An ojek ride from hell.

Honesty Story – Part II

Is it not the usual case that good deeds tend to be forgotten rather easily but the bad ones remain lucid?

Also, the tongue wags much easier when something is not acceptable; it must have a rant and be given additional colour.

Here is Part Two of my “Honesty Story” to disprove the above.

Ojek Ride From Hell

Much alike “Calamity James” (U.K publication of Beano), I suffered a fracture in my left Tibia, just below the kneecap.

It happened while riding pillion with an ojek. My stupidity? I did not listen to my inner voice.

Calamity time line? – this happened 8 months after being sutured from an earlier mishap when I boarded a public transport van in Indonesia.

For this calamitous incident, it started when I made a judgemental error in allowing the youthful ojek to take me to the Ferry Terminal. I was making a return to my motherland.

Moments after I sat pillion on his motorbike, I realized that he did not offer me a crash helmet. He was not wearing one himself. My inner voice told me that this did not look right at all. I was too dumb and dull that early morning to react to my inner voice.

As we made our way towards the main road, a few of my regular ojeks waved their hands and hollered at me, “Pak, pulang kah?” I suppose it was the bag that hung from my shoulder that prompted them to ask me so.

Ojek drivers at the ready. (Image credit – Kompas/Agung Yuniadhi)

My inner voice spoke up again. It said I could change my mind, stop this ojek and switch ride with any one of those ojeks who waved their hands and with whom I am more familiar. There was plenty of time to spare and I was not in any hurry.

Again, I did not react. I suppose that after two consecutive rejections, my inner voice decided to stop speaking to me.

Hey inner voice! How to could I possibly react? Things happened too fast for me to react.
In future I shall be more attentive to you.

I continued the ride with this youthful ojek. It was uneventful until we had to make a mandatory stop at the first traffic light in the city.

While waiting, a policeman rode up to our right. I looked at him and smiled. The police smiled back. It did not seem to matter to him that neither the ojek nor I wore a crash helmet.

As we waited for the lights to turn green, the ojek looked to his right and noticed the policeman beside us. From the ojek’s immediate reaction I felt that he saw a ghost. He scrambled away in such a furious manner to be out of sight and reach of the policeman.

It was a horrifying and reckless ride as the ojek sped away. I almost fell off the motorbike on two occasions. The ojek refused to stop and allow let me alight. What made him literally run for his life still remains unknown to me till this day.

Flashes of Indonesia’s daily TV series Sergap instantly went through my mind with the policeman in hot pursuit.

Being the pillion rider, I imagined that I would be the first to be hit should the policeman decide to shoot at us. Oh my God! as my mind raced; this Policeman might not shoot at my legs, my back would be an easy target and as it were I am a perfect shield for this ojek.

I decided I must jump off the motorbike at the first possible opportunity. I believed that I would be a hapless gunshot victim in this escape bid. Well, either that or I might end up in a ditch, dead, together with the ojek if he lost control of his machine.

There came this one and only chance to jump off the motorbike. It was when the ojek had nowhere else to go except to ride up a steep road. That road is one way traffic and the ojek rode against the flow of traffic. That made the timing to jump more crucial. I must jump only when there is no oncoming vehicle.

When it looked safe to do so, with both my palms pressed downwards on the seat, I heaved my body and jumped off while the motorbike lost its speed during the climb. I landed on both feet. The ojek took a fleeting glance at me, did not seem bothered and he sped away.

The landing impact was too much for my legs. Awkwardly, my body swerved to the left, and then I went through a few backward somersaults until I lay motionless on the road.

Several nearby Indonesians rushed towards me. They tried to get me to stand. When they noticed that I grimaced with pain as they lifted me up on my feet, they decided next to carry me to the grass.

As a result of that Jackie Chan stunt, my shoulder bag was flung a few meters away. One of my shoes came off and was nowhere to be seen.

Honesty, Helpfulness & Resourcefulness

An Indonesian returned my shoulder bag intact. My Z740 Kodak Digital Camera was in the bag. It was not stolen.

Another Indonesian searched for my missing shoe, found it and returned it to me.

The policeman pulled up to ask me a few questions. After he learned that I was leaving Indonesia and on my way home, he stopped a transport vehicle and instructed the driver to take me to the Hospital for treatment.

I refused because I was not aware that I had fractured my left leg.
I felt that all I suffered was a bad sprain and some bruises. Instead, I chartered a transport van to hastily take me back to my Indonesian home. By then the group of Indonesians grew larger. They helped me board the chartered van. Although I never saw them again I am proud of their behaviour.

After reaching my Indonesian home, news about my mishap travelled fast. My Indonesian friends and neighbours soon arrived at the house. They nursed and assisted me throughout the 3 days that I extended my stay to recover. It was unbelievable the way organized themselves in order to keep a vigil over me.

During that time I found how resourceful the Indonesians are in times of expediency.

• A guy made a harness (is that the correct word for it? I am not sure) from plywood to hold my left leg taut. He made bandages from rags to tie the wood to my leg.
• They used a plastic trash bin at home to serve as a urinal container in my bedroom.
• They assigned the strongest amongst them to carry me to the toilet to empty my bowels during the 3 days.
• The person who purchased pain sedatives and antibiotics for me never in his life entered a pharmacy. What a guy!
• Someone was always in the bedroom. 24 hours x 3 days.
• They called for an elderly person to massage me.
• On the day that I had to make my homebound trip, they had someone from the Ferry Terminal to fetch me from the house in a van complete with a wheel chair.
• A part of their concern for my speedy recovery included Jamu which I declined because I am not adventurous, particularly about medicines that I am not familiar with.

Did their care and concern end there? No, it did not. They had an Indonesian who possessed an International Passport to accompany me in the Ferry all the way back till I reached home. They even collected money from amongst themselves to pay for his Ferry fare, to and fro.

From the Indonesian wharf and into the Ferry, the Indonesians carried me seated in the wheel chair!

Half an hour before reaching motherland, the Ferry Captain (an Indonesian) radioed the Authorities at the Port of Arrival to render assistance to Calamity IamIsaid.

Before my good Indonesian Samaritan returned, I gave him a large amount of money to reimburse, to thank and to reward those who helped me unselfishly and with such humanity.

The Indonesians who helped me are neither rich nor considered middle class folk. They remind me of the Biblical parable about the Widow’s mite.

It is only after my family doctor had my left leg x-rayed that I knew how serious the injury was.

Once again,
Salute to Indonesia
You have humaneness.