Now that I'm at my new house, I want to give a party for the teachers at my school. The only problem is that there are 80 teachers, and I only have two gas burners to cook with. I want to introduce them to American cooking, but given the limits of my preparation resources, it's difficult. Thanks to my dad, however, I now know the best way to feed 80 people: a good old-fashioned Southern Low Country Boil!
The only problem is that I have no idea how to do that. Now, dear readers, I need your help! If you have a great recipe for a Low Country Boil, please send it my way. I'm ready and waiting!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Motorcycle Mama
I am fully aware that I am long overdue for a blog entry. A lot has happened over the past two weeks, but unfortunately I only have time to elaborate on one important thing.
I am a motorcyclist.
That's right! I have a motorcycle. And I ride it like a pro! Now I no longer have to squeeze into an angkut, hang on for dear life in a becak, or break the bank with a taxi. I am a fully independent woman!
Every morning I go outside my house (oh yeah, now I live in a house. Long story for another blog to come soon), put on my helmet, open my privacy gate, roll my motorcycle onto the road, and shift into gear. I maneuver through the crazy Indonesian traffic without a scratch and park at my school amidst perpetually curious and impressed stares from the teachers, students, and guards. As I throw my leg back over the bike and stand up, I feel unbelievably badass. There is no other word to describe it. Except for I also have a tendency to forget to take the key out of the ignition at school (nowhere else but school), so the guard comes running after me with the key. Needless to say, my high plummets and my cheeks turn red. It is not in my nature to be badass. I'm too absentminded to be anywhere close to that cool.
I am a motorcyclist.
That's right! I have a motorcycle. And I ride it like a pro! Now I no longer have to squeeze into an angkut, hang on for dear life in a becak, or break the bank with a taxi. I am a fully independent woman!
Every morning I go outside my house (oh yeah, now I live in a house. Long story for another blog to come soon), put on my helmet, open my privacy gate, roll my motorcycle onto the road, and shift into gear. I maneuver through the crazy Indonesian traffic without a scratch and park at my school amidst perpetually curious and impressed stares from the teachers, students, and guards. As I throw my leg back over the bike and stand up, I feel unbelievably badass. There is no other word to describe it. Except for I also have a tendency to forget to take the key out of the ignition at school (nowhere else but school), so the guard comes running after me with the key. Needless to say, my high plummets and my cheeks turn red. It is not in my nature to be badass. I'm too absentminded to be anywhere close to that cool.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
One Motorcycle, Please
I. need. a. MOTORCYCLE! End of story. When I came, it was a luxury that I merely wished for. Now, after only ten days, I want to shoot myself for every day that I do not have a motorcycle. This is no luxury - it's a necessity!
Here's why. I live in a kampung (village) outside of the city called Laut Dendang on a street called Jalan Perhunbungan. Ever heard of it? Neither has anyone else in Medan. I'm not even sure that the people who live here know about it.
Okay, so that was a bit mean. Let me explain.
REASON #1: The Becak Drivers
On my second day in Medan, I joined my friend Erin (the other ETA in Medan) in the city to buy an internet modem and have some dinner. When we were done, I went over to her house to see her new digs. At about 10pm, we walked to the corner of a main road in the city so I could grab a cab. We waited, and we waited, and we waited. Much to my dismay, I could not find a taxi. Reluctantly, I hailed a becak and gave him my address. He said he knew the place (as I've come to learn, they all say they know the place), so I said goodbye to Erin and hopped in.
A few minutes into the ride, the driver turns to me and begins speaking in English. I tell him that I am an American English teacher at MAN 1. He tells me that he is a math and finance teacher, but that he cannot find work so he drives the becak instead. Then the conversation takes a turn:
Driver: I want you to meet my wife.
Me: Oh, haha. Umm, haha.
Driver: Yes you will meet my wife, yah?
Me: That would be nice, but I need to go home.
Driver: Yes, I will take you home. But first you will meet my wife.
Me: Oh, ummm, no, I don't think so. Not tonight. I want to go to this address (I shove the paper in his face)
Driver: Oh yes we will go there. I will take you home.
Me: Ok good.
Driver: Yes, I will take you there. And first I will take you to meet my wife. Yes.
Me: Noooooooo, I cannot meet your wife. I have a family at home (I have started to lie a lot) and they are worried about me
Driver: No problem
Me: So you will take me home. No stop?
