The Petty Job Police

When I get especially frustrated with my trifling job, I like to think of more useless jobs I see around me, just for the fun of it. Or maybe I just like them because they would never exist in America and I like that people are doing them….sometimes.

Some examples:

1) Shopping bag stapler at Carrefore…this man staples your previously purchased things to make it IMPOSSIBLE for you to steal from the grocery store. I mean staples are made of steel.

2) Guards for unused parking lots…needs no explanation.

3) Menu Holder…this person (usually with a group of co-workers) holds a menu and looks expectantly at you, trying to entice you into their store by using mind control and ogling techniques. Unfortunately, it usually makes me want to run away and hide.

4) Baggage Checker at airport…not so much the job of comparing baggage and baggage claim ticket that’s useless but the fact that if you walk fast, no one will ever ask you to stop and get baggage checked.

5) Security guards…again, when the sensors on their wands beep wildly, they…LET YOU IN!

6) Assistant bus conductor…this man does his job for the pure pleasure. He’s not in it for the money, but he enjoys hanging out the door of the bus hollering the direction the bus is taking, right after the real bus conductor has made the announcement. “Malio-boro, boroooo,” for example. He usually has a cigarette in his mouth and tries to aim its noxious fumes back in the door near the faces of the many school children or innocent nun sitting nearby.

7) Half-assed parking attendant…these are the ones who expect 1000 rupiah without even putting a piece of cardboard over your motorcycle seat to keep it cool or storing your helmet in their office. What a rip!

8) Receipt-Writer, any department store requires you to first get a receipt from the section you are in for your purchase, then go to a cashier very far away to pay. The cashier must add up all the numbers again in confusing display of unrelated number combinations, even though the total is plainly written at the bottom of the original receipt. Then you must COME BACK to pick up your neatly rubberbanded, taped, plastic-bagged, stapled purchase. You may not have it until the receipt writer has squinted at the new receipt from the cashier for a good minute.

Oohh-Ahhh OOOH-AHH, Empat Mata

I have been trying to make myself watch more TV. I usually enjoy the ads more than the actual shows because I either can’t understand much of the meaning or I can’t get over the slapstick yelling comedy and soap operas. I have found a few shows I like to watch though. I will only be able to approximate their names as I can’t really remember them.

My favorite show of all (Indonesian) time, Is Surat Sahabat. Something like “Letters from a Friend.” It is geared towards a young audience and shows the lives of children all around Indonesia. I love it because it is so low-key and the children and their friends don’t mug for the camera. They help their parents look for snails to eat or kill chickens. They go to school in their tiny school rooms. One of the last shows I watched showed some kids, I think in Kalimantan, who were really jazzed because they got to buy a big blackboard for their school room; before they had one that was about 2 by 2 feet. This show is on in the afternoon when I go to the gym, and I get to watch it on the exercise bike.

Another show I like is called something like “Ten Times!” It has people pretend to “beg” for money in exchange for not undisireable products they are selling. When someone finally takes pity on them and gives them some money (usually about 2-5 dollars, a big chunk for a lot of people here), an announcer’s voice comes in (not unlike the voice of God) and praises them for being generous. Then the “beggar” comes back with a tv personality and they give the person 10 times the money they have just offered the beggar, plus their original money back. The givers are usually very joyful. The money is at most $50 but it means a lot to the people, as that could be someone’s entire month’s salary.

Empat Mata—Four Eyes
A “late night” comedy show akin to David Letterman, or at least a distant, distant cousin. He is apparently popular because he is humble and appeals to the “common” man. There is lots of slapstick humor and there are lots of silly jokes but I like it because four eyes doesn’t yell at or patronize his audience. He does have a catch phrase “oooh ahhh, ooohh-ahhhhh.” He also does lots of ads for virility pills for men.


My favorite ad is really relevant to the social climate in Indonesia. There is a young man at a wedding as a guest and everyone keeps asking him “Kapan kawin?” or “When will you get married?” He finally says “May.” And an auntie says “Oh! The month of May!” He looks sly and says, “May-be Maybe not.”

