I learned a lot about myself and Indonesia during the past twenty-seven months; but after all the time reflecting and thinking, there are still many aspects of Indonesia--culture, environment, day-to-day routines--that I have yet to master. The following list is a collection of concepts I thought about almost every day throughout service. I sought answers for many of them from host family members, teachers, and community members alike, but never found a solid answer to satisfy my curiosity. The entering of windI learned about masuk angin within the first week I lived in Indonesia. Translated as, and literally meaning “entering wind,” Indonesians treat this an illness similar to how we treat a simple head cold. The way Indonesians “catch” the malady, however, is what I find particularly interesting. Despite the heat, Indonesians prefer to wear jackets and pants while driving motorcycles in order to prevent the wind from entering their bodies. That is how they get sick. My host family warns me against standing in front of a fan, or sleeping with the fan on all night, for fear that the wind will enter my body and I will get sick (I sleep with the fan on every single night; I wake up with a head cold every now and then). My host family recommends I avoid bathing immediately after exercising or directly before bed, because masuk angin. I find it humorous to this day to hear “entering wind” as the reason to wear a jacket in 100-degree weather, avoid bathing, or refrain from using a fan to keep comfortable. Is masuk angin really a thing? I am still trying to figure that out. What time of the day is it?We learned in Bahasa Indonesia classes during Pre-Service Training that selamat pagi (“good morning”) is used from 5 to 10am, selamat siang (“good day”) from 10am to 3pm, selamat sore (“good afternoon”) from 3 to 7pm, and selamat malam (“good evening”) from 7pm until 5am the following morning. I quickly learned that those times are more subtle suggestions rather than strict rules. To this day, I still struggle to determine the appropriate time to switch from one to the next. Subuh, the day’s first call to prayer, takes place around 4:15am in my village. By the time I bike to school at 6:45am, many of my neighbors have been awake for three or more hours. It can be frustrating to hear people say “good day!” when I woke up thirty minutes earlier. Let me catch up! As for the afternoon, I have heard “good afternoon!” used from 1 to 6pm, and “good evening!” from 3 to 10pm. I basically flip a coin to determine how to address friends and family anytime after lunch. Ibu or goat?I rode my bike many times every day during service. I used the bike to get to and from school, the gym, market, convenience store, beach, etc. My village was located just far enough from Bandung, the nearest town, to provide a rural, somewhat tranquil feel (for Java, anyways); but it was close enough for me to bike to an ATM or clothing store if necessary. I zipped through several villages to reach the town center from my house. Locals were usually out front on their porches weaving bamboo baskets, drying laundry, or watching the traffic pass by. My favorite word I learned in Indonesia is monggo, (pronounced the same as we would in English) which is a Javanese that most closely translates to “as you were.” Indonesians use the word to politely acknowledge one another in passing. I sit on the front porch with my host family and listen for people on their motorcycles to drive by the house and yell, “Monggo!” When I am cruising along on my bike, however, I am the one shouting “Monggo! Monggo!” to the men, women, and children who are outside in front of their houses. The typical response to the salutation is “nggih” (pronounced “gayyyy”). This is the Javanese word to politely respond to the passerby who politely acknowledged the observer in the first place. I shout, “Monggo!” to as many people as possible when biking through the villages. I estimate that eight out of ten people respond with, “Nggih! Nggih!” The other two people likely stare at me in disbelief or smile back. People don’t need to hear “Monggo!” to respond with “Nggih!” A head nod, hand wave, any vocalized sound, or smile can solicit a “nggih” from anyone, from a four-year-old girl to a ninety-four-year-old man (who might actually only be sixty-four). The nggih can be solicited so easy, in fact, that many times the villagers will shout it out after merely seeing me whiz towards them on the bike. Sometimes I am in the zone and don’t see people alongside the road to address with “monggo”. I hear a “nggih,” which triggers me to shout back, “Nggih, monggo Bu!” I twist my head around to acknowledge the person who I had missed. Often times I can’t locate the source of the nggih. It is tricky to explain the uncanny similarity between the sound an Ibu makes when yelling “Nggih!” (imagine gayyyyyyyy with glottal vibrato on the “yyyyyyy”) and the goats yelling behind the same house. I remember turning my head to shout “Nggih, monggo!” several times, just to realize it was a group of goats making a racket. After realizing an old lady’s greeting and a goat’s plea for more food were nearly identical, my goal to distinguish them from one another remains elusive. I continue to address goats as elderly women; and even worse, I have mistaken old ladies as goats. Rubber timeOf all the aspects of Indonesian culture I needed to adapt and learn, jam karet, or rubber time, is something I cannot wrap my head around. Rubber time is exactly how it sounds: a meeting is scheduled for 8am but the first person doesn’t show up until 8:45am; the actual meeting doesn’t begin until after 9am. I spent countless hours of my service in hot classrooms and assembly halls waiting for meetings, ceremonies, and other programs to begin. Punctuality is rare. Class time or free time?I often walk past classrooms to see the students sitting cross-legged on the floor, lying on their desks, and playing with their cell phones. There are full days when I don’t see a single teacher enter a particular classroom. It makes me wonder how much time is spent with actual teaching, and how much is left for the students to entertain themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that students spend more time during three years without a teacher in the classroom than with one there. Empty classrooms are common throughout elementary schools, middle schools, and high schools. It is a sad but unfortunate reality here in Indonesia. "How old are you?"Peace Corps does not allow Volunteers to ride motorcycles during service. This is a contentious issue, as Volunteers in countries around the world believe the rule hinders many people's ability to integrate within their families and communities. The Peace Corps Indonesia post is no exception. My host family owns six motorcycles and zero cars, so I see the argument. I frequently pass young kids driving motorcycles while biking around my community. I ask, “How old are you?” They often snicker at my question and drive off. Some of these kids have to be eight years old (maybe younger). I don’t know what age is commonly believed to be “too young” to drive a motorcycle here in Indonesia. I don’t really want to know. Cake or toast?In addition to cooking the main meals, Ibu usually has plastic containers of snacks throughout the house. I usually join the family out on the front porch after eating dinner. We talk about our day and enjoy the breeze while the food digests. Ibu will retrieve one of the bins for a post-meal snack. She tells me the tin has roti, which is translated as “bread”. But I rarely, if ever, find bread in the bin. Indonesians tend to use the word roti for cookies, cake, crackers, and actual bread. There are words for each of those foods, but it is common for people to use roti as a blanket word. When someone offers me roti, I’m never sure what I will get. Bowel movementsI had rough days in Indonesia when a nice number two kept me hanging on to what was left of my sanity. Likewise, I had rough days in Indonesia where a blowout made it even worse. I never truly valued predictable and consistent defecation until Peace Corps. Unfortunately, there was very little consistency in this department throughout the entirety of my service. My erratic trips to the squatty potty resulted in a wide array of consistencies and almost all colors of the rainbow. I went through weeks at a time without a solid poop. It wasn’t fun. I originally imagined my body would adjust, but the bowel movements never found their rhythm. It is difficult to underscore how much I look forward to routine dumping back in the States. Shout-Outs:
SO to the Bucks for continuing to push through the playoffs. SO to my brother for completing his fourth year of college. You’re almost done! SO to the Volunteers who wrapped up service this week. Congratulations! HSO to the English Club students for working so hard. The committee elections were a nice step forward for sustainability! ASO to the horrible sleeping schedule incurred after fasting during the first two weeks of Ramadan.
