Jonthon In Indo

Pre-perpisahan at UNIMED

2011-06-10T01:52:00.000+07:00

I have written this letter as a farewell speech, which I intend to deliver this weekend while in Parapat. I repatriate in only one more week. =/

Dear friends and family of Medan:

To my Muslim friends, assalam alaikum. To my Christian friends, shalom! I am writing this letter to thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives this year. As a part of the UNIMED family, I have been so happy to be surrounded by so many accepting, thoughtful, and kind-hearted people. In a most Indonesian fashion, let me begin by asking for your forgiveness for my mistakes: for the days I was grumpy, for when I caused you to have to do more work, for every time I challenged you or argued with you and caused you stress. As you know, I’m a critical/analytical person, and can be very judgmental…tapi tidak ada yang sempurna di dunia ini, termasuk saya sendiri, tentu saja. For every occasion that I was wrong, thank you for teaching me.

I like to think I learn something every day. I like living in Indonesia because every day is a challenge, and it guarantees that I am constantly learning. In Medan, people have a reputation for being keras. In my experience, that just means that people in Medan aren’t afraid to say what they think. All of you - my friends – proved that means nice things too. You go to extra efforts to let each other, and me, know that you care. You say nice things to help friends when they are sad or angry. You show genuine concern for each other. You are critical/analytical too, but I have a lot to learn from you kalau saya memang mau membesarkan hati ini. You are empathetic – you put yourselves in your abang’s or kakak’s shoes. You consider the people in your community – Batak, Melayu, Malaysian, American, Muslim, Christian, Clown, or other – to be your brothers and sisters, worthy of your love, your respect, and your time. Thank you for teaching me about how to be a more caring person.

Also, thank you for helping me learn more bahasa. Thanks for helping me learn to ride a motorcycle (and tartig!). Thank you for letting me learn about Indonesian university culture. Thank you for taking me to museums, and waterfalls, and pesantrens, and klalpukat parties. Thank you for sharing your delicious food with me. Thank you for letting me come to your houses and meet your families. Thank you for helping me when I did stupid things, and for helping me when I had good ideas. Thank you for trusting me to do and say whatever I wanted, and asking me questions when I confused you. Thank you for telling me when I made a mistakes (mistakes are how we learn, after all!). Thank you for any prayers you have said for me, especially since you all know I personally am not one to pray. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for questioning, discovering, arguing, celebrating, and learning with me. I grew so much this year in Medan, and each one of you played a part in making me a calmer, more open-minded, more understanding person. Every one of you is my teacher.

I will miss you. I wish I could just stay in Medan, and if it was my choice, I hope you know I would not be leaving. Next year I will have a new adventure, and make new friends, in Banda Aceh. Namun, noworrieslah – Saya tidak akan jauh dari Medan. Bulan September saja saya akan kembali ke sini dan bertemu sama keluarga Medan saya lagi. Tahun depan, saya akan sering ke sini, insyAllah. (Amiiiiin!) Apabila ada konferensi, ada workshop, atau hanya ada konser, tolong mengajak saya. I hope to remain a part of your lives forever. Forever starts today.

dengan hormat dan sakit hati,
Jonthon

NII: storm on the horizon?

2011-06-01T18:25:00.000+07:00

NII - Negara Islam Indonesia. It's been coming up in the news more and more often recently, which could be read as a good thing - the organization is being made to look ridiculous, traitorous and deceptive in the public eye. But is this just a best attempt to keep at bay the oncoming storm?

NII seeks to create a new, devoutly Muslim Indonesia. They denounce of the presiding government. They apparently recruit at high schools and colleges. They convince recruits to pay up to Rp 6 juta (~$660) per month in tribute to assure themselves a "plot in heaven." This is an absurd amount of money in this country, and has thus resulted in petty theft. The radically conservative brand of Islam also turns children against their own parents, which are cast as infidels, and this is what has led to parent complaints in such volume that regional governors are having closed-door meetings about accused school principals and others.

Who knows what is true? Who knows how real this threat is? But I've heard enough at this point to post about it, and to say that this is not the Indonesia I love, and I am confident that this is not the path that my Indonesian friends want to see their country head down. I'm including some links below for those interested in reading more; note that they are all from the Jakarta post because that paper publishes in English.

Students brainwashed at Islamic School
Police probe suspects over links to NII
NII Regional leaders tried for extortion, treason
Babysitter arrested for alleged jewelry theft

On Corruption in SumUt

2011-02-26T12:36:00.002+07:00

North Sumatra Home to Country’s Most Corrupt Officials

The methodology for gauging levels of corruption here is pretty invalid. Corruptors don't self-report, but comparing regions based on how much money those caught had swindled? This is actually a very backward way of measuring it, because it is now a factor of the amount of corruption AND how serious it is being policed. A SumUt spokesman actually gave voice to this in the article itself:

“Just the opposite, actually,” Edi said. “The high number of cases [in North Sumatra] shows that we are serious about tackling corruption.”

I mean, think about how much bigger Jakarta is, not only by way of size, but specifically with regard to financial capital. Certainly, in raw numbers, you would expect levels of corruption in Jakarta to be higher. This study didn't find that, and I'm guessing that is because there was less enforcement, and thus less arrests in Jakarta. I just find it hard to believe that Jakarta's corruptors grossed less in Rupiah than did Medan's.

One thing is for certain - implicating governors and other elected officials is important, but until there is a substantive change in election procedures - namely, by increasing transparency in funding and expenditures - I gather it would be hard for anyone to compete without accept dirty money. =/

American corruption, being more sophisticated and thus harder to measure, can't really be compared...but I'll cap by saying that if we are going to involve ourselves in matters of governance and corruption here in Indonesia (and by all regards, we should!), we should be just as or more willing to turn that critical eye back on the lobbying industries and policies in our own country!

