the above article and I think the rules about eating tigers predate the arrival of Islam to Indonesia.  I think this is ancient jungle tradition.

The Trouble with the Gays

It’s been just six weeks since the bombing and shooting in Central Jakarta, so it is understandable that the country is in an uproar about… the gays.  All the other letters are causing a stir too. The Ls. The Bs. The Ts.  All of them are lumped into the gays.  

I left the country for a few weeks and when I came back I found that this was the hot topic in Jakarta.  The issue with the gays.  They’re foreign influencers, they say.  It’s part of a proxy war.  It’s all a plot. Like invasion of the body snatchers. Perfectly health heterosexuals have been kidnapped and replaced with exact, but maybe better dressed replicas. They’re among us trying to sway us to their ways.

In addition, to outside influences, people have laid blame on poor parenting and curiously, Instant Ramen Noodles which are a staple in the diet here.  

Imams have gone on record as saying gay activity is forbidden.  Gays are evil monsters who prey on children. Politicians while agreeing with the Imams, are quick to discourage any violence toward them. Though they may be monsters, but they’re our monsters.  Human monsters.

There is a variety of proposed remedies.  Religious scholars say that the weak just need to pray more.  In response some districts have increased the length. of the school day in order to allow time for more religious instructions. Vitamins are being sold to students to make it easier for them to stay awake for more praying.  The vitamins it turns out are often speed or meth. This in a country where selling drugs is punishable by death. It is just crazy!

Speaking of crazy, Indonesian psychiatrists have progressed up to the 50’s and have declared homosexuality as a mental illness that can be treated. Some offer rehabilitation themselves or referral to mosques. Experience God’s love is the first step to a cure. You can read more about this here

Keep in mind there is a long history of acceptance of the trans-gendered.  To the point that there was an Islamic school that taught only trans-gendered students. It was forced to close last month amid the furor.  

There was a list published a while back allegedly from some higher up person or other that gave

How to spot a gay

information on how to identify gay males in your midst.  Among the clear identifiers, Men who are clean, take lots of selfies and wear…… V neck t-shirts. ?!?  I wish I were making this stuff up.  

There has been recent banning or discouragement from allowing effeminate TV presenters in any role. It is still unclear about how this is defined. For the moment, male presenters are maybe a little more slovenly and wear crew necked shirts.  

I wonder, does this mean the terrorists are winning?

(Any views above, expressed or implied, are solely my own observations and not those of any other entity.)

Istiqlal Mosque

We've been here for a year and a we hadn't been yet to the Isitqlal mosque.  This is a huge presence in the north of the city. It's the largest mosque in south east Asia.

With the Presidents' Day holiday, we had some time, so Mrs. S.A.M and I decided to check it out.

This mosque is right across the street from the Catholic cathedral which has stood since colonial times. The Indonesians waited a bit after independence to get started in their mosque.  They didn't break ground until the early sixties. The stopped for three years starting in 1965, when there was some “unpleasantness with communists” which is the term the government used way back then for people they didn't like, which were smart people, rich people and Chinese.

Anyway, they resumed work in 1968 and finished  in 1971. And when they finished they had not only the largest mosque in Southeast Asia, but the third largest mosque in the world after those at Mecca and Medina. It's kind of a big deal.

Inside it is immense. Perhaps half the size of half a football field with a dome some 7 or 8 stories supported by columns.  A large golden inscription on one wall.  Walkways surround 5 floors on all sides. It is a pretty impressive structure.

This is what it looks like when it's empty.

Our driver seemed quite proud to show off the place, though it's not really his home mosque. He led us in and found a man of some importance or at least a name tag.  That guy led us into a room labeled guests. We stowed our shoes in little cubbies and he brought out a book for us to sign. Mrs. Sam filled out the columns. She likes living dangerously and so wrote John Hancock-style US diplomat”  under occupation.

The manager then says, “we usually collect donations from our guests to help with the upkeep of the mosque and to help the needy. Any amount is fine It’s totally up to you. We take rupiah, US dollars, Chinese dollars, whatever. “

I wanted to be generous and I'd heard amounts bandied about, so I took out 100,000 and handed it to him proudly. He took the bill and said, “100,000 rupiah is like 7 US dollars is that what you wish to give?”

“Um.. Yes.”

“Ok then.”  He closed up his book and said quickly that guests aren't allowed on the main prayer hall and may only take photos from upstairs. Have a good day and he turned to walk away. Our driver, bless his soul chimed in rather uncharacteristically, “Don't they get a tour? “

The guy said something about how it was kind of late and there were no guides available and walked away.

And so we wandered. Up and around a couple of floors, taking in the views.  Now, it wasn't time for prayers, but if you believed my Facebook feed from back home, you might expect to see legions of jihadis massed in rabid fervor chanting derision about us diplomats and others, and waving knives of obsidian.

But instead we saw a few catching up on their prayers and many people napping close to a plug so they could charge their cell phones.  

We went back to get our shoes. The door was locked. Our driver came up with the manager, and they must of had words, because suddenly the guy was full of fun facts about the mosque.  He was pointing out some of the posters arrayed around the shoe cubby room giving some of the history.  

