One warm afternoon, I was taking a well-deserved break on my balcony after a long day at work, when an elderly man called out to me from the yard below. His name was Steven, the owner of the house I was currently renting a room in. He had a habit of visiting the house once every year to check on it, but this time, a year and a half had passed since his last appearance. I was pleasantly taken aback by his unexpected visit.
Steven was a character of epic proportions. A seasoned mining consultant for numerous major Australian corporations, his life was an anthology of hair-raising exploits and hilarious anecdotes. He had worked in Jakarta, Bangka, and Belitung, each location leaving an indelible mark on his narrative. His stories about the airport in Bangka were especially thrilling, painting a vivid picture of its extreme conditions and inherent dangers, which left me both fascinated and slightly apprehensive.
But his stories were not all about high-octane adventures. Steven had a deep understanding of the political dynamics of the countries where he worked, and his accounts of the various Indonesian presidents were insightful and humorously presented. He told me a laugh-out-loud story about how he had to slyly slip some money into his passport at the airport to avoid any unnecessary questioning and the potential of missing his flight. The corruption was indeed rampant among Soeharto’s government officials.
Steven told these stories with a twinkle in his eye, trying hard not to laugh, while I did my best to keep a serious face. The stories pointed out the serious problem of corruption, but Steven’s funny way of telling them made them seem almost silly.
Steven moved to Australia in 1999 and bought the house I was now living in from a local. Eventually, he transferred the management of the property to a rental manager, which was how I ended up renting a room there. At 82 years old, Steven was in impressive shape, his spirit as vibrant and youthful as ever.
Vires in Numeris 