Jeftha Pattikawa is project leader at the National Archives and the initiator of Verloren Banden. He shines his light on his family members. Together with Rocky Hehakaija, Jeftha hosts the talk show BETA DISINI ’21 on Sunday 21 March at 12:00 on this site.
His suit hung around his body as if he had shrunk a little every night. In his hand a bible. That morning I heard the sound of bare feet on the linoleum floor. Through the crack of the door I saw him doing his jumping exercises on the landing. The ritual of a soldier. Without a uniform. Without an army. And as time passed, his memory too began to fail him. Strange faces around him. The psalms he did not forget.
Her voice grew louder and louder. For someone who seemed to lose her voice whenever the potato seller or the health inspector was at the door, she now would not stop talking. Her face turned red. While preparing the meal she reached under the counter for the bottle and poured a shot glass. Around dinner time she withdrew to her room. We did not see her again until the next day.
While preparing the meal she reached under the counter for the bottle and poured a shot glass.
He signed up for the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army. Not because he was loyal to the kingdom. Island life stifled him. A longing for adventure and a search for better chances. He had never been able to say goodbye properly to his loved ones. ‘Before you know it I’ll be back,’ he told his sister. ‘Take good care of this house.’ He was never able to find his way back.
This was not the life she had imagined. But she comforted herself with the thought that one day she would return with her family to a free country. Then she would leave everything behind. This is temporary. The unopened piles of post, the groceries that seemed to get more expensive every month, the strangers at the door asking after her sons and daughters. She watched her children lose their way in someone else’s country.
One of the conditions was that he cut his hair short. This he refused.
Studying at the Nautical College in Apeldoorn was his dream. Also with the thought that one day he could mean something for the struggle of his people. In the letter he read that he was admissible. One of the conditions was that he cut his hair short. This he refused. It was his only chance to change course. He never left the camp and the neighbourhood. His ships burned.
She dreamed big and without limits. Her dreams rose above the ideals of her parents. She would not be confined. Before sleep her future loomed clearly before her. Ever sharper as she grew older. A merciless lawyer. A famous singer. The world was at her feet. With her books under her arm she walked every day to the local secondary school. From the Woestijnweg, past De Cannenburgh castle, along the Dorpstraat. On one of those mornings demolition vehicles unexpectedly flattened their barrack. Her dreams crushed. A haze before her eyes. She lost her way. They were not fearless soldiers. And not strong superwomen who were there for everyone. They were people like you and me. With sorrow, fear, shame and guilt. We bleed, curse, cry, mourn and lose our way. We laugh, pray, sing, heal and remember.
They are fireflies. After dusk their stories, histories and testimonies light our path in the dark.
So that we always find our way home again.
#betadisini#iamhere#ikbenhier#70jaarmolukkersinnederland
Source: Facebook page of Jeftha Pattikawa, image: (former) residents of Vaassen
