58: Debt Recovery

Jakarta Bound is a travelogue about life in one of the largest and most densely populated cities in South East Asia.

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With everything unpacked and put away, the next thing on the day’s agenda was to track a letter from home that my daughter had sent to me. It was a form I needed to fill in to get the wages from my last job.

Before leaving the UK I was the English Project Manager at a language centre that delivered courses preparing students for citizenship applications. There had been a documentary on television that had exposed dozens of colleges and language testing centres across the country that had been cheating the examination system. As a result, the Home Office had made new legislation that meant thousands of non-native British citizens had to also reapply for their citizenship. The new legislation also required applicants to pass an ESOL E3 level speaking test. The directors of the centre, Mr. and Mrs. Mustafa, had shrewdly decided to capitalise on this new market and I was employed to coordinate the project. My job was to develop a scheme of work and lesson plans for the language courses and a preparation course for the citizenship test. As the only qualified teacher in the centre, I was also responsible for assessing the students, delivering the lessons and conducting the exam.

I had never really felt comfortable with the way things were set up at the MIC Citizenship and ESOL Centre, it just felt a little off. Mrs. Mustafa, who was the director of the school, had a contrived air of pretension about her. She was well-spoken, clearly well-educated and she conducted herself in a very dignified manner. She always wore traditional Indian dress and seemed to command a great deal of respect from the Asian community that the centre predominantly served. But despite seldom being in the centre, she liked to micro-manage, which was a little irritating. She would come in for a “brief meeting” to discuss how the project was developing, then tell me what she wanted to do. If I questioned or queried anything, her response was a passive-aggressive indignation, perceiving me to be argumentative.

I never saw Mr. Mustafa who owned the school, but I knew he also had another larger language school that had be running for some time. But irony of ironies, this larger school was itself investigated in relation to its examination and assessment practices. The outcome of this investigation led to the school losing its examination status and a being forced to close. As a result, Mr. Mustafa put companies into liquidation, which meant that I didn’t get paid my final wage. This of course meant that I was one of their many creditors, so when the receivers set about administrating the liquidation process, I had been contacted so that they could recover the money owed to me. All I had to do was complete the relevant form that had been sent to my home address. My daughter had collected this letter and posted it to my address at Centro City Apartments. But that had been about three weeks ago and I still hadn’t received it. Overseas mail isn’t sent by boat anymore so I knew it must be somewhere in Jakarta, and I needed that money.

57: Hello Mediterania Gardens

Jakarta Bound is a travelogue about life in one of the largest and most densely populated cities in South East Asia.

Medi 2 pool 8 2015-03-18

 

Opening the door and stepping into my new place felt great. It wasn’t big or extravagantly decorated, but it was cosy. Ok, the kitchen was little more than a 70’s looking kitchenette with a double gas hob burner that was supplied by a canister in the cupboard underneath, but from what I had seen, that was pretty standard in Jakarta. Nevertheless, the sofa was modern, there was a modern LCD TV that actually worked, and the décor was uniformly simple, the only flourish being an abstract Matisse-esque tree pattern that had been printed on the wall behind the TV. But even that, with its colour palette of browns and greens was pleasantly understated and complimentary to the rest of the place.

My room, which was the large room with the king size bed, had a large fitted wardrobe on the back wall with plenty of space for all my stuff. There was a bedside cabinet and a little desk beside the window in the corner. It was pretty nice. Of course, compared to my own flat back home it was pretty shit, but it’s the simple pleasures you learn to enjoy again when you are stripped of options. Right now, it was about 30-plus degrees in Jakarta and the sun was shining like it did every day. No amount of home décor in grimy grey Manchester could substitute that. Not to mention the fact that I had access to a lavish pool area with a 25-metre pool and a 50-meter pool, replete with outdoor jacuzzi. You can’t get that kind of luxury in Ikea.

Medi 2 pool 2 2015-03-18 16-56-00

After unpacking my stuff, I spent a moment taking in my 29th floor view, which when you subtract the 13th floor and all the floors with fours is actually the 25th floor; it wasn’t bad.

Medi 2 pool 1 2015-03-18

At the base of the atrium created by Mediterania blocks D, E and F, I had my pools. There was no tower block to the west so, just across a road beyond some tennis courts and a school that was beside the apartment complex, the surrounding district of Tanjung Duren filled the open-ended space. The roofs and walls of the houses cramped into the area created a fractured mosaic pattern of browns, greens, ochres and off-whites just beneath a hazy layer of blue-grey Jakarta smog. ‘This is not bad at all’, I thought to myself.

Medi 2 Tanjung Duren view 2014-09-30