As said before, what happened between 1940 and 1947 is still very unclear. My father has given some extra information on this in the "comments" section of last post (Dutch only). I'm not a historian but I guess if one puts historical facts and the various family stories together, a better picture of reality is formed. Please post your comments if you have additional information :)!
Cheers!
Bart
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
The last pieces of a puzzle
Next to the entrance of the Kraton palace in Yogjakarta lays a big stone tablet. It was placed there by the former sultan in 1941 and on it; golden letters announce a message to the world. It reads:
“Walaupan saya telah mengenyam pendikan barat yang sebenarnya, namun pertama – tama saya adalah dan tetap adalah orang Jawa.”
“Even though I was brought up with Western culture and education, I will first of all always be a child of Java.”
For my grandfather however, this was not so easy. Throughout his life various elements forced him to lie about his identity and to pretend being someone else. For example, he was born a Muslim but had to change his religion twice (to Protestant, and then to Catholic) and despite being born an Indonesian he had to behave like a Western boy during his teenage years. Although such a life is interesting material for anthropologists like me, for my grandfather it must have been a nightmare.
Breaking contact
One of the major questions I had after having found my Indonesian family was why my grandfather broke contact with them so abruptly. Until 1947 the bond between my grandfather and his natural parents (his father died in 1945) had been very strong, and most of his brothers and sisters describe him as a warm family member who came to visit them very regularly. But then something strange happened and for decades they heard nothing from my grandfather.
When I last visited my Indonesian family, I drew a family tree. In it I wrote the names of my uncles and aunts including their place and date of birth. My grandfather’s brother and sister thoroughly studied it but about one thing they kept asking questions;
“Were the first two children (twins) really born in Malang??”, “How could that be? We should have known about it!?”.
Without realizing it, they had just given an explanation to a great many mysteries and opened the doors to a major family secret…
My Grandmother
Before the war, my grandfather lived on one of the mains street in Malang (Betek 43) together with his brothers Dirk and John. He had received Western education and over a decade he had tried to fit into the rich Dutch neighborhood. He had Dutch friends, went to Dutch parties but also did not forget to visit his Indonesian family in the plantation area of Karangploso. My grandfather seemed to be able to keep good contact with everybody!
During the war however, his attention started to focus around one person in particular. She lived just across the street; my grandmother.
And that’s where everything begun and where everything ended.
It is difficult to say whether my grandparents ever fell in love with each other or not, but fact is that during the war my grandmother became part of my grandfather’s life. My family in Karangploso also knew her very well and they describe her as a nice woman who came to visit them regularly. In 1947 however, something happened that would change their life dramatically.
My grandmother became pregnant. That is; before having married my grandfather!
In our time this would not have mattered so much but during the forties of the last century, having children before marriage was considered a big sin in both Indonesian and Dutch society. It can’t be a coincidence that this is also the last year that my grandfather saw his family. They were told that he had to go to Holland. In reality they had fled to a place closer by; Bandung (2 days by train at that time).
The rest of the story is known. My grandfather never saw his family again and we lost contact until a week ago.
Me
As I was staring over the rice fields behind my family’s house I wondered how history would have gone if my grandfather had stayed in Karangploso. My father would never have met my mother, and I would never have been born…
Destiny takes strange turns to explain it self, but it always brings one home.
There will always be an “Orang Java” inside me...
[Bart, April 24th 2007, Indonesia]
Notes:
-The most interesting thing I noted about the Kaserun family, was that the way they behave is very, very much like the rest of my family. Sitting with them in the living room reminded me of weekly family gatherings during the eighties at my grandparent’s house; the same humor, the same food and the same actions; different language, different people. They really are part of the family.
-During my visit, family members from all over Indonesia started to call to the Kaserun house to hear my voice. It is true; we have found them again!
-During my last visit it became clear that Mudjira was not the niece but the aunt of Ratini. Furthermore, Nicolaas Veenstra was an architect and Kaserun was his personal assistant.
-Ratini died in 1985 aged 107 and she was buried next to her husband on a hill approximately half an hour from Karangploso.
-The mother of Kaserun (born in the beginning of the 19th century) was called Sagina
-Some of you may have noticed some inconsistancies in my family's story. Especially about the period 1940-1947, different perspectives on reality exist. We will probably never find out for sure how it really went.