Driver: No, no stop. We will go to your house, yes? After you meet my wife.
Me: NO! I do not want to meet your wife. I want to go home. You take me home. Do not stop until you get to this address. I will not meet your wife tonight.
Driver: Okay. We go to your house.
Me: Yes. To my house. Nowhere else. Right?
Driver: Yes, no stop.
Right as I was preparing to jump out of the becak and save myself from potential rape and robbery, the driver mentioned my landlady by name. I calmed down a bit and decided he might really just want me to meet his wife. Not that I would consent, but I decided to trust him just enough to let him continue to transport me. 3 stops to ask for directions and 4 phone calls to various people later, including my landlady and my principal, I made it home.
REASON #2: The Taxis
My favorite place in Medan thus far is Sun Plaza. It is this big Western-style mall with a movie theater and a Starbucks and lots of cool stores and food. These are all great perks, but the reason that I love it is because I can walk around with my white skin and blonde hair and people don't stare at me or catcall me or shout at me. I can exist in peace. The second time I went to Sun Plaza, I wrote my home address down on a piece of paper so that my taxi driver would know exactly where to go. After my above-mentioned becak experience, I was not taking any risks with a lost driver. Naively, I thought that surely a taxi driver would know his or her way around the city and could take me where I wanted to go. After all, they have a dispatch with a map who can say how much to charge. Surely that person can say where it is as well! So when I was done, I went to the valet service at Sun Plaza and asked the overeager adolescents to hail me a cab. They did, and I hopped in, sat back, and relaxed. An hour later, I was home and burdened with as much stress as before, this time because the driver wouldn't let me out of the car until I paid him an additional 50% of the price we had already agreed upon (cabs here choose not to use their meters) because he had spent so much time trying to find the place.
REASON #3: The Angkuts
The standard method of transport throughout this country is a public bus-like vehicle called an angkut. These are vans that have bench seats lining the inside of the vehicle in a U-shape. They are very cheap and can take you anywhere you want to go. The only catch is that there is no published route system, so people really only know which bus will take them on their regular route. Not too many people in my neck of the woods do too much shopping at Sun Plaza, so no one knows which bus to take to get there. In addition, there is no such thing as a maximum capacity, so they are typically very crowded and uncomfortable. Today I sat shotgun with two boys. I was next to the driver, and after he switched gears a couple of times, I had enough cause to make him marry me.
REASON #4: The Harassment
I have started to hate going out in public because it means an onslaught of unwelcome catcalls, questions, shouting, and staring. It's everywhere! Even when I go to eat somewhere, I can't be in peace. I feel like an animal in a zoo. Everyone is watching me and taking pictures (no lie - pictures of me because I'm white) and yelling things at me, and I can't escape. If I had a motorbike, I could put on the helmet and gloves. With long sleeves and pants, no one would know I'm white. I could just breeze on by and get where I want to go.
I have no idea where to get a motorcycle. No one will tell me because they're scared I will die. All I want is a motorcycle.
Here's why. I live in a kampung (village) outside of the city called Laut Dendang on a street called Jalan Perhunbungan. Ever heard of it? Neither has anyone else in Medan. I'm not even sure that the people who live here know about it.
Okay, so that was a bit mean. Let me explain.
REASON #1: The Becak Drivers
On my second day in Medan, I joined my friend Erin (the other ETA in Medan) in the city to buy an internet modem and have some dinner. When we were done, I went over to her house to see her new digs. At about 10pm, we walked to the corner of a main road in the city so I could grab a cab. We waited, and we waited, and we waited. Much to my dismay, I could not find a taxi. Reluctantly, I hailed a becak and gave him my address. He said he knew the place (as I've come to learn, they all say they know the place), so I said goodbye to Erin and hopped in.
A few minutes into the ride, the driver turns to me and begins speaking in English. I tell him that I am an American English teacher at MAN 1. He tells me that he is a math and finance teacher, but that he cannot find work so he drives the becak instead. Then the conversation takes a turn:
Driver: I want you to meet my wife.
Me: Oh, haha. Umm, haha.
Driver: Yes you will meet my wife, yah?
Me: That would be nice, but I need to go home.
Driver: Yes, I will take you home. But first you will meet my wife.
Me: Oh, ummm, no, I don't think so. Not tonight. I want to go to this address (I shove the paper in his face)
Driver: Oh yes we will go there. I will take you home.
