IGLOW Ngawi Needs You!

Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of. – Bethany Hamilton

When women have opportunities to share equally in leadership roles with men, as well as have equal access to family income and work opportunities, communities thrive economically and socially.

In light of recent and ongoing tragedies in Paris, Beirut, and Baghdad, it is easy to wonder how much of a difference we, as individuals, can make in the world. Our hearts are broken and our minds uncomprehending.

But every day when I go to school and am greeted by the fresh, eager faces of my students, I am reminded that there is good in the world. There are hopes, there are precious futures, and there is kindness.

This December, some of those bright faces and eager souls will have an opportunity to attend an IGLOW camp at my school.

IGLOW: Indonesian Girls Leading Our World is a camp organized throughout the world by Peace Corps Volunteers and their community partners. Sixty girls from ten local schools will join us for three days of workshops and camp activities. We hope to create a safe, open environment for the girls to explore their strengths, goals, and opportunities. They will also receive information about personal health, safety, and how to be good stewards of the environment. These skills and information are desperately needed in many Indonesian communities. What a privilege it will be for these girls to lead the way towards a physically, environmentally, and socially healthier future in their families, schools, and communities!

But we can’t do it alone. My school has made a generous contribution to our IGLOW fund, but we would like to raise an additional $800. Faithful readers and subscribers, this is a precious opportunity for you to step in and give directly to the community I have been writing about and sharing with you for the past 20 months. With your donation, you can make a tangible difference in the lives of these girls. For less than $20, we can send one girl to camp – all expenses paid.

There is much fear and doubt in the world, but I hope IGLOW will give these girls an opportunity to see the good in themselves, their communities, their futures, and in those who lend their support from abroad. Please thoughtfully consider giving to our IGLOW project. 100% of your donation goes directly to IGLOW: Ngawi, and every dollar goes a long way.

Click here to give!

You can be sure I will keep my blog updated with plenty of pictures and stories as our IGLOW plans unfold!

Reog Ponorogo

There are some things in our lives that draw us towards them with an irresistible force of curiosity – things that we know we must explore, discover, and experience. We aren’t sure exactly what to anticipate from these things, but we know that they are pieces that were somehow meant to fit into the grander schemes of our lives.

When I heard stories about dancers who hold giant masks in their teeth, I knew I had to see them.

Reog Ponorogo is a dance that encapsulates much of Javanese culture. While watching it, I felt that my experiences on this island fell into context – a bright, elaborate, colorful, blaring context.

The king’s mask, held in the performers hand just as the story begins to unfold.

The dramatic dance tells the story of a king on his way to propose to the princess of a neighboring kingdom. The king is pompous and proud as he tames trotting horsemen, spinning witch-doctors, stomping ruffians, and giant peacock-lions on his way to the princess – eventually assembling them into a great performance in her honor. And I thought popping the question was nerve racking!

Although the details of the story portrayed in the dance may vary, every full performance contains these four elements. Each group takes the stage to show off their stuff – movements refined to the nature of the performed personalities. The riders expertly mimic the playful movements of their bamboo horses. The witch-doctors shake their shaggy heads as they somersault across the stage. The ruffians frown and spar with one another. But the show stopper is always the peacock-feathered lion.

Peacock, lion, tiger, man.

The lion (or tiger, depending on whether you want to focus on the strips or the mane…either way there is a lot going on here) masks are recognized as the largest masks in the world. This fact makes it all the more impressive that the dancers, while balancing the mask on their heads, must hold it steady in their teeth. Talk about a dentist’s nightmare!

This feat of physical strength is so otherworldly that many of these dancers are credited with supernatural powers, and it isn’t uncommon for dancers to enter a trance-like state as they turn, nod, collapse to the ground, and rise up again across the stage.

As if the weight of the mask wasn’t enough, some peacock-lion dancers will even allow a person to sit atop the lion head. While this is often a child or adolescent, sometimes it is also a full grown man. Here is a segment of video I took at the 2015 Reog Ponorogo Festival…

In case you didn’t catch how insane what you just watched is, that is a full grown man atop the world’s largest mask balancing in someone’s teeth.

Reog Ponorogo has largely become a performance-based art, but it comes out of a tradition that firmly believed in spirits, possessions, and the super natural power of trance. And when you watch today’s performances, you get it. The drums beat, shrill voices flood your ears, shaggy-masked acrobats fly through the air, ranks of horses charge by, stout men stomp and yell, and the peacock-lion flutters and looms into your view. The impossible unfolds before you in a tidal wave of color, movement, and noise. The rhythm tugs you in and you are there, submerged in the heady intoxication of Java.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Earlier today, I was sitting at my desk and slurping noodles when the thought crossed my mind, “These are good, but I could really go for some rice…”

Over the past 19 months, I have adapted to Indonesia and Java in many ways. Yet, there remain currents of social communication and expectations that are so inherently Javanese and so foreign to my American upbringing that I still sometimes stumble over where I fit in the grand scheme.

There is a sense of decorum inherent in Javanese culture. This includes treating your guest like royalty, avoiding conflict, and saving face. It also encompasses how people speak to one another. To really understand Javanese decorum, you have to look at the Javanese language itself.

Javanese skript – broken into the basic phonemes.

Javanese has multiple levels of politeness, and each level can have its very own vocabulary. This means that learning Javanese is almost like learning 3-5 different languages.

The three basic levels are…

Ngoko: used for close friends, peers, and those of a lower “status” relative to you (ex. younger siblings or children).

Madya: used for ‘in-between’ situations in which you don’t want to be too formal, too informal, or don’t the status of a stranger with whom you are speaking.

