Three days ago I went to an Indonesian immigration office. Anyone who ever encountered any office of this kind knows that it is a cherry on the top of the pie of national bureaucracy. Time and humanity stop and stay outside institutions like this. I guess they are banned by the same senseless rules that also forbid to wear T-shirts, shorts, shorter skirts or any other outfit that is not a torture in Indonesian weather in Yorya's immigration office.
On arrival to the office a controlled chaos of parked vehicles greeted me. Three quarters of the parking were devoted to the handful of cars. Cars are symbols of upper social status and traffic power in Indonesia. Furthermore, Indonesians do not take practical driving exams, thus they simply can't park without an external help of one or two assistance. In other words, 7 cars needs and hence have more space than 77 motorcycles.
The remaining quarter of the front yard was jammed with motorcycles parked millimeters one next to other. After few moments of lost and desperation a mas (Indonesian polite title of a young man) showed me a space just big enough to park a motorcycle. He was not a Samaritan. He was a self-made man whom everyone has to give seribu (1000 Indonesian rupiah) for his services before a departure. Wherever I drive and park I found these men who for one or two thousands greet me, help me and see of me. There are no other choices no matter where I go: public beach, supermarket, governmental institution, etc. The unsolicited help is everywhere.
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| A parking assistant outside Indonesian immigration office |
The parking assistants are not kings, nor presidents. The source of their rule and power is not divine nor sovereignty of their people. They are inventors who create their jobs out of nowhere. When I drive around Yogya I see men standing in the strangest places and inviting me to park there where they decided to stand and create a source of their incomes. These men are truthfully self-made men in the most liberal way. Neither their freedom nor their responsibilities come from or goes to any outside source.
Parking assistants are not alone in this liberal world. Salesmen who sell their good on street and road; in small village shops; driving around three-wheel bicycles with a small containers full of fruits in front of them; and jumping to economy class buses on their stops in front of traffic light and ride till the next lights. Also there are musicians, who play (for money) the same terrible cacophony of sounds with three string mini guitars between the same traffic lights on the same buses. Other musicians, but with percussion play next to traffic light, while one or two men with buckets runs through the temporal labyrinths of standing vehicles. Sometimes the liberal rhythms of drums are accompanied by dancing child, woman or monkey.
An then there are my favourite ones: big men with big riffles. Soon after arrival to Indonesian I started to notice men who drive and walk around carrying big guns with optics and silencers. For a while I was wondering what are at the other end of the gun. On Java there are no big predators who would threaten human-beings or their life stocks. However, the aim is not to kill, it is to tranquilize and to sell.
Yesterday, just after the rain for the second or third time since my arrival I witnessed how a seventeen(ish) year old boy with a air-pressured rifle (mounted with optics and silencer) came to our front yard and fired a number of shots upwards into trees. He was aiming for small exotic birds that he could put into tiny cage, bring to animal market and sell to rich locals and internationals. He was another type of self-made man who himself invented a self-sufficient job in a black market of exotic animals.
Here I live in a truly a liberal dream of the complete independence of any social and natural entity that creates a world with not a single bird in a sky and tones of plastic rubbish on the ground.
