There is always a bigger pothole At any other point in my life, I would likely use the pothole as a metaphor—when someone hits a bump in life and things are going bad. However, as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Indonesia, I use ‘pothole’ in the most literal sense. The roads here are tough! Even my mountain bike is struggling to endure these pothole-ridden roads. Both of the shocks on my bike are broken from the bumpy streets in my desa. The potholes are particularly disruptive when riding the bus. I have smacked my head against the window, the seat in front of me, and the person sitting next to me, many times because of the bumps in the road. I do commonly use the pothole as a metaphor when I have a difficult time at site. I might experience some bumps, but I’m grateful that those divots in the road aren’t trenches. Weather someone fears a literal pothole or a metaphorical ‘pothole’, I guarantee that both can be found somewhere on Java! Twenty-seven months is long, but not too long (for now) This statement is coming from a guy who has only been here for twelve of those months. I’m sure that a Volunteer whom will finish service this coming May, or me one year from now, will have a much different opinion. However, this is how I am feeling at this moment of my service. It will be interesting to see how drastically my views vary at this point next year. I have been here for one year. I still have so long to go! I find that fact daunting on many days, but there are times when I am happy to have so much time left in my service. One reason I never felt pressured to begin so many projects with my school and community this past year is because I know I have more time. I didn’t need to move to site and start conducting projects right off the bat. I was able to observe, learn, and think. Peace Corps requests us to devote twenty-seven months for our services. I consider myself to have the luxury of time, and I spent the first year envisioning what I want my service to be like. Now, I get to take my plan and put it into action. Rice is not that bad I wake up and eat rice. I come home for lunch and eat rice. I wait for Maghrib (evening call to prayer) and then eat rice. Teachers and neighbors often insist that I eat at various times of the day. When they do, I eat rice. I don’t think that I have had a single meal in my village that did not have rice. That is because I committed to following an Indonesian diet when I’m at site. What my Ibu makes, I eat. Rice is the staple of the Indonesian diet. There are four words for “rice” in the Indonesian language: padi, which is the crop out in the fields; gabah, the un-husked rice grains; beras, uncooked rice; and nasi, which is the end result—the steamed rice that goes into my belly. Rice is such a staple, that Indonesians don’t ask others if they had rice with their meal. Instead they ask, “Pakai apa?” which translates to “with what?” If my neighbor asks me that question, it is assumed that I had rice for my meal. What my neighbor wants to know, however, is what I ate with my rice. I respond with whatever vegetables, meat, or fruit I consumed earlier that day. Since I eat rice so frequently, I have become quite the rice snob. I am aware of the different temperatures rice is served, and the textures that accompany those different heats. Rice straight out of the cooker is too hot. I have burned the roof of my mouth many times from eating rice that was recently steamed. The freshly steamed rice, too, is rather mushy. There is still plenty of water that wasn’t completely absorbed by the rice grains, which provides no texture for my meal. My host family likes to eat their rice like all of the other food: room temperature. I find this rice to be too cold. It is usually lumped together, and the room temperature rice at the bottom of the cooking pan is packed too tightly beneath the weight of more rice. My ideal rice comes directly from the steamer, but not immediately after the machine is done working its magic. Once the rice cooker is finished, I like when my Ibu scrapes the rice off the sides, mixes it all around, and closes the lid. This gives the rice time to absorb the rest of the water, and to decrease in temperature ever so slightly. This process also allows the rice grains to form individually of one another, avoiding the mushy substance I don’t like, and they develop a slightly chewy consistency. Delectable! As much as I enjoy eating Indonesian food (rice) with my Indonesian family and friends, I indulge myself with western food when I venture to the cities. Sticking with Indonesian food (rice) at site is an easy way for me to curry favor with my host family and neighbors. My Ibu wants me to tell my family back in America that I eat rice every meal; she also brags to Peace Corps Staff about my eating habits when they visit my site. I really don’t mind eating rice as often as I do, especially when it’s such an easy way to make the Indonesians happy! Distance, shmistance One time during a phone call with my grandma, she said, “we talk as if you were walking to your college classes in Madison.” She’s right. I am far away from her, but the phone connection works just as well as if we were both in Wisconsin. I enjoy speaking with friends and family, and hearing about the recent developments in their lives. I think that I have been in contact with various friends and family members just like, or even more so than, when I lived in Washington, D.C. or Madison. The time difference makes it difficult to line up phone calls, but it’s definitely worth overcoming the hurdle. Social media is trouble During Pre-Service Training, Peace Corps Staff reiterated that each Volunteer’s service would be different. I rolled