One of the younger guys at my school is getting married this summer and wanted to know when I am getting married. I told him sometime in the next 10 years. He found that remarkable. I find it remarkable when Indonesians can have a specific time period that they plan to get married, without a boyfriend/girlfriend in sight. I am sure they must find it remarkable that I could continue to go on for so long “alone.”I would be scared of marrying the wrong person. And they might be scared of not getting married at all if they’ve past their prime.

I just saw an ad for cigarettes, where this Indonesian guy “grows” dreads and starts playing music. The tag line is “Djarum, think black.” I don’t think that would go over too well in the US.

Oh and by the way, the only ads that are mildly funny (by my high standards) are for Mc Donalds and cigarette companies. Great.

What Title Do You Like Better; Nono Does Yogya, or The Chronicles of Mbak Yellow?

It is amazing how many variations I get on my name, even when I repeat myriad times. I am sure people feel the same way about my pronunciations of their names.
My taxi company announcer man calls me Ello. “Mbak Ello, ya?” “Willow, Pak” “Oh, Yellow, ya?” I get “Eeloh” Weelow, etc. Surprisingly this mistake is usually only with people I don’t see face-to-face. Indonesians in general are real good at remembering names when they are chatting you up charming Indonesia-style.

Pros and Cons of the Mandi

Pros:
I feel like a cute baby elephant showering myself with my trunk.
Cold water can sure wake you up or cool you down, two good things here.
The mandi pail usually works a lot better than the sad trickle from the shower head. Anyway, what’s a shower without hot water.

Cons:
If I did have hot water, I wouldn’t be mandi-ing very often, let’s be honest.
I love contemplating in a nice hot shower.
If you’re tired and just don’t want to use your arms to operate the water, let’s face it, a mandi will not cut it.
In the morning, I sometimes just can’t force myself to make my heart race so rapidly with freezing cold water.
With thin walls, I get to hear my neighbor’s mandis which usually include a serenade intermittently interrupted by disgustingly painful sounding throat-clearing. Ick!

Something to Keep in Mind

“Jalan sesat untik nikmat sesaat.”
“DRUGS! is a bad decision to have such satisfaction.”
I see this sign in the Jakarta airport every time I go there and, I must admit, it makes me want to experiment with some magic mushrooms.

Batiking Genius

I don't know where the Batik Genius lives, but I am sure having fun trying new techniques!

There's One in the Passenger's Seat, Take My Word for it!

My Only Friend

My only friend is barely1 inch long and greenish-gray. His name is Pete or Subroto, whatever seems catchier to you. He used to be shy but now he darts brazenly out from behind the frig to try to eat the scraps from whatever delicious thing I happen to be feasting on at the minute. I try to consummate our love affair with a little tickle on his belly, but he is playing hard-to-get and darts back under the frig. He invariably waits until I go to my bed to lie down or the porch and then comes out to nibble again.

I used to have lots of friends in Yogya, or at least three. But my Indonesian teacher friend moved to Jakarta for a job. And my other friend is always busy with her own life. My friend Edo is sick with the flu and also recently got a job as a stockbroker/stock advisor. It still makes me laugh to see him in a button down shirt and tie but it doesn’t cure my boredom to have him working all the time. What’s he thinking, really, holding down a real job instead of gallivanting around with me?

So, I have to content myself with the glimpses I get of my little greenish-gray buddy. I know Pete will become my close friend in time. I have fantasies about him curled up next to me on my pillow. He is one sexy gecko.

Bitch Sessions

Edo likes to pick me up on his pink bike with a daisy sticker on the front and take me to eat lotek after a long day at school and the office, respectively. We sit at the floor booth, eat and bitch about the problems we are presented at work. I bitch about coworkers, confusion and disorganization. He bitches about stress, confusion and money. We sit there for hours saying what we hate and giggling a lot. I enjoy talking with a Javanese person who will confess to feeling hate.

