To go out into the street I could inhale so many things in the air there. To hear the early morning and late afternoon islam prayers being broadcast from the local mosques. To see the the stunning colorfully painted sunsets......It was incredible to experience all of one's senses at once.
We had just moved there from VA. So the immediate difference in life was stark! The first couple of nights were so eerie... I remember having jet lag which meant every night I was wide awake at 2am with only my thoughts about this new interesting land and my ears hearing sounds I had never heard before.....or ever since. They came like haunting calls in breaking the silence of the night.....
"Sapooooo!" "Sapoooo!"
A voice called out in the black night.... this was the first of many....These were the sounds of the night vendors. The first few nights these guys freaked me out and I ran to my parents room waking them up only for them to explain to me that these were people out in the street trying to sell something to make a living. What a foreign idea....Why would they be out so late and yelling out loud?? Who would buy something in the middle of the night. It didn't make sense.... but in time it would.
Once I knew I didn't have to be afraid of them I began to to catalog the different sounds and sometimes I would try and sneak a peek out the window to see what type of vendor they were as they passed by hurriedly.... to see what were they selling. "Sapooo!" was the call of the sweep and broom vendor. There was the cobbler, the butcher on the bicycle, the medicine woman, the knife sharpener, the myriad of food vendors (Satay guy was amazing!), the basket man, the metal clanging guy who I never figured out what he did.... All of these amazing people out in the street late at night walking often barefoot with a bamboo pole slung across their shoulders with their wares hanging on each side creating perfect balance. Because of the weight and the flex in the bamboo they would almost do a dance-walk, very rhythmic and bouncy as they pitter pattered down the streets. They would yell out while walking letting the neighborhood know that they were out....to give enough early warning to the neighborhood so they had time to run out and flag them down if needed before they passed by.
As I became more of a night owl even in my young years, I came to look forward to nighttime in Jakarta, because I knew that when everything else became silent, the night vendors would be there, their calls often haunting and lonely, but to me they became comforting and soothing.
"What a solitary existence....I wondered...."
Wandering the streets hoping their longing call would trigger a sale. I would hear them while in bed, waiting to see how many seconds would pass in between their calls. I wondered what it might be like to do what they did, to live as they did...... I fantasized about being one of them, walking in the night, never cold, being so happy when someone stopped me to buy something and then thinking I might eat that day. I wondered at times if they were sad or if they even knew what that meant. Just because I thought they were poor and destitute maybe they weren't... maybe they were quite happy. They seemed to be able to walk all day and all night with the same energy and pace....not prone to slowing down. They would carry their sarongs around one shoulder and then when it came time to sleep, which could be anywhere, they would wrap themselves in it like a poor man's sleeping bag and catch a bit of sleep and probably dream of roads not yet traveled hoping for a life of more ease.....and better food.
Did we partake? Oh yes... my parents were big fans. They would flag as many down as they could week to week. There was nothing more fun than to run down and then watch each one do the bargain, do the pitch, start high on the price and then inevitably come down with the art of the bargain.... The cobbler was my favorite. He came for 5 years and he seemed to never age but I think he was 100 when we started. He would come up to our driveway and set up his little shop. It was incredible what he had inside each of those two hanging baskets.. He had an iron anvil shoe horn, tools, leathers, glues and all kinds of doo dads. We would bring out a dozen pair of shoes (six kids...) each time even if some of them weren't so bad.... I would sit there and just watch him work. It was hypnotic and I was in awe of his skills. So adept and supple with his hands. Measuring, selecting the right leather, tracing it, cutting it and then gluing or nailing little rivets into the soles. It was fascinating and my memory is so clear of it even today. The smell of the glue and leather. His silent toothless smile. We paid him a bit more which my parents always did....not too much, but more....
I can look back now and honestly say these were profound moments of life for me. I realized later that it was an honor to see a man live off of his own hands and efforts and to take such pride in his work. I learned then that it doesn't matter what our work is. We might be a dentist, a lawyer, or a ticket taker at a concert....what matters is how we carry ourselves and if we do it with our best effort and to be fair in what we are paid for. I feel God reveres this old man who had nothing but the shirt on his back and the roll of a few coins hidden in his sarong for some rice and tea. Each vendor was the same, the meat grinder, the broom guy, the lady selling medicine etc.... They weren't looking to be saved or subsidized... they wanted a fair price for their best. They probably wouldn't have taken more than what was fair.
Do you still know people like that? Are you like that? Am I.....? do I bring my best everyday? Am I honorable at the end of each day as I look back on each interaction and effort I expended?
It has definitely caused me to reflect on my own approach to my work. I think I can do better....
So, when the night comes now.... I don't hear those sounds any more... I miss them terribly. Nothing would make me happier for slumber than to hear outside of my very developed HOA community, the call of a new night vendor... Man, that would put things into perspective again.
I cherish those familiar calls.. they linger long in my memory. They continue to live and breathe each time I remember....
I won't forget their beautiful sound, and I won't forget what they have taught me...
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