Christmas in Indonesia

Christmas eve was probably the hardest day I've had here yet. I went to church with Miss Agnus, a Christian teacher at my school, and basically cried through the whole thing saying I had a cold. I was pretty miserable and just didn't want to be there. They sang a bunch of songs I didn't know and the Indonesian version of Silent Night. And, of course, I couldn't understand the sermon but they didn't seem to read the Christmas story which I thought was strange.

Christmas day wasn't much better. I continued crying in church and was just really happy when I could come home and pretend that it wasn't Christmas at all. Fairly easy to do in a Muslim country and so I went to see some traditional dance that evening with my Muslim friends.

Last week it was Javanese and Islamic new year so there were all kinds of activities that i will talk about in a future post. I am having some cultural fatigue so I am really looking forward to my three week vacation on Bali coming up on Jan 10. Bali is Hindu so the culture of that island is quite a bit different than here on Java. Also Bali is full of vacationing westerners so it will be awesome to have other Americans around, especially my VIA friends. After spending well over a month of training in July and Aug seeing those people every day, it will be great to be all together again.

idul-adha

I know I have been lazy with my blog lately, so I thought I'd give you all an update. Part of the reason I've been lazy is because the photo uploading speed seems to be slower than usual and my local internet place. So I decided to make a post without photos.

As it gets closer to christmas I am starting to feel more and more homesick, although it doens't actually feel like the holiday season at all. When I see the rare christmas tree or decoration it feels odd, like seeing a christmas tree in July. Afterall the weather here is exactly like it was when I arrived in August with the exception of their being more rain now. On Christmas day, my only plan is to go to church with the Christian woman i know. I apologize to everybody because you're not getting christmas cards or presents. It's impossible to find so much as a postcard in this town, Christmas cards are out of the question. And I just don't want to do anything that feels Christmasy. Becuase 1) it doesn't feel like christmas and 2) it would just make me unbareably homesick if it did.

Let's see, a few weeks ago some American friends of mine who are also volunteering with VIA came to visit me here in Ponorogo and we attended Idul-Adha festivities which involved the sacrifice and butchering of a goat. Or 6 goats to be presise. It was similaniously an interesting, disgusting, funny and delisious event. I'd never seen an animal butchered like that before. There's a definitely line when what you are seeing changes from a dead animal to meat. It made me thing a lot about American meat habits. I've always believed that if a person is so disgusted by raw meat that they are uncomfortable handling it and cooking it, they should really not be eating meat at all. I think it's important when we eat meat to acknowledge and be aware of the fact that yes, you're eating an animal. It used to be alive and moving and making sounds, it has bones and hair and a heart and intestines, just like you. If you can't handle that, don't eat it. don't pretend meat is no different than a potato. anyway, Indonesians know their meat is meat. It's impossible to ignore here. And they have no qualms about butchering together. At Idul-Adha, the men did the skinning and gutting and the women butchered the meat into mangable portions. The whole community gathered, children included. And they had a great time posing with the goat heads, playing with the goat organs and hacking through the goat bones. It was surreal.

This week is Islamic New Year so there are all kinds 0f interesting activities going on which I will try to photograph and upload

Photos of Ponorogo

My friends Ben and Marisa (also with VIA) came to visit Ponorogo last weekend and Ben took some great photos, which you can see here

Be warned that about half way through there are some graphic goat sacrifice photos so if you're not ok with seeing dead goats being skinned and cut up, just look at the first half of photos. I'll be writing more about the sacrifice later.

Zipline in the park with elementary students

A few weeks ago we took some of the elementary school students on a field trip to a local park for a day of fun learning activities. Here are some photos.


The students work in groups in a scavenger hunt type of thing


Two girls pose after their team wins the game


Miss Febri, my teaching partner, is explaining the rules


Working hard


Thinking


There was a zip line at the part and all the students were excited to try. We taught them to say "I did it!" when they finished.






