A young man’s mother was ailing and soon to die. He was worried, but the gods told him that she would be healed if he ate the meat of the simalakama fruit. The young man went searching far and wide. He finally found it! The young man climbed the tree, took one down, and bit into it. The gods spoke to him again in that moment. “If you eat this fruit, your mother will live but your father will die.” The young man spat out the fruit. What was he to do?
Our teacher finished with, “So we have a saying, ‘It’s like gathering a simalakama fruit.’ It means that the person faces a dilemma. All choices are bad.” He laughed, “Go and ask a fruit seller for simalakama. They will tell you that there’s no such fruit! They may look at you funny because they will know what it refers to!” Thus began our social experiment that only proved partially correct.
Every fruit seller I inquired on indeed carried no simalakama. Half of them had never even heard of the (admittedly fictional) fruit. The ones that had heard about the fruit also knew the related saying. None of them knew what it meant. The last one I asked was a young female in her mid-20s. She said, “’I’ve never heard it. I think maybe your teacher is really old.”
Introducing the Pepatah (puh-pah’-tah)
We often encapsulate “the human experience” in pithy gems encrusted with contextual artifact. Every culture has its aphorisms, maxims, and proverbs. They may seem bizarre to anyone outside the culture. This is certainly true between people of different ethnic backgrounds. It may even be true between people of different generations or interest groups within the same ethnicity. Case in point, I rarely hear the ones I grew up hearing anymore. They seem to be firmly ensconced with the Boomer generation.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Time waits for no man.”
“The Early Bird catches the Worm”
“Don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater.”
The Indonesian version is called a “pepatah” or “peribahasa”. Many have American-English equivalents wrapped in local flavors, a testimony to our shared human experience. Some examples:
- “From the crocodile’s mouth into the tiger’s mouth.”
- ”There’s a shrimp behind the rock.”
- “There are no [elephant] tusks that are uncracked.”
- “[He’s/She’s] a dog barking at an elephant.”
- “A thrown flower is repaid with thrown poop.”
- “The intention of my heart is to hug the mountain, but my hands don’t meet.”
- “The rice has already become porridge.”
“From the frying pan into the fire.”
“Everyone wants something.” // “Nothing is free.”
“No one / nothing is perfect.”
“That’s David fighting Goliath.”
“No good deed goes unpunished.”
“He bit off more than he could chew.”
“You can’t put the shit back in the goose.”
Indonesia has more esoteric ones with universally familiar concepts but no American equivalent. Our language teacher was delighted to share the pepatahs because he believed they highlighted essential aspects of Indonesian society. Some still get passed down to the youth. Yet most remain under-utilized as the youth drag Indonesia into modernity.
“Guru kencing berdiri, murid kencing berlari”
[”The teacher urinates [while] standing up, the students urinate [while] running.] This single Javan pepatah inspired the entire post. Crucial information: Teachers often held the highest status in Javan society, seen as a model of wisdom, culture, and morals for the next generation. The Javans also believed it rude for men to urinate while standing. Thus the idea is that if a teacher sets a negative example, the students will not only follow, but make it worse.
I agree with its general principal but find the extant scenario bizarre. In my 2+ years here in Indonesia, I’ve come across 3-4 men who openly urinated into the river, onto a wall, or over a patch of grass. I’ve seen maybe twice as many little boys urinate into a gutter after their parents took their pants down and instructed them to let it out. From whom did all these males learn such behavior? Will their urination habits eventually worsen? I’ve so far been disappointed.
Despite my unabated disappointment, this is my favorite pepatah by far. My gutter-mind always pictures a bunch of naked little boys streaking around fields and streets, dongles flopping every which way and releasing golden streams everywhere. And now yours did also. It’s damn funny and I smile every time.
“Sambil menyelam, minum air”
[”While diving, drink water.”] The story goes: A Muslim man was observing the Ramadan fast. This means he abstained from food and drink from sunrise to sunset. He became extremely thirsty. One day he was swimming in a pool of water. He dove in and realized that no one could clearly see him underwater. He opened his mouth and drank. “So the pepetah means that you should always try to do two things at once!”, our jolly language tutor explained.
I admit I found the pepatah a bit doubtful. Surely a predominantly Muslim country would object to holding up a fable about someone doing something haram as a source of good life lessons. What message is being communicated to little Muslims? Even then, suppose the young students followed the pepatah’s advice as intended (without absorbing the sinful details). Could the youngest ones be trusted to not drink mouthfuls from questionable water sources?
