Ready to rock: Mother Bank drumming on claypots and sashaying along kampung dirt paths as they croon about borrowing money at high interest rates from blood-sucking moneylenders. — The Straits Times/ANN
It’s not every day that a girl band made up of middle-aged Indonesian housewives takes the Internet by storm with folk tunes about the everyday struggles of village life.
But Mother Bank have done just that, beginning with their hit, Jalan-Jalan, in which they croon about borrowing at high interest rates from blood-sucking moneylenders, and the struggle to repay the debt.
“Taking a stroll on the beach, and returning home to a storm. Whose heart is not shaken in the face of never-ending loan instalments?” sing the women from the village of Wates in the music video, as they drum on claypots and sashay down kampung dirt paths, clad in bright pink dresses, matching tall headscarves and shades.
First uploaded on YouTube in June, where it has garnered 17,000 views, the video has been shared widely by netizens on other platforms such as Instagram and TikTok.
Even the Tourism and Creative Economy Ministry, and its minister, Sandiaga Uno, posted the clip on their respective Instagram accounts with the caption: “The new idol for women has arrived. We will support these cool mums until they reach the Billboard charts!”
Since then, the group of 15 women has cut an album, including four other original tracks, and uploaded it to Spotify. They have been invited to perform at social events in several Indonesian cities, and asked to collaborate in commercials by companies including OCBC Bank.
On a visit to Wates village in Jatiwangi, a small district in West Java, the women, some cradling babies in their arms, were clearly excited as they shared their newfound fame. It has opened doors to work opportunities, including endorsements for skincare and Muslim prayer garments, they said.
“The huge attention came as a shock to us all. We are nobodies, just poor village folks. None of us ever imagined we could leave our kitchen to go to a recording studio, and to other cities in Indonesia,” group member Yanti, 39, said.
“We were trembling so much the first time we got into a recording studio that no voice came out,” Mini, 65, added with a laugh.
Like many Indonesians, they go by one name.
The tale of Mother Bank began in 2021 when a young couple in the village decided to help their neighbours steer clear of moneylenders, known locally as “bank emok” or “bank keliling”, or mobile banks in the local language.
These often unlicensed informal lenders approach villagers unable to get bank loans, such as housewives, and offer small loans of around 2 million rupiah (RM605) to 3 million rupiah (RM909) at usurious interest rates of 20% to 30% which must be paid back in instalments over 50 weeks. As the interest accumulates, the borrower finds it increasingly hard to pay back the loan.
Often, neighbours are roped in as guarantors, making good on the instalments that the debtor is unable to pay. So, it is not unusual to see the women chalking up debts for themselves as well as their neighbours.
It is far easier to get a loan from a “bank emok” than a commercial bank. The women simply need to submit a photocopy of their identity and family cards, and a signed approval letter from their husbands.
Neighbours in need, should pay in deeds
Ismal Muntaha, 36, and his wife, Bunga Siagian, 35, both contemporary artists, became concerned about the endless hounding of the villagers by moneylenders, who would come every week, and sometimes every day.
“These moneylenders started coming to offer loans during the Covid-19 pandemic when many people were out of jobs and struggling to make ends meet. My wife and I were alarmed when we heard horror stories happening in other villages, where people who had no money to pay their debts were forced to give sexual favours instead,” said Ismal.
They decided to step in and loan money to their neighbours from their own savings. Ismal had spare funds saved up for flights and trips to hold overseas art exhibitions, which had been cancelled because of the Covid-19 pandemic.
This now came in handy to help his neighbours pay their household bills, children’s school fees and home repairs.
The loans were small, amounting to around S$200 (RM684), which the borrower could pay off slowly over 40 weeks.
The loans are interest-free, but there is a catch. The borrowers must spare some time every week to take part in productive projects to raise the profile of their village, so it can be named a cultural village, or “desa adat”.
Cultural villages, numbering hundreds in Indonesia, are communities which preserve their traditions and cultural customs.
Bunga added: “We were thinking, how can a bank function and act as an economic safeguard, providing funds as a solution to meet people’s urgent needs, but go further and empower people too? We also want women to play a more central role in this patriarchal society. Mother Bank puts women at the forefront of our collective struggles.”
There were plenty of ideas. The women farmed tapioca that they milled into flour to make snacks. They also built traditional warung food stalls out of clay and bamboo.
The music album was one of the latest projects, which had the women brainstorming song lyrics. Ismal tapped into his network of contacts from Jatiwangi Art Factory, getting on board designers and musicians to help design and sew costumes, arrange the music and play the instruments.
Fear has turned to fun, and hiding in their neighbours’ houses to escape the moneylenders has become a thing of the past.
Weekly meetings are now filled with friendly banter, laughter and lively discussions about the ongoing projects while they snack on oranges and “cilok”, or tapioca balls in peanut sauce.
A resident, Nia Mardiyani, 42, said she resorted to borrowing from moneylenders in the past as she had no other choice.
“We hated Thursdays, the day the roh jahat (evil spirit) will come knocking on our doors to seek repayments,” she said.
The loan sharks would come dressed from top to toe in ominous black.
Yanti added: “If we failed to pay up, our neighbours who acted as our guarantors would be hounded too. It was very embarrassing and stressful and we felt bad. Sometimes, we ended up fighting with our husbands over our money problems.”
Asked how many are still owing money to Ismal and his wife, they all put up their hands, giggling bashfully. But they said they did not want to take advantage of the couple’s kindness and tried always to pay the loan instalments on time.
Mardiyah, 54, has paid her debt but continues to join the weekly gatherings.
“I’m one of the main vocalists for Mother Bank,” she said, laughing, adding by way of explanation, “I used to sing when I was very young.”
“Ah, she just misses being with us. We are like a family now,” the rest chimed in.
Preserve their culture, reclaim their land
On Aug 14, the Mother Bank group organised a mass cooking event and sang a song called Wakare at an annual festival called Hari Gotong Rumah, or House Moving Day.
Dozens of residents of Wates village turned up for the celebrations, which included a parade in which some men carried miniature bamboo houses over their shoulders as they walked a distance of 2km from their village to a nearby military airbase and back again.
The ritual keeps alive memories of how villagers were made to evacuate their homes during the Japanese Occupation between 1943 and 1945, and returned after the war to see their land had been taken by the Indonesian military. The land conflict is still ongoing.
“Wates village, and seven surrounding villages, have lost legal ownership of their land. With the increasing threat of industrialisation, we can be evicted at any time if the state requires our land for industrial purposes,” said Ismal.
This is partly why he hopes Wates can attain the status of cultural village.
“I hope the villagers here can one day claim back their land. If we are named a cultural village, we have stronger bargaining power to preserve our existence. The activities and efforts of Mother Bank are all aimed towards this goal.” — The Straits Times/ANN
