Javanese adventure

NOV 7 ― To survive among Indonesians, you must understand the social structure of its people. All that talk about human rights, anti-corruption, women’s empowerment, democracy, itu semua wayang, sayang.

Indonesia is not dissimilar to other Asian countries when it comes to power and status. But you must remember, they were once ruled by the Dutch, and say what you will of our colonisers, the Dutch were crueller than the English.

Add warring warlords and royals, the distrust the tribes have for each other, and yes the poverty. Poverty. Don’t ever think for once that poverty is equivalent to godliness. It can be the sole driving force for an Indonesian in his pursuit for a better life. They live by their wits, and they die by them too.

As an Indonesian-Malaysian friend counselled me over a four-hour dinner (“I have no illusions about my people and heritage. Every time I go back, I’m looking over my shoulder all the time.”), who you are matters.

Imagine a Venn diagram. Is the family renowned in the country or community? If so, in and among which communities is the family influential? Who is the patriarch and matriarch that can be depended on? Now, how are their relations with the local governing bodies, or at least society? Even the humble beca man may exert some form of influence if he comes from the “right side” of the family, my friend said.

Your family friend is a Senator? She sniffed. Now, which side of the family is he from and is he a Batavian? Madurese or Javanese? Each tribe has its own social structure and language.

What’s the use of being powerful if in a certain community, nobody knows you from diddly squat? And so what if you’re corrupt or you’re known to have raped a few women along the way ― the Indonesians respect power.

I blinked. Many times.

“When I go back to Bandung, Jakarta, mbak,” my friend told me, “I go with my family, straight to where we need or want to go, and socialise with the family members who can be trusted and wield some power within the family.

“The rest either want to fleece my family, or will not help. Imagine, my own brother was in trouble when he studied here and our father had to fly over with the patriarch! The rest didn’t do anything. My brother was not important enough for them.”

She shuddered. “Shopping is cheap though.”

I mentioned that Jogja is a city of travellers. Many of its original inhabitants and descendants have moved on to Jakarta or elsewhere, to eke a living. True blue Jogjans are not as many as the outsiders who have come to make the city home.

“It is no longer the centre of the Javanese,” a friend’s driver said. He too left Jogja many years ago, and when he visits, he is disheartened. The new Javanese have adopted the ways of the outsiders who have settled in the city.

You see, he told me, as we crawled through the Jakarta traffic, once upon a time, Java was a Hindu empire. It had always been very spiritual. The arrival of Islam only served to create an even more spiritual city.

The marriage of tradition and faith gave birth to a lively syncretic practise. Sunan Kalijaga, one of the famed Muslim saints of Java, used the arts and culture to spread the teachings of Islam. Sheikh Siti Jenar, the much maligned Sufi saint of Java too, was an influential and colourful character, whose influence spread right up to Melaka.

“And now, we have outsiders who come with habits and traditions that are alien to our culture. People no longer pray to God, for the sole sake of honouring Him. It’s all about their needs and desires. I want this, I want that. I agree it is good for outsiders to get to know our ways, but sacred sites and places of worship must remain off-limits. Now we have tourists!”

Spiritual tourism.

Jogja now offers the curious and spiritual traveller a chance at divinity: spiritual tours around the many candis in the city and outskirts educate the tourist about its religious heritage. Prambanan temple is the largest Hindu temple in the country, and throngs visit it. Its more famed sister is the Borobudur temple in Magelang, though there are many sacred Hindu, Javanese and Muslim sites in Java.

And this was how I met with Patrick Vanhoebrouck of Javanese Wisdom and Healing. I had about given up trying to find leads on the famed Songo saints ― Wali Songo ― when I came across his advertisement in Jogja Ad, a local version of our TimeOut, and found his page on Facebook.

Patrick, a handsome anthropologist who has spent years in Java, is passionate about his work. Setting up the company was just one step towards his love: the Javanese religion. He’s also a walking encyclopaedia of Java, and generous with knowledge. In the weeks I was in Jogja, he emailed me link after link, essay after essay and loaned me a book on the Javanese religion.

It was a pity we could not meet up as often; I had to visit sites relevant to my Holy Men study, and he had his hands full with spiritual tourists and shamans who had come to Java to visit, detox and be ignited by the energies of sacred candis.

“There are French shamans?” I was gobsmacked. As far as I was concerned, the French were immaculately dressed, intellectual sophisticates a la Bernard-Henri Levy and toted Chanels. The nearest French shaman I could think of were witches and wizards.

“Yes,” he said.

But even he, and Pak Moko, Patrick’s guru and friend, a powerful dukun, were perplexed. The energies in Jogja and the rest of Java have changed over the last six months. Divorces, fights, disagreements, unhappiness ― Java needs a major cleansing.

Pak Moko looked up from his coffee. “Iya, mbak. Java… is rather strange these days.”