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Fifty Cents
Rick McCabe
Gloucester, Massachusetts
In April, 1997, at the start of Indonesia’s economic unraveling I traveled to Central Java, ensconced in the most luxurious
accommodations I’ve experienced — luxurious at both a physical and at a soul level.
Amanjiwo sits on a hillside overlooking the valley, and in the distance, Borobudur, one of the largest Buddhist monuments in
the world. Amanjiwo takes its architectural foundation from Borobudur, mirroring the monument in a Twentieth Century
rendition. Borobudur itself was resurrected from ruin only a few decades ago.
Each morning for three or four mornings we sat at the highest point on the Borobudur monument to witness the sunrise. And,
each morning, when departing, saw the same custodian preparing the monument for another day, sweeping the debris left by
yesterday’s contingent of visitors.
On the third or fourth morning we asked him, using sign language and gestures, to take a picture of us. He obliged with an
obvious feeling of warmth and delight. In return for his service, my companion handed him, with appreciation and dignity, a bit
of Indonesian currency, equivalent to about fifty cents U.S. The man looked at this modest gratuity, offered us thanks and
cried.
It was in that moment that I realized, in a more profound way then I ever had, exactly how significant the economic differences
are between citizens of the United States and the vast majority of the world. And, as I have lived with this moment, etched
indelibly in my memory, it continues to teach me.
Fifty cents.
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Each morning for three or four mornings we sat at the highest point on the Borobudur monument to witness the sunrise. |
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