Krama: (pronounced “kromo”) used in formal situations or when showing respect to people of higher status (ex. parents, elders, officials, or when speaking in a formal setting).

For example…

Indonesians love to eat. If you wanted to eat, this is what you could say in Javanese.

Ngoko: Aku arep mangan.

Madya: Kulo ajeng nedha.

Krama: Kulo badhe nadhi. (or, if you want to be more humble, Dalem badhe nedhi.)

But then if you want to politely welcome your guest to eat, you wouldn’t use mangan, nedha, nadhi, or nedhi, but rather dhahar. As in Mongo, didhahar (“Please, eat.”)

So for one daily action, you have your choice of five different words.

I hope it is becoming clear to you at this point why I have been slow to learn Javanese.

Nevertheless, I have been struggling through the most basic of basics with my language tutor as she tries to drill into my brain the most menial of Ngoko and Krama sentences.

My tutor and me at Candi Ceto.

One week, with my list of Ngoko and Krama vocabulary spread before me, I wrote short descriptions of my family. My language tutor checked off my Krama paragraph fairly quickly, and moved on to Ngoko. I thought this would be a simple act of substitution – formal for informal – but as it turned out, the issue wasn’t quite so simple.

I had written a sentence about having one sibling: my older brother. Although I was writing as if I was talking to someone of equal or lower status to me, because I was referring to someone older – the first born of my family – I was still expected to use the formal Krama as a sign of respect.

Simply memorizing which vocabulary fits in which category, Ngoko or Krama, wasn’t enough – I also needed to develop an internal Javanese sense of where I was in relation to both the person I was talking to and the person I was talking about.

My futile attempts to learn Javanese – note the Indonesian to Ngoko to Krama translations. Too many words!

Life in a Javanese village tends to be intensely communal, and the Javanese language, in its very structure, is a constant reminder of where you fit in the societal puzzle – and that is something that is often difficult for me to figure out in Indonesia.

Raised in a land that aspires to equality and mobility, I believe fiercely that I am worthy of equal respect by the very virtue of being a human individual. In our frequent Star Wars action figure battles and Lego construction projects, I expected that my ideas and personal agency would be given as much consideration as my older brother’s (and my feelings of being deprived of these rights led to many a meltdown in my youth). This, for me, forms a large part of my identity.

One of my host family’s cats laying chillin’ on some Javanese.

Identity in much of Asia, and certainly on Java, however, is often formed based on where you see yourself (your past, your purpose, and your potential) in the social framework. It certainly doesn’t mean that Indonesians don’t believe in equality and mobility, but these concepts manifests themselves differently. Their ability to see themselves as fitting into a social slot – of knowing when to give and expect respect – is as inseparable from their personal identities as their mother language. It was, after all, their mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, older siblings and neighbors, who taught them that language. And that, perhaps, does deserve some gratefulness and an added helping of respect.

In every culture, there is so much more going on than what we see on the surface. Often, we are unaware of what exactly makes us the way we are – why we communicate and behave towards others the way we do. Our identities are inextricably wound into history, climate, family, and society. But discovering the intricacies of the people and cultures around us, and thereby shedding light into our own, is what makes the world such an exciting place to explore.

The Neighborhood Hindus

Fact 1: Indonesia is home to the world’s largest Muslim population.

Fact 2: Java is the world’s most populous island.

It will not surprise you, then, when I tell you that there are a whole lot of Muslims on Java. Wikipedia approximates that 90% of Indonesians living on Java identify as Muslim.

But Java wasn’t always this way – before Islam, the Javanese-Hindu-Buddhist Majapahit Empire ruled the land (1292- approx. 1500). The archipelagic empire was a formidable force in South East Asia, and has left its mark on Java to this day.

Ceto – pronounced “Cheto” – Temple.

Javanese-Hindu temples dot the island, and one of the final areas of temple-building before the courts of Java were converted to Islam is in my very own backyard! Candi Ceto (Ceto Temple), is one of many small temples built on the western slope of mythical Mount Lawu during the 15^th-century – shortly before the close of the Majapahit Empire.

Offerings.

Javanese-Hindu fertility shrine at Candi Ceto. By the 15th century, the Majapahit aesthetic had taken on a distinct Javanese quality, replacing earlier Indian motifs.

Java has always been a mosaic of peoples, religions, and cultures, and visiting the Javanese-Hindu temples of Mount Lawu is like dusting off hidden tiles. These structures are a connection to the past, an outpost of what once was.

Looking out from the upper levels of the Candi Ceto.

My students exploring Candi Kethek, another (though less intact) temple near Candi Ceto. 

The sites of Candi Ceto and surrounding temples also represent an ongoing connection to the present – a bond between the now-minority Hindus living alongside Mount Lawu and the bustling haven of Hinduism, Bali. In 2004, the governor of Bali gifted a beautiful statue of Saraswati – the Hindu goddess of knowledge and the arts – to the area in a show of religious and cultural solidarity.

A gift from Bali.

Saraswati

Indeed, much of Balinese culture was shaped by the Java-based Majapahit Empire. So much so, that some claim, “without Java there is no Bali.” In a turn of fate, Bali has become the keeper of many of the Javanese-Hindu traditions that are now extinct in many parts of Java.

Worn-down statues at Candi Ceto.

In my very Javanese, very Muslim corner of East Java, it is easy for me to forget that Indonesia is a nation of incredible diversity and rich cultural and religious heritage. Candi Ceto is a reminder that we are perhaps not so far removed from the legacies and memories of a different era.

Flower offerings, a typical site throughout Bali, given at Candi Kethek in Central Java.