Community Collage

Between school vacation, school starting back, and school ending again for another vacation to mark the close of Ramadan, I haven’t had much to write home about these past few days. Things have been pretty quiet in the desa. So I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to share some pictures with you! I have been collecting pictures of my village over the past month. You can see that the rice paddies in some of the pictures are much browner than in others – it has been pretty cool to see them change so much in just one month! Harvest is winding down right now, and farmers are out planting their fields once again. I hope to get more pictures of the people who live here in the future – they are truly amazing individuals. I am terribly self-conscious about asking people if I can take a picture of them, and when one old, wizened woman sharply told me “NO” a few days ago it didn’t do much to help my confidence issues! But I’m not giving up. I promise more people next time. But for now, with no further ado, I give to you these pictures of some of the local sites, goats, and even a few people…(Click on one to view the full-sized images – you know you want to!)

My new digs!

A woman washing her clothes in the local river – locals tell me that during the rainy season this river fills to the brim. Right now it is more like a sleepily flowing stream.

Goats are easier to take pictures of than people…

Look at this cute little guy!

A few short weeks ago these fields were nothing but green – getting to see the change in the fields and watching the hard working men and women who work them is amazing. (The land rising in the background is Mount Lawu, a dormant volcano. If you look between a little break in the clouds you can see the peak – one day I will stand there.)

One of the many local cats.

A look down the road at some houses.

Sun setting over one of the sort-of-paved roads. I hear rainy season wreaks havoc on the roads.

So much green everywhere! I’m not exactly sure what this building is, but I imagine it is some sort of storage space for farm equipment/harvested rice.

A farmer hard at work in his fields.

Another of the many roads leading through the rice paddies.

Just going for a little swim.

This picture was taken when all was still green! These fields are in front of my school.

This road leads to my school – through the rice paddies and past the cemetery.

Sunset over the rice paddies.

The road leading to my house.

A dusty road between the rice paddies. (I think this is around where I feel while jogging and busted my knee…a beautiful but treacherous path.)

This man was walking home to take a break from working in the fields during the heat of mid-day.

I finally convinced this lady who was drying her recently harvested rice to let me take a picture of her – she apologized for not being pretty. I think she is beautiful.

Water for the fields.

Here v. There: Confusion in the Context

One thing I love about travelling is discovering things I never even knew existed. There are so many things we expect to experience when we go somewhere new, but it is the things we don’t expect that make us gasp, eyes open wide in wonder, and say, “That’s SO cool!” We think we have a pretty good idea about the world that surrounds us, but then there is that new thing that we had never even dreamt of and our ideas about the world are shattered once again into beautiful prisms of color and diversity.

For example, before coming to Indonesia and studying Bahasa Indonesia, I never knew there was such a thing as high- and low-context cultures. I suppose I assumed that we were all saying the same kinds of things, just with different words. But I am discovering in Indonesia that the number of words and the amount of information given in a conversation is very much based on whether we are communicating in a high- or low-context culture.

In a low-context culture, such as the cultures shared by most English speakers, we rely less on the context of our conversation and more on the words we actually say. Context, of course, is still a very important element in communication, but we are more explicit through our words about what we want to express.

In a high-context culture, on the other hand, context plays a HUGE role in what is being communicated. Speakers leave a lot of information out of their actual words because it is already assumed based on the context in which the conversation is taking place.

Although this kind of cultural influence on how we use language varies by individual and region, roughly speaking Indonesian culture is high-context, whereas American is low-context.

Oftentimes when I am asked questions about America, I am not asked, “What do you do in America?” Instead I am asked, “If there?” It took me many times asking, “If where?” before I realized that almost always I am being asked a question about America.

A little “here” v. “there” cultural exchange. Indonesians often eat avocados with sugar, so fellow PCV, Cait, and I introduced my Batu host family to the glory that is guacamole. It went over mostly well.

This became especially clear when I was still staying with my host family in Batu. My little four-year-old host nephew (pictured above) was babbling on in his own mix of Javanese and Indonesian (totally indecipherable to me), and suddenly, pointing far off into the distance, says, “America di sana!”or “America’s there!” It then became the game of the afternoon for me to ask, “Where’s America?” at which he would gleefully point and call out, “There!” And, in its own way, that kind of makes sense. In Indonesia we are “here,” therefore, America must be “there”.

