Happy Birthday M! February 15

This year February 15 commemorated the birth of Prophet Muhammad, or Maulid Nabi Muhammad. Our school observed the national holiday by conducting various class competitions including Arabic calligraphy, reading the Holy Qur’an, cooking/presentation of yellow rice, soccer for the boys, and performing various passages referencing the Prophet. The teachers and students also participated in a blood drive…set up a bit differently than what I’m used to in the US, but it was great to see the student involvement nonetheless. We have so many talented kids at our school, and I was continuously impressed with the showcase of their various abilities throughout the day. The first, second, and third place winners for each competition received an envelope for their class, each enclosed with a set amount of rupiah to use as they wish. Back when I was in school, we just earned a pizza party. Given my current situation however, I would have much preferred a gigantic slice of pizza...New York style; the kind that you can fold in half and the grease runs down your arm and drips onto the newly transparent paper plate. I’m not gonna lie, food is a very close second behind family, as far as things I miss most from home. Luckily the food here is relatively delicious, and Maulid Nabi Muhammad was no exception. The day ended with a communal feast of yellow rice with various side dishes, spread across the floor atop banana leaves and eaten with our hands. Everyone says it’s more delicious if you eat with your hands, and I have yet to find otherwise.

1. Performance 2. Blood Drive 3. Yellow Rice Presentation 4. Eating with our Hands

Camp Trawas February 20-21

Not sure what I was expecting. I went in with mixed emotions; part of me was excited to be spending a night away in the mountains, the other part was baffled as to where the money came from for all the teachers to have this 2-day workshop-outbound experience.

PROS: It was great to see other parts of the teachers’ personalities come out…I talked with the one English teacher who has rejected speaking to me for the last 9 months -it was only a few words, but it was definite progress…I tried my first ropes course…made new friends…the scenery was absolutely incredible: terraced rice fields intertwined with copious banana trees and mountain trails.

CONS: I don’t understand how our time there improved our teaching capabilities in the slightest: punctuality wasn’t encouraged, a blind eye turned towards cheating during competitions, and there was no reflecting on how we could apply any of the experience in the classroom…it was always the men who took the leadership role, both because most of them have loud, dominant personalities and because the women automatically defaulted to them to make the decisions; I imagine that if only female teachers participated they would be perfectly capable of accomplishing the tasks, maybe even in a more efficient manner…everyone threw their trash/cigarette butts throughout the pristine environment, as if plastic is somehow eco-friendly…EACH teacher was given 75,000 Rp in cash for transportation costs, even though we all carpooled together and our location was less than a 30-minute drive from school.

Each of these circumstances represents a more significant problem that I’ve perceived during my time at site, with my own biases of course. Whether relating to the environment or corruption or gender roles, I’ve been faced with the realization that injustice is alive and well in my community. In my PC position, I feel like I should somehow improve these situations, but I have no idea where to start; it seems so overwhelming. I can’t force (and don’t want to force) people to change their ideologies, and if only a small handful of people think there’s a problem, maybe the minority is in the wrong? I know what I believe in, but I can’t help but feel like an outsider imposing her modern views in a traditional society. Being a PCV is more than teaching English in a classroom…but what’s the next step?

Ultimately, I did enjoy spending time with the teachers outside of a school setting; but I don’t think that our little getaway warranted missing school for a day or the use of school funds. Several of the teachers were ‘too sore’ to teach the subsequent few days, but still managed to come in to school in order to scan in for attendance and hang out in the teachers’ room. As a ‘mandatory workshop’, I was expecting to benefit somehow as a teacher. Instead I became more frustrated with the teaching mentality at my school. As customary in Indonesia, we each received a certificate of participation to add to our portfolios; and my photo ended up in the Jawa Pos. As far as the majority of the teaching staff is concerned, that’s the sign of a successful teaching workshop.

a sadder side

My phone goes off at midnight, but I’m completely beat after a long day of teaching followed by an intense evening of reading Highlights magazines with Fani and Wanda from next door-who knew taking turns reading aloud in English could be so much fun for third-graders and so exhausting for me? I don’t answer and turn my phone to vibrate, but still keep it near as my morning alarm clock. An hour later, an SMS from one of the teachers, but it’s in Arabic and I don’t understand most of it. I’ll try again in the morning. Another SMS. This one I understand even in my sleepy state. It starts with a prayer in Arabic and ends with the words suami b han meninggal…my principal’s husband just passed away.