The pepatah unfortunately makes the most sense within the Muslim context. First, the diver has no reason to not drink anything before diving unless it was Ramadan and he was Muslim (or a non-Muslim observing it out of politeness). Second, Muslim communities tend to run on an “honor-shame” paradigm. Shame comes from crossing the lines set by another in authority. Obedience is therefore the highest virtue, and oftentimes regarded as a form of love. This is true regardless if the statute makes sense or not. That said, disobedience may happen as long as one remains uncaught. Harboring a known perpetrator can bring shame to the community and the one in authority.
By contrast, Westerners tend to determine guilt based on internal considerations; the “guilt-innocence” paradigm. Our Western sense of morality is driven by reason. We develop guilt when crossing lines that we have intellectually assented to as correct. Disobedience is fine if we believe we are in the right. We might feel ashamed if we are caught, but I’ve yet to see any Western criminals who fully expect to be exiled from their home communities.
This is not to say that Muslims, Easterners, and others in an honor-shame culture always do what they can “get away with.” They certainly can live with a strong conscience, high integrity, and struggle with guilt. One should also note that both shame and guilt can become blunted. Continuously ignoring one’s conscience is a learned behavior in both paradigms. To digress, then, what the diver did was still bad… just not that bad. I still struggle with the idea that the pepatah’s origin story incidentally teaches that it’s essentially alright as long as you’re not caught.
The origin story also seems spurious from a more practical standpoint. I strongly suspect those who open their mouths to drink while submerged are more likely to to drown than successfully drink. I’m too much a preservationist to prove it, however. I can barely swallow regularly without coughing on something.
“Nila setitik rusak susu sebelanga”
[”A drop of poison ruins the whole pot of milk”]. The West has a similar analogy involving clean water mixed with a drop of sewage, usually to illustrate concepts of perfection and purity. What sets the Indonesian version apart is that this is a visual descriptor rather than a conceptual one. Nila is actually indigo, a natural dye with low oral toxicity. Thus two ideas are put into play: (a) the whole pot of milk is no longer fit to drink (purity/perfection); and (b) everyone sees it.
Gossip is perhaps the fastest thing second only to light. This is even more the case in a communal society where one’s neighbors usually become an extended larger family. One poor actor can bring shame on the entire neighborhood. You can be sure that poor actor will also receive shame from the entire neighborhood because the entire neighborhood has been negatively affected by association. The fact that 99% of those neighbors were not involved is besides the point.
One day I escorted a close friend to the emergency room. She was tested and confirmed for COVID. I called Dana in a panic and told her to pack her bags and live at a friend’s house for 2 weeks. She made the arrangements, packed a suitcase, and trundled out of our apartment at 9pm on Saturday night.
I could afford to properly quarantine. I could stay at home and order food delivery 2x/day for 2 weeks. Yet I had the nagging suspicion that at least one person had seen Dana leave the neighborhood alone. I was certain that the whole neighborhood knew by noon the following day (though I had no evidence to support the suspicion). That fact alone compelled me to put on a mask and and buy takeout food At Bu Jiya’s place. I answered all the obligatory questions about Dana’s location (”Staying with friends”) and why I was living alone (”I’m quarantining!”). I was determined to push my story through the neighborhood grapevines before the milk became purple and undrinkable.
I found out later that Indonesian marriage culture demands togetherness in every circumstance. Gossip is indeed more dangerous than contagion. My friend put it succinctly.
“Josh, if I got COVID, my wife would still sleep in the same bed with me!”
“Uh huh? What if she caught it from you?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Then we would both have it.”
“So what do you think my neighbors are thinking?”
“They know you’re a foreigner, so maybe they just think you’re weird. But if you were Indonesian they would think you got into a bad argument or even that you’re getting a divorce.
I imagine our neighborhood breathed a sigh of relief when Dana returned with her suitcase two weeks later. Divorce was not happening. They did not have a terrible person in their midst. Life returned to its normal rhythm. Pak Ube reproached me: “Don’t separate again!”
“But it was COVID! I didn’t want Dana to get it.”
“COVID doesn’t exist anymore; it was just the flu. So STAY TOGETHER!!”
“Sedikit, sedikit, lama lama, menjadi bukit.”
[“Little [by] little, after a long time, [it] becomes a hill.”] It’s the Indonesian equivalent of the American encouragements, “Chip away at it!” / “You’ll get there!” Most only quote the first clause, content to not bother with the second and third clauses. Perceptive readers will notice that the Indonesian equivalent is much more process-oriented than goal-oriented.
