I want to share a story about something that occupied a significant portion of my Ramadan. For about two weeks, my Ibu and I were not on speaking terms. Add fasting into the mix, and it might be easier for one to see how such a small issue could test the relationship I have with my host mother. Although the story is often funny, one may ask why such a simple problem didn’t have an easy solution. The story also speaks volumes to the passive practices that are common to Indonesian culture. Sure, confronting someone when there seems to be a problem is an easily solution; but what should I do if confronting someone is culturally inappropriate? I had to figure it out. Ramadan, and fasting, began on May 17th. Prior to Ramadan, I told myself that I wanted to stay at site for the entire month. Since school is not in session, many Volunteers use the month to travel. I decided to stay at site until after Idul Fitri, which was June 15-16. I had plans to leave Indonesia on June 17 and travel to Europe for three weeks with my mom and step-dad. In other words, a month of fasting stood in between me and my vacation. I began fasting with a high level of confidence: I had done it before, I was familiar with my surroundings, and I considered the holy month to be an excellent time to build upon the relationships I had already formed with my family, teachers, and neighbors. I was also determined to exercise throughout the whole month. The first week went by swimmingly. Up to that point, I had been using a coffee table to read and write. Over the course of the past year, I had slowly accumulated pain in my lower back from leaning over to reach the table. The school brought me a desk and chair from one of the offices in order to help. I was so happy to sit up straight while I did my work. My back pain quickly subsided as I started using the new desk and chair. I spent a lot of time at my desk every day, because Ramadan affords people with plenty of free time to keep busy. My sleeping schedule was completely off its rocker (at this point in the month I was sleeping from 12-3am and 7-10am), but I was able to pass many hours at my nice new desk. During the second week of Ramadan, I noticed that Bu Hertati, my host mother, was talking to me less and less. I asked her questions, and she answered with a shake of her head. She got up from her seat whenever I sat down next to her; she wouldn’t stay in the kitchen while I was there. I found it slightly annoying, but I wasn’t interested enough to ask about it. My feelings quickly grew from ‘annoyed’ to ‘frustrated’ during the third week. It was clear at this point that she was blatantly ignoring me. I had envisioned spending my second Ramadan building stronger relationships with my host family, but thus far, exactly the opposite was taking place. I chose to stop speaking to her. I even deliberately did things that (I thought) would make her upset, and ultimately, make her confront me. One evening, I biked to the nearby town and bought fried rice for dinner. I brought the food back to the house and ate that instead of the food my host mom prepared. Normally this would have drawn many questions (food is an everyday topic of conversation), but my Ibu demonstrated an unwavering resolve to ignore my every move. I did not inform her of my plans when I left the house; I didn’t tell her where I was going or when I planned to return home. I hoped she would scold me at some point, but that moment never arrived. I went up to my room early most nights and spent time at my desk, which was one of the seemingly few positive things going for me at home. I was angry by the end of the third week of Ramadan. It had been two weeks since Ibu had said anything to me. I was beginning to flat out resent her: I wanted my service to hurry up and end, I didn’t want to have any visitors to my site (Ibu is so excited for my family to visit), and I was worried that I might have to resort to switching host families. My upcoming vacation certainly couldn’t arrive soon enough. I spoke with Pak Djito, my host father, about my current predicament with Bu Hertati. When I went to specify the length of time I had gone without speaking with Ibu, he finished my sentence with, “sudah dua minggu (already two weeks).” He clearly was very aware of the ongoing spat, so I pressed him for answers. He told me a story: Two weeks ago, a neighbor heard a loud noise of moving furniture from our house. It was in the middle of the night, which appeared strange to the neighbor. That neighbor asked Bu Hertati the next day if she had been fighting with Pak Djito during the night. Bu Hertati assured them that she hadn’t been fighting with her husband, but she was embarrassed by the accusation nonetheless (the neighborhood Ibus are notorious for omong omong, or “gossip”). She told the neighbor that the noise is coming from upstairs, where I happen to live. Pak Djito looked at me for a response after concluding his story. I thought to myself: what noise originated from my bedroom in the middle of the night, and with furniture? Then it hit me; It was my new desk chair. It screeches every time I pull in to sit and push out to stand up on the tile floor. I was spending a lot of time at my desk in the middle of the night with the balcony doors open to let the cool air into my room. The high-pitched, screeching noise carried farther than I had imagined. Was the chair really the reason that my Ibu ignored me for two weeks? Apparently so. She started talking to me the day after I heard the story from Pak Djito; and by the end of Ramadan, we were on as good of terms as ever. I only made two changes to my daily routine before Bu Hertati started talking to me again: I carefully pulled the chair closer to the desk when I sat down, and delicately pushed the chair out when I wanted to get up. The small modifications, and the obvious change in my Ibu’s behavior, lead me to believe that it was indeed the screeching chair that lead me to this dark two-week period of my service. My Ibu and I never discussed the issue among ourselves; neither of us ever even acknowledged to the other person that something was wrong. It serves as a classic example of the passive behavior used by many Indonesians. I have to account for this behavior when I make decisions to try new things in the classroom. Maybe my counterpart doesn’t like a new activity I try in class, or that I sat at the wrong spot during a meeting at school; and I can bet that he or she likely will not share their feelings. I am always very careful to seek permission or advice before doing just about anything. Fortunately, Mas Wendhi, one of my counterparts and likely my closest friend at site, feels comfortable telling me his honest opinions. I assure him that I will never be upset if he disagrees with me. And now I found something that I can work on with my host mother--open and honest communication. After all, I think it would have been much easier had she told me about the loud chair noises rather than giving me the cold shoulder for two weeks. Ramadan would have been more enjoyable if I had been on speaking terms with Ibu for the whole month, as opposed to two weeks. I feel fortunate that the matter was resolved before I went on my trip; because I imagine it would have been bad to return home after three weeks away, without any resolution. I plan to work on our communication, hoping that it will improve over time. I also plan to never bring new pieces of furniture into the house again. Shout-Outs:
HSO to my sister and her boyfriend (now fiancé) for their engagement! SO to my friend for the business trip to NYC. You’re a big shot now! HMFSO to all the ID11s for reaching day #500 of our service on Wednesday. Congratulations! SO to my college friends for such a good time in Sweden. Wi är Sverige! SO to my family in Barcelona for your hospitality. SO to my Spanish brother and his dad for showing us around Madrid and Toledo. HSO to my mom and step-dad for the amazing vacation. It was wonderful! A million SOs for my host family here in Indonesia. Thank you for teaching me so much. ASO to not taking any pictures together during Idul Fitri.
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