Page 136 - EBOOK_Jamu: The Ancient Indonesian Art of Herbal Healing

However, the final words belong to the man who formulated Podosalametee. Dr Abdulkadir
always believed in “not much money but masses of friends”, and that’s the way this cottage industry
wishes to remain.

A Cottage Industry
Most jamu gendong sell alone. The production of jamu, on the other hand, is
something which often involves the entire family. The tedious yet extremely
important task of grinding herbs is energy-sapping and requires stamina. In some
households, the menfolk help out with the heavy work. The business can thus
afford the opportunity for all members of the family to work productively
together. The income generated by a skilled gendong with a large number of
customers can make a substantial economic difference to the income of a small
Indonesian household.
Once, a jamu gendong would grow many of her own herbs, but nowadays

these self-supplying herbalists are rare, and the local markets provide her
apothecary. A true jamu gendong looks for the freshest ingredients and bargains
the seller down to her price. She prepares the raw materials at home by grinding
them with a gandik, the Indonesian equivalent of a pestle, until they are reduced
to a paste. Some jamu sellers do the first grinding the evening before, ready to
make jamu early the next morning. Others do all the grinding and making each
morning before setting off on their rounds. Reputable jamu sellers use only
boiled water to ensure their jamu is free of impurities. Roots and leaves are not
generally boiled, but Javanese sugar is bought in cake form and boiled to a liquid
before being added to the mixture.

A TASTE OF TRADITION

Ibu Nur of Yogyakarta, now fifty-five years old, was widowed many years ago. Having to single-
handedly support five young sons made her turn to life as a jamu gendong in an effort to try and
scrape together a living for the family. Her boys remember having to go without food when it rained
and the jamu didn’t sell. Sometimes, when there was no rice to cook, they would survive on
Indonesian porridge instead.
“We went to school barefoot because there was no money for shoes,” recalls one of Ibu Nur’s
sons. “And we studied by oil lamps. But we accepted what we had and didn’t complain.”
When they went to university, the boys helped the family business by ferrying bottles of jamu
to and from campus to sell. Their mother was by then well-known for the quality and taste of her
jamu, and lecturers placed regular orders. It may be the case that successful children often look down
on parents of humble origin, but Ibu Nur’s sons were different, and were eager to set the record
straight.
“We are not ashamed that our mother is a jamu seller,” they insist. “If it were not for her hard