You may ask about the switch in language, but in the past couple of days I've heard and spoken more languages than I care to think about. I forgot to mention that after visiting our sick colleague, Helena, Sarah (the other NZer) and I managed to catch a lift with a French man. After he and I had established that I didn't speak much French (Parlez-vous francais? Non, un peu. Un beaucoup peu? Um. Non?) we parted ways with a farewell au revoir (or on his part, the correct a bientot). It doesn't really help that the only French phrases I seemed to learn at high school dealt with age, pencils and the garden of my aunt. One of the girls in my Bahasa class speaks Spanish, and occasionally replaces yah with si. Helena says Bahasa is made harder by the fact that her somewhat malicious brain forces German words out when she wants Indonesian. The list continues.
This morning I was a pure genius and slept through the 4am prayers next door, although I'm sure some sanctity seeped through, because that lady was back on the bridge with her listless baby and I just can't seem to walk by them. I'm not sure if that baby is even alive - he was there again tonight, and wasn't moving, or crying, or even opening or closing its eyes. So I followed through on my resolve to speak with the head of ACICIS, Phil, to see if something could be done.
The conversation went much as I'd hoped it wouldn't, but suspected it would - Phil said there was nothing I could really do, and nobody I could ring: "Welcome to Jakarta". He said giving the mother money was probably not helping, as she would probably be part of a begging 'cartel' that would take the money from her. Apparently, babies are often hired out to different beggars, because they gain more sympathy. He said I could buy her some baby formula if I wanted, but that she would likely sell it. If it made me feel better, he said, then that was a good outcome. And as one of the ACICIS students said, if she DOES sell it, hopefully she'll use the money for the baby. At any rate, I decided I can't just keep walking past without doing something - I don't want to be that kind of person. So I bought some baby formula, baby bottles, baby biscuit things with about a bajillion vitamins etc in it and some apples for the other beggars (also apparently there is a 5 million rupiah fine, which even with the exchange rate I can't afford). I will make up the baby formula tomorrow morning and see if she is on the bridge again tomorrow. In the meantime, I've been trying to find some aid organisations in Jakarta, but haven't had enough time to look stringently - Habitat for Humanity was one, but they don't want hands-on people, I think. I will have to look again.
Shopping for the baby formula was one of the creepier things I've had to do in a while - those who know me know I am very much not a maternal kind of a girl. Children generally make me shudder (why are they always so NOISY? And no one should get their way just by being cute, not even excepting Zach de la Rocha) and walking around with baby bottles made my spine creep - the LOOKS people give you! Worse than the time I went baby clothes shopping for my friend and felt this overwhelming compulsion to blurt out to people that it wasn't for me, it was for my FRIEND, honestly...In fact that damn formula is sitting on the fridge about a metre away and I can FEEL it, like some black hole of milky doom. Bleargh.
Language class was, as per usual, heaps of fun. Also as per usual, my, if I say so myself, impressive beginner's skills began to fail miserably and I made quite a few mistakes. Ah well, all part of the fun, particularly when waitresses look at me pityingly and tell me they can speak English (but that I can't speak Bahasa. Sheeeeez). The other students had been down sized considerably, since several people have been struck down by dreaded parasites (we think perhaps from eating Western food, which is apparently a big no no in Indonesia, because people here don't know how to cook or prepare Western food properly. Which makes sense, and the ordering of which is a completely bizarre concept to me - why come to Indonesia and NOT eat the food here?! It's pretty much the best part of this trip! Spices, chilli, lime, rice, banana leaves (need to try this dish yet, it's on the list), noodles...I am drooling just writing this. I still have dreams about that slow-stewed duck. Uhhhhhh). The only Western food I really miss are sandwiches, my one true love. Le sigh!
Lunchtime was a bit hectic, as I had to buy aforementioned baby formula, and also a scarf, since I was meeting my internship bosses later that day, but had worn a SLIGHTLY low cut top, due to the rest of my clothes being unwashed. When I say slightly, I mean about an inch of skin below my throat was showing. I really, REALLY dislike these archaic notions of modesty. I suppose at least I don't have to go Victorian (lest I inflame a passing man's passion with my well-turned ankle) but it's still a pain. I then went to a lecture from one of Atma Jaya's economics professors, which was very interesting and basically reiterated the point that to gain any kind of substantial improvements for Indonesia's poor (and thus the beggars on the bridge), the markets, and lending institutions need to be equalized, or at least their playing fields do, and this requires government action: legislation, regulation, domestic investment to attract foreign interest (so, infrastructure, decentralization of money flow, expansion of and investment in domestic mining, agriculture and manufacturing). I don't know if any of that is actually correct, but it sounds good. From what I could gather, Indonesia abounds in small to medium businesses which are unable to make the transition into the big leagues because the banks make lending rates and criteria too high/unattainable, in order to interest foreign markets. I think. (Worrying outlook for my business reporting next year, but thank goodness I'm sticking to tech).
The meeting with the bosses at my internship (an international and national paper in Indonesia, whom I'm not sure if I'm allowed to mention) went well - we just chatted with a former ACICIS student, and then two of the editors, ex-pat Americans with great senses of humour - they had a pun war which I managed to join in on. Zang! We were told that hard news was probably not feasible for us (which is fine by me) but that features, opinion pieces and profiles were welcome (extra fine by me). We were also told that we would need to really manage ourselves, and pitch our own stories, so I will have to get my posterior into some form of unopposed motion (physics joke?) in terms of story ideas. Luckily I am with Sarah at my placement, so we can freak out together (although she seems pretty onto it so perhaps I will just plagiarize...I mean, compare stories).
After that it was time for dinner, and I managed YET AGAIN to order whole pieces of a chicken, complete with horrible bones, wings and what looked like feet. It also was the first disappointing Indonesian dish, although I'm SURE it's meant to be great - rica-rica, which is chilli lime and ginger paste over chicken (if it's ayam). I will have to try it elsewhere, just to be certain. For research's sake, you understand. I had a bit of a sore stomach, but nothing I'm not used to (blasted genetics) and my throat is KILLING me, so fingers crossed it's not meningitis. I'm pretty sure it's not, but it made a dramatic post title, non? In fact, I'm pretty sure a sore throat is not even a possible symptom of meningitis, but you lived a little for a second there, readers, imagining my dash through busy Jakarta streets in a rickety ambulance, or perhaps clinging to a lean ojek rider who determinedly rushes me unconscious-yet-still-clinging-form to a dim hospital full of nurses in white hats. This sounds more post-WW1 than South Eastern, so perhaps I should stop.
After dinner it was home to bed, past the lady with the baby, to eat some chocolate (to keep my sugar levels up, you know) and blog. Only one more night and then it's Friday, when I intend to drag the New Zealanders and any Ozzies brave enough out for karaoke. I will let you all know how Operation Formula Drop goes tomorrow.
A bientot!
LESSONS LEARNT 6:
- Chocolate can cure all ills
- People judge people with babies
- 'Rima' means five in several different languages - so, basically, we're all the same
- Never underestimate the wisdom of having a scented handkerchief - useful not only for coy flirtation with a gentleman but also to preserve your olfactory senses in Jakarta
I really admire the way you're taking action with the mum and baby - I can imagine how hard it must be to walk by each day. Something that made me think of your situation (and if you feel you want to do more/feel you can't do as much as you want to to help your Indonesian mum and baby) was hearing about the charity WarChild (http://www.warchild.org/) which helps children affected/caught up in war. I know it's not quite the same, but perhaps it still appeals? If that makes sense. :)
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