AWanderingSoul

“Selamat pagi,” the old man chirps from his roadside stall.
“Blanket for you?”

“Selamat pagi. Not today, terima kasih”

“Maybe tomorrow?” he asks with a hopeful toothless grin.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Each day, as I made my way to the dive shack on Gili Trawangan, just as I finished sucking the last dribs of sugary grease off my fingers from deep fried bananas, the old man would launch into our repertoire. His warm face was carved with lines that must have stories of their own. His smile was tender. His soul beamed. And each day as I passed, I grew fonder of the old man.

My tomorrow finally came. When I reached the old man’s hut, as if he was expecting me, he wagged his hand motioning me to enter. I ducked under the thatched roof where the sweet smell of his clove cigarette lingered. Our daily conversation began. When finally I gave a “yes,” blankets were uprooted, unfolded and flapped for display. The pageantry of colours and patterns made me dizzy with delight.

I pointed to an inky blue blanket, “How much?”

The old man swooped down to get his calculator, punching in the six digits—250,000. I looked at the number and then at him. His words confirmed, but his sideways head dip indicated he was open to haggling.

I had stashed 150,000 rupiah for a blanket. Rather than play the bartering game, I took my chance by laying out every crumpled bill that bloated my little change purse.

It was now empty. I showed it to the old man adding a commonly-tossed-about phrase in Indonesia for emphasis, “I’m bankrupt now.” The old man’s face crinkled with a smile. Bankrroopt, he repeated. I turned my pockets inside out to prove my status and echoed his words—yes, bankrroopt! The old man hummed with amusement.

He handed me my empty change purse, giving a lackadaisical shrug, “Bankrroopt here, no problem. Friends, family help.”

“Bankrroopt in heart, big problem!

He then stretched his crooked nicotine-stained finger to land on my chest, tapping it with the rhythm of his words, “You no bankrroopt here! Stay no bankrroopt. Promise—stay no bankrroopt.”

I nodded, “I promise, no bankrroopt.”

As I dipped out of the old man’s hut I realized I had left with much more than a souvenir—it was a lesson to be cherished and a promise to be upheld.