-For those who understand Bahasa Indonesia, Willy has left us a video message! To download it, click here.
Photo: More family members, unfortunately many just went out for a walk when I realized I had to make a group photo :s!
“Walaupan saya telah mengenyam pendikan barat yang sebenarnya, namun pertama – tama saya adalah dan tetap adalah orang Jawa.”
“Even though I was brought up with Western culture and education, I will first of all always be a child of Java.”
For my grandfather however, this was not so easy. Throughout his life various elements forced him to lie about his identity and to pretend being someone else. For example, he was born a Muslim but had to change his religion twice (to Protestant, and then to Catholic) and despite being born an Indonesian he had to behave like a Western boy during his teenage years. Although such a life is interesting material for anthropologists like me, for my grandfather it must have been a nightmare.
Breaking contact
One of the major questions I had after having found my Indonesian family was why my grandfather broke contact with them so abruptly. Until 1947 the bond between my grandfather and his natural parents (his father died in 1945) had been very strong, and most of his brothers and sisters describe him as a warm family member who came to visit them very regularly. But then something strange happened and for decades they heard nothing from my grandfather.
When I last visited my Indonesian family, I drew a family tree. In it I wrote the names of my uncles and aunts including their place and date of birth. My grandfather’s brother and sister thoroughly studied it but about one thing they kept asking questions;
“Were the first two children (twins) really born in Malang??”, “How could that be? We should have known about it!?”.
Without realizing it, they had just given an explanation to a great many mysteries and opened the doors to a major family secret…
My Grandmother
Before the war, my grandfather lived on one of the mains street in Malang (Betek 43) together with his brothers Dirk and John. He had received Western education and over a decade he had tried to fit into the rich Dutch neighborhood. He had Dutch friends, went to Dutch parties but also did not forget to visit his Indonesian family in the plantation area of Karangploso. My grandfather seemed to be able to keep good contact with everybody!
During the war however, his attention started to focus around one person in particular. She lived just across the street; my grandmother.
And that’s where everything begun and where everything ended.
It is difficult to say whether my grandparents ever fell in love with each other or not, but fact is that during the war my grandmother became part of my grandfather’s life. My family in Karangploso also knew her very well and they describe her as a nice woman who came to visit them regularly. In 1947 however, something happened that would change their life dramatically.
My grandmother became pregnant. That is; before having married my grandfather!
In our time this would not have mattered so much but during the forties of the last century, having children before marriage was considered a big sin in both Indonesian and Dutch society. It can’t be a coincidence that this is also the last year that my grandfather saw his family. They were told that he had to go to Holland. In reality they had fled to a place closer by; Bandung (2 days by train at that time).
The rest of the story is known. My grandfather never saw his family again and we lost contact until a week ago.
Me
As I was staring over the rice fields behind my family’s house I wondered how history would have gone if my grandfather had stayed in Karangploso. My father would never have met my mother, and I would never have been born…
Destiny takes strange turns to explain it self, but it always brings one home.
There will always be an “Orang Java” inside me...
[Bart, April 24th 2007, Indonesia]
Notes:
-The most interesting thing I noted about the Kaserun family, was that the way they behave is very, very much like the rest of my family. Sitting with them in the living room reminded me of weekly family gatherings during the eighties at my grandparent’s house; the same humor, the same food and the same actions; different language, different people. They really are part of the family.
-During my visit, family members from all over Indonesia started to call to the Kaserun house to hear my voice. It is true; we have found them again!
-During my last visit it became clear that Mudjira was not the niece but the aunt of Ratini. Furthermore, Nicolaas Veenstra was an architect and Kaserun was his personal assistant.
-Ratini died in 1985 aged 107 and she was buried next to her husband on a hill approximately half an hour from Karangploso.
-The mother of Kaserun (born in the beginning of the 19th century) was called Sagina
-Some of you may have noticed some inconsistancies in my family's story. Especially about the period 1940-1947, different perspectives on reality exist. We will probably never find out for sure how it really went.
-For those who understand Bahasa Indonesia, Willy has left us a video message! To download it, click here.
Photo: More family members, unfortunately many just went out for a walk when I realized I had to make a group photo :s!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Finally reunited...
