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By the way ... Treat your (step) children well
I was invited to a village wedding party a few weeks ago by one of our family’s employees
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I
was invited to a village wedding party a few weeks ago by one of our family’s employees. Pak Haji [a title of respect for a village elder] had worked for Arco, which was one of the New Order’s first businesses. Arco is long gone, but Pak Haji’s village still bears the oil company’s name.
I had never been to a village wedding and told Pak Haji that I would come with my sister. I was surprised when he told me not to do so. “It would be more convenient if you arrived one day before the wedding,” he said.
People would have started to arrive, but we’d still be able to talk. “It will be impossible to talk on the wedding day.”
He had invited the whole village to the wedding party, which could last for days.
I was shocked. I did the math and realized that Pak Haji had to be a rich man. I agreed and arrived in Arco a day before. His family welcomed us warmly. We arrived at 11 a.m. and saw many guests as we made our way inside.
Drinks were served and traditional snacks filled the table. I thought I knew all of the traditional snacks in Indonesia, but I was wrong.
Some of the snacks, like kue cincin (ring cake), were alien to me. Later, we were served with an endless stream of food, such as chicken satay and rice noodles.
“There will be more food to choose from tomorrow after the wedding ceremony,” said Pak Haji. Guests would keep on pouring in — and leaving with food and snacks — for the next three days.
One of his daughters told us over lunch that Pak Haji was not her biological father. This baffled me.
“The wedding party is not for a blood relative?” I asked.
“That’s true. He has always treated us as if we were his own children, even after the death of our mother. His current wife always thinks of us as her own children,” she said.
I was flabbergasted. How little we know the people we meet everyday! This is the man who delivers food to our kitchen on every day, rain or shine.
Not everyone sees Pak Haji the way I see him. Some of our neighbors told me to check his bills very closely. I did, and so far I have found nothing wrong.
“Have you had enough? Take some more satay,” Pak Haji said.
“No!” said his daughter. “Try the freshly fried fish. We just baked some grouper.”
She tore a hefty part off of the fish and put it on my plate. She was right. It tasted good.
Before I knew it, I was at the pre-wedding party for 14 hours. More people were coming and I thought we should leave.
“Why don’t you come again tomorrow,” his wife said.
“There will be more food and in the evening there will be a band playing dangdut music. The young people are looking forward to an evening of dancing,” she said with a chuckle.
Memories of the wedding party stay with me. The title of Haji suits him well. He made me think off my well-heeled friends who do not treat their stepchildren well. Many of the stepchildren end up as servants to their stepparents. This is in a stark contrast to Pak Haji, who gave his stepdaughter a university education and a grand wedding even though she is not of his flesh and blood.
The wedding party will last for a week.