After a recent bitch session, Edo and I went back to his house to wait for a friend of the family that he wanted to play a practical joke on. She didn’t show up but I did get to meet his sister who is a model and she got me all excited about photographing her all hoed out in front of some of the great graffiti or popping out of a becak. She lives in Jakarta but she is planning to come back and I hope she does because I am envisioning something great.

Then, we went for a second dinner with his aunts and driver/friend Ary who is also the karaokeing star mentioned in a previous post. Edo and I tried to convince Ary to sing at my birthday party the entire dinner. Also we discussed the logistics of renting a toy train to pick up my guests. Ary claimed if anyone saw him arrive on a kids toy train, he would be fired and I argued he wouldn’t want a boss who was so judgmental anyway. He said he would ride his motorbike and I told him that would only be acceptable if he attached a rope to the train and held on while on his bike. He didn’t like that idea.

I tried another tactic to make him sing; blackmail. Another night we had gone to play pool with Ary and Audi and Ary used an id that had his photo on it but someone else’s name. I told him I’d report him and his fake id to the police if he wouldn’t sing at my party. He just laughed. I said maybe my friends might even tip him. He laughed and said his [pregnant] wife would have to work on the street hoeing three days to make as much as he would make in one night, or something to that effect. He is Maduran…you know those Madurans are. Well, you probably don’t but suffice it to say they are rumored to be rough around the edges.

So, I sure hope he shows up at my party ready to sing. I’ve got the polisi headquarters number on speed dial just in case.

Getting Better

What have I been doing lately, you all ask? (By all I mean the two people that read this blog.) Not a whole hell of a lot. This week, I have a total of two classes, one on Tuesday and one on Thursday, interspersed flawlessly so I can’t leave town. The transition from activity and friends to no activity and no friends is always hard for me to make. I had some ETA friends in town for the past few weeks and was in Bali visiting Hillary. But, I’ve hit a dry spell and the first few days I did a lot of moping. Thought about all the things I could be doing. Preparing for the future, looking for jobs, checking my finances, lesson planning (for classes I may not teach…but still it would be an activity). Instead, I just felt sorry for myself and sat around acutely aware of my hunger but unwilling to go across the street to the angkringan and get some fucking fried tempe. Well, I finally got some after a few hours of deliberation and felt better.

I have slowly been accomplishing more, even only small things, things that do make me feel more sane. Yesterday, I went to the gym and worked out for a long time and my back felt so much better. I also walked to the photo store and picked up some photos of my students in their creative costumes from midterms. And, I stopped at the grocery store and bought some junk food along with some delicious fruit to make me even happier. One of my favorite activities is watching one of my bootleg, already viewed-about-5-times movies while peeling and eating pounds of dukuh (maybe my favorite fruit ever).

I called my batik teacher and finally started getting lessons. He came over and explained some dye theory to me. I am attempting to make silk scarves. I also cleaned my house because although I appreciate the cleaning the guards do, it is quite cursory.

So, I am feeling better. My birthday is coming up and I am having a celebration on Saturday. Hopefully, I will know how to bounce back quicker when the last guest has gone home.

I admit I still obsessively check my cell phone for new messages every 30 seconds but that may never change even when I am otherwise entertained and totally happy.

Attack of the Four-Foot Men

Today at the teachers English class, one of the office assistants who is in charge of feeding the teachers before class, wanted to know if I had eaten. He could have asked me but asked Cherry, my coworker. I answered his question and he kept ignoring me steadfastly and said something to Cherry, this time I didn’t catch the meaning. I asked Cherry and he had said “I don’t know how to talk to her!” That seemed feasible and passable but then thought about how rude that would be in the US! One of my other co-workers told everyone I speak some Indonesian, but still 7 months into my working there, some people are still afraid to approach me, much less make eye contact. These are guys I see almost weekly for the total ordeal that is copying at SMA 3.

