On Malas

About 50 meters from my house is a structure of sorts, that sells stuff. Apparently they don’t have water or fruit (I’ve checked), but they seem to sell processed snacks (and the Indonesian equivalent, krupuk) and maybe, I don’t know, some newspapers, and definitely gasoline for motorcycles. There’s a shelter attached that has a low-lying table and some mats, and by about noon every day, some middle aged Muslim dudes congregate, sometimes with their families, to nonkrong (Indonesian word for hanging out, doing nothing, wasting time). But what I discovered by popping my head in, a little rudely, maybe, is that they spend that nonkrong time playing chess. Not some crappy chessboard they bought used for 5 bucks, but a handcrafted, heavy-weight chessboard with carved wooden pawns. These guys, mind you, are pretty poor. They hang out in the equivalent of a shack every day in perhaps a futile attempt to sell crap, and meanwhile they’re spending hours upon hours in focused games of chess. I wish nonkrong took hold in America. Can you imagine?