Surabaya, Indonesia’s second largest city, whose urban agglomeration consists of anywhere between 3 and 9 million people depending on where you draw the borders, is a place where decadent wealth and abject poverty sit side by side. Unlike many cities in Europe, where the poorest of the poor are tucked away into sprawling estates out of sight, often separated from the wealth of outlying suburbs by busy highways while tourists see the shiny exterior of a wealthy city center, this is a place where poverty is on display, and wealth is often hidden. Although at the far western boundaries of the city there lies a millionaire’s club (or in Surabaya’s case, multi trillionaire’s club – one million rupiah is the equivalent of just sixty-seven pounds), strewn with several acre properties and golf courses, throughout most of it those with wealth live out of sight, their houses almost invisible to visitors behind an intimidating variety of dangerous fences and high walls, inviting any would-be burglar to impale themselves on metal spikes should they try their luck. On one side of these walls and fences are gardens and properties that would be fit for a tycoon’s tropical holiday retreat. On the other side, centimeters away are dozens of homeless people living, working and sleeping in the midst of unbearable heat and exhaust fumes, in touching distance of wealth they can only dream of. I am often struck by this contrast when I walk to work on crumbling footpaths, dodging holes big enough for my entire body to fall into as a gate opens, a car emerges and a dream home is revealed for a few seconds before being hidden away once more.
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When I first arrived here, it seemed unlikely that many people had any money because I could see poor people everywhere yet those with money weren’t so easily visible. After attempting to buy food and drink on several occasions at a warung (makeshift shelters that line most streets and typically sell three or four different kinds of food), I realized I was going to have to accelerate my rate of learning Indonesian, especially as a vegetarian. There are only so many times one can walk into the midst of a handful of people who already find you, the foreigner in a city off the tourist track, fascinating and amusing, and attempt to draw a chicken, a cow and a pig while offering as many negative hand signals as possible, only to be served goat and be laughed at when you pay the bill with a sigh and leave the untouched meal on the bench. Things were made more complicated when I swapped the dusty impoverished streets for the bright lights of the mall (There is no city center as such, but there are lots of malls), needing a new belt before my first day at work. All around me I could see advertisements competing for my attention and to my surprise, most were written in English. I felt a weight off my shoulders, anticipating an easier task ahead. Had I not been an unusually thin man this may have been the case. Most Indonesians can explain prices in English, but because belts were not available in my size, and the language capabilities of the staff were not as the advertisements all around me had led me to believe, a very surreal experience followed. It seemed that the only words of English that the giggling sextet of uniformed young ladies could muster were, ‘Hello Mister’, ‘handsome’ and ‘nervous’. I can’t deny I was flattered and incredibly amused as they took turns attempting to shorten and refasten the belt without losing all composure in a fit of laughter and blushes. Fifteen minutes later I finally had a belt that fit, and as I left the shop and said ‘Terima Kasih’, one of the staff replied ‘We won’t forget you Mister’, as if I had just rescued her grandmother from a burning building.
Having spent 7 months since then teaching English, seeing more of the city, learning to speak Indonesian, meeting and making friends with locals and other foreigners like me and noticing those beautiful houses hidden away behind the poverty, I have come to realize that there are - albeit far outnumbered by those in poverty - people with a lot of wealth: people who can speak English. Education is a privilege in Indonesia. If you are lucky enough to have one, the chances are that you and your family have some money to spend on gadgets, jewelry and sportswear. You will also be able to speak English. If you can’t, then it stands to reason that you don’t have any disposable income, because your family couldn’t afford you an education.
Poor people who sell fried rice on street corners for less than what someone in the UK would spend on a chocolate bar have barely enough to survive and often have many mouths to feed. What little income they do have is spent using the services of other poor people – those who put new heels on old shoes, stitch handmade clothes or do laundry. Those people in turn buy fried rice on street corners. Slightly higher up the social ladder are those who work in shops selling branded goods which are advertised in English. They are typically paid around one million rupiah a month, about sixty seven pounds, in a country where branded goods retail at around the same price as they do in the UK. Almost all of both groups have a well below average grasp of English and little if any money to spend.
Then you have those living centimeters away yet worlds apart from all of the above. Those who have private drivers on call twenty four hours a day, frequently fly to popular holiday destinations around Asia and beyond, live in mansions and consume all the most fashionable brands. In a country where a generation of young people are eager to be seen embracing Western brands, movies, diets and values, inevitably the English language becomes cool. If those who have money to spend understand it, why market your brand to anyone else?
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