Harus Bisa

I’ve wanted to volunteer teach at the local special needs school (SLB) since arriving here. I’ve noticed that people refer to people with special needs as “abnormal” and make really offensive jokes. People do that in America, too, but it seems more prevalent and acceptable here.

So my goal is to start volunteering there and to eventually recruit some of my middle school students to help, too, so that they can be exposed to this demographic and realize that there’s nothing “abnormal” about them. I want them to realize that their offensive jokes are not funny, and as a result, share their realization with others.

Last week, I asked SLB if they wanted some help. I’m assigned to Indonesia as an English teacher. I conveyed this to the teachers at SLB. I thought they’d want me to teach English. But they had something else in mind, something beyond my skill and perhaps comfort level.

Basically, they think the perfect job for a native English speaker is to teach traditional Javanese dance to Javanese students.

Let me preface by saying I’m not a dance teacher, and I have no idea what a traditional Javanese dance looks like. But I have YouTube with me. And my willingness to try everything once despite how foolish I look. I can’t imagine this is the assignment they want me to take on. It’d be an amazing sight to see an unskilled American girl teach Javanese dance to Javanese students. I smell a prank coming on.

Naturally, I sought help from a dance teacher at my middle school. I kept saying the following affirmations:

“I can’t dance”

“I can’t teach dance”

“I can’t do this!”

He said I need to stop saying I can’t do it. The students need me. They will be entertained, and since I have experience with special needs students, it’ll be a good experience for everyone involved. He said I need to stop saying I can’t do it. He said:

“Harus bisa.” I must be able to do it.

His affirmation is a lot stronger than mine. His is more positive. I may have no experience at all with this assignment, but I have to try. I’ve pushed myself so much these past eight months without having the experience. So why can’t I also do this?

Starting February, I will be a volunteer English teacher moonlighting as a traditional Javanese dance teacher. Bring it on!

New Environment

I’ve been in Indonesia for eight months, and it still feels like a new environment. I have a better handle on the language and social norms than I did a few months ago. But it still doesn’t feel like home. And I’m afraid it never will.

I assumed I’d fall completely head over heels in love with this country. And although I dearly love several aspects, I’ve had to redefine a lot of my values to suit the new environment. Adapting was an expected aspect of Peace Corps service, but I didn’t realize just how much I had to sacrifice. I’m still on survival mode when I’m supposed to be fully adjusted, and it’s making life very confusing. Thoughts that cross my mind:

Which level of Javanese am I supposed to use for this person? (there are about three or four levels of Javanese)

How should I go about walking past this person?

Wait. Which hand am I supposed to use to accept that plate of rice?

Things don’t always go as smoothly as I hope, and the kicker is: I’m starting to forget my American habits and values. They say transitioning back to America is just as hard as transitioning to our Peace Corps country. After expressing this to my mom, she assured that my eight-year old niece would be there to police my behavior and make me American again. As much as I appreciate that attention, I’d prefer if someone here would help me become Indonesian.

Indonesia will continue being a new environment to me until I find that one thing or person that’ll propel me forward. Until then, I’m thinking it’s okay to accept that plate of rice with the wrong hand. Here's to the next 18 months figuring it all out! 

Palette Cleanser

Before joining the Peace Corps, I had very rigid ideas about what was polite and what was impolite. You could even say I naively assumed those ideas were universal. They are not. For example:

I asked my Indonesian co-worker what I should wear to the swimming pool. American bathing suits are not appropriate in Indonesian villages. People usually swim fully clothed. He said if I wear a bikini people would wonder if I’m a cow or a buffalo. After I got offended he said he didn’t mean to offend me.

Uhhh…

It was said so nonchalantly. In this instance, another of my Indonesian co-workers at school loudly used my body shape to compare two student girls: one heavier than the other. I’m like a reference for size in this country.

Apparently, talking about weight in Indonesia is not taboo. At least in the village, weight, age, and marital status are discussed often and publicly. I’m told that people ask because they care and not because they judge.

Because those heavy topics aren’t considered rude, I never know what’s polite and impolite. Every day, I test boundaries and see what’s accepted. What can I say and what’s forgivable because I’m American? It’s been a great learning experience so far even at the expense of my upbringing.

I think I’ve been so jaded by American culture. A lot of things seem taboo. There are so many boundaries and so many rules. This is a definite palette cleanser. I can take this opportunity to try to redefine all the rigid ideas I cultivated before joining Peace Corps. Everything’s up in the air, and I control how everything’s organized when it hits the ground.

In the spirit of integration, I’m joining my family to the beach tomorrow. And considering I’m not allowed to wear an American swimsuit, I’ve chosen to be excited about getting into the water fully clothed. Do as the Romans do.

Running On Adrenalin

I’m extremely lucky to be serving in the Peace Corps. I’m so lucky to be serving in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. In my short experience here, Indonesians seem to genuinely want to help others. They have a lot to offer the world, and I’m so proud to be able to serve here.

Before moving here, I never realized the high market value Americans have. I get a lot of positive attention just for being American. Some days the attention makes me feel like a mascot or a pet, but overall it’s been a good experience.

Although I have to say that all the attention is giving me a major ego trip. As a result, I run mostly on adrenalin for the bulk of the day. It’s great. I feel so alive. I’m able to push myself to do things I wouldn’t normally have the courage to do. But then comes the time of day when the adrenalin wears off. Then it’s time to reflect. It typically goes like this:

The time is flying so fast! I’ve been in Indonesia for nearly seven months. What have I accomplished? Why am I still here? What are my intentions? Are my dreams for making the world a better place foolish?