(written in response to a friend's fb posting)

Banda Aceh

2011-02-06T11:52:00.001+07:00

I just got back from Aceh. After the tsunami, USAID brought a bunch of our tax money there and laid it on the ground to make some of the best roads I've ever seen in Indonesia. They also twisted up a bunch of the change into satellites, thereby rendering Banda Aceh a veritable haven of internet cafes and wifi. Living there won't be so bad after all, given these truths - thanks American taxpayers! (No, sincerely - people in Banda Aceh are openly thankfully to the help from the international community, and specifically to USAID. I don't know if we all realize what happens with our taxes, but in this instance, we should all be proud!)
On a more serious note, though, driving around on those roads is something of a mind trip. There is a huge boat, kapal Apung, which just sits right in the middle of a neighborhood a few kilometers inland. The waves were so big that they carried a massive ship several meters inland. People told me about driving down what was left of the main street the next day and seeing naked bodies everywhere; there are four mass graves in Aceh, and people just go to the one closest to where their relative or loved one probably was at the time to pay their respects, because no one knows where any particular body was laid to rest. These stories are told with smiles and a lack of sadness, which is either a result of PTSD, a general Indonesian approach to life, or some combination thereof. The city still demonstrates that it was and is only just recently picking itself back up. The things students write in essays is the stuff of gold, but what's the value of gold when obtaining it required losing every member of their family except, in one particular instance, an older sister.
Which brings me to the why I went up there in the first place: I was asked by the American Consulate General to go to Komisi Beasiswa [Scholarship] Aceh and work with twenty-five students, all hand-selected by the government to go to grad school in America on scholarships. The kids were great. Their majors ranged from aquaculture to urban development to food processing to petroleum engineering to law to TESOL. Unfortunately, they were not particularly well-prepared for the college application process, and since it's already February, I helped them write statements of purpose (which are GREAT now!) and get registered for tests...but its going to be an up-mountain battle for them this next couple of weeks. I also got to know them all personally, and while I hope they manage to go to grad schools next year, I take solace in knowing that if anything goes wrong, I'll get to be their friends next year as I work with them to apply again for the 2012-2013 school year. Actually, conversing with them was a good way to learn about Aceh - they aren't necessarily a representative sample, as they are well-educated, most have studied outside of Aceh in many cases, and many traveled to other countries...but they are keenly interested in what Aceh is to become, and capable of talking about these dreams in English. They dispelled many of my stereotypical understandings of Aceh, fed to me as much by other Indonesians as by the Western press. Actually, Banda Aceh didn't seem that conservative to me. Plenty of people were not wearing jilbab, there was a telling amount of talk about marijuana (Aceh is as synonymous with pot as it is with the tsunami), and a wealth of warnets with wifi. In short, it defied expectations.
Which is good, since I'll be living there. The school I'll be working at, Institusi Agama Islam Negeri Ar-Raniry, hasn't actually been rebuilt yet, so they rent space out of another university. There are only three classrooms in the English department. Thankfully, they do all have electricity (outlets, anyway...). In addition to taking English courses and exams, students at Ar-Raniry must also memorize several sections of Al Qur'an pertaining to language in order to graduate. I'll withhold judgment for now, and just take solace in knowing that I stand to learn a lot. I asked Khairil, the guy who will be my counterpart, to find me housing in Blower, the coolest area of town, and he's already searching. It makes me happy to know I'll have another competent counterpart. Aceh is a solidly middle-sized town, where everyone seems to know or know of one another, and it'd be hard to get lost. All the NGOs left after 5 years, so there will be less bules to meet, for better and worse. It seemed to me that life in the town is slowing down, and the Acehnese are starting to retake the reins. They are doing it. I'll be around to help them, I suppose.

[I edited so many essays over the last three days that my mind is mush, and I can't even bother to proofread this entry, much less improve upon it. Forgive me. But my New Years' resolution is to start writing meaningfully and often, and now that I'm finally back home in Medan for the long-haul, I wanted to get started..!]

Angie Kilbane, Expatriate Teacher & 'Laskar Pelangi' Translator

2010-12-03T12:44:00.001+07:00

My friend Angie Kilbane was featured in the Jakarta Globe today! She's the best Indonesian-speaking American I know, she is committed to Indo education to the core, and she hooked into this culture on a myriad of levels. Coincidentally, she was also supposed to live with me in Majene during my year as an ETA!

Obama is Coming!

2010-11-08T16:13:00.002+07:00

I'm on a train from Bandung to Jakarta, looking out over rice paddies in various states of readiness for harvest, rubber tree plantations with little cups of white hanging off of them, and expansive, ever encroaching nature. Ubi jalar, a potato with marijuana-like leaves that are mostly green but for a few purple exceptions, are planted in the ditches next to the tracks to absorb the impact of the passing train's wind. Some miles west, Gunung Merapi spews ash and rock into the sky, coating the land with the magic chemicals that make Indonesian soil so incredibly productive. It also makes flight impossible, which is why I'm on this train, and not on the plane I was supposed to be on at 7 this morning.

The plane was headed to Medan, but this train is headed to Jakarta. Jakarta is further west, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to presume the departure city of my flight has been changed. But that's actually not correct. Rather, I'm heading to Jakarta so that I can attend Obama's speech at Universitas Indonesia this Wednesday. Postponed twice, some Indonesians believe he will cancel again. They've got cause - even this week, the event has been canceled and rescheduled. I managed to get a ticket from my organization, but then when it got rescheduled, I didn't have one, but then I got one again. As of right now, I have made significant alterations to my schedule, and it's all worth it just to have a chance to see Obama's speech, which I predict will be something of a follow-up to the speech he made in Cairo two years ago. Ironically, these changes won't cost me a thing, as I will stay with friends for free in Jakarta, my Rp. 15.000 ticket is being gifted to me, and I didn't have to buy a new plane ticket thanks to Merapi's eruption. Actually, that's not true. I did spend $6 to be on this train, which has all the aforementioned beauty right outside my window, and two electrical outlets right below it.

