My neighbor-cum-household-assistant, let’s call her Puri, always needs cash.
Medical expenses for her migraine, money for her daughter’s schoolbooks and tuition fees, relative’s wedding and her family’s annual zakat.
For more than a year of cooperation, I have always been her ready petty cash. She has never returned the money in cash, but in turn, she has never received her paycheck either.
Her debts have rendered me her “free” service until February 2010.
No, Puri is not the untrustworthy borrowing type. The previous assistant I hired, let’s call her Karini, was. There was something that made me uncomfortable about the way she asked for money.
On one occasion I didn’t have the amount of cash she asked ready at hand, so she skipped work. I replaced her with Puri.
In contrast, Puri is responsible but constantly needs cash.
She lives down from the unit I rent in a low-cost apartment. I know her four children and selfish husband. She is often short of cash.
She’s not alone in Indonesia, where about half the population live on under US$2 a day.
I made several trips to cities in Indonesia: Sijunjung in West Sumatra, Palu in Central Sulawesi, Bontang in East Kalimantan, Kendal and Pekalongan in Central Java, Jayapura in Papua, and Tidore in North Maluku.
On each visit, I asked locals if there were “loan sharks” operating.
They answered yes, and they were called bank tongol, bank plecit or koperasi (cooperative).
The Jakarta Post published a story on a particular loan shark operating in Bendungan Hilir, Central Jakarta. The way that business runs is the same as, I gather, various cities in Indonesia.
You borrow Rp 100,000 (US$11) from a bank tongol and its staff collect Rp 10,000 from you for 12
days. The interest rate is about 20 percent. Some charge higher, but never lower.
Yes, they charge high rates, but not many people have someone they can rely on when they need money.
Calling them loans sharks, to me at least, seems unfair, because in some way they help underprivileged people when they have hospital bills to pay or when their children risk being banned from sitting the national exam, due to unpaid tuition fees.
In a way, they remind me of, perhaps dolphins, who help people when they don’t know where to go.
Several programs both from the government and NGOs provide cash, but with lower interest rates. But I believe, there are not enough.
Thus, every time Puri shyly asks to borrow money, I try to give her what she needs, as long as it does not financially burden me.
Critics, especially human rights activists from developed countries, say hiring domestic workers is being involved in modern day slavery. That is the most extreme criticism, I guess.
I could accept some critics’ arguments, for instance, considering the workers often work long hours and do not have free time over weekends.
However, in reality, refusing to hire a domestic worker in Jakarta could also mean denying people employment and ready safety nets.
I believe Puri needs her monthly paycheck as much as she needs small loans.
When I talk about this with my friends, almost all of have similar stories.
Most of my friends, urban middle-class people, employ the same strategy.
First, provide an amount that does not impact you financially if it is not returned. If they are trustworthy, then you can lend more.
After all, if not for the middle-class, who would care?
