Jonedi’s life was formed by Minangkabau tradition, which stipulates that young men must leave their home-villages in their late teens. This coming-of-age ritual, called “merantau,” literally translates as “emigration” – but in practice it’s something more along the lines of “go out and make yourself useful.”
Jonedi left his home-village for the city of Bukittinggi 20 years ago, and he has yet to return. One of his siblings is a teacher, another is a baker, a third works for Hitachi; Jonedi himself is not interested in a conventional life. He spends much of his time practicing his English at a backpacker hangout called Bedudal Café. When I ask him what his job is, he shrugs. “I’m a rejected product,” he says. “A drifter.”
Aristotle and Freud are Jonedi’s favorite philosophers. He notes that it’s better to make money from ideas than from physical labor. He says he wouldn’t trust a journalist writing about Indonesia until they learned how to speak Bahasa and understand people directly. He says he’s fairly certain the world is controlled by The Illuminati.
The best TV shows, Jonedi says, are sci-fi programs like “The X-Files”; the worst are soap operas. “Soap operas brainwash you to be stupid,” he says. ” They don’t teach us to be real human beings; they turn people into dreamers.”
But aren’t you a dreamer, Jonedi? “I am a drifter,” he replies. “Not a dreamer.”
“Drifters are never rich,” Jonedi says. “No money, no honey; no honey, no horny.” He tells me an off-color joke about the difference between petting your cat and petting your cock. He tells me about the time he traveled to Thailand and got into trouble with a prostitute. “I didn’t realize it would be so difficult,” he says ruefully, “to tell the difference between a lady and a ladyboy.”
Jonedi enjoys playing games with language. He likes that the name “Donald Trump” sounds a little bit like “Donald Duck.” He asks me the difference between a “hick” and a “country bumpkin,” and concludes that he is a little bit of both. When I ask him what he sees in his future, he shrugs. “Let it be,” he tells me. “Let be it be.”
Note: “Dispatches” are short vignettes, profiles, and mini-essays written and posted from the road, often in tandem with my Instagram account. For more full-formed writing, check out my book Marco Polo Didn’t Go There, or the Essays or Stories archives on this site. I don’t host a “comments” section, but I’m happy to hear your thoughts via my Contact page.
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