Everything's coming up rices!

//UPDATE: I was quoted in the Jakarta Globe today!\\

Bahaya

2010-10-09T16:50:00.003+07:00

Bahaya! Danger! Sumatra is a dangerous place to live. Doom seems to surround me, both temporally and geographically. The 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami tore into Sumatra's north and east coasts, nearly decimating Banda Aceh. In 2009, Padang was leveled by a 7.6-magnitude Earthquake. Within a month of my arrival, Mt. Sinabung - a volcano that had been dormant for 400 years - erupted. Shortly thereafter, armed gunmen (which the news referred to as terrorists) entered a police station at night, gunned down three officers, and got away. This is the post no mother wants to read.

Every time I travel abroad, I have to endure safety briefings that are always very general (read: unspecific), and which usually effect to suggest that anyone who lives the U.S. is batshit insane. Then I arrive and realize that, compared to Harlem and the South Bronx, my destinations aren't really that crazy. Actually, I never felt unsafe in Harlem or the Bronx, either. Maybe it's because I'm 6'2'', 200 pounds and athletic enough to discourage would-be bad guys. Or maybe the world isn't actually all that dangerous a place, and people like me forget that safety briefings are by their very nature an overview of various worst-case scenarios.

My life in Medan Tembung is pretty low key thus far. I teach from 8 to 10 every day, then usually hang around until around 4, mostly because I can talk to people. I take becak = motorcycle taxis to work in the morning, and either ride in Bu Tjut's car or on Pak Indra's motorcycle on my way back. (Sometimes I walk to or from work, just for the exercise!) When I am at home, I lift a set of dumbbells, jump rope, play on the internet, or organize projects. I generally eat fried rice or noodles and copious amounts of delicious fruits, whether I am at a restaurant or at home. At home specifically, though, I drink lots of little yakult yogurts, for the protein, for the probiotics, and for the taste. Sometimes, I go to a mall to shop for something I've decided I need. I guess this is one of the most dangerous things I do - I go to malls.

The Embassy advises us to do things like "Stay vigilant at all times" and "Vary the routes you take and times you travel. Be unpredictable." They don't include things like "Wash your fruits and vegetables with dish soap before you eat them" and "Use hand sanitizer frequently." Their solutions for keeping mosquitoes at bay seem pretty naive once one has become a mosqassin.

I guess my point is that the danger I actually encounter is of a very different nature. Someone who teaches on the floor above me died in a motorcycle accident today; mati satu, tumbuh seribu (dead one, grow 1,000). One of the ETAs was voted out of her neighborhood because her neighbors were concerned she might be targeted by terrorists. The other day, while walking to work, I heard a small bang, and as I approached the source of the sound, I saw a cat with one eye out of its socket jerking violently as it circled in death throes. As Vonnegut would say, "so it goes."

There is so much life here that the everyday danger seems to just be accepted, for better or worse. America eliminated many such safety hazards by laying pavement over our natural environment and sanitizing everything to such an extent that our children have almost no natural bacterial colonies. In fairness, we also passed tough safety laws in construction and urban development, and then created enforcement agencies to ensure that such laws bore some teeth. I don't think many Americans realize how lucky we are that building just about anything requires permits, governmental oversight, and quality control. (Here is where I could easily extrapolate the argument to our physical selves and make a pitch for the importance of governmental regulation in health care!)

Sumatra is a dangerous place. The entire world, in the age of terrorism and antibiotic-resistant bacteria and rising ppm levels, is a death trap. We all have to choose how we will process these facts. I have decided not to allow fear to dominate my horizon. As Tupac Shakur once noted, "through every dark night, there's a bright day after that."

ESEMKA

2010-10-02T21:34:00.002+07:00

Very cool. Some students at an SMK (a vocational school, like what I taught at in Majene) in the city of Malang created a car! ESEMKA is both the name of the car, and the way SMK is pronounced phonetically.

This is great for two reasons:
-Vocational education is going to be very important to the nation as the develop. SMKs have the potential to meaningfully train the types of people who I think often do the most important work in any society.
-If Indonesians can create a low-cost car that is built in-country, it will bring considerable wealth and additional mobility to their country. India is struggling - maybe Indonesia can sneak in on the low-end car market?

Yon the Liar

2010-10-01T15:25:00.000+07:00

It's been a month, and I am still sleeping on a bed wrapped in plastic. My desk supplied still sit on the floor, awaiting a desk and drawers. A full view of my house is still available through my curtain-less windows.

"This is Indonesia." Said to me as though progress is a simple impossibility, said with a smile in the hopes that I'll understand. But our cultures are not actually all that different: people shirk responsibilities and maximize their leisure time everywhere in the world. And I understand - I do it too!

But a month of sleeping on plastic is a bit ridiculous. At two weeks, I finally asked people in my department for the number of the guy at the "White House" who is responsibility for getting me a bed. The man's name is Yon. I called him. He was noncommittal, but pretty positive on the phone. Here's one cultural difference: Americans are just a little more willing to make concrete plans. We kind of agreed on the next day, but then he didn't answer his phone when that day arrived. He didn't answer his phone the following day, which was a Friday, and he didn't respond to a text. In fact, he didn't respond to any of my calls or texts for an entire week.

So today, I went to Yon's office to find him. It took some work - he's a travelin' man, and I get an idea that there's a reason for that. When I found him, I asked straightaway why he hadn't responded to any of my SMSs, or answered any of my calls. He said his phone was not active. I then asked him when I would get my bed and desk. He pretty abruptly turned his attention to Pak Indra, my friend in the English department, choosing to speak in Indonesia, or perhaps better stated, to speak with someone who shares his cultural value of face-saving/unwillingness to make a commitment.

