What a Wonderful World....

Put one more tack on the map (or torn up post-it in my case since I can't damage the walls in my fancy-pants apartment...but I digress). Last week, I traveled with fellow ELF, Jonthon, to the city of Kupang in West Timor. This trip was simultaneously the furthest East and the most rural part of Indonesia I had been to. We were there to conduct a three-day English camp and teacher training for some high schools in and around the city. 

What a better way to open up this trip than by actually visiting a high school. Lucky for us, there are two Fulbright English Teaching Assistants (ETAs Victor and Mia) teaching in high schools in the area. On the first day we decided to go check out Victor's school. After a very long and uncomfortable ojek ride - we got lost and had to stop to renegotiate the price several times (well, Jonthon did this as his bahasa is far superior to mine)- we finally arrived at the opening of a dirt road which would eventually lead us to Victor's school. We met Victor and walked down the dirt road to his school. 

 

Victor's school had about eight classrooms, two of which were located in this pole barn with a tin roof...It rains in Kupang... a lot.                         Victor, being the stuff that Fulbrights are made of, takes it all in stride. Despite that he can't hear himself think, let alone talk, in this tin shack, he makes it work.

Rain aside, Victor is up against teaching English to students who have no reason to believe that they will actually ever use English. These students have never left their island, and since Kupang is not the tourism capital of Indonesia (we were the only bules around for miles), learning English rates pretty low on their priority list. Still, with no motivation, photocopied books (if they're lucky), upwards of forty kids per class, and spotty electricity, we witnessed those kids having fun learning English. We even got in on the action by leading teams in a Scattegories competition. It may have been the novelty of having some bules in the class (it's a good bet that we were the first white people these kids had ever seen - seriously), but I'll take it.

After our visit, it was time to get to work. We arrive at our camp site and met the twenty-seven high school students who would be with us over the next three days. These kids came from slightly better schools and had slightly better English. The building didn't have a tin roof (it didn't have windows or doors either, but let's not be choosey beggars), so that looked promising. We spent our first three hours together getting to know the students and their English levels through some fun games. Jonthon learned very early that one of the students was a pretty fantastic beat boxer. And, since Victor was also a closet break dancer, this was bound to happen:

After this random display of awesomeness kicked off the day, the camp counselor in me came out, and we had the kids doing Hokey Pokey challenges, miming, human knots, Simon Says, and the like. There wasn't a lot of sitting. But, there was a lot of English. The most fulfilling part for both us and the kids was their final project. On the first day, we had the kids listen to and analyze Louis Armstrong's Wonderful World (special thanks to Megan and Jolie). We let the kids listen to the song a few times and write down what Louis saw (I see trees of green...red roses, too). Despite the clear generational difference, the kids really got into Louis and were singing along by the third playing. On the second day, they had to write ten things that they saw in Indonesia, present or future, good or bad. On the last day, we asked them to write their own song (Wonderful Indonesia) using the ten items they'd written and a template of the song we created together by figuring out the stanzas and syllables in each line. In the first two stanzas, they wrote the bad things, and Jonthon changed the chorus to "And I think to myself...how can I help this world?" The last two stanzas were all the wonderful things they see. They nailed it.

Those kids held their lyrics like they were the best prize in the world. They wrote an entire song in English. Damn fine songs, too. When it was time to go, there were pictures and tears. It was an experience that none of us will ever forget. I even received this email from Gusti, one of the students, a few days after returning to Jakarta:

hi Jackie...!
I miss you guys...!!
I'm crying right know...this my unforgetable experience!

thank you,,for teaching us english...!

I hope you can give me your facebook name,,so ican add you to be my friend...!
that's will be great..!
bye. :)

And that is why I'm a teacher.

Native Speaker

The new sign for my office. I feel cheapened somehow. But, can't help but chuckle.

Five Months in and a Few Steps Closer

I spend a lot of time as a passenger in Jakarta since to drive is to gamble with one's life. Being a passenger gives me a lot of extra time to think. I think about my job and tasks at hand, but just about every day I also think about how incredible it is that I'm here. I'm in Indonesia. Halfway around the world. Doing what I love. It's five months in now, and I still feel like I need to pinch myself as I watch Jakarta pass outside my window.

Early on, I began gauging my level of integration into society by the type of vehicle I was in. During my first few days in Jakarta, all of the ELFs and I were toted around in a giant, cushy charter bus. I was literally elevated above the street level life of the city, still a disconnected visitor observing from a distance.

