Selamat Ulang Tahun

October 9, 2011

It has recently been brought to my attention that as my time in Indonesia progresses, I have written less and less about being Inspired In Indonesia. It’s not that I haven’t been inspired lately, quite the opposite actually, it’s just that things have become so routine that it feels almost monotonous to write about my seemingly mundane experiences…a routine, by the way, that I am wholeheartedly clinging to after the complete and utter chaos of my initial 18 months here.

So, for those of you who don’t find my contributions monotonous and mundane, here’s my October shout out to my most recent inspiration: all the little Javanese munchkins who join English camp twice a month. My kids are awesome! Today we celebrated our 1 year anniversary of English Kids’ Camp. It’s hard to believe that it’s already been 12 months since that first frenzied afternoon at the balai desa. While fundamentally still the same, things are noticeably different with our camp. Instead of the nearly 100 disorderly children of days past, we now have an enthusiastic group of thirty kids who religiously show up every other Sunday with their over-sized backpacks and occasional bewildered looks in tow. And now, in addition my 30 fabulous elementary school kids, I have half a dozen unbelievable high school English Club members whose skills and confidence flourish more and more each progressive time they teach or plan a lesson.

In order to celebrate the Big One, my high schoolers came up with inventive and entertaining ways to practice what the kids have learned over the past year: balloon races to study body parts, songs to help with prepositions, and wildlife voice competitions to practice animals. While still somewhat disorganized (I’ve finally learned to embrace that particular Javanese approach) I can confidently say that our one year celebration was a success- my untamed host brother even managed not to complain or get too wild for the whole 90 minutes. And like any other outstanding birthday party, we ended with some sticky American candy, a few rounds of singing ‘Happy Birthday English Camp’ and a goofy group shot.

Happy Birthday English Camp!

Practicing Prepositions: "Thumbs Up, Elbows Out..."

The Whole Group Singing Together

One-legged Races

Acting like Frogs

Body Relay Race Using Heads

My Host Brother and His Posse Enjoying Themselves

Group Shot After a Great Day

all the cool kids are doing it...

August 20, 2011

Sometimes I wish I was Muslim…all the cool kids are doing it.

It’s one thing to go through the superficial motions in order to respect the religion of everyone around me: to fast during Ramadhan; to greet the class with as-salamu-alaikum (may God be with you); to deferentially sit in the background while the entire student body or my host family make their ablutions and pray. But sometimes I wish I knew what it felt like to earnestly go through the prayer motions, to be fully veiled on a daily basis, and to somehow sense that I was closer to a higher power and a part of something bigger.

It’s like a kind of subliminal peer pressure. No one comes out and directly says I should become Muslim. Well, usually not. But being surrounded by devout devotees 24 hours a day does start to affect the way one thinks about the matter. The constant comments about how beautiful one would be if she wore a jilbab or the undisclosed desire to not feel like an outsider during religious events begin to seep into the part of one’s brain that just wants to fit in and belong. It would feel really good to legitimately be a part of something so significant in my community.

That being said, I have zero intention of ‘converting’ any time in the foreseeable future…and I can see pretty far. If I survived high school, I’m sure I can make it through the next 9 months without making any eccentric life changing alterations to my lifestyle, i.e. abruptly becoming pious or being fully covered in 90 degree weather.

School Prayer Before Breaking Fast Together

*******
August 25, 2011

I assumed this Ramadan would be just as distressing as last year’s. I forgot to take one minor detail into account: a lot has changed over the last 12 months. This time last year I felt trapped in my homestay situation, a prisoner to my host father’s expectations and commands. Slightly dramatic sounding, but that’s the way it was. I was rarely allowed to leave the house without someone accompanying me (they even tried to set up a system where a different student would pick me up and walk me home from school every day…a 3 minute walk from my front door to the gate of my school). During Idul Fitri (the festive end of the fasting month of Ramadan) my overbearing tyrant of a host father paraded me around in such an uncomfortable manner that I had to hold back tears and fits of rage until I was in the privacy of my own room and eventually in the company of my empathetic Peace Corps friends. I knew no one outside of my immediate host family and a select few teachers who lived in the neighboring city. Those emotional hardships, coupled with fasting (including no water) for 14 hours a day, every day, transformed me into quite the acrimonious individual. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to reliving last year’s flagrantly dreadful events.

