Kucai was a social creature who from an early age understood our culture and how the value system in our society worked with exceptional clarity. If a populist is skilled enough to represent himself as a defender, he has a chance to be politically successful. So from the very beginning, Kucai consistently maintained his most prominent qualities: populist, compulsive debater, know it all, and a bit shameless. Eventually, he became a candidate for a political party and then successfully realized his plan A to have a position in the House of Representatives. So who is the real genius then? Lintang or Kucai? Lintang, always number one, or Kucai, always at the bottom?
When Kucai was elected as a representative, he invited us to celebrate at a coffee stall. He then expressed his gratitude to us, especially to Lintang, who Kucai said had actually been his inspiration. His face was swollen from holding back tears.
"Lintang, my friend, thank you for making me the way I am," Kucai said in his third-class politician style. His eyes were glassy. He looked at Lintang sadly, but his eyes seemed to be fixated on Harun.
From a materialistic aspect, we couldn't say that the futures of the Laskar Pelangi members were secure. But we felt very lucky to have had the opportunity to study at the poor school with the extraordinary teachers who made us appreciate education, fall in love with school, and celebrate the joy of learning.
We realized that who we are today was shaped at that school long ago. But the most valuable lesson from those magical years was one Pak Harfan had taught us, and I could see it on every member of Laskar Pelangi's face. We had learned the spirit of giving as much as possible, not taking as much as possible. That mentality made us always grateful, even in poverty. The poor Pak Harfan and Bu Mus had given me the most beautiful childhood, friendships and rich souls, something priceless, even more valuable than aspirations. Perhaps I am mistaken, but in my opinion, this is actually the breath of education and the soul of an institution called a school.
I felt lucky to have the opportunity to continue my education in a foreign country far from my own, and I later traveled to many places as a backpacker. Wherever I went, I was always interested in seeing how people interacted with each other in a particular social system and how they saw their lives. I enjoyed my unofficial profession as a life observer.
I met leaders of various religions. I asked them about the wisdom of life. I saw people search for peace in their lives through entering the bohemian lifestyle. I also saw people depart for Mecca, India, Bethlehem, and the Himalayas, looking for peace of mind by dedicating themselves completely to a belief. I even frequently met people desperately searching for themselves, adventurers sometimes ending up with the police looking for them.
I tried to draw a conclusion from all my experiences. However, I apparently didn't have to travel far away; I didn't have to conquer the world or meet a variety of people. The final conclusion, the wisdom I believed, was the simple philosophy I drew from the unforgettable years of learning in the Laskar Pelangi school that was eventually blown down by the wind.
The wisdom was as simple as the humble school itself. Fate, effort, and destiny are like three blue mountains cradling humanity and rocking them in comfort. Those mountains conspire with each other to create the future, and most find it difficult to understand how they work together. Those who fail in some aspect of life blame it on God. They say if they are poor, it is because God made that their destiny. Those who are tired of trying stand still, waiting for destiny to change their fate. Those who don't want to work hard accept their fate because they believe it is unchangeable—after all, everything has already been preordained, or so they believe. So the devil's circle hems in the lazy. But what I know for sure from my experience at the poor school is that a hard-working life is like picking up fruit from a basket with a blindfold on. Whatever fruit we end up getting, at least we have fruit. Meanwhile, life without hard work is like looking for a black cat in a dark room with closed eyes, and the cat is not even there.
These simple grains of wisdom, I believe, is what made me always want to learn and to work hard. I am convinced that my belief, not the fact that I was a smart student, was what made me finish my studies in Europe. I came back to Indonesia and worked for a telecommunications company.
When I was working at the company in 2004, a disastrous tsunami struck Aceh. Hundreds of thousands of people died. I signed up to be a volunteer and was in Aceh for three weeks.
On my way to the Aceh airport after my volunteer work, I saw a young girl wearing a jilbab. She stood on the side of the road holding a banner. Behind her lay a school that had been destroyed by the tsunami. Her banner read: Come On, Don't Give Up On School.
I was stunned. That young girl may have been a teacher, a teacher trying to collect what was left of her students in the wake of the disaster. I found myself struggling to hold back tears at the sight of that girl. I was moved by her strength, and at that moment I was reminded of a teacher who once told me losing a student was like losing half a soul.
Then I remembered my old promise—the promise I made back in the sixth grade when I saw Bu Mus crossing the schoolyard, protecting herself from the rain with a banana leaf as her umbrella. Deep in my little heart, I promised I would write a book for Bu Mus. The book would be my gift to her, proof that I truly appreciated and valued all she had done for us.
Two days later, in Bandung, I came home from work and began writing the book. In the following days, I smiled to myself, giggled, was touched, felt annoyed and found myself sobbing late into the night, alone. Before I knew it, I had written 600 pages.
As a final touch, I felt relieved to write something on the front page of the book: I dedicate this book to my teachers, Ibu Muslimah Hafsari and Bapak Harfan Effendy Noor, and my ten childhood friends, the members of Laskar Pelangi. I called it Laskar Pelangi.