Another 4-foot man scenario: I went into the office to make some copies. No, I am not allowed to make my own. I asked for copies and another of the small men looked hesitantly at the machine and said, “But, you see, it is not on.” And I said “Oh, okay. Can we use it though?” “Yeah, but it is dead.” “Oh, okay.” So he and I loiter around uncomfortably, neither understanding the other and a second man (slightly taller) walked in to turn the copy machine on and confirm and reconfirm which pages I wanted copied and how many times. The 4-footer got back to what he was doing before…standing on the counter tying the large glass windows closed with packing string.

This man also delivers letters and announcements to the teachers. He likes to hover in the corner of the teachers’ room at a desk near the water cooler. I feel him cringe when I come near to fill my water bottle. When I smile, he nervously laughs. I wonder if I make these men are incredibly nervous because I am different than them or just much taller than them? I have to watch to see their reactions with other women my height…actually very hard to find at my school.

Reasons to Come Visit Me in Indonesia

1) Creambaths…heavenly.

2) Lippo Bank has a ping-pong table set up right by the ATMS. After withdrawing money, you and the bored guards can play your hearts out.

3) You may see men in one becak, one squatting on the front and happily laughing hello, just like I did the other day.

4) There is a pimped-out becak for sale near my house and I don’t quite have the money for it…we could be rich, bitches!

5) You can clean your dishes with a sock in my kitchen. The sponge was mysteriously and oddly replaced.

6) My guards sing and dance. Today it was Javanese gamalan, tomorrow it may be The Beatles.

7) You can meet the music teacher who likes to talk about “two mountains” in English class. You can meet everyone else in the class who think this is appropriate English class fodder.

Back to Yogya...Back to Work

This last 2 months has been quite the blur of travel. I have been off school for what seems like forever and brushing up on my Indonesian. I am also becoming more confident; ie feeling fine walking around alone, finding transport, eating at the tiny warung across from my house. After traveling around, things are good here in Yogya. Today was my first day back to school and I could tell my students were glad to see me. I felt motivated and hope to make some changes to my currently very skimpy teaching schedule. Perhaps I will augment the hours I teach English Conversation with an English Club and with the Teachers’ English Class which seems to have finally begun! My students had to interview each other today and below are some excerpts:

__(Boy’s name)_______ athlete since 1998. More about sports competitions, etc. Then…..
• Not have a girl yet
• Because he didn’t like to have girlfriend early
• Girl friend made _name_ not free
• That sucks
• The gossip was not true
• ____ was ____ (girl in class’ name) friend for a long time ago
• He have ever been slept with her
• Sometimes he practice together
• His family disagreed becaus her was second hand
• He continued his relation as a friend
• He believe in god

This one was not accepted for obvious reasons and was rewritten:

• Since 1998 he followed sports. He was very antusias. (then more about sports….)
• In his mind school was not important. He thought that his future didn’t depend on the school only.
• And also about women. He don’t like to have girlfriend early. Of course it dissappointed some girls.

Another interview of a boy in our class:

Paris Hilton
1. Hai Paris, nice to meet you!We hear that you’ve made a video clip for Stars are Blind, but some people consider that it’s too sexy! Give your opinion about it?

P- That’s hot. It’s not sexy coz I still wear bikini but if you think it’s too sexy it’s okay. Coz I’m really sexy. Although I have small breasts I still so sexy.

2. But, you can be tall down from entertainment world if you still stubborn many people will terror you How it be with you?

P- I don’t care about them. They just jealous with my popularity, with my beauty, my worth, my sexy body, my ability, and all that I have. That’s hot.

And another:

His name 3xy. His job is as superhero. He come from Crypton Planet. His favorite food is fried-nuclear. His favorite drink is hydrocarbon-float. He wannabe a trendsetter, by wearing his brief outside. His girlfriend named Anna-Sue. He has a dog, named Anna-Sue substitutor.” His enemy is BATMAN (not BADMAN), because his merchandise products sold more than BATMAN’s. He really-really hate…HATE him. WONDER WOMAN is his enemy too. Cuz, someday, when 3xy told to wonder woman that he loved her, wonder woman refused him…REFUSED HIM. She never love him because he used his brief OUTSIDE.

