Bartele Santema is in his element. I can imagine him sitting down in a dressing room, powdered-face, maybe a little bit of lip gloss and mascara to enhance his features, a stack of stroopwafels on the table, a glass of beer in one hand, practicing his lines, trying to remember all of his six bars he has to name in front of the interviewer from Al-Jazeera, CNN and all other newspapers desperately trying to write something different about Barack Obama.

I dare to say that Bartele Santema is a friend. Well, he must be. He announced that Stuart and I were getting married in Bugil’s newsletter even before I told my boss about it (and in his usual manner, managed to take credit from it). He was not just invited to our small wedding party last August in Bali, Bugil’s Bali had its first job that Saturday. And he has constantly been seen in many of my pictures (like the one on the right, circa 2006, when everybody was skinnier, healthier, and much younger). The last picture probably was Sunday Brunch at 4 Seasons Hotel a few days before we left back to Aberdeen. It was the day after our friends’ wedding, and the first time I met Elyani and Toni for coffee.

About 3 PM, when we were finished our brunch, I moved to Elyani and Toni’s table for coffee. But my Sunday Brunch group wasn’t happy because Bart had escaped from ‘jumping into the pool’ thing the night before (during the wedding, most people jumped into the pool and sang along with the band on AC/DC and Rolling Stones’ songs, and Bart quietly sneaked out) and planned to throw Bart into 4 Seasons’ swimming pool. Poor Elyani and Toni, who just got to know me, were crowded by about 15 people who suddenly went to our table and demanded me to introduce each of them to my blogbuddies. Both Elyani and Toni quickly learned that it was just a plot to get out of the dining room, to get to near the pool, and throw Bart into it. We pretended to take a group picture by the pool. Toni was kind enough to do it for us (he must be thinking what a bunch of noisy childish people!). Bart certainly was suspicious about the whole thing and hid behind everybody. When the camera clicked, everybody turned to Bart and tried to grab him. Almost 15 men against 1 and we did not succeed. He walked away. Dry and safe.

That’s the kind of man Bart is. His instinct to pick up on suspicious thing. And his radar to smell where the money blows. Bart is the sort of man who is sitting next to you at the bar and shooting hundreds of ideas non-stop, you need a whole notepad just to keep up. But he also shoots them half-heartedly, his eyes keep checking on the bar staffs and patrons, and his hands are busy lifting the beer glass and typing at the same time, you don’t know whether he’s taking the piss or being serious. By eleven we’d hear him playing guitar and sing “Josephine”. By two in the morning it’s usually B52 time for everybody, and we’d forget most of his brilliant ideas.

He started the hunt of Obama’s former residence in Menteng Jakarta when Obama was racing against Hillary Clinton. Most of you might have known that Obama spent his childhood in Jakarta when his mother married to an Indonesian. And most of you probably know that Indonesians are so delighted that a presidential nominee in the 2008 United States presidential election has a teeny tiny sentimental connection with Indonesia. People think Bart was just having fun, that it’s just another silly idea. Nobody took it seriously when he wrote about “Sweet Home Obama” back in February. But he has been persistently following every possible trace (just like he managed to visit a village in East Java and proved its link to Scotland). Moreover, he has been persistently pestering the owner of Obama’s former residence. And now, with the prospect of having Obama to make a significant mark in American political history, everybody wants a piece of Bart, just like the headline of Bugil’s Newsletter: Bar Owner Makes Headline Worldwide; CNN, The Wallstreet Journal, some Dutch newspapers and Indonesian Newspapers, all mentioned his name. Not bad for a Frisian barman, eh?

His idea is to rent the smaller pavilion of the small colonial-style house Barack Obama lived in as a child to open the “Sweet Home Obama Bar” -  a cafe that would feature an “Obama-blend coffee,” a mix of beans from Kenya and Java. Bart also would serve stroopwafels, the home-made caramel waffles that are also sold in Starbucks Indonesia (yes, those are Bart’s), Cazbar, Eastern Promise, and the other bars.

Bart just announced that he has just purchased an original Obama sofa. I don’t know what he means by “Obama sofa”, but I suspect it’s the sofa that Obama family owned once back in the seventies (I wouldn’t want to image the condition of it, hopefully the current owner takes good care of it, otherwise imagine all the dust, the smell and the living creatures inside it). I would imagine he will make the sofa as the centerpiece of the bar, probably with the sign “Obama sat here”.

I admire his persistence. His crazy idea. And his way of finding to turn his crazy idea into a real business. I mean, if this is the guy who baked his first batch of stroopwafels in our apartment’s microwave (and had us as testers - thank God we’re still alive to tell this story) and now could sell them to Starbucks all over Indonesia, even if Obama doesn’t win, the Sweet Home Obama could be a potential money maker. Just like Kopi Annan….

About four years a go, Stuart and Huib celebrated their joined birthday by throwing a BBQ party at Bugil’s bar. I think it was either Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and there were about 50 people turned up to stuff their faces with sausages, burgers and beers. Most of them were people we hung out with, the usual suspects. Some I didn’t recognise, and I guessed they were either party crashers or Huib’s friends.

By late afternoon, it became too hot and people gradually moved inside to get some cool air from the bar, and before long the bar was packed with people buying beers and other cold drinks. I stayed outside for most of the time, close to the food supply. Sometime before dark I went inside to go to the loo. It was absolutely crowded, and I had to push myself in between people just to pass. On that moment, I felt that someone had pinched my bum. I stopped, looked around, but there was no indication who did it. I really had to pee so I continued my journey.

