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.
1 Comment
3/1/2019 06:05:32 am
This was very interesting blog, part has some negative feeling & the other part showed the difference of each country & how they deal with death. From visiting you in Dec. I can visualize how the INdonesians deal with death verses Our country. Your words & picture of uncle Bob & aunt Jennifer was very heart warming. Love you much, 🙏❤️
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