‘You can’t build your happiness on the misfortune of someone else’

Yvonne Koster lives in a sheltered home near Nusantara, a care institution for the elderly from the former Dutch East Indies. The sparkling 100-year-old amusedly recounts her adventures over the past century, carefully articulating it. ‘All Indo-Dutch speak like me’, she says, ‘in the mouth and at different pitches, not as a monotonous thump, as many Dutch do.’ She only realizes that she is old when she sees her two daughters, with their gray hair. ‘I am healthy and mentally vital.’

What is your fondest childhood memory?

‘Then I think of the detached house with a large garden, 7 kilometers outside Malang, where I was born and raised. With the rose garden and fruit trees, full of avocados, jackfruit and lemons. We had chickens, ducks, fourteen cats and seven dogs. I knew it wasn’t allowed, but I cut a branch with a caterpillar and put it in a vase of water in my room to watch the caterpillar develop into a butterfly. It became such a large atlas butterfly. I could watch that for hours. One day I saw a small white ball in a keyhole. I picked it out and put it in a matchbox. A few days later I saw a scrawny translucent cicak (a wall lizard, red.), you could see his spine. I fed him half a mosquito every day, after a few days the cicak got color. When he was too big for the box I said: now you have to live your own life. The next day I tapped on the table and suddenly the cicak crawled out of the bookcase. I fed him a dead fly, and that went on for a few more days.

‘I would have liked to become a biologist, but for girls there were two options: a nurse or a teacher. I chose the second and got my deed.’

What preceded your emigration to the Netherlands?

‘During the Japanese occupation, our family, my parents and six children, were left alone because we were mixed. Real Dutchmen were arrested. My father was Dutch, but my mother had Indonesian and European blood. But we were not allowed to work, to school or to shops. Fortunately, my mother had a large supply of rice and beans, which we ate every day. As soon as the Japanese left, nationalists in Indonesia started a struggle for independence. In October 1945, Indonesians entered our house and said that we had 1 hour to leave: ‘after that this house is no longer yours’.

‘They said we mata musuh had: eyes of the enemy. We panicked, quickly grabbed sturdy clothes and shoes and had to walk 7 kilometers to a civilian camp. Our house was set on fire. From one day to the next we were without rights. In July 1946 we were taken in an Australian Dakota to Batavia (now Jakarta, red.) flown. Because we no longer saw a future in the Dutch East Indies, we emigrated to the Netherlands by ship in 1950. A few days later I found a job as a teacher at a primary school in Amsterdam, and a room with a landlady.’

How do you view the Indonesian struggle for independence?

‘The Dutch East Indies felt like my country, I was born there. Suddenly we were the enemy. I have the book revolution read, about the independence struggle, and am now working on part 2 – an audiobook, because I have bad eyesight. The writer has spoken to many older Indonesians. Their stories show that the population yearned for independence. I didn’t see, hear or feel that at the time. Now I understand better.’

What did your parents give you?

‘My mother said, ‘Remember, if you see a nice man, first check whether he is engaged or married. If so, go around it with a big bow, for you can’t build your happiness on another’s misfortune.’ I have remembered this advice, applied it, and passed it on to my own daughters. My youngest daughter was flying from Greece to Amsterdam once when she was beckoned by the captain. The flames struck, he was an Adonis. She looked at his hand and saw a wedding ring on his ring finger, so shook her head no. She was then spoiled by the flight attendants, who were thrilled that my daughter had rejected him. My mother also told me that it is important for a woman to continue learning and do paid work, so that you are independent.’

Did you follow that advice?

‘I worked full-time until I retired, with a break of five years, when my children were small. As soon as the youngest went to school, the headmaster asked if I wanted to replace a sick teacher. I loved being in front of the class again. Soon I got a permanent job. I told the kids not to tell Dad I was working because he didn’t want to. Many people at the time thought that a man was a schlemiel if his wife worked, as if he did not earn enough. After a month I asked Frans: ‘Do you notice anything?’ He hadn’t noticed anything. I told about my job and said: with a double salary we can go around the world.’

What kind of teacher were you?

‘Teaching was my passion and my life. I thought it was important that children could trust me. If a child behaves strangely, there is usually something going on at home. I remember a girl who was dropped off with her grandfather and grandmother after her parents divorced. After the end of a school day, she was lingering. I asked what was going on. And then she blurted out, “If you marry my father, you will be my mother.”

“A co-worker said of a boy who came to my fourth grade, ‘A terrible fellow, get your chest wet.’ I let him sit in the front. His work was abominable, sloppy and full of errors. I said, “If you work a little bit better, you make me happy.” After that he did his best and made few mistakes. I said, “I’m so happy, I’m going to love you as much as I love my own children.” To which he replied: ‘Love me very much, love me very much.’ Later that day I asked the principal what was wrong with this boy. He said that his mother had left the family shortly after his birth, because her husband had flirted with a nurse in the hospital. So this boy had never had maternal love.’

There is now a shortage of teachers, how do you view that?

‘One reason is that many women work part-time. This is a profession that you must practice full-time. It is better for children if there is one teacher in front of the class. Only in this way can you get to know them well and create a bond of trust. The major involvement of parents with teachers nowadays also plays a role. That deprives you of the pleasure in your work. If a child cannot go to pre-university education, they blame the teacher.’

Who was your great love?

‘French. He was 9 years younger and went to school in the Dutch East Indies with one of my two brothers. At 15, he later told me, he already had a crush on me and knew: she will be my wife later. If you’re 24, you’re not interested in a 15-year-old boy. Many years later he came to the Netherlands to visit me and I saw a stout, handsome man standing in front of me. He turned out to be a marine. I fell in love and in 1961 we got married. That same year my oldest daughter was born, I was 40, and 13 months later my youngest.

‘Because his parents had also been deprived of all their property in the Dutch East Indies, he wanted to own as little as possible. We never bought a house and were not attached to expensive carpets and watches. The only thing he loved was traveling the world, and we did that a lot. In 1993 we were going to go to Alaska. A few days before departure I thought one morning: how long does Frans stay in bed. I went to check and saw that he was no longer breathing. His wish to die before me had come true.’

Do you follow the news?

“It used to be, not anymore. I like audiobooks better.’

Isn’t that why you don’t worry too much about climate change?

‘Oh no, it’s a natural phenomenon. In an area where there used to be an ice age, they have found the remains of a palm tree. Whatever people do, it will get warmer anyway. It will take another million years before the earth is no longer habitable. By then it will probably be possible to live on another planet.’