I picked up my phone. I opened my contacts. I scrolled to Yon. I placed a call. And wouldn't you know it, his phone rang!

As he picked it up, I asked, "bapak baru berkata hapenya tidak aktif. Kenapa bapak membohong?" (Sir just said his phone isn't active. Why did sir lie?) He looked at me, confused. I showed him my phone. "Yang baru nelpon, itu saya, bapak!" (That which just called, it was me, sir!)

The conversation got as sticky as you might imagine it would, and then he promised that by the end of the day tomorrow, I would have both a bed and a desk. He then asked if I would give him English lessons; I replied by asking if his wife would cook for me every night.

A invitation to come practice English in my office, a high five, and a handshake later, everyone was smiling. This is another cultural difference, I suppose.

UPDATE: I am not surprised at all to report that Yon ignored all my calls today, and I am as yet without a new bed or desk. Fridays are busy days here - mid-day prayer makes it an unofficial weekend day. Also, today was "Kesaktian Pancasila" (The Invincible Five Beliefs of Indonesia), so there was a big military-esque formation I and most staff members attended. Thus, I'm going to give Yon Monday. At 10am, I will go to his office. If he isn't ready to make it happen, then I'll drop some weight and talk to his boss, Pembantu Rektor Berlin. Some might suggest that I am being overly aggressive, that I am not being respectful of the cultural dynamic - I would remind them that I sleep upon a bed wrapped still in plastic, that a month has passed, and that this man is nothing more (or less!) than...Yon the Liar.

Everything changes...

2010-09-19T12:34:00.001+07:00

So much of my life is transition. Permanence seems forever to escape me. I was anxious to get out of insular Troy, IL. I blossomed in Columbia, and felt ripped from my roots by the needs of my iniquitous society. New York City honed me like a punji stake (look it up), but I loved the kids who shared it with me, and we all holler "Harlem," "Bronx," "Brooklyn" with a pride no one who hasn't lived there will ever understand. (Hell, sometimes I think even we don't understand it!)

Indonesia has, then, for me, been this fertile field in which I can grow, blossom...become. Cultural relatives and absolutes. Redefinition of self. Understanding what I made of myself, and what I am at my core. Indonesia bared my own soul unto myself, and made it possible for me to change anything else. Most of that process of discovery took place in my home-away-from-home, my kampung, my Majene.

It had been 16 months since I left Majene. I'll admit, the town holds a very special place in my heart. Getting back there was a longing I never quite tuned out completely while in New York last year. I damn near got in an email war with my new boss over getting back there. On September 7th, however, I returned at last - alhamdulillah.

Nothing remains the same. Troy is much bigger than it was when I lived there (but we still haven't developed that TIFF district!). Columbia has rotated through several classes of students, and like an ocean replaces an entire beach, so too has the university there replaced (almost) my entire social network. New York City is too dynamic to experience nearly anything twice; my third year there was nothing like my first two. Even little Majene, in rural Indonesia, has changed.

Some of the changes were for the best. A long dock built at Pantai Berane made it possible for me to jump repeatedly from 10 feet up into the ocean. New construction at my school will allow SMK1 Majene to accomodate more technology students, and provide meaningful education for even more kids. Somba has a new collection of warungs that serve kelapa muda (young coconut). My friend Maspar married and has a baby on the way.

Some of the changes were for the worst. One of the ETAs there couldn't seem to help himself, and drank alcohol on the streets in front of children, thereby tarnishing the image of America that Katie and I had formed, and giving rise to a million questions I'd never been asked before. My side of the home Katie and I shared is now occupied by a bank owner, which will be an awkward living situation for the new ETA, as the house is a duplex. A special someone entered a relationship.

But then, some things don't change. My friend Misba is still going fishing, and I got to spend an entire night (until 4am) with him on the dock in the ocean. The jepa and tuing-tuing at warung 11 are still the best in the world. English club still exists (kind of, though perhaps I should have counted that as a change for the best AND worst). People still care about each other in Majene. It's still insulated from the rapid changes the rest of the world seems to be convinced are necessary.

No way around it: Majene is changing. Like me, it is in a constant state of transition, and the memories I have belong now to the past. They are nowhere to be found but in the memories of myself and those who had the experiences with me. There is a sadness I feel in reflecting on this fact: a loss, a need to preserve. A conservatism, even. I find myself asking whether the rapid absorption of western culture flies in the face of real, meaningful cultural exchange. As Gandhi said, "there is more to life than increasing its speed."

But this is the world I inherited: computers, advanced weaponry, post-political apathy, reality television and pop music. I try to compare the feeling to what my teachers must have felt as my generation rode around on rollerblades listening to Tupac Shakur on our way to golden, fattening arches. I wonder if they felt how I feel now.

I take solace in knowing that rollerblades are a thing of the past. I still wish Tupac hadn't been killed, while I simultaneously believe that he is on a yacht with Biggie somewhere. I begrudge Ronald McDonald even as he is litigated against for marketing saturated fats to another generation - but this time a global one. In all of this dichotomy, I see cultural fracture. An inability to control that I could just as easily call freedom as anarchy. And I ask, is this what we want for our world?

And then I realize: there's no other way.

But at least it goes more slowly in Majene.

My first post from Medan!

