An insider's look on a typical day in Jakarta

As a country that has the world’s largest Muslim population, Indonesian government give us a week of joint-holiday near the end of Ramadan. A holiday where we leave the City of Hope and take the annual Eid-al-Fitr exodus back to our home town. Most Jakartans are migrants coming from small towns or villages to make a better living. Some manage to build a billion rupiahs mansion in the prestigious ”Beverly Hills” neighborhood of Pondok Indah, while many others can only seek refuge in a makeshift shelter under the bridge of Grogol overpass, along the railway of Senen, or Ciliwung river bank.

I stand on a side road with thirst scratching inside my throat from fasting and patiently wait for the bus. I have a film screening to catch. There is a street hawker, carrying a recycled cardboard selling packs of tissues, cigarettes, candies, and bottled water. I am slightly tempted to relieve my dry mouth, but my spiritual inner voice brushes the impulse off as I hear a shout, “Tanah Abang.. Tanah Abang..” A “kenek” (bus conductor) yells out the bus’ destination. The rusty yellow Kopaja 102 shrieks as it approaches me. I scramble onto the bus. I take the backseat, near the “kenek” where he nonchalantly hanging by the door, helps passengers getting onto the bus. He turns to me, jiggles his noisy handful of coins, and collects the fare.

A lot of the empty seats fills with Jakartans: A woman cautiously holding her bag to her chest, a young man sunk into the world of his earphones, an urban worker who I’d like to give a pat on his back for working on a holiday, and a gentleman with a cigarette, his smoke rasping in my lungs.

The deserted roads of Jakarta give our bus driver a chance to go berserk and speed up madly. I hold tight onto a seat in front of me as the bus races in full throttle. I am officially in Fast & Furious 13 : Jakarta Drift. Too bad our driver isn’t looking even a little like Vin Diesel or Paul Walker.

I get off the bus in front of Hotel Indonesia, relieved to have survived. The hotel has now, after redevelopment become a Kempinski hotel. Crossing the road is almost suicidal, as swarms of motorcycle riders seem to believe they are the only living creatures on the road. I walk down to Grand Indonesia, a shopping mall in the heart of Jakarta. Black fumes from cars, buses, and motorcycles force me to cover my mouth. I check my watch. I am late for the screening. "How in the world did I end up living here?", I mumble while entering the mall lobby.