After I finished, I had to pass the same crowd just to get outside. In between my attempt of pushing myself out, suddenly I heard someone whispering in my ear, “Nice bum.”
Read the rest of this entry »

I think the combination of being in a holiday mood, having too many things to do/people to meet/parties to attend, and having crap internet connection at home, makes me abandoning my blog. It has been over a week and I haven’t been bothered to update it.

So I arranged to meet up with Therry at Cazbar yesterday. I thought I would be motivated to write something once I sat down on its wooden chair, had the lamb chop with a non-stop wine supply on the side. But Cazbar’s internet connection was down right after we finished my lunch today, and only bounced back before six, right before the cheese night started, and right before Nonie came to pick me up. So I couldn’t even check my emails, let alone updating my blog there, and must do everything when I got back home. Darn.

Anyway, It is good to be back. Summer has been cold in Aberdeen, and Jakarta is at least 20 degrees warmer, and I enjoy every minute of the heat. I have been pampering myself in the past week, and have been to lunches, dinners and parties I had to force myself to have some quiet nights in to recharge and have some decent sleep in my own bed rather than crashing at Ecky and Sam’s before dawn…

But it’s funny that after only a week I start missing Scotland. I miss the cold (yes, I do!), I miss its quietness and peaceful surrounding, I miss the city’s predictability, I miss its certainty, and I miss its routines.

I went to see my ex-colleagues at Pacific Place because it’s the closest to my ex-office, and the place apparently is very during lunch time, receiving citizens of SCBD. I was going up on escalator to the first floor, walked away from the crowd and found the much less busy one, surrounded by unopened shops, reached the second floor, before I realized what I just did. I avoided the crowd.

I went to Senayan City with my mum and heard the commotion on the main lobby. There was some promotion event in front of the elevator, with only one or two lost toddlers watching the sad guy saying something nobody cared or could hear. Something ticked me off and I felt really mad. I sent text to my friend who knows the owner of the mall, asking why Senayan City becomes a traditional market, with a master ceremony screaming on top of his lung and an ugly echo from bad sound system and speakers. He phoned immediately, asking what was wrong. And then I realized what drove me mad. It was the noise that I couldn’t stand it.

I was in Plaza Senayan last Friday, killing time before going to meet the girls for Nonie’s birthday, and I only managed to keep my composure up to the 9th sales person who offered me an HSCB credit card. The poor 10th guy was shrinking in shock because I barked at him even before he opened his mouth. I felt sorry right afterwards, because I know he worked by commission and tried to gain a new customer. But I couldn’t help it, I wanted to look around without having people in black chasing after me. The perfume lady who touched my shoulder and called me “sayang” (darling) also received my icy look and harsh comments. I wasn’t proud of what I did, but I hate being touched by a stranger, especially the one who shoved a stinky tester under my nose even though I kept saying no.

I arrived at Tabac right at 7 PM and nobody was there. I realized I was back in Indonesia where being late is socially acceptable, so I ordered some lychee martini. It tasted good and I made a mental note to tell this to Tamara, the martini fan. But when Nonie and Ecky arrived we decided to open up a bottle of wine, and we chose something simple, Jacob’s Creek Carbenet Sauvignon. I shrieked in horror when the guy said it’s Rp 500,000. Astagadragon, the same wine only costs Rp 120,000 in Scotland!

Have I become Scottish?

Oh God. Oh God…

Apparently the sentence above is really important and must be translated into 50 languages. Forget how to say please and thank you, don’t bother to learn to ask for a direction in a local lingo, as long as you can ask for one more beer in a strange place, you’d be fine, and you’d charm the local girls.

I have checked its translation to Indonesian, and found it incorrect (although people still can understand the query). It is translated to “satu lagi bir, makasih”, which is supposed to be “satu bir lagi, terima kasih”. I guess whoever translates it for the writer must be a non-Indonesian who masters the local language by practice, rather than by taking formal lesson. Turns out when I checked on the comment section lots of people also said that the translation to their respective language is either weird or wrong.

Nonetheless, in a real world, most of the times I see patron don’t even bother to tell the waiters what they want, they simply call the waiter, show their index finger and point it to their drink, and the waiter knows perfectly that they want for another one. No wonder many foreigners still can’t speak Indonesian even though they have been living in the country for more than a couple of years. That’s the blessing of living in Asian countries - you’d get waiter going around tables and check your drink status, you don’t have to elbow other fifty thirsty patrons to get into the bar and wait for 45 minutes, ignored by the barmaids, just to get a drink, like here (last night while standing patiently at the bar, I heard a girl next to me shouted to the barman whether she has to be naked to get served - and was still completely ignored. Yikes).

Now, how do we translate “one more for the road” in Indonesian? Some of my expat friends literally translate it into “satu lagi untuk jalan“, which doesn’t make sense at all. The phrase means a final drink taken just before leaving on a journey, and since Indonesia doesn’t really have a drinking culture, we never say such thing.

The Writer just wrote about spoiled expatriates, “those who come from developed country and get a job in developing country and live like a king/queen“. With salary which is unbelievably higher than a local standard - mostly due to ridiculous exchange rates and tax regulations - and lots of allowances, they soon embrace a lavish lifestyle with maids, gardeners, security guards, and so on.