2010-09-03T10:21:00.001+07:00

In only a week, I've really been able to hit the ground running. I have my house pretty much completely set up, as well as an office. I didn't want my own office, but I was able to get the IT guy (who has a rocking British accent) and my counterpart (who is actually REALLY cool!) in my room, along with a conference table where students can sit to talk and leaf through ELF materials. I have also managed to get an internet connection wired to my desk, but its spotty through most of the day, as we have about 4GB of bandwidth for the whole university. =/
I have now taught all five of my classes. I teach sophomores in pendidikan (education) and sastra (applied linguistics). For the first week, we discussed the rules and my grading system, I had them fill out a survey while I took their pictures, I gave them each a "kiky" notebook to make a "buku kata-kata" with, and then we played a game. I will spend the vacation trying to put names from surveys with faces from pictures. There're only about 200. Wish me luck!
I have now acquired my letter from the Police Station, and my KITAS and passport will be returned to me today (they are already at the University). I only had to go to the police station once, and was in and out because I pretended I couldn't speak a lick of Indonesian. The immigration office, however, has been something of a second home for me: I've been there three times, and spent over an hour there on two of those three occasions. Thankfully, I should be done with all that now, just in time to leave for Makassar, and onward to Majene, where I'll celebrate the great day of Idul Fitri with my second family. The only thing I am waiting for now is laundry; I found a place near my house that will give me express service on 8.5kg/68 pieces/3 weeks' worth of laundry for only Rp. 76.500, or about $8. =) I pick that up at 2 today.
Perhaps one of the most important things I have done thus far happened two nights ago. I had contacted the Consulate General, Stanley Harsha, a week ago, and he invited me to attend buka puasa at his house on the 1st. As Paul, the ELFellow who will be stationed in Palembang, was in town for his orientation, he also was in attendance. We participated in a discussion about the International Music Festival tentatively being planned for late February. I met the Consulate Generals of Malaysia and India, as well as a dancer from the Medan arts community, the Head of Tourism and Culture for the City of Medan, the staff of KISS FM, and, of course, the American Consulate General, who speaks about four languages and seems to just generally be a polymath. Particularly, his bahasa is better than mine, and he really has his finger on the pulse. He talked about getting me on the radio and getting me up to Aceh to give presentations, amongst other things, and I'll be glad to help out and take instruction from someone who's so keyed in. It won't be to much of a burden either, given that I work a 10-hour work week thus far!

Chasing the Sun...

2010-08-21T00:46:00.002+07:00

It's 5:30 in the morning, and I'm looking out over thousands of little stars. From the 40th floor of this Manhattan condominium, I take in for one last time the grandeur of the skyscrapers that I've tunneled under and walked around for the past year. The sun will rise soon, and by then I'll have boarded a bus to return to Washington, D.C. By the time that same sun sets, I'll be in Tucson, Arizona.

Ramadan started just a week ago, and this is my third year of fasting in solidarity. When fasting, I consume no water or food while the sun is in the sky, "until the white and the black thread separate." The sun has become an orienting point for me as I prepare to jump time zone to time zone to time zone. As I move westward to the East, I chase a retreating sun.

The sun rises in Tucson, and I'm climbing Tumamoc with Katie Bruhn and her friend Benten. From the top, all of Tucson spreads itself out from the base of a string of peaks with Spanish names. At the bottom, a park ranger chastises us for ignoring the signs saying that we can only hike at night. I guess I'll just have to break some rules if I want to breathe in these great vistas of America one more time. It all looks so different - from skyscrapers or hilltops or airplanes, like the one I'm sitting in as I type - America's land is as diverse as its population.

I'm flying from Phoenix to San Fran. I woke before the sun again today. I packed one last time. I ate some cereal. I reflected on all the things I'd recently done for the last time in a long time. I was quieter than usual. I didn't feel excited; I felt anxious. I'm anxious now. I'm flying to Indonesia.

Al Qur'an clearly exempts travelers from fasting. This is good, because after 32 hours of travel, I'll arrive in a place where what I used to call days will always be nights, and vice versa. Jakarta. Indonesia. Indonesia! I'll be excited when I again set foot in Indonesia.

It's been 14 months since I was last there. In the meanwhile, I finished my Masters in Journalism and took four classes to acquire my Masters in the Science of Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages. That's what I needed to apply for the State Department Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs' English Language Fellow Program. This was my dream.

Speaking of dreams, I'm not sure how to break up my sleeping pattern over the course of the next four flights. Surely a lot of this really will feel like a dream. One of the last movies I saw in America was Inception, and I find myself wondering whether or not maybe all of this IS a dream. Its humbling to realize where I am right now in my life. I stand on the shoulders not of giants, but of thousands of kind-hearted people. If you're reading this, you're probably one of them. Again, thank you.

It will be 8:25 in the morning on August 21st when I touch down in Indonesia. In one week, I'll have been in New York City, Washington D.C., Tucson, Phoenix, San Francisco, Tokyo, Singapore, and Jakarta. I'll be tired and unable to sleep. I'll be amazed and finally excited. I'll be homesick and disoriented. I'll begin fasting once again. The sun will take over my schedule, and with it, my life will fall into the tidy little boxes I can't help but fold it into. Four more suns will float over me before I move yet again to Medan, and at long last, I will again have a home.

Home. Is it a house until I do something particular with it? I'll have ten months to figure this out. Ten months of teaching university students to speak better English and teach in new ways. Ten months to explore this country and myself. It wasn't enough last time; why do I think it will be now? How long will it be until the homesickness catches up with me? Can I just outrun it, like I have the sun?

IDR vs USD

2010-07-19T02:16:00.002+07:00

I lived in Indonesia during a boom year. I likely won't be so lucky this time...

Email subscriptions!

2010-06-22T06:20:00.003+07:00

On August 19th, 2010, I will move back to Indonesia. This time around, I will be living in Medan, which translates to "battlefield" in both Arabic and Indonesian. But this will be no battle - I'm set for the time of my life!

In an attempt to share my stories to friends in all corners of the world, I've created a "feedburner." To keep things simple, let's just say that every time I write a new post, you can have it *automatically* sent to your inbox! You can do so any time by just scrolling to the bottom of my blog (try it!), but for limited time only, I've made it SUPER-EASY. Just enter your address below!

