The First Coffee that I Would NeverForget Before I was finally ordered to move toan overseas post in Indonesia , I made a business trip to Jakarta beforehand . Itwas early 1990 ’ s . Even until then , I had had some wildimaginations about Indonesia . From several photographs of picturesque beautifulseashores in Bali , I could start to imagine charming and fascinating blondewomen sun - tanning in super - mini sized bikinis which could barely cover their shinyskins at peaceful paradises along with southern coast of Java Island . In thosedaydreams , they were smiling at me while jumping and running playfully andexposing their glamorous bodies so I unconsciously had to wipe up saliva accidentallyspilled off from the corner of my mouth . The closer the business trip beingimminent , the wilder my imagination was becoming . I thought that , as if in oldtimes , the runway of Jakarta airport would be crowded with vendors and beggarsaround the passengers who just stepped down from the just - landed planes , andthat Jakarta citizens were commuting their offices by jumping and hopping from danglingvines to vines in the jungle like Tarzan , and that I had to wield jungle swordto make my way , as in the old films of Indianan Jones , to my factory forgarment inspection . So naturally , however , all thoseimaginations were wiped away upon my physical arrival in Jakarta in the realworld . I was heavily impressed withseveral massive statues downtown Jakarta with grotesquely big hands of theirsalong with numerous tall and sophisticatedly designed skyscrapers on my way tothe hotel that night . To my astonishment , my factory in Cakung , north Jakarta , was nothing to compare with those sprawling small workshops in various cornersin Incheon city where my company placed garment orders until previous years . Those factories in Korea were employing only 20 - 60 workers respectively whilethat Jakarta factory had 800 local workers in it . It was super big ! Of course , however , I did not know then that there were already so many Korean garment plantsand shoe factories employing tens of thousands workers in a single installationaround . Anyway , my heart was filled up with the highest - ever pride that told melike this : ‘ Hey , Don ! You are runningthis big factory with the orders you are getting from buyers all over theworld ! How great you are ! ’ Factory president was my senior whom Iworked with in Seoul head office for a few years before he moved to Indonesia 5 years ago . He picked me up from the hotel but , in the factory office which waslike hovering over the manufacturing hall , I had to wait for a while before hejoined me back after processing all those bunches of documents which came lastnight through telex and facsimiles . When I was alone in the meeting room there , a smiling big face with all - out bold head peeped in . He was Aris , an Ambonnative as well as the HRD manager of the factory . Ambon was a rebel provincewhich once went independent from Soekarno ’ s Republic of Indonesia , under theflag of RMS ( Republic of Maluku Selatan = Southern Maluku Republic ) which wasfinally squashed down by central government after many years ’ resistance . Ironically they were one of most positively responded tribes to centralgovernment ’ s call for transmigration in which policy government send pioneersto deep forest areas , edges of provinces and remote islands for nation - wideeconomic development . Ambonese people are generally tall and big . They havereputations for often making organization like mafias to protect their owntribal benefits or for their aggressive participations in the financialbusiness fields as trouble - shooters or debt collectors . This Aris , however , was not that kind ofperson . I didn ’ t know until then that his full name was Aristotle . When I cameto know that , I was at a loss whether I should laugh or what because his appearancewas not philosophic at all . He looks more like a tough and volatile Papuan , which had a few cannibal tribes until the recent centuries . Another fact abouthim was revealed a few years later , that he put ‘ Socrates ’ as the name of hisoldest son . I had hard time to calm me down from my death wish to burst into laughsin front of his face during quite a time of period after knowing secrets ofnames of his family members . When I first met him that morning , however , hisblack face and big white eyeballs which had very little portion of black partwas surprisingly intimidating enough and his beaming smile was felt ominouslyspooky and dangerous . Even though I didn ’ t dare to express explicitly , myinstinct was very much desperately yelling at him : Hey , YOU CANNIBAL ! STOP THERE ! DON ’ T COME ANY CLOSER ! !. By the way , I tried to memorize a few keyIndonesian words before my trip to Jakarta . They were : ( 1 ) IniSalah = It is wrong . ( 2 ) Perbaikiini = Fix it ! ( 3 ) Bagus ! = Well done ! The main purpose of my trip was to makegarment inspection . So , if I found faults in the products , I would tell ( 1 ) Ini Salah ( It is wrong ) and then ( 2 ) Perbaiki ini ( Fix it ) sequentially . If the problem is successfully corrected , then I would go forward to ( 3 ) Bagus ( Well done ! ) , Otherwise , Ishould come back to the first to repeat the whole inspection procedures . Theywere all the Indonesian vocabularies that I have then , so it was simplyimpossible to understand any other Indonesian words or sentences even in frontof cannibal face of Aris ! Mysteriously , however , I DID understandwhat he was trying to say . He was mimicking a sipping motion from an imaginary teacup while telling me ‘ Kopi ? Kopi ? ’ Definitely he didn ’ t mean photocopy by that . Obviously he was offeringme a cup of coffee . At that point , I hurriedly tried to cover up my agitateddon ’ t - kill - me facial ｅxpressions and nodded gracefully while wishing that hedidn ’ t notice my previous panic . I also put that new Indonesian word into myvocabularies warehouse . Kopi . ... Ok . It was Aris , again , who brought in mycoffee . Of course , I fully understand his goodwill that he wanted to leave a good impression to the visitor from the headoffice