Of course this can cause communication problems and sometimes frustration. As a low-context speaker trying to navigate a new language in a high-context setting, I am often confused. Many, many times I will be having a conversation and understanding the words quite well, but still have no idea what people are talking about. Often this is interpreted by my Indonesian conversation partners as not understanding the vocabulary, so they kindly translate things into English. But I still don’t understand. I have to ask many questions and make it clear that whoever I am talking to needs to be more specific before I can understand. And, slowly, I am learning to pick up more and more of the context clues within our conversations.

Yes, sometimes it is frustrating, but it is also wonderful and amazing. This has been such a great way to see how culture and language are inseparably intertwined. For everything that links us together as members of the human race, we are also each deeply influenced by our own culture. Culture impacts everything: history, tradition, education, language, societal norms. But even more exciting than discovering our differences is discovering that, after some confusion and with a lot of patience on all sides, we can communicate meaningfully. We can be so much ourselves with our own cultural characteristics and quirks, but still learn from one another. And that, my friends, is pretty darn cool.

A Sweet New Start

Right now, as I sit in my house, I can hear prayers being broadcast from the loudspeaker of the neighborhood mosque as children set off fireworks in the street. The sun has set, night has fallen, and the fast has been broken for the next few hours of darkness.

Ramadan in Indonesia comes with many traditions – many sights, sounds, and flavors. Although I have chosen not to fast this year, I have been the grateful recipient of many of the tastier traditions. Indonesians often cook their best to break their fast, and I have learned that usually the first flavor they taste after the day’s many, hot hours of hunger and thirst is sweet.

In my experience this sweet relief comes in the form of Es or Kolak. Both are similar in that they feature pieces of fruit, jelly, and sometimes other ingredients, floating in a sweet, refreshing “broth.” The main difference between the two is that the fruit in Kolak (ex. banana, cassava, pumpkin) is cooked, whereas the fruit in Es (ex. watermelon, star fruit, papaya) is fresh. Kolak “broth” is made of palm sugar, coconut milk, and a local leaf called pandanus that I am still trying to figure out. Es “broth” can be almost anything, but often includes water, coconut water, coconut milk, syrup of some fruit flavor such as melon or strawberry, and sweetened condensed milk. Both can be served with or without ice. Both are refreshing, sweet, and delicious.

One form of Es, “Es Campur” (Mixed Es – a little bit of everything!). So sweet, so refreshing, and so delicious.

I was recently asking a friend about why Muslims observe Ramadan. I knew that the fast takes place during the month in which Muhammad received the revelations now contained in the Qur’an, and that all Muslims are commanded to fast during that time. But I wanted to know what the purpose behind the fast actually was – why fast? Is it just a ritualistic observance to check off the list of spiritual tasks for another year, or is there something deeper going on?

She explained to me that, indeed, there is a deeper meaning. She told me that many Muslims use their fasting time to refocus on God and to ask forgiveness for anything bad they have done in the past year. After the fast, they are forgiven – they have a fresh start for another year.

I think it is pretty neat, then, that the refreshingly sweet tastes of Es and Kolak come first after the tough hours of fasting. Isn’t that how forgiveness and a fresh start should make life feel?

(P.S. When I wrote this post we had been eating Kolak every night, but apparently that was the last night of our Kolak-spree, because I haven’t seen it since. Try as I might to get a picture, it has remained elusive! If you are curious about this delicious concoction, a google image search yields many fine examples – enjoy!)

Snickers and Salesmen

Following yesterday’s sporty post, I would like to tell you a story about chocolate and a traveling salesman.

Right now Muslims all over Indonesia are celebrating Ramadan and school is out on vacation – in short, not very much is going on. As a new Peace Corps Volunteer, I have found myself with a lot of time on my hands. But I don’t really believe in boredom, so it didn’t take me long to establish some goals for this quiet time in my Peace Corps Journey. Some of my goals include learning more about Islam, starting to cook for myself (I have chosen not to fast this year for various reasons), creating lesson plans to teach the neighborhood children English, reading Ulysses by James Joyce, and amping up my daily workouts (reason #1 for not fasting).

This last goal is where my story begins. Imagine with me that you are leaving my quiet street and heading towards the main road. The road looks flat in both directions, but in fact, if you chose to turn right you will be going slightly downhill, and should you make the daring choice to turn left you will find that there is a slight incline that only increases as you become more exhausted and more bewildered by the fact that the road that at first appeared flat is most certainly not.

To the right there is an Alphamart – a convenience store that sells oatmeal, cheese, ice cream, and batteries, treats that any Peace Corps volunteer would love. The Alphamart to the right is easily within reach by bicycle, and I frequently stop there on my way to destinations farther afield. But to the left there is also an Alphamart. It is positioned well into the steadily increasing incline. I told myself that if I could get to that Alphamart, I would reward myself with a snickers bar. I was more than a little determined.

