It was Friday afternoon so I decided to head out on my bike. The ride gave me an opportunity to reflect on the week that was coming to a close. The hour between 4 and 5pm often provides the perfect time for this reflection. The sun slowly sinks, casting a surprisingly cool orange across the face of the mountains off in the distance. The banana trees that line the roads use their giant leaves to absorb the last bit of the sun’s warmth before it finally dips beneath the horizon. The rice fields perpetuate the beautiful sunset, placing me in a large enclosure that has a ceiling and floor of orange, red, yellow, and purple. It was difficult to choose: Do I watch the actual sunset, or should I gaze at its reflection in the watery fields? I don’t own a camera that could do this scene justice, so I told myself to take a mental screen shot. I thought about how this scene before me could be featured in a National Geographic article or a popular travel Instagram account. Many of those images make me dream about going to far away places. Would an adequate photo of this Indonesian landscape have lured me to Indonesia prior to the Peace Corps? I would like to think so. I have a habit of envisioning the beautiful places far away from my current location, and I forget about the stunning landscapes that immediately surround me. Why dream about going to places far away when I am witnessing such beauty in person? Starting with training sessions during the first few days in Indonesia, Peace Corps repeatedly relayed the following message: change happens slowly. I rolled my eyes, admittedly. I had arrived in Indonesia full of motivation and energy; and I wanted to blow everyone’s minds by facilitating instantaneous sustainable change! Like many other times, my naivety got the best of me, and I often ended up feeling slightly dismayed. Like any other Peace Corps Volunteer, and most people working in the realm of international development, I needed to gain experience to slowly inch towards the important goal: sustainable change. I have spent many Friday sunsets reflecting, and multiple conferences listening to, how to enjoy change, no matter how slowly it develops. If change is such a slow process, then the rare—yet significant—moments that I do witness will likely be very small. (In fact, I think that most of the change that takes place at my site during service will be undetectable.) For this reason, I have learned to embrace the small things—conversations with my counterparts, questions from students, beautiful sunsets, et cetera—and the importance they have for my mental happiness and the motivation I need for the remainder of service. One day early on in the semester, I saw an empty desk and chair outside of the curriculum staff office. Even though it is particularly hot in my village, it’s even warmer inside the teacher offices. I chose to sit at the desk that day, hoping to avoid the excess indoor heat. I have continued using that spot ever since that day. I enjoy being outside the confines of the office, which allows me to watch the students walk by in between classes. I spend time lesson planning, working on Peace Corps projects, and arranging dream travel itineraries. The majority of students are still too shy to talk to me. I like to engage them in conversation as they walk by my desk. I say very basic things: “how are you?” and “did you eat?” They quickly respond and scamper away just as fast. Those questions require very basic English, but that is better than no English at all! I like to think that sitting at the desk outside makes me appear more inviting, as opposed to being a scary bule (foreigner). Fortunately, it seems to encourage the teachers at the school to approach me, too. During one particular afternoon, I was writing sentences onto strips of paper for a reading activity. The school Javanese teacher approached me and asked what I was doing. I explained my lesson plan, and the purpose of the strips of paper to help the students practice reading. The teacher shook his head and said, “thank you for doing something different for our students.” He smiled and walked away, leaving behind a sense of appreciation. While my first semester is quickly wrapping up, there are an increasing number of prospects through Peace Corps to work on secondary projects: community development, school plans, et cetera. Those opportunities award me the privilege to work with my fellow English teachers and administrators to find any projects that would benefit the school. In order to build a sustainable project that will be utilized long after my departure, it is important that community members—teachers, students, and administrators—come to me with their own ideas. If I present my own development ideas to the community, they might approve of the plans, but might not provide the support needed for the idea’s long-term success. For this reason, I spend a lot of time asking the school administrators and English teachers questions. I hope that my questions will drive them to think about new, exciting ideas for the school. I can serve as a motivator to generate new ideas, but the actual inception needs to originate in their minds. I have spent time with three of the English teachers—Mas Wendhi, Bu Pita, and Bu Nina—to talk about what, if anything, our school needs. During one of those conversations, Mas Wendhi told me, “It has always been my dream to have a native English speaker at our school—to help the students and teachers with their language skills. You are my dream.” I expressed my sincere gratitude for his kind words. I thought to myself to never take my position as a Peace Corps Volunteer for granted. Mas Wendhi likely looked forward to my arrival in Indonesia just as much, if not more, than I did. I want to make my counterparts and students proud of me just like with my friends and family back home. I still have trouble connecting with my students, despite sitting outside of the office on a daily basis. They seem to love having me in their English classes, or being around me with big numbers of students, but they have yet to warm up