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!
Worth a Journey 