Then, I moved a notch down into the taxi level. Other Indonesians use taxis; I was getting closer. Other expats also use taxis...a lot. So, while I was being a little more independent - hey, we don't have taxis to flag down where I come from; it's a big step for me - I was still floating above real Indonesian life.

When I started working, Sebasa provided a driver. Now I get to cruise around in a police car. It's not marked up like a squad car, but it is painted the dull gray of police vehicles and has black and yellow plates denoting police. I don't know that this pushed me any further into the circle of true society, but now I was exploring different parts of the city. I was driving through the desa (the small villages contained between the high rises) instead of around them. At least the view that passed by my window was a bit more intimate.

Then there was the fateful Friday I finally took an ojek to visit my friends. Now that's more like it. There was nothing at all between me and my surroundings. I was weaving in and out of traffic, next to every other Jakartan who was trying to get around the gridlock. Dirt on my face, exhaust in my lungs, and a smile on my face.

The ultimate travel experience, though, was in Ubud. Lo had done some homework before he came over and had found a day-long biking trip through the country side. I'm not a biker, and even still, this experience will stick with me forever. Finally, I was in charge of my destination (well, I had to stick with our tour guide, but I could stop and weave as I pleased). I could pedal slowly through the country-side villages, wave to the children walking home from school, and say 'Selamat Pagi' (good morning) to the folks going about their day.

Nothing will change the fact that I'm tall, have white skin, blond hair, and green eyes; these things will always keep me from completely fitting into Indonesia. Even still, in five months, I've watched myself peel through the layers and get closer to living the experience rather than just observing in a comfortable, air conditioned existence. I still have miles to go; beyond the realm of travel into speaking the language and understanding the culture. One step (or pedal) at a time.

Teaching Teachers and Other Greats of the MidYear

All of the ELFs and Fulbright English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) in Indonesia had a chance to meet in Surabaya, East Java, for a midyear conference. We had a full schedule of outreach programs with local universities and high schools. With 14 ELFS and 44 ETAs, we visited 7 universities and 14 high schools, and we reached about 1,000 English teachers from all over East Java. That's something to be proud of.

These events are a big deal for the participants. Professional development for educators is hard to come by in Indonesia. And in a country entrenched in traditional lecture-style classrooms and restrained by resources and a lack of opportunity for students to practice English outside of the classroom, teachers clamor for any opportunity to learn new techniques for making dynamic lessons. The ETAs I worked with had the participants up on their feet doing the Hokey Pokey, playing games, and making up elaborate stories. We also were able to share a piece of American culture by presenting on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Mia, one of the ETAs, had an stirring presentation on civil rights in American, and it spurred a lively conversation with our participants. Some of them knew about Dr. King and some didn't, but all were moved by Mia's presentation and were curious to find out more about segregation in America then and now. Soft diplomacy. Very cool.

Some teachers getting creative with new materials

Birds-eye view of high school students eating lunch. They pile everything into either a piece or paper or banana leaf fashioned into a cone. Green and less dishes. Dig it.

The MidYear conference wasn't all work, though. Our fearless leaders at the Embassy arranged some sight-seeing around Surabaya. Surabaya is the second largest city in Indonesia (after Jakarta), and it and the surrounding areas have lots to offer. The first place we stopped was at a place called Lapindo. We parked along side of what appeared to be a giant dirt wall stretching for miles on the side of the highway. A few bamboo stairways led to the top of the dirt wall. Once you got to the top, all you could see for miles was a vast stretch of caked and cracked mud. Then, in the distance, was a mud volcano. Eruptions of mud and steam were spewing twenty feet into the air. Read the article linked above to learn more, but basically this volcano began spitting up mud in 2006 after some oil drillers accidentally hit it (oops). Since then, it has destroyed whole villages, and it isn't predicted to stop for thirty years.

The villagers whose houses were destroyed, hover around the scene and try to sell DVDs about the phenomenon or offer motorbike tours around the area. They'll do anything to get a buck for their families struggling to get back on their feet in the government-funded refuge areas.

Next, we went around to see some candi (pronounced chandi) - Hindu and Buddhist temples that dot East Java. These impressive structures aren't used anymore beyond being popular sites for romantic strolls among the local teen population, but you can still see ancient statues of Hindu gods. 

One of the sites, called Candi Tikus (Rat temple) was named so because it was discovered after the local farmers complained about an abundance of rats eating their crops. After some investigation, they unearthed a beautiful temple and bathing pool that the rats had been using as their personal living space.

 

Finally, we stopped by a local Buddhist monastery and a gigantic reclining Buddha. Since I've never been anywhere near a Buddhist anything, this was a particularly neat experience.

