Popagandhi

After the Indonesian Chinese wedding I attended in Surabaya, I took a train to Jogja (Yogyakarta) to see some gorgeous ancient temples — Prambanan and Borobodur — and to watch a Ramayana performance. Research, I call it, considering a project I’m currently working on. With my friend Sue Jan in tow.

Between us, we have an amazing Bahasa Indonesia/Melayu vocabulary, one we’re always so keen to try out. You always start off learning a few words; like kepala in my case (head), which I learned in Malaysia a few weeks ago. Then you expand that vocabulary by using it to understand some other words you know, to form new ones, like sakit kepala! There you go, my Indonesian vocabulary improving by leaps and bounds. In addition to the Yusuf, Maria, Yesus; kasih pasti something something; Amin that I learned in the Indonesian church service.

It’s been a while since I’ve had the company of a friend while travelling. Sue Jan and I seem to have a knack for unplanned train travel and meeting in most random places. Some time in July she picked me up from the train station in Secunderabad, Andhra Pradesh, India. Last night I picked her up from Yogyakarta train station. Sitting in our becak, marvelling at the wonders of having a fag while moving in traffic in the open air, $2 large beer Bintang, and a pleasant enough Indonesian town somewhat reminiscent of Indochina before the crowds.

Testing each other’s Indonesian every night, to comical effect.

Jan: “How do you say… maybe?”

Me: “Um… mungkin?”

Jan: “What about, later?”

Me: “I know this!!!! NANTI! There’s that song! dan mungkin bila nanti something something!”

Jan: (Reading off phrasebook) “What’s the Indonesian word for xenophobia then?”

Me: “How the hell do I know.. orang something something? And when would you ever use that in conversation?”

As you can see, we’ve progressed considerably from mati, mampos, kamar kecil di manna, etc etc. In no time at all I’m sure I’ll be penning political commentary in Bahasa Indonesia.

Indonesia is really quite something. Jan’s presence brings on the “Oh.. you NIHONJIN!” (Japanese) effect, something which always precedes the “You want buy batik? Silver?” phenomenon. I always protest at this, preferring my Southeast Asian heritage to my Oriental ethnicity. “What about me? No nihonjin right?”

The becak rider thought about it for a while, and said, “You. Gado gado. Maybe you mama domestic, papa Nihonjin.”

So now I’m gado gado (a salad). Or did he mean gadu gadu?

Last night, too, some random fellow from Madura came by to say hi (opening with the classic “you Nihonjin!” line, the one I so hate. Then he proceeded to tell me the colour of my skin is actually “Black! You are black! But not as black as me!” before asking me to marry him, because men from Madura, “very loyal”. He scooted off before I had the chance to tell him in the Indonesian I was practising that I’m not really a woman, in a deep voice.

I’m not sure knowing bits and pieces of the language surrounding me is any better than not knowing at all; it just makes me feel like a three year old (”Here! There! This! That! Where!”, with the corresponding linguistic skills to match. Two year old could do better than me.

I really should get better at this, and I will. Three page political commentary in Bahasa Indonesian coming up shortly; failing which, let’s settle for award-winning Malay poetry, which I am sure I will be capable of. Shortly. As in five years sort of short.