Another 3-In-1 Jockey Story

A three-in-one car jockey can be considered not only as an economy generalization, but also  social disease. Economy generalization because it’s a process of alms while social disease means enable to enlarge many jobless people in this country and in-fertilizes rules. But in fact, this kind of  ‘job’ has become earn-of-living for hundreds of  people who always think that seeking for a real job is absolutely difficult. And it’s allowable.

A Black tight overcast hung  over  to the sky and it looked darker as well. A nice silver Honda Jazz was running slowly,  paused its way headed to a young teenager who was  standing by himself  in  fronf of  Education Department Bulding on Gatot Soebroto  street. With a little grin on his face, he opened and got into the car. He was a three-in-one car jockey.

His name was Tison  (it  reminds  me of  the most popular boxer ever ‘Si Leher Beton’ ). In the morning and afternoon (during three in one time) he always stood there observing every single car. If there was someone looked driving alone, he immediately waved his fingers. A  kind of signal that he would be ready to be used  as a car jockey and might prevent the car’s owner from getting trouble with the police because of traffic violation.

“I’ve been being a car jockey  since I was ten. Now I’m seventeen. At the first time I just follow my friends,” he said. Besides being a three-in-one jockey Tison also turning a finger as a street singer nearby traffic light on Mampang Street. He conceded  being a car jockey has its own advantages, “I do not have to tied down by the working-hours like other people have to, and  every day I  can feel different sensations of riding up in different cars. Once I’d been a car jockey for an  actress, but I forgot her name because it was happened a few months ago. It was  a red  luxurious car but didn’t know its brand, she gave me fifty thousand  until Kota region, for the minimum fare  is ten thousand  maybe the most luxurious car that I’ve ever rode ,” he added with pure mimic on his face.

Being a car jockey was not easy as people thought, because according to Tison most car owners were too picky in choosing a jockey. “They won’t pick a disheveled jockey and impressed dirty,” Tison said. The original young teen from Aceh also told about his twice bitter experiences when some security officers caught and dragged him to the reformatory building at Kedoya, West Jakarta. “Thank God, I’ve never come through with a stroke  even for once, because one of my Jockey friends have to feel it. Slapped at his face by them.” he said again.

Not quite a long heavy downpour showered Gatot Subroto area and the jockey business must be postponed for a while. Tison immediately made a trot through paces heading across to the ojek-pool which was located next to the  Kartini Hall Building that covered by shady trees. Fastly his hands took  a tousled plastic out from his bag then put it  on  to his head. “ So, this is one of the risks of  being a three-in-one car jockey, I can’t get any money, if the rain still falling down.” He murmured a bit shivered. Tison said  that he would be able to pocket  eighty thousands in each day of ‘working’ as a car jockey. But the highest income that he ever made in a day is one hundred thousands, “It was only happened once when fasting month a year ago,” added a young teenager who had a dream he could be an army oneday.

A 17-year-old boy who only finished his school until sixth grades of elementary school stated that he always noticed the entourage of Vice President’s cars glided  on his jockey-working  area, “Almost everyday I see Boediono’s car  go through on here around 6:30 pm, maybe  because of his  house is located not far away from here,” with a little enthusiastic Tison explained. When he got asked how could he know that the cars were escorting the Vice President, a reasonable answer came out from his mouth, “Because  many cars and polices tagg along with him, all I know mostly dignitaries are always surrounded  by lots of guardians.” He stated.

Tison’s words were proved. Several minutes later, two military polices with complete uniforms wrapped by coats, stopped their big bikes over the curve between Kuningan and Mampang Prapatan strip lines that  half of it inundated with water. By stretching their hands, they secured the area where The Vice President would pass through. Due to the protocoler reason, all the riders sychronously halted their cars and motorbikes paces. And for about a minute faintly from the distance, strident siren of  the  safety military unit’s cars roaring in the middle of pouring-rain, escorting the honorable Vice President. like usually Tison always did, he just standing still, staring at those cars with his plain eyes.(Nsri)

Triatini A Tissue Hawker

 

Do  not  ever  surrender..

Life is a gift..

Keep moving on..

Doing  the best thing..

-D’ Masive-

Twilight put its face down while the darkness is creeping into evening. Summons to prayer come out loudly from behind of sound  amplifier that have been put on the top in the corner of  little Mosque inside Jakarta – Kota train station. People who will-be-passengers seem  to and fro, standing and sitting  down  on their platform seats which have been provided by officials station. They’re waiting  for the next arrival train to Bogor which will bring them to each of their destinations. Several of them are men and women who work at the nearest port in town.