to the idea of approaching me individually. This is the case in between classes, during school events, or even in the classroom. I can count the small number of times a student asks me a question in class on one hand alone. That is something I hoped to address by sitting at my desk near the courtyard, but the students’ unparalleled level of shyness has proved to have no easy solution. This is why I am grateful for any interactions with students during class. I do a step-touch dance while I walk up and down the rows of desk, make jokes with the students, or join in on the laughter when they are making fun of me. I do those things with hopes to eradicate any perceptions that I am the distant foreigner with whom they share nothing in common. One day, a student asked me for the meaning of a word in a text. I did not include the word “idea” in the list of new vocabulary, because the Indonesian equivalent is “ide”. Despite the similarity between English and Indonesian, she could not figure out the meaning of the word “idea,” and thus, could not fully decipher the passage. I obligingly answered the question, and thanked her for asking me in the first place. I hope that that simple interaction demonstrates that she does not need to fear asking me additional questions in the future. Rainy season started in November, which means frequent power outages but cooler evenings. My family often lies outside on the front porch at night, and they talk with the neighbors who are out on their evening strolls. I like to fill up my dinner plate and head out onto the porch to eat with them. One night, my Bapak said, “Addison, you are like a Javanese person.” People in my desa like to sit and eat anywhere, which is what I believe he was referring to. The family laughed at Pak Djito’s remarks, but I took his observation to heart. Peace Corps has engrained the importance of community integration into my brain since I arrived in country back in March. Pak Djito’s comment suggests that I am on my way to doing just that. I have been at permanent site for exactly six months. My host family can tell how I feel when I come home from school. They can assume that my kids were extra rowdy that day, or that they were exceptionally well behaved. They can tell when I am positive and happy, or when I am feeling down and exhausted. There must have been a relatively extended period when I was not my usual self. Pak Djito sat me down at the kitchen table and presented a beautiful allegory. During this particular conversation, Pak Djito reminded me that I had already been in Indonesia for eight months, and living with him for almost six months. He understood why I might be feeling sad every now and then, but he was worried that I would focus too much on those negative feelings. He explained that I have already planted many seeds during my first eight months in Indonesia; I have spread my roots and built a sturdy base within my school and community. Now it is important for me to allow that tree to grow—to use that strong foundation to start sprouting upwards. Eventually that tree will begin to bear fruit, but it very important to wait for that fruit to ripen. I will pick the ripened fruit and bring it back to the United States with me. It is up to me, Pak Djito clarified, to determine what exactly the ripened fruit of this metaphorical tree represents. Pak Djito wisely noted that I am currently at the point in service when I need to foster the tree’s growth—to wait for a long period of time, confident in the original groundwork I planted in the soil. Pak Djito delivered a picturesque analogy, and it likely impacted me more than he ever intended. I found the story so moving because it came from a man who I have grown to care for so much; but also, because the beautiful metaphor of the fruit tree is strikingly prevalent in desa life, and thus, my experience thus far as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Indonesia. I have stood underneath a coconut tree while my neighbor knocks off the fruit, falling towards my outstretched arms. My neighbors have stopped me many times along my bike rides to pick fresh fruit from their trees for me to take home. My neighbor across the street grows dragon fruit in his front yard, and asks me to come over so I can eat it with him. I can take my Bapak’s fruit tree analogy—one that stems from Indonesian village life—and apply it to all facets of my life: past, present, and future. I need to ask myself the following questions at the onset of every task or journey: “What type of tree do I want to grow?” and “When will that fruit be ripe enough to pick?” I might not have answers right at the beginning, but it is good to always have those questions in mind. In terms of my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have been asking myself “Why am I here?” every day since March 9th, 2017. My Bapak’s new words of wisdom allow me to think about my current experiences in the context of Indonesian desa life. Maybe this will provide more clarity as I try to answer that important question. The comments and questions from the many different community members cause me to reach deep within myself for answers. I hope that the questions I ask concerning community development strum a similar cord within them. It’s amazing how much we can do for each other. This is a symbiotic relationship, not a one-way street. I do not want to forget that. Ultimately, I know that these simple comments and interactions will help motivate me to find my answers sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I plan to stick to my Friday evening bike rides, taking turns between watching the actual sunset and the reflection that it casts upon the rice fields. Shout-Outs:
HSO to my friends for giving birth to a beautiful baby girl on November 6th, 2017! I am so happy and relieved to know that everyone is healthy and happy. SO to my fellow ID11s for making it to the six-month mark at permanent site! Nice work. HMFSO to the Wisconsin Badgers for the 11-0 record. One week at a time, boys!
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