In no way did I want to put myself through that chagrin again. As a result, I zealously jumped at the chance to hop over to another island for a week during the Idul Fitri holiday. I thoroughly contemplated whether it was a good idea to travel during that time. On one hand, it’s 1) an important Islamic holiday which one should spend with neighbors and family 2) more expensive to travel during those few days 3) I’m currently studying for the GRE, scheduled for the end of September. On the other hand, there’s 1) no physical way I can put myself through the same torment and suffering as last year 2) I won’t have the opportunity to travel again for awhile because of my teaching schedule, and 3) I guarantee that I’ll be able to study better without my current home distractions, like my host father’s plangent voice reverberating through the house or the constant stream of unannounced guests flowing through our doors- not the most ideal setup for studying. I wish I could just grab a tall Starbucks caramel frappuccino and head to the library for a few solid hours of uninterrupted studying. Instead, I’ll gladly settle for a 1 ½ liter bottle of water, my SPF 55 sunscreen, and head down to a pristine beach, the sound of waves crashing in the foreground.

The one thing I didn’t anticipate when scheduling this ideal getaway was that now I actually do have people I want to visit on Idul Fitri. Neighbors who are no longer strangers, but friends. Students who I’ve not only taught over the last year, but who have grown to be a part of my Indonesian family. In stark contrast to last year, I do want to take part in the customary Muslim-Javanese practices surrounding the end of Ramadan; I do want to minta maaf (ask for forgiveness) and silhaturahmi (build/strengthen relationships) during the holiday break.

Ultimately though, I think I made the right decision to absent myself for a few days. It’s inevitable that I would have been pressured into traveling all through Mojokerto with my host father, made to feel guilty, and thus miserable, because I have to take the slow, crowded public transportation rather than jumping on a speedy motorcycle to all of the unfamiliar destinations. I will see my kids after the holiday, and I was lucky enough to break fast with several of them prior to the break. Sulawesi, here I come!

My Neighbor Friends- I Love These Kids!

Some of My New English Club Family

Breaking Fast with Rosyid and Tyka

maybe it’s because…

Almost 3 weeks into the new school year and, al-hamdulillah, I have a completely contrasting outlook on the future compared to how I felt this time last year. Not just a little different, but a radical distinction from the neurotic mess I was one year ago.

Maybe it’s because I now know what to expect- that the first week, or even month, of school doesn’t necessarily mean the first week of teaching. That the teaching schedule is tentative and apt to change at least a dozen times over the next month. That planning with counterparts is great in theory, but ostensibly uncharacteristic in the Indonesian school system. That teachers are late, students do cheat, there’s corruption in schools and classes get cancelled on a whim.

Maybe it’s because I have a year of experience under my belt. A year of trial and error. A year of fine tuning lessons, so that by the 5^th time I teach them, I’m finally successful. A year of evaluating what my students are actually capable of in relation to where the national curriculum expects them to be. A year of learning Indonesian. And a bit of Javanese. And a smidgen of Arabic should the appropriate occasion arise. A year of simply standing in front of a group of students who do not share my mother tongue and not only transferring knowledge, but also, as the Indonesians like to call it, memberi motivasi or ‘giving motivation’.

Maybe it’s because I finally understand the culture, even if I don’t necessarily agree with it. That people here will inexorably comment on skin color, age, weight, marital status and overall physical appearance on a daily basis. That the typical role of women is to marry young and start having babies. That higher education is rarely prioritized. That being force-fed will inevitably occur at least once a day. That there are infinite little cultural lessons I’ve learned over the past year which couldn’t possibly fit into this limited space, and can only truly be understood through first hand experience.

Maybe it’s because there’s finally evidence that my time here has had some type of positive impact. That the English Kids’ Camp we set up last October is still attracting kids every other week- and that my English Club girls’ confidence in speaking as well as their impressive improvement as teachers has been a direct result. That the English Corner plans I’ve been trying to push forward are finally, yet unhurriedly, becoming a reality- we received our first International Book Project donation last week! That my host brother no longer blatantly disrespects me; we’ve actually established a legit sibling relationship! That even though my kids are not fluent in English, they are more confident in speaking, less afraid to make mistakes, and know that there’s more to American culture than Justin Bieber (who I’m pretty sure is from Canada anyway.)