my eyes every time I heard that; and I foolishly convinced myself that there would be successful and unsuccessful Volunteers, and that would distinguish one’s service from another’s. It is nearly impossible for me not to compare my service to other Volunteers’ when I see their stories and pictures on Facebook or Instagram. Maybe there are projects that I would like to work on at site, but when I see that Volunteer Jane Doe started them only two months after arriving at site, then I can contract an overwhelming sense of disappointment. I, too, post the best things about my service, and other than my blog, I don’t talk about the obstacles I encounter that hinder my efforts. Now after nearly ten months at permanent site, and listening to other Volunteers’ successes and hardships at site, I know that Peace Corps Staff was right. There are many different factors that make up a Volunteer’s service: school type (Islamic madrasa, public, age, grades, and population), village setting (urban, rural, remote), language (many English speakers, Indonesian, Javanese or Sundanese), and living arrangements (family composition and responsiveness). These dynamics often contribute to the feasibility for certain projects and events at site. When I might be able to get involved with developments at school, Volunteer Jane Doe might have more success working with community leaders to implement different projects. It’s great reading about everyone’s successes at their sites; however, it’s important that I mentally remove myself from the frustrations at my own site when following other people’s accomplishments. That is easier said than done. I’m sure I will struggle with this over the entirety of my service. I will not pursue a teaching career after service Teaching is not my cup of tea. I tried as best as I could—or as much as my maturity allowed—to appreciate my teachers and administrators from elementary school through college. I had very influential educators through all levels of my education, and I am even more grateful for them now. It is extremely difficult for me to be an effective teacher over the course of two academic years. I was able to attract the students’ attention for the first semester because they were still excited to have a bule (foreigner) walking around the school. Unfortunately, those initial impressions have worn off, and the majority of the students seem to have gotten over the native English speaker in town. There still are students who are eager to talk with me, and engage in class. Those are the students who come to the weekly English Club meetings. I enjoy working with those students. Unfortunately, I still find it frustrating during regular class to teach nearly forty students at once, when only half a dozen are attentive and passionate about learning English. I’m sure that this is the case for nearly every class in the States. I know that more often than not, I was the outlandishly boisterous kid in the class who provided plenty of frustration for teachers. Ants are friends, and food The title is fairly self-explanatory. There are ants everywhere: in my bed, on my toothbrush, on the walls, in my food. There is no escape from them. They’re small, and don’t taste like anything. It’s far easier to mash them into my rice than taking time to pick them out! The squatty potty reigns supreme My relationship with the squatty potty might be the biggest indicator for personal growth during the course of not just Peace Corps, but my life. I spent four months in China on two separate occasions (high school and college). During both of those experiences, I fervently avoided using the squatty potty, regularly accounting for the closest western toilet to conduct my business. That means for a total of eight months, I constantly thought about the toilet whenever I left the confines of my own residence. There were even a few incidents where I risked nearly pooping myself while bypassing many squat toilets in order to reach the western toilet. I remember the first time in Indonesia when I felt the urge to go number two. I walked into the bathroom and saw that the squatty potty was my only option. My first instinct—to hold it and wait until I found a western toilet. Just like when I had studied abroad in China, I would spend the next twenty-seven months dodging the squatty potty and seeking out western toilets. I laughed, because I knew that was ridiculous. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to avoid the squat toilet for twenty-seven months; and dreading the squatty potty would make my service miserable! Who wants to be overcome with dread every time he has to poop? I pushed that initial instinct out of my head, and acquiesced to the fact that I would need to become one with the squatty potty. I used the squat toilet that day, and we have worked well together ever since! After studying abroad in China during high school, having endured a particularly traumatizing pooping experience, I never told anyone about it. I promised myself never to talk about it. Looking back at it, I find it hilarious that I risked pooping my pants just to avoid using the squatty potty. I won’t go into details, but I am open to sharing them over a phone call! As you’ll see later, I still tend to take myself too seriously. It’s time that I stop doing that and put a funny story out into the world. I don’t have any good poop story in Indonesia yet; but if it comes (or runs), I assure you that it will make its way into my blog! Attitude will be the life or death of me It is far more difficult to get through a week of teaching when I am upset, or negative about what is going on. I have had weeks where I was incredibly positive, and other weeks where I was often annoyed. The