It was around twelve ‘o clock when me and Judis, -a man I had met the day before-, were driving on the road to Karangploso. As the Muezzin started his call for prayer, I realized that a very strange feeling had taken part of me. I can’t describe what exactly I felt but for some reason I knew for sure that this was going to be the final trip; I was going to meet my family…
Most of you know that I strongly believe that life will always guide us in the right direction. Wherever our path takes us, we will always end up at the junctions where we are supposed to be. The only thing we have to do is recognize the signals and trust destiny to do its work… Anyway, I don’t want to turn this web log into a summary of my life philosophy, so I will just give a summary of what happened today. Judge for yourself!
Dream
When I arrived in Malang, -the place where my grandfather grew up-, I soon discovered that finding my Indonesian family was not going to be easy. The area where they were supposed to live, “Karangploso”, was namely not a small village but a giant district and the family name, “Kaserun”, is in Malang perhaps as common as “Johnson” in England. The only real chance for finding my family therefore seemed to be going to the district and show the old yellow photographs I had to as many people as possible.
That night I had a very intense dream. Actually it was not really a dream with a story and a plot but rather a series of videos that were played in front of my eyes. In every video that was shown to me there was an old woman who kept telling me that I should come to her and while she spoke I saw images of a field, some houses and a group of people who all seemed to resemble my grandfather. When I woke up I felt really confused but after a good breakfast consisting of Nasi Goreng with Sambal, I had soon forgotten about it.
The road to Karangploso
At eleven ‘O clock me and Judis left for our adventure. We drove through the suburbs of Malang, then over some hills and continued....until five minutes after crossing the Karangplosso district border our engine suddenly stopped working. After pretending to be experts for a couple of minutes, it soon became clear that we couldn’t solve it by ourselves and we therefore decided to inquire for directions to the nearest garage at a small shop.
Inside the shop an old lady was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers and while Judis was talking to her, I thought about showing her the photo of my family.
She took the photo, studied it, smiled at me and said something in Indonesian while pointing at my grandfather. Judis started laughing and screamed;
She says that he is her brother!!
Soon after, I was drinking tea with two smiling sisters and a brother of my grandfather and I could finally ask them all the questions I always wanted to know..
The real story of my family
My grandfather was born eighty-five years ago in the village of Karangploso (2005:15.000 inh.). His father was called Kaserun and his mother Ratini. They didn’t have family names and their children were therefore simply given their father’s first name. Besides my grandfather, Ratini gave birth to 11 other children of whom two died at birth. These are their names:
Willy
John
Cobus (my grandfather)
Rukmien
Rukmiaty (Emma)
Dirk
Anton
Susyami
Suwarsi
Sujono
The Kaserun family lived a poor but happy life in Karangploso. There wasn’t any money for school but everybody in the family had always worked as a farmer anyway. Education didn’t seem necessary. Because they were Muslims, the only lessons the children received were through the mosque next to their house (the Sjeikh Hiddayatullah Mosque). They learned about Muhammed’s life and about Arabic, a language from a country very far away.
A niece of Ratini, Sarah Mudjira, was married to a Dutch citizen called “Nicolaas Veenstra” at that time. Sarah runned a cowfarm close to the house of the Kaserun’s where the children often played. Because of this, the Kaserun family had become very good friends of Sarah Mudjira and Nicolaas Veenstra!
When it became clear that Sarah and Nicolaas couldn’t get children, Sarah wanted to adopt children from the Kaserun-Ratini family. She already loved the children very much anyway and because they already saw her as a “second mother”, adoption wasn’t a big step.
To relief the Kaserun family financially, Sarah therefore had the wish to adopt all Ratini’s children. They would live with her at the cow farm while still being able to see their real parents who lived just “around the corner”. Furthermore they would be entitled to inherit everything in the possession of Sarah and Nicolaas (which was a fortune). Ratini and Kaserun agreed with this and the adoption process was started with the first three boys; Dirk, Cobus and John. The rest of the children would follow later.
