Monthly Archives: December 2013

MY SICK OBSESSION WITH A DUDE(S) CALLED “OJEK”

Gagabike

I have a confession to make and I want to share it with the whole world. It’s been my dirty little secret for a while but the fact that it affects everyone around me, particularly those dear to me, compels me to expose it. It’s a revelation so epic that I can’t spit it out despite the massive urge to do so. I’m struggling to open up so I’ll start with the scariest part of it: my secret is an addiction. It’s an addiction to an activity in which I have been partaking on a daily basis.

I’m cringing because the act itself is deviant, selfish, unhealthy and degrading. But I do it and I can’t stop doing it. What’s even sicker is that I’ve made doing it a part of my daily routine. I do it in the mornings, I do it in the evenings, and on most days I do it at lunch time as well. When I’m not doing it, I’m surrounded by it. And when I’m surrounded by it, I can’t resist getting amongst it.When I can do it, everything feels complete. When I can’t do it, I’m crippled.

Before addressing what it is, let’s look at how I became addicted to it. I was lured into the habit a few months ago when my girlfriend blurted out over lunch one day that she had tried “it”. She engaged in the act that very morning. “Was it uncomfortable?” I asked her. “Did it hurt?”
“No,” she replied with a chuckle and a cheeky grin, “not at all. In fact, at the pace he was going and the way he jerked in twists and turns…I kind of liked it.” I was shocked. I thought it was a thing that conservative white chicks just didn’t do. She continued “He got me there really fast. I’m going to do it every morning from now on.” How she described her first encounter, the excitement and spontaneity of it all lured me in. I couldn’t resist asking her “where did you find him?”
Her answer changed my life forever “I just picked him up off the street, and suddenly he was right between my legs.”

That night I walked out of my office onto the street and solicited the first guy I saw. He had a shiny black motor-scooter and promised to take me anywhere I desired: dirty, fast and dangerous. He didn’t have a name, I just called him “Ojek”. He got me there fast, and I’ve been addicted to catching “ojeks” ever since.

An ojek is a motorcycle taxi. But despite the name, they’re far from the formalities of a taxi. Ojeks are basically dudes on motorbikes and boys on scooters who hang around the streets all day long, armed with a spare helmet and a guarantee to get you to your destination fast for a small fee. It’s a motor scooter with a driver (whose ages range from 16 to 60 years old), and the two of them sit on street corners 24/7 waiting for passengers. A few thousand Rupiah are exchanged for a five-minute ride on the back of a motorbike that would take almost an hour in a car. They’re a cheap, fast, and dependable mode of transport for fighting against the Jakarta traffic beast. And they’re highly addictive due to their convenience and friendly drivers.

Passengers are in abundance as the general population of Jakarta who either don’t have a car or don’t have the time to sit in the traffic driving one. And like Bonny and Clyde, the two parties work together hand-in-hand against the constant Jakarta gridlock. While Jakarta traffic gives you high blood pressure and a crippling migraine, an ojek gives you freedom.

massigeojek

Ojeks have a unique and deviant charm to the Western visitor to Jakarta because they are something that we haven’t yet incorporated into our own expensive, unreliable, and barely utilized public transport systems back home. Pedantic nanny-statists would deem them vermin of the roads. They scurry all over the bitumen, weaving between cars like slimy lizards in a cess pool of traffic, pollution, and bad tempered drivers. We don’t have them in Australia and we never will because they’re the vehicles of an informal economy and the liabilities are too high.

Ojeks are cheap, fast and extremely dangerous for the newly landed expat in Jakarta. And they’re controversial because riding on the back of a hungry street peddler bargained down to the last cent for the sake of making it to “Happy Hour” on time is indulgent, exploitive, and perpetuates a social divide that is shocking enough already. But these loud two-wheeled gasoline guzzlers are more than just noisy rats of traffic – they’re a valuable component of what keeps this city functioning. Ojeks are a necessity to the working class and a vital component of the informal economy that generates jobs, income and transports the population to places of work to do a job that’s bringing Indonesia out of the depths of poverty into the world market.

ojek

The ojek is one of the best ways to move around the city and we would be stranded without them. And despite the dirty image and rebel façade, they are an integral part of the Jakarta rat-race. Ojek’s are my backbone in this city riddled with bad infrastructure, savage traffic and heavy deadlines.

So the secret is out. What would my parents say to their little girl “ridin’ dirty”? Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I couldn’t resist the luxury of being swept away by a man with two wheels. It’s an addiction that I can’t beat so I’m going to pass the gospel onto you. My most valuable pearl of wisdom? Well, the next time you think you’re being sexually harassed by a bum on the street, look out for a sign that says “OJEK”, spread those legs, straddle up and enjoy a ride that’s fast, dirty, dangerous and supporting the underbelly of Jakarta.

SHE’S BACK!

smokelipsHello filthy indulgence. Greetings, you delectable little vice.

It has been a while, comforting temptress.

Where did you go, and why did you take so long to return? I longed for you, I missed you, but I could not find you. One night we were on fire, the next day you were gone. Were you lost in the abyss of crowds, crawlers and clawers? Did you get sucked into the Jakarta underworld? Was it a violent struggle to stay above ground only to be overcome by the force of the guns, gangs and ganja? Or did you simply take an innocent step forward and end up knee-deep in a sewage canal as the epitome of what we all fear the most?

I do not know where you were but you return bruised, beaten and burnt. You are talking to me but you are struggling to speak. The words come out but they are a battle to conjure. The force that clamped your tongue must have been as strong as a hungry beast. Crimson, black and blue are all I see but I know you have more to tell. What did she do to you when you were so far away?

I know Princess Jakarta; relentless, crippling, brutal. She has dug her fiercely manicured claws into your flesh and now she is written all over your body. Her mark is a masterpiece. She has carved an intricate maze of enticing emotions into your soft skin. Her imprint is calculated, complex, and meticulously etched into your flesh.

Now you’re a wreck but you’re oozing tales to tell. I look at you and your scars are deliciously raw and tempting. I want to pick at your wounds and unravel your stitches. Your sores gape open, raw and inviting like the pages of an alluring novel. You’re bleeding stories.

I want to read your tales, I want to feel them. I want them scattered before my eyes in pieces as fragile as your tears. I will let you gush your fears, cry your pain, and spit out your confessions.  And I know you won’t scare your anybody because you already you fear yourself enough.

In short – Princess Jakarta has had her porcelain hand tightly wrapped around the innocent and fragile flesh of this superfluous dribbler, holding a graceful palm over the mouth of creativity and keeping itchy fingers firmly locked between two cuffs of steel. But like most locks in Jakarta, this vice was easy to pick, and now the claws are out.  This babbling mess is back – ready to blog, beg, banter and blow.