by supplying his own brand of hand - made coffee himself . But there were acouple of so - called ‘ office girls ’ who ran various errands for managers andoffice staffs . I mean I didn ’ t insist that I preferred having my coffee fromtheir hands even though office girls were generally young and beautiful . What Ihad to protest was why Aris should bring my coffee with those big hands whichmade my coffee cup of standard size look like miniature of children ’ s play kit . Furthermore why should he neglect the saucer for the cup so that he held thecup with his thick fingers while dipping half of his thumbnail under thesurface of hot coffee as if demonstrating his outrageous physical endurance ? Afew drops of coffee were accidentally poured on the table , leaving black taintswith lots of unidentified powders in it . Perhaps it was my prejudice but thatcoffee even looked rich of proteins then . Aris sat in front of me across themeeting table instead of going out . He kept his beaming smile on his dreadfulface and I tried my best to respond with my own forced smile which made severalsensitive muscles in my face twitching unnaturally . It was all out of mydesperate efforts to give him a good impression in order not to fall as acannibalistic prey for Aris . He started to tell me something again anddefinitely I was supposed to have no idea what he was talking about . Mysteriously enough , however , what he was saying was automatically translatedin my head in real time . ‘ You know what ? Back in the kitchen , I found that creamer was not enough . Creamer is a verymuch essential stuff as long as it is not an espresso - based coffee . So , what couldI do for that ? I made up my mind to make a special mix for your coffeesacrificing myself . I had to use protein - rich oil under my thumbnail . ...’ Atthat point , perhaps I instantly developed my psychic superpower of reading people ’ smind ! “ Silakan minum , Silakan . ” While real time translation was alreadyin gear , it was easy to know this meaning only with his gesture . He was askingme to drink it . Well . In the past , I was forced to have alcohol - containingspirits in the training boots couple times and also drank Soju , a typicalKorean spirit , in a dirty ashtray more often , during my military service . Isurvived those occasions . So I still dared to take that coffee if I had to . Atthat point , another piece of information about Indonesian culture struck mybrain . I heard that they often wash their butts in the toilet with their hand . Was it right hand or left ? But there was no time to browse Indonesian culturalinformation in my brain database . Aris , who already repeated ‘ Silakan minum ’ dozen times , started to have bloodshot in his eyes and I was feeling that mylife was right at the stake if I would further hesitate . First sip . ..! An incredible heat struck my whole body . It was my first time to have that much revolutionary taste of coffee in mylife . The unbelievably strong sweetness of the coffee immediately paralyzed mytongue and throat when it flowed down through them . It was hundredsof times sweeter than any of coffee that I had had until then . Too obvious thatAris poured all the stock of sugar in the kitchen in that single cup of coffeeto demonstrate his best favor for the visitor from the head office . It felt like that a few more sips would definitelyignite diabetes instantly without fail . Furthermore , I felt enormous amount ofcertain powders gently sank on my tongue and teeth to make a thick layer . Oh , Lord . Are they from Aris ’ thumbnail ? Shouldn ’ t be , Lord ! Having a cup of coffee was miraculously enforcing yourfaithful sincerity in the Devine Hands that much as if a just - reborn Christian . My rational part demanded that I had tospit it out if I want to save my life . But Aris ’ big face beaming in front ofmy nose was a great threat and pressure on me . Spitting it out would moreendanger my life for sure . OK . Whatever ! I determined to swallow the whole sipdown to my throat . Perspiration flooding on my back soaked my shirts . I couldn ’ tfeel my neck because the coffee paralyzed my throat . I also found thechocolate - colored taints with previously mentioned unidentified powders at the rimof the cup where my lips touched . I had to ask myself . What the hell are those powders ? Now Aris looked into my face moreblatantly . It was already not strange anymore though I instantly developedanother skill of telepathy communication . He was waiting for my comments on thecoffee as if a chef who ‘ cooked ’ it . I had to say something good if I wanted toevade that crisis . Aris should not know what I really thought . At that momentof truth , an Indonesian vocabulary that would perfectly serve that occasion wassingled out . I , again , stretched my facial muscles to the maximum to force afabulous smile and said it with my thumbs up : ( 3 ) Bagus ! If I said ( 1 ) Ini Salah , perhaps I could have got killed there . Now , everybody knows that it was KOPISERBUK , a traditional kind of local coffee in Indonesia . Those powders werealso famous now . Definitely , however , it came to my knowledge first timethen . When I was officially posted inthat factory a few years after then , I devised a contingent kitchen defensesystem in order to protect my coffee from Aris ’ thumbnail . Permanently ! I always asked my office girls to lessensugar for my coffee but sweetness of coffee was still way stronger than that Ihad had back in Korea . The sweetness of Indonesian coffee was surprisinglyconsistent until Starbucks and Coffee Bean finally landed on Indonesian soil . During decades since then , I have changed many office girls for my office aswell as lots of coffee brands for my taste . But the sweetness of the coffee hasnot been lessened that much . Contrarily , I cannot have coffee which is notsweet enough now . As the life in Indonesia is not sweet at all , people here perhaps have seeked for little comforts from that strong sweet taste ofcoffee Whenever I see those chocolate - coloredpowders at the bottom of my coffee cup , I still remember my first coffee whichAris served for me then . – END -