Reading Chapter 4 - The Journey: A Mother’s Strategy for Survival

In this chapter, Bobby takes listeners back to the beginning — to the bus rides, the ferry crossings, and the quiet courage of a young mother who refused to surrender. “The Journey” is not just a story of moving from Palembang to Jakarta; it’s a story of survival, strategy, and love that defied poverty and fear.

From the cracked vinyl seats of an old bus to the restless waves of the Java Sea, every mile reveals the strength of a 23‑year‑old woman who carried her children — and her hope — wrapped in a sarong. When theft struck, she didn’t panic; she adapted. When Jakarta demanded more than they could afford, she whispered, “We will be okay.”

🎙️ Chapter 4: The Journey is a cinematic retelling of faith, resilience, and the fierce intelligence of motherhood — the kind that turns struggle into legacy.

👉 Listen now to feel the heartbeat of survival, the rhythm of courage, and the echo of a mother’s promise.

Leadership Motivation is hosted by Bobby Sajutie, author, motivational speaker, and faith‑driven mentor. New episodes every Monday (motivational lessons) and Thursday (cinematic stories).  

Follow Bobby Sajutie on [LinkedIn/TikTok/YouTube] for more leadership insights and faith‑driven storytelling.  

© 2025 Bobby Sajutie. All rights reserved.

Transcript

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Good morning leaders. Today is Wednesday at 6 AM. We're going to continue chapter 4 for the book God Cannot Be Everywhere. That is why He created mothers. Chapter four The Journey The third year I was born, they made a decision that would shape everything. We were moving to Jakarta. Jakarta, the city of dreams of opportunity, of struggle. For many Indonesians, it was the promised land. For my parents, it was a gamble with everything at stake. They were not chasing luxury, they were not chasing status, they were chasing survival, and the faint flickering hope of a better life for their children. They were willing to risk comfort for possibility. We could not afford to fly. Flying was for the wealthy, for the lucky, for the people whose lives did not collapse under the weight of poverty. So we took the bus from Palembang to Lampong. I was three years old, old enough to walk, but still small enough to be carried. My mother wrapped me in her sarong, the way Indonesian mothers do, pulling the fabric around me to shield me from the wind, the dust, and the cold night air that seeped through the bus windows. The bus was old, cracked vinyl seats, rusted metal frames, windows that rattled every pothole. The air inside was thick with humidity, sweat and the smell of fried snacks sold by vendors who hopped on at every stop. My mother held me on her lap, her arms aching but steady. My father carried the bags, his face tight with worry he tried to hide. Tommy sat beside them, white eyed, absorbing everything. The roads stretched endlessly ahead, winding through forests, villages, and stretches of land that felt forgotten by time. Every bump jolted my mother's body, every stop reminded them how far they still had to go. But they kept going. From Lampung, we boarded the ferry to Marak. The sea was restless that day, waves slapping against the hull, wind whipping through the open decks. The air smelt of salt, diesel, and the sweat of hundreds of passengers packed together, each carrying their own story, their own desperation, their own hope. My mother held me close, tightening the sarong around my small body. She whispered prayers I could not understand but somehow felt, soft, trembling words carried by the wind. My father stood near the railing, staring at the horizon as if trying to see our future in the distance. Tommy clung to Mam's Sarong, afraid of the loud horns and the rocking of the ship. The ferry ride was long, the uncertainty was longer. The robbery From Marak another bus to Jakarta. This one was even more crowded. People set shoulders to shoulders, some standing in the aisle, others sitting on their luggage. Babies cried. Vendors shouted. The air was thick and unmoving. The roads were long. The stops were frequent. The exhaustion was real, but the journey was not just long, it was dangerous. Somewhere along the way they were robbed. It was not dramatic, no guns, no shouting, no violence, just quiet theft. The kind that happens when exhaustion dulls your senses and strangers move too close. A bag gone, a wallet missing, a moment of panic that froze my parents' hearts. Some of the money they carried, money meant for rent, for food, for survival was gone. But my mother, my mother was a genius. She had hidden the money in layers. She did not trust the world, but she trusted her instincts. Because of her, we were left with 75% of the money. It was not everything, but it was enough. It was survival. It was strategy. It was motherhood at its fiercest. It was the tactic I still use to this very day. The arrival in Jakarta. I did not know it then. I was too young to understand anything. But that moment defined my mother. She was not just a caretaker. She was not just a woman trying to make ends meet. She was a strategist, a protector, a warrior. She did not panic, she did not collapse. She adjusted. She held me tighter, she steadied her breath. She whispered, we will be okay. And we were, not because the world was kind, not because the life was fair, but because she was prepared. That kind of wisdom from a twenty three year old woman does not come from books. It comes from experience, from survival, and most importantly from love. When we finally arrived in Jakarta, my parents were hit with another reality. One they were not prepared for. Rent was expensive, more than they expected, more than they could afford. The city did not welcome us with open arms. It tested us. Jakarta was loud, crowded, unforgiving. The streets were filled with honking cars, shouting vendors, and the constant hum of a city that never slept. The air smelt of smoke, street food and ambition. My parents stood there, two young adults with two children, three bags and a pocket of money that was shrinking by the hour. They had made it to the promised land, but the promised land had conditions. And the first condition was this survive. Thank you for listening, and I will see you tomorrow on Thursday at 6 a.m. for chapter 5. See you next time.