Nidji Holics….. Celebrating Rolling Stone’s 6th Birthday…

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Oh.... I can't breathe......... 1 1/2 years of waiting for this moment.....

Nidji play at Rolling Stone in Kemang... Happy Birthday Rolling Stone!

Laaaasssskkkkkar Pelangiiiiiiiiiiii.... you have made my night!!!

Ganteng. Check. Can sing. Check. Brocolli hair. Check. Singing Laskar Pelangi. Check. SEMPURNA.

Actually can we wrap up this interview? Tash and Treen are waiting..... wkwkwkkwkw

B.E.S.T. E.V.E.R. N.I.G.H.T....... MANTABS!

What’s All That Noise?

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As I sit here at the computer, trying to win my battle with the nyamuk (mosquitoes) in my room (and losing), I can hear the sounds outside my house of life going on around me in Jakarta – the roosters are crowing (and they never stop), the roti (bread) man is driving around and around with the funny electronic jingle he has attached to his bike, the bakso (meat ball) man is beating his little bell, the nannies are playing games with the kids (or each other) and hysterically laughing on the street, the old lady is endlessly sweeping the garden – swish swish – someone is clearing their throat…oh and spitting…aah the gentle sounds of the street that let me know that there is all sorts of funny and confusing stuff going on around me.  I think for a moment about how gentle and quiet it is in Jakarta, even though millions of people are teeming around outside of this quiet street going about their daily business.

And then….hmm what’s that sound…it’s 6pm…it’s coming…crackle crackle..the old speaker is being turned up to maximum volume…themuezzin is ready…he clears his throat, puts his mouth directly on the microphone and chants “Allahu Akbar Ash-had al-la ilaha illa llah…” (I think).

And then I realize again how little I understand about this place; its beats and rhythms, its beliefs and motivations, its tinny yet extremely loud speakers blaring out religious reminders 5 times a day whether you want to hear it or not.  I have come from a world where we keep things inside; we keep our voices down and don’t talk about our religious belief (mostly because we don’t have any) and now I am living in a city where religion rules.

My pacar, who is Indonesian and Muslim, laughs at me when I complain about the sound of the mosque – he says to me “if you don’t like the sound of the mosque, then you shouldn’t live in Jakarta” and I grimace and say, “But I love Jakarta, I just don’t understand why it has to be so loud” and he laughs in his annoyingly santai way and says “you should buy some land and build your own country”.  I suggest buying a little CB radio for every person in the surrounding area so they can choose to turn it on if they want the reminder, but he doesn’t even grace that with a response.  After all, he is right, this is Jakarta, it’s Muslim, people like the call to prayer, in fact, many are so used to it that they barely hear it anymore.

When it starts at 4am I am instantly awake, throwing the bed covers this way and that, while he continues to snore blissfully unaware of the madness happening beside him.  I think of bule responses to the problem – could I buy the mosque a new speaker?  Give a lesson in putting your mouth a few centimeters away from the microphone to take the away the distortion?

Then I think, in a world gone wrong, now isn’t the time to be complaining about anything to do with Islam.  I don’t mean that Muslims are scarey, I mean, while the West is having champagne cocktails over the murder of Osama Bin Laden (and forgetting they can’t afford the champagne cause they spent all their money bombing countries and killing people trying to find him), while Obama is making heroic speeches about the sweetness of revenge, it’s a time when women wearing jilbabs and people with brownish skin living in Western countries are at a greater risk of being attacked, of swastikas coming back in vogue, where the losers are pretending to be winners… the football hooligans have been unleashed; brainless and ignorant of the fact that they have been made fools of and lied to.

And so the holy wars continue.   Bible vs Qur’an.  Me and the rooster.  Osama vs Obama. Me and the muezzin.  Rich vs poor.  Rich vs rich.  Poor vs Poor.  Ah give me a drink.

So maybe I will ease off my internal battle with the muezzin and try and enjoy the sounds of Islam.  Cause when I think about it, it sounds a lot better than the call to prayer of the West…”Tonight on CNN…Operation Geronimo…Enemy Killed…Hurrah!”

 

Rocking the Rokok… The last land of the smokers

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Last year the world was shocked and amazed by a video of a 3 or 4 year old Indonesian gendut boy smoking a cigarette while his parents sat beside him laughing.  While this held the people’s fascination for as long as a youtube video can, and instilled a new false stereotype in a world gone wrong about Indonesian parenting practices, what can’t be denied is that Indonesia may be the last bastion for smokers.

While the rest of the world’s smokers are banished outdoors, hovering together shamefully in the rain sucking down their fumes before they can re-enter their homes, bars, offices and malls and lighting up as soon as they get off the train, where they can no longer smoke in their cars and are at risk of strangers yelling at them to butt out, or looking at them like they just committed a murder most foul, Indonesia is a place where smokers rule.

Here there is no shame at all in smoking and you can light up on the bus, on your bike, in the cafes and malls.  Of course with the rest of the world quitting, there are times when you hear that Indonesia is attempting to ban smoking in public places, but then despair when those trying to make those changes go into the government offices and everyone is sitting inside them enjoying another cigarette.  It is one of those places where there are ‘no smoking’ signs everywhere, but beside the sign, is a group of men enjoying a cigarette.

Sometimes you go into a mall and are told that it is now a non-smoking venue, but the next time you go back, there are ashtrays on the table. I couldn’t imagine a poorly paid staff member at a Star Bucks in Grand Indonesia telling one of the grand dames of Jakarta with her Chanel bags spread out all around her, to put out her cigarette.

Here, you are not at risk of getting in trouble for smoking or for a person telling you that you are poisoning them.  In fact, it is very safe to enter any person’s house smoking a cigarette and ash on any plate you can find.  And you can throw your still lit butts out the window.  The idea of smoking being a health risk, or a dangerous practice, or the risks of second hand smoking or keeping children away from the poisonous smoke, has seemingly not yet entered into the subconscious of Indonesia.

In Indonesia, if you are a man, you should smoke.  If you are a middle class woman who wants to look sophisticated, you should smoke too. It’s not for poor women, but they will certainly light their husband’s and father’s cigarettes for them and sit uncomplaining while the smoke blows over them.

Cigarettes are cheap and the Indonesian ones contain cloves which crackle when they are lit and blow sparks so that your clothes are covered in little burn holes.  My friend thinks they put an extra dose of addiction in them cause when she came and light her first Sampoerna cigarette (which means perfect) she instantly feels the need to light another.  Whether this is true or not, will remain a mystery as the cigarette companies shake hands with the government and put up another billboard across the city and sponsor every concert, sporting event and family fair throughout the country.

So in Jakarta, where 20 million people squeeze into this heaving city which cracks and falls apart, where the air is thick with diesel fumes and pollution, where the majority of people are disempowered and poor, one of their only rights may be the right to smoke.  So suck it up non-smokers.  Come to Jakarta and enjoy another Sampoerna day.  No basa basi.