Stories from Deli

Prins, 1910

Apie Prins (1885-1958) is the author of Ik ga m’n eige Baan  (I’m going to do my own job, publisher De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam, 1958), an autobiography, an eventful account of a ‘grand and compelling life’ of his life in Deli).

Prins was a translator, journalist, casual workman, explorer, peace activist, bohemian and what not. So important to this consideration is the account of the years he spends in Deli as a tobacco assistant. After the death of his father, Prins – a scion of an aristocratic Haarlem family – discontinued his medical studies and tries his luck in Deli in the tobacco cultures. He stayed there for more than three years – from 1907 to 1911 – that is, four years after Rhemrev had screened all the plantations on Deli for abuses.

Prins himself concludes that – not so much – he is unsuitable for Deli, but Deli for him. Despite the many opportunities for a quick promotion due to his unquenchable work ethic and talent for improvisation, he unexpectedly resigns because he is afraid ‘of damage to his soul’. His abrupt resignation request to his German principal administrator is thus described:

‘Well, I thought, if I become an administrator, I have to get it right, even before I get bonuses as an assistant because I’m afraid of the money. I’m worried the money will get the better of me and I’ll stick around here to make even more money. ‘

‘Are you afraid of that? I do not understand that. ‘

That’s the joke. I don’t understand it either, and I don’t want to understand it either, but I feel it.

If you want to become an administrator, you have to stay, and you will have money, but what good is it? After so many years you come to Holland, rich, but indisputable. As an Indian guest. A colonial. You cannot do anything, and you are no longer good for anything. You’re committed. ‘ Goddamn, didn’t he understand that?

But there is more that makes Prins afraid, than just money. Namely, the cruelty and the tropics. Because that is the tenor of the fascinating account, entitled Singkeh, which covers more than a hundred pages in Prins’ autobiography. It is full of razor-sharp notes on living and working with coolies, njai and colleagues.  

Of the companies mentioned by name and by name where Prins has worked, the Rhemrev report previously reported: ‘no complaints from the work people’. But what Prins saw around him is clearly clear in the story. Shortly after arrival, he wrote:

But you had to ‘keep them down’. Where else was the discipline?

Slapping a Chinese on the bald head was commonplace. The Chinese had shaven heads and beautiful long tails with red or blue ribbons. If they stubbornly loafed or became obstinate, deal a few blows with your kebon stick and habis perkara!.

You could choose: hit it loose, or let everything go your way and lose your prestige. And get fired!

An assistant who was scared was lost. There were, of course, exceptions among the older, more experienced, and sedate assistants, but the bulk of the assistants consisted of rowdies and bullies who took off at the slightest reason.

If a Javanese, who by nature is never in a hurry, did plan and  plan (take it easy) and so according to us was malas, call him: Lekas ​​sedikit!. That was the least you said, even though he was tired and worked all day. You couldn’t get any further with gentleness. A gentle assistant was a bad assistant. A tuan djahat (a strict, evil man) was in good graces with his superiors. He had a chance to get promoted. And that was the point.