From Atjeh to Mejong Lodaja, part one reading time approx 7 min
Willem Vorman did not come for the pepper. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a white silk handkerchief. He loosened his stiff collar a little. His neck was also clammy. The heat fell over him like a blanket that he tried in vain to kick off in the night. He already longed for the fresh sea breeze. The sailing ship he had just left was being unloaded far from the shore and a small boat would take his trunk to the quay. A coolie had already joined him to help him with his barang, although it did not look like his luggage would be unloaded anytime soon. He felt rather embarrassed and to give himself some attitude, he - ignoring the dark man - looked in his pocket for his cousin's letter of recommendation. That letter was supposed to help him get started in Atjeh. He felt for a moment for his money bag and wondered how much the coolie would expect from him later. If only he didn't think he'd pay him for all the time he spent idling here. He took a deep breath. Here he was, after a long sea voyage and a short stop in Java. 'The year of our Lord, 1863,' he said to no one in particular. 'Willem Vorman sets foot in Atjeh.' Mentioning this fact took away some of his discomfort: this hurdle had already been overcome. Now he could start to orientate himself on his new life. Atjeh was still a relatively unknown place for many Dutch people, which was actually strange, he reflected, because the first ship voyage to the Indies was more than a century and a half ago. Everyone knew Java, and of course the Moluccas too. Because of the spices. But who had heard of Atjeh? He looked around again. Although it was busy in the port of Pedir, there were not many white people to be seen. He registered a lot of men in long white robes. Fierce black eyes in tight faces. He couldn't help but feel that some people were looking at him with hostility. Exotic, this new country, but also oppressive. That was his impression. The man standing next to Willem in his dirty shirt and torn breeches looked stiffly ahead. The smells, the heat, and the unfamiliar sounds expanded into a hum that threatened to suffocate him. He tugged on his collar again. To his relief he heard someone calling his name. 'Vorman? Are you Willem Vorman?' 'Is it written on my forehead?' He looked into the tanned face of a tall man who held out his hand to him. The man must have been about ten years older than himself, he estimated. 'Pulled straight from the Frisian clay,' the man joked. 'I can recognize a baru, a newly arrived one, from a mile away.' Willem took the quip. He was indeed a newcomer in the East. 'Then you must be Arie Bontje if I'm not mistaken. My cousin wrote you a letter.' He reached with his hand to his inside pocket, but Arie Bontje waved him away. 'That will come later. Look, is that your trunk being put there?' With the casual gesture of someone who feels at ease, Arie Bontje instructed the coolie to drag Willem's luggage to a waiting carriage. Willem looked in surprise at the little horse that was waiting patiently in front of the carriage. 'Well, that's a bit different from our Frisian workhorses. Such a tiny thing will never move that carriage if we're both in it, will he?' 'The horses here are small, just like the people, but they are stronger than you think. Look out!' With a rough movement, Arie Bontje pulled him aside by his arm. Just in time they were able to avoid a horse at full gallop. 'Thanks man. A person's life is not safe in this chaos.' Startled, he pulled out his handkerchief again to dab his face. He watched the rider with increasing amazement. It was a girl. She slowed down and looked back over her shoulder. She was about thirteen at most, he guessed. She gave him a haughty look before looking ahead again. Together with Arie and the coolie he lashed the trunk into the carriage. The thing was way too heavy and he regretted all the unnecessary weight he had crammed into it. The horse tripped back and forth for a moment when the center of gravity of the carriage changed. Arie patted the animal on the neck. Willem heard the clopping of horse hooves as he took out his money bag to pay the coolie. Warned by the earlier near-collision, he stepped aside, but he was too late. He was hit full in the back and the money bag was ripped from his hands. He fell forward and hit his head painfully against the side of the carriage. 'Well all…' It was the same girl. 'Stop the thief!' he shouted. Arie helped him up. 'Take it easy, buddy. People don't like being called a thief.' 'But she stole my purse!' Arie put a piece of money in the coolie's hand and the man walked away without paying attention to the incident. 'I hope your entire capital wasn't in that money bag?' 'No, thankfully not, thank God.' 'Well then, leave it at that.' Willem looked in the direction in which the thief had disappeared and put his indignation aside. His good mood soon returned. ' 'Such a little witch,' he chuckled. The girl and her horse were nowhere to be seen already. Arie knocked the dust off Willem's clothes with his floppy felt hat. 'Go away man.' Willem made a dismissive gesture at Arie's headgear. 'What are you going to do with a slouch hat like that?' The fear, which still tingled in his fibers, made his tone a bit too friendly. Well, their meeting hadn't been very formal anyway. At a gesture from Arie, Willem got into the carriage. As the horse moved effortlessly, they observed each other with interest. 'Well, you can start your cross-examination now,' Willem challenged the other. 'You'll want to know what I'm doing here.' Arie raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled apologetic. 'Yes indeed. I assume you had had enough of the flat meadows of Friesland?' 'I wanted to see something other than water, wind and width,' Willem replied. 'All right then. Now let me read that letter from your cousin.' While Arie read, Willem watched the city pass by. He liked what he saw. Densely forested mountains rose in the hinterland. There must be a lot of game there, he suspected. Big game. Elephants perhaps and orangutans, rhinos, tigers. According to his information, the jungle was teeming with tigers. It looked impenetrable. Menacing. It would also be full of mosquitoes and other biting insects. He imagined that people did not like to go into the forest. It only dawned on him that Arie had finished reading when the man had been talking for a while. He hadn't heard anything of it. What was he talking about? 'The pepper, I said,' Arie clarified. 'Your cousin did the right thing in sending you here. This land indeed is a pepper paradise.' Willem struggled to tear his gaze away from the green landscape and turned his attention to his conversation partner. He knew what was in his cousin's letter: a request to Arie Bontje to train him, Willem, as a merchant and to offer him shelter in his spacious merchant's home. 'There is a lot of money to be made for a handy boy,' Arie continued, 'but you have to know the mores of the country. Trade here is more than buying and selling. You have to know how to deal with the oeleëbalangs, they are the kings here. And with the oelama's, the Islamic scholars. They often get at each other's throats. You have to take advantage of that.' 'I understand,' Willem said dully. 'You don't sound very enthusiastic. Are you tired from the journey or are you not keen on the trade?' Arie looked at him questioningly. 'I have to earn my living somehow, otherwise I will quickly use up my grandmother's inheritance. Especially because this place is apparently bursting with robbers.' 'Then why are you here anyway?' 'Well, I must admit that the pepper could be stolen from me. The real reason I'm here is the hunt for tiger.'