from continuing with the practice of filling their allocation of up to four wives, the relatively uncomplicated procedure for divorce, permitting even more. In villages across the nation, girls often produced their first child before reaching fourteen, in many cases becoming grandmothers before the age of thirty. In a country where life expectancy had climbed to above fifty years only the decade before, Hani knew that early marriage, and propagation, were encouraged. It made sense to her; the children would provide for their parents, and grandparents, once the elderly became too old to fend for themselves.
Hani’s family was well insulated from many of the daily problems which so dominated the lives of others within their community. Her father’s star had commenced its ascent, and his family now enjoyed the benefits of his position as senior police commander in the mountain city of Sukabumi. Colonel Purwadira had held this post for nigh on three years, quietly accumulating wealth and power, his wife and children clear beneficiaries of his success.
Hani’s mother had become actively involved with the local women’s association, much of her time engaged in raising funds for charities which, unfortunately, received but a fraction of the donations extracted from the wealthy, Chinese donors. The Purwadira family were respected citizens, the children’s futures guaranteed. Ibu Purwadira had recently acquired a new Honda Accord and, although she could not drive, she managed to spend a great deal of her time in her prized possession, driven around by one of her husband’s soldiers. Life had become kind to the Purwadira family and it appeared that it might even get better.
The Indonesian economy had grown at an incredible speed, and although some said it may be slowing down, middle-class Indonesians’ pockets were still full. Local shops were crowded to capacity, shop-win-dows displayed the finest clothes, parabolic satellite dishes covered the already congested rooftops, and most homes now boasted video-recorders, refrigerators and, in some, even washing machines. It seemed that it would go on forever.
As school was taught from Monday to Saturday, Hani looked forward to her one day off from study. Usually, after their morning prayers, her mother would permit the children to go to the movies with friends, or attend the Sunday soccer matches but, on this day, she had insisted they remain at home to honor their father’s wishes. He had something he wanted to discuss. Hani knew this had to be important; the other occasions he had insisted they gather in such fashion had always resulted in announcements relating to his career. Having completed her prayers, Hani gathered her rug, removed her shawl, and placed these neatly away before wandering out to stand on their three-bedroom home’s porch.
While waiting for her father to return from the Mosque with her brother, Hani lowered herself cautiously into the hanging rattan chair, bolted to the ceiling by the servants, just days before. That day, she had tried the swinging seat within minutes of arriving home from school but, to her dismay, had lost her balance and spilled onto the hard, concrete paving under the watchful eyes of her friend, Budi. Recalling the incident, Hani’s hand went to one elbow, finding the crusty wound with her fingers.
She had been annoyed with her friend, fighting back tears as he helped her regain her feet, but Hani knew she could not remain angry with Budi for very long, except for that one time, when he brought a Chinese girl along to a mutual friend’s party.
Hani had avoided Budi for an entire week after that, not understanding how he could even consider doing such a thing. The girl looked gangly and wore no makeup, her hair was far too long and, in Hani’s opinion, she displayed very little breeding, flashing those gold bangles for everyone to see! Although a number of ethnic Chinese attended her high school, most kept to themselves. Not that this bothered Hani in any way as they had so little in common. She had overheard many of her parents’ conversations through the years, learning from their convictions, and adopting their distaste for their fellow citizens. She knew that her father often met with the local Chinese business community. What Hani did not know, was that most of the fine ornaments, and other expensive acquisitions which lay around their house, had been gifts from those soliciting the colonel’s favors. Even her mother’s Honda Accord had derived from her husband’s commissions, received from grateful Chinese traders for the police supply contract he had channeled their way.
As she waited for her father to return, a group of teenagers rolled past on their bicycles and waved, amongst them, Budi. He called out but his voice was drowned by a passing bus, and she watched as he pedaled away.
They had been friends since early childhood, but Hani had noticed that their relationship had taken a shift recently, and she was unsure of what to do. She liked Budi, but only as a friend. Along with others in their age group, Hani would often play badminton on Sundays once they had returned from the movies, or gather back home under her mother’s watchful eyes to listen to music, or catch a programme on TV. Hani had never been on a date, alone. At least, not with Budi.
Many of her friends were planning on marrying that year, having completed high school. Hani thought that was a wonderful idea, wishing she too could meet someone and fall in love, now she had so little else to do.
Sukabumi was not the most exciting place to live, but she had roots there, and wanted to have her own home and family, just like her friends. She often fantasized about being married to one of the tall officers she often saw in her father’s company. A thought crossed her mind and Hani giggled privately, imagining herself with child, her oversized stomach held between her hands for support, as she had so often seen pregnant women do when approaching term.
A horn sounded, signaling her father’s return, and Hani climbed out of the rattan seat to greet him.
‘Hi papa,’ ignoring her brother, she moved to the colonel’s side, waiting for the customary squeeze.
‘Hello, my sweet,’ he said, placing his arm around Hani’s waist, ‘Are your mother and sister inside?’
‘Waiting for you to return, papa,’ she answered, stepping in front of her brother to block his way. His hand shot out to pinch Hani’s arm, but she pulled away, just in time, poking her tongue as she did so.
‘Come on, then, I have something to tell you all,’ with which, they all filed inside, where they were joined by her mother and sister. Once they were all settled comfortably around the family dining table, the colonel made his announcement.
‘How would you like to live in Jakarta?’ he asked, his face breaking into a wide smile.
‘Jakarta?’ they shouted, in unison. Could it really be possible?
‘You received the promotion?’ Ibu Purwadira’s face was just as surprised.
Although she had been given advance warning of the pending decision, she had not dared hope that it would come true.
‘Yes, it was confirmed by General Sutjipto this morning. He rang from Jakarta.’
‘You’ve known since this morning?’ his wife asked, too overcome with excitement to be annoyed.
‘Yes,’ the colonel replied, his eyes dancing mischievously. ‘ I wanted to be sure that you would all be awake.’ Hani pouted, knowing this not to be true.
She watched her mother smile lovingly at her father, all present aware that the colonel would first have given thanks at the mosque, before discussing his appointment with the family. Her mother then reached across the table and pinched her father’s arm affectionately.
‘When?’ she asked, and Hani became even more attentive.
‘Next week,’ the colonel advised. ‘ They want me there before