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Even after two years teaching at the vocational high school, there are still plenty of students who struggle to introduce themselves to me in English. “How are you today?” I ask. Sometimes students will respond with, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I found that response rather discouraging at first; but now I am happy that answer, knowing it could have been worse. Some students won’t even respond to my questions in English or Indonesian. They are still too nervous to speak with me after all this time. I packed those frustrations--along with a week’s worth of clothes--when going to Surabaya for training conferences. I quickly learned after meeting other volunteers that I wasn’t alone; they were experiencing similar situations at their schools. The conferences were strategically placed so that volunteers could join together and vent frustrations at particularly rough patches during service. Whether we had just ended the “honeymoon” phase, reached the one-year “mid-service crisis,” or had only three months left and host families still didn’t know our name (this isn’t exactly surprising within the volunteer community), I always looked forward to the conferences. Volunteers gather at conferences to attend sessions on lesson-planning, classroom management and project development. Staff carefully plans and peppers words of encouragement and motivation throughout presentations. Peace Corps staff reminds volunteers multiple times at every conference that change is often small and hard to detect. Staff frequently provides this reminder, and--from my experience--volunteers need to hear it, because it is easy to get caught up in the notion during service that our work is doing nothing. “What have I accomplished in two years,” I ask myself, “if students in one of my English classes still can’t tell me how old they are?” Staff reminds us that Peace Corps’ sustainable approach to development is all about the long term. Many of the students at my school yell, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” in response to every one of my questions; but now they have the confidence to respond and interact with a foreigner. Maybe one of those students will meet a foreigner on a university campus or warehouse in the future, and a conversation between the two could lead to a new opportunity for that former student. It’s a lot of hypotheticals, but it goes to show how I cannot possibly measure the true impact I have on my community. And that is incredibly frustrating. There were days when I questioned being in Indonesia, week-long periods equating my service as pointless, and month-long droughts when I doubted the effectiveness of my teaching. I understand that change is immeasurable, too small to see on a daily basis. I looked for something during service to help provide reassurances that I was making a difference; that the school and community would be different after I leave Indonesia; that I left a lasting, sustainable influence at my school. That is easier said than done. Even if I had an idea, people at school needed to be on board to ensure the change endured long after my return to the United States. If I had thought about an idea on my own and worked hard to fulfill that vision, great. What would have happened if the teachers and students at my school weren’t one hundred percent on board? The flame likely would have died out shortly after I left the country. I needed to take time at site to observe, ask questions, and listen to people talk about resources available at school. My patience paid off. One day in October 2017 during an English teacher meeting, one of my counterparts shared how she wished the school had an “English Room” for students. The school could not provide opportunities for motivated students, she said, to learn English outside of the three hours of instruction each week. Intrigued my her comments, I followed up with her after the meeting to get an idea of what she thought would benefit the school community. What I didn’t know at the time was that this idea would evolve into a project--and near obsession--that would consume the remainder of my Peace Corps service. Mas Wendhi and I submitted an application to attend the Project Design Management Workshop in December 2017 to help learn how to expand on this nascent idea. We submitted a short narrative explaining our idea, what goals we hoped to achieve, and how the project would benefit our school. Keeping sustainability at the forefront, I strived to work at every level of this project with a counterpart. I figured that if a teacher committed time to a conference application, proposal, or event, then he or she would be more invested in the result. Mas Wendhi expressed an early interest in developing the idea and the two of us ended up working together for the entirety of the project. All of his participation was voluntary, for a love of teaching and his students. No aspect of this project would have been realized without Mas Wendhi’s unwavering commitment. The three-day workshop in December went well. We learned about how to set realistic yet motivating goals, and how to monitor the progress towards achieving those goals with objectives and indicators. With sustainability in mind, Peace Corps staff reminded us not to force project developments; the project needs to evolve at the same pace as community members’ thinking in order to generate widespread support. Many projects fall by the wayside, one staffer explained, because the community grows disinterested or wants to focus on other things. That is okay, despite being frustrating for volunteers. Mas Wendhi and I realized something important during the conference. How do we know that students would use a brand new English Room at school? No students at the school had done anything with English other than the courses required by the government. In other words, how sustainable would an English Room be? We decided that it was important to take a long approach to the English Room. We began discussing the formation of an English Club as a litmus test to gage the student body’s general interest in learning English outside of the classroom. If English Club was successful, we agreed, then we could return to the idea of an English Room. Mas Wendhi told me a school English Club has always been his dream. An English Room, he said, would be an even bigger dream. We returned for second semester motivated to begin English Club. We discussed our long-term strategy with Pak Nurhasyim, the school principal. He agreed with our plan. Pak Nurhasyim always provided enthusiastic support for our work. The English Club and English Room would never have existed without his commitment. Mas Wendhi wrote a purpose statement and Pak Nurhasyim agreed to allocate school funds to establish English Club, making it an official school extracurricular. This was a big deal, because the money from school was a sure sign of support. We didn’t need to worry about the administration pulling back on the original commitment. English Club funding was included in the school’s semester budget, providing enough money to fund four teachers for the semester. Additionally, the school would continue to provide money for English Club each year, ensuring funds after my departure. The news sounded like sustainable change to me! Mas Wendhi found three other English teachers to agree to help lead English Club: Bu Nina, Pak Rusdhyanta and Mas Kahfi. I went around to every classroom to announce an introductory meeting for English Club. It was the beginning of my second semester at school, so many of the students had not had any experience interacting with me until that point. I made a fool out of myself, hoping that would break