Various appearances shown by the people. There are  young employees with dandy suit of clothes forming into a group chattering  each other right in front at the fourth platform, seem like the infatuation gushed from their fatigued faces. At platform number  twelve a few teenagers apparently come from a private high school occupying the seats cordially, a white-gray to colour their tousled uniforms just waiting  up for the train direction of Jakarta-Bogor to arrive. Among them a number of civil servants put the traditional fine dyed clothes on their bodies. As the UNESCO had officially announced that Indonesia traditional clothes as known as batik became one of  the World Heritages of  Culture on October last year, the region governments  obligates  all of them to wear Batik at least once in a week. The rest are fulfilled by ship’s cargo laborers who have to work ten hours in each day.

In  the vicinity of railroad platform, some officers with snappy top-to-bottom-outfits are pacing onto a path smoothly. Since the regulation had been made by the region government a few years ago that particularly managed the prohibition to every person drifting about to the wagons inside the train, offering  something for sale, guards were seen flaunted very often  in every corner station. As if they intended to show up their existences. Nevertheless, their existences apparently in vain because the offerors still easily to enter and market the variety of commercial goods in the wagon. Perhaps that could be the underlying reasons  why guards snapped at them contemptuously in many times. An irony is seen when the officers still let them back and forth to the wagons intentionally, it’s unclear whether their compassion or the offerer’s firm resistances.

Not quite long, a man’s voice echoed from the top corner of the railroad ceiling. The  information of Jakarta-Bogor train will have arrived in a few minutes. People who seemed  already impatient for some time, get ready for the train. Several of them put relieved expression on their faces. The train’s gliding  towards the people and eventually stop. The whole passengers from Bogor are stepping out from the train , jostling and shoving each other  amid the crowd while the next passengers with fully enthusiastic making an assault movement into  the wagons. Especially the ticket’s cost are affordable so people definitely could be able to buy  it. That’s   probably  why most people use train rather than any other transportations in this country.

All of the passengers fulfill the wagons at once. Hot atmosphere spontaneously mixes  up with untasteful scent that emerging from every of human bodies in it. It is the perfect time for disobedient marketers to do unruly-actions or properly  it  can say  like normal activities that usually happen every day. Variety of fruits such as  Oranges, Mangos and Guavas have been arranged into a scenic sight over a wooden push cart  wheeling onto the iron metal  deck of the wagon. Such a good effort to make people attracted so they will buy them.

Meanwhile from another side of the wagon come  out a man, with a high volume  of  voice trying to advertise  what he calls  an adhesive things which have been produced in Korea to every passenger he pass by. Expecting a sheet of five thousands will  come into his pocket and as he’s raising  its volume a little higher, an old man who  seems  do not  want to be defeated  lean  his body on rusty pole that is firmly implanted exact  between the passangers seat and entrance door. He’s grasping  his musical instrument originally designed by his own (an empty mineral bottle from plastic  with little  rice in it) when he starts  to shake it  a tremble voice  going  out from his throat and unclearly tone  threw from his mouth then for couple of minutes like a head  just been hit by a gavel, this consciousness abruptly realizes that he’s singing a familiar broken heart of  Dangdut song titled “I am Not a Beggar of  Love” with an extraordinary way. At the same time another miserable view is being captured on eyes when some  shabby children between five to seven years of age head to passangers by dragging bodies and lifting their right hand with the poorest artificial mimics on their face as much as they can do to make them feel compassionate. Unfortunately unexpected reaction emit from an old woman’s countenance when she’s raising her palm very gently  to one poor little boy, signaling another kind rejection.

Amid the whole paradox scene that has been visualized by the actors of live (well, I called  so) , appear  suddenly  a-middle-age woman and  next to her a  young little son  leading  her way. With her normal son’s shoulder as a grip ,  she’s  trying to market  tissues to every people  she approach. It’s sufficiently  clear  to  be  said  that the woman has no sight like  any normal person in there. She is Triatini, a-33-year old blind woman who works everyday as tissue hawker along the railway Kota train station.

In quantity,  there’s  a  lot of  people  without visions  spread out  around the stations and of course they might cannot  be counted enough by fingers if they were gathered together into one broad chamber.Though many of them scrap an advantage  by using their physical defects for earning money,  Triatini isn’t one of them. She prefer  doing something much more precious a kind of work to begging some money to any generous people.

Triatini has been always accompanied by her  little son Singgih (7) to sell the  tissues through over the wagons and will  stop hawking them around 8:00 in the evening right after the arrival of  Jakarta-Bekasi  express train is being  announced. And that occasion tri and her little son are  always been waiting for,  because they can get a lift by ascending the train to go home until Kemayoran station. In occasional time  they have to go on foot to their home because  some officers  do not  give them allowance to ride up the train free of charges. “I and Singgih sometimes go home by walking on foot because we do not have money to buy tickets, but there’s  also an officer generously give us a ride until Kemayoran station,” Triatini said.