Unfortunately, Nicolaas Veenstra died shortly after the adoption of the three boys and the rest of the family could therefore no longer be adopted (according to the set schedule). The three boys finally went to live in the inherited houses in Malang and they visited their natural family every week, just like any other family. However, the three adopted boys insisted on being called “Dutch” and, systematically (had to) cover(ed) up their Indonesian identity. The brothers stayed in Malang until the Japanese occupied Indonesia in 1942. During that time my grandfather, Cobus, was interrogated and seriously injured by the Japanese because they suspected him of collaborating with the Dutch. As a reaction to the violence against my grandfather, his little brother Willy decided to join the Indonesian republican army out of revenge for what they did to Cobus (he would remain a soldier for the rest of his life). Cobus himself joined the KNIL and fought against the Japanese from the Dutch side.
During the war however, my grandfather met his future wife and because her family had strong relations with the Dutch (she was a descendant of a local ‘puppet’ prince in Semarang) Cobus had to flee to safer areas; Bandung. From this moment, the Kaserun family in Karangploso lost contact with Cobus, Dirk and John and for many years they thought that they had gone to Holland.
In Bandung then, John and Cobus got into a fight with their brother Dirk because he had fallen in love with someone John and Cobus didn’t agree with. Both John and Cobus namely, had married women that entitled them to Dutch passports. Dirk on the other hand, wanted to marry a local girl from Malang and become a real Indonesian again. One day the fight escalated and Dirk had to flee. Until this day it is unknown where he is but the rumor goes that a man called “Dirk” has established the first local football club in Malang.
During the Independence years (1945-1949), almost the entire Kaserun family joined the Indonesian republican army to fight the Dutch while Cobus and John were doing their best not to be Indonesian anymore and pretend to be Dutch. With independence in 1949 however, both Cobus and John lost their Dutch citizenship and they instantly became what they had tried to walk away from for so many years; Indonesian.
After a decade long fight to reclaim their Dutch citizenship, they finally succeeded in 1956 and in February 1957 they left Indonesia forever....
Kaserun
Meeting my family in Indonesia again was a very emotional moment. The sisters and brother that were still alive (Willy 80yrs, Rukmiaty 92yrs and Sujono 85yrs) resembled my grandfather so much that it was almost scary to look into their eyes (my grandfather passed away in 1994). Furthermore they were, to put it lightly, VERY nice and especially Willy didn’t stop hugging me and tapping me on the back. Rukmiaty further, still spoke a littlebit of Dutch and is, despite her age (92!!), still a very active woman. Jetty, one of Rukmiati’s daughters (a niece of my father) was also a very charming woman. Anyway, to put is shortly; I felt so good that I literally couldn’t stop smiling!!
Interesting facts
-My grandfather was born a Muslim. According to all relevant Hadith (Islamic rules of conduct) a Muslim cannot convert to any other religion. Furthermore Islam is inherited through the male family line. This would therefore technically (not spiritually) make my whole family Muslim!
-My Indonesian family really wanted to see the Dutch family before they died; so anyone who fancies going to Indonesia..I have their address!! (and they’re such cuties!)
-I will probably revisit them next week, if you have a message for them; drop me a line!
-Compare the stories I wrote before to realize how much reality differed from what was thought.
-I gave them two Dutch wooden shoes as a reminder of our reunion.
-They invited me to move to Malang and live in their house... The rest of the family can also live as long as they want in Karangploso! Anyone?
From Right to left: Me, Jetty, her sister and child, Sujono, Rukmiaty, Willy, Sujono's husband)
Most of you know that I strongly believe that life will always guide us in the right direction. Wherever our path takes us, we will always end up at the junctions where we are supposed to be. The only thing we have to do is recognize the signals and trust destiny to do its work… Anyway, I don’t want to turn this web log into a summary of my life philosophy, so I will just give a summary of what happened today. Judge for yourself!
Dream
When I arrived in Malang, -the place where my grandfather grew up-, I soon discovered that finding my Indonesian family was not going to be easy. The area where they were supposed to live, “Karangploso”, was namely not a small village but a giant district and the family name, “Kaserun”, is in Malang perhaps as common as “Johnson” in England. The only real chance for finding my family therefore seemed to be going to the district and show the old yellow photographs I had to as many people as possible.
That night I had a very intense dream. Actually it was not really a dream with a story and a plot but rather a series of videos that were played in front of my eyes. In every video that was shown to me there was an old woman who kept telling me that I should come to her and while she spoke I saw images of a field, some houses and a group of people who all seemed to resemble my grandfather. When I woke up I felt really confused but after a good breakfast consisting of Nasi Goreng with Sambal, I had soon forgotten about it.