down some barriers and intrigue students to show up for our first meeting the following week. The mixture of a yearning to learn English, and a desire to watch the crazy American act goofy, brought more than 150 students to our introductory English Club meeting. It was more than any of the teachers had expected. We took attendance and student information that day. The teachers decided to split the students up into four respective English Clubs: Bu Nina took grade twelve students, Mas Wendhi was assigned to grade eleven, and Pak Rusdhyanta and Mas Kahfi each took half of the grade ten students. The school administration asked for grade twelve English Club to concentrate on preparing for the national exam, grade eleven to focus on speaking, and grade ten needed to “be inspired to learn English,” essentially giving us freedom to do whatever with the lowest grade. The teachers originally assigned me a grade ten English Club, but later decided it would be best for me to work with all four teachers. I liked that idea. They were calling the shots! Four workdays of my week that semester ended with English Club. It was nice to end the days with a group of motivated students! That semester of English Club was rocky. It takes a lot of coordination to get four teachers plus one Place Corps Volunteer on the same page. In a society where punctuality is uncommon and meetings rarely happen on the original date, a lot of cracks started to show in our foundation. It was difficult to get teachers to commit to preparing for English Club before it actually took place (I still struggle with convincing teachers to lesson plan for regular class, so this shouldn’t have been a surprise). Teachers ended up asking me minutes before English Club for a plan, assuming I would be there with lesson materials and a fun activity. I didn’t have the time, nor the innovative intellect, to create fun and engaging activities for three different levels on a weekly basis. By the end of the semester, all four English Clubs were doing the exact same activities. The lack of organization and inspiring activities likely accounted for the steep decline in attendance. Less than ten students showed up for English Club by the end of the semester. The end of the school year provided an opportunity for Mas Wendhi and I to reflect on the first semester of English Club and contemplate how we could do better the following semester. We created a syllabus, outlining monthly themes and weekly activities. We didn’t get much input from the other English Club teachers. I decided to ignore the administration’s request to meet specific criteria with each grade. We couldn’t meet that requirement without the support from all four English Club teachers. The second school year of my Peace Corps service began in July 2018, and that meant a completely new grade of students to recruit for English Club. I did the same thing as the previous semester, introducing myself to over 700 grade ten students in twenty-one classes. I also reminded the students in grades eleven and twelve again to join. About 150 students joined for the introductory meeting. Except for a dozen students in grade twelve, all were from grade ten. No students from grade eleven made an appearance. After collecting attendance, the teachers agreed to have one section for grade twelve students and three sections for grade ten. I continued to help with each section. The second semester of English Club proved much more successful than the first. Attendance remained high throughout the semester’s entirety, which was a huge win in our eyes. Students consistently showed up for English Club because we were having fun. We divided the semester into two themes: Environmental Awareness and Professional Development. There was a “fun day” at the end of each unit when we left the school grounds for an event. The environment-centered unit included sessions with Michael Jackson’s “Earth Song,” a nature scavenger hunt, and environment Bingo. We spent a day cleaning up garbage alongside the roads of our neighborhood to celebrate the conclusion of our Environmental Awareness unit. The Professional Development unit included sessions for students to read and write cover letters for jobs, and forming lesson plans for teaching English classes. The students ended the Professional Development unit by creating and leading an English camp for kids at two nearby elementary schools. That Sunday ended up being one of my favorite days of service. In October 2018--one year after submitting an application to attend the PDM conference--the administration, Mas Wendhi and I decided it was time to pursue the long-time goal of creating an English Room for the school. Mas Wendhi and I dusted off our notes from the Project Development Management Conference and wrote a grant proposal to submit to Peace Corps. We created surveys to assess community needs and distributed them to teachers and students to complete. We compiled their answers and factored that into what we hoped to include in the room. The administration was on board to contribute twenty-five percent of the project’s overall cost, which Peace Corps requires in order for schools to receive grant funding. We submitted our application by the middle of October. Students rewarded us for our hard work when most of them showed up for English Club again this semester--the third of the Club’s existence. The teachers were excited to see students still interested in participating. We received news in December that our grant proposal was approved. Great news! It turned out that acquiring the funds proved harder than expected. The government shutdown froze Peace Corps headquarters’ ability to process grant proposals and distribute funds. We spent all of January, and most of February, wondering if we would ever secure the money to fulfill Mas Wendhi’s dream. English Club continued as normal. We eventually received the funds near the end of February. Now we were working with a deadline; the project needed to be completed, and a final report issued to Peace Corps, by April. That meant less than two months to finish the project. It seemed easy to do at the end of February; but looking back now, I see how naive I was to think so. The administration began the project by remodeling the old classroom. The school laid a new tile floor, and installed new ceiling panels, electric wiring, and window frames. The art teacher painted an inspiration-themed mural. We used the grant money to procure the room’s educational resources, technology, and furnishings. We spent over a month collecting receipts for every expense. The receipts added up when we were making purchases that amounted to less than two U.S. dollars. All of the receipts were categorized, arranged in chronological order, scanned, and uploaded to an online account for a final report. We planned a geography unit for English Club this semester, using maps and globes every week to lead some type of activity. I consider myself somewhat of a geography buff, so I was very much looking forward to this unit. We looked at maps of the world and Indonesia. Students learned words for describing a country or city’s location. We also learned about the weather, rivers, rainforests, mountains, and lakes from each continent. We spent several weeks looking at maps of Indonesia. We focused on different islands and their provinces. I frequently compared Indonesia’s 34 provinces to the United States’ fifty states. I had so much fun drawing parallels between the two nations. We capped off the geography unit with my favorite project: the world map mural. The mural is a staple of many volunteers’ service, and money was allocated from our grant to complete the project. I was excited to take part in this Peace Corps tradition! We began the mural in March, but Mas Wendhi and I had started planning for the project much earlier. We spent a lot of time searching for maps and drawing ideas for style, colors, and size. We used the English Club geography unit to identify what students knew and didn’t know about the world. It was our goal for the map to teach students something new with just a quick glance. The wall is positioned in the courtyard, where all students walk past to get to class. We asked ourselves what we could do to make sure students picked up new information during their walks in and out of school. I picked up that the students’ general knowledge of the world is rather limited, which made it all the more important to create a practical map. Most of the English Club students were confused about the differences between countries and continents. Mas Wendhi and I decided to assign one color scheme to each continent, thus distinguishing them from one another in the mural. Students knew about various world landmarks--the pyramids, Statue of Liberty, Great Wall of China, etc.