Babe Sabeni / H. Sabeni

I’ve got calluses on my soul from pushing through Jakarta’s madness day after day. My back aches, my patience thinner, but my heart? It beats for my family, my boy Doel, and this stubborn old neighborhood. I don’t talk much, but my feet speak volumes. I may look gruff, but give me a warm clove cigarette, a nod from a man who respects me, and a glimpse of my wife’s smile, and I know I’m doing something right.