I endure a 20-minute trip on an occasionally shaky angkot (public minivan) every day to and from work, along Jl. Raya Bogor, East Jakarta. Outside is a congested road that seems to be never ending. So I accept my fate and enjoy the "luxury" of allowing my eyes to wander around spotting unusual things that I cannot focus on when sitting behind the wheel.

Motorcycles, private cars, public minivans and buses mix together at irregular speeds and with occasional stops, leaving almost no space as each is eager to pass the others. Along the roadside, some unlucky people struggle to earn a hand-to-mouth income.

Two little boys, walking and holding hands, travel from the pavement to the middle of the road. The younger child seems barely able to walk steadily as he is likely only 2 years old. As the little street singers weave their way through the moving crowd of vehicles, we inside the angkot hold our breath, hoping they will safely reach our angkot, where they will play a brief song for a small amount of money.

Once inside, the older child starts to shake his musical instrument, a mineral water bottle filled with small pebbles or beans, muttering a song with a melody that barely resembles the original song. The younger gives each passenger an empty envelope with a note: "Please spare your money to buy us food and pay for our school fees." Out of pity, some of us donate Rp 500 or Rp 1000. Once their performance ends, they jump out of the angkot, again braving the herd of vehicles. We hold our breath, cursing their parents, if they have them, for allowing such young boys to wander alone on the streets and beg for money.

Moving on, I perversely look forward to seeing a few people I've been observing with pitiful amusement. One is a guy who sleeps on one of the street shop's verandas during the morning rush hour.

He is very dirty, barely covered with either a sarong or short pants, and has a mass of curly hair that has not been washed for years. In the afternoon, when people are rushing home from work, he will walk quickly and proudly, with a wild stare and nowhere to go, and sometimes stops at a cigarette vendor to ask for one. Occasionally he appears clean, with a fresh haircut, which makes me wonder what kind person has helped him out.

On the roadside, some vendors sit behind their small, makeshift glass display boxes, which contain a weighing balance. The words on the sides of the glass reveal the service they are rendering: "Selling and buying gold and suasa *gold with large alloy mixture*, foreign exchange: US Dollar, Euro, Dinar". Considering the location, one is surprised, what an unusual business! I guess they must have customers, for at least during the past four years of me passing by everyday, I still see their business sustaining.

No less unique than the gold and foreign exchange street vendors, across the street is a house displaying a big banner proclaiming the owner's daring occupation: "Mr. S.H., the ghostbuster, contact nb. xxx". The banner is complete with that famous logo from the famous Ghostbusters movie.

Leaving behind Jl. Raya Bogor, on the toll road from Cawang to Senayan, a tall billboard comes into view, showing Jakarta's smiling governor wearing a nice suit and playing a cello. The caption reads: "Join us for the successful Java Jazz festival." A few kilometers away, another of the governor's billboards says: "Your tax money develops Jakarta" and "Jakarta for everyone".

True, Jakarta is for everyone. Yet, in my wild fantasy, I wish the billboard showed this picture instead: the governor mingling with street children and their music bottles, and large words that say: "Your tax money pays for their home and schools."

- Widhyawati Ambara

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