--but could not point out their location on a map. The art teacher painted images of those landmarks right on the map so students can see where exactly they are located. The map mural project provided a platform for some of the best conversations I have had with my students: one student asked why Palestine consisted of two separate territories; another wondered by there was a North Korea and a South Korea. I enjoyed seeing the students so dedicated to finishing the map. Widya brought a pair of pants to school one day to wear under her skirt so she could climb up on the scaffold and finish the country outlines. Gaya became obsessed with Kazakhstan, insisting that only she paint the country and its name. Adib was transfixed on the several micro countries scattered throughout Europe. Erik insisted on outlining all the island nations in Oceania with white paint. They made me smile so often. I have spent this semester trying to figure out how English Club can be stronger in the future. Two of the four teachers have completely dropped out of the picture (although they still receive money from the school for “helping” with English Club). This leaves Mas Wendhi and Mas Kahfi to carry the load. I help them, but I give reminders that I will only be here for one more week! As the appointed leader of English Club, Mas Wendhi knows he needs to make changes to the staff structure. He thinks it would be best if just the two of them lead the four English Club sections. This change will make it easier to coordinate staff meetings and projects. I wholeheartedly agree. We weren’t able to arrange a meeting with all four teachers once this whole semester. It will be nice to have only two teachers--both committed to English Club--calling the shots. We plan to hold elections this weekend for officer positions. Mas Wendhi wants the students to elect an English Club President, Secretary, and Social Media Director to help carry the load. Mas Wendhi and I spent a lot of time these past three semesters tracking attendance, recruiting new members, and sharing the Club’s accomplishments with the rest of the school. It will be beneficial and sustainable to have designated students to help do this in the future. There are plenty of leaders in English Club who plan to run for these positions. As for the English Room, Mas Wendhi and I thought about sustainability during every step of the project. We thought about it so much, in fact, that the new space isn’t called the English Room; it’s the school’s brand new Multipurpose Room. The change happened for a variety of reasons. Neither of us believed the room would be utilized enough if it was only for English Club. The more the room is used, we think, the better. Organisasi Siswa Intra Sekolah (OSIS) is Indonesia’s version of student council. These students assist the school administration with anything from school ceremonies to daily attendance. They don’t have their own space or computer to work on assignments from administration, so they often commandeer the health center and take over the nurse’s computer. The multipurpose room provides their own special work space. We used some of the grant money to purchase wireless microphones and a set of speakers for presentations. Staff generally had to borrow equipment from other departments in order to have a suitable sound system for meetings and presentations. Now there is a permanent set of equipment in the multipurpose room for teacher meetings. The bookshelves in the room’s “reading corner” have dictionaries for students to use. Many of the automotive mechanic and computer software textbooks contain diagrams solely in English. The teachers hoped the room could provide technical dictionaries that contain the special language from their textbooks. We hope these modifications make the room pragmatic for everyone at school, which in turn makes the multipurpose room a sustainable endeavor. It has been difficult to identify where I have made an impact in my community. I do not hold much confidence when it comes to improving students’ English skills, especially after hearing many of them struggle to answer, “How are you today?” The multipurpose room, however, is something that I can point to for assurance. The room is something that didn’t exist when I arrived at school two years ago; it will be here after I’m gone. It makes me nervous to leave so shortly after the room is done. If we had done the project a year ago, then that would have left more time to hold English Club events and other organization activities in the multipurpose room before I leave. But at the same time, I do not think it would have been wise to invest U.S. taxpayer dollars in a project before widespread school support grew for the project. It will be up to Mas Wendhi, Pak Kahfi, and the current students to continue building on our successes of the past two years. I trust they are motivated like me to get as much use out of the Multipurpose Room as possible. I am eager to see what they will accomplish. Shout-Outs:
SO to the Bucks for moving on to the Eastern Conference Finals! SO to my fellow ID11 VAC members for wrapping up our last meeting of service. ESO to the ID12 VAC members! The Council is in good hands. HSO to my friends for finishing their graduate programs! I am so impressed. HMFSO to both of my siblings for getting full-time jobs with benefits! I will be a proud, jobless, homeless older brother in ten days. A precursor to this month’s blog post: I am listening to the national anthem on repeat while working on April’s entry (Whitney Houston’s Super Bowl rendition of the Star Spangled Banner gives me chills, no matter how many times I hear it). If that isn’t a sign I’m ready to come home, then I don’t know what is! Only three weeks remain until I ring the gong, officially concluding my Peace Corps service. Oh man, time flies! It would be naive for me to say that the past two years have been easy. It would be equally silly, however, to say I encountered difficulty at every step along the way. I am currently dealing with a mixture of emotions. I am eager to to complete service and return to the States; but I harbor concern that I won’t adequately represent Indonesia when I get home, which fills me with reluctance to leave my community. I can easily explain the reasoning behind wanting to get back to the United States: I want to hug friends and family, eat cheese curds and custard, and drink a Fantasy Factory from Karben4 Brewing. The latter emotions have compelled me to reflect a lot about why they exist. Why do I feel conflicted about wanting to go home? After spending a significant amount of time processing these conflicting feelings, it leads me to one word: privilege.
