I was never educated on how one becomes a man in Indonesian
culture, but today I think I can say I have sprouted a few Indonesian hairs on
my chest. It was never my intention to ride home on a stranger’s motorcycle
weaving through congested traffic without a helmet, yet somehow that is how I got
home from school today. Alive.
I must have
looked horribly out of place as I swung my American sized frame on the back of an
Indonesian sized motorbike. I was
terribly frightened as we pulled out of the school my hands were riveted to the
steel bar just at the rear of the passenger seat. In the midst of my fears I still managed to
preserve my dignity and manhood by not wrapping my arms around my drivers waist
and squeezing. All I could think of was
how angry my mother is going to be when she finds out I wrecked on the back of
a dodgy motorcycle. My grip tightened as
the space between the battered steel fence on my left and oncoming traffic on
my right grew smaller. Had I chose to re-create the titanic scene, believe me
it crossed my mind after I pushed thoughts of my family reading the incident
report out of my head, my hands would have been lopped off in a mix of rust and
blood.
The first
ten minutes of the ride were a torrent of fear, anxiety, payer. As we turned
off the main crowded road, we drove down a crowed, tree lined winding road that
ran alongside a polluted river. Just as we turned onto this
road, something happened. As we weaved into the new traffic flow, I saw
three people riding on one crappy motor-bike. The driver had a bag loaded with
random things wedged between his legs. The second passenger was texting
someone. The last person on the bike was casually hanging on with her hands as
her feet were lifted a couple of inches off the ground, no more foot pegs, she
was wearing rubber sandals. As this calamity whizzed past, the young girl
texting looked up and sent me a toothy smile exposing a brand new set of
braces. Behind a dusty pair of glasses were a pair of kind eyes, that seemed to
say ‘good on ya white dude’.
With that,
my grip relaxed and my mind eased. My posture became confident and no longer
tense. I brought my hand up to my face and gave my scruffy chin a few
meditative strokes before resting it in my lap. No longer staring at pavement
wondering what obstacle will impale me, I looked around and noticed I was a
part of a massive ocean of people moving in orchestrated chaos. In that moment,
something clicked, I was truly experiencing this place for the first time. I
breathed deep and appreciated the carcinogens and dust in a new way.
I’m no
Indonesian, but as I dismounted from my transport, I rolled out a solid
“Mantap” [awesome] to my driver that was returned with a smile and nod. I haven’t come close
to mastering Indonesian, I still can’t eat spicy food, people still stare at
me, but today was big. Just another step closer to understanding this
fascinating and crazy place.
