Oranje V, Stnylan, Coz1, Rens, Ghostwriter and BBBD. Thanks for your comments.
Hope you all continue to enjoy the story.
A tale of two cities
Kampung Nusajaya ( kampung = village)
Rakata, Dutch East Indies
1857
Bambang Puriyotono likes to sit idle on top of the cliff admiring the sight of gigantic waves smashing onto the rocky beach. Occasionally he would wave at the Dutch merchants ships sailing through Sunda strait to Europe bringing with them all those precious goods that Mr.Hendrix told him are essential for the growth of the Empire.
Mr.Hendrix, the local parish teacher has told him and the class that they are all very blessed to be governed by the Dutch. Mr.Hendrix always likes to say the Dutch will educate the locals while the English over in Malaya peninsula would works the local to death.
For an eight year old, Bambang has no idea where is Malaya peninsula, in fact he doesn’t even know what else exist outside his small kampung. He was born to be a fisherman and that all he wanted to be since he was born, until the day Mr.Hendrix arrived at their village.
Mr.Hendrix told Bambang, he was sent to Rakata by the government to educate children like him. Confused and scared at first, Bambang soon learn to enjoy the daily classes conducted by Mr.Hendrix. In Bambang’s mind, his teacher is the smartest man in the village, not only can he speak their dialect (although with a strange ascent) he can also understand and talk in some other languages.
Mr.Hendrix will always start his class by saying some prayers to his god by the name of ‘Jesus’. Bambang doesn’t really understand who is this ‘Jesus’ but it does not bother him. He always cannot wait for the class to start.
Besides telling the class about flowers and birds, Mr.Hendrix would teach the young children the command and usage of Dutch language. Mr.Hendrix, obviously noted the intelligence and enthusiasms of young Bambang, once told him quietly that if he continues his progress one day, Mr.Hendrix would bring him to the capital of Enlightment, Amsterdam.
From the classes, Bambang learned that the might Dutch empire have colonies in Caribbean, South America, North Africa, Borneo, Southern Philippines, Java, Sumatra and thousand and thousand of islands around Rakata. Of course Bambang have no idea where are all these places until one day Mr.Hendrix brought a map to the class and shows it to him.
Young Bambang was stunned that the world he knows, Rakata was all but a tiny dot in the world. Mr. Hendrix also told the class that the Dutch government has laid a lot of railway tracks across the empire, including here in Rakata. Of course, Mr. Hendrix says it cost a lot of monies but he also says the government always has her people welfare at heart.
Looking around now, Bambang too feels a great sense of pride as new colonial buildings are erected in the village. Unlike his grandfather who thinks these fair-skinned people are soldiers of devil, Bambang feel the Dutch are their guardian angel.
From that moment on, Bambang would have only one ambition. No, he no longer wants to be a fisherman like his father or his father before him. No, all he wants know is to be a soldier for the great Dutch Empire.
Fez, Morocco
1857
Iqbal Ibrahim led his 10-year old-son Hassan, past a new brothel by the main street. Scantly dressed women stand outside the parlor, soliciting men of all ages and race. A young Arab no more than 16 years old was seen marching into the brother with a bottle in his hand. Iqbal shakes his head as he witness yet another sign of moral decay in his beloved hometown.
Things are not always like this. Before the Dutch occupied the Kingdom of Morocco, this used to be a place of worship and law-abiding society. The Dutch people may have induced prosperity in Morocco by introducing new agricultural methods and extensive railways tracks laying but in the same breath, the Dutch also brought with them their liberal and western way of living which contrast sharply with the teaching of Allah.
Iqbal and Hassan arrived at their destination just before noon. Sweats started to fall as they open the door of the Dutch North Africa Bank.
The manager of the bank was a white bald man with a trim moustache. Iqbal converses with him in Dutch, a language he quickly pick-up when the Dutch occupied his beloved country.
“ I am sorry, Mr.Iqbal”, the manager says before he continues “ but our Bank simply could not extend further credit to your vineyard”.
“ But Sir, check my record, my installment payments are always on time. In fact this is the first time in five years that I have not made payment on time. Surely you understand the circumstances event is out of my hand”.
The manager nodded silently. Indeed, the Arab in front of him is one of the most enterprising landowners he has ever had the pleasure to do business with. Six years ago, Iqbal was astute enough to know the age of olive has gone and past and when the Dutch introduce grape growing as an alternative to olive farm, Iqbal has been the first to join the bandwagon. He mortgaged his 3 generations passed down olive farm and converted it into a first-class vineyard with the help of some experts he brought in from France and Italy.
Iqbal business grows and soon he took out a bigger mortgage to buy out his neighbour as well. All seems to go well for Iqbal but destiny has other plans for him. Six months ago, an unknown fire burns down a great part of his vineyard and the Bank has just recently served him a foreclosure notice.
An emotional Iqbal pleads “Sir, all I ask is another six-months, then I will have enough funds to pay the Bank, the second batch of grapes are ready for picking, you can see that for yourselves, please retract the notice. Don’t take my land away, that all we have”, whilst reaching to grab the hand of the Dutchman.
The kind manager wanted to say yes but he looks up and saw the large portrait of the Director-General and remembered his strict instruction. “By all means, must get our hand on all profitable businesses in Morocco, except if they are already ours.”
“I am truly sorry, Iqbal. There is nothing I can do. If you don’t pay up by end of this month, the Bank will exercise its right of foreclosure against your vineyard and… you will be made a bankrupt”, a genuine sorry sound manager replied”.
A now tearful Iqbal swears at the manager in Arab before dragging young Hassan out of the bank. The manager pretends not to understand what he just heard.
Hassan doesn’t understand words like foreclosure or bankruptcy or what has transpired but he does know his father has been hurt by the white people.
From that moment on, Hassan would have only one ambition. No, he no longer wants to be a farmer like his father or his father before him. No, all he wants know is to be a soldier, a soldier to fight the imperialistic Netherlands.