As people continue to point out privilege with increased frequency and intensity, it is seemingly impossible to avoid the topic, regardless of one’s opinion for whether such privileges exist. The topic is quite divisive, sparking arguments in supermarkets to university classrooms to the halls of Congress, which spread like wildfire across our social media feeds. While various types of privilege within the context of U.S. society and culture are associated with specific demographics, I believe there is a level of privilege afforded to myself as a Peace Corps volunteer. I am able to serve in the Peace Corps because of one inherent characteristic: U.S. citizenship. Not only do I happen to speak--with fluency--the language most commonly used in newspaper and book publishing, academic research, mass entertainment, diplomacy, and international trade and relations; I also hail from a nation that has a strong desire and, equally important, the means to encourage and work with other countries and populations to obtain a strong grasp of the global system. Most nations that have English as its primary language do not possess the resources to send people abroad in droves to volunteer for two-year stints. I am grateful to be from a country that values the importance of cross-cultural exchange as a means to build a stable global society. The Peace Corps is one of many government institutions created by the United States government to achieve that goal. Peace Corps’ first goal is to help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women. Communities in developing countries are more likely to escape poverty when its citizens know how to combat malaria and typhoid, and when farmers can yield more crops during harvest. Children are more likely to develop leadership skills and pursue careers when they receive an education. As an English education volunteer, I believe that more English speakers in Indonesia will mean the country can achieve greater influence in the global arena. That doesn’t mean Bahasa Indonesia alone won’t get them there, but having a significantly sized population that speaks English will make it easier for the country to achieve its ambitious goals. It is my responsibility as a Peace Corps education volunteer to encourage students and community members to learn English (I think I have done a better job of conveying the benefits of learning English as opposed to teaching the actual language). I don’t want students to learn English because it is the language most commonly spoken in the United States; I want them to pursue English in order to have access to opportunities throughout the world that come with knowing the language. Peace Corps’ third goal is to help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans. I plan to share stories about Indonesia for the rest of my life, frequently sharing Indonesian perspectives back in the States with my friends and family. Indonesians, like many people around the world, face an uphill battle when trying to reap the benefits of a globalized society. Some of the things Americans might take for granted (I know I certainly do) about the United States--speaking fluent English, citizenship and geopolitical influence--aren’t an option for most people in the world. I need to listen to Indonesians’ frustrations with the current world system just as much as I follow their prideful stories of their country’s cultural fabric. I intend to pass along the frustrations from Indonesian citizens when recounting my experiences for people back home. I have no doubt that certain aspects of my life in the States worked out the way they did because I benefited from several of the aforementioned privileges. I continue to benefit from those privileges during my service here in Indonesia. My Peace Corps service is an example of how I benefit from the privilege of being a United States citizen. I have spent time contemplating how I can be at peace with leaving my community next month. I will do my best to share Indonesia with anyone who is willing to listen! I need to be grateful for what I have, a responsibility to share my experiences with others, and a duty to listen to everyone about how a system I benefit from might have no effect or even the adverse effect on someone else. I plan to stick to my plan of gratitude, sharing, and listening when discussing all types of privilege, whether those conversations take place while sipping coffee at a warung on the side of a road in my village or snacking on a bratwurst platter at The Old Fashioned. Shout-Outs:
SO to the Bucks for their league-best record this season. SO to Joko 'Jokowi' Widodo for securing a second term as Indonesia’s President. HMFSO to my counterpart Mas Wendhi for being the biggest supporter and confidant throughout the entirety of my service. I will miss him so much. Getting to the Banda Islands:It took a while to reach Banda, a group of eleven islands appropriately yet inconveniently located in the middle of the Banda Sea. The homestay on Pulau Gunung Api, or Volcano Island, stood on concrete pillars above the water, within the late afternoon shadow of the Volcano. I woke up every day and walked down a short flight of stairs that lead directly into the water for a morning swim. I enjoyed sitting on the front deck and watching the boats go to and from the harbor on Pulau Banda Neira, the island directly east. Per Peace Corps rules, I am prohibited from using annual leave during the first and last three months of service. Volunteers commonly refer to these three-month periods, which draws ire from Peace Corps staff, as the ‘travel ban’. But I think the title accurately portrays the Peace Corps rule. We are not allowed to travel, which means we are banned from doing so (this is one of the many rules that volunteers need to follow during service). I will finish service on May 22, 2019, which means the ban went into effect on March 22, 2019. I intended to use the last of my vacation days before the travel ban started. I didn’t want my last week of annual leave to go to waste! I rode in a midnight caravan from my village to Surabaya in order to arrive at the airport before my morning flight. I nearly missed the boarding window because I was in and out of naps at the airport. I landed in Ambon, the capital city of Maluku province, in the afternoon. A lengthy taxi ride brought me to downtown Ambon with nearly nine hours to spare before the next leg of my trip. I was only halfway there! I asked around for food recommendations. I ate fish in a yellow curry almond broth (almonds are a specialty to the province). I visited a mosque and the international peace monument, and paid for a shave (I kept the mustache). I spent my last hours in Ambon at a cafe until I boarded the passenger ferry around midnight. The ferry was packed. I thought I had grown accustomed to the disorder and chaos that typically comes with Indonesian crowds, but my first observations of the boat proved otherwise. I navigated the crowded hallways and stairwells to the fifth-floor deck. I searched for bed 5/5200-A, which was printed on my ticket. The “beds” consisted of narrow mats on elevated metal frames. Passengers shoved luggage under the beds, but many people kept their belongings on top for safe keeping. Kids were running up and down the walkways and jumping along the rows of beds. I arrived at bed 5/5200-A to find a man sitting on it with several boxes. Confused, I asked if he could point me in the direction to my bed. I immediately assumed I was a the wrong bed: maybe this was 5/5200-B or 6/5200-A. The man didn’t look at me, much less respond to my questions. I sought help from the group of boys sitting in the beds nearby. They told me I was in the right spot. That’s when I realized I wouldn’t get my bed that night. Similar to other forms of public transportation I have used in Indonesia--bus, boat, angkot--it seemed like