After watching all my students and some of the teachers complete the zipline, I finally have in to peer pressure and agreed to do it. The worst part was the first part when you have to jump off the balcony thing. Otherwise it was fun

Students

Here are some photos of students of various ages

Being American in Indonesia

I don’t know a lot about Indonesia’s relationship with the US economically or politically, I have to admit. But I do know what it’s like to be the only white person in a very small Indonesian city and while I have experienced amazing hospitality and openness, I’ve also experienced some pretty weird racism. Not violent or even derogatory racism, but there is a certain uncomfortable attitude of reverence towards white people here. When I walk down the street, people yell “BULE!” (which means white person) at me as if it’s my name. The nicer ones will call me Miss Bule. Students whistle at me when I pass, something they’d never dream of doing to an Indonesian woman. Beggars will come up to me in the market and tap me on the shoulder to get my attention. People laugh at everything I do. If I speak Indonesian to them, they laugh. If I speak English, they laugh. If I tell my students “Good” after they pronounce something in class, they laugh and repeat “good” in falsetto. Everywhere I go, I am the center of attention. Sometimes I don’t notice it because I’m fairly oblivious but the person I’m with will usually point it out to me. Children come to my house by the dozen just to look at me and follow me down the street when I leave. The first time I meet kids they sometimes dare each other to come up to me and try to touch me. Everyone I meet wants their photo with me. Sometimes after class I end up staying half an hour late as each student lines up and begs for a photo of us together. Adults want photos too, from my fellow teachers to strangers on the street. If I’m visiting a middle or elementary school, I can’t be left in a public area or literally every student will come crowd around me. Let me tell you, even if you’re not agoraphobic, having literally 100 or more kids wanting to be as close to you as possible is intimidating.

Now, in my town, the attention has always been friendly with maybe just a small touch of sexual harassment (the whistling). But luckily for me, I am almost always with an Indonesian friend no matter where I go. Because Ponorogo is small it has that small town vibe of everyone knowing everyone else so when I meet new people all I have to do is tell them that I am a teacher at STKIP University and maybe drop the name of the University director (who is somewhat famous in this town, having run for local office and published a lot of teaching material) and people accept that I am living here and functioning like an Indonesian person, especially if I’m with my Indonesian friends. They still ask me if I can eat rice though.

But just having this kind of attention is sort of disturbing on a deeper level. People are intensely interested in my opinions on literally everything from the financial crisis to education techniques. And not just to get another perspective, but because I’m sort of regarded as an expert. Now this isn’t just a racial issue, it’s also a cultural issue. A lot of this comes from the fact that I’m American and there’s a certain worship of western cultural here that actually exists awkwardly along with a strong national pride and identity. The fact that I’m white is just an easy indication that I’m Western.

There are a number of cultural reasons for this attitude, from the Dutch colonization to Britney Spears, but I’m not a scholar on Indonesian history and I’m not really comfortable naming reasons for what I see. I’m just describing my experience.

Upsetting VIA news

One of my friends from VIA, Gillian, had a pretty horrible experience in her town. Another VIA Indonesia friend Marisa, wrote about it on her blog and I think I am just going to link her entry because she sums it up pretty well and her feelings are quite similar to mine. Here's the link.

Rest assured that I feel safe here in Ponorogo and that nothing like this has happened to me at all. Gillian's town is on a different island, very far from me. I am very rarely alone and I don't think there's much opportunity for something like this to happen to me here, but it still freaks me out a bit and it's just so so sad. I think I'll write more about the cultural differences and being a foreigner here later.

Graducation (or Dress Up with the American)

On Saturday my University had it's graduation ceremony, and as I mentioned, I was asked to speak. I gave about a 20 minutes speech on education in the US.

But, more exciting than my speech, was all the activity leading up to it. The school decided that I should be dressed like an Indonesian for the occasion so they bought me a traditional Kabaya dress and took me to a salon... well it was actually a teachers home but apparently she works also as a hairstylist and make-up artist. The pictures are somewhat hilarious, so enjoy laughing at my awkwardness. It was a lot of fun and pretty surreal.


The first step in creating a "traditional" Javanese hairstyle is to make you look like Cousin It


Then attempt to give you an afro. I heard the woman say "Rambut Kecil!!" several times, which means, little hair. That is my new native american name.


The next step is to make you look like the bride of Frankenstein.


Make up time


Finishing touches


After we're finished. I don't know why I look so skeptical. Probably I'm thinking about how fun it will be to brush my hair later. She literally teased every strand. (Actually, I had to use hot water, warmed on the stove, and half a bottle of conditioner, but I was able to get my hair back to it's normal state without too much pain.)