Me: Ok good.
Driver: Yes, I will take you there. And first I will take you to meet my wife. Yes.
Me: Noooooooo, I cannot meet your wife. I have a family at home (I have started to lie a lot) and they are worried about me
Driver: No problem
Me: So you will take me home. No stop?
Driver: No, no stop. We will go to your house, yes? After you meet my wife.
Me: NO! I do not want to meet your wife. I want to go home. You take me home. Do not stop until you get to this address. I will not meet your wife tonight.
Driver: Okay. We go to your house.
Me: Yes. To my house. Nowhere else. Right?
Driver: Yes, no stop.
Right as I was preparing to jump out of the becak and save myself from potential rape and robbery, the driver mentioned my landlady by name. I calmed down a bit and decided he might really just want me to meet his wife. Not that I would consent, but I decided to trust him just enough to let him continue to transport me. 3 stops to ask for directions and 4 phone calls to various people later, including my landlady and my principal, I made it home.
REASON #2: The Taxis
My favorite place in Medan thus far is Sun Plaza. It is this big Western-style mall with a movie theater and a Starbucks and lots of cool stores and food. These are all great perks, but the reason that I love it is because I can walk around with my white skin and blonde hair and people don't stare at me or catcall me or shout at me. I can exist in peace. The second time I went to Sun Plaza, I wrote my home address down on a piece of paper so that my taxi driver would know exactly where to go. After my above-mentioned becak experience, I was not taking any risks with a lost driver. Naively, I thought that surely a taxi driver would know his or her way around the city and could take me where I wanted to go. After all, they have a dispatch with a map who can say how much to charge. Surely that person can say where it is as well! So when I was done, I went to the valet service at Sun Plaza and asked the overeager adolescents to hail me a cab. They did, and I hopped in, sat back, and relaxed. An hour later, I was home and burdened with as much stress as before, this time because the driver wouldn't let me out of the car until I paid him an additional 50% of the price we had already agreed upon (cabs here choose not to use their meters) because he had spent so much time trying to find the place.
REASON #3: The Angkuts
The standard method of transport throughout this country is a public bus-like vehicle called an angkut. These are vans that have bench seats lining the inside of the vehicle in a U-shape. They are very cheap and can take you anywhere you want to go. The only catch is that there is no published route system, so people really only know which bus will take them on their regular route. Not too many people in my neck of the woods do too much shopping at Sun Plaza, so no one knows which bus to take to get there. In addition, there is no such thing as a maximum capacity, so they are typically very crowded and uncomfortable. Today I sat shotgun with two boys. I was next to the driver, and after he switched gears a couple of times, I had enough cause to make him marry me.
REASON #4: The Harassment
I have started to hate going out in public because it means an onslaught of unwelcome catcalls, questions, shouting, and staring. It's everywhere! Even when I go to eat somewhere, I can't be in peace. I feel like an animal in a zoo. Everyone is watching me and taking pictures (no lie - pictures of me because I'm white) and yelling things at me, and I can't escape. If I had a motorbike, I could put on the helmet and gloves. With long sleeves and pants, no one would know I'm white. I could just breeze on by and get where I want to go.
I have no idea where to get a motorcycle. No one will tell me because they're scared I will die. All I want is a motorcycle.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Ice Cold Coke!
Nothing beats an ice cold Coke. Nothing. No matter where I am, no matter what my mood, drinking a Coke is like a taste of home. Their commercials are just so true!
Because an ice cold Coke makes me feel better, I am only drinking them when I really need them. Translation: they are my substitution for a good stiff drink. Only one week in my location and I totally understand why so many Peace Corps volunteers come back with alcoholism.
Right now I am sitting in a Pizza Hut enjoying a freshly poured Coke and waiting for my delicious American lunch. I have decided to make today my food day. After Pizza Hut, I am going to Starbucks. After Starbucks, I am going to this frozen yogurt place that has America in the title (so I'm bending the rules a little for that one). Then, if my stomach doesn't explode, I'm going to A&W for a root beer float. I don't think I'll make it through all of it, but it's nice to dream! And then I will follow up with an American movie! OH HAPPY DAY!
With all this talk about American food, I feel a sudden compulsion to list all of the ways in which globalization has benefitted me over the past week.
