Every Friday at a bakery in Queens, New York, a group of Indonesian senior citizens gather. They call themselves the Indonesian Senior Club. An 88-year-old man named Pratomo started the tradition with two of his friends back in 1999. After Friday prayer, they would meet for a coffee. They invited a few more friends and gradually, over the years, it’s become the weekly ritual.
Last October, when photographer Mary Beth Koeth and I visited, about 15 members of the Indonesian Senior Club were drinking tea, eating pastries, and catching up at Fay Da Bakery. Pratomo was wearing a batik-print, button-down shirt, khaki dress pants, and a traditional black wool hat called a kopiah. He also wore a gold ring from Harvard University, where, in the early 1960s, he’d earned a master’s degree in Architecture. His snack of choice was a sesame seed ball filled with sweet red bean paste. “I’ve been eating this since I was a little boy,” he said.
Many of the members have known each other for decades, and they came from all over Indonesia. “I’ve known them since 1974,” a woman named Erinna, who was born in Sumatra, told me, pointing across the table. “When you know someone for that long, you have nothing left to hide. There are no pretenses. You can just be yourself.” She said she looked forward to Fridays and meeting her friends. They often talk about their youth, and reminiscing keeps them young. “It helps fight dementia and adds color,” she said.
Collaboration between writer Laura Lee Huttenbach and Photographer Mary Beth Koeth