Lotus

I hope you can get the scale here. The elbow point would probably hit me waist-height.

Indonesian culture is so varied from one island to the next and even from one side of an island to the next. I've decided to stay two years partially so that I can continue exploring all of it. I'm halfway through my first year, and I've barely dented all that the archipelago has to offer. This trip helped me to refocus those efforts. Until the next big discovery...

Swingin' Abroad

I blinked and now I'm staring at the second half of my fellowship. Holy crap. Before I can look ahead, though, let me back up and cover some stuff that happened since Pontianak. 

First off, I had a visitor. My boyfriend, Lo, was able to come out for three weeks in January. We trekked around Lombok and Bali for a week, took cooking classes, committed random acts of dancing, and brought in the new year with didgeridoos.  Poor guy had to spend the following two weeks hanging out in or near my apartment while I worked. A bonus to this, however, was that he had time to record all of our adventures on his own travel blog. So, with his permission, I invite you to check out our trip from his perspective: Lombok and Gili Islands and Bali. I couldn't have said it better myself.

The day before Lo had to leave was by far the most memorable. I had arranged for us to teach a swing dancing lesson with the same group of high school students Jules and I visited for Thanksgiving. If you remember, back in August I listed bringing swing dancing to Indonesia as one of my goals. This was one goal I would have been happy to let slip, but with Lo coming and my connection to an eager bunch of high school students, the opportunity couldn't be passed up.

The result was better than I could have imagined. Okay, okay, so maybe they didn't learn a whole lot about English, as we mostly taught them uber useful swingspeak like, yehoodi, shorty George, and boogie back, but they did get a window into a piece of American culture that they won't find on MTV or facebook. And, they/we had a blast doing it. We ended up teaching them a popular swing line dance called "The Jitterbug Stroll" because they are already familiar with line dancing (poco poco - Indonesian electric slide), and I wasn't sure how receptive they would be to holding hands with the opposite sex (they weren't at all receptive to it). I was super impressed with how quickly they picked up the moves. But, don't take my word for it, check out the video here.

It was incredible to be able to share a piece of my life and American culture and, at the same time, give these kids a memorable experience that they couldn't find anywhere else. Check that one off the list.

We're not in Java anymore...

One of my goals when I arrived in Indonesia was to visit all the major islands in the archipelago. I spent the first four months getting settled into Jakarta - doing a little traveling around West Java, but that's it. So, when I was presented with the opportunity to go to Pontianak, West Borneo (Kalimantan), I was beyond thrilled. Borneo is known for its rain forests, orangutans, and head hunters, so who could resist, really?

Ok, ok, so we weren't going anywhere near orangutans or tribal villages where head hunting is still a major past time, but getting out of Java still made the trip well worth the while. So, Michael (another ELF in Jakarta) and I boarded the hour and a half flight for Pontianak.

The city of Pontianak is located on the west coast of Borneo, not too far south of Malaysia. There are a few wonderful things about this city. 1). There is another ELF there (Cary), whom we were going to get to see in all his teaching glory, 2). Three of my former police students are posted in the city (Robert - my adopted little brother, Edy, and Jhon), 3). The city is located on the equator, 4). The city is not located on Java, 5). There are no bajai, and 6). The city is a mix of numerous cultures each bringing their flavor to the city.

A few fun signs

First off, Pontianak is a proper city about the size of Akron, and it's walker friendly. So, Michael and I spent a lot of time doing just that - we walked. The traffic was still pretty heavy, but the air was perfectly pleasant. The most notable difference (apart from the lack of bajai, which were replaced with the much cleaner and less noisy becek - bicycle ricksaws) was that there were far fewer foreigners. This meant far more attention for two tall bules getting lost on the main streets of the city. On more than one occasion, a friendly and curious citizen crossed traffic and pull up alongside us on their motorbike to talk about...anything. Here's a typical conversation:

Citizen: Halo, mister (regardless of gender being addressed)! Where are you going?
Bules: Halo! Over there. (points with thumb in any general direction - pointing with fingers is very disrespectful)
Citizen: Where are you from?
Bules: America!
Citizen: America! Obama!
All: Obama, ya! (much laughter and high fives).

This is where the conversation usually died out because of  a lack of English proficiency, but it was a enough to generate smiles all around. Sometimes there were no words exchanged at all. One such memorable moment, I was standing outside of a shopping mall when an older woman caught my eye. She pointed to her nose, then my nose, then her daughter's nose, and said, "sama" with an ear to ear grin. You see, while in America it's typical to desire small noses, here in Asia a big shnoz is a mark of beauty. I've even heard that it is thought if a bule touches a baby, he or she will grow into a fine "bule" nose. This woman was fiercely proud of the fact that her daughter possessed a nose just like mine. Light skin and big noses - I may never leave (just kidding, Mom!). 