I knew he’d been diagnosed with cancer. I knew he was really sick. I knew they went on a second pilgrimage to Mecca a few months ago in hopes that prayer and holy water might help. But I was still unprepared for the midnight message.

Bu Han lost her mother two weeks ago. As if by protocol, school let out early so the teachers could all go to Batu to pay our respects, but no one informed me via SMS, let alone in the middle of the night.

I never met her husband; he was always in the hospital whenever I’d been to her house. But I know the rest of her family- I spent time with her son in Bali; I was introduced to her mother the same day I met her at Swearing In back in June; I’ve seen pictures of them all happy and healthy together. This was my first funeral in Indonesia where I felt any emotional connection. I later cried.

I went to school like any other day. But instead of starting the day with the standard 15-minute reading from Al Quran, a special prayer was said over the loud speaker. From inside the teachers’ room I could hear the students following along in unison in a melodious mantra. I’ve become familiar with the rhythm even though I don’t understand the words, the rhythm which asks Allah for a peaceful afterlife for the departed.

My co teacher was in Mojokerto for the day, so I entered class alone, anticipating that the end-of-school tone would sound early and interrupt the lesson. It did. My students let out a loud cheer which was eventually drowned out by the combination of the other 23 classes shouting in merriment too. It was strange to me. Someone had died, we had just finished a 30-minute prayer for the loss, and the students acted like class had been cancelled because the ice-cream man was giving out free cones.

I was in a somber state. Didn’t know how to react. Hopped in a car and headed to Bu Han’s house for the service, less than 12 hours after her husband had been pronounced dead. The house was packed with students and family and teachers and friends. Being one of the last to arrive, I stood in the back, my view of the casket blocked by a protruding wall. But I heard the grief-stricken shrieks of his daughter as they lifted his body, preparing to go to the cemetery. That’s when I cried. He left behind a wife and two children, none of whom were ready to say goodbye.

Covered in a green cloth (the color of Islam) with gold embroidered Arabic script, I saw the body being carried out via a reflection in an advantageously placed mirror. An empty feeling overcame me, the feeling of how absolute death is regardless of how much you pray for a promising afterlife.

We followed to the cemetery where a pack of men were already surrounding the newly petal-covered grave, squatting in prayer. Too far back to hear what was being said, I focused my attention on the three survivors who were now holding each other with blood-shot eyes and that empty look in their faces. Tonight won’t be the same as last night. Dad’s gone forever.

Another Sunday morning expedition on foot with Bu S, this time to the local landfill. I had run by it once when I first arrived here, not yet aware of the taboo of unaccompanied female joggers. Bu S suggested it as an interesting place to visit and a chance to meet people whose paths I might not otherwise cross.

A beautiful vegetable garden immediately welcomed us after we entered, and just a few steps further were the composting silos. Two rows of five white buildings whose sole purpose was to process organic waste. How ignorant I’d been- I thought for certain I was bringing this revolutionary idea of composting to my uninformed students and neighbors. I thought for certain if they knew about composting they would immediately opt not to burn all of their trash, but instead set aside old mango peels and apple rinds to create eco-friendly fertilizer for their small gardens. I thought for certain that the only reason they weren’t composting already was because they didn’t know it existed…because it was too advanced of an idea for them. I feel ashamed that I’d ever assumed that my knowledge on the matter was somehow superior. I quickly swallowed my pretentiousness and acknowledged the positive progress that was already taking place.

Bu S asked if I was prepared for the smell. Naturally I was, given the location, but I wasn’t prepared for the copious amounts of flies whose collective buzz made it difficult to hear at times. And the small clusters of people, with their large woven baskets and sorting tools, sifting through piles of decaying garbage also took me slightly by surprise.

Had I been alone I would have lacked the courage to approach them, but Bu S confidently greeted an elderly woman walking a few steps ahead of us. In rapid-fire Javanese, I understood little of the conversation, but the woman’s warm smile made me realize that Bu S had made yet another immediate friend. People are instantly drawn to her nonjudgmental friendliness, and I’m continually grateful for it.