the beds on this boat were first come first serve. The man in “my” bed continued to avoid eye contact. I left the area to formulate a game plan. Even if the guy moved, did I really want the bed? What would it be like for the foreigner to “seek justice” and remove the Indonesian from the spot? I was likely the only person on the fifth floor of the boat who found the first-come-first-serve method inefficient and impractical; but it was time to accept that I was the outlier in the situation and in a different culture from my own. I needed to adapt. Two boys running around the room offered to take me to the outside deck on the top floor of the boat. I happily joined them, weaving around groups of people camped out on the ground and stairs. There were a lot of stares in my direction, which made it all the nicer to find two boys whom were willing to give me a tour of the boat. We walked onto the deck outside to catch sweeping views of Ambon. One of the boys pointed to the wood floor and said to look out for the ulat. I didn’t know what that meant, but feared it wasn’t good. A quick Google search revealed the word to mean “maggots”. Sure enough, little larvae were creeping up through the wood slats on deck. I found a spot at the railing to enjoy the city views. People approached me selling souvenirs and paper mats to sit on the floor. With seared images of larvae crawling through the wood floor, I was committed to standing for the duration of the eight-hour boat ride. Many vendors set up plastic tarps on the floor to sell coffee, instant noodles and crackers; parents followed their children up and down the deck; passengers dropped garbage on the ground. The boat embarked from Ambon harbor at 1am. Many passengers had purchased their own mats to lay out on the ground and claim their territory. Space was becoming more and more sparse, and my legs were already tired by the time the boat left the dock. I tried to push the larvae imagery out of my mind and claimed a spot on the outside deck up against the wall. I was able to fit on a mat if I bent my legs. I used my backpack as a pillow. Water drained onto the floor from the deck above. Several other people had to move their belongings; their territory ruined from dirty drain water. I hoped the water wouldn’t reach my space. The water gradually ran across the deck towards the side of the ship, away from my mat. I was good, as long as it didn’t rain. And it didn’t rain at all! I was as comfortable as a Wisconsin boy on an overcrowded night ferry lying on a maggot-ridden floor could be. So comfortable, in fact, I slept for five hours. The gentle breeze wafted smells of salt water to my mat, compelling my mind to rest. I woke up with less than two hours remaining on the final leg of the journey. I could see the Banda Islands far off in the distance. I made new friends to pass the time. I learned that some of them had boarded the boat three days before I did. The ferry started its journey from Jakarta and would end at the Kai islands. My eight-hour trip suddenly seemed so short. History:I set my sights on the Banda, or Spice Islands for the last vacation during my Peace Corps tenure. Indonesia--a massive archipelago of over 17,000 islands--is rich in various cultures, languages, and traditions that share a similar colonial history. The Banda Islands are rich in various spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. Arab and Asian traders found these islands during their early years of sea exploration, but kept them secret from Europeans in order to capitalize on the various resources the islands offered. Several European nations were determined to find the true source of these spices, which people considered highly valuable. The Dutch beat the Portuguese and English to find the islands in the sixteenth century. The government formed the Dutch East India Company (VOC), cutting out the Arab and Asian middlemen in the process, to reap the full benefits (read: profits) of harvesting the spices on their own. Nutmeg was only available on the Banda Islands. The islands isolated location and high demand for spices in Europe--particularly nutmeg for it’s supposed ability to cure the bubonic plague--kept the commodity price high and profitable. The Banda people, like most people throughout Indonesia at one point or another, were subjected to colonial rule and all of the poor conditions that come with economic and cultural exploitation. The VOC didn’t dissuade other European powers from establishing their own colonies and trade companies in Indonesia. The VOC monopoly on the spice trade hit a snare in 1616 when the British wrestled control of a small Banda island called Run away from the Dutch. The British established a colony in the Indonesian archipelago on this island and formed the English East India Company. The English East India Company thwarted Dutch attempts to retake Run for four years. After the English lost Run, however, the government never ceded its claim to the island. The English fired back in 1664 by sending ships across the Atlantic to capture New Amsterdam, a Dutch colony located in North America. The Dutch continued to claim ownership over New Amsterdam while the English maintained claims to Run. The Second Anglo-Dutch war ensued in 1665, which lead to the Treaty of Breda in 1667. The English and Dutch jockeyed for ownership of each other’s colonies around the entire world as a means to make amends. One of the many transactions agreed upon, making this particular vacation relevant to the historical developments between the two imperialist powers, was a trade: the island in Southeast Asia in return for the one in North America. Both parties arrived at the decision that Run thereby ‘belonged’ to the Dutch, and New Amsterdam ‘belonged’ to the English. Exploring the Spice Islands:The colonial history is evident on the Spice Islands in many ways. I visited Fort Belgica, a beautifully restored Dutch fort that sits on a hill in the town of Banda Neira, looking out over the harbor, water, and surrounding islands. Indonesia is proud enough of the fort that it is the image on the back of the Rp1.000 bill. I also explored a dilapidated Portuguese fort in the same town. There are other forts on the nearby islands as well. The local government preserved the homes of various colonial generals and trade company managers. The homes weren’t as impressive as the forts, but were still worth checking out to obtain a better understanding of the islands’ history. Finally, the buildings that line the harbor and host market stalls emulate colonial architecture similar to neighborhoods in Jakarta, Penang and Singapore. The Banda archipelago is a snorkeler’s paradise! I went out to snorkel at least once a day. I saw a variety of marine life: turtles, sharks, eels, stingrays and so many colorful fish and coral. The homestay owner took me to a spot off the coast of an island, where I jumped in from the boat and explored the vast world below sea level. I was surprised by how few people were around each time I went out to snorkel. The homestay boat was the only one bringing people out to snorkel. Occasionally a water taxi passed by, carrying locals from one island to the next; but I never saw another group of tourists out on the water. The same went for docking on land and going to explore the small towns scattered across the small archipelago. I went to several different islands alone with a couple other people at the same homestay. One snorkel spot was close to a deserted island. I swam ashore alone and walked around. I didn’t share the island with a single other person. I was essentially the modern day Ferdinand Magellan. I woke up one morning at 4:30 to climb the volcano. I arrived at the peak in time for sunrise, which turned out to be rather disappointing. I had just enough time to snap a semi-decent picture before the clouds rolled in and blocked the