Indonesian 2-year old smoking

2010-06-05T20:28:00.002+07:00

This Indonesian 2-year old smoking is mildly disconcerting...

An unwritten letter

2010-03-31T02:24:00.000+07:00

For next year’s ETA

Water acquisition
List of Left-behinds
Careful about kids in house – money, pulsa transfer
Hot water spongebath
Internet at SMK2 (sometimes)
Laundry – Pu’a
Student list (good at English)
Washing machine
Gelael
Piposs
Shopping in Majene/things you’ll need
Pasar hours and costs
Ojeks, becaks, pete2, motorcycle?
Map of Majene, labeled: places to eat, salebose, dato, berane, kios kembar, pulsa place, toko dewi, toko sulawesi, pasar tradisi, mesjid agung, assamaleuang, pengali-ali, stasiun polisi, smk1, sma2, somba
List of people and phone numbers – pak haswin, adil, maspar, as’ad, qaddafi, latarisi, hasdiniyah, nursamsyul, juna, indah, siti, anhar, niar, ria, whied, justman, aby, ashariah, saiful, ahmad amin, bupati, neighbor, muli, rosa

Phones and internet
Ramadan and fasting
English club
Rado station
Mati lampu
Tempe
Raket nyamuk/bugs
Haircuts and facials

Faintings, Absences and Allegations of Cheating as exams begin

2010-03-23T08:45:00.002+07:00

I was very concerned to read this article, which indicates that about 25 students at SMK 2 Majene did not show up for their final examination, and will thus fail. (They can take a retest in May, fortunately).

SMK2 is where I used to go to use the internet (when there was internet to use).

What is fasting for 30 days like?

2009-09-21T12:34:00.000+07:00

Oversimplifications starve us of understanding.

Many of my friends, upon hearing that I was fasting, asked if I had converted to Islam. So first, for the sake of full disclosure, I have not. But my reasons for fasting are (at least theoretically) the same as that of my Muslim friends:

To understand what is a reality for impoverished people worldwide, who *can't* eat.
To identify the advantages I was born with, and be more humble about the accomplishments I've made simply because I've had these privileges.
To gain some appreciation for the simple things in life

During Ramadhan, Muslims engage in zakat, or charitable donation. It is one of the five pillars of Islam. Often this comes in the form of food for the poor.

Last week, in Pakistan, someone was giving out bags of flour. Pakistan is a Muslim country, but the audience of women there probably hadn't eaten due simply to the shortage of food that plagues the impoverished nation. As the flour was thrown out, the women stampeded, and 18 people were stomped out of existence. That story is nonfiction. I can only empathize. I have never known a hunger that would lead me to kill, to fight for a simple bag of flour.

In hearing stories like the one above, it is hard not to reflect on other important social forces that have enabled me to be fit of body and strong of mind. Born into a middle-class family, I saw dentists and doctors regularly. I got weekly shots for my allergies when I was a child. My brother received chemotherapy for nearly a year, and because of our family's relative privilege, he is still a part of our lives today.

In the town I lived for the last year, there were cats on the mattresses at the local hospital. A young boy in my town broke his arm very severely, and opted to go see a dukun (a spiritual healer) over a licensed doctor. The dukun rubbed ointment and herbs on his ulna, and instructed him to point his hand earthward between his legs until it healed. When I met the child three days later, his wrist was incredibly swollen with old blood, and the area around the offshoot of bone was numb. I set his arm in a cast I made from a woman's scarf, and sent him some pain reliever. When I returned a week later, I found that he had removed the scarf the next day, as per the dukun's instructions. His arm is now noticeably bowed, with knotty calcium deposits around the breakage. Some may say this is a "natural" or "homeopathic" alternative, but my initial thought was that it reflects a lack of medical schools and doctors due to a lack of governmental funding. Having been born in America, I grew up with an understanding that I had access to well-trained primary care physicians and emergency hospitals, and that if I got sick or hurt really bad, they would make me better. (I also received a tax-supported education - but I could write an entire book on that.) Dukun, to me, meant "quack."

Now a little older and (hopefully) wiser, I realize that my judgment came from a place of privilege. Sure, we have better health care in America (though there's certainly some room for improvement), and government funding for international student exchange made it possible for me to be in this Muslim fishing village in the first place. But judge not, lest ye be judged: here I was judging a kid and a "quack" for ignoring some foreigner's strange scarf solution...shouldn't I have been trying to make sense of cultural and spiritual relationships that I clearly did not understand?

The Fulbright program ramped up ETA placements to several Muslim-majority countries in the wake of the war in Iraq. Turkey, Indonesia, and Malaysia all saw increases in the number of English Teaching Assistants coming to country, and that flavor of Fulbright grant was also brought recently to India. Clearly, part of the luck involved in my government selecting me to go to India to 2005, and now to be in Indonesia, was due to the misconceptions and miscommunication existing between my country and the Muslim world. As a Missourian, I certainly have friends who openly express their Islamophobia, and their ignorance of foreign cultures, from time to time. In this light, my good fortune came with a responsibility: to learn about the lifestyle of the people I'd been placed with for the year, nonjudgmentally, and to help people back home see that we have more in common than in difference.

And that brings me to why I am writing this today. I want to tell you all about my experience fasting for Ramadan. I'm sure you've heard of it, and have some vague notions about what it entails. But what exactly does it mean to fast for Ramadan?

