Document 1 (Tikus’ ID card):
“The above named person is registered in Bandung Siyakusyo and living
at 126 Riowstraat within the protected area Tjihapit”. Dated 29th December 1942.
Document 2 (Order to move to
address in Tjihapit area):
“#3. Address: 86A Nylandweg
#5. Place must go to: 119
126 Riowstraat Room III. Groote
Postweg 319
Whoever receives this warrant must go to the address on that date.....”
“Temporarily allowed to live outside of the Protected Area”.
Indeed, these addresses
(119 Riowstraat, 126 Riowstraat (?), 319 Groote Postweg) are just outside of
the camp boundaries. Apart from the
final one, written at the top of the document:
7 Sanintenlaan. This one I know
is well within Tjihapit camp, not far from Oma Korry and Maria’s houses.
Corner of Jl Saninten and Jl Rasamala
Document 3 (Regulations for
entry into Tjihapit – 1942):
“No place available yet within the protection camp Tjihapit”
It seems that “space”
was finally found for them within the camp proper at number 7, Jalan Saninten. This was 1942/3. As time went on, the concept of space had to
change and dining rooms, kitchens and even bathrooms of the houses in the
residential camps on Java were allocated as “rooms” for the growing numbers of
interned families. By the time the camp liquidation process began in late 1944,
there were thought to have been between 13000 and 14000 people living in an
area that once housed just 1500. “The condition of the Tjihapit neighbourhood after the war
was deplorable. An attempt was made to provide emergency housing here for the
Eurasian population after May 1945. Many of them had originally lived there but
had been evicted by the Japanese to make way for a "pure European"
women's and children's camp. By May 1945 the houses were declared unfit for
habitation by destitute Eurasian” (private
email from Boudewyn Van Oort)
At the top of the same Document, are listed
the early rules of the camp (1942).
These rules tell a very incomplete story of the camp’s history,
reflecting the euphemistic early rhetoric of the so-called “Protection Camps” before
they became under direct Japanese military control:
“Whoever receives this order is
allowed to bring furniture and tools for daily use”
Eventually most of the furniture was used up as firewood and the tools/
electrical equipment were confiscated by the Japanese either for scrap iron or in
an attempt to control the use of electricity within the camp. Boudewyn Van Oort cites the following notice
that was posted within the camp: “All
electrical appliances are to be handed in with the name and address attached.
Electricity will henceforth be free, but a list must be made of every light
bulb in the house”. He nods to the resourcefulness
of the interned women when he states: “Periodic attempts were made by the
administrative staff to reconcile the electrical consumption of Tjihapit
against the theoretical load from the remaining light bulbs.....Somehow,
consumption was always higher”.
Every family is allowed to bring cash money of their own
Shortly after, they were forced to deposit the money (what they did not
manage to hide) into the Bank of Japan.
The whole family except men of 17-60 years old has to live in the house
where they are moved to. However, the
whole family cannot live in more than one room.
By 1945, the age at which young boys were thought to have reached
manhood – the age at which they were deemed to become a “danger to the women of
the camp” – was reduced to just 11 and
then to 10 years old. Boys of 10 were
senselessly forced to leave their mothers and sisters and were transported to
men’s prisons or left behind when the liquidation of the inland camps - and the
concentration of POWs (as these women became) to the coastal region near
Jakarta - began. It was rare that the
young boys were lucky enough to join their fathers in other camps and so they
were, in the main, left to fend for themselves.
If at any time they have to depart from the house because one member of
the family is sick, they must inform [the authorities] and they must wait for
the order from the authorities
Eventually, and particularly towards the end of the war, those that got
sick suffered, and many of them died, within the camp. Shirley
Fenton Huie writes in her book, the Forgotten Ones, that many of the Single
women gave up hope. It was the children
who gave their mothers the motivation, optimism and drive to carry on fighting,
despite the odds.
People who live in the outside area have to bear their own costs for
everyday living
It became clear that it was to be the women who were to fund the camp
with the money deposited and the few belongings that they had brought in. House searches were carried out increasingly
often, looking for “banned” items and hidden jewellery. Dwindling resources and no access to income
or the outside world, meant that the women had to become increasingly clever
and take greater risks in order to survive. Whilst there are many stories of
internees banding together in mutual support, from time to time fear - manifesting
itself as rage and jealousy - would strike fast in defense against the threat
of hunger and deprivation, like a cobra spitting venom at a potential source of
danger. Anneke Bosman describes the
following incident:
“We saw a lot of people
running off towards the Toko [shop which was very sparsely stocked at the best
of times]. A little later we heard that bacon, smoked meat and eggs had been
stolen by Mrs. Van der Kam, the operator of the Toko. A lot of women had become
so enraged that they started a brawl and threw rocks and bricks at her windows
and her roof. Soon a Japanese showed up, who sent the women home, but they
kept coming back. Mrs. Van der Kam insisted that both the bacon and the smoked
meat were spoiled and therefore unfit to be distributed. But a lot of women
claimed to have seen and felt the merchandise and they insist that it was still
in good shape”.