And with that we went shopping. It was quiet and solemn, but also kind of boring. Definitely something to see, but would recommend that you  plan around noon prayers on a Friday for the best experience.

What I imagine it's like on Friday.

To Market, To Market

Suddenly, just like that, we’re on the downward slope of our time here.  A handful or two of months.  A bushel of weeks. The clock is ticking insistently.

With the dwindling weekends and not quite enough time or money to get away out of town, I decided to explore some of of Jakarta’s markets recently.  

One rainy day headed to Tanah Abang, the city’s “Arab district.”  One of the older areas of town.  This

walk started in the goat market. That’s right. In this city of 15 million, 24/7, if you need to buy a live goat, this is the place to come. You can get a sheep or a cow, too, and probably a water buffalo if you wait around long enough. They’ll butcher it for you on the spot or you can take it home and do it yourself.  How?, you ask.  Like this.

A few meters down is a chicken market.  Here chickens are processed and distributed to all the myriad of food sellers in the area.  There are thousands of pounds of chicken parts and pieces.  I think I got there late for the actual deed of killing, but there were plenty of carcasses. .

Further on from there is a place where fruits and vegetables are cut and cleaned for the same food vendors.  Carrots peeled.  Mangoes cleaned. Coconuts husked.  Hundreds of well armed people hacking away and vegetable matter.  And all the scraps go on a ever growing compost pile in the middle.  Let me say that between the rain, the goats and chickens and the rotting vegetation, I picked the wrong day to wear sandals.  

It was off to the textile market.  On the way the road was blocked by a wedding.  Apparently you can do that here. Just block off a whole street.  I was forced to detour down what appeared to be a hallway.  A dark and dingy hallway about 3 feet wide.  But once inside was actually a major thoroughfare with countless cramped rooms and apartments.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking through people’s living and bedrooms.  Rickety ladders led away higher to other nooks and crannies.  It was fascinating.

Strolled briefly through the zinc market with tiny metal tea sets, chickpeas and a huge variety of dried dates for sale.  Then it is across the street to main market at Tanah Abang.  This place is a marvel. Some nine floors covering more than a city block, chocked full of stall upon stall of clothing and textile vendors.  This is where, Indonesian retailers come to shop for products and supplies.  

If you want a full size range of hello kitty shirts. This is your place.  If you want a case of 8” red zippers, this is the place.  Need a few yards of camoflage fabric.  There is one stall with nothing but.  It is mind boggling how there can be such a demand for such specific items, but within minutes of opening, they are moving products.  They have special porters to help people load their purchases into their cars.  It is a buzz.

The following day we head out to another area known for two things, gemstones and birds.  

The new gemstone market replaced the old gemstone market which was apparently just rows of old shacks and houses.  The new building was 4 stories tall and sectioned off into individual stalls selling all manner of precious and semi-precious stones and jewelry.  I’m sure there were some really nice gems. I’m sure there were bits of glass. You’d need a geology degree or a great deal of trust to spend a lot of money here. Prices seemed pretty impressive.  One shop was nothing but silver chain.The price of a nice length necklace was a few dollars.  In one of the lower corners was a room full of stone cutters and polishers.  All just sitting waiting for a job to do.  Some were polishing, some were reading the papers. All were smoking.  Seems people buy rough stones out on the main floor and then bring them here for finishing and then people mount them however they want.

After wandering for a couple floors, it was on to the bird market

This was down the road a ways and situated behind a giant pharmacy market which in itself might be worth an explore.  4 stories full of Depends and antibiotics and mystery creams and ointments.

The Bird market is possibly the largest in the world.  The Indonesians love having pet birds.  Walk

through a village and up and you see bird cages everywhere.  Even in the poorest neighborhoods, houses will have a couple ornate wooden cages with wonderful songbirds contained within.

This Bird Market is where many of them come from.  Brought in from throughout the archipeligo, they’re fed, bred and displayed for a rabid buying public.  Walking up you can hear them and the closer you are, the louder the cacophony becomes.  Walking around the periphery, it’s fascinating.  A rainbow of color and sound.  Some stalls sell just food. Some are making and selling the bamboo and wood cages.  

Dive into the interior and the sound is deafening.  Yet, hundreds of mostly men, are wheeling and dealing in poultry.  Bird cages are stacked 10 feet high. One man is in the corridor training his pigeon to return to his mate, apparently so he can race them.

One man walks up and puts a thumb sized sugar glider in our hands.  We see Loris. Adorable and big-eyed, but it’s teeth are tinged with poison that it gets from a patch on its elbow.

Once your eyes adjust it becomes quite clear that people are sleeping  in these stalls with their stock and then slowly you become aware of the feathers, and shit and then you feel something hit your head and your become attuned to how thick the air is with bird dust.  You have images of how maybe this is where an Avian flu epidemic may start…. And then it is time to go.  

Not sure I’d go back.  Except to get an owl.  I saw a bad-ass 5 inch tall owl that the shopkeeper had taught to dance.  I might brave the market again for that.