Maybe it’s because I’m now inured to things that used to trouble me. To the oversized rats scampering around the rafters above my mosquito net clad bed each night as I attempt to fall asleep, causing superfluous raucous and, as a result, needlessly unsettling dreams. To the unrelenting, incessant attempts to set me up with an Indonesian man. To a diet of shrimp still encased in shells (extra calcium), fish with heads still attached (less prep work), and significant portions of rice I’m expected to eat three times a day, every day, and from which I perfunctorily pick out tiny stones before I take my first bite (minor labor for my essential carbs for the day). All of which, by the way, has been sitting out for the duration of the day and/or over night uncovered.

Maybe it’s because I’ve made a couple of lifetime friends. That I have someone to vent to. Someone to genuinely laugh with. Someone with whom to go exploring and share secrets. Someone who doesn’t make snap judgments about me based on my background, current routine, or future plans.
Maybe it’s because I’ve accomplished things that I may have never experienced otherwise. That I can ride a bike in a skirt fairly gracefully. That I can eat noodles with a spoon and rice with my hand. That I can bust out the lyrics to an Indonesian pop song should I feel compelled to do so…and, amazingly, I feel compelled to do so more often than one might think.

Or maybe it’s because I’m in the homestretch. That I can see the light at the end of my transitory 10-months-remaining-tunnel, or as one of the new PCVs likes to say, only 22 2-weeks left (thanks Taylor).

It’s not all rainbows and butterflies this second year around, but it is significantly better than the beginning of year 1. So, to any new PCVs who may be feeling slightly overwhelmed, frustrated, confused, or simply uncertain that they made the right decision to commit 2 years of their life to this crazy endeavor, I promise, it does get easier.

Grades 1 & 2 Drawing their Family at the First English Camp of the Semester

Enjoying the Newly Opened Package of Books

English Club Excited to Open the Books

Two of the Best Friends a Gal in Indonesia Could Ask For

lebih gemuk, lebih cantik

“Lebih gemuk, lebih cantik.” Those were the first words out of my host father’s mouth as I walked through the front doors of our newly completed garage-kitchen after a fleeting 2 weeks away from site. Roughly translated: “you look fatter, and consequently, more beautiful.” I guess I’ve adapted to Javanese flattery more than I thought I had. Having someone immediately tell me I look fatter as I exhaustedly fumble into the house, weighed down by my oversized backpack after having to walk back from where the bus dropped me off because I missed the last microlet of the evening would not have gone over so well one year ago. Yeah, I probably packed on a few pounds thanks to the considerable amounts of food I voraciously consumed in the short 14 days I was away from site, but it was nice to instinctively grasp that my host father was complimenting, not insulting, me…that being fatter denotes that I’m more beautiful which he attributed directly to me being reunited with my family. These anomalous kind words were unexpectedly the perfect way to be welcomed back to site following severe feelings of trepidation towards the return.

A long, long time ago during PST I remember someone sharing that the best time for one to take PC vacation days is when one feels like it’s an impossible time to leave site. I’m a living testament to the legitimacy of that statement. The amount of stress, pressure, guilt and obligation I felt towards my school, host family and community right before I left was almost unbearable. I felt like I was deserting everyone or letting them down by leaving. But taking these two weeks away from site rejuvenated my mind, body and soul. Although I may eat these words later, I feel like I can handle anything that comes my way over the next 11 months.

Top 5 Things I Didn’t Realize I So Intensely Missed Until I Was Reunited With Them On Vacation:

1. Being in charge of my own diet: going to the grocery store, choosing healthier alternatives, and cooking for myself.
2. Western style bathrooms: flushing toilets with toilet paper, hot showers with decent water pressure, brushing my teeth at a sink, and not having to change clothes in a dripping room that’s roughly the size of a medium-sized closet.
3. Having a washing machine at my disposal.
4. Seeing/joining a myriad of people outdoors who were enjoying the abundant pedestrian friendly areas whether it was women running, men pushing baby strollers or families riding bikes together.
5. Blending in with the ‘locals’ and being with people who ‘get me’.