1. Without globalization (and Al Gore), internet in Indonesia with a tiny USB drive might not have happened.
2. Without globalization, Coke would not be able to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside (but I'm still not as warm and fuzzy as with a nice glass of cabernet)
3. Without globalization, Pizza Hut would not be able to serve me an oddly delicious interpretation of pizza that substitutes soy sauce for tomato sauce(see picture below):
4. Without globalization, there would probably be no need for a Fulbright program. And definitely no need for English teachers.
5. Without globalization, I might not be able to buy vegetables imported into Indonesia (sidenote - I would love nothing more than to buy locally grown vegetables from Indonesian farmers, but human excrement is a very common fertilizer here and I just cannot risk Hepatitis right now!)
6. Without globalization, I would not be able to shop at Carrefour, the WalMart of the rest of the world.
Okay, I am going to stop now. This could go on forever because my entire existence lately seems to be all tied in to globalization in a very scary way. But I don't know what I would do without globalization. I love it - the good, the bad, and the ugly!
Because an ice cold Coke makes me feel better, I am only drinking them when I really need them. Translation: they are my substitution for a good stiff drink. Only one week in my location and I totally understand why so many Peace Corps volunteers come back with alcoholism.
Right now I am sitting in a Pizza Hut enjoying a freshly poured Coke and waiting for my delicious American lunch. I have decided to make today my food day. After Pizza Hut, I am going to Starbucks. After Starbucks, I am going to this frozen yogurt place that has America in the title (so I'm bending the rules a little for that one). Then, if my stomach doesn't explode, I'm going to A&W for a root beer float. I don't think I'll make it through all of it, but it's nice to dream! And then I will follow up with an American movie! OH HAPPY DAY!
With all this talk about American food, I feel a sudden compulsion to list all of the ways in which globalization has benefitted me over the past week.
1. Without globalization (and Al Gore), internet in Indonesia with a tiny USB drive might not have happened.
2. Without globalization, Coke would not be able to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside (but I'm still not as warm and fuzzy as with a nice glass of cabernet)
3. Without globalization, Pizza Hut would not be able to serve me an oddly delicious interpretation of pizza that substitutes soy sauce for tomato sauce(see picture below):
4. Without globalization, there would probably be no need for a Fulbright program. And definitely no need for English teachers.
5. Without globalization, I might not be able to buy vegetables imported into Indonesia (sidenote - I would love nothing more than to buy locally grown vegetables from Indonesian farmers, but human excrement is a very common fertilizer here and I just cannot risk Hepatitis right now!)
6. Without globalization, I would not be able to shop at Carrefour, the WalMart of the rest of the world.
Okay, I am going to stop now. This could go on forever because my entire existence lately seems to be all tied in to globalization in a very scary way. But I don't know what I would do without globalization. I love it - the good, the bad, and the ugly!
Rush Week
It's all about the little things, right? This morning I woke up to find, for the first time since I've lived in Medan, that my water is working. That's right! On this Friday morning, my water was not cut off mid-shower. For the first time, I did not have to run down the stairs with shampoo in my hair and soap in my eyes to tell my landlady TIDAK AIR (no water). For the first time, I did not have to endure yet another chuckle at my expense from my landlady as she flips the switch to let the water run against gravity and up to the second floor and into my bathroom. And for the first time, I did not shock the neighbors on the street who just so happened to be passing by at the exact same moment the ghostly white bule (ghostly white because of the soap on my face, oh and my pale skin that has already become my claim to fame in this unfair city) comes barreling down the stairs in a most immodest towel. Yes, I think today will be a good day.
You see, I needed my water to be working this morning. I needed it so badly because when I woke up, my first thought was, "*#@&^!#*, I'm still in Indonesia." Then I weighed the pros and cons of not washing my hair today and calculated how much more time in bed and away from Indonesia I could have if I just said no. The pros won. The winning argument? I have to wear a jilbab to work anyway. I could not wash my hair for an entire year, and it wouldn't matter. Most of my thoughts these days are pretty negative.
