Jakarta Flood: There and Back Again

Day 1 – Thursday
Tropical storm. All day and all night. Bolts of lightning reach down, grabbing the earth like goblins fingers – thin, white and jagged. A thunderous orchestra of drums plays before our front row seats. Heavy rain drenches everything. Unrelenting. Our four year old son Bodhi awakes and comes into our room to sleep – he is uptight. Two year old Meijin, on the other hand, sleeps all night. I am awed by the intensity of this tropical monsoon, but remain oblivious as to what lies ahead.

Day 2 – Friday
The phone starts ringing at 7am. It is Ibu Ati, our cook. She sounds desperate. She cannot make it through the streets to our place. I tell her not to worry about coming in. Later, the school calls – it’s closed. Bodhi is thrilled. A playdate, previously arranged for today hangs in the balance. Are the streets passable or not? We don’t know. I suggest we stay home, but Bodhi has his heart set on seeing his friend and underneath my concern, I am curious as to the effect of the showers on the city. Although the concierge of our apartment warns against it, we decide to go out. Driving slowly on Jalan Sudirman we spot people paddling kayaks down the city’s main drag. We squeeze by the water – just. Hours later, on the way home, we see the pond, now turned into a lake, with traffic backed up for miles. Luckily, we are going the other way. One wrong turn, and we could be stuck for hours. I decide to stock up on food and water.

Day 3- Saturday
Curiosity turns to awareness, then alarm as we read the papers and learn of entire neighborhoods under water, of hundreds of thousands of people flooded out of their homes, electricity and water supply disrupted. I SMS friends to see how they are doing. Many have moved into hotels. They are the lucky ones. Others, in low-lying parts of the city, have seen all their possessions float out of their homes, onto the streets. A pang of guilt stabs me as I think of our life, uninterrupted, living in a bubble next to such despair. I collect clothes and supplies to contribute to the relief effort.

Day 4 – Sunday
The flood waters are rising. We live by a canal which is overflowing. As we head out to meet friends, I am shocked by the flooded roads around our apartment. The main gate is closed, piled high with sandbags, but the back gate is still passable – barely. Cars surround the building as people have moved them out of the underground garage, up to higher ground. Alarmed and upset, I chew out my husband for taking such a laissez-faire attitude towards the flood. With just a little more rain, our apartment building could easily become an island, with no access in or out for food and water. Then, if electricity shuts down and tap water is unavailable, what will we do? I have visions of swimming through the flood with the kids on our backs. Bodhi hears all, and sucks in my fear like a sponge. I have always known that living here, we are a just mosquito-wings-breadth between paradise and hell, but I have never felt the precariousness of our existence more than I do now. That night, the rains continue. As I lie awake, listening to the sound of water pouring everywhere, my mind is attacked by negative thoughts.

Day 5 – Monday
After a sleepless night, I feel exhausted. I cannot keep up this level of worry, physically or mentally. Fatigue numbs my sense of danger until a sense of adventure arises. The kids and I walk to the back gate to view the flood scene. People and ojeks everywhere. Someone has built a mud crocodile on the edge of the flood waters. A smile creeps across my face as I witness the essential nature of the Indonesian people. Warm-hearted, resourceful, playful, even in the face of disaster. We spend the day at home, school being closed again. Bodhi is behaving strangely – clingy, whiny, not wanting to play with his friends. Highly unusual. By mid-afternoon he becomes insufferable, so I suggest we go out for a haircut. It is no longer raining, and cars can still pass through. We take a detour on our way to the barber shop, avoiding the flooded roads. Weaving in and out of the small streets, we come to a horse cart filled with kids. Crawling behind, unable to pass, we watch the jovial, loud, happy bunch on their way. A glance down a side street reveals a horde of kids, perhaps home from school, (or maybe they don’t go to school?) playing in the flood waters. A group of boys balance carefully on the edge of large gutters, presumably looking for frogs and snakes. I am awed again, by these kids who find opportunity in the most unlikely places.

Day 6 – Tuesday
The sound of rain awakes me. It has become a foreboding sound now. Yet despite nature’s tears, the flood waters have receeded around our building. A feeling of pleasant surprise, followed by relief, washes over me. Perhaps the city sluice gates were opened? We venture out to school, despite Bodhi’s vehement objection. He is worried about being left behind, about the flood separating him from those who protect him. I make a mental note to be more careful about revealing my anxiety in front of him. “It’s okay Bodhi, the flood has gone away”, I reassure him. But he knows my words are only partly true. Only half the class shows up. Many are still out of their homes or unable, unwilling to come in.

Day 7 – Wednesday
Life seems to return to normal. Our staff show up as expected. Karate class is on. School in session. Even the underpass below Jl. Sudirman is clear. I meet up with friends for playdates, finding comfort in conversation. I feel shaken by the whole experience, the closest we’ve come to falling off the edge of our precarious paradise. Driving home after yoga class that night, it starts to drizzle lightly. “Oh no, here we go again”, I think to myself. Having gone through the flood once though, this time I will be simply stirred, not shaken.