Top 5 Things I Was Surprised I So Strongly Missed About PC Life In Indonesia:

1. The neighbor kids’ unfailing alacrity in greeting me every time they see me.
2. Riding my bell-and-basket adorned bike every day.
3. Never having to use lotion as a natural result of living in a humid climate.
4. Feeling fairly competent in a foreign language.
5. The appreciation one gains for things otherwise taken for granted when having predictable access to them, like my secret stash of American treats stored under my bed in case of an arduous day emergency.

May 10, 2011

Today was a good day. Nothing extraordinary, but pretty darn good. Sometime between stepping off the plane in Jakarta and crafting my day-to-day teaching life, Indonesia has become my home. It’s a pretty cool feeling to finally be familiar with a majority of the people on my walk home from school. To recognize Yaya, an 8-year-old boy living in a boarding house nearby and who sporadically sneaks into my 3-4 grade English Camp class instead of staying with the 1^st and 2^nd graders. To wave and smile at each of the shop owners along the way, and know that I finally have the ability and relationship to chat with them about something more substantial than the weather. I don’t smile and wave and stop to chat because I’m trying to portray a positive image of the American bule; I do it because I’ve actually formed relationships with these people. My people: my neighbors, my students, my people who sweep up the trash every morning or drive their beceks up and down the main road. I used to feel pressure to be on point all day, every day. Always smiling and hiding how internally frustrated I was/am most days. But today I soaked it all in. I was smiling because I was happy; it wasn’t a facade. Happy because I finally have a decent grasp on the names of the over 300 students that I teach in any given week, plus a respectable number of students outside of my teaching schedule. Happy because I can see my kids’ improvement and increase in motivation to study. Happy because the call to prayer is really beautiful and spiritual some days, especially considering I’m someone who’s not necessarily religious. Happy because my parents are coming out in just over a month and I can’t wait to share all of this with them.

Lately these good days have been pretty rare, but I have a feeling that they’ll become more regular as time goes on. I think I’m finally coming to terms with Diana leaving us- out on this great Asian adventure without us, but having an unforgettable time.

This is my life and my home, even though some days I feel like throwing in the towel.

May 21, 2011

I thought for sure I’d have millions of hours of time on my hands once I joined Peace Corps. In reality, it’s the complete opposite.

Oftentimes, I feel like I don’t have a say in the events of my day to day life. My schedule is built around the spontaneous chaos and irregularity that seems to embody Indonesian life. Peace Corps says that starting a routine is key to feeling at home and settling in, and I’ve tried. It seems that an unstructured schedule has become routine.

I eat what and when other people tell me to eat. Mandi, or am requested to wait to mandi (take a bucket bath), based on when other people feel they might need to use the bathroom. Am rarely, if ever, told about significant events taking place right outside my bedroom door: “surprise Maggie, there are 6 strange men sleeping here tonight because we’re building a new garage.” So now, even the glimpse of a routine I thought I once had has been thrown into a whirl wind spiral. The laundry line was mysteriously moved to the other side of the street then disappeared all together; my host parents made promises to their friends on behalf of me (without informing me) saying I’d give their kids private lessons every Saturday. Seemingly trivial events to someone on the other side of the world, but fairly significant to someone whose life this has inevitably become. I feel like I’m living with college roommates again, but this time I didn’t get to choose. And I’m not allowed to have boys over.

I relish in the fact that I can occasionally (a total of about 7 times in the past 15 months) cook for myself. I live for the mornings I can walk out of my bedroom in a tank top because my host father and brother have already left for the day. Living with a homestay family has probably been my least favorite, and most difficult, part of my PC experience; but to be fair, it’s gotten slightly easier to cope with over the past few months.

May 29, 2011

Not sure if life is getting monotonous or if I’m just getting used to the things I used to consider out of the ordinary. Are they mutually exclusive? I love that my life has taken me halfway around the world, but I am ready for something different; but different has taken on a whole new meaning since being here.

This week I brought my camera around to document a routine yet simultaneously random week at site. Somewhere along the line disorder became routine, and what I used to consider irresponsible chaos rarely astonishes me now. I just roll with it…most of the time anyway. So this is my week in a nutshell, through pictures and short blurbs.