Setiap warga negara berhak mendapat pendidikan (undang-undang Dasar Republik Indonesia, Pasal 33)
Every citizen has the right to an education (Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, Article 33) The end
Translator's Note
I FIRST heard the name "Laskar Pelangi" in September 2008. All of a sudden it was everywhere: the book, the song, the movie. The first book of Andrea Hirata's life-inspired quartet, Laskar Pelangi has taken Indonesia by storm since its release in 2005, selling a record number of copies. Its popularity remains unsurpassed. In 2008, it was adapted to film, and in that medium it has earned awards and gained recognition worldwide.
As both a story and a literary work, Laskar Pelangi is priceless — so admired that men have proposed to women using this book in place of a ring. It contains a unique, new way of telling a story. Set on the Indonesian island of Belitong, Laskar Pelangi conveys a sad tale with laughter and lightheartedness. It tells of oppressed people protesting in admirably good humor, without swearing, without violence, without a divisive political movement, and without anyone to take up their cause. The vicissitudes of growing up are depicted brilliantly; the reader will be touched by an absurd yet pure first love, and one can't help but smile at the innocence of the children as they earnestly plan their futures. Above all, Laskar Pelangi tackles serious issues, such as the right to education and corporate exploitation, while framing them within the tale of a beautiful childhood journey and friendship.
Having been deeply affected by the Belitong I encountered in the book, I had to go there. So my friend Kate and I planned a Christmas trip to Belitong—and by planned, I mean bought tickets and left the rest up to fate. We happened to stay with Andrea Hirata's brother, Pak Diding, and his family while we were there. We fell in love with Belitong: the people, the landscape, the culture. It felt like a home away from home. A few months later, Andrea asked me to review two drafts of translations for the book. I gave him my opinion, and he eventually asked me if I would translate it. As a student of literature at universitas Indonesia at the time, I was both delighted and intimidated by this offer. I accepted, and we began the translation at the end of March 2008.
Cultural translation and its attendant quandaries— knowing when to explain something and when to just leave it as is—were our constant concern. One of our goals in translating Laskar Pelangi into English is to share it with the world—not just Southeast Asian Studies libraries and classes. In the hope that Laskar Pelangi will appeal to a wider audience, we decided to stay away from glossaries and footnotes.
Another goal in translating Laskar Pelangi was to provide Indonesian students of English with a study reference written by someone from their own country. Indonesian students are often given assignments with English novels—what better inspiration and motivation for them than a book by one of their countrymen about their country.
The epic journey that is Laskar Pelangi, the character of the book itself and the central theme of education (from any angle: the way people value their existence, in the community, amongst each other) all contribute to making this book a universally touching experience. Education is a basic human right, and all over the world there are children and teachers who are still struggling to secure this right. I recently had a discussion with a teacher in Central Java who sometimes loses junior high students due to their need to work. Not unlike Bu Mus and Pak Harfan, he makes less than $25 USD/month, and often goes above and beyond his teaching duties, making house calls to check up on students who have been absent more than three days in a row. For reasons of poverty, marriage, lack of teachers, lack of students, not to mention natural and social disasters, many children do not have access to education. Laskar Pelangi is a product of and a medium for the inspiration to overcome these circumstances. This is one of the reasons the book has been so popular in Indonesia.
I am honored to have had the opportunity to translate this book. Many people have helped me, and this is part where I write my elongated Thank Yous. I would like to thank Andrea Hirata for entrusting me with translating his masterpiece. Andrea himself has had a very active role in the translation. We have had many ups and downs while working on this project, and it would not be anywhere near as good as it is without him. I recruited some very intelligent friends to help with the project. My editors, Emily Hanna Mayock and John Colombo, have spent countless hours reviewing the work. Their input and corrections have been invaluable. Jewel Aldea has been kind enough to be the final proofreader (aside from Andrea), and her contributions have really given the translation a polished finish.
I would like to thank Pak Haidar Bagir and Pak Putut Widjanarko from Mizan Publishing, and also Pak Salman Faridi from Bentang Publishing for their support and patience throughout this process. Thanks to Azmil Tayeb for his comments, Lindsey Frick for being my coffeeshop working companion while I was in the States, Intan for sharing his experiences, and my friends in Belitong for welcoming me into their lives.
I would like to also thank SMK Muhammadiyah 3, Singosari-Malang and Lazuardi Global Islamic School (SD SMP Cinere and SMP Cilandak) for giving me the opportunity to teach at their schools and providing me with precious life experiences. Thank you to Bonang and Menteng Jaya communities for studying with me and showing me the value of informal education and community togetherness (made possible by Nurani Dunia Foundation).
Of course a big terima kasih to my Bahasa Indonesia teachers from my days at Ohio university: Ibu Suharni and Ibu Maryani.
Thanks to Nidji for their inspirational song Laskar Pelangi, which has the power to pick anyone up when they are down, and to Mira Lesmana and Riri Riza for adapting the book into such a powerful film.
I owe many thanks to Bu Gita and Pak Imam Prasodjo for their advice and encouragement, to all of my ETA friends from our grant period 2007-2008, and those who came after us—you are all great. And last but not least, to my family, for tolerating my absence and their constant support and love.
I hope everyone loves this story as much as I do. Selamat membaca.
Angie Kilbane Jakarta, October 4th, 2009
Table of Contents
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
www.andrea-hirata.com
The Rainbow Troops Page 29