Editor’s Note:
This article was first published in Kem Chicks Magazine and reflects one author’s humorous observations of expatriate life in Jakarta during the late 1990s and early 2000s. During that period, Indonesia had a much larger population of traditional expatriate workers, particularly in industries such as oil and gas, and expectations of foreign professionals were often very different from today. The opinions expressed are those of the author and should be read as a personal, satirical commentary rather than a reflection of expatriates as a whole. We have preserved the article largely in its original form as a snapshot of expatriate life during that era.
I am constantly annoyed by some locals who seem to lack a bit of grey matter in their heads in this multicultural city. For example, having someone jump in front of me after I’ve queued for half an hour, or puff his kretek smoke directly into my face in a public place. The last thing I need is similar annoyance created by white-skinned, but not necessarily better-mannered, newcomers to Jakarta. As if this country needs to import more salt into the ocean of ignorance.
For many Indonesians at the time, foreign professionals were often viewed as highly educated specialists who had been brought to Indonesia because of their expertise. As a result, there was sometimes an assumption that expatriates would naturally display impeccable manners, professionalism and courtesy. My own experiences, however, suggested otherwise.
Let’s cruise around and meet some of these sophisticated fellows.
One day I went to a shopping mall with my mini-mes in tow, as usual. We stood opposite an elevator, waiting for the doors to open. When they did, about a dozen people were inside; ten of them rushed out. The exiting crowd didn’t forget the obligatory act of almost knocking my toddlers and me over, even though we were already standing to the side and well out of their way.
The two remaining passengers inside the elevator were expatriate men.
I waited until the kretek-flavoured stampede was over. With both hands occupied holding onto my children, I carefully helped them into the elevator one at a time. I couldn’t press the “Open” button because my hands were full. One child made it inside and suddenly the doors began to close. I had to perform a karate move, slamming one door with my wrist to stop it from shutting.
During the entire incident, do you know what those two white men were doing?
One simply stared at me, apparently amused, while the other pretended to check his mobile phone. Neither lifted a finger to help. Perhaps their fingers were suffering from overuse.
Had they been Indonesians, I would have shouted, “Mas, tolong bantu dong!” (“Please help!”)
But, being a naïve woman who had watched too many Hollywood movies, I actually expected these gentlemen to assist without being asked.
Aren’t Western men, aside from supposedly being more resourceful, also famous for courtesy and gallantry?
After all, I had learnt many polite habits from Western culture: how to queue, how to say “thank you” and “excuse me,” and even how to properly lick the salt and squeeze the lime before drinking a shot of tequila.
I remembered the old movie heroes declaring, “I’m at your service, Ma’am,” or “Allow me to lay my jacket over the puddle so your shoes don’t get wet.”
What happened to those men? Did they all become extinct?
At home I grumbled on and on about the incident.
“I can’t believe how many kampung foreigners are actually out here in Jakarta!” I complained to my husband. “What are they? Some ignorant redneck imports from sleazy ghettos or from a McDonald’s farm somewhere? They don’t even practise common courtesy!”
Mind you, the incident at the mall was not my first encounter with a kampung foreigner.
A couple of years earlier, I was relaxing in the lobby of a three-star hotel in Jakarta with someone I’d just met. Mac was his name, an oil rig worker from Texas.
Literally, this is what he said that night in a heavy Southern accent:
“How are you doing, Ma’am? I am so relieved after I moved from that glittery five-star hotel downtown to this place. I couldn’t stand all the stuck-up people there. I swear they expected me to dress up like some prancing queen just to look like I belonged. Every time I came back from a site visit off Jakarta’s coast, covered in sweat and wearing jeans, I felt like I had to put on a suit before walking through the lobby just to get the bellboys’ approval.”
He stopped for a moment and rotated his shoulder, complaining about stiffness from the boat trip. Grinning, he proudly demonstrated how the bone in his shoulder visibly shifted from an old drilling accident, much to the fascination of everyone sitting in the hotel lobby.
Then he casually asked,
“By the way… does the hot water from the tap in your room also come out only warm? It wasn’t even hot enough to make my coffee this morning.”
That completely blew me away.
It was the final piece of evidence I needed to convince myself that foreigners are really not all that different from Indonesians.
Some are intelligent.
Some are sophisticated.
Some are polished.
And some are simply Dumb and Dumber in disguise.
Perhaps the biggest lesson of all is that good manners, common sense and courtesy have very little to do with nationality.
Notes
Kampung literally means “village” or “neighbourhood.” In Indonesian conversation it is also commonly used to describe someone as unsophisticated or lacking social etiquette (kampungan). In this article, the author uses the expression “kampung foreigner” humorously to describe expatriates whose behaviour she considered impolite or boorish.
By Ida Greenbury
First published in Kem Chicks Magazine.