former attitude made things go by much quicker, and easier, than the latter. I frequently ride my bike to a town that is nearby to buy items at a convenience store, withdraw money from an ATM, or send letters from the post office. It takes me about twenty minutes to get from my house to any one of those places. That bike ride, too, can happen two different ways. When I am in a good mood, and I bike along the street with a positive attitude, the ride is quite enjoyable. I interact with many of the people who live along the highway; I see breathtaking views of mountains and rice fields; I am able to shake off or ignore the infrequent hecklers that pass by on their motorcycles. I love taking the bike ride when I am in a good mood. When I am in a bad mood, however, the bike ride proves to be an entirely different experience. The people along the street seemingly yell and crassly reach for my attention; the hecklers appear to ride on every motorcycle and in every car that passes; I am too annoyed to lift up my head and gaze at my surroundings. The small things that I brush off and tolerate during my good mood suddenly augment in size and number; and it’s impossible for me to stomach. I glare at the people who shout “Bule!” when they drive past. I don’t engage in small talk with the cashier at the store, or the employee at the post office. The bike ride, which can be the highlight of my day or week, instead becomes my least favorite thing to do. These parallel experiences happen in many aspects of my every-day life: the classroom, English Club, the market, and at home. Everything comes so much easier when I am in a positive mood. Unfortunately, as much as I would love to be in a good mood all the time, I don’t think it’s possible. My mood often fluctuates several times between positive, slightly positive, and negative over the course of one class, not to mention an entire day or week. I have been on an emotional roller coaster since I arrived in Indonesia one year ago. I hope that I continue to ride up more hills than down steep drops. I’m sure there will be plenty more loops and corkscrews, too! Dry season is better than rainy season I have found this statement to be rather controversial among the Peace Corps Indonesia community. Many Volunteers are very opinionated when it comes to choosing one of Indonesia’s two seasons. I have witnessed, and engaged in, many debates concerning the advantages and disadvantages of dry season and rainy season. Fortunately for me, this blog is my opinion alone! One weekend I left my village to participate in an English speech competition in Kediri, which is the city where I had Pre-Service Training. I finished my classes up Friday morning, and went back home to get ready for the weekend trip. I noticed that it might rain on my bike ride home from school. I figured that I would wait out the rain, and then go on my thirty-minute bike ride to the bus. After I arrived home, I leisurely packed up my clothes, exercised, and ate lunch—waiting for the rain. I watched TV with my Ibu—still, no rain. I didn’t want to wait around too long (my PST host family was anxiously awaiting my arrival), which is why I finally decided to leave. If it hadn’t rained during the past couple hours, then I figured it would hold off completely. I put on my sunglasses, strapped on my helmet, sent a message to my Kediri family that I was on my way, and I pushed off on my bike from home. Of course, a roll of thunder sounded over the mountains after what seemed like two minutes of my bike ride. I pulled over on my bike to put on my raincoat and backpack cover. I checked my phone to see how long ago I had sent the message to my Kediri family: less than one minute previous. I got my raincoat on just in time for the downpour. I was granted less than one minute for a dry bike ride, but the ensuing half an hour would be miserable—and it would be far more difficult to festoon a positive attitude—in the pouring rain. I continued on my bike, because there was no other option. I had lingered at my house too long, and I wouldn’t make it to Kediri in time if I sat around and waited for the rain to subside. The Indonesians all sat on their porches—keeping dry and warm—while they laughed at the foreigner biking past. “It’s raining,” several people shouted out to me. “No shit!” I thought to myself, but I callously responded with a ‘thank you’. A lot of people in the village get a kick out of seeing me biking on a dry day; I’m sure that this instance was far more entertaining than what could have ever hoped for. I continued biking at full speed, and ignoring the people’s shouts from alongside the street, when I came to a literal roadblock. The road that I needed to take was in the process of being redone. The old asphalt was torn up and there was nothing but dirt. I was wet, and I wasn’t in the mood to ask around for an alternative route to the bus. The only way was to continue on down the road. The dirt, however, had turned to muck; and I wasn’t able to bike through the mess, because my wheels only spun through the deep mud. I got off, picked my bike up by the frame, and walked through the mud. “I HATE rainy season!” flashed repeatedly through my mind like a ticker on the bottom of a news channel. I talked to myself to calm down. I figured that this would be a story that I will laugh about later. If my neighbors weren’t enthused about seeing me bike in the pouring rain, they had to have been satisfied with seeing me talking to myself while covered in mud. I was relieved when I arrived at the bus stop. I boarded the bus—soaking wet, and with mud caked up my legs. Fortunately I found a row of seats for myself. I used the seat next to me to hang up my jacket and backpack