But the reflection typically turns positively. I’ve met so many good people here. I’ve found a new best friend that noticed I was so shy when I first arrived at permanent site. He gave me motivation and strength and continues to do so every day.

Realizing that I’ve made a connection like that usually ends my sour reflection and lets me go to sleep. The next morning the adrenalin runs high again, and it all cycles again. It’s a vicious cycle.

I know I have the power to balance out my emotions. The time is moving so fast, so I hope I can figure this all out before my last day in Indonesia. A quote I have to tell myself every time my mood turns sour:

“The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.” 

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.

Six Things I've Learned So Far In Peace Corps

1. Beware of cats with one eye

Let me preface by saying not all cats that have only one eye are bad. This particular cat, Ngang-Ngang, is a particular terror. Not only is his name Ngang-Ngang, which should have been an immediate red flag because I still struggle making the “ng” sound in the local language, but also his meows are just plain sinister sounding.

Ngang-Ngang bit my ankle a week ago, which prompted me to travel six hours for post-exposure rabies shots. I’m not a big traveller, especially when the destination is a doctor’s office. But my mood to travel was saved when my Indonesian co-teachers offered to drive. We bonded over Starbucks, sang cheesy Indonesian love songs in the car, laughed at my sad attempts at the local language, and even found time to lesson plan for the first few English classes we’d teach together. It was amazing, and as much as I hate to admit, that one-eyed cat might’ve helped solidify healthy working and personal relationships for the next two years.

2. Actions aren’t always consistent with each other

One of my neighbors bought me a traditional-style blouse (batik). It had a beautiful red pattern, and I was excited to try it on and show my ibu (host mother). But alas, it was too small. I showed my ibu that it was too small, and all she did was laugh, point at my body, and say “too fat.” I was already used to the cultural practice of expressing opinions about physical appearance, so I wasn’t offended. I just nodded, took off the batik, and gave it to my ibu.

Ten minutes later, my ibu knocks at my door with a huge plate of rice and says I need to eat more so I won’t get sick. This is one aspect of Indonesian culture I have trouble understanding. If she called me fat, shouldn’t she want me to eat less? This particular mystery will take a while to figure out. In the meantime, I will accept that actions aren’t always consistent with each other. And I will also try to accept that rice is the medicine for all ailments.

3. Do not be too emotional

One of the teachers at my school asked me to offer commentary during a volleyball tournament. I have zero experience commentating sports events. Plus, our three months of Bahasa Indonesia (BI) lessons surprisingly offered no sports vocabulary. I declined and instead sat next to him. He spoke quickly in BI, so I could only catch certain words. A few minutes in, he took a break from the game and asked me a question in English to the crowd of students. Not many of the students could understand English, so the commentator graciously translated my response into the microphone. Instead of translating my response correctly, he decided to make a joke and told everyone in the local language that I thought he was so handsome.

I know my language skills are still lacking, and I’ve gotten used to people laughing at my poor attempts. But this time people were laughing not because of my mistake but because of a joke about me. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been so emotional. I should have played it off by grabbing the microphone and playfully and charmingly correcting him. Instead, I walked away and probably reinforced the stereotype that Americans are too sensitive.

4. Know thy neighbors

When I lived in America, the Internet was always there if I became bored. Things are a bit different living in the village. I currently only get Internet at school, so a lot of my free time at home is spent wondering what to do. I wander the neighborhood. I talk to the neighbors. I let the kids follow me and sing songs. I take the time to smell the flowers, an act I seldom did in America.

That’s the habit I will definitely bring back home with me. Things could be progressively better if people just took the time to talk with their neighbors. My social anxiety is still there, and I’m haunted by it every time I meet a new person. But at the end of my walk, I feel more re-energized than any online cute cat video could make me.

5. Indonesians are the most helpful people I’ve met

My co-worker took me to the nearest mall. She parked in the parking garage across the street. Pedestrians in Indonesia do not receive the same rights as they do in America. Pedestrians here do not get the right of way. We kind of have to weave through the traffic. There’re not really any traffic lights for pedestrians either. It was sort of traumatizing the first time I crossed the street by myself, but I’m kind of a pro at it now.

Anyway, my co-worker didn’t know I was well versed in the dangers of menyeberang (crossing the street), so she caringly grabbed my hand as she weaved through traffic. At first I thought she was babying me and I was a bit offended. But then I realized I haven’t been babied in a long time. It felt sort of nice. So I let her hold my hand even after we were well away from danger. I let her hold my hand as we rode the escalator inside the mall. Hell, it felt nice. Why not?! Although I realize now that my liking to hold hands crossing the street kind of takes away from my independent American street cred at work. Meh. It’s a small price to pay for such comfort.

6. The guy doing the adan this morning sounded like Alan Rickman

Islam is the reigning religion in Indonesia. There are mosques everywhere. In America, there are Starbucks on every corner. In Indonesia, there are mosques. As a result, there is a call to prayer on a loudspeaker five times a day. I’ve gotten so used to it that I no longer awaken to the 4:30am call to prayer. But this particular morning, the adan (morning call to prayer) sounded like Alan Rickman reciting verses. I attribute that to my not having watched anything in English for a few months and my neglect to bring any movies spoken in English. I also attribute that to the hallucinatory side effects of my malaria medication. And I got to say, if I’m going to hallucinate anything, Alan Rickman’s voice is not a bad choice.