The road to Karangploso
At eleven ‘O clock me and Judis left for our adventure. We drove through the suburbs of Malang, then over some hills and continued....until five minutes after crossing the Karangplosso district border our engine suddenly stopped working. After pretending to be experts for a couple of minutes, it soon became clear that we couldn’t solve it by ourselves and we therefore decided to inquire for directions to the nearest garage at a small shop.
Inside the shop an old lady was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers and while Judis was talking to her, I thought about showing her the photo of my family.
She took the photo, studied it, smiled at me and said something in Indonesian while pointing at my grandfather. Judis started laughing and screamed;
She says that he is her brother!!
Soon after, I was drinking tea with two smiling sisters and a brother of my grandfather and I could finally ask them all the questions I always wanted to know..
The real story of my family
My grandfather was born eighty-five years ago in the village of Karangploso (2005:15.000 inh.). His father was called Kaserun and his mother Ratini. They didn’t have family names and their children were therefore simply given their father’s first name. Besides my grandfather, Ratini gave birth to 11 other children of whom two died at birth. These are their names:
Willy
John
Cobus (my grandfather)
Rukmien
Rukmiaty (Emma)
Dirk
Anton
Susyami
Suwarsi
Sujono
The Kaserun family lived a poor but happy life in Karangploso. There wasn’t any money for school but everybody in the family had always worked as a farmer anyway. Education didn’t seem necessary. Because they were Muslims, the only lessons the children received were through the mosque next to their house (the Sjeikh Hiddayatullah Mosque). They learned about Muhammed’s life and about Arabic, a language from a country very far away.
A niece of Ratini, Sarah Mudjira, was married to a Dutch citizen called “Nicolaas Veenstra” at that time. Sarah runned a cowfarm close to the house of the Kaserun’s where the children often played. Because of this, the Kaserun family had become very good friends of Sarah Mudjira and Nicolaas Veenstra!
When it became clear that Sarah and Nicolaas couldn’t get children, Sarah wanted to adopt children from the Kaserun-Ratini family. She already loved the children very much anyway and because they already saw her as a “second mother”, adoption wasn’t a big step.
To relief the Kaserun family financially, Sarah therefore had the wish to adopt all Ratini’s children. They would live with her at the cow farm while still being able to see their real parents who lived just “around the corner”. Furthermore they would be entitled to inherit everything in the possession of Sarah and Nicolaas (which was a fortune). Ratini and Kaserun agreed with this and the adoption process was started with the first three boys; Dirk, Cobus and John. The rest of the children would follow later.
Unfortunately, Nicolaas Veenstra died shortly after the adoption of the three boys and the rest of the family could therefore no longer be adopted (according to the set schedule). The three boys finally went to live in the inherited houses in Malang and they visited their natural family every week, just like any other family. However, the three adopted boys insisted on being called “Dutch” and, systematically (had to) cover(ed) up their Indonesian identity. The brothers stayed in Malang until the Japanese occupied Indonesia in 1942. During that time my grandfather, Cobus, was interrogated and seriously injured by the Japanese because they suspected him of collaborating with the Dutch. As a reaction to the violence against my grandfather, his little brother Willy decided to join the Indonesian republican army out of revenge for what they did to Cobus (he would remain a soldier for the rest of his life). Cobus himself joined the KNIL and fought against the Japanese from the Dutch side.
During the war however, my grandfather met his future wife and because her family had strong relations with the Dutch (she was a descendant of a local ‘puppet’ prince in Semarang) Cobus had to flee to safer areas; Bandung. From this moment, the Kaserun family in Karangploso lost contact with Cobus, Dirk and John and for many years they thought that they had gone to Holland.
In Bandung then, John and Cobus got into a fight with their brother Dirk because he had fallen in love with someone John and Cobus didn’t agree with. Both John and Cobus namely, had married women that entitled them to Dutch passports. Dirk on the other hand, wanted to marry a local girl from Malang and become a real Indonesian again. One day the fight escalated and Dirk had to flee. Until this day it is unknown where he is but the rumor goes that a man called “Dirk” has established the first local football club in Malang.
