In the bustling streets of Jakarta, Joko, a Gojek rider, navigates his day with a humble yet determined spirit. Gojek, Indonesia's pioneering on-demand service app, has revolutionized transportation and services in urban areas, offering rides, food delivery, package delivery, and more. Riders like Joko, who ferry people and goods around the city on their motorcycles, earn their commissions based on the number of rides and services completed each day. The commission system rewards both the distance traveled and the number of trips completed, with riders receiving extra incentives for peak-hour rides or for reaching specific ride quotas.
On a good day, Gojek riders can earn between 100,000 and 200,000 rupiahs, depending on traffic, hours worked, and demand. This income, however, fluctuates. During holiday seasons or rainy days, the income spikes, but quiet days bring less work. Joko, like many riders, works long hours, often on unpredictable schedules, chasing every fare he can get. It's an exhausting but essential job, providing him just enough to support himself and his elderly mother.
At a small, smoky warung—a traditional Indonesian coffee stall—Joko sits with familiar faces. The warung owner, a wiry older man with sharp eyes, pours hot coffee into small, chipped glasses as his wife places fried snacks on the table. Around them sit a few street performers and a clown dressed in a faded costume, his red nose and smudged face paint signaling years of hard work.
"Y-you kn-know, I-I w-was th-there…" Joko begins, trying to relay his remarkable experience with Handoko during the recent accident. The others listen, somewhat intrigued, but struggle to follow his story due to his stuttering speech. Joko continues, his eyes wide with excitement as he recalls the intensity of the day. He tries to explain how Handoko, a serious man with a mysterious air, was rushing through the chaos, desperate to prevent a tragedy.
"Joko, are you serious?" asks the warung owner, tilting his head skeptically.
Joko nods enthusiastically, struggling to keep up with the responses. Since he can't hear, he reads lips but often misses key words. "Y-yes! He-he w-was...there w-was a big crash...p-people w-were...hurt," Joko stammers, gesturing vividly with his hands. But without any proof, the others dismiss his story as a fantastical embellishment, laughing and shaking their heads.
"Why didn't you take a picture if you were really with him?" asks one of the street performers, grinning.
"C-couldn't...Handoko...secret…" Joko trails off, disappointed, sensing that no one believes him. He quietly sips his coffee, feeling his words fade as the others move on to a new topic, leaving his story unheard.
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Later that evening,
Joko returns to his humble home, shared with his aging mother. His mother, a small woman with a weary but kind face, works as a street-side laundry lady, washing clothes for passersby and occasionally cleaning homes. Joko has never married, his life a mix of loyalty and dependence on his mother's quiet presence.
She looks up as he enters, worry creasing her brow. "Joko, you're running around the city too much. Don't forget we're just simple people. We don't have anyone important to protect us if something happens," she says, her voice filled with a familiar concern.
Joko lowers his gaze, silently nodding. He knows his mother is right; he can feel her worry for him, but he also feels an unspoken shame. No matter how hard he tries to prove himself, she still sees him as someone who needs constant guidance and protection. His father's dying words to her, always repeated, weigh heavily on him—"Look after Joko. Keep him safe. Don't let him stray."
Joko feels trapped in this role, longing to break free and be someone his mother can be proud of.
As he sits in his room that night, a WhatsApp message pops up on his phone. It's from Handoko, offering him a unique opportunity. Handoko's team is looking for individuals with resilience and unique skills, and Handoko had suggested that Joko join. The team would work on dangerous but crucial missions with substantial pay—a monthly salary equal to Jakarta's minimum wage, which in 2024 is around 5 million rupiahs. It's more than Joko could dream of making with Gojek.
For a moment, Joko's heart races. To be part of something important, to serve alongside people like Handoko, fills him with a sense of honor and ambition he's never known before. But before he can let the excitement sink in, he recalls his mother's voice, her warnings echoing in his mind. She's always feared the unknown, warning him about the dangers of stepping out too far from their world.
He brings the message to her, hopeful yet anxious. As she reads it, her face hardens, and she shakes her head. "Joko, no. This isn't for us," she says firmly. "These jobs are for people with connections, people who have power behind them. If something goes wrong, who will help you? This is a dangerous world, Joko. We're just regular people—we'll be blamed if things go bad."
Joko's throat tightens as he listens. He tries to respond, but his voice falters. He knows she doesn't want him to take the offer, and he respects her wisdom, yet his heart yearns for something beyond the confines of his day-to-day struggles. His mother's caution holds him back, reminding him of the reality they face as a small, vulnerable family with no safety net.
He's left with a torturous choice. Honor, purpose, and a taste of respect—these dreams lie on one side. On the other, the stability and safety of the simple life he shares with his mother, their small corner of the world where they know how to survive. The weight of the decision presses down on him, leaving him speechless, caught between his yearning for significance and his loyalty to the only life he's ever known.
--------------------------------------------End of Chapter 10-------------------------------------------