This time last year, I was reading up on everything I could about Indonesia and Peace Corps. My March departure date was quickly approaching, my suitcases were filling, and my head was swimming with pictures of exotic beaches, coconuts, and chocolate-avocado juice.
There was one thing, however, that never appeared in any of my pre-Peace Corps musings. One thing that I have learned to be so very Indonesian: Marching.
Marching with my fellow teachers – check out these outfits!
I have mentioned “Scouts” on my blog before. All 7th and 8th grade students are required to participate in scouting activities. As an American, when I think about scouts doing activities, I think of selling cookies and popcorn, jamborees, and the time my Brownie troop made tie-dye socks.
When Indonesians meet for scouts, they get into formation and march. Of course there are games and songs and outdoor skills, but when I first attended a scout meeting and saw all the students in their uniforms pivoting and saluting on command, I knew that the answer to the perennial question of, “Do you do this in America?” was definitely No.
I think the last time I marched, my brother and I were traversing the battle field of our living room (stuffed animals, Legos, and Star Wars action-figures in tow). Here, marching is a way of life.
But despite my lack of coordination and experience, I was thrilled when the teachers at my school asked me to march with them. Anything in the name of integration!
The team, ready to go.
On November 10th, Indonesia celebrates “Hari Pahlawan,” or Heroes’ Day. It is a day to remember all the people who helped Indonesia achieve her independence.
My province, Ngawi, remembers those heroes by organizing a march from a statue commemorating East Java’s first governor to Ngawi Town Square – about 20 km. Participants travel this route to remember the Indonesians who did the same as they fought for independence.
Students from many schools in the area march the entire distance. We teachers, however, made a more leisurely day of it.
In line, waiting to start.
Although we were given a number and all participants had their arms stamped with a very official looking stamp at the start of the march (to make sure no one was trading out their marchers), it was clear to me from our practices, our pictures, and our laughter, that this was less of a contest and more of an opportunity to do something together and enjoy ourselves.
We started out quite enthusiastically, strutting over the start line with an emphatic, “GO!,” and soon fell to singing, counting off, and laughing as other teams of younger, more determined looking participants sped by.
Rollin’ in style.
I, for one, spent a lot of time looking at my feet and trying not to walk too fast.
Clearly I’m the newby.
At lunch time we stopped, hopped into some cars, and made our way to one of the teacher’s homes for rest and refreshments.
The Ladies
We ate, the other teachers prayed, and we watched committed students, now tired and sweaty, pass by the house.
The Gents
Eventually we gathered our things and marched the final 3km into Ngawi’s town square.
When we crossed the finish, we cheered, took pictures, and rewarded ourselves with more food.
Of course, any telling of the day’s events wouldn’t be complete without mentioning that, as the only non-Indonesian for miles, I was more than noticeable. I saw the looks and I heard the gasps that have become an almost familiar part of my experience here. If I’m being really honest, I’m not a big fan of the ungarnered attention that my appearance receives. And I have heard enough horror stories to make me wary of any parade-like events.
Making our entrance into the big city of Ngawi!
But that is all the more reason I feel the need to give a huge shout-out to the teachers at my school. I know that I am different. I know that we come from different countries and different backgrounds. I know that we think and function in different languages and cultures. And some days those differences make things hard – for all of us.
But they have never once missed an opportunity to invite me into their lives. They have shown me their homes and families, they have shared their food, and they always answer all of my questions.
Despite all the attention I received during the march for being different and strange, when I was with the teachers practicing and eating, I felt like I wasn’t so strange anymore. And marching at the front of our group between two of our teachers with many more filling in behind me, I knew that they, quite literally, had my back. I knew that they would be there for me – even despite my knack for marching too fast and ending up on the wrong foot.
The team victorious!
As fun as it was to march and to see everyone come out for the Hari Pahlawan festivities, this is what I came away with: the knowledge that I have been placed in the midst of some very special, very kind people.
Worth a Journey 