I heard it again...."Saaaaapuuuh!" I gripped my sheet more tightly and turned my head quickly towards the window.... It came from outside. I had never heard a sound like that before. It didn't quite sound like an animal so I was confused. I wanted to see out the window but was too afraid to move from my bed. Thirty seconds went by like an eternity...... "Saaaaapuuuuh!" rang out again through the night air but this time fainter. My eyes were wide awake...
My eight-year-old imagination went wild. I had just moved to Indonesia and it was still the first couple of days in this mysterious new country. I could not figure out what that cry in the night was. I didn't know whether to go wake up my parents or not. I sat, just listening to the quiet night wondering if I would hear it again....
After what seemed like an hour I laid back down and started to relax. It had been quiet for a while now... somehow it seemed like a dream.
Before I had a chance to fall back to sleep I heard another loud cry: "Jagung!" "Jagung!" This was higher pitched then the other. I jolted back up with my heart racing.... wondering all over again what in the world was happening. It repeated just like the one before every few minutes but with each new chorus, it became softer as if it were disappearing into the darkness.
After a restless night I awoke and ran into my parents room to tell them what had happened. My Dad laughed and said "Oh! Those are the calls of the night vendors." I was still confused. I didn't know what night vendors were and if that is what they did I didn't like it. My dad explained to me that there were many different vendors that would walk through neighborhoods selling their different wares and instead of knocking on each door, they would call out the product or service they were selling out loud so people could hear and then run out and flag them down to buy what they were selling.
Once I saw them during the day outside going past our house I finally understood and then paying more attention to the different calls of each vendor after that. It became a really cool thing to me. I remember I couldn't wait for bedtime so that I could wait and listen for the different vendors that would pass by. It was like clockwork. They always came and there were so many different calls. I tried to keep track of each of them. I would echo their calls out loud trying to imitate what I was hearing.
It was fun to hear their cry and then run to the window to see who they were and what they were selling. I remember watching the 'Sapuh' guy the first time rhythmically balancing on his shoulder a long bamboo strip called a pikulan that is strung with brooms, mops and a multitude of kitchenware. He would walk with this perfect gait like learning to ride a trotting horse without busting one's behind. The perfect rhythm of his bare feet slapping like leather against the asphalt roads. His one arm holding the pole and the other swinging in perfect synchronicity maintaining the necessary balance.
I learned later that many of them would do this their entire adult lives. I was witnessing the micro business of Indonesia in the 70's before that term existed. The street vendors were, and I believe still are an integral part of Jakarta's landscape; one that separates Jakarta from other boring, even sterile-looking cities. A thriving underground economy, street vendors reflect a resourceful entrepreneurial spirit that delivers good and services directly to the consumer using some ingenious forms of transportation. There were all kinds of bicycles and carts and other modes of transportation.
This whole nighttime culture of selling one's wares became part of my life. It was a bit intoxicating and wondrous as I would fantasize about being one of them. I would imagine which one would be the best to be and then put myself in their so called "shoes" or feet rather and wondered what one night would be like. For an eight-year-old, tired didn't factor in. These folks seemed tireless, never stopping, working hard to make enough to eat that day.
What started out as being so scary and haunting, became familiar and surprisingly comforting. I came to count on those interesting nighttime noises like little friends in the dark, letting me know that they were out there, that all was well. Many nights I drifted off only after I started hearing their cries which was a very different place from where I started those first days of arriving there. I became keenly aware of the difference when I came to the U.S. for summer vacations. It was difficult to fall asleep to a completely quiet night. That was when I knew I was "all in" with respect to this amazing culture and land. It was reminiscent of Beryl Markham's remarkable stories of Africa which were so incredibly immersive and impactful on her life. These were for me.
Over the years I have fondly thought about them, their calls, their lives and how they completely captivated the imagination of an eight-year-old boy. The nostalgia is very strong and deep when I let myself fully remember. Even now as I write my memories down, I am drawn back to that hot, humid, mysterious place. It was like being dipped into an old story to a place where books have not been written yet. A secret place with secret sounds and smells. Its' pungent aroma fills the senses metaphorically as I take in a deep breath. A story that a young boy can forever live off of and return to forever....
Oh, how amazing it would be to hear one more "Saaaaapuuuuuh!" reverberate through the night to lull me back into a deep sleep of exotic and dreamy experiences of my childhood.
Yes.......These are the Sounds of the Night Vendors.......
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