Intrigued about what life is like under the bridges in Jakarta, I eventually had the chance to apend two days with slum-dwellers under the Teluk Gong overpass in Penjaringan, North Jakarta.
The place they call home is made up of flimsy, ramshackle plywood shacks, dirt floors and a ceiling formed by the ghoulish concrete bottom of a busy toll road that swoops overhead.
Albeit illegal, the area, called Kolong Tol Penjaringan (literally meaning tight space under the toll road), is home to 80 households. Each has access to electricity that allows them to enjoy urban amenities such as old-fashioned TVs and naked fans. The communal toilets and bathrooms are available for Rp 2,000 (15 US cents) per visit.
Trash is strewn all over the place. In the dirt alleyways between houses, children run and jump around barefooted. Sometimes, drenched sewer rats or stray cats would pass by and join the fun. The animals are no strangers for the Kolong people, who would not, of course, even think of keeping a Labrador or a cute Siamese cat.
Most of the slum's inhabitants are scavengera who pick up plastic bottles from trash bins and dumps to resell. Some have menial work at local factories, while others eke out a living as food sellers, street buskers and electronic repairmen.
One of the scavengers is Aminah, 48, who put me up in her humble hut for two nights. At daybreak, she took me scavenging around Teluk Gong's upscale neighborhoods.
We collected discarded plastic bottles, paper or anything she could sell. On a typical day, she works until 12 p.m. Her son would then pick her up and help carry home the various waste she collected. However, upon seeing me exhausted that day, she decided for us to return to Kolong earlier than usual, at about 11 a.m.
Back at Kolong, I began to realize that this slum was just like any other functioning neighborhood. The inhabitants are not homeless vagabonds who occupy the space as temporary shelters. They are families who have lived here for up to three generations. They built shacks and have bonded with other inhabitants in the neighborhood for more than a decade.
Arminah's family is among the first setlers of the space under the overpass. They moved there in 2001 after the city administration evicted them from their homes in nearby Teluk Intan. The slum under the highway is where their children grew up and started their own families.
My stay with the Kolong community was filled with musing moments. As a woman raised in a well-to-do family, I could not stop marveling at how perseverant these people could be. They are not only able to survive the hardships of living under a busy road, but they also make do with small fortunes and the abject poverty handed down from one generation to the next.
In the slum, most of the elders, like Arminah, remain the bread winners of their families.
"I'm the one earning a living for my family. My husband doesn't really care about making money to pay the electricity bill or buy food," she said between sips of a cold drink as we were taking a break from scavenging.
Her eldest son Roni, 30, is an automobile repairman. Her youngest, Solih, 19, was recently hired by a t-shirt printing company. Unlike her children, many of the slum's youths are jobless.
"They spend their days hanging around at food stalls," she said.
Like Arminah, most of the parents in Kolong have big dreams. They want to see their children work in the formal sector, and none want their offspring to become scavengers. But they do not know how to make this happen as they cannot afford to send their kids to school.
Arminah's husband, Qoni, 60, has a theory on why the Kolong community remains locked in a stagnant struggle for life: it has become a comfort zone from which they are reluctant to leave.
He recalled that so far, Kolong residents have been evicted more than 40 times by the city's security personnel, but residents kept coming back to rebuild their shacks. They would start their lives there all over again as soon as the officers, who ruthlessly tore down their huts, left the area.
Decades of harsh life has shaped their perseverence, but unfortunately, they have yet to change their ways of thinking about pursuing a better life beyond the overpass. They say they cannot send their children to school because they have no legal documents such as ID cards and birth certificates.
The city administration has not been helpful, either. Public service is made available only to people who have city ID cards.
The problem that prevails under the Teluk Gong overpass is more complicated than people may think. Back home, I could not help but think about what anyone could possibly do to help the children there.
Nea Maryami Ningtyas
The Jakarta Post/Jakarta
The place they call home is made up of flimsy, ramshackle plywood shacks, dirt floors and a ceiling formed by the ghoulish concrete bottom of a busy toll road that swoops overhead.
Albeit illegal, the area, called Kolong Tol Penjaringan (literally meaning tight space under the toll road), is home to 80 households. Each has access to electricity that allows them to enjoy urban amenities such as old-fashioned TVs and naked fans. The communal toilets and bathrooms are available for Rp 2,000 (15 US cents) per visit.
Trash is strewn all over the place. In the dirt alleyways between houses, children run and jump around barefooted. Sometimes, drenched sewer rats or stray cats would pass by and join the fun. The animals are no strangers for the Kolong people, who would not, of course, even think of keeping a Labrador or a cute Siamese cat.
Most of the slum's inhabitants are scavengera who pick up plastic bottles from trash bins and dumps to resell. Some have menial work at local factories, while others eke out a living as food sellers, street buskers and electronic repairmen.
One of the scavengers is Aminah, 48, who put me up in her humble hut for two nights. At daybreak, she took me scavenging around Teluk Gong's upscale neighborhoods.
We collected discarded plastic bottles, paper or anything she could sell. On a typical day, she works until 12 p.m. Her son would then pick her up and help carry home the various waste she collected. However, upon seeing me exhausted that day, she decided for us to return to Kolong earlier than usual, at about 11 a.m.
Back at Kolong, I began to realize that this slum was just like any other functioning neighborhood. The inhabitants are not homeless vagabonds who occupy the space as temporary shelters. They are families who have lived here for up to three generations. They built shacks and have bonded with other inhabitants in the neighborhood for more than a decade.
Arminah's family is among the first setlers of the space under the overpass. They moved there in 2001 after the city administration evicted them from their homes in nearby Teluk Intan. The slum under the highway is where their children grew up and started their own families.
My stay with the Kolong community was filled with musing moments. As a woman raised in a well-to-do family, I could not stop marveling at how perseverant these people could be. They are not only able to survive the hardships of living under a busy road, but they also make do with small fortunes and the abject poverty handed down from one generation to the next.
In the slum, most of the elders, like Arminah, remain the bread winners of their families.
"I'm the one earning a living for my family. My husband doesn't really care about making money to pay the electricity bill or buy food," she said between sips of a cold drink as we were taking a break from scavenging.
Her eldest son Roni, 30, is an automobile repairman. Her youngest, Solih, 19, was recently hired by a t-shirt printing company. Unlike her children, many of the slum's youths are jobless.
"They spend their days hanging around at food stalls," she said.
Like Arminah, most of the parents in Kolong have big dreams. They want to see their children work in the formal sector, and none want their offspring to become scavengers. But they do not know how to make this happen as they cannot afford to send their kids to school.
Arminah's husband, Qoni, 60, has a theory on why the Kolong community remains locked in a stagnant struggle for life: it has become a comfort zone from which they are reluctant to leave.
He recalled that so far, Kolong residents have been evicted more than 40 times by the city's security personnel, but residents kept coming back to rebuild their shacks. They would start their lives there all over again as soon as the officers, who ruthlessly tore down their huts, left the area.
Decades of harsh life has shaped their perseverence, but unfortunately, they have yet to change their ways of thinking about pursuing a better life beyond the overpass. They say they cannot send their children to school because they have no legal documents such as ID cards and birth certificates.
The city administration has not been helpful, either. Public service is made available only to people who have city ID cards.
The problem that prevails under the Teluk Gong overpass is more complicated than people may think. Back home, I could not help but think about what anyone could possibly do to help the children there.
Nea Maryami Ningtyas
The Jakarta Post/Jakarta
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