The thing is, I really do like Indonesia. And I am SO EXCITED to be here. And I am so grateful for this opportunity! Just not today. And probably not for the next couple of weeks. I have hit the One Month Wall. I hit it hard. As my friend Wesley said (shout out to WESLEY and see you in TWO WEEKS!), how could I not hit The Wall with full force when right at the one month mark I am moved from 5-star resort heaven to real life in a developing country? Man, I really miss that Sheraton. And the reality is that I don't have it that bad. I live in a brand new, clean room. I am safe. If I need something, I have people I can call. I have running water (when my landlady remembers to turn on the switch), electricity, air conditioning, internet, and a cell phone. I am in a good spot. Despite the fact that I know all of this, I just cannot make my emotions catch up with my brain. I ride the emotional roller coaster on express speed about 100 times a day. One minute I think, "Man, this is awesome! I can't believe I am in Indonesia! I can totally do this!" and the next, it's "Why am I here? I hate the food, I can't communicate, I don't know where I am, I miss my family and friends, this isn't worth it, I just want to go home." By noon I'm already wanting to go back to sleep from the sheer exhaustion of these thoughts. But I can't. Why? Because it's sorority rush month in MAN 1 Medan, and I have to put my best face forward so that people like me and don't think Americans are horrible Muslim-hating heathens. Yeah, that's right. I said it.
All this is to say that I was so naive to think that life in Indonesia would be a breeze. I overestimated my own strength and underestimated the challenges of living in a foreign country. Now I have to deal. Thank goodness for my family and friends for letting me cry on the phone and rant and rave like a maniac (speaking of maniac, my mother did remark that my laugh is turning maniacal - uh oh!). And I am so so so so grateful for my wonderful Fulbright friends around Indonesia who can relate to me and help me laugh about the ridiculousness that is too quickly becoming my normal everyday. Y'all have no idea! Finally, if there is any state department official monitoring my blog, I want to give props to AMINEF because Nellie, Astrid, Rizma, and Nadia are AMAZING women and work so hard to make sure we are safe and happy and taken care of. They deserve a major pay raise!
All this is to say that I was so naive to think that life in Indonesia would be a breeze. I overestimated my own strength and underestimated the challenges of living in a foreign country. Now I have to deal. Thank goodness for my family and friends for letting me cry on the phone and rant and rave like a maniac (speaking of maniac, my mother did remark that my laugh is turning maniacal - uh oh!). And I am so so so so grateful for my wonderful Fulbright friends around Indonesia who can relate to me and help me laugh about the ridiculousness that is too quickly becoming my normal everyday. Y'all have no idea! Finally, if there is any state department official monitoring my blog, I want to give props to AMINEF because Nellie, Astrid, Rizma, and Nadia are AMAZING women and work so hard to make sure we are safe and happy and taken care of. They deserve a major pay raise!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
22 and Single
The first question any Indonesian will ask me is, "How old are you?" The second is, "Are you married?" And the third - "How about an Indonesian man?"
The culturally appropriate answer is belum, which means "not yet." Sometimes I say that, but sometimes I just say tidak (no)! These moments so far have been so awkward because they are almost always in front of an audience. When I say I am single, they cheer. Ugh. I'm over it. It's the Brawny Man or nothing for me!
Okay, here is what has happened to me over the past week:
1. I moved to Medan.
2. I got my apartment.
3. I met my students.
MOVING TO MEDAN
I flew on an airplane. End of story. Oh oh oh except for when I was in the airport in Jakarta, this random lady walked over to Erin and me and asked to take a photo with us. Like we were celebrities! And all because we are white. Now that's screwed up.
GETTING MY APARTMENT
(I have pictures that I am trying to post, but my internet is slow so they might come in a few days on this same post)
Okay, so this is interesting. I live in a one-room apartment above a pharmacy/clinic which is owned and operated by a Muslim midwife. Is that not my own personal WGS dream or what?! The family that owns the building is really cool. The mom - Maulina - owns this clinic, and her husband has some kind of government job in the city. He's cool, but I still don't know his name. They have three kids - Nanda, Nora, and Ahwil - who are SOOO FUN! Nanda is 14 and speaks excellent English, so she has been kind enough to translate for me and her family. The kids like to come and hang out in my room. On Saturday, we are going to cook some American style hamburgers. They think I am cool because 1) I'm American, 2) I lied and said that I like Justin Beber (Beber Fever is everywhere in this country!), and 3) I can cook. No lie! I am cool because I can cook. The pressure is on now!