In between these great little, impromptu conversations, we had some great adventures. One night we got to meet with my former students for dinner. I also had the extra special treat of meeting Robert's (far left) little twin sisters, Richa and Reni. These girls are adorable and have joined Robert in my growing Indonesian family.

We also visited Cary's English club, which was staging its very own version of Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol. They did an extraordinary job, and officially put me in the Christmas spirit!








Of course, we had to go visit the equator. There is a special monument built by the Dutch to mark the spot.  

Straddling the Equator. Sweet!

Michael and his official Equator certificate

We rounded off the trip with a visit to the oldest mosque in the city and the sultan's palace. 

Stain glass and prayer rugs

Apparently there are quite a few Sultans still ruling in various parts of the country. The last Sultan of Pontianak died in the 70s, but you can still visit this house complete with the throne and four bedrooms - one for each of his wives.

Some pictures of the kampung (village) on the river.

House on stilts.

Add one more thumbtack to my map! When I make it to my next island, you'll hear about it.

Just don't tell my mother

I eluded to the splendors of Jakarta in my last blog. It's not an easy city to navigate. It sprawls on for miles and miles in under passes, over passes, traffic circles, and u-turns, and every square inch of that is covered with hurling buses, bumbling bajai (motorized rickshaw), jammed mirkolets (minibuses - same concept as the jeepney from PI), taxis, lima kaki (men pushing mobile food stands) and hundreds and thousands of motorbikes. At any give moment of any given day, there is a traffic jam somewhere in the city that looks something like this:

Bumper to bumper traffic. The government is working on this problem. The bus system has its own lane, there are talks of restarting a failed mono-rail project, and they even made public schools start a half hour earlier to relieve some congestion. The ominous projection, though, is that Jakarta will be grid-locked by 2012. The authors of Culture Shock: Jakarta give this advice about getting about the city: Don't. I can understand their stand point. Any plans I might have for a Friday night in the city fizzle out quickly as I survey the unmoving glow of taillights from my balcony.  

Yesterday, I was determined to meet some friends for dinner at a mall that is about a 15 minute drive from my apartment (with no traffic). I walked out to the street to check the traffic situation and devise a plan for catching a taxi. Things looked pretty hopeless. Traffic wasn't moving. My only hope was to walk to another street and hope the situation was marginally better. Well, this wasn't true. There was another solution, one that I'd been avoiding since I arrived in Jakarta: The Ojek.

So, the only vehicles that move in a traffic jam are motorbikes that squeeze and weave through any space available (usually the side of the road or the sidewalk). There are many bike owners in Jakarta who take advantage of the desperate traffic situation by offering a helmet and a ride for a pretty cheap fee. These entrepreneurs can be found on just about any street corner usually under a crude cardboard sign that announces their presence. Ojek - the motorbike taxi.

My fears about taking an ojek were not unfounded. We were warned during orientation to never take them. They're just too dangerous. They can and will take advantage of any available space on the road, putting themselves and their fare inches away from other vehicles. But given that most Indonesians don't think twice about them, that the girl in my post before me took them without any troubles, and that sitting in a taxi for hours as the meter rolls is really, really frustrating, it was time for me to make friends with the ojek.

I was weighing these pros and cons once again in my head as I walked to the next street. Before I could even summon the courage to go looking for an ojek, one came to me. A young man on a bike pulled up to the curb with the familiar, "Ojek, Miss?" Why not? I did a quick check of the bike (looking for what, I don't know), asked him the fare to the mall, and took the helmet from his hands. And we were off!

We did all the things that ojeks do: weaved between cars in spaces that appeared only slightly bigger then my foot, rode up over sidewalks, and came close enough to buses that I could have shaken hands with the passengers who hung from the doorway. I kept a cool facade, but my inner monologue sounded something like this: "Please don't let me die. My mother is going to kill me. Huzzah! I'm going to want those kneecaps later.  Please don't let me die. Do I hold on to him? Bus! Nice move. Haha...suckers. Maybe I'll just hold on back here. Please don't let me die"

Despite all my reservations, I arrived safely at my destination in a mere 30 minutes (it could easily have been four times that in a taxi). I paid my driver and walked away with the same grin and feeling I have any time I figure out one more piece of Jakarta. I did it. Slowly, I'm finding my way to be independent in this crazy metropolis. Just don't tell my mother.