Me looking awkward in the Kabaya




Me and my roommate Enny. You can really see the makeup. Please note the bright pink eye shadow (which I sort of love, it's pink!) and the fact that for some reason she decided my lips were too big and made her own smaller lip line with the lipstick


My finished hair


Mr Dolar, the head director, congratulating the graduates.


Indonesians often wear pretty intense fake hair pieces like this one for formal occasions. I am so glad they didn't try to get one of those on me.


A bunch of not too flattering mid speech photos:








Mr Ghufron, who translated my speech into Indonesian and gave a copy to everyone, speaking.


Here are some photos with the other teachers at the Univeristy

Obama

Well, I think it's about time I talk about the election. Tuesday night in the US was Wednesday morning here, so after I woke up, I came straight to the internet cafe and began streaming MSNBC.

I have never been as homesick as I was that morning. After the results were announced, I really just wanted someone here to share the joy with. Someone to hug and cheer with. I tried to tell the guy working at the internet place what had just happened but I'm pretty sure he had no idea what I was talking about.

Obama is fiercely popular here but a lot of people sort of thought he was already the new president. I have only met one person who preferred McCain, a Christian living in Yogya who believed Obama was a Muslim.

People here often ask me what I think about America. And that was a hard question to answer before. I didn't want to be overly negative of America but at the same time, I couldn't lie about the fact that I felt the country was moving in the completely wrong, destructive, and immoral direction. To have a president who actually believes in freedom, as an abused concept as that may be, fills me with a pride and patriotism that I haven't felt since immediately after Sept 11. And this time I'm an adult and the pride is coming from a joyous occasion rather than a tragic one. Not to mention the beautiful and historic significance of finally having an African American in office. When people ask me about America, I can finally say that I am proud of my country. That sounds trite, but it's huge and amazing and I want to keep this feeling. Obama has a long, difficult road ahead of him, and things are not going to change quickly, but I finally feel that the future might not be worse than the present.

This was sort of a rambling post, but you get the idea. Obama!JOY!

The way we love

The biggest difference I've found between American and Indonesian culture seems to be the way we love. And I can trace almost all the aspects of Indonesian culture that, to me, are negative back to this difference. I have had this discussion with one of the teachers here and he agrees so these thoughts aren't coming from a purely American perspective.

When Indonesians love something, they hold it close to them. Really close to them. And really tightly. When Americans love something, they want it to be happy. They give it freedom and choices and hope it will stay near them.

I have seem this demonstrated in relationships between husbands and wives, parents and children, my school with me, and even people and animals. And it's difficult for me to accept.

I went to the Surabaya zoo and saw orangutans and chimpanzees in just hideously small cages, holding on to the bars and looking out miserably while Indonesians threw peanuts at them. I've seen teachers, 26 year old women, driving over an hour to work every day because their mother's refuse to let them move from the family home. My friends are shocked that my mother didn't forbid me from coming here. I have met women with dreams of going to college but instead pregnant again and taking care of the home for their husbands.

Don't get me wrong, I love it here. But this is one thing is a bit hard for me to accept, and makes me look forward to getting back to the US.

Villiage visit

What did I do on Tuesday, Election Day? Well, interestingly, Tuesday was an election day here too. Indonesians were voting for the governor of East Java. So even though voting hadn't begun yet in America, I had the day off. I went with my roommate, Enny, to visit her parent's house in a small village about 1 hour by motorbike from Ponorogo. And let me just say, 1 hour is a really long time on the back of a motorbike! It was a really nice day. Our friend Hana also came along. I got to see a typical Indonesian home outside of the city. I took a lot of photos.



This is a traditional kitchen. No gas. No running water.


This is the rice. I have no idea why they have so much rice but they share it with the neighborhood if anybody needs it. Enny told me a story that years ago a cobra laid eggs among the rice and they kept finding cobras in the house until her little nephew discovered the nest. I'm glad she told me that story after we got home, not before.


Enny's niece, mother and Miss Hana


The garden/yard


Miss Hanna and Enny's niece Cindi watching the rain


A man rides by the front gate in the rain


Boys run home with their umbrellas


Cindi singing some school songs for us


Enny and Cindi


Watching the rain


Shoes and puddles


Cindi


Enny and Cindi are really close


Every house has chickens running around


Cindi playing