Every morning, before the sun rises, I wake up and eat sahur, the morning meal. After the sun rises, I cannot eat or drink anything - even water - until it sets. The times for sunrise and sunset (fajr and iftar, respectively) are listed on calendars you can get online or at a nearby masjid. (I was surprised to learn of and have actually attended two iftars here in New York City over the course of the last month!) Because the Muslim calendar is lunar, the dates of Ramadan aren't always the same, and one big difference for me this year was that, being farther from the equator and in the tail end of summer, our days were much longer than the near-perfect 6:30am - 6:30pm days of Majene. Thus, as of August 22, I was fasting for about 14 hours a day. But as fall neared, the sun would rise progressively later and set progressively earlier with each passing day. On September 21st, the last day of Ramadhan, I woke at 5:26 am, and broke fast for the last time of the year alone at home at 6:58 pm. The last night of Ramadhan is often celebrated, and this is called a "takbiran." All night, there are parades and fireworks and community events, some of which I managed to capture with my video camera. Indeed, the fireworks in my "Goodbye, Majene" video are from that night, which I reflect on longingly. The next week will be that of Eid-ul-Fitr, a week of celebration and visiting of one another's houses for "sillaturahim," or polite visits to say hello, and request forgiveness for any ills or offenses committed over the past year. About 70 days later, goats, cows and chickens will be killed in the halal style for Eid-ul-Adha.

Deprived of food, my mind became hungry for details such as these. As week three rolled in, I started to feel a distinct difference in perception. I felt calmer, more alert. I no longer felt especially hungry. Part of Ramadhan comes with the quelling of one's passions - especially anger and lust. I think this part of the fasting is actually much harder, and much more purposeful. By week four, my mind just seemed generally to move more slowly. Perhaps surprisingly, I don't mean that in a bad way. The rat race of New York City, the 70-hour work-week followed by night class, moving all of my belongings without having eaten or drank anything for many hours - they were all now fodder for reflection on a meta-level. In some senses, I may have been going through the motions - but are those motions important? Many of the things I do in a day, I began to see, are not especially productive uses of my time. My racing thoughts sometimes plague me; the calm quietude of mind that beset me at the end of Ramadhan wasn't exactly unwelcome. Speaking of calm quietude, I decided to pray tarawih one time during Ramadhan. Tarawih is the special prayer for Ramadhan, and consists of twenty rakats (something akin to what footballers might recognize as gassers or up-downs, except they are slower and more uncomfortable for the ankles). I chose to do this at a Bengali masjid in the Bronx with Mahmud, a former student who is now a freshman at NYU. First, we broke fast with juice (the prophet recommends breaking one's fast with something sweet; he usually ate dates) and a rice and chicken dish. Then we performed wudhu - the act of purification in which you wash your nose, mouth, face, hands and arms up to the elbows, hair and ears, then ankles. Then we proceeded to the prayer room, where an imam was leading prayer. Standing elbow to elbow, toes on the fourth line of green tape behind the imam, with lights low and fans gentling swirling the air, we crossed our right arm over our left, leaned over in near-unison, then touched our foreheads to the floor in submission to Allah.

Only, I wasn't submitting to anything. My conception of God is not one that I must submit to. My conception of God is intentionally poorly defined, as I don't think the concept can be brought to words. In fact, it may not even exist. But in the process of evolution, in the laws of gravity and thermodynamics, in the changing of the leaves, in the circle of life, it is hard for me not to see a significant thread of miracles that point me that way. An atheist might say that, given the infinite number of galaxies and planets, this result would be inevitable, and I would agree with him. And then I would begin to wonder what other reason there would be for such infinitude, all born out of a single atom in a big bang. Maybe that's all god is to me. In a chronology of the entire world that fits on the back page of a single book, human existence occupies a space the width of a single human hair. And in that time, we have ravaged its environmental systems, divided ourselves in war and killing (often in the name of God), abusively drawn upon the resources of the planet in an effort to create wealth and disparity, and built walls such as those in Berlin or the West Bank to rend our human family along spiritual or sociopolitical lines. If this world was created by (a) God, its ability to sustain us clearly wasn't guaranteed. If we are hoping to continue our stay here, we will all have to make some sacrifices, hurdle our own biases, and start taking responsibility for all the things God is purported to have given us. Human Beings, evolved and imperfect, have the whole wide world in their hands. And hand in hand, day by day, we can make it a better place.

...will we drop it?

[[This article cross-posted and commented upon on my facebook page, which is publicly viewable.]]

Makassar gets an amusement park

2009-09-16T11:02:00.001+07:00

of course this is built AFTER I leave the area...:

news.makassarterkini.com

thoughts as I endure a 32-hour layover

2009-06-12T18:26:00.000+07:00

I think I can continue to be happy in America, but our culture certainly doesn't support genuinely happiness, opting rather to work us to the bone then commodify us into contentment. Bah!

Leaving Indonesia... =(

2009-05-29T12:34:00.002+07:00

I woke up early and repacked just a little more (which seems silly, since I would eventually end up repacking once again at the airport). Adit walked with me to a tiki office, where I sent a package to my school which included a note to Indah. Then we went to a nice little restaurant near his house where we s on the floor, had cheap, delicious food, and superfast internet - perhaps some of the fastest I've used in Indo thus far. Just before we got in a taksi, I bought a new SIM card, since my old one is having many problems. I got it working in the car though, for long enough to transfer almost all my credit to the new card using Samson's phone. When we got there, Samson went to a different terminal, which sucks, because I could have sent my bag along with him (he only had one). I had to wait for other ETAs to arrive, but I found them down near the Starbucks. We eventually circled the luggage wagons and had something of a pow-wow. Eventually, we checked in, and I ended up having to pay $64 of overages. That equates to paying for only 15 of my 40 extra pounds. Still, the only reason I was over was because this airline has decided to way carry-on baggage as well, thereby setting a total for the amount of weight I can transport. This seems dumb, as I carry, on my unweighed person, a lot more weight than many others who flew on the plane. It also seems stupid, because it made my bag of books quite an obstacle. Anyway, we got in, boarded our flight to Singapore, and in that airport, I dealt with declaring my knives. I think I was with the police for about 45 minutes, but since the attending officer's wife was Indonesian, and I was ever-polite, I managed to get them to declare my three knives as sports equipment, and I was on my way. On the other side of security, the ETAs who weren't flying directly home were chilling, drunk, waiting for day to break. As it did, they headed their different ways. I checked all my bags in long-term storage at the airport, and headed out on my own...back to Malaysia!