During the Independence years (1945-1949), almost the entire Kaserun family joined the Indonesian republican army to fight the Dutch while Cobus and John were doing their best not to be Indonesian anymore and pretend to be Dutch. With independence in 1949 however, both Cobus and John lost their Dutch citizenship and they instantly became what they had tried to walk away from for so many years; Indonesian.
After a decade long fight to reclaim their Dutch citizenship, they finally succeeded in 1956 and in February 1957 they left Indonesia forever....
Kaserun
Meeting my family in Indonesia again was a very emotional moment. The sisters and brother that were still alive (Willy 80yrs, Rukmiaty 92yrs and Sujono 85yrs) resembled my grandfather so much that it was almost scary to look into their eyes (my grandfather passed away in 1994). Furthermore they were, to put it lightly, VERY nice and especially Willy didn’t stop hugging me and tapping me on the back. Rukmiaty further, still spoke a littlebit of Dutch and is, despite her age (92!!), still a very active woman. Jetty, one of Rukmiati’s daughters (a niece of my father) was also a very charming woman. Anyway, to put is shortly; I felt so good that I literally couldn’t stop smiling!!
Interesting facts
-My grandfather was born a Muslim. According to all relevant Hadith (Islamic rules of conduct) a Muslim cannot convert to any other religion. Furthermore Islam is inherited through the male family line. This would therefore technically (not spiritually) make my whole family Muslim!
-My Indonesian family really wanted to see the Dutch family before they died; so anyone who fancies going to Indonesia..I have their address!! (and they’re such cuties!)
-I will probably revisit them next week, if you have a message for them; drop me a line!
-Compare the stories I wrote before to realize how much reality differed from what was thought.
-I gave them two Dutch wooden shoes as a reminder of our reunion.
-They invited me to move to Malang and live in their house... The rest of the family can also live as long as they want in Karangploso! Anyone?
From Right to left: Me, Jetty, her sister and child, Sujono, Rukmiaty, Willy, Sujono's husband)
Culture
Since I arrived in Indonesia I’ve been struck by a strange feeling of familiarity. It’s not just the way people look that feels familiar (I’ve seen copies of all my family members walk by) but there is something in the character of many Indonesians that reminds me of somebody I know very well….myself.
Anthropologists consider “culture” to be something one grows into. Your parents bring you up in a certain way and unconsciously you copy their behavior, communication and the way they perceive life. For me however, it was only during the last few days that I discovered the many things that are Indonesian about me. These “character trades”, which I share with many of my relatives, are often not understood by people in Holland, which sometimes results in funny situations.
From day 1 however I was surprised to discover that many people here act exactly the same way as me! Not that this is academic proof that it is all “just culture”, but it was at least a very interesting observion.
Java
Another thing I discovered in the last couple of days is that all the Indonesian words and songs I learned from my father are in fact Javanese! This may sound logical, but considering the fact that my father grew up in Bandung, an area where they only speak Bahasa and Sundanese, this is not very logical. My grandfather and mother came originally from Javan speaking parts of Indonesia so they taught their children Javanese……I never knew...
Keep checking my weblog!
Anthropologists consider “culture” to be something one grows into. Your parents bring you up in a certain way and unconsciously you copy their behavior, communication and the way they perceive life. For me however, it was only during the last few days that I discovered the many things that are Indonesian about me. These “character trades”, which I share with many of my relatives, are often not understood by people in Holland, which sometimes results in funny situations.
From day 1 however I was surprised to discover that many people here act exactly the same way as me! Not that this is academic proof that it is all “just culture”, but it was at least a very interesting observion.
Java
Another thing I discovered in the last couple of days is that all the Indonesian words and songs I learned from my father are in fact Javanese! This may sound logical, but considering the fact that my father grew up in Bandung, an area where they only speak Bahasa and Sundanese, this is not very logical. My grandfather and mother came originally from Javan speaking parts of Indonesia so they taught their children Javanese……I never knew...
Keep checking my weblog!
Friday, April 13, 2007
The road to Bandung
For many of us it is unthinkable to give up your children for adoption at the age of 5, 7 and 12. In fact, I am pretty sure that most people would consider such a thing inhumane, irrational or simply ridiculous!