We tagged along towards a cluster further down the fly infested path and gradually infiltrated the small group. Most Indonesians’ perceptions of a young, white American female don’t fit in the backdrop of a landfill, and I could tell they were slightly self-conscious of our surroundings and the less-than-glamorous work they were doing. But we gradually made new acquaintances and learned about why they go there every day, without fail.

And this is where the heart-wrenching, true-life, self-sacrificing story of determined parents comes in. Every day they come straight after morning prayer (sunrise) to sort through mountains of trash before a truck comes to pick up their collections of paper or plastic for the day, usually around 4 in the evening. They tie a handkerchief around their faces to mask the stench and fasten a bamboo hat to their heads to shield the scorching sun. The combination of intense heat and humidity is brutal when united with the rotting piles of garbage; not at all a pleasant work environment. So why go through this miserable set-up day after day, including holidays? “To pay our students’ school fees,” everyone proudly concurs. So for 500 Rp (the equivalent of 5 US cents) per kilo, they sort out the suitable paper and plastic from the mounds and mounds of other trash. Every three days they earn about 50,000 Rp, or US$5. My math is a little rusty, but I think that’s 100 kg or 220 pounds of sorted material! Low income by Javanese standards, a ruthless environment, and no recognition for hard work, all so their children will have a better future than they had. I asked if I could photograph them working in order to share with friends and family back home. They were somewhat embarrassed to have their picture taken in that setting, but pleased that I would be sharing their story.

So there is a harsher side to life in Indonesia. A group of students, who study at my house once a week, informed me yesterday that Indonesia is ranked third as the most corrupt country in the world. Something they’re not proud of, but something their generation is going to change. The students are the future, as cliché as that may sound. They have the motivation and the opportunities that their parents were never afforded. I look forward to seeing where Indonesia is at in 15 years.

Sunday January 30, 2011

Today was one of those just right days when everything inexplicably flows perfectly. I can’t help but replay Ice Cube’s “Today was a Good Day” over and over in my head. Granted his content varies drastically from my own, but ultimately the message is the same. None of my normal stressors crossed my path, and things that generally bother me didn’t trouble my psyche today. Actually my whole week has been pretty great, insanely busy, but great.

Today commenced with the conclusion of a much needed solid 10-hour night’s sleep, making up for the accumulation of lost naps and late nights from the previous days. I met Bu S for an early-morning walk while the weather was still cool and the mosquitoes weren’t quite awake yet. We went down to the main river, somewhere I had never been before, and bonded with the neighboring village women who were washing their families’ daily laundry.

The secluded path reminded me of hiking in Colorado and I reflected on the thought that as much as I miss snow and hot chocolate, I’m pretty lucky to be taking a stroll through nature in January. We took off our shoes and socks, waded through the water, walked barefoot on the opposite shore, and despite the frequent shards of broken glass, took pleasure in our serene surroundings and the gossiping women. We met fishermen and their wives and their grandbabies. We met men who sifted sand after the river floods (a regular event during the current rainy season) for construction purposes, starting their day around six and working till sunset for approximately 50,000 Rp or US$5 a day.

I found my new favorite flower, putri malu or shy princess. A lavender-colored, ball-shaped flower with long, thin petals whose leaves close inward with the threat of human touch.

On the walk home we helped women frighten the birds away from their rice paddies using makeshift scaring devices.

Scaring the Birds Away

We made friends with the construction workers in front of my house and borrowed handmade bricks from them for English Club later that morning. A successful English Club followed by a bit of solitude where I was finally able to finish reading Little Women. Fresh fruit at home. Knowing that my teachers and I are prepared for our lessons this week. And now having time to type without distraction form my host brother.

Motivated Students + Lifelong Friends + New Experiences + Time to Read

=

A Good Day

Bu S and I at the River

Monday January 31, 2011

My host mom is pregnant again after months and months of trying! She is due at the beginning of September!

life is good

With a slightly downbeat last update, I wanted to focus on all of the magnificent moments which presently compose my life. Maybe all I needed to do was write about the struggles and frustrations, because life in Indonesia has been infinitely better since.

