I take the same route every morning when I bike to school. I go straight on my road for the equivalent of two or three blocks. I take a left when I arrive at one of the community mosques. I bike past several houses, where the Ibus are outside hanging clothes and some of the Bapaks are making bricks. I take a right onto a path that dips down slightly from the level of the road. I take that path for about twenty yards, before I turn left and follow the brick path all the way to school. I may ride along the path for only twenty yards, but it is one of my favorite parts of riding my bike around my village. This part of the route is so short that I only pass one house on my right and two houses on my left. That second house on my left, however, is what my eyes gravitate towards every morning. There is an old man, who seemingly ninety-nine times out of one hundred, is sitting on that porch looking out at the people who pass by. We make eye contact; I wave, gently nodding my head, and smile to him as I bike down the lane. I turn the corner onto the brick path that enters the canopy of banana trees, and I disappear from his line of site. Despite the mere seconds that our interactions last, they have nonetheless become a staple of my morning routine—just as much as brushing my teeth or putting on my shoes. I can only recall one morning when I did not see him during my short commute to school. This means that the old man—whose name I do not know—sees me on my best days, and my worst days, too. That includes the drizzly morning in February when I took the turn in front of his house onto the brick path too quickly, and wiped out. I gave him a thumps up, and limped my way to class (I still made it on time). The moss that grows on the ground during rainy season causes spills that parallel the falls from black ice during Wisconsin winters! I usually take a different way back home after school. Instead of passing through a section of jungle, the route after school goes along a little creek lined with houses. I always say “Monggo” as I bike past, which is Javanese for “excuse me.” The Ibus sitting on their porch always ask where I am going, or from where I coming. My answers are often the same: I am going home, and I am coming from school. Nonetheless, the repeated interactions make them smile. Occasionally, one of the neighborhood Paks will insist that I stop by the house and talk for a little while longer. One particular Ibu along the street has various fruit trees and bushes in front of her house. She will step out into the road and wave me down, usually to pass along items for me to take home. Depending on the season, I have returned home with dragon fruit, jambut air (watery rose apple), star fruit, and rambutan. Her generosity makes me happy for the remainder of the day, and provides me with a sense of confidence that I am successfully integrating into my community. One of my favorite recollections during the commute to and from school happened in February. I was biking home when I saw a group of bikes parked alongside the road. The bikes indicate where large groups of neighborhood kids are. The bikes were parked in front of one of the neighborhood mosques on that particular day. I passed by on my bike, listening to several of the boys singing the afternoon call to prayer that was projected from the mosque’s speakers. I wasn’t sure if they saw me bike past, but any ambiguity quickly vanished when the boys stopped singing the prayers and started yelling, “Mas Addison!!!!!!!" through the microphone. Thanks to those boys, everyone in the village was aware that I had left school, and was passing the mosque on my way home. The bike rides throughout my community (to and from school, the local convenience store, post office, restaurants, etc.) have evolved during the first year living in my village. I originally went from point A to point B as quickly and efficiently as possible, trying to get errands done in the shortest amount of time possible. My bike rides now, however, are far more adventurous. I like to go down new roads, find new rice fields, and meet new neighbors. I have more confidence to speak Bahasa Indonesia with people; and I can rely on those language skills to carry on more profound conversations. I like to throw out the small amounts of Javanese I know, too. My bike ride to the ATM would take fifteen minutes if I peddle at full speed, take the most direct route, and refrain from interacting with anyone. Last week, however, it took me almost an hour to get there. I took a turn to explore a road that goes through the sawah, bought bars of soap from a new toko, and stopped to play soccer with students at an elementary school. Upon my return home, I considered my day to be superb thanks to that one simple task of withdrawing money from the ATM. Fortunately, Peace Corps service provides many opportunities to turn simple errands into memorable, confidence-building adventures. Shout-Outs:
HSO to my friend for being accepted into John Hopkins for graduate school! HMFSO to my fellow ID11s for finishing our first year of teaching. An ESO goes to the ID10s preparing to end their service this coming month! SO to my high school friends for purchasing plane tickets to visit in August!
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AddisonHometown: La Crosse, WI Archives
May 2019
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