After the adoption parents died, the children inherited a substantial part of their wealth. For my grandfather this meant that he could keep living in the house of his adoption parents (Betek 42) and possessed buildings and plots of land throughout the region. Finally, the offer of his parents seemed to pay of; he was living the good life!
*Some parts of the story above are based on logical assumptions.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Mashed potatoes with Satay
Like every novel starts with a prologue, this web log also needs a short introduction. The story about who I am....
Old Photo of MS Sibayak leaving for Holland:
Not realizing I had just witnessed a typical Dutch dinner, my mother replied with a smile “Bart, I'm afraid we didn't bring you up 'Dutch' enough”. Unlike other fathers, my father's skin was brown and, -despite our very Dutch family name-, he always spoke about a country far away.
My grandfather
To better understand the history of my family, I have to start with my late grandfather's life. My grandfather, known as Cobus Veenstra, was born in the small Indonesian village of Karangplosso (near Malang) to a family with the name “Kaserun-Ratini” (His father's name was Kaserun and his mother's name Ratini). His father worked as a driver for the Dutch Colonial representative in Malang and the family was, -as we may assume-, quite poor.
At this point things must have become very complicated for my grandfather. Having Indonesian blood but a Western culture and children whose Dutch was probably better than their Bahasa (Indonesian), my grandfather faced giant problems that seemed unsolvable. From letters found after his dead I know that my Grandfather has tried to get his family to Holland after the war on many occasions. All Dutch citizens had already left the country many years ago when my grandfather finally received a positive message from the Hague in 1957. He was allowed to come over and live in the Netherlands with his family. Subsequent to this, the whole family was put on a boat called “the Sibayak” and they reached Holland sometime by the end of the fifties. From my father I know that this transition was really strange to all of them. Holland was cold and unfriendly and in the sixties discrimination against new comers was endemic. Over the years the family adapted to their new country, my father learned that you cannot eat snow and that Dutch girls can also be pretty. In 1974 he met my mom and a couple of years later I was born.
In the last ten years I have traveled quite extensively. I visited many countries, hitch hiked to South Africa, drove to India and conducted research in Afghanistan and Palestine. I don't know to how many places I have been but the one thing I do remember from all my trips is a question asked by people I met. "Can you tell me something about Indonesia?". I always felt ashamed to answer that, in fact, I knew only little of the country half my genes originated from. Indonesia has always been very close to me in my life but yet, also very far...
When my work for the Dutch development agency ICCO brought me to Cambodia last year, I decided the time had come; I would go to Indonesia! With only four hours flying in between and zero time difference, it would have been unforgivable not to "drop by" Indonesia to see what it is like. To make the trip as rewarding as possible I therefore tried to gather as much information as possible about my remaining family and at this moment I seem to have succeeded in tracking down at least some major clues.
Finally Indonesia!
When I write this message I just arrived in Indonesia (Jakarta) and have started the adventure trip to my roots. This morning I have visited the port called Tanjung Priok, from where my family left Indonesia with one of the last ships sailing from Indonesia to Holland; the notorious “MS Sibayak”. Today Tanjung Priok is a busy industrial port and my taxi driver was therefore convinced that I was going to the wrong place. After having driven around for a while between huge piles of containers and a graveyard of ships, he therefore dropped me off in Sunda Kelapa; the port where the Dutch started their colonial business.
Entrance ticket to Tanjung Priok port area:
In Sunda Kelapa I bumped into a man called “Catur” who spoke a littlebit of Dutch and could still remember the Sibayak leaving for Holland! The rest of the afternoon he showed me around Jakarta (especially the old Dutch places) and he brought me to a place with pictures of the Sibayak leaving Tanjung Priok. Another striking thing I discovered today is the origin of my grandfather's original name. “Kaserun” (pronounce: Kaseerun) as he was known, is not an Indonesian name but a common Japanese name used by Japanese immigrants in the 19th century. This opens the possibility that my grandfather has Japanese blood (as well as fought against the Japanese during WWII). My grandfather's mother on the other hand (called Ratini) has a typical name from the district of Semarang (where my grandmother was born) and Indonesians recognized it as “real Javanese”. I'm curious about what other mysteries are going to be solved in the next couple of weeks!
Old Photo of MS Sibayak leaving for Holland:
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