Air Conditioning: A Challenge of Posh Corps

Early one morning, my ibu and I have a short conversation (translated from Indonesian):

IBU: Charisse, do you like air conditioning?

ME: Of course I do, ibu! I live in Indonesia. I’m sweating as I answer your question. Air conditioning is my best friend.

IBU: Okay.

(pause)

Eat some rice. 

A few hours later, I see Samsung boxes in front of my bedroom door labeled Air Conditioning Unit. The realization hits: My ibu is installing AC in my bedroom. This cannot be the real Peace Corps experience.

I’ve known that Peace Corps in Asia is referred to as Posh Corps. It’s somehow fancier in Asia than in other parts of the world. I mean I still get the run-of-the-mill flying cockroaches and geckos falling from the ceiling and on to my head, but they’re fancy flying cockroaches and geckos. Apparently.

Sometimes I feel like I should be challenged more. Sometimes I feel like I could be learning more about my abilities and limitations if I weren’t serving in Posh Corps. If I were serving near the Amazon or the Serengeti, for example, then maybe I’d become a warrior woman. I’d be like Crocodile Dundee or even Xena!

When one first thinks of Peace Corps, mud huts, well water, and intense sacrifice come to mind. Instead, I get air conditioning. As ridiculous and ungrateful as it sounds, it all somehow doesn’t feel fair. I mean I love my air conditioner. I thank my ibu every day. Unfortunately, along with the satisfaction I feel when 20° C air washes over my sweaty face, I also feel like I was swindled out of a life-affirming experience.

Despite my grumbles, I look forward to the next two years. I’m assured that Posh Corps makes up for its lack of physical challenges with a host of mental ones. Until those arrive, I’ll just wait in my temperature-controlled bedroom, which is stocked with plush pillows on a firm mattress resting on an intricately hand-carved bed frame standing on tile floor, and enjoy an ice cream from a mini mart a block away. Such sacrifice! Kasihan!

A Second-Class Citizenship

I consider myself a competent bicyclist in America. I think I’m pretty skilled at weaving in and out of fast lanes. I can handle myself on the road. 

Things are a bit different in Indonesia. I thought I was good at asserting my presence on American roads, but in reality, American drivers actually stop for bicyclists. The hierarchy of having the right of way is: pedestrians, bicyclists, and then car drivers.

In Indonesia, no one seems to have the right of way. Or I guess if there is, the biggest gets the right of way. Indonesian drivers don’t stop for pedestrians and treat bicycles as cars. I get honked at a lot. At first, I was flattered by the honks. People notice me. But really it’s because there’s no bike lane and barely enough room for both cars and bicycles. They don’t honk because they admire my awesome calves; they just want me to get out of their way.

When I bike in Indonesia, I’m considered as just another car, but with the lack of comfy seating and cup holders. Obviously I try to embrace this new role as a car, but on a bicycle. I want to show Indonesians that I can integrate. I get pumped every time my bike tire meets pavement because it’s just another challenge Peace Corps has given me. I accept!

But this plan backfires. I’ve been biking on the road for a few weeks and it suddenly feels like cars are way too close as I bike beside them. They don’t leave me any room. There were many times when side view windows grazed the sleeve of my shirt. Tidak sopan.

Maybe my problem is that I have car envy and try to act too much like a car. Maybe I haven’t realized that although I’m still considered a car on the road, I carry a second-class citizenship. It’s survival of the fittest and those with motors come up on top. 

I want to become a competent bicyclist in both America and Indonesia, so I will try to not let this experience deter me from achieving my goal. I may be a second-class citizen on the road, but I’m going to try very hard to respectfully assert that first-class position.