Editor’s Note:
This article reflects the author’s personal observations and opinions at the time it was written. References to gender roles, social class, and expatriate marriages should be understood within that historical context. While some perspectives may feel dated today, the article offers an interesting snapshot of social attitudes in Indonesia during that period.
A familiar scenario: despite the well-known myth that Indonesian women who marry—often older—expatriates are motivated purely by money, my own informal observations have often suggested something quite different. Most local women are remarkably adaptable. Whether life brings comfort or hardship, many display an impressive ability to adjust. While my completely unofficial “research” has been certified by nobody except myself, I still find the results interesting. They may even challenge some long-held assumptions about one of Indonesia’s greatest resources—its women.
The young female caddy had no idea what lay ahead when she fell in love with, and eventually married, an Australian army officer she met at a local golf course. Perhaps her feelings were helped along by the generous tips she received from the hairy blond foreigner. On one particularly hot afternoon at the ninth hole, he even shared his ice-cold bottle of Coke with her—through the same straw, no less. So perhaps money and the allure of a foreigner played some small part. But could she possibly have imagined that she would later spend long days doing household chores in a country where almost nobody, including her husband, spoke her language?
As Charles Spurgeon once said, “It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness.”
To complete her bachelor’s degree at a state university in Yogyakarta, Hannah had to undertake a compulsory month-long field placement. She was assigned to a dry, isolated village where the cracked earth seemed a world away from the cultured elegance of Yogyakarta’s royal palace, despite being less than an hour’s drive away. The placement was intended to test whether students could apply their academic knowledge in the real world.
Unlike Hannah, who came from a wealthy family, many of her classmates had spent their lives preparing for exactly these conditions. For many students from less fortunate backgrounds, admission to a state university represented their family’s best hope of escaping poverty. Some parents had sold their only livestock to pay tuition; others relied on scholarships funded by overseas donors. At the time, annual tuition at a state university cost less than US$200. For these students, the field placement was almost a return home.
Hannah’s experience was entirely different.
Accustomed to driving her BMW the short distance between home and campus, she packed for the trip accordingly. Several bottles of Australia’s finest red wine, goose-feather pillows and comforter, and even a bowl of gardenia-scented potpourri found their way into her luggage.
Yet after only a week living in the village chief’s weathered house, Hannah adapted surprisingly well. Although she suspected she had been assigned to one of the less remote villages out of respect—or perhaps fear—of her influential father, she never once called her driver to rescue her with a trip to the nearest executive club. She rose before dawn each morning to walk almost a kilometre to the nearest well for an open-air mandi (bath), timing the journey carefully so she could return before the heat made her sweat again. She even became accustomed to checking her bed and shoes each evening for scorpions seeking shelter. When she discovered bits of cork floating in her wine after opening the bottle with a Swiss Army knife, she simply shrugged and carried on.
What enables Hannah—and many other Indonesian women I have known—to adjust so readily to dramatic changes in their surroundings?
Perhaps it comes from hearing endless stories from their parents about building a successful life from nothing. Or perhaps it is because poverty and privilege coexist so closely in Indonesia. Behind many of Jakarta’s gleaming skyscrapers are informal settlements constructed from salvaged wood and corrugated iron. The village where Hannah stayed—only about half an hour from modern city life—did not even have a proper toilet.
When Hannah suggested installing one, the village chief proudly placed the new squat toilet on the ground… but neglected to build either a septic tank or drainage system. The concept simply didn’t translate.
Poverty does not exist in some distant place in Indonesia. It is woven into everyday life. For many Indonesians, regardless of their background, it remains visible—sometimes just beyond the edge of their own neighbourhoods.
My conclusion is probably more complicated than this simple story suggests. Yet I remain unconvinced by the stereotype that Indonesian women are merely materialistic. Many possess an extraordinary ability to adapt. They may occasionally become OKB (Orang Kaya Baru—the local expression for the “newly rich”), enjoying the luxuries that success brings. But they are also capable of adjusting with remarkable resilience when circumstances change.