• There is considerable progress with my students’ speaking and listening levels from last semester till now.
• I started my English class for teachers this week, and 15 teachers showed up- enthusiastic to learn and eager to come back the following week. The enthusiasm has spread through the office and a number of others have voiced interest in joining next week.
• I can’t explain it, but I feel myself transforming into a better, more grown-up person. I’m more organized, more productive, more confident and take more initiative, which has transmitted directly into being a better teacher (my humble opinion, of course).
• It feels good knowing that I am having an impact on people here. Maybe not as substantial as I had originally imagined, but the little successes in life still deserve recognition.
• I got a package of letters from the students at my partner school in Boulder, each excited and hoping to be matched with an Indonesian pen pal.
• I had a fun little photo shoot with my neighborhood kids who are, without fail, growing on me every day.
• Got an awesome package from Mom sharing Christmas memories from home and fun craft supplies for future lessons with my students.
• My RT had a talk with my host brother, so he’s been uncharacteristically well-behaved and diligent.
• Life is good.

That’s all for now. Just wanted to make sure I share the good moments with the less-than-good moments.

a merry christmas, a manten, and a misanthropic mindset

I’ve definitely been slacking on keeping everything up-to-date, sorry. It’s intimidating when I read my friends’ blogs and they’re all so articulate and witty and entertaining. But I owe it to my legion of loyal followers…all 7 of them.

I occasionally type when I’m feeling frustrated or angry or sad or…you get the point. So this is a compilation of some of those moments, bits from emails to friends and family, and recounts of other significant events which have taken place over the last few weeks, in the format of an emotional roller coaster, and a somewhat lengthy one at that.

**************************************************

My Festive Holiday Decor Complimented by Mosquito Net

Christmas Eve: taught a pronunciation workshop at a small university in Madura with Scott and Truong. They say the grass is always greener...I couldn’t help but fall in love with Scott’s family and setup, and reflect on all the negatives from mine. I know he has his frustrating moments as I do, but I felt immediately welcome with his family, and the little girls were too adorable. I’m sure both he and I would be content exchanging host siblings for a few months. It seems as if his school has more need for a volunteer, and it was so refreshing to be within walking distance of endless rice paddies and dirt paths. There were no criticizing or sexist remarks from anyone in his family, and I now know firsthand the complete bliss of wearing and sleeping in a sarong. Thank you Madura for being so wonderful.
Christmas Day: spent the day in Surabaya with the other volunteers. Had a nice little Secret Santa with a handmade paper tree and snowflakes, and an amazing video skype date with my parents and brother! Travis’ mom made pillow cases for each of us and embroidered our group name and year on them. Then we headed over to a staff member’s house for an incredible meal, with real cheese, raw vegetables, garlic bread, and an endless supply of homemade cookies. Pretty fantastic spending the day with everyone and eating delectable foods. But I had a commitment early the next morning back at site, so while everyone else stayed in Surabaya for the night, I returned home full and content.

The PCV Lounge in Surabaya before Secret Santa

**************************************************************

December 26, 2010: Maggie and the Mantenan

By 6:30 a.m. I was in full makeup, fake eyelashes and all. I had fresh flowers in my hair, perfectly placed by one of the pria-wanita (transgender) who was beautifying everyone.

After the Makeup with One of My Students

I had agreed to be a terima tamu or ‘guest greeter’ at Bu Iva’s (a teacher at my school) daughter’s manten or wedding, but wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. I was excited nonetheless, for I had a new tailor-made outfit in green (my favorite color) and I got to be behind the scenes for my first Javanese wedding at site.

Bu Iva, Bu Maggie, and the other Terima Tamu

The bride was absolutely striking. She had a minimum of 3 people working on her at any given moment before the rituals started- makeup, nails, hair, clothes, fresh flowers being sewn directly onto her dress…an amazing sight to behold. Throughout the day she changed her elaborate gowns four times, carefully assisted by the same women from earlier that morning.

The Preparation of the Bride

Javanese weddings last all day. So for close to 14 hours it was my responsibility to help greet every person that walked through the flower archway, have them sign the guest book, lead them towards the food and the bridal couple, pass out a snack box as they exited 20 minutes later, and collect envelopes full of rupiah (the local currency) with the name of the giver scribbled across the front.

The Beautiful Bride

It was a long day, but it felt so great to be a part of something so beautiful.

