I met these guys by accident, when a sudden rainstorm caught us all out in the open. I was walking back to my motorbike from a backcountry waterfall; they’d been tapping rubber trees in a rural grove near Sumatra’s Harau Valley. Siar motioned for me to join them as they jogged to a shelter on the far side of the grove.
There was something archetypal about Siar and Mal, and I’ve met a version of them in nearly every country I’ve visited, including the United States. Siar, clearly enamored of the world and the people in it, was thrilled by the opportunity to hang out with a stranger from a faraway place. Mal was cordial enough, but took little interest in me as an outsider; he mainly just wanted to get back to work.
It took Siar a couple of minutes to exhaust his English phrases (he is 25 years old, unmarried, and grew up in a village not far from where we were sitting). As has become habit in these situations, I took out my Indonesian phrasebook and tried to draw the conversation out.
If there’s a key shortcoming to phrasebooks, it’s that they aren’t really organized for idle conversation; rather, they tend to favor practical concerns specific to places like hotels and restaurants and bus stations. They do contain a few chit-chat phrases, but finding relevant questions and deciphering answers can be slow going.
So it was that my conversation with Siar revolved around a single question: “What is your job?” I had meant to find out the local word for “rubber-tapper,” but Siar said “swasta” – which means “self-employed.” Harvesting rubber? I pantomimed? No, he said, and pantomimed a desk-bound writing posture.
I never did find out if Siar’s mystery occupation was actual or (since he was out tapping rubber on a weekday) aspirational. When the rainstorm let up Mal gave an impatient grunt, and Siar halfheartedly followed him back to the tree grove.
Perhaps, when he is not harvesting rubber, Siar is an accountant, or a calligrapher. I’d like to think he’s a poet, going home each night to write verses about the size of the world, and the people you might meet if you venture even a short distance from home.
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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