I was starting to feel pretty confident here in Indonesia. For example, I only get lost once per day now instead of two or three. Things were looking up. Things were looking way up actually, until I found myself faced with… THE LAW.Yes, despite everyone’s dire warnings to the contrary, I broke an Indonesian law. Well, OK, I actually broke two. Go big or stay home my dad used to day.
The two VERY serious laws that I broke were as follows: I was driving a motorcycle with an expired STNK (registration) which I knew, as I had just picked it up from an outgoing volunteer the day before, and I was going to renew it, I swear. I also did not have my driver’s license on me, which, really, is just stupid.
The police conduct random ‘paperwork’ checks all the time here and they choose on any given day whether they are targeting motorcycles or cars. It was my lucky day. Every single motorcycle is directed off the side of the road, in “RIDE program” fashion, and is asked to produce an STNK and license. Then they are happily on their way. That is, unless they have perpetrated one or both of the above infractions, in which case they are directed to a long, dreary table set up nearby (which is manned by no fewer than 24 police officers, some sitting, some standing, all looking very official and intimidating) to receive their punishment.
Now given the horror stories I had heard – Indonesia is a country that ranks very high on the global corruption list, and it isn’t high on the list because it’s squeaky clean if you catch my drift – I expected a) to be thrown immediately in jail or b) because I’m a foreigner, to be the victim of extortion in the form of ‘just pay us 500,000 rupiah and this will all go away.’
Unfortunately, in the same daily struggle I always find myself, none of the policemen spoke English and ironically enough, I didn’t learn “weasel your way out of a ticket” vocabulary in language training. Luckily my colleague Ismail was with me to help with translation. Things were going along fine; they asked me my name, and to spell it. There didn’t seem to be any corruption happening as I saw an actual ticket being written (in duplicate no less) and they were checking off the appropriate boxes for ‘no license’ and ‘expired STNK’ and that was when it all hit the wall.
The next question for me was simply, “Address?” And here’s the thing about that – I have NO IDEA what my address is! I know where I live and how to get there, but I don’t know what the street is called or the number, or anything for that matter! The police were disbelieving, even downright skeptical (unusual for an Indonesian), and I feared things were about to take a turn for the worse, but luckily Ismail stepped in and just gave them the address for my work, which seemed satisfactory.
It turns out this was a blessing as the police now felt sorry for the poor foreigner who needs a deaf person to translate for him. I began to feel like Kramer on that episode of Seinfeld when he sings with Mel Tormé. They asked me where I’m from and were excited to hear, “Canada” (their impressed but glazed over looks told me they were calculating in their heads, as all Indonesians do: Canada – that’s in Europe right? And yet somehow Barack Obama is their president right? Strange little country, Canada – a mystery to all of us). Then, believe it or not, they began apologizing profusely for giving me a ticket. Several of them put their hands over their hearts and said “maaf” or “sorry” with the same level of sincerity that I would use to say “I love pizza” which, for anyone who doesn’t know me, is possibly the highest level of sincerity I can muster.
I was instructed to go to the police station immediately to pay my fine, but, emboldened by their sympathy, I told them, and I quote, “I can’t right now as I’m on the way to the train station, and making a detour will delay me to the point where I will miss the train, which is obviously unacceptable.” Now it was their turn to smile and nod, having no idea what I was talking about! HA – the tables had turned. Ismail, alarmed that I would blow the whole thing, just took the ticket, urged me away, and told me not to worry, that he would take care of it.
All 24 police officers, in unison, waved me off happily, “bye-bye Mister! Sorry, Maaf! Bye-Bye!” Off I went to the train station, wondering how this was all going to play out.
Turns out it’s a new record for VSO Indonesia – being stopped by the police and breaking not one but two laws, on the first day with a new motorbike. Everyone was amused, to say the least. News spread like wildfire; I started receiving random text messages, “been busted lately?” and so forth.
Oh and in case you’re wondering, the next day, I did go and perform my civic duty. I went to the police station and, with my head held high, paid the price for my brush with the law. The fine was 40,000 rupiah, about 4 bucks Canadian. Ouch. I now keep my license with me at all times.
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