Sumatra Tsunami Cafe (Episode 2). Oh, Batak Land!

I hadn’t even laid foot on Sumatra’s land but the island was already welcoming me with her songs and her beautiful untamed people. I wonder why I think of her night and day.

The best car in the world

I traveled the 25 kilometers from Belawan harbor to downtown Medan in a bus, sandwiched between backpackers packed to their teeth and old women packing no teeth. The car was as much a ruin as it was actually a technological wonder.

– What model is this? I asked the driver.
– Isuzu.
– From this point on, Isuzu is the best car in the world.

The metal body had became rusty, the rust had oxidized and the corrosion were continuing to rust. The mileage meter had long reached its max and started over, and over, and over, and over… But the car’s components were somehow miraculously holding together and it left me in front of the hotel just half an hour later.

And right then I noticed a familiar face. On the sidewalk waiting for customers sat Antony the becak (that’s what cycle rickshaws are called in Indonesia) driver that had taken me to Berastagi last year.

– Antony!
– Oh! My friend from… Romania? You back!

Indonesians don’t say “Romeinia” or “Rumania”, but “Romania”.

– How long will you be here?
– A month. But I’ll only be in Medan for one night.
– I hope you don’t want me to take you by becak to Berastagi. I’m not doing that crazy thing again.
– No, don’t you worry. I’ll get a rental. But I want you to take me to karaoke tonight. Somewhere where they play batak music.
– OK, boss. What time?
– At 8.

Facing 600.000 Chinese people on my own

Three hours later I got on the becak and Antony drove me to Matahari Mall, the shopping and entertainment paradise of a poor overcrowded city. The karaoke halls were situated on the building’s upper story.

– I sorry mister we no have no free room.

The receptionist lady was apologizing using ludicrously bad English.

– Not even for later?
– Not later. Today is big Buddhist celebration. All Chinese go out.

First assumption: Medan has two million inhabitants a third of which are Chinese.

Second assumption: When they want to have fun, Indonesian Chinese people choose the karaoke halls.

Inference: I had picked the worst possible day of the year to go to karaoke.

– Boss, I know about another karaoke place, somewhere on the outskirts of the city. It opened recently and maybe you can find a free hall there.
– You can take me on the outskirts of the universe as we know it. Tonight I want to sing batak songs. Mari jalan. Let’s go!

The place outside Medan was a sort of a block of flats eight stories high dedicated exclusively to karaoke. Each room in the building had two couches, a table, a TV set and two large speakers. After a few pleas and a 20 minute waiting period, they gave me the key for room 126.

– When you are finished here, boss, give me a call and I’ll come pick you up.
– Wait a minute, Antony. You’re batak, right?
– Yes. I am Karo Batak, born near Kabanjahe.
– Well, if you are batak, then you love music and you must have a beautiful voice.
– Of course I love music. But I haven’t sung in a while. I don’t have much time for singing.
– How about you sing tonight? Come with me. Let’s sing together.
– Wow, boss… Me, going to karaoke? But I’m not even properly dressed. I didn’t even shave. How are they going to let me in there?
– Antony, I’ve not shaved either and, besides, look at me – I’m wearing old cargo shorts. If they’ll let me in they must let you too.
– But boss, you’re bule (that means I’m white, western, European).
– And you are bule’s friend.

Antony’s tear-drop

The first song we sang was “Sigulempong” – a sweet cheerful melody that could easily be included in any music chart in the world. Antony really had an ear for music and a wonderful voice. May I remind you that Antony is a becak driver – that’s the poor people’s taxi-cab. I was blown away by his talent and he couldn’t stop wondering at how many lyrics I knew by heart. We went on with our choiring and sang “Didia rokkapi”, “Sai anju ma ahu” (God, what a beautiful song!), “Mekkel Nama Au” and “O pio”. When we got to “O tano Batak”, I saw tear-drop rolling down Antony’s face.

– Boss, these songs made me long for my mother and father. And for my village. I haven’t been there since my parents’ funeral.
– Why don’t you go back?
– What have I got there? I had some land, but I foolishly sold it to some Chinese fellows. I practically gave it away. I wanted to move to the city and make money.
– And are you making money?
– The hell I am! I can barely manage my household with a wife and three children. If I don’t go to work one day we all starve. I can’t even allow myself to be ill. I have to be on the street every single day.
– Would you had never sold that land..
– I wish I had never sold it… But it’s too late for that now.

Antony picked up the microphone and started singing. He hadn’t wiped off his tear-drop.

„O tano Batak
Haholonganku
Sai namasihol
Do au tu ho
Ndang olo modom
Ndang nok matangku
Sai namalungan do au
Sai naeng tu ho.”

“O Batak land,
The land that I love
I always feel
I am missing you
You know I can’t sleep,
I can’t close my eyes
I just always desire
to come to you”

English translation by Andreea Sminchise.

For more photos, please see the Romanian version of the article.

(to be continued)