cover. My wet clothes made the almost-intolerable bus ride that much closer to intolerable. Ultimately, I spent the majority of the bus ride rallying myself to regain composure, and to find my positive attitude. Essentially, rainy season makes it much more challenging for me to stay positive. Several aspects of service are incredibly frustrating, and rainy season just adds to my woes. For example, many mornings I reluctantly bike to school. Maybe I teach particularly naughty kids that day, or I have a long schedule, or I am just not in the mood to teach. I use those short morning commutes to school to give myself pep talks. If it happens to be rainy and dreary during those rides, the weather makes it much more difficult for me to find those pep talks effective. Let’s get down to the facts. Dry season is hot. I sit in front of my fan or I lie down on the tile floor in my underwear to stay cool. Sweat is constantly dripping down my front and back when I am teaching. The sun shines through the windows, turning the classroom into a hot box. When I bike to school in the morning, I arrive all sweaty. When I go home after teaching, I arrive all sweaty. Rainy season is wet. Everything is damp most of the time. I crashed while riding my bike because the pathways grow slick with mold. It is very difficult to dry my clothes. I do not have the luxury of hanging them outside in the morning, and finding them dry when I return from school. Clothes take at least one day to dry. Rainy season might be cooler, but only marginally so. It is still very hot, and the humidity increases. I often need to wear a raincoat, which doesn’t breathe. That means there is still plenty of sweat. I get to school in the morning wet, sweaty, or both. I get back from school wet, sweaty, or both. In conclusion, rainy season shares nearly all the characteristics of dry season, but it also makes everything wet (and thus, miserable). I know that my bike ride to the bus stop would have been far more pleasant—and I would have been much happier—if it happened during dry season. I can’t get that bike-ride-turned-mud-trek journey out of my mind. Dry season trumps rainy season, always. I take myself too seriously, too often During Pre-Service Training, a fellow Volunteer taught trainees a song called “Boom Chick-a-Boom”. The song requires the teacher (Volunteer) to sing in front of the class, and then the students repeat what they heard. I learned the song during training, and then forgot about it when I moved to permanent site. More often than not, my lesson plans don’t work out as I initially anticipate, which requires me to think on my toes and diverge from the original plan. On one particular day, my lesson ended ten minutes before the end of class, and I needed a new activity to fill in the extra time. Since I don’t fancy myself to be the best teacher, I had difficulty coming up with a plan. But then, “Boom-Chick-a-Boom” entered my mind and I decided to teach the song to my students. I had avoided the song up to that point because I didn’t want to sing and make a fool of myself in front of the classroom. I acted serious during my teaching hours, and I thought that the song would send a different message to the students. I was worried that they wouldn’t take me seriously as a teacher. But with no other ideas, I resorted to the song. Fortunately, the students loved it! I encouraged them to be as loud as possible, which they happily obliged to do. The students danced, and I joined with them. We had such a great time. Other classrooms heard the commotion from our song, and asked me to teach them during class later that week. Now, every single class I teach knows that song. Additionally, students I don’t teach ask me to come to their classrooms and teach the song. I walk from class back to my office, and students will shout out the windows “Chick a boom boom boom!” I’m glad that I pushed past my concerns of appearing unprofessional in front of the students, because the five to ten minute period of singing the song turns out to be the best time I have with my students. This also reminds me to not worry about taking things—my job, service, etc.—too seriously, because I can also inspire students with laughter. Now I like to dance my way up and down the rows of desks while the students to work. I try to make people laugh. Most often that laughter comes at my expense, but it helps the students become more comfortable with me. Listening is important I have sought endless advice from fellow Volunteers for teaching strategies, coping mechanisms, and travel. I have no issue claiming ignorance and letting others give me ideas to improve my service. My service would not be going well if I didn’t accept input from other Volunteers. Shout-Outs:
HMFSO to all of my teachers. I find the patience, persistence, and passion you displayed when I was your student so important, and such a gift. Thank you for putting up with my antics, and for making so many of us better people. HSO to my good friend for being accepted into school at the University of Michigan’s Ross School of Business. HSO to my good friend for her new job as a middle school guidance counselor! The school district is lucky to have you. SO to my lifelong friend for purchasing a ticket to visit me. I will see you in August! SO to my sister for sending gifts and activities for my students. The kids will love them! SO to the Peace Corps Indonesia Volunteer whom taught me “Boom-Chick-a-Boom”! The kids are having a lot of fun, thanks to you! ASO for this blog post with no pictures! It won’t happen again!
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AddisonHometown: La Crosse, WI Archives
May 2019
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