Sunday: Our Sunday morning bike ride took Bu S and I to one of my most devoted English Club student’s homes where we met his entire extended family including his 90+ year-old grandfather who reminisced about the time of Dutch colonial rule and commented on each of the subsequent Indonesian presidents’ strengths and flaws.

Rosyid (far right) and his Immediate Family

On our way home we rode through the Sunday chicken marketplace. Lots of plucking and clucking and neck breaking and chicken baking. The motorcycle-packed market teeming with caged birds and loose feathers didn’t faze me the same way it would have a year ago. Such is life in Indonesia.

The Motorcycle-Filled Chicken Market

Plucking Some Chickens

This was also our last English Kids Camp of the year. Bittersweet, but knowing that it will undoubtedly resume in July once school starts again made it easier to say goodbye. I love that I see and recognize these kids out in the community and that they no longer call me bule (foreigner), but light up and call me Ms. Maggie as I ride by on my bicycle.

Ika and Nurliana with Grades 1 and 2

All the Volunteers and Kids Together for One Last Picture

Monday: Mr. Jonathan, a current PC trainee, came to observe my site. What it’s like to team-teach in an Indonesian school, take public transportation to a new location, and have daily interaction in a permanent community. Logically (Indonesian logic), half the students and teachers thought he was my secret boyfriend coming to visit, and the other half wanted him to immediately take my place at school- most of the time those halves overlapped.

Mr. Jonathan and His Sweet 1950s Ride

Tuesday: After school and my weekly study group with students from a neighboring high school, Mr. J., Bu S and I, took a bike ride around Mojosari. We stopped at the balai desa when we saw a group of little girls practicing traditional Javanese dance (the equivalent of an elementary school ballet class in the States), and naturally jumped in to try a few of the moves ourselves. Unremitting laughter from the observing parents ensued for the duration of our performance, but we had a great time. Well I did at least, not sure how 6’ 4” Mr. Jonathan felt being spontaneously subjected to dancing with a bunch of 8 year-old girls.

Not Quite as Limber as the Kids

Trying to Keep Up

With the Scarf

Group Shot

Fatigued after 2 dances, we hopped back on our bikes and cruised around for awhile longer, checking out the pasar, or market, at night. Inquiring then mentally compiling a list of food prices, we ventured through the market fruit by fruit, veggie by veggie: 1 kilo of small potatoes: 6,000 Rp (about 60 US cents); 1 kilo of melon: 4,000Rp (40 cents); the list of fresh produce, endless.

Fruit Stall at the Night Market

Weighing a Kilo of Wortel (Carrots)

Wednesday: Jonathan’s Last Day- school suddenly, yet not entirely unpredicted, ended early so that the teachers could have their government-issued ID pictures taken in Mojokerto. With only a few people at school, I helped with new student enrollment for the upcoming semester. Came home, prepared a sweet review game for grade 11, went on a brief, yet enjoyable wildlife adventure with my host bro and his friends (catching crabs and these cool golden bugs) and spent the remainder of the evening watching Batman (Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson, circa 1989) on my modest computer.

Pam (host bro) With His Caught Crab

Catching Kepek Emas (Golden Bugs)

Thursday: I officially survived an entire year of teaching. I taught my last two classes of the semester and felt a huge, previously-ignored weight lift off my shoulders. I reflected on my own last days of high school and everything that’s happened between my 2003 graduation and May 2011. A lot. Took time to enjoy the little things on my walk home, like the two goats which I’ve fondly, yet secretly, named Daisy and Sunflower in tribute to the goats at a camp I worked at one summer; the neighbor kids walking back from mengaji (Al Quran study group) in their adorable ngaji outfits; the sound of the afternoon call to prayer; freshly laundered clothes drying in the ever-so-slight, but nonetheless present, breeze in cohorts with the unrelenting sun.

Daisy the Goat

Ngaji Girls

Friday: Since Friday is only a half day of school due to Jumatan or Friday prayer, and I don’t teach, I decided to stay home, work on plans for my parents’ visit next month, and do my weekly laundry. Regardless of how long I live in Indonesia, I will neither get used to nor enjoy washing my sheets by hand. I unequivocally despise it. The space my family usually uses to dry our laundry is currently under construction in an attempt to build a garage, so the temporary makeshift bamboo beams which have taken over have become our new drying locale. As I previously mentioned, we have some semi-permanent house guests. For the past two weeks I’ve been sharing the already hectic mandi, mealtime area, and my sandals with 4 extended family construction workers. They’re really nice guys, but the house gets a bit congested from time to time.