Christmas

I came home to Yogya with Tamara for a Christmas party. We made apple cider, pasta with fresh spaghetti sauce, broccoli and Portobello mushrooms, mozzerella and parmesan cheese, fresh bread with butter and salad. Halfway through the cooking the gas ran out and my guards ran out in the rainstorm to get more gas! They also bashed a tomato paste can open when we discovered that none of us could work the perfectly shiny-looking can opener.

For dessert we made ice cream men. Mine is a grandfather. I was excited that almost all my friends showed up and we only had a few awkward moments. Considering no one really knew each other, I was quite impressed and had a great time!

New Years

New Years
I decided to celebrate New Years in Jakarta with Tamara and Lisa (who made other plans) and my friend, the guard from the Hotel Aryaduta, Budi. Tamara and I met Budi at the mall (there are really no other landmarks in Jakarta) not before Budi called to make sure we had a “janji”—agreement to meet. As usual, Budi had no real plan so we sat at a back table in McDonalds near the kids play center and tried to communicate while Budi smoked Marlboros in the prominently marked no-smoking restaurant. Tamara and I tried to hypothesize as to why Budi felt smoking near the children would be most appropriate but finally decided it was because we were near the door and he’d be able to run if anything went down.

Budi rode his motorcycle and we followed him in a cab to his ‘hood, which he claimed was 2km away and was much further. Our taxi drove us down a tiny alley teeming with kids and activity and some guy followed us on his motorcycle and shouted for our cab to stop. He told Tamara to get on his motorcycle and Budi told me to get on his and we rode back down the way we came over the multiple speed bumps, which, at first, were quite challenging for me to navigate on the back of a cycle. Got better later though. The guy that kidnapped Tamara was Ogeng, and quite popular in the alley.

We were offered seats on plastic chairs while lots of neighborhood boys milled about giggling and overting their eyes. Budi got us teh botol to drink. Since it was Idhl Adha, (a day of lamb and cow sacrifice for the poor) the boys started grilling lamb satay.

Budi’s friend Ogeng started polishing his car. Actually two friends started polishing Ogeng’s pimped out ride. Budi told Tamara to sit in front with Ogeng and we rolled down the street blasting dance music and rolling slow over myriad speedbumps. Periodically the guys would wave triumphantly at friends on the street. Tamara and I couldn’t stop laughing at the silliness of it all. We tried to go play pool but the place was full so we pulled over to hang out on yet another street corner, this time by Funny Motorcycle. We got more drinks.

Back to the first street to sit some more. More drinks. To Budi’s house to meet his large family. More drinks. More waiting, but not on the street. Budi went somewhere and left Tamara and I to talk with granny and everyone else.

We went to eat and then spent more time waiting around. We went on a hair-rising ride around the neighborhood without helmets, looking for liquor. At one point, we got separated and Tamara’s driver decided to go the wrong way down a highway dodging in and out of cars to catch up, even though he had no idea where we were anyway. After successfully locating vodka, we asked if they might want to mix the alcohol with something. That became the new pressing concern. We suggested mango juice and the guys went to the market, got mangos and juiced them themselves. Needless to say, it turned out deliciously!

The other pressing concern was that Tamara and I wanted a BIG trumpet to blow at 12 am. We kept seeing them earlier but never got around to buying. Budi’s friend went out to look for a BIG trumpet and if not BIG, we assured the worried Budi that LONG was also ok. After about 1/2 hour, Budi’s friend came back empty-handed. He said he just couldn’t find any big enough.

So we celebrated on the street corner, while people drove recklessly by on their motorcycles sometimes crashing and the guy across the street danced to his own song. Firecrackers went off, trumpets were blown and it was all good. Happy New Year 2007 a la Indonesian Streetcorner Stylee.

