Proof of Life

Over nine months ago, I shipped three suitcases with my possessions from Kyrgyzstan to Indonesia. To make a long story short, the suitcases are still not in my possession.  I will spare you the complete saga of their journey as that could take pages.  

They have been stranded in customs for several months.  The first Sampoerna HR person responsible for retrieving my suitcases has left the University in the meantime and taken another job.  The second HR person sees me coming down the hallway and tries to run and hide in the nearest broom closet.  He has grown tired of my questions and requests for progress reports.  "You and your wife could have conceived a baby, nurtured it in the womb, and given birth to a newborn infant during the time my suitcases have been stuck in the customs warehouse,"  I tell HR person #2. I don't think he appreciates the analogy.

The story now is that the release letter needs one more signature from some mythical supervisor for my suitcases to be given back to me. I didn't believe it, so like a desperate father whose children are being held hostage by bandits, I insisted that I be given proof of life that my suitcases even still exist.  "I think the so-called customs supervisor is enjoying my Kyrgyz wall hangings he has put up in his home."  I don't think #2 appreciates this theory either.  Nevertheless, I insisted upon seeing a photo of my suitcase hostages, or else I threatened I would run screaming madly through the halls of Sampoerna.

I believe #2 is wary of me and wouldn't put anything past me. So, today, #2 provided me proof of life, in the form of this photo.  Those do look exactly like my suitcases, so the hostages seem to still be alive. "Since you could have created one baby during this time, now we are counting how far along your second baby is coming...still in the first trimester, it seems." I am quite certain, from the look of his pained expressions, #2 isn't particularly enjoying the way I am extending the analogy. 

So what will happen first?  Mythical baby two will also make it to term?  HR person #2 and his wife will actually decide to make a real baby? #2 will leave Sampoerna in despair, forcing me to train HR person #3 in the details of my suitcase hostages?  Or will the customs supervisor grow tired of Kyrgyz wall hangings and finally re-pack my bags, sign the release form, and make them available to me?   It's all part of the fun of Indonesian bureaucracy, so one never knows what might happen next.  All that can be done is to enjoy some chicken satay with peanut sauce and to try to remind myself that possessions are not what ultimately define our lives.




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