Once the camps became under
military control however, the following notification was to be posted on the
Tjihapit noticeboard: “According to
the military regulations, the death penalty applies when rioting occurs” (source: Tjideng Reunion)
The place mentioned above is the place with special protection. But men between the ages of 17 and 60 are not
allowed to enter the area”.
At the bottom of
the same document is written:
“The child of the above named woman is going
to have an operation on her throat”.
My mother and
Aunt have no recollection of either of them having any operation or problems
with their throat.
Judging by the
red line running through the above sentence, it appears it was added to the
document on April 5th 2603 (1943):
Document 4 : Sick leave
“The
above named person is freed for one month due to sickness.” Dated 7th April 2603 (1943)
and with a destination address: #2 Van
Ruysdaellaan (Jl Prabu Dimuntur)
“Many people in the camp were
very... ach, how do I say..... switched on, I suppose”. Mum said.
“They were clever and daring in trying to get the best for them and
their families. Tikus would have done anything at all to get us out. Maybe she invented an illness – because there
was definitely NO operation.”
Luki and I find this small bungalow, dishevelled and abandoned-looking,
remarkably still standing. It is wedged incongruously
– like the Wicked Witch’s house in the Wizard of Oz - between larger, more
modern structures, as if thrown violently from one dimension into another.
The house is located just a short walk from the Borromeus
hospital where I spent 24 hours being treated for a sudden illness the Doctors
claimed to have been linked to a change in climate, one week after arriving in
Bandung. It is also the same hospital
where Luki received stitches in his forehead after being hit at a party many
months ago.
Luki has had his 2nd interview and it apparently went “a little
bit okay”. I’m not sure if that means
not very good or not so bad! Either way, he says it with a smile.
Back on the motorbike, we make our way to Cihapit to meet
Patrick. I have been back to Cihapit
quite a few times, but only once with Luki.
I unfold a large map and haphazardly
scour the Cihapit area for Jalan Salem, my eyes wandering from Jalan Saninten
to Jalan Jamuju to Jalan Cendana and back again.
“It ok Lele, I know where to go.” Luki turns his head to
say to me over his shoulder.
“How did you know where it was? You’ve never been to Patrick’s new house yet.” I ask
“But we were just nearby last time we come here and we
have that nice seafood lunch”.
“Really? Shit, I have
no sense of bloody direction”
“You can do.
But no room because you are thinking many things...You must
thinking, if not thinking then you not alive, you dead. But you must try to thinking only one thing.
Take time and finish that thing. Even
you are tired you must continue to the end.”
“ I know, I know.....” I shout into the wind with just a hint of
resignation.
“It’s
okay laaa.. you interest on everything .
This your character. You always
smiling and friendly. You always making
me feel comfortable. And you always
making me laugh. No room for more things
in your head so you sometimes a little bit Belanda – a little bit blonde. Hahaha”.
He
sees the bigger picture, the bigger me.
Despite our language barrier, we are not a chicken talking to a
duck. I reach my arms further and
tighter around his waist as he accelerates up Jl Supratman towards Jl Cendana, leaning
into a familiar musky scent, the spicy-sweet dizziness of clove cigarettes.
We
turn onto Jl Salam and drive up towards the Watchtower that I once passed where
I had noticed the barbed wire at the side and wondered what kind of secrets
that structure knew.
This area of Cihapit
around Jl Salem (De Rijpwijk), Jl
Saninten (Sanintenlaan), Jl Manglit
(Manglitlaan), is known to have housed Ambonese
ex KNIL after the war (Dutch military amongst the most loyal to the old regime),
some of whose descendents are likely to still remain. Cihapit in general seems to have retained a
certain Dutch influence. During my
visits here, I have noted a seemingly high proportion of people who have
relatives living in Holland or who are themselves of mixed blood. Christianity certainly doesn’t seem to be the
minority religion in this area. I spot Patrick’s
black pick-up truck with its yellow BBC Ormas sticker on the back
windscreen. We walk up the narrow driveway and enter a
small vestibule where we wait for him. Individual
high-heeled shoes are lined up on three rows of shelves, like a small showroom
displaying his bold designs, destined to adorn the feet of wealthy and gregarious
Jakartan ladies. Next to them on the top
shelf stand small figurines of Mary and of Jesus, a bizarre juxtaposition , as
if his mother is competing for moral as well as physical space in this small
house. Patrick emerges, wearing his
favourite black sleeveless Motorhead t-shirt and a pair of long shorts. A cigarette hangs from his mouth as he bends
to slip on his old canvas trainers, grabs a bunch of keys and utters “Ok let’s
go”. We are going to visit Oma Korry
and Maria as it turns out that Patrick’s own Oma was a friend of Oma Korry.
“But first Le, I want
to show you something. I want to show
you my old house where I have lived all my life and where my mum has lived all
her life. The Government took it away
from us 3 months ago and made us move here. Our story is similar to many of the people who
came to Tjihapit after the war. No one
knows. Someone, ..... someone who can, should
tell these stories.”
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