Karaoke

Audi and his friend picked Hillary and me up. We walked in the private karaoke room and waited as they put small sanitary caps on the tips of the microphones. We argued over whom would sing first and Audi’s friend was given the mike. He had a good, strong voice. I went to the bathroom and came back in the middle of a charming rendition of “The SMS Song.” Hillary and Audi were singing and the other guy was holding a cigarette in one hand, swiveling his svelte hips and making loud “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” calls while yelling out the words! All this with no narcotics involved. Things got better and better with an interesting tribute to the Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps.” Imagine two Muslim men singing “you got me spendin’ all my money on you…on your humps, your humps.” Also imagine a tight-space with lots of kretek cigarettes-smoking. All added up to lots fun.

Hillary and I tried to sing “Fast Car,”by Tracy Chapman but it was an odd sped-up version with extra verses that were not in the original. To add to the confusion, the graphics behind the text on the screen showed some 80s-era German leiderhausen dancers lifting up their feet, playing the accordian and twirling around. The man had incredibly short-shorts and every time they closed in on his legs, we couldn’t stop laughing.
Audi’s friend started losing his voice but we convinced him to sing another song. He sang in this high falsetto, which sounded like a cross between a woman and a demented baby. I was laughing so hard I had tear pouring from my eyes.

Some Ups

There are certainly up and downs, and I’ll be frank about that. Sitting around at school doing absolutely nothing on Tuesdays has gotten old. I bring my labtop and surf the web at a snail’s pace with our wireless internet service. Today I looked over the other ETAs blogs and got inspired to write more, even though I think my mom may be my only reader.

Sometimes I’m really up and sometimes I am quite the opposite. On Sunday, I had a really up day. I was visiting with some other ETAs, and then just one and her Indonesian friend from a small city west of here. He had invited his friends as well and we rode up to Merapi in his car listening to dangdut, Indonesian “country” music all the way. The guys stopped the car at a small moshollah to pray. My fellow ETA and I looked at the green corn fields and watched children play while we waited for the men to finish. Andrew had worn a red shirt and covered it with a jacket to appease me primarilily as the locals say one should not wear red by near Merapi or it might explode.

There was a deep fog as we reached the top of the hill leading to Merapi. The parking attendant handed us surgical masks to wear and we walked up a slope to see the huge rock formations and weird muddy portions and houses, which had been covered in dirt and debree. Everyone in the area had been evacuated except one man, Mbah Marijan, who is the protector of Merapi and was not killed when he stayed behind. We took photos of the eerie scene and I had my friend poke her head out of a hole in a concrete wall. I started feeling bad about somehow making light of a sad situation but then walked around a corner and saw some young Indonesians taking photos of each other in front of dilapidated houses. And all the while, one of our other friends giggled crazily with his friends. I like the way Indonesians deal with tragedy…they balance it out with humor and laughter.

The dark started to decend and we sat at a small warung to drink some tea and eat some tangos, these delicious chocolate wafers. We got back in the car and headed back down the hills to Yogya. Our driver, the giggler, was excellent. He was as aggressive as, in my estimation, he had to be but did not honk excessively, tailgate motorcyclists or pass other cars on blind curves like 90% of other drivers. Needless to say, I was impressed. I was also impressed that he was not stressed out by the driving by the time we reached Yogya again. Every time I get in a car, it reminds me why I don’t want to drive anything here.

We went to a bak pia factory to for my friend to get some oleh-oleh to take back to her co-workers. We got to sample hot bak pia straight from the oven and it convinced me to reconsider my former distaste for it. It was delicious when still fresh.

After that we went to dinner with the guys and their parents at Pizza Hut and I had a strange (and silly) conversation about bak pia pizza with the giggler, whom I sat across from. The guys drove us back and shook our hands while still bumpin’ the dangdut. When we got to my place, my friend and I talked about all the places we would like to travel in the future.

SMSing Up a Storm

What we in the US call a text, Indonesians call an SMS. Since calling anyone is astronomically expensive, people spend all day with their fingertips dancing on cell phone keys to form messages for friends on their cell phones. This is acceptable in any occasion: while on your motorcycle, while driving your land rover, while giving a presentation, while in a business meeting. There is even a dangdut song entitled the SMS song.