I had to go to school late in the afternoon anyway for graduation rehearsal, so I didn’t feel too guilty about taking some time to myself earlier in the day.

Drying Laundry

Saturday: Wisuda 2011! Another early morning (3:30 am) endeavor to be dressed in traditional kebaya in support of my school’s graduation ceremony scheduled to start at 8:00. From the three times I’ve worn kebaya (the Batu mayor’s house for wayang kulit, the wedding last December, and the recent graduation) I think I’ve worn more make-up and used more hairspray than I have collectively during my previous 25 years of life. I played a special role in the ceremony: leading the headmistress and other important school officials to the stage with a slow, very precise walk alongside Mas Manan, a friend from school. The scheme was kept a secret until the moment of, and the entire audience- students, parents and teachers alike- were in a state of complete astonishment. I had fun with it all, but I think I met my kebaya quota for the year.

Kebaya for Graduation

Sunday: As ritual insists, Bu S and I went on our Sunday morning bike ride, this time to her former Middle School a few miles away. We stopped briefly to chat with some passing students, again to gossip with four women who were planting kacang hijau (a type of long green bean), and once more to discuss the predicament that some of the surrounding elementary schools are presently facing: students coming late to school because their parents work odd hours in the factories and don’t have the capacity to take their kids to school any earlier. A tiring ride up hill the way there, which meant a refreshing downhill cruise on the way home- sun on my face, wind in my hair. Embraced every moment of it.

Planting Kacang Hijau

Early Morning Planting

Hung out the rest of the day with a few minor, familiar interruptions: English Club being cancelled because the school is preparing for semester exams, so we weren’t allowed to enter the classrooms; a random man stopping by my house to ask if I could come to his home to teach him English and additionally requesting that I teach the army stationed in Mojosari “when I have time”; my host brother wanting to show me an “anaconda” at a neighbor’s house, swearing that it’s 9 meters in length was something to be reckoned with- I had just finished my afternoon mandi, so I decided to pass this time. It was a lazy, but much needed relaxing day, and it ended perfectly with a phone call from my brother.

Maybe to an outsider’s eye this seems less than monotonous and routine, but as I mentioned before, it’s just another unsystematic week at site.

a rollercoaster

April 19, 2011

Peace Corps forewarned that our 27-month dedication to live abroad would be full of ups and downs; a rollercoaster of highs and lows. They even hand out a timeline displaying when those highs and lows are likely to happen- usually along the same path as culture shock adaptation and re-adaptation and re-adaptation and...

I’ve hit a low and I can’t pinpoint exactly why. A loss of motivation. A feeling of insignificance after 11 months at site. Committing two years of my finite life in an attempt to ‘make the world a better place’ isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. Instead of being valued for my educational background and new ideas, my work community looks to me as a walking advertisement to increase school enrollment- ‘the native speaker who looks like a stereotypical American should look.’

Although no one has said those exact words, they’ve come pretty close. I’m ready to get dirty, not just be an alluring face.

As a result of this slump, I realize now more than ever what truly makes me happy in this whole crazy experience: watching and helping kids learn. For now, forget the other teachers and the untimely meetings and the shady administration and my homestay family. Hands on, one-on-one, I can see my kids’ improvement. From my elementary school kids who spontaneously stop by my house in between the days we have English Camp; to my high school students who ask for help outside of class or text me with their ever-improving English; to my host siblings, both of whose English has drastically improved over the last few months, I’m most happy when I see one of them finally ‘get it’. I can’t make every person fluent in English, but I can gradually help students improve their vocabulary and understanding of the language; and better yet, increase their confidence along the way.

April 5, 2011

Did not see that coming. Made a student cry today. I figured her group would be upset when I confronted them outside of class about copying their drama from the internet. I didn’t think there would be tears. But the confrontation led to the realization that my students (specifically in this class) are stressed about being perfect. Terrified of making mistakes, but wanting to improve. I never thought of myself as a threatening teacher, but this group of students admitted that they were scared of me. Not the impression I want to exude, and I think all of the other PCVs would laugh if they heard me described that way.