surrounding islands from view. Then the rain and lightning came, which made the descent quite slippery. The weather conveniently cleared up in time for me to take a morning dip in the sea after returning to the homestay. The local people were fantastic. I did not feel out of place for being a foreigner. Enough foreigners have visited the Spice Islands that it appears we are ordinary in the eyes of the local Indonesians. This feeling is a relief after spending so much time in rural Java, where it is impossible to not attract attention. Market vendors and restaurateurs did not clamour for my business and attention, as in touristy destinations such as Bali or Phuket. Nor did I receive the cold shoulder when I asked them for guidance or suggestions. I walked with several boys to the local vocational high school to see where the students learn navigation in the classroom. That was a treat! But the top highlight of my stay in the Spice Islands is what truly connects my trip to Banda with the 1667 Treaty of Breda. I took a two-hour boat ride from my homestay to the island of Run. I wanted to see for myself what this place--an island once considered to be the most economically important throughout the world--was like. We pulled within eyeshot of the pier to the island’s only town when the driver said the waves were too big to dock. Disappointed, I thought my one opportunity to explore the island was squashed. However, the driver took us around to the south side of the island, out of the wind, where we pulled up to a quiet beach for lunch. I was elated to set foot on Run! The island is less than two miles long and about half a mile wide. The white sand leads to dense jungle, which I assume engulfs the whole island expect for the small town. The beaches were clean and quiet; only such a secluded location--two planes from Java, an eight-hour ferry ride, and a two hour boat ride--could provide the sense of isolation and peace that I felt. The funniest thing for me was to think about New Amsterdam, and how it compares to Run. I have had the pleasure of visiting the North American island several times. I have always enjoyed my time there, and I can’t imagine a contrast greater than between the beaches and water of Run and the hustle and bustle of New Amsterdam. But then again, I think that even people who live in New York City would consider Manhattan to be an island unlike any other. And so my quest to chase history, combined with a desire to take one last vacation while following Peace Corps rules, lead me to the small group of islands in the middle of the sea. I traveled back to rural Java by the same means as my original journey out to the Banda Islands, but backwards. It was sad to say goodbye to the Spice Islands; it was my favorite place in Indonesia that I have had the pleasure to visit. I highly recommend that anyone--Peace Corps volunteers and friends and family alike--plan a visit to Banda Neira. There might be a way to avoid the eight-hour ferry ride, but I think it adds to the experience! There are other options to get out the Spice Islands, depending on the time of year. The ferry pulled away from the harbor, and my anguish evolved to a motivated sense of self-confidence. The dreamy vacation had come to an end and the travel ban had started; but that meant only three months until I could claim the title of Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV). I spent that eight-hour ferry ride focusing on what work needs to be done back at site so I can leave Indonesia on a high note. I was, and still am, completely determined to make the last months of service the best yet. Shout-Outs:
SO to Peace Corps Indonesia staff for helping me navigate the government shutdown and secure the grant money for school. I am excited to share project updates with the world! SO to the two Peace Corps Volunteers who shared their travel stories to the Spice Islands. I am so happy I followed in your footsteps. SO to my DC friend for leaving the Hill after several years and starting a new job. I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table! SO to my RPCV friend for paying off student loans from one servicer. I envy you. SO to the Bucks for leading the league the entire season. SO to my high school friend for getting through surgery and taking a successful road to recovery! HSO to February and March 2019, which have been the two best months of service. SO to my fellow ID11s for getting to this point. ESO for the ID11 who is already an RPCV! We will join you soon! ASO for the UK vote to leave the European Union. But a HMFSO to Theresa May and MPs for providing enthralling headlines on a daily basis. HSO to the Dutch couple I met in the Spice Islands. I am excited to visit you two soon! ESO for the newlyweds! There are so many differences between Indonesian and American culture. Every day during my service, I try to observe my surroundings through the lens of Indonesian culture. It would be difficult to understand--or even accept--some aspects of life in the village if I was constantly wearing my “American” glasses. Teachers, family members, and students often point out the flaws of various physical characteristics I carry in a particular day: I look tired (so often); I must be sick (“flu”); I have a pimple on my face (the sweat exacerbates the acne); my facial hair is ugly (my host mother’s go-to observation). Back home, I certainly make similar observations about other people, but I keep those thoughts to myself. It would be rude to do otherwise. I think that many of us in the States can think of a time when someone said, “you look tired today.” Whether or not I am indeed tired, I take that comment to mean, “Addison, you’re looking rough today.” It doesn’t put me in a good mood. And that is why the comments from my community members can really rub me the wrong way, especially when I’m not having a good day. The last thing I want to hear when I arrive at school--after biking in pouring rain and sweating profusely--is how fat or skinny my face looks that morning. But this example of contrasting social norms--hiding observations about imperfections as opposed to blatantly drawing attention to them--stems from the commonality of showing respect towards others. In America, we keep negative thoughts about others’ appearances to ourselves out of respect. My coworkers in the Senate would not have been happy if I commented on the bags under their eyes while walking into the office. Indonesians show their love and respect by demonstrating how they notice the slightest changes. Pointing out the pimple on my forehead that didn’t exist the previous day shows that the teacher is keeping a close eye on me. The social projections are opposites of one another, yet the underlying value of respect is the same. That leads me to the iceberg metaphor, which I have referenced in earlier blog posts. Two icebergs are next to each other, both boasting a high peak that juts out far above the water. At the same time, the two icebergs connect underwater and share the same base. Peace Corps staff introduced the metaphor within the first week after arriving in Indonesia. I have used the metaphor almost every day of service in order to help traverse the steep slopes, deep valleys, and wide rivers of Indonesia’s cultural terrain. My families in both Indonesia and the United States have had to deal with some unfortunate events as of late. Nenek (my host grandmother) passed away from causes associated with old age at the beginning of January; my Uncle Bob in Wisconsin passed away from a heart attack a few weeks later. The former death was somewhat anticipated, while the latter certainly was not. In the past, I’ve been able to rely on my world in Indonesia when I am frustrated or sad about things back in the States; just like how family and friends in America are often my refuge when I’m stressed out about Peace Corps