I want to take a moment to appreciate--not hate-- on some nice sms messages I’ve recently received. These Indonesians, they sure know how to make you feel good over the phone, and just with something less advanced than email!

Some Excerpts:
Hi how re u today? im fine….sweet dream willow….,keep smiling.

From someone I had just met and texted:
Ya nice to meet u to. sorry I just read ur sms, … n just finished taking a bath. Everytime u need informations about city, people, place in Indonesia, u can sms me. Ok if I will travel I will invite you, if you’re ready, hahaha…..

From one of my teacher friends:
Willow, sory 2 tell u that I hv dizzy 2day. Perhaps I cant taste ur delicious fried rice. I hv 2 stay in bed ;(

Hai Mbak, there’s a bad news:( my bike still in coma 2day , n d doctor says,she’ll be on d surgery room on Sunday,:( so, we cant go 2 tamansari yet. 4give me plz:-(

Hello Willow,, how R u?When will we meet again?

After thanking a friend for taking me around:
Don’t mention that. Thnx Anyway. I just want u 2 enjoy every minutes in Jogyakrta. That’s wat frens r 4….

Although my arm aches after a day of communicating and I wish I could just pick up the phone and use it the way it was meant to be used, sms messages do have a spot in my heart. Messages like the ones above can sure change my mood when I’ve had a shitty day; say, men honking at me on the street and looking me up and down, naked women yelling at me in Javanese in the street, almost getting run over…and then, a sweet text message at bed time. Nothing like it to change my mood.

The Misfit Foreignor Epidemic in Indonesia

Why is it I keep meeting total loser Americans and Europeans? Well, I have a theory. And I am sure many have figured it out before me. It’s because Indonesia and many countries like it, are letting all the riff-raff in. They are letting the trailer trash, the misogenists, the cads and the bizarre in their country with exceeding easy visa requirements. These are the people who are not succeeding in their own country so they move abroad. Many times they are fat, balding men with mediocre money looking for younger wives. Because it is so hard to get a visa to the US, we usually end up with the determined and hardworking of a country like Indonesia. It is a shame they end up with so many losers. And when I start judging these losers too harshly, I do like to remember that maybe they are doing well here. Since people don’t have the cultural background to UNDERSTAND that they are losers or blowhards, maybe they can get more accomplished here. Just maybe. Or maybe they just spend all their time talking about how important they are, how much money they make, how they like “boobies” and generally enlightening the public with other winning topics like a man I met who will remain nameless. I hope I am not one of them.

Grit, Bugs, Bone

These are all things I have grown accustomed to finding in my food. They hardly detract from the experience because they are commonplace and expected. Of course, I wasn’t too uptight when I found them in my food in the US. But I’d say these things show up much more often here. For example: I only had two meals today but my orange juice had an ant in it and my fried rice had a bite of grit and then a big gristly bone.

Guard Update

According to the cute guard, the homesick guard left for good to "have a family." I am glad he doesn't have to pine for his wife anymore. The other two guys left have worked there for 11 years ever since they graduated from high school. I think they have a really good time. They wake up very early to start sweeping and watering plants and all I can hear is the two of them talking and one giggling nonstop. They never go anywhere but they are always smiling.

Buka Puasa-"opening fast"

My counterpart invited me to breakfast before I go to Bali for a holiday. I thought he meant breakfast as in the meal in the morning. During Ramadan that means getting up at 3 am to eat and pray and then maybe going back to sleep until 5:30 or 6 when it is time to pray again. Anyway, I was excited but then he clarified that it was an evening fast breaking. He picked me up around 3:30 and again apologized for the state of his house before arriving, because it is a “simple, village house.” We headed to the suburbs of Yogya in his 20-year old car, slowly putting along. Rice fields surround his house and things were quieter than the city, except for the crowing of roosters. He showed me his bookshelf of books about American Culture; he studied it for 2 years at Gadjah Mada. I looked at his thesis, which was about the communist hysteria in America during the 40s and 50s. His house was painted yellow and green on the outside, with a different color in each room. The sitting room, with mats covering the floor prepared for the party that night, had a yellow window that cast a beautiful light on the room. Two of his kids lay watching TV but scampered out as I sat down. Every once in awhile his daughter would look at me and giggle. Soon, she got past the fact that I was sitting in the room and got back to her excessive TV-watching.

