Westernization

One of the English teachers at my middle school asked for help to coach students for an English speech competition. Of course I wanted to help. My students are great at memorizing speeches, but they really need a lot of work on performance. I thought it would be a fun project to improve their public speaking.

The teacher handed me the speech the students found on the Internet (side note: it’s a common Indonesian practice to use speeches found on the Internet for speech competitions). Anyway, I scan the speech for grammatical and language errors. Then I come across the words, “Western” and “destructive” in the same sentence. I pause. I read closely from the beginning.

As it turns out the whole speech is a warning to the Muslim youth to avoid the destructive Western way of living. The first thought: Why the hell did they ask me, a Westerner, to edit this?

I felt a bit betrayed. Did they think I wouldn’t get offended? I mean I understand that there are some aspects of Western culture that go against Islamic teachings. And I respect those differences. Different cultures are bound to clash, but to outright say the Western way of living is destructive is offensive. As I fumed, I decided I’d reword the speech. Western should not be synonymous with bad in this country, and students should not be taught such.

Furthermore, I also realized that the students probably didn’t understand the speech when they found it on the Internet. They probably just Googled, “Good Muslim Values,” and this could have been the first speech to pop up. Regardless, if this speech is out there that means other people have access to it. I wanted to at least stop my students from potentially believing its close-mindedness.

After finishing the speech, I went straight to the teacher that gave me the speech and told her I thought it was incredibly close-minded and impolite to use the speech without my modifications. I said if the students believe that the Western way of living is destructive, what would they think of me? Would they respect me as a teacher? Would they like me as a person?

I just wanted to express that even though I may make lifestyle choices that go against another person’s religious beliefs, it does not mean I’m a bad person. It doesn’t mean that either person is bad. It just means we’re different. Different is not bad. It’s just different. And that’s okay.

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.