But I think that’s part of the cultural exchange. As an American, I’m more direct with my expectations. What I consider constructive feedback may be taken as severe criticism by my students.

I left that small group meeting feeling pretty low. About the situation. About myself. About how to proceed with the remainder of my time here. I relayed what I had learned to my co teacher, and it’s been weighing on my mind ever since. How can I make it better?

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

I just opened a text message from this student. This is the first time she’s ever sent me an SMS. Giving out my number and offering individual extra help isn’t always the most successful approach, but today it worked. She’s feeling much better and is eager to improve her English. Sometimes you have to go down before you can go up. And maybe the tears from earlier this afternoon were necessary in moving forward for both of us...and in building those one-on-one relationships that so often epitomize a significant Peace Corps experience.

April 20, 2011

I love eating breakfast out on my front porch. Everyone else is inside watching TV or getting ready for school and it seems to be the only time it’s cool enough to enjoy a substantial period of time outdoors…up until about 6:30 am when I can already feel the sun beating down. My once pristine view of corn fields and Mount Penanggungan was quickly replaced by the construction of new houses. I guess that’s the price for living on the most densely populated island in the world. Every day new faces walk by. Today, two little boys, slightly younger than my oldest niece who just turned 6, were walking their two grown goats (roughly the same size as the boys) to graze in between two of the newly built houses. It made me reflect on the roles of children around the world. Right now, back in Colorado, little E would be picking out her weather-appropriate clothes for school, feeding herself the breakfast her parents prepared and being escorted to the bus which would then take her to school. In Indonesia, children the same age are still handfed by their parents, play with knives and fire, and are expected to take care of goats. The teachers at my school are amazed when I tell them that both my 3 and 6 year old nieces can not only feed themselves, but sleep alone and dress themselves. “Wow, how do you teach them that?!?!” My answer: The same way you teach Indonesian children to not use their left hand in public, or to bring an elder’s hand to their cheek as a sign of respect…it’s learned behavior. In some ways Indonesian children seem so much more grown up and experienced than kids in America, and in others, so sheltered and dependent. It’s interesting to see what is prioritized in different countries. One’s not necessarily better than the other, just different.

++++++

I’m starting to realize why there are so many accounts of PCVs marrying other PCVs. They’re the only ones who really understand what this whole experience is like. As much as one can blog or call home to share about this experience, it can be difficult to fully grasp the conditions here unless you live it every day. It’s great to have support from back home, but I wish everyone could come out and live and work with me for a month to see it first hand.

On that note, my parents are coming out in June for a few weeks! Can’t wait to show them around site then escape to one of the other islands for a bit…maybe even go down to Australia.

April 21, 2011

Beauty. Perceived differently around the world. What unites us all is that every girl is at some point (or several points) in her life self-conscious about the way she looks, regardless of how beautiful she is considered by the rest of society.

There are three little girls who periodically come over to my house after evening prayer to study English. Usually we just practice reading stories from Highlights magazines or have vocab races with the flashcards my mom sent out. Last night we made ‘love letters’ for our friends and family. When they asked who I was making mine for, I pulled out a picture of me with my four closest friends from high school.

I’ve commented that skin color is of foremost significance here, but I was still shocked at the first words that came out of the girls’ mouths. ‘Hitam, hitam! Yang lain lebih cantik!” They immediately singled out my friend who was tanner than the rest of us- not considered black by any stretch of the American imagination, but golden by comparison due to some quality time spent at the tanning salon. This particular friend is considered strikingly beautiful by American standards. Bronze skin, blond hair, stylish, perfect hair and makeup. She was even a contestant on The Bachelor “Wings of Love”. But all these girls could see was that she had darker skin than the rest of us- darker skin that my friend had striven to attain. In their 4^th grade minds that made her different, different in a negative way.