I read a book as the servants, wife and grandmother (?) prepared food. I wonder how one cannot think about food while cooking it?

Soon, guests started arriving. I prepared myself for what might be an awkward occasion at which no one talked to me. But the first lady guest plopped down beside me to talk about the differences in students from different islands. It turns out she is from Bandar Lampung, the city I was supposed to be placed in Sumatra. She was interested to hear that many students from my high school had also dropped out or not gone on to college and were more interested in vocational schools and careers.

She soon scurried off to the kitchen to help with the cooking. Many young women teachers arrived. They shook hands around the room as they came in and some used both hands as a sign of greater respect. They smiled at me but did not speak. They played with my counterpart’s chubby baby boy, who was all smiles.

All the women moved to one side of the room and the men to the other. A man gave a long prayer. The longer it went on, the louder people talked among themselves, in true Indonesian fashion. Finally, my counterpart’s wife started handing out drinks and plates of murtabak and tofu with meat filling and green chilies to eat with them. I guess she had heard the call to prayer and knew it was time to eat. The prayer finally ended and we ate snacks and the drink, which had coconut milk, with sugar and pineapple and other fruits.

I started a conversation with some of the teachers. Most of them had just graduated and started teaching full-time, but they had been teaching part-time throughout their college career. They went off to pray before long. Then it was dinnertime. It consisted of satay with a delicious peanut sauce, fried tempeh, cucumbers, mint, chicken and sambal. I sat down where I had before but felt as if I had made a faux pas because suddenly there were no women in the room; they had all clustered in the other room. I needed a wall to lean against though and I listened to the men talk. They started talking about me and then slowly included me in the conversation. The man sitting next to me had two sons who had gotten a hold of some tissues and were tearing them up and sticking them in any orifice they could find, even their bottoms (through the fabric of their pants luckily). This man told me “No one has met real terrorists until they have met my sons!”

For dessert, they had a chocolate pudding with this coconut liquor sauce drizzled on top.

People left soon after dinner and all shook my hand goodbye. I started playing with my counterpart’s 7-year-old dinner and her friend. They would whisper about me and then run away and I would try to hear the secrets or tickle them. They giggled up a storm. They asked me to tell a story and I told one about a little girl who has a combination of their 2 names, who didn’t like to go to school. She met a magic lady who gave her a spell that allowed her to fly into the sky every day and play with the clouds. But her mom never find out. All this in Indonesian. I was pretty impressed with myself (although I did have some vocab help). By this time 3 other neighborhood kids had come in to talk with me as well as the servant and granny and my counterpart’s wife.

I was given my own bedroom and went to bed early. I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I tried to fan myself but I could hardly breathe! I tried to open a window and they were all locked. I went to the bathroom and splashed water all over me. I went back to uncomfortable sleep and woke up around 5 am when the family got up and the kids started watching TV. The kids ignored a chick that came through the house nibbling off the mats and trying to find food.

My counterpart asked if I was hot the night before. He said it was due to Merapi being more active than usual! I had never thought about a volcano affecting the weather but I find it hard to believe. But I like thinking it is possible.

I held my counterpart’s baby, who is one of the happiest babies I know. Every time I squeezed his cheek he would chuckle and grin. He had the flu but was still really cheerful.

The seven-year-old refused to eat breakfast and finally she nibbled on some crackers. My counterpart explained that he was concerned because she wasn’t allowed to take any food or drink to school and it would be a long day without any breakfast. She would not drink any water though. She and her brother were in a morning pout, but when I mocked the rooster that had just crowed, she cracked a smile.