Both mother and son are lucky on that day they’ve just got  permission from the officers to ascend the express train. Could feel the comfortable seat, the fresh of air conditioner emerged from ceiling top of the train (only express train has  AC  facility) , Didn’t have to make hard effort for breaking through a crowd and merged with some natty people became like special amusement for them at that moment. A little desolate inside, it looks only few people are sitting on the seats. Perhaps it’s because of the last departure train to Bekasi station.Tri and her little son take seats on the right corner next to the entrance door. The train engine’s roaring as the wheels starting  to roll over. While the train is  running a tragical story  that happened to Triatini a few years ago flowing  out from her mouth. “As Usual, I and Singgih are  passing slowly to  the crowd  to sell the tissues then a friend who a hawker  too gives me a sudden  push from behind until I am fell forward. It’s like a destiny to a person like me have  to get a treatment like that whereas we are on the same track, looking for money too”. Triatini said, stunned with exhausted feature on her face but afterward her face got back to  normal when she continued telling  about her three children; Singgih (7), Saddam (5) and Dilla (4). “The eldest one Singgih is still on the second grade of elementary school while Saddam and Dilla are not school yet. Though I only be able to earn Rp. 15.000-Rp. 20.000  in each day, but I always save my money for Singgih’s  fee education”, Triatini stated and  the train gliding constantly. After descending in  Kemayoran Station, they still  have  to walk to get  their home at Irian Village, Taruna  Jaya 1^st street  Number  18th,  Kemayoran,  in Central Jakarta. About two kilo meters away must be reached by them through the narrow curved and muddy path. Eventually end  up right in front of  a grimy little house that she’s  been being  leased  for three months  but in appropriate words  it’s  more like  “a  shack”  than  “a  house” . Especially when foot trying to step into inside. The whole partition  to  be wrapped  with  boards  which is dividing between her compartment to next door neighbor’s. Can be assumed  the extent covered only about 3×4 meters and it’s very clearly there was no space for bathroom so that Tri and her children do their cleaned up-activity outside the house.

A  big  size  unsheet  sleeping  pad  with fully blue color on its surface for which Tri and her children use  to sleep daily sprawled out on the floor. A clothes shelf made from vinyl was put on the right side in the corner of the room. In her house there was no electronic household goods to be exist  neither television nor radio. When eyes sweep the whole room, an attractive depiction of new ministers from the second United Indonesia Cabinet who has just been elected was unfurled exact the center of the wall and naturally it evokes a curiousity of feeling “Did she doit by her self or someone else did?”. From her story it is known that her eldest son Singgih who did it, “ I bought it for him so he can learn and get memorize them, he also once said to me that his dream is to became a minister oneday”, Tri added while she was groping a teapot and pouring the water into a green-plastic glass then apologized for not giving anything except water.

It’s not because of what people called “a trivial question” nor because she could not be able to see then she couldn’t do it. The question appearing is merely based on the writer’s awestruck feeling of what people say a lot ‘living in the middle of inadequacy it  means  that the only thing you can do is to  survive and ignore those daydreams’. A-seven-year old boy  has just broken up the phrase.

Since her husband who has name Abbas (49) (a man without vision too) died one year ago because of  Tuberculosis, Tri has been a single parent to her three little children. Have to play double roles as  parent  and struggle  up to raise her kids of course are not easy task  for her. Besides that she has to work from 1:00 pm in the afternoon until 8:00 pm in the evening hawking the tissues through over the wagons everyday. Tri sometimes accepts an offering from some people to give a massage twice in a week. “ Alhamdulillah (praise the Lord), I can obtain another  income  from it, but if one of my friends  requested me to give a massage, I would never  want to be paid.” She added.

The woman originates from central java also states that as an individual Muslim and God’s creature she will never forgets her obligation to do Islamic daily prayers as known as “Sholat”. In her thought, even if  she is  poor but she will not stop retaining on what her belief  has been taught that the upper hands are much better than the lowest hands. She also expects that people who had a physical defect particulary a blind one like her would not be discriminated nor to be underestimated because God doesn’t regard every mankind from what grade of social level he perchs, what color of skin he has, the shape of his body, jaw, and face and so on. That every human is equal, the only thing that makes different is only devotion to God.

Perhaps a little part of d’masive lyrics has been quoted  above can be reflected as her life principle. The persistence and patience in undergoing through the passage of her life may be a representative of every without-vision-person in this country. So therefore all the country leaders should  not  keep turning away and  pretending that they do not exist.(Nsri)