Ojek Adventure!

             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.