I couldn’t deny that many expats are living like that. Being expats means they have to sacrifice many things: their life back home, their friends and family, their comfortable surrounding, to go to a foreign place thousands miles away from home with different customs, food, culture, temperature, and work attitudes. Many of them are reluctant to be posted overseas, especially if they have children to think about, or will be posted in a not-so-popular country like Colombia (and I don’t think they will jump in joy when they know they will be sent to Indonesia!), and have to be lured to say yes (hence the allowances and first-class treatments). Lots of them are in the managerial position or even higher (because some company applies a rule that you can be posted overseas at least after 8 years serving the company), so they are entitled those allowances even in their own country, like flying with business or first class, unlimited mobile phone usage allowance (this is very handy, many occasions my mobile went dead because I exceeded the limit; very annoying when it happened when I was in a meeting overseas!), and so on. First-class treatment is automatically expected, or else they’d choose not to take their overseas posting. I have heard a story about one country manager of a Fortune 500 company who was just posted in Indonesia, and he must inspect some houses before deciding which one he would reside for the next 4 years, and my friend had to take him to several locations. Because it was scheduled on Saturday, my friend thought she would only meet him (and probably his assistant). She was waiting by the gate of the first house and surprised to see the guy arrived with entourage: human resources manager, 2 general affairs (GA) staffs, and several guards. I remember vaguely she mentioned about either finance director or lawyer who was there as well. There were 4 black shiny sedans (5 in total, including my friend’s) which went from one house to another just to cater this guy’s need.

But this doesn’t only apply to developing countries, those expat staffs who are posted in developed countries also living in a good life. They get to choose their nice (and huge) house, can send their kids to best schools, can fly back home once a year, usually with business class (or depends on the agreement between them and the employers. Some prefer cash so they can use it for holiday instead), and in some case, are very pampered in every possible way you could imagine, like having a weekly free coffee morning in 5 star hotel, and an organization - with several full-time staffs - to help them to settle in their adopted countries (this is from sending an information about a party held somewhere in the castle to the news that some company is looking for a staff). Sometimes you could do nothing but smile when they start complaining about small things. I heard one was upset because they had to fly their cat from their overseas posting back home and it wasn’t covered by the company (it cost them USD 4000 so I understand why she was upset). One didn’t complain, but sometimes compares her house (which is big) to another one’s up in the country which faces the hills and the forest and twice bigger than hers, and compares the life she gets in UK to the one she was accustomed in her last posting in Middle East and in South East Asia (yes, maids and everything).

The Writer actually wasn’t talking about the expatriates. She was talking about the local girls who become their girlfriends or wives and quickly adopt this extravagant lifestyle of “expatriates” (big house, personal staffs, everyday shopping and parties, everyday dinner in 5-star hotels, and first-class treatments everywhere), and think they will get the same treatments once the partner is sent back home.

I couldn’t agree more. I see so many Indonesian girls are either delusional or plain daft, thinking how rich their boyfriends are with USD 3,000/month apartment or USD 5,000/month house in posh area, complete with private pool, maids, a driver, security guards, sometimes a PA, and cooks, and of course the whole office is more than ready to assist whatever they need. But this local girlfriends and wives don’t realize that it’s paid by the company and if the boyfriends get to pay the rent from their own pocket they wouldn’t choose five thousands dollars-a month house in a first place (for more silly house hunting experience, click here). And this housing allowance, once he gets back to his home country, wouldn’t apply anymore, and he gets to live in a normal house or apartment.

These local girls only think about how they could brag to their friends that they will be moving to a Western country, but don’t realize what’s in the package deal. One Indonesian girl met a Briton a few years ago and they finally got married in Indonesia. When his time was up, they had to go back to UK. She was disappointed that turns out he didn’t even own an apartment (compares to their posh residence next to Plaza Senayan in Jakarta) and I am very sure that the place they rent would not have a receptionist, a greeter who opens the door every time she enters the building, a 24 hours room service she could call if she’s lazy to cook (who am I kidding, of course she doesn’t cook, she survives by eating-outs, deliveries, and take-outs), or a bell boy she could send to buy chicken satay from across the street, let alone a private gym. She complained everything is so expensive so she couldn’t go shopping everyday and they didn’t go out clubbing and partying as often as they used to. She couldn’t cope with the new lifestyle, and forced her husband to quit his job and move back to Indonesia so they could continue their life as it was. I think she’s doing ok now, I saw her briefly a year a go in one club in Jakarta (she was sporting a designer bag and huge rock on her finger) and again in Singapore airport (moving from one designer shop to another).

I know a girl who is so accustomed to a “good life”. She has a good job and is perfectly capable to afford a lavish lifestyle, sort of. She always carries expensive, branded bags and dresses immaculately. She dines and parties at the most expensive restaurants and clubs (although hardly pays, there’s always someone who buys her drink because she is very pretty). So it’s no wonder that her dates are usually are as successful as her: young, gorgeous, managers (mostly she targets directors), and of course, expatriates (actually she dated a local guy but I guess it’s because he picked her up with a sport car). Although she doesn’t have her own residence yet (she still rents the same room for almost a decade now), she never washes her hair at home, every two days she’d go to her hairstylist and have it washed and styled. But one occasion she phoned me from Bali, panicking and almost crying, saying that the hairstylist in Bali wasn’t as good as the ones in Jakarta and her hair was ugly and she had to attend a posh wedding in one hour. That time I was wondering, if she couldn’t survive in Bali, how could she survive overseas? I don’t think anyone goes to hairdresser every two days, unless you’re Victoria Beckham. I know she had lived overseas before as a student, but I’m sure the last time she was holding a toilet brush was over ten years a go. The fact that she dreams of living and working in overseas puzzles me. I’m not sure if she is ready to trade her current life now with the life here: no maid, no driver, no cook, no every two-days-hairstyling, bus or tube everyday, two pairs of shoes everywhere you go (one pair of sexy stilettos and another pair of flat shoes to run and catch a bus).