My first night in Medan was really hard. My room, which is really very nice, was not at all what I expected. I thought I would get something with a kitchen and a bedroom, not just a bedroom. When I arrived, I had a twin bed with plastic still on the mattress (that's good - no bed bugs), a pink sheet, and no blanket. I didn't even have a top sheet. Thank goodness that I brought a blanket with me because otherwise I would have spent the first night without a blanket to sleep under! In addition to my bed was a small desk, a plastic deck chair, and a wardrobe closet like what you see in a dorm room. In my bathroom was a western-style toilet and a tub of water with a big dipper to scoop water into the toilet bowl for flushing. I took one look at the bare walls and the lack of kitchen and cried myself to sleep.
Since then, things have improved. I got internet, which makes a huge different on my mood level. Not being able to talk to folks back home is really hard, especially when culture shock hits and you need all the love and encouragement you can find. And finally today, I got a shower head in my bathroom, a refrigerator, a water cooler/dispenser, and a gas stove. I feel like a real grown up again! The last on my agenda is getting a motorcycle or scooter. That's all I need to regain my much-needed independence and sense of self!
MEETING MY STUDENTS
My students are awesome. I never thought I would want to be a teacher, but I am starting to see it's appeal. Would I want to teach in American where I have no celebrity status for my American passport and white skin? Probably not. But at least I'll enjoy it while I'm here! I have a different class every day, and I only see my students once a week. Thus far, all I've done is introduce myself and observe the classes. I got to help in one class that was working on reading comprehension - students had to pick ten words that they did not know. I walked around the class like a real teacher and helped explain the meaning of words like "bloodthirsty" and "surely." Have you ever tried to explain the meaning of "surely?" It's not easy! But the whole experience was very odd. In a lot of ways, I still feel like a child. Putting on my teacher hat and claiming to be an authority on something feels like playing dress-up. I keep waiting for my mom to come and pick me up from school or the real teacher to walk in the room and tell me to sit down and be quiet. I wonder if the feeling will ever go away.
I haven't even finished the week, and I already have a favorite class. They were loud and rambunctious and totally disrespectful, and I ate it up! It was fun because I wasn't the teacher in charge. I just wanted to go and give all the naughty boys in the back of the class noogies! They love the Mr. Bean movies here, so they would keep impersonating Mr. Bean. Every once in awhile someone would shout out "Obama!" or "Hey America!" and I would giggle. I suppose I have to learn how to hide my laughter on the inside.
Even more than the students, I love the teachers! Most of the teachers at the school are women, and they are a RIOT! Going into the teacher's lounge is like going into a hen house. They are always gossiping and joking around and teasing each other. I love to just watch them! The men are cool too, and I already have this inside joke with one guy where every time I see him we do an elaborate secret handshake thingy like what I used to make up with my friends in junior high school. He gets such a kick out of it, and I saw him teaching one of his students a handshake too! I love it! Everyone thinks it's so funny when we do fist bumps (yes, that is my cultural contribution to Indonesia: the fist bump) because he has very dark skin, and I have very light skin. For some reason, everyone starts to crack up when they see the contrast.
One thing that I've got to get used to is the meddling. For instance, on my first day I was going around to all of the teachers and introducing myself. I met all the women, and they were nudging me to the back corner where there was a young male teacher working very busily at his desk. They pushed me over, and I leaned over to shake his hand, but he wouldn't shake mine. Instead he just bowed toward me. I think he is super super super conservative and doesn't touch women. Too bad - he's pretty cute! Anyway, all the women started saying very loudly, "He is SINGLE! SINGLE! You know, NOT MARRIED! And Miss Hannah, you are NOT MARRIED! He is SINGLE, you are SINGLE!" Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. He and I both turned bright red, and they just died.
The culturally appropriate answer is belum, which means "not yet." Sometimes I say that, but sometimes I just say tidak (no)! These moments so far have been so awkward because they are almost always in front of an audience. When I say I am single, they cheer. Ugh. I'm over it. It's the Brawny Man or nothing for me!
Okay, here is what has happened to me over the past week:
1. I moved to Medan.
2. I got my apartment.
3. I met my students.
MOVING TO MEDAN
I flew on an airplane. End of story. Oh oh oh except for when I was in the airport in Jakarta, this random lady walked over to Erin and me and asked to take a photo with us. Like we were celebrities! And all because we are white. Now that's screwed up.