***********************************************

A little sample of my PC life:

Last semester I started an English Camp for the elementary kids in my village and I primarily help out with the 3rd and 4th graders. Although I’m not always a ‘kid person’ they’ve totally grown on me. They make me smile every time I see them with their cute little backpacks, ready to learn. Last Sunday we learned the body parts then did the Hokey Pokey to practice the new vocab. They loved it! I forgot how much fun it is to be silly and have fun with learning. The ‘fun’ aspect is what’s missing from the Indonesian school system. No creativity. Everything is spoon-fed and critical thinking is a completely foreign concept even to my high schoolers. So, even though my ‘primary assignment’ is a secondary English teacher, it’s much more rewarding teaching these kids skills they can use outside of English and outside of the classroom.

Conversely, last semester was a complete disaster, besides the fact that I now know what not to do. Supposedly everyone’s first semester/year of teaching is a bit tough, but I seemed to struggle a lot. But I have more confidence and more ideas and more enthusiasm this time around. I start an English class for the teachers next week and I’ve convinced my principal to convert an empty room into the ‘English Corner’ with resources for grammar as well as story/short chapter books for leisure reading, English magazines, music and resources for continuing onto university. I’m so excited to start the transformation and my English Club students are stoked and have so many creative ideas- like starting a wall magazine. I’m so proud of them! They just needed an outlet, and although I’m the ‘adult in charge’ they’ve expressed a lot of ambitious ideas for this upcoming semester. 2011 is looking to be a great year!
I don’t think I could ever be a career teacher, but so far this has been an amazing experience despite the occasional rough days.

**************************************

Maggie the Misanthrope

I wish I could just blend in some days. I wish I could go for a run and not have the constant stares and catcalls. I wish I could eat in a public place and not have people take conspicuous candid pictures of me with their cell phones. I wish that when I came back to my home I could change into sweats, throw my hair up, and not have to worry about someone I’ve never met stopping by unannounced and expecting me to entertain them, then having them critique my unladylike attire.

I guess I knew that this is what I signed up for. I just thought it would mellow out after the first few months. But I don’t live in the tiny village I’d imagined, where I’ve met everyone and have an established role in the community. A majority of the teachers and students who I have befriended, commute to school and don’t live nearby. In fact, outside of my RT and counterpart, I don’t know any other adults that live less than a 20 minute bike ride away.

So when I am at home, I find myself sometimes shutting myself in my room. Partially because I get so overwhelmed every time I walk outside with the constant calls of ‘hey mister’ and ‘I love you’, and partially because I dread having any interaction with my host father. I’ve taken a break from exploring my community because it’s so taboo for a woman to walk around alone here- I’ve even been approached as a prostitute! So on occasion I’ve withdrawn from being social. I hate the constant critiquing of how I look and how much/what I’m eating and of American culture. I’m so much more patriotic now than I've ever been in my life. I hate constantly being on the defense.

But it’s a new year, and with the New Year, I’m bringing a new attitude and hopes. No more negative thoughts about my host father and brother…or the more tangible resolution of fewer negative thoughts. I’m gonna suck up feeling insecure every time I go outside alone (other than Bu S. there’s no one who has time to go out because they’re all married with children) and embrace that this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’m going to work on the relationships with the people who don’t judge me based on the color of my skin, and continue to work towards breaking the negative stereotypes about American women. Apparently I’m way more of a feminist than I was back home too.

But to be fair, I’ve had some really wonderful conversations with people I’ve just met, and formed a friendly relationship with the security guards at the ATM I frequent most regularly. I stop and chat with the handful of neighbors I have whenever they come out from behind their gated homes. And the kids are awesome. It’s one of the best feelings winning the admiration of the little munchkins just because I act silly with them. My host mom is great and my students at the boarding house nearby are remarkable. I just need to focus on the positives. I’m a quarter of the way through this crazy escapade!