These girls live in their own bubble world and I wouldn’t think they could stand living in their partner’s home country and loosing all the helps and luxuries they’re so used to. If you’re an expatriate and dating a local girl, you wouldn’t see any problem as long as you’re being an expat and get pampered and served like a first-class citizen. But you might want to take your girlfriend back home for a week or two and see if she could cope with the normal lifestyle you actually have had, like washing dishes, doing laundry, buying own groceries, and cooking. You might want to explain to her why you can’t take her out every night for a dinner in a nice restaurant. If their love is as thin as the dress they usually put on, they’d soon complain about how they miss their maids and driver. And it’s probably a sign that they love the helpers more than their love to you.

Indonesian Expatriates Forum (IEF), created in January 2008, has been doing very good. Bugilsnews puts IEF’s widget which shows the list of articles we have published on their website (they also put a link to my personal blog there - big thanks to Bart and the team - perhaps because I constantly promote Bugil’s, Cazbar and EP!), and with their perpetually growing number of readers and loyal fans, having IEF’s link on their site will certainly boost IEF’s popularity! Several bloggers also have IEF link on their blogs, like Jakartass (the most popular English blog according to Indonesia Matters), and my blogbuddies like Rima and Therry.

IEF also has gathered almost 50 blogs of Indonesian expats and returned expats around the world. (I will elaborate the term ‘returned expat’ later in a different posting). And the number is growing, slowly, but sure. To me, personally, just by looking at the countries that Indonesians live in, is a proof that we would be able to find Indonesians practically everywhere. Not only in popular countries like USA, but also in places like Angola (Nadia), Norway (Mulia and Alief. Well, Alief lives in Bergen, a quite big city, but Mulia lives much further up north in Tromsø, which wouldn’t be the first choice to many Indonesians to live!), Hungary (Sherwin), or a place with only 70,000 inhabitants like Antibes (Maya). Interestingly though, not many Indonesian bloggers listed in IEF live in Asia (especially in South East Asia) or Australia, compares to a quite significant number of those who live in Europe. Maybe because those in Asia don’t experience the culture shock as big as those who live in America and Europe. For example, what kind of shock you might possibly have when you move to Singapore except that you have to learn how the tube/subway works. Maybe because those in Australia fall into two categories: students (who have no time to write blogs due to lots of assignments and partying) and permanent residents (who don’t consider themselves as expats). Or maybe it is a matter of coincidence, that now IEF has listed Indonesian bloggers live in America and Europe more than Asia and Australia. I wouldn’t be surprise thought that sometime in the future we will have an Indonesian blogger in Antarctica, Siberia, or Sierra Leone!

IEF also has received and published several articles from expat bloggers. So far we have learned about The Philippines, Belgium, Tromsø, and Denmark. We would love to read about other countries or other expat experiences, so please do not hesitate to send your articles to IEF.

I have high hopes and lots of ideas for the continuity of IEF. And with tremendous supports from all of you, I hope IEF can be a first-stop resource for Indonesian expatriates.

Further reading:
Indonesian Expatriates Forum: Progress Update
Indonesian Expatriates Forum: Looking For Contributors Around The World

For the past two days I attended a settlement course in a very gorgeous hotel. It’s rather late, considering I have been here since last June and know most of the absolute essentials, but it’s still worth to attend, and I got to see new people and had free lunches, yay!

The course is done to help people settling nicely in a host country. Unsettling employees and partners could jeopardize their posting, their unhappiness threaten their productivity because they are worried about other matters rather than their jobs, and the company could loose their valuable resources. So 2 days course in a very nice hotel with free lunches is worth spent.

For those who just come to a new place, or even those who repatriate back after spending years in other countries, this course is very helpful. In fact there were two Scots in our course and even they found many things they didn’t know, and lots of things have changed since they left.

The abovementioned absolute essentials topic covers subjects like transportation, bank, post office, TV, garbage arrangement, and other boring stuffs, which are indeed essential when we just land in a strange land and don’t even know that we have to pay a TV license or how to get the internet connection, or which rubbish that goes to which bin, or understanding postal system. It might seem too easy, but I know a true Scotsman who came back from 4 years overseas posting, and was confident enough to post very important documents without realizing that the system and the pricing has changed, and ended up having constant stomach ache for the next month when he found out his documents were sent to the central post office in Dublin because he didn’t put enough stamp on the envelope and had to wait until they return it, prepare that they will be gone forever. Of course this Scostman got an earful lecture from me every single day, until he got the documents back.

But the first subject is the most interesting one for me. Although I am sure that everybody does it perpetually, it is done subconsciously. We had an exercise which helped us to understand that we can look at the same thing and we can form totally different opinions. We were given an image with the word saying “Jesus is the ONLY way”, and I immediately said it’s plain silly. If it’s said “Jesus is the Way”, I would respect it as the choice of belief. But inserting only in the sentence implies that other religions are wrong, and I wouldn’t respect people who’d think that those don’t worship their God will go to hell. If a person comes to me and tells me that I am right because I am a moslem and I shouldn’t shake my friends’ hands on Christmas, I would react the same way as I did to Jesus-is-the-only-way thing, because I believe everybody is equal before God and who are we to judge what’s best for others. When the image of Ka’bah appeared, some participants associate it with conflict (as Ka’bah is a symbol of Islam, and as people know, Islam doesn’t advert themselves in the right way and is always portrayed with conflict, terror and war), while I - as a moslem - simply want to go there. When the picture of three blonde girls drinking and dancing appeared, one associated the picture with excessive drinking habit of the young people in Western countries, while I said I miss it (they party, not the excessive drinking).