Put succinctly, Indonesians tend to live in and for the present. The average Indonesian is fairly relaxed. Schedules are rarely so dense that it requires an appointment one month in advance. In fact the reverse is true; it is extremely easy to arrange for something to happen within a few days if not the same day. Unfulfilled schedules and events are usually met with an accepting shrug. Very few people are in a hurry to get anywhere. The general wisdom goes, “Plan to do two things a day and count the day good if only is accomplished.” If that unfulfilled task has been replaced by a good and spontaneous conversation of any length, even better.
On the other hand, the relaxed Indonesian relationship with time can be maddening to Westerners. Wiggle room in any event is a must for every event participant. Important or even critical information is usually conveyed in the extreme last-minute. I once agreed to conduct a 90-minute seminar. Thirty minutes before start, the organizers informed me that my presentation time was halved to allow for Q&A.
The average Indonesian also seems to live with little forward or strategic planning. Indonesian life is much more one-step-in-front-of-the-other with high amounts of reactivity. Extant faraway goals are often aspirationally rich and methodologically impoverished. For example, saving money for long-term goals or taking contingency into account is uncommon. Money is actually often over-committed. One woman put a down payment on a car the day after she was hired without thinking she might not pass her 3-month probation period. She did not, and her car was repossessed.
There’s no faraway destination, no sculpture to free from its block prison. So art reflects life. This pepatah is so journey-centric that the end is: (a) incidental and (b) a hill. No Indonesian will tell you that the pepatah’s primary actor wanted to make a hill. In the same way, the average Indonesian lives day-to-day, step-by-step, bucket-by-bucket, long-term destination/purpose unknown. You just take your bucket of dirt and focus on the space in front. One day you’ll find yourself on an unexpected skyline and ask, “How did I get up here?” Then you’ll look down and note that you made it harder on yourself by walking the entire way uphill in the first place.
Conclusion
Indonesia has one of the largest youth and young adult populations in the world. They have thus become one of Asia’s largest digital economies. Young Indonesians dabble in everything new, exciting, and viral on the internet. The new and exciting include Bridgerton, Onlyfans, ASMR Mukbang videos, Instagramming everything, words like rizz, sus, gyat, concepts like GOAT, skibidi, and sigma. I’m still waiting for “yeet” to jump oceans but would be much happier if it drowned in the Pacific. The age-worn, homespun ideas of yester-generation sit among the mothballs in the mental closet. They are only brought out when mentioned by their elders, who sit on their own lonely, incidental hill. “Out-of-internet, out-of-mind,” and all that.
Despite Eastern reverence for the Ancients, I doubt their sayings will last another two generations of Western modernity. I was surprised how often I heard, “I’m sorry, I understand everything you said…. I just don’t know what it means.” This is a pity. Indonesian pepatahs are far more colorful and fun than their Western counterparts. I might be showing my age, but the mental image of adults staring in horror and reproof while golden showers are sprayed willy-nilly by poorly trained children is a cultural artifact worth keeping.
Coda
Dana and I visited an island resort for some rest and recreation during this last Ramadan. We were chauffered in a boat by Nahkoda (allegedly 15-year-old acting captain) and Wakil (his 11-year old acting first mate). The actual captain (Nahkoda’s father) was present at launch and proceeded to play on his phone in the back of the boat till he disembarked three hours later during lunch.
Thus we four (two adults, our allegedly teenage boat driver, and his prepubescent first mate) hung over the waters of several coral reefs. Dana and I would snorkel while the boys waited on the boat. Underwater, the reefs were great fun and very beautiful. Staying above the surface was akin to being steamed in someone’s ez-bake oven. Nahkoda jumped in to cool off.
Wakil cried out, “Hey! It’s still fasting time! You can’t jump in!”
Nahkoda shrugged. “Then I’m not fasting today.”
I stopped swimming, perplexed. I asked Wakil, “Why can’t Nahkoda swim during the fast?”
“It’s forbidden to bathe or dive during the fast so we are not tempted to drink the water.”
“But… ocean water is poisonous, right?… He can’t drink it?”
“Yeah, but he’s still forbidden to bathe or dive.”
Wakil’s stolid down-turned eyebrows clearly indicated that we reached the end of that subject. Nahkoda had disobeyed the Prophet and brought shame upon himself, however temporary (or eternal). Nahkoda, for his part, unashamedly enjoyed the underwater spectacle and all-encompassing coolness of the reef. I floated on the surface deep in thought. Maybe the origin story was properly told… but the pepatah was the incidental lesson.
“So, who can tell us the meaning of the story?”
“You can’t dive or bathe during fasting!”
“EXACTLY! Avoid temptation! Anything else?”
“You should do two things at the same time?”
“Ah! Mmmm…. Okay….. yes….. good… thank you.”