GETTING MY APARTMENT
(I have pictures that I am trying to post, but my internet is slow so they might come in a few days on this same post)
Okay, so this is interesting. I live in a one-room apartment above a pharmacy/clinic which is owned and operated by a Muslim midwife. Is that not my own personal WGS dream or what?! The family that owns the building is really cool. The mom - Maulina - owns this clinic, and her husband has some kind of government job in the city. He's cool, but I still don't know his name. They have three kids - Nanda, Nora, and Ahwil - who are SOOO FUN! Nanda is 14 and speaks excellent English, so she has been kind enough to translate for me and her family. The kids like to come and hang out in my room. On Saturday, we are going to cook some American style hamburgers. They think I am cool because 1) I'm American, 2) I lied and said that I like Justin Beber (Beber Fever is everywhere in this country!), and 3) I can cook. No lie! I am cool because I can cook. The pressure is on now!
My first night in Medan was really hard. My room, which is really very nice, was not at all what I expected. I thought I would get something with a kitchen and a bedroom, not just a bedroom. When I arrived, I had a twin bed with plastic still on the mattress (that's good - no bed bugs), a pink sheet, and no blanket. I didn't even have a top sheet. Thank goodness that I brought a blanket with me because otherwise I would have spent the first night without a blanket to sleep under! In addition to my bed was a small desk, a plastic deck chair, and a wardrobe closet like what you see in a dorm room. In my bathroom was a western-style toilet and a tub of water with a big dipper to scoop water into the toilet bowl for flushing. I took one look at the bare walls and the lack of kitchen and cried myself to sleep.
Since then, things have improved. I got internet, which makes a huge different on my mood level. Not being able to talk to folks back home is really hard, especially when culture shock hits and you need all the love and encouragement you can find. And finally today, I got a shower head in my bathroom, a refrigerator, a water cooler/dispenser, and a gas stove. I feel like a real grown up again! The last on my agenda is getting a motorcycle or scooter. That's all I need to regain my much-needed independence and sense of self!
MEETING MY STUDENTS
My students are awesome. I never thought I would want to be a teacher, but I am starting to see it's appeal. Would I want to teach in American where I have no celebrity status for my American passport and white skin? Probably not. But at least I'll enjoy it while I'm here! I have a different class every day, and I only see my students once a week. Thus far, all I've done is introduce myself and observe the classes. I got to help in one class that was working on reading comprehension - students had to pick ten words that they did not know. I walked around the class like a real teacher and helped explain the meaning of words like "bloodthirsty" and "surely." Have you ever tried to explain the meaning of "surely?" It's not easy! But the whole experience was very odd. In a lot of ways, I still feel like a child. Putting on my teacher hat and claiming to be an authority on something feels like playing dress-up. I keep waiting for my mom to come and pick me up from school or the real teacher to walk in the room and tell me to sit down and be quiet. I wonder if the feeling will ever go away.
I haven't even finished the week, and I already have a favorite class. They were loud and rambunctious and totally disrespectful, and I ate it up! It was fun because I wasn't the teacher in charge. I just wanted to go and give all the naughty boys in the back of the class noogies! They love the Mr. Bean movies here, so they would keep impersonating Mr. Bean. Every once in awhile someone would shout out "Obama!" or "Hey America!" and I would giggle. I suppose I have to learn how to hide my laughter on the inside.
Even more than the students, I love the teachers! Most of the teachers at the school are women, and they are a RIOT! Going into the teacher's lounge is like going into a hen house. They are always gossiping and joking around and teasing each other. I love to just watch them! The men are cool too, and I already have this inside joke with one guy where every time I see him we do an elaborate secret handshake thingy like what I used to make up with my friends in junior high school. He gets such a kick out of it, and I saw him teaching one of his students a handshake too! I love it! Everyone thinks it's so funny when we do fist bumps (yes, that is my cultural contribution to Indonesia: the fist bump) because he has very dark skin, and I have very light skin. For some reason, everyone starts to crack up when they see the contrast.
One thing that I've got to get used to is the meddling. For instance, on my first day I was going around to all of the teachers and introducing myself. I met all the women, and they were nudging me to the back corner where there was a young male teacher working very busily at his desk. They pushed me over, and I leaned over to shake his hand, but he wouldn't shake mine. Instead he just bowed toward me. I think he is super super super conservative and doesn't touch women. Too bad - he's pretty cute! Anyway, all the women started saying very loudly, "He is SINGLE! SINGLE! You know, NOT MARRIED! And Miss Hannah