******************************************

My first New Years alone. I was asleep by 9:00. Just like Christmas, it didn’t feel like any special day. I got a bit nostalgic when I talked to Mom and Will on the phone, but I survived, and just knowing that the last 2 digits of the year have changed makes me feel more hopeful. My New Years’ Resolutions:
1. Learn all 93 of the teachers’ names at my school (not easy when they go by at least 3 different nicknames)
2. Travel to a different country
3. Become a better teacher
4. Write a letter a week
5. Improve my Indonesian

****************************************

After living in Indonesia…
I’ve come to realize that there are more similarities than differences between the people hear and in the United States.
There are good people and there are bad people. There are people who judge you by the color of your skin, and there are those who don’t. There are people who are tolerant of other religions and cultures, and those who think theirs is the right and only one. There are ignorant people and people who are aware. Regardless of where one is in the world one will consistently be confronted by different personalities. Diversity is a part of human nature.

Up until this point when people ask, “what is your opinion about Indonesian people” I’ve raved about how kind and generous everyone is, and how tolerant they must be to have so many different religions living in peace. Ultimately I’ve realized that the I can’t make a blanket statement about Indonesians, just as they cannot claim that all Americans are…(fill in the blank). I’ve come to realize that some of the people, who are so kind to the foreigner because she has white skin and is believed to come from a background of wealth and privilege, are the same people who pass judgment on others because of their dark skin and financial background. So the people of Papua, who have dark skin, dress differently, and live in bamboo huts are considered lesser by these so-called ‘tolerant’ people, even though they’re all Indonesians. It makes me sick when I hear conflicting declarations from people I deal with on a daily basis. It’s definitely not everyone, and in the U.S. I would simply opt not to associate with these people. Unfortunately, here I have one sleeping in the room next door.

*****************************************

I love spontaneous excursions to the mountains. The fresh air, endless nature, and cool breeze remind me of Colorado in the summer. But slightly more tropical.



Oh, and I had the most amazing video Skype session with Katie and the girls yesterday. I got a tour of their Big Girl rooms, presents from Santa, and the snow outside. Technology makes a new Peace Corps experience.

cheating...

I must preface this by saying that the students at my school have been the best part of my PC experience. That being said, I am absolutely appalled by the amount and variety of cheating that takes place during semester exams. It’s an absolute relief that testing is over. I know this isn’t the first time I’ve mentioned cheating in the schools, and it most likely will not be the last, but each day I proctored exams I left completely dumbfounded and with a spinning head. There was always this horrible feeling in my gut, trying to wrap my head around why something so taboo in American schools is so routine here. Part of it’s cultural, but teachers and students both admit that it’s immoral. The vice principal asked me for the ‘solution to the cheating problem’ and all I could think of was “have some sort of punishment for cheating” or “have the teachers actually monitor the exams instead of playing on their laptops and standing outside their rooms chatting” or simply “try to motivate the students to take pride in doing their own work.”

Here’s a brief description of the testing set-up:
• Each room has a combination of students from different grades, who alternate seats in order to hinder cheating (it does absolutely nothing to deter them from doing so)
• Between 2-3 subjects tested each day
• Each test is 90 minutes, separated by a 15 minute break
• There are 30 multiple choice questions and 5 short answer/essay questions
• The students are handed an answer sheet similar to a scantron, and a separate question sheet
• One teacher for every 35 students

At first I thought the students cheated because the exams were too difficult, that maybe there were just too many subjects. I even felt sorry for them to an extent. But after several casual inquiries I found out it’s because a majority of the students simply just don’t study. So my new mission for this upcoming semester is figuring out how to motivate students to study on their own and ‘take pride in doing their own work’- not because a teacher will punish them if they don’t, but because they should get some type of gratification from accomplishing something based on their own hard work. A good life lesson.

I will now end this note with a list of the Top 20 ways (in no particular order) I caught students cheating in just the 3 days that I proctored exams, each of varying degrees of creativity and covertness. And none of which seemed punishable.