Yesterday morning I decided to tackle this feat of physical prowess and I looked forward to negating all wellness effects by munching on my newly won snickers bar and reading Ullyses in my bed that afternoon. But as I was preparing for my morning bike ride, I discovered one of the trials of Indonesian bike maintenance.

I knew that my host family had a bike pump, and I thought topping off my tires would be a simple and wise task before peddling away on my adventure. It was not. I don’t know much about bike pumps and tire valves, but I do know the sound of air rapidly escaping a tire every time you try to remove the pump hose. And I know how to read between the lines when my host father is attempting to fill my now flat tire for the tenth time and says, “This is hard,” but is actually thinking, “Why did I ever let this crazy work-out fiend of an American into my home with her bicycle and piles of sweaty, smelly clothes?”

But never fear! Because the Javanese, I’m convinced, are still the nicest people in the world. A traveling salesman had just stopped by our house on his motorbike, and he didn’t hesitate to jump in and help. The salesman and bapak tag-teamed the tire and finally filled it with air. They smiled cheerfully after me as I rolled down the rocky road.

I turned left and began my ascent. It’s Ramadan, which means that eating and drinking in public if you are not fasting is the equivalent of baking cookies at someone else’s house and not offering them any. I should probably have stopped, and I definitely should have drunk water, but I didn’t. I draw enough attention to myself as it is, and I kept thinking, “Maybe Alphamart is just around that corner…” or “If I stop here I will have to go uphill right when I start again, I will wait for things to even out.” Well, they never did even out. They just got steeper and steeper as the sun got hotter and hotter and the children yelled louder and louder, “Miss! Mister!!!” When I finally rounded a corner and saw the red and white Alphamart sign, I wasn’t sure if my overwhelming joy or cardiac arrest would kill me first.

I stumbled into the air-conditioned oasis of Alphamart, gasping for air, sweat pouring down my face. The young woman at the cash register eyed me with curiosity as I fumbled for the snickers bars. I placed one snickers bar and a package of batteries on the counter. As she rang me up, the sales clerk and I had a conversation between my panting breaths. It was the usual – where I was from, what I was doing in Indonesia, where I learned to speak Indonesian, how far I had ridden my bike, etc. She was nice, we smiled, I said I would come again (after my body recovered from the trauma I had just put it through), and I went outside. I sat, saddle sore, and drank some water – for all the world to see. Sorry Ramadan, I promise I’ll be sneakier next time. After a few moments rest, I strapped on my helmet and was preparing to depart. The girl from behind the counter rushed out from Alphamart along with her fellow sales clerk.

“Sudah pulang? Tidak capek?” she asked with concern(Already going home, you’re not tired?). I wanted to say, “Lady, I got my snickers bar, let me be.  Time to pulang!” and then ride off into the scorching sun. But she sweetly asked for a picture, so I lingered a moment longer. I like to reward those who actually ask for my picture and don’t just take it when they think I’m not looking. I apologized for being hot and sweaty, but she assured me I was still “cantik!” (pretty). Flattered, I posed my sweaty body, hair coming out of my braid, next to her. We snapped some photos, and I was on my way, rolling down the hill, the wind drying the salty sweat on my face.

Not feeling so cantik…

As I careened down the hill I began to think about the effort it had taken me to get to Alphamart, but also about the people who had helped me get there – bapak trying over and over again to fill my tires, the traveling salesman jumping in to save the day, and the sweet, curious sales clerk who made me feel welcome at Alphamart (not to mention told me I was pretty despite the sweat pooling under my arms and all over my back). Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to be here and to live and work with other people in another country with another culture. But it is their effort that really makes it happen. It is their kindness and openness and willingness to help that allows Peace Corps to be here and to have any impact at all. Here in Java, intense and sometimes overwhelming kindness and hospitality are parts of the culture that I have learned to love, and that I hope I take with me wherever I go. So for every post I write, every phone call or letter home, I hope that people know that whatever work I’m doing here is complimented and increased exponentially by the Indonesians working with me. They are the ones who have welcomed us into their communities. They are the ones who will continue the work when we have gone. Their kindness and generosity will be making an impact here long after I have moved on to other things, and their kindness and generosity, I hope, will inspire that same response in each of us in our own communities.

And then, wind speeding past me, I thought about my snickers bar, Ullyses, and not moving a muscle for the rest of the day.

To the victor the spoils!