We can’t help to jump into a quick generalization, and put people into boxes and labels because it’s our way to figure them out. But our label and generalization is based on our background and experience which has shaped our perception. The exercise helped us to realise that yellow is yellow, but to some, whenever they see yellow they will think about sunflowers, happiness and carefree spirits, while Wikipedia states it commonly (?) represents age, cowardice and jealousy.

Defining our cultural icons, values, and understanding what has made us as a nation will help us to understand others. At first we will be shocked to see how different people behaving, and we immediately generalized, box and label them as an instant response. But we are blessed with brains which can help us to suspend our judgment and understand that they are simply different and most of the times don’t hold the same values as we do.

Simple gesture like putting our hand on hips, in Indonesia, will be considered rude, especially if you do it towards your senior, but it’s ok to shout at waiters to grab their attention. It is vice versa in Western countries. Americans will have to consciously remind themselves to whisper towards British who are famous for speaking so soft sometimes we barely could hear them. Dutch must remind themselves to use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in almost every sentence. Brits should realise that Dutch are not rude, their language is more direct than English. Yes doesn’t necessarily means yes in Asian countries and although it could be frustrating to Westerners, it’s part of Asian culture of saving-face, and it doesn’t mean people are incompetence or hypocrite. I remember I was shocked the first time when my schoolmates in Sydney addressed our lecturers on first name basis, and for the first three months I kept calling them “Sir”. Tattoo on Maorian face is a manifestation of his accomplishment, but we will be uneasy to see a Westerner with a tattoo on his face in the tube to Paddington station because most of us associate tattoo with rebellious behavior.

Some of us, after quick generalization and labeling, are willing to suspend their judgment and along the way will find out that their method is not always working. People are basically the same everywhere, there are good and bad ones, regardless their religion, race, age, and sex. I would like to point at a particular post from this lady, who wrote about her own generalization towards Jews due to her cultural background, and how she perceives them now. On the other hand, you and I could laugh together at this post which the writer thinks he knows everything about Javanese girls (and Javanese culture) just because he had seen, met, dated, and slept with few of them. The guy obviously has put people (Javanese girls) in a certain box with a certain label, but he didn’t go further to suspend his judgment and use his brain to realise that few hundreds girls cannot represent other millions whom he hasn’t met. He hadn’t met me, obviously, for sure!

When we understand both of our and other cultures, we will find out that there are things that we wouldn’t bend, the important values that define us and our culture. But there are things we could, would and should compromise. We can’t sustain Indonesian rubber time mode in most Western countries; 10 minutes late to turn up at the restaurant and your table will be given to someone else. But as Asian and Indonesian we still strongly hold onto our family values, no matter how far our parents away from us are, or no matter how old we are now. My Asian friend would have her mother for 6 months and another her father for 2 months, staying with them in Aberdeen. On the other hand, my European friends say having guests in their house for 2 weeks is more than enough to drive them crazy and they could refuse their own parents to visit them if the time isn’t right, something that most Asians wouldn’t ever think of.

So I hope the waiter would be patience enough to understand that I don’t know if waving to him is normal for me and I don’t know that the gesture is rude in UK. And I hope I be more patient toward a Chinese girl seating on the next table who chews loudly, because although it’s rude for most Indonesians, it’s not rude in Chinese culture, it’s even considered as an appreciation towards the food and the host.

Note:
The original article was posted on Thursday, 20 March 2008. In regards to those who has requested me to remove the family reference, this article is rephrased, although I try not to go too far from where I stand and believe.

After the article is published as of today, I will remove all comments generated from the previous post respectively by tomorrow, because I don’t think they reflect my new one. All of you, however, are free to post new comments as usual. I never apply comment’s screening process, but I don’t tolerate abusive and dirty words.

I know since the original article was posted last Thursday, there are at least 4 reactions posted in other blogger’s pages. I do not wish them to do what I do here, nor would I start name callings in other bloggers’ pages, as some of them do. I will never jump into some bloggers’ pages (who talk about totally different things) and make degrading comments about other bloggers, just because we have had disagreement about something, somewhere else. It’s childish. But I believe all people are good at judging others’ characters, and they eventually will form their own opinion about each blogger.

By repost this article, it does not mean that I am easy to be bullied. It’s them who dragged their families as reference first, so when the information was out open loudly to public I thought it should be okay for me to use it as a point of reference. Obviously not. But I really do respect their wish, as I would have done the same thing too (and hope people will take my complaint seriously too, if it happens).

As I have mentioned to those who sent me private responds by emails, I never intend this post to be nasty, offensive, or abusive. I regret that the post generated nasty and harsh comments as well, and in return, has made most of people to choose to stay away from it. It should have been an interesting discussion.
====================================================================

I read Unspun’s clipped article, originally from BaliBlog, regarding what (tourist? foreigners? cheap?) men perceive about Javanese girls. At first I didn’t jump into the discussion, since what Baliblog described about Javanese women was beyond degrading and not worthy to entitle my opinions.