There’s such an emphasis placed on physical appearance here. I’ve heard stories of the ‘pretty’ students getting higher scores than their less ideal looking classmates based solely on the fact that they have fairer skin and a pointed nose. Not my favorite part of Indonesian culture, but something that will not change during my short time here. But I still share about the different types of beauty all over the world in hopes that these girls might one day look in a mirror and think that their nose and skin and eyes and hair are beautiful. And one day, maybe they’ll even share with their children that physical beauty is only skin deep- what’s more important is what's inside.

That being said, it still totally makes my day when an 8 year-old little boy runs up to me, expending all of his courage, to tell me that his equally young friend thinks I’m pretty.

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EARTH DAY

Earth Day (April 22, 2011)

As part of an assignment at ‘teacher training’ a few months ago, the science teachers were asked to come up with a hypothetical plan for composting at our school. I was stoked to hear that thoughts of composting were circulating through the minds and mouths of the teachers. But that was the last and only time I heard any discussion about it. Weeks later it was still just a thought on a missing piece of paper, and a constant on my mind. So in hopes of doing something productive at my school before my two years comes to a close, I approached one of the biology teachers who seemed to have a more vested interest in the potential of composting. And that’s how our Plant for MAN Mojosari group came about; a group composed of 8 teachers spanning the Biology, Chemistry, Geography and English faculties, each of whom is optimistic about working towards a more eco-friendly school. Of course, my idea of a green school and that of my fellow teachers differs somewhat. Needless to say, I may have been slightly overambitious.

Soon after, the not-yet-named Plant for MAN Mojosari group started fairly-regular weekly meetings to discuss the idea of composting at our school, and eventually scaled back our lofty ambitions to something a bit more manageable and multifunctional: planting a garden. The biology teachers were eager to have it as a new biology lab, the chemistry teachers for experiments, the geography teachers for the 10^th grade curriculum, and I was excited to take the first step in a greener direction.

Hours spent on a proposal to be submitted to our principal, combined with the time spent researching ways to incorporate our ideas into the current national curriculum, and creating sample projects to share with the students (smaller bamboo gardens) absorbed most of my mental energy for several weeks, but it felt nice to be working towards something. We selected two students from each class to help with the project and little by little worked our way towards launching the project.

working on our small, but very loved garden

I’m not going to lie; planning was by far not the easiest part. Conflicting views on how to handle logistics, fund the project, include the students and when to ‘launch’ made it a bit stressful at times. Not to mention everyone’s different concept of being on time. But like most projects, it was well worth it in the end. Each student brought two plants from home, categorized them based on their scientific family, and started working even though it should have been a holiday- Good Friday. Yeah, most of the girls were afraid to get dirty, so they used a plastic bag as hand protection from the soil; and the other teachers showed up at least an hour late or not at all, but we did it! It was less than structured, but that’s how things roll at my school. Now it’s just a matter of maintaining our project goals and objectives. We’ve already started outlining how to compost at our school and taken the first baby steps towards becoming more environmentally friendly. Now if I could only get the students and teachers to throw their trash in the plentiful trash bins around our school…

preparing the soil

sorting the plants

identifying the scientific family

mixing in the compost- protected by plastic bags

teacher shot


one of the many hardworking students

April 24, 2011- Earth Day cont.

Today at our English Kids Camp, we watched FernGully- FernGully with successfully translated Indonesian subtitles (after many, many long hours and an absurd amount of help from a good friend and a dictionary)! The kids loved it! Sparked a conversation about organic and inorganic trash and led to a trash pick-up race. Helping the environment can be fun.

April 25, 2011

Today concluded our Earth Day garden project. Our principal ceremoniously planted an avocado tree. Well, actually she posed with it. Bright pink ribbon-wrapped trowel in one hand, tree in the other. After pictures the students got down in the soil and did the dirty work- no protective plastic bags this time! The Jawa Pos, a regional newspaper, came to cover the story, so we were also able to show off the beginnings of our composting project as well as the environment posters my kids had made as part of a group assignment the week before. The students did a great job explaining the composting process to the reporter, and I think having another party interested in our project was really encouraging for them. We’re hoping that this little bit of publicity will boost support and enthusiasm from people who are higher up and who could potentially help out financially in the future so that we can expand our green efforts. As chaotic as it seemed at times, we successfully completed the first step. I look forward to updating everyone on our future ventures. Wish us luck!

posing with the avocado tree

showing off the beginnings of our composting project