1. Directly asking the person next to him/her for the answer
2. Or the person behind him/her
3. Or in front of him/her
4. Or across the room
5. Getting the answer keys from a parent who is a teacher at the school
6. Writing answers on one’s shoe
7. Writing the answers on one’s veil/jilbab
8. Writing the answers on a compact mirror, then constantly checking one’s appearance in said mirror during the exam
9. Writing the answers on the desk the day before the exam
10. Writing all the answers on the back of the test and sliding it over so one’s neighbor can see the list
11. Writing answers on erasers, whiteout, pencil sharpeners, etc, then letting one’s friend borrow the aforementioned object(s)
12. Sliding one’s answer sheet over so one’s neighbor can read it more easily
13. Holding the test in front of one’s face (pretending to read it intently) in order to cover one’s mouth when sharing answers
14. Texting/using cell phones
15. Directly exchanging question sheets with the answers circled
16. Exchanging answer sheets so another student can write the essay answer
17. Using one’s hands to show the number of the question and letter of the answer
18. Having one’s workbook open on the desk
19. Having a friend who’s already finished the exam walk by outside and share answers through the back windows
20. Filling out an answer sheet before the test and switching it with the blank one given by the teacher

islamic new year and jalan santai

This past Tuesday marked the transition into a new year for Muslims around the world. Happy 1432! In my village that meant no school...and a parade featuring marching bands from the Islamic schools in the area, a group of approximately 50 ten-year old boys who would be circumcised the following day, and members of the local transgendered community in full traditional Javanese drag. The latter completely caught me off guard, but Bu S has promised one of our Sunday morning bike rides to further explore this seemingly paradoxical scenario seeing as how I live in an tremendously conservative community.

Prior to the parade Bu S and I had been offered an invitation to one of her former students’ homes in order to learn how to make klempon, a traditional Javanese snack. Since I’m not really allowed to cook at my homestay, I jumped on the opportunity to get messy in the kitchen and learn about local cuisine.

Part of the Indonesian English curriculum is teaching ‘Procedural Text’. So in tribute to this semester coming to a close, I thought I’d honor those teachings with a photo documentary presented in Procedural Text format.

Klempon:

1. Press the grains of green rice then sift into a fine powder.

2. Preheat the wood fire stove in preparation to boil water.

3. Knead the green rice, flour, sugar, green food coloring, salt, and coconut milk into dough-like consistency.

4. Grind the Javanese sugar into a softer, more moldable mound.

5. Take a clump of dough approximately the size of a teaspoon, roll into a ball, and flatten in the palm of your hand.

6. Take a pea-sized portion of Javanese sugar and place it in the center of your green dough. Fold the dough over, enclosing the sugar and sealing it in the center, again in ball form.

7. Once you have finished with all of the dough, place the balls in boiling water. Transfer into cooler water.

8. Remove balls and place them on a ‘cooling rack’.

9. Roll in shredded coconut.

10. Box up for your friends and enjoy!

I know it’s kind of vague, and this is probably the closest I’ll get to holiday baking, but I still enjoyed every minute of it…despite the occasional difficulties (i.e. uneven sized balls, sugar centers being exposed prematurely, green dye being splashed about). But most importantly, the end product was quite delicious, and I spent the morning with a wonderful family. A family who does this every day- without fail- in order to keep food on the table.

That house and family were more of how I pictured my PC experience. Being involved in traditional cooking, using a wood fire stove, sitting around laughing rather than silent in front of a TV, meeting the neighbors and feeling immediately like a part of the community. At least I am fortunate enough to experience days like this when I go on weekly adventures with Bu S.

Semester exams were postponed the following day so that the teachers could participate in Jalan Santai. That morning I met my fellow teachers at the school so we could carpool to Mojokerto. Low and behold, a brand new sports uniform was waiting for me! The importance of this may be difficult to communicate with mere words, but I’m undoubtedly still going to try. Sports uniforms in Indonesia are not only unflattering, long sleeved, and made of material that doesn’t breathe, but they always come in the most vibrant colors- neon green or orange, bright pink, etc. Most of the other volunteers already have their school’s sports uniform, and I’ve fancied one of these coveted treasures since the first day I started teaching. Looks like the new year brought me luck: mustard yellow top, black pants with bright yellow racing stripes, and everything trimmed in red. When we walked together, we kind of resembled the German flag.

This particular Jalan Santai is a once-a-year walking event where all of the Islamic schools in Mojokerto are represented…each in their own, unique, pulsating sports clothes. It was great! It was really nice to spend time with the teachers outside of school. Afterwards I went ‘out to lunch’ and shopping with some of the teachers…still in our mustard uniforms. It was nice to be reminded that I’m a normal person capable of having a regular social life. But today it’s back to school and the start of exams. Good luck to all of the students at MAN!