It’s All Black and White

Whenever I meet someone new in my village, the first thing that comes out of their mouth is almost always, “You are so beautiful!” Although I can’t help being a little flattered every time someone tells me this, it quickly became apparent to me that “beautiful” is synonymous with “white.” I have had many women hold their arms up next to mine, comparing their “black” skin to my “white” skin. Store shelves are stocked with skin whitening and bleaching products, and every reporter, celebrity, and personality on T.V. have much whiter skin than any Indonesians I have met so far.

This perception of white as beautiful comes from a historic reality that those of us with anglo-saxon descent used to also share. Paler people were paler often because they didn’t need to work outside in the sun. Being light-skinned was a sign of wealth and comfort, a life of ease and social status. I’m sure, of course, that one could make a colonial/post-colonial/western-expansion commentary about all of this, but for now I want to focus on what I have experienced specifically in my desa.

I have been told by individuals whom I have come to love and respect deeply that they are so happy to have white volunteers in their village, that only white people look “pure American,” and that I am not allowed to marry an Indonesian because I have to have white babies. It would be easy to be shocked by these comments and react according to my American sensibilities, but I have to always keep in mind that Indonesia doesn’t have the same history that the United States has. I have been raised in a culture where comments like these are clearly and absolutely unacceptable. But the people I know here in Indonesia don’t see the world through the lens of my upbringing. Although I think these perceptions of color are unfortunate and counter-productive, I can’t cast judgment on those who hold them as bigoted or hateful. More than anything, I believe that what is lacking is a healthy sense of self-worth and the beauty of diversity. Rather than anger me, it breaks my heart to see mothers telling their daughters that white is beautiful, thereby decreeing that they are not.

I often remind myself that in America many white people spend hundreds of dollars and many, many hours sunning themselves, frequenting tanning salons, and artificially darkening their skin. Even I like to lay out in the sun from time to time in order to acquire what I consider a “healthy glow.” We all seem to want what we can’t have, and I try to explain to the people I meet here that concepts of beauty vary by location. “In America,” I tell them, “everyone wants to be tan like you!” But I am dissatisfied with that reply, because it shows that we, too, are caught up in shallow and, often, unattainable ideals of beauty.

If I had to choose one message to get across while I am here it would be that the worth of a person is not tied to skin color any more than it is tied to physical beauty, wealth, or status. The discussion shouldn’t be about physical beauty at all! I see beauty all around me every day – I see it in the fresh youth and sparkling eyes of the neighborhood children. I see it in the deeply worn lines and missing teeth of the old women who pass me on the street. I hear it in the raucous laughter of the women next door. I feel it when I sit in a circle of incredibly hard working women during a PKK meeting (where all the village ibus gather to discuss the needs of their families). And I hope and pray that the beauty that others see in me isn’t only skin deep. I hope that I will be valuable in my community because of the love that I share and the work that I do, the compassion that I show and the lives that I inspire. I don’t want to just be the beautifully white bule who came and posed in pictures with everyone before going back to her imagined mansion and piles of money.

We all have so much more to offer one another than the colors of our skin and the accolades attached to our physical features! We have history, talent, personality, culture, community, individuality, presence, thought, humor – the list could go on and on. We can’t just stop at black and white because we are each shaded and colored by the things that bring us together and the things that make us unique. It is that diversity, rather than diversity in outward appearance, that we need to come to know and revel in as we learn from one another. As I continue to have these conversations, as I work with my counterpart teachers, and as I teach my students, I want this “internal diversity” to be the central meeting point in our shared experience.

Coconuts and Eyebrows: A Wedding Tale

I feel that I have now experienced my true initiation into Indonesian culture. Earlier this week I attended an Indonesian wedding that was literally right outside my door. The morning of the wedding I had to weave through tables as I tried clumsily to exit my house, and that night I had to sleep at another trainee’s home because the music was insanely loud inside my room. But loud music and precariously situated tables aside, this was an amazing experience.

Friends, family, and the happy couple.

Preparations for the party began five days before when all the ibus started cooking and baking. Hundreds of pastries and kilos and kilos of soup, rice, meat, vegetables, and eggs (and I’m sure much more!) were prepared by hand. The day before the party the street outside the bride’s house (across the road from my own) was covered and tables, chairs, a stage, and some humongous speakers were set up. It was incredible to see the whole village come together to set the young couple off on the right foot.

Packing boxes of goodies for guests to take home.

So much food, all home-made.

Ibus working hard.

Unlike American weddings with exclusive guest lists, Indonesians invite basically everyone they know to the party. Although invitations featuring pictures of the bride-and-groom-to-be are sent out, no RSVP is required. Want to invite ten of your friends who have never met the bride or groom? No problem!

Another trainee, Cait, and I had the great privilege of helping the ibus out with some of the baking the day before. We made what we were told was batter for doughnuts that somehow involved potatoes. And I got to make coconut milk, which, to my shame as a processed-food-buying American, I was shocked didn’t just come from a can. The women simply grated the coconut by rubbing it on a wooden board, added warm water, swished the water around in the coconut shavings, and then squeezed the water – now coconut milk – out of the shavings and into a bowl.

Queen of the kitchen.

Cait in action.

This coconut was grated by rubbing it on the little wooden board.

Making coconut milk! So cool!

But the real event of the wedding party (my apologies to the bride and groom for stealing some of their thunder) was when Cait, Kiplyn, and I were dressed up and had our make-up done so as to look “traditionally Javanese.” With our tall statures and pale skin we may have fooled no one, but we certainly were a sensation. Dressed in purple kebayas and our cheeks stained deep red with thick layers of blush, we drew many a compliment and stare. We had individual pictures taken by the professional photographer (photos that will no doubt show up in a family heir-loom album), and posed multiple times with the happy couple. The kids we see and hangout with every day in our village seemed especially impressed, probably partially due to the intensely dark and incredibly comical eyebrows that the woman who did my make-up, for some reason unknown to me, had decided to draw on my face. For a short moment I thought maybe I was the only one who thought they looked rather strange – maybe it was just an Indonesian thing! – but I knew when I walked out and watched my host sisters face burst into a fit of laughter that it wasn’t quite working for me. My eyebrows, described by Cait as “Disney villain eyebrows,” are still being brought up in daily host-family conversation.

Cait getting ready.

Hair and makeup.

My turn!

Red, white, and blue.

After oohing and awing at the gorgeous pictures of my friends, my ibu looks at this one and says, “Who told you to stand like that?” I can feel the love.

These classy ladies, on the other hand, know how to pull this look off.

In all regards, this was an event to remember. There was live music, lots of food, a tangible vibe of community and family, and much laughter. And some day down the road, maybe ten or more years from now, a married couple in a little Indonesian village will be flipping through their photo albums and telling their children about the time an American with crazy eyebrows came to their wedding.