life. During this period of time, however, I was hit with bad news from both worlds. What initially seemed like a daunting, dark period of my service, turned out to be a fascinating journey of two parallel worlds responding to death in their own respective ways at the same time. Both of my families responded to the unfortunate loss of their loved one with grief and sadness; but the customs of commemorating and burying the deceased differed significantly. After spending a couple weeks in the hospital, my host family brought nenek back to the house for her to pass away peacefully. The nearest hospital is quite a ways from my village, so people would be unable to make the trip to see her and pay their respects. Ibu took care of nenek, making her as comfortable as possible until she passed away. A local doctor came to the house to mark the official time of death. News of my host grandmother’s death spread throughout the village shortly after the doctor’s declaration. The neighborhood mosque sounded a drum beat through the megaphone, signifying the death of a community member. The imam announced her name and recited prayers, which echoed throughout the village. After hearing the drum and prayers, many neighbors donning black made their way to the house where her body rested. It was the last opportunity to say their goodbyes before her body was removed from the home. My host parents bathed and wrapped her body in a kain kafan, which is a soft white cloth. People are born into this world naked, and the cloth is meant to replicate the purity of birth. Family members carried the covered body on a stretcher to the nearby cemetery. People followed the caravan in a procession from the house. Someone had already prepared a hole for the family to lay the body to rest. It is custom for the Javanese to bury a body shortly after the person has passed. In this instance, nenek was buried within three hours of the doctor declaring her dead. The Javanese go through great lengths to preserve the legacy of a loved one. There are several ceremonies to commemorate nenek after she is gone. Three days after her death, my host family hosted tahlil tiga harian (tiga means “three”). Neighbors gathered at my host family’s house to send prayers to nenek. The gentlemen sat cross-legged on mats in the front rooms of the house, wearing their sarung and peci. The women spent almost two days preparing the food for people to eat at the end of the prayers. That evening they served goat skewers with noodles and vegetables. Each guest left the house with a cardboard box of food for later. Community members gathered again to send prayers to nenek seven days after her death. The ceremony was the same, but at another relative’s home. People also gather for prayers on the 40-day, 100-day, one year, two year, and 1000-day anniversaries of her death. The men send prayers and the women prepare food at all of these gatherings. The burial and first prayer ceremony happens so soon after someone’s death that close friends and relatives often miss out on the events because they cannot get back to the village in time. Teachers tell me stories of missing their own mom or dad’s funeral because he or she lived just far enough away. The recurring prayer services provide people with opportunities to join others in the mourning process. The tahlil empatpulu harian (40-day anniversary) took place the same week as Uncle Bob’s funeral. I took time during the ceremony to send Uncle Bob my love and best thoughts. He passed away on a Friday evening, and the funeral was held eight days later on a Saturday. I spent several days debating a return home upon hearing the news. Plane ticket prices weren’t cooperating, considering I was looking to fly home within a few days. After speaking with various members of the family, we all agreed that it was best for me to stay in Indonesia. When applying for Peace Corps almost three years ago, I considered whether unfortunate events such as this could occur during my service. Up to this January, I was fortunate enough to focus on my service without sad news back home. I felt bad. I wanted to be back in Wisconsin to support my aunt and cousins. I wanted to cook, clean, and help any other way possible. That was all impossible from Indonesia. I remember having a conversation with some family members a few years ago about food. The discussion narrowed in on burgers, and sharing about the best burger we had ever eaten. A few burgers immediately popped into my mind. Culver’s Butterburgers take fast food to the next level. The fact that the chain is a Wisconsin company makes that better-brand-of-beef burger even more delicious (anyone who argues for In-n-Out, Shake Shack, or heaven forbid, Checkers, is plain wrong). The Old Fashioned’s Old Fashioned Burger is another top choice. The runny egg yolk dripping down onto the plate often steals my attention away from the state capitol building, which stands in perfect view through the restaurant’s front windows. But Uncle Bob’s burgers took the top prize in my mind. He often had cheddar cheese added directly into the meat with the spices, and the sports logo--either the Green Bay Packers “G” or the Badgers “W”--seared into the patty to top it off. Uncle Bob fired up the grill at least once during every weekend trip my family made to Appleton. After sharing my opinion out loud, I concluded that I wouldn’t let Bob know that his burgers reign supreme; that they are better than those sold at Culver’s or The Old Fashioned. I couldn’t let it go to his head, I joked. Now I wish I had let him know. Even if I had considered his burgers to be second-best, I should have told him that his were the best anyways. He loved grilling. That was likely why the burgers turned out so tasty; they were served with love. I was told that Uncle Bob’s memorial service and funeral were beautiful. Many people from various points of my aunt and uncle’s lives came to show their support. Lakeshore Technical College, where Uncle Bob taught electrical engineering, wrote a nice bit about his career in the school’s publication. Over the phone, I reminded my aunt that those peoples’ decision to attend the funeral, and the additional support they offer my aunt during this trying time, speaks to the kind of person she is and my uncle was. There are obvious differences between my Indonesian and American families’ steps of mourning the deceased. I sat on the floor of a house in my village with over one hundred other men while the women were cooking behind the house. We ate goat. I took pictures with little kids--their parents sat them on my lap as if I was Santa Clause. Those cultural projections stand in stark contrast to the visitations, services, and luncheons that take place to mourn Uncle Bob and many others in the United States. There were also a lot of similarities between the two processes: people in both places cope by eating food together, and surrounding themselves with the people they care about the most. During the week of the prayer service for nenek and talking to family back home about the preparations for Uncle Bob’s burial, I realized that members of the human race are extraordinary. Everyone at some point in life deals with death. It is remarkable that we all persevere through life, no matter what part of the world in which we live. We possess the emotional capacity to grieve, and the resiliency to continue on and build lives that would make our deceased loved ones proud. All humans mourn, overcome the despair, and return to making a better life for those that are still living. The ability to commemorate those we have lost while forging onward with life is something that transcends cultures, no matter how different they are. That is special.
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AddisonHometown: La Crosse, WI Archives
May 2019
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