At Adit's

2009-05-28T12:34:00.004+07:00

There's really no way around it - Adit's cat is fat. They rescued Gentut off the street, and Gentut's eating disorder took over. The cat is well-behaved, anyway, and made me miss the Squeaker that much more. I played with Gentut and ate Adit's mom's delicious cooking - sayur asam, this time. Then I again repacked all my bags, having now looked up another set of weight limits. I also went to a travel agent to buy a ticket from Medan to Singapore for Rp 850.000, which is expensive, but not incredibly so. (That said, had I waited and done it from Medan, I wouldn't have been locked down on dates, and the cost would have been much the same). That evening, a bunch of us went to the cork and screw, and expensive western restaurant that had wine on the menu. I ate for cheap, and then headed home with Adit to try to habis the pernod. Samson went first to meet with Ulfa at a hotel to say goodbyes, but he joined us shortly thereafter. I think we all fell asleep cup in hand.

(Note, as of the time of writing, Adit's family has sold their sweet house, and moved to depok... =/)

2009-05-27T12:34:00.002+07:00

Chris's school came in big this morning with two vehicles to drive us all, and all our bags, to the airport. It was really a weird feeling leaving the house, knowing we'd definitely never be there again. If I ever go to that neighborhood again, it will be to relive memories - there won't be ETAs in Makassar next year. Driving out of the neighborhood also had that sort of awkward feeling, the feeling of conscious distance being built. At the airport, we all said goodbye to members of Chris's school. Without raining on anyone's parade, I think the relationships I had with SMK1's staff were just so incredibly strong, and the emotions just tint everything I'm experiencing with a light of loss.

Speaking of losing, it cost me Rp 280.000 to check big bags - and that didn't even account for three ridiculously other-stuffed carry-ons. I actually switched two of my bags that I intended to check, just based on their shaped and my ability to convincely carry the others as carry-ons. The woman actually gave me a discount, so that price is pretty nice - and she didn't say anything about my carry-ons. When I got upstairs, I had to go through security to get into my gate. I was kind of worried they'd say I had too much baggage, but as I put it on the track, all was good. But as my bags came out the other side, the scanner asked me if they could look in my bags. I indicated that they could in Indonesian, and then I quickly realized that, in switching my bags downstairs, I had ended up carrying two parangs and a goat-horn knife into the metal detector at an airport. Dumb, right? Bu as they asked me *why* I had them, I started to tell them about Majene, about my perpisahan, about the goat horn and eid ul adha, and then Islam - and that did it. They ended up checking my biggest bag free of charge, and got me on the plane first. And I made a new friend!

When I arrived in jakarta, I was the only one heading to Adit's. I got a cab to Jatiwaringin, and it seemed to take forever. Plus, as soon as I got off the plane, my phone started having trouble recognizing my SIM card. I got it working again though (little did I know, this will become a big problem). I was able to guide myself in to Jatiwaringin, as Adit wasn't yet home. I repacked my bags once again, and finished up some regifts to send to AMINEF with Samson. I finished reading Toer's Mute's Soliloquy and typed up my notes for it. The I rode to jalan Kemang, ate at Casa with Adit while simultaneously checking my internet, then headed over to smoke hookah. John, Samson, Tara and Rebecca later showed up. After hookah, we went to another bar to watch soccer at some English pub (Barcelona won!). Before we headed home for the night, we stopped over at a bubur shop for some midnight snacking.

Phosphorescence

2009-05-26T12:34:00.002+07:00

We got into Makassar in the early morning, as usual. Would this be our last piposs ride? After sleeping for a while, we got up, repacked our baggage, and went to Black Canyon Coffee (for the last time?) to use the internet. Anhar met us there; he has been studying for the TOEFL. I submitted my application to EF (English First) and made final arrangements for all the traveling I am about to do. Chris and Samson came up in time to jemput us to kios semarang, where we drank beers and watched the sun set over Makassar (for the last time?). Thin thin and Yanto joined us, and after we drank and ate, we headed to the sports bar, only to find it closed (it's apparently becoming a school?), and then we drove, in Thin Thin's van, to a nearby bay, where we skinnydipped in phosphorescent water. With every wave of a hand, the sea was excited with light. This was all the more thrilling given the fact that we were nude. Whoever has anything bad to say about skinnydipping has obviously never done so in warm ocean waters populated by phosphorescent plankton under a moonless night sky.

They drove us home over an hour later. Chris gave them a ridiculous amount of stuff that he and Samson had no intention o taking, but had not gifted beforehand. We didn't sleep until around 2:30am.

leaving Majene

2009-05-26T12:21:00.004+07:00

I have a lot to catch up on but no time. For now, I'll just share this:

I cried last night. Maybe wept is a better word. I wept through smiles, through the pain in my heart, onto the shoulders of friends and family as they embraced me. I'm not good at emotions. It just felt like a vice was being tightened on my sternum. All these friends, some wearing jilbabs, some speaking in broken English, wanting hugs...I always knew I'd have to, but leaving them was very hard...as one of my students said in a subsequent sms, "untuk setiap pertemuan, ada perpisahan" = for every hello, there is a goodbye. But I'm still about to cry again even as I write this. I promised them I will come back, and I will keep that promise.

----

from another friend, a Canadian living in Malaysia:

Yeah - goodbyes are tough...but it's a good thing to be sad about leaving a place/people...better than good riddance.

what she says about leaving is remarkably wise. When I lived and worked in the Bronx, and in Troy, Illinois, I left with a different feeling than when I did from my college town and here. I'm not that good with emotions, being something of a rationalist. This helps me make sense of all that.