Jakarta, Indonesia

By Brandon Hoover

I awoke one morning to the realization that in the years I'd spent living in Jakarta, I had never stepped foot off the path of security and familiarity so common to expats in Indonesia. My Jakarta was a zone carefully constructed upon a foundation of Starbucks and fitness clubs. My goal for that Sunday was to burst through the womb of my comfort zone. The best way I know to discover a new place is through the protection of the lens, armed with a smile and a good pair of sandals.

I knew where I had to go: an area known as Kelapa Gading, in the north of Jakarta. Each day I passed by small community of Indonesians living in homes built on wooden planks over swampland. In the past, I had rarely given them so much as a glance.

From the moment I stepped onto the planks leading into their community, I knew I was entering a world unlike any I had seen before. For me to use the words 'utter poverty' would be meaningless and hollow, but nothing else fits the reality.

The planks led to a massive network of shacks constructed, ironically, out of the remnants taken from the many construction sites strewn throughout Jakarta. Tarps nailed to rotten wood provided a sort of roof; electrical wires dangled treacherously overhead. The entire community was raised two meters above the swamp.

Occasionally the wooden boards shifted under the weight of my feet, the creaking an obvious warning to Westerners raised on a diet of everything but rice. It was a constant reminder that we were, indeed, above swampland and I could easily fall through the planks at any time. This land was deemed useless to the mega-mall culture, but to its inhabitants it was home.

Foreigners tend to draw stares throughout Indonesia, but I don't think anything prepared this group for one to stroll through their community. Families were moving about in the same daily routines as the rest of the world; preparing breakfast, bathing, watching the news. But here breakfast was steaming plates of rice with tofu, bathing took place without shame or concern in the swampy river below, and the news came from the community's single television, around which people gathered to share the morning's gossip.

Some rowdy youths competed for the attention of my camera, calling me to take their picture. As I snapped off picture after picture of the boys, I saw a solitary child sitting in the doorway nearby. He let the smile slip from his face, and I stole the moment as gently as I could. Something about the peace he exuded drew my attention away from the other boys. It was as if he was living inside his own mind, without the need for outside interaction. He simply sat in the morning sunlight and observed the world around him.

In one small corner of the walkway, I found a little girl clutching a stuffed animal. She had a sense of maturity about her, and in some ways, a sadness as well. I could think of nothing else to do but ask if I could take her photo, to which she timidly obliged. Of the many shots I took, only one frame captured her eyes in the camera - and yet the fragility of it affects me intensely to this day.

Strolling through the community, I quickly acquired a team of followers - a dozen or so children screeching and laughing at the bule who had entered their world.Occasionally, an elder member would stop me and practice their long-lost English learned long ago in primary school. Although my blond hair and blue eyes stuck out like a full moon on a dark night, I never once felt as if I had intruded. I was, however, welcomed and viewed with a bit of fascination I suppose. Among the questions posed to me: Why would a foreigner actually choose to walk through their dilapidated homes? Why would someone find this place of interest? Wasn't I afraid to be here? These questions were exactly why I needed to be there.

While visiting this community of Javanese, something suddenly occurred to me; with the exception of the little girl, nearly every face that met my eyes had a smile imprinted upon it. Try to see that in "normal" society. These were not people to be pitied, or looked upon with sadness - they were just individuals, living their lives and making the best of the situation. All too often we assume those in need are desperate or unfortunate. Maybe they're just people on the other side of life - living and breathing, making the most of the time they have on this earth. Perhaps a tarp and a smile provide more peace than we'll ever understand.

Stepping back down the plank that marked the entrance to their community, I felt as if I were leaving the real world behind and stepping into one conceived by those of us on the outside of life. I have come to understand that Indonesia, despite its poverty, is the most warm and inviting culture I have ever experienced anywhere in the world. And having been enveloped by this warmth, I no longer feel the need to hide behind the lens while in their presence. I have broken through the zone of comfort defined by being an expat, into simply being another human among these amazing people.