On togetherness, simplicity – and what we’ve forgotten to value in the West
I’ve visited Bali several times in my life. The first time, I was a curious traveler, falling in love with the scent of incense, salty breezes, and nights wrapped in the songs of cicadas. Back then, Bali hadn’t yet been consumed by mass tourism. But over the years, the island changed. Tourism slowly gnawed its way into every village, every beach, every rice field. What was once a paradise for reflective souls became a backdrop for selfies and digital dreams.
But amidst all of that – in a moment that still lingers with me – there were three girls and a bunch of eggs. And they reminded me of something we in the West often lose sight of.
A Morning Ritual in Another World
I was staying in a simple guesthouse, a bit off the main tourist path. No pool, no cocktails – just a clean room, a mosquito net, and a ceiling fan. And every morning: breakfast on a small terrace overlooking banana trees and a pond full of ducks.
There, in a small open kitchen behind the counter, worked three young girls. They were 12 or 13 years old. Perhaps sisters, perhaps cousins, perhaps childhood friends from the same village. They worked together quietly, yet with a coordination that would impress any restaurant manager. One took orders, one cooked on a small gas stove, and the third served – always with a smile that seemed to light up the entire kitchen.
Everything Revolved Around Eggs
There was nothing extravagant about the breakfast. But the variety was surprising for such a humble place: vegetable omelets, sunny-side-up eggs, scrambled eggs, soft-boiled, hard-boiled, eggs with rice, eggs with toast. Always with fruit. Always with tea or coffee. Always warm. Always kind.
After a few days, my curiosity got the better of me and I began talking to them. I wanted to understand how they worked together and what their rhythm was. Their English was limited, but with a few words, gestures, and shared laughter, a picture emerged.
I learned that they didn’t each earn a wage. The three of them shared a single salary. Three girls, one job, one income.
Togetherness Above All
In Sweden, we would call it child labor. We would call the authorities. We would see injustice. And yes—from our perspective, perhaps that’s true. But in their world, it was something else. It was about contributing to the family. About being with friends. About doing something together.
None of them complained. None looked unhappy. They were there every morning before sunrise. They prepared, worked, carried, laughed. And I began to feel something resembling shame. For our view of work. Of age. Of value.
We’ve built a society where loneliness is the norm, stress is proof of importance, and collaboration is just a bullet point on a CV.
But here stood three children who—despite their age—showed what true teamwork could be. Not because of a school assignment, but because of life, rooted in culture, family, responsibility—and friendship.
One Job, Three Hearts
Sharing a salary is far from ideal. I know that. But the way they did it was still worth studying. There was no talk of “my turn” or “my right.” They took turns cooking, serving, cleaning. They helped each other, step by step, without conflict. They were a small micro-society in perfect balance. Proof that teamwork doesn’t always need management, but can grow organically—especially when relationships matter more than status.
They wore no uniforms. No watches. Had no mobile phones. But they had rhythm. A kind of musical rhythm in their movements, their timing, their silence between tasks.
What We Forget in the West
We often speak about children's rights—and we should. We discuss exploitation, working conditions, global injustice. But we often forget that children in other parts of the world live with a different reality, a different understanding of responsibility and family role. We easily see them as victims—but sometimes fail to see their pride. Their dignity.
I don’t know what happened to the three girls. If they got to stay in school. If they moved to Ubud, Kuta, or maybe Jakarta. But I do know that those three taught me more about work and togetherness than many leadership courses I’ve taken in Sweden.
A Life Lesson Worth Keeping
In our urge to optimize, professionalize, and individualize, we’ve sometimes lost the heart of work—human connection. But in a simple breakfast service in Bali, it was still there: the connection to each other, to the task, to the guest.
The three girls reminded me that work can be beautiful. That it’s not always about money—but about belonging. That even in the smallest acts, something big can be found—like three small hands working together to boil an egg just right.
And maybe—just maybe—we sometimes have to travel far away to see what we should have seen at home.
By Chris...
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