But then the discussion was turned into how women (in general, not only Javanese) are treated by men in Indonesia. Two of the participants, Oigal and Rob, pointed out that Indonesian women are subject of snide remarks by local men because they are simply seen with Caucasians.

clipped from theunspunblog.com

12 Oigal

So what are the Indonesian men getting so upset about ? It’s exactly the way a significant portion of men (Majority?) treat women in Indonesia.

The snide comments, winks and whispers.

I was out yesterday with my wife (Indonesian) and we had the misfortune to be at place where a herd of government types turned up in their shiny new cars and arrogant tax payer funded glory. Sure enough, it was only a matter of time before one of the little pr*cks made a snide remark about my wife (and mother of three children) in bahasa to the laugher of his mates.

He made two mistakes, one …I speak bahasa, two.. my wife nor I am are short of words or courage when it cames to dealing with anjing. Was an ugly scene tho and he did decline my forceful offer to deal with it like men..cowards all..
Better still was the look on his wife’s face, as the character flaws of her husband was expalined to her by my better half.

clipped from theunspunblog.com

13 Rob

Oigal…

Straight shooter as always! That is why I read your blog!
I did not know you were married to a local. I guess I have learned something new about you today and you are not as anonymous as you were yesterday!

I agree there is a double standard here and the way that some Indonesian men treat their women it is hardly any wonder there are increasing numbers of Indonesian women seeking out other nationalities to become their other half.

Rather than confront the real issues, the general misogyny of some Indonesian men towards their women, it is all that much easier for Indonesian men to label Indonesian women with foreigners as prostitutes (the term of preference that I have foundmost use is “whore”).

I finally jumped into the discussion, stating that I have never experienced such thing in Jakarta, Bali, or in my hometown. Regardless of what I wear or don’t wear. I have never been labeled as a whore just because there is another human being walking next to me who looks slightly different from, but usually much taller than, me. And I couldn’t recall if my friends ever receive it either.

But I know that at some points, most of, if not all, (Indonesian) women have experienced (a) harassment(s) by local men. I myself was being physically harassed at least twice when I was younger, and it shattered my confident for a long time. And when I was working in a construction industry, I had to face the construction labours (a.k.a tukang) on a daily basis, and although most of them were very polite and nice, there were several occasions (usually when the project just started and they did not know who I was) where few of them whistled or made snide remarks when I entered the site. Usually I asked who did it - and never got the answer but a coward silence - and warned everyone in the room that they will be kicked out if they did it again. Other occasion was more serious (especially when they guy was holding an electric drill and twice bigger than me, and clearly held a misogynist belief), but so far I still could handle it without having to stomp my feet or say something rude back.

Although I never experience to receive a xenophobic treatment because I am seen walking with non-Indonesians, it does happen in Indonesia - and I am sure it does happen in everywhere else in the world too.

But then I see that the discussion is leaning towards local-men-are-jerk stereotype accusations. Oigal went further by embracing the holier than thou mode, posted an article that Kartini must be turning upside down in her grave. Although he didn’t mention that his fingers are pointed to local men in his post, his comments in Unpun’s clearly showed it.

Trouble is the base issue has little to do with “Bules”* but more to do with the insecure, offensive behaviour of a significant number of men to women in Indonesia.
Sexism reigns supreme from blatantly sex job advertisements which dictate age, weight and compulsory picture to behaviour that would earn a slap in the face (or legal action) in most other countries.

Clearly Oigal has never tried to apply to work in Singapore Airlines. Or being rejected to work as a casual staff in a clothing store in Sydney, where the store manager bluntly said they were “looking for an Australian staff, so piss off“. Discrimination happens everywhere, but only Indonesians are stupid enough to have everything printed so obvious, while other countries have their government guiding the equal opportunity (or so they say) for everyone.

I honestly am disappointed. I read Oigal’s blog regularly and I think he’s a refreshingly odd, bitter and funny at the same time. But now he seems just… angry about everything, and his holier than thou mode indicates there is a hidden superiority feeling towards everything and everyone, hence he surely was more right than anyone else. This reminds me of an Australian guy who was asking for a flat-white in a nice restaurant, and just because the staff did not understand, as the term flat-white is not common, he got instantly angry. I got annoyed, because I knew that he couldn’t behave such way in his home country. If you are being rude to the staff, you could end up at the other side of the restaurant.

But one thing that is not openly discussed at Unspun’s was that when the participants were ranting about how Indonesian women receive bad treatments from their local men, they do not mention that some expat/foreigners/bule/Caucacian treat Indonesian women without respect too!

At Unspun’s I gave several examples. One is an old Caucasian guy, who pinched my bum when I was trying to go to toilet in a very crowded bar. I screamed and threatened to kill him and the look on his face showed that he was very shock, probably because he could get away with it most of the time. Not this time. He apologized many times and was even more embarrassed to find out that I’m his co-worker’s friend. Later I found out his name is John (I don’t know his last name, but if I did, I’d gladly print it here in bold letters). So he’s embarrassed because 1) I protested and 2) I know his co-workers. Which means he would have done it thousand times with barmaids who couldn’t protest.

The other one was when I was in a bar/restaurant with Melly having dinner. The guy that I know vaguely was there with his friend and we were the only customers on a quiet night. By 8.00 PM they got really drunk and were getting louder, singing on top of their lungs, and kept asking the barmaids to turn the volume up, to the point we couldn’t handle the conversation normally. Politely I asked the barmaid to turn the volume down, and she did it. Poor lady, this old Briton went ballistic and screamed and swore with his dirty mouth, saying that he contributed so-so millions every month to this bar so he was entitled to do what he wanted. Melly and I left because we didn’t want to make any scene and we didn’t want to make the staff more scared to handle those guys. The friend, months later, came to Stuart’s leaving party and exposed himself to other ladies when he was drunk and must be dragged home.

And then there is another Kiwi guy who we label as Mr.Octopus because his habit of groping anybody who comes with a skirt. He ends up marrying a girl who is as young as his grand daughter.

With so many bad experiences, should I hate all Caucasian/westerners/bule/expat? No. Do I think all of them are sleazy bastard? No. Because I know that not ALL are like that.

I like reading Rob’s blog too, but I also cannot fathom that he thinks Indonesian women choose to be with Caucasian/Westerners because we receive bad treatments from Indonesian men. And here I am, thinking that it’s about inexplicable attraction. Surely you can’t control whom you are going to fall in love with? Maybe yesterday with an Indonesian, today with an Australian, tomorrow with an Arabian, and next year with an African!

I had been with Indonesian men, and just because I had bad experiences with them did not make me swear off Indonesian men forever. It did make me swear off men altogether, actually, for a while. The fact that I am married to a Caucasian doesn’t mean that I did not have bad experience with Caucasian either.

Stereotypical accusation is dangerous. And I honestly think that those expats with local wives can be more sensible and decently admit that Caucasians are as bad when it comes to degrading remarks towards women. It’s what jerks do. And as I mentioned before, a jerk is a jerk. Whether he’s white, brown, or yellow. Whether he’s a satpam (security guard) or a CEO. Whether he’s Indonesian or Caucasian.

Now I want to know your opinions as the other Indonesian female bloggers:

1. Do you receive different treatments from Indonesian vs. Caucasian men?
2. Have you been verbally abused by Indonesian men?
3. Have you been verbally abused by Caucasian men?
4. If you have a Caucasian partner, did you specifically target the race as your potential other-half? Why?

Would love to hear more stories re. these hot issues!

Further reading:
Caucasian vs. Indonesian Men (2)
Bule (Caucasian) Guy Dating Indonesian Girl

There are two occasions which urged me to think seriously about giving up my Indonesian passport and becoming a UK citizen. One of my friends asked if we’re interested in going somewhere on Easter break, and she quite fancied Switzerland and Austria. While another one immediately said yes, I had to tell her that it’s not that easy for Indonesian. We can’t just hop on the plane and fly to European countries. The other occasion was when Joan and I were talking about an impulse of spending the weekend, say, somewhere in Portugal, or Italy. I told her, that of course, for Indonesian, we have to plan in at least a month in advance. At least.

Being Indonesian, we are only allowed to set our foot into 11 countries without visas. For other countries, we have to embark on a long journey of collecting necessary documents and submit them to embassies, just to prove that we are worthy human beings who will not become burdens for them when we land in their precious countries. UK embassy in Indonesia now requires each applicant to have their finger scanned and photographs taken at the Visa Application Centre, as if all the documents we gather to submit are not genuine enough and they need to see with their own eyes and their own equipment that we’re not an alien or Imam Samudra descendant.

Of course my dear British and European friends don’t understand the hassle we have to go through every time we apply for a visa. They were surprised to find out that, for example, we need to provide a bank statement, showing that we are capable enough to buy food and souvenirs. Or a statement from our office, ensure the embassy that we are still working for them and will definitely return to Indonesia due to our commitment with them. Sometimes, depends on our luck of the day, we will be called for interview. And there should be a very valid reason why we want to fly to their country. If we want to go for a sightseeing, we have to show some proof (i.e. we have registered for a tour programme or have booked the hotel). If we visit our relatives or friends, they have to send letter to the embassy ensuring that they do know us and will take care of us (to a certain degree). Everything must be planned well ahead and no room for improvisation. On top of everything, we have to wait for a month to get our visa processed.

Lucky now Schengen visa covers 24 countries (Austria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, and Sweden), but even that, they will only give me 2 months-visa, and my friend who is married to a Dutch citizen gets 2 years-visa.

But if my friends decided to go to Switzerland and Austria, I have had to apply for 2 visas! And that means 2 months in waiting. At least. And submitting documents twice, each shall be altered according to each embassy’s requirement. With 1 hour journey from Aberdeen to Amsterdam, it becomes more silly that I have to plan everything so far ahead. Imagine the same hassle if people from Jakarta have to apply for a visa to Singapore each time.

Why are we so unworthy? What has our foreign ministry done so far?

Some people will say that I don’t love my country enough, thinking about giving up my Indonesian passport just for a silly reason. Maybe. But married to a foreigner makes me loose several rights in my own country, for example, the right to own a property. I can’t buy, and I can’t inherit. Unless I have had prenuptial agreement. So I become a guest, a visitor, in my own country! What does the government wish, that I have to rent a house for the rest of my life? And then if I have children, after they reach the age of 21 they have to choose whether they want to be Indonesian or UK since they can’t be both. Either way, they will become guests on either country. Imagine that I have to send an in invitation letter to my own children to visit my home country.

I still have 2 years to think about this thoroughly. Let’s see what’s going to happen.

Further reading:

• What A Difference A Nationality Made?
• What A Difference A Nationality Made? (2)

The Sunday Times Magazine yesterday featured an article about more and more Britons are emigrating to Australia. I have found several interesting facts that I will share with you.

Australia now becomes the most popular destination for British emigrant, and British people now make up almost a quarter of foreigners applying for Australian citizenship. But

Not so long ago the British and Irish were forced or bribed to go there. From the day the first white settlers landed in what became Sydney in 1788m through to the early 19th century, Australia was a huge prison, the bloody and terrible terminus for thousands of British and Irish convicts, most transported for petty crimes, such as theft and prostitution.

The former prime minister, John Howard, when campaigning for the second time, was hit by his past as the news revealed that he is a descendant of convicts (what did they expect, that he was somehow linked to Mary of Scot?). But according to Ausdag, the number of free-spirits who migrated to Australia during 1780-1850s was 1.3 more than the convicts so Australians should not be recognized as criminal’s ancestor’s nation (read here).

100 years after the gold rush of the 1850s, Australia was lacked of European emigrants. So the government introduced

The White Australia Policy, the first law enacted after federation in 1901, and in force until 1973, determined that all new arrivals be white, and preferably be British.

Now I understand why my European friends, when applying for a permanent residency, only had to wait for 2 months to get their document approved, while my Asian friends mostly had to wait for a couple of years, and some put everything they had on the table, paying a lot of money to immigrant agents who can’t even guarantee whether their PR application will be granted or not. However, despite the government’s attempt to maintain the white supremacy, in 2004-05, almost 45% of 123,424 people immigrated to Australia are from Asia, and the rest are from Africa, Oceania, UK, South America, and Eastern Europe (see Wikipedia). In 2006, 50% of Australian Permanent Residents were born in Europe.The rest were mainly born in Asia. Asians ‘invasion’ has been debated for quite some time, and especially in big cities like Sydney and Melbourne, there are more Asian faces and influences every day.

The country is lavish in contradictions, of course: a monarchist nation that must slowly yield to a republic, yet with large numbers still clinging to the coat-tails of the Queen of Australia; a nation of young people who, unlike their parents, worship the Anzac tradition; and a classless Australia seeded with expensive private school and controlled by powerful business and political elits. The racism - always denied - of white Australia seem most troubling for many new emigrants. It has had many disquieting manifestations. During the cold war, politicians stoked to the hysterical fear of China - the “red-yellow peril”- in justifying the nation’s involvement n the Vietnam war.
In recent years the Muslim community has felt the sharp end of white Australian hostility. Consider the leafy commuter town of Camden, near Sydney, one of Australia’s oldest pastoral communities. In December, locals impaled bleeding pigs’ head on stakes, draped them in the Australian flag and rammed them into the site of a proposed Islamic school. The most damaging expression of racism is to be found in the white’s treatment of the Aboriginals. Blacks were not even recognised as citizen until 1967, when they were granted the right to vote. Until then they were treated as a dying race, abused and forgotten. Unlike heads of cattle, they were not even counted on the census form.

Only this year in February 13 the government apologised for the first time to the black people for past injustices (read Spew-it-All).

Despite all that, asked why Britons emigrated to Australia, most cite: sun and coast living, lots of space, affordable housing (outside city centres), a generally reliable public health system, good, cheap schools, many jobs, and relative security. Some are also drawn by the natural wildernesses like Ayer Rock and Great Barrier Reef. And some admire the “fair go” and egalitarian spirit. Some simply love turning up at the office with flip-flops.

I had talked to several of acquaintances who have family members living in Australia permanently, and all of them always hear good stories and positive feedbacks from down under. BBC 1 actually has a show called Wanted Down Under, which takes a close look of a family who is considering about moving to Australia (they travel to Australia after serious discussions with Australian agents, they take a look at their designated city, the house they intend to live in, the school the children might go to, and then they’d go back to UK to decide whether they would move or not) .

My question is, if more and more Britons move to Australia, then who will be living in the UK?

Since last week I have been following closely the intense debate among expats in Indonesia about anonymous blogger, an issue raised by Fatih when he awarded Rob Baiton as the blogger of the week and praised Rob as one of the few Western bloggers who reveals his own true identity. Fatih actually has written a lot of postings about what he calls ghost bloggers - 7 actually including the Rob Baiton’s posting - but this time he has successfully attracted many comments and ripostes, perhaps because he specifically targets ‘foreign expatriates who blog on Indonesia‘ under the pseudonymous.

Unspun reacted at the same day, and clipped Fatih’s post on his blog and said that he thoroughly agrees with Fatih. John Orford, Jakartass, and Treespotter contributed their thoughts on this issue on their own blogs as well as left passionate comments on each other’s respectively.

Oigal was the first one to react at Unspun’s, saying that he “will declare my real name and KTP the moment you can guarantee a expat (or anyone else) for that matter could receive a fair and just hearing in any court of justice in Indonesia“, which was rather quite funny because obviously Oigal thinks what he says actually matters and will be taken seriously by the authority (come on, our yours truly don’t even know how to switch on their expensive laptops, let alone understand what a blog is). But later he quickly changed (or forgot) his argument and moved on to accuse that bloggers who reveal their true identities suffer from “look at me syndrome”.

clipped from greenstump.blogspot.com

Further HF inane demands for pictures and CV;s border on..no cross the border into the absurd. Although I suspect this has more to do with the cultural need to pigeon hole someone into a particular strata and class of society than complete ignorance of the standards of the rule of law in Indonesia.

You will see examples of the pigeon hole effect looking at the grand houses of the elite and corrupt in Jakarta (elite and corrupt..mmm redundant phrasing?). These tastless monuments to indifference complete with grandiose columns of marble in the front, join the Nokia Communicator telephones, as the “must have” accessory to their unprincipled and rarely challenged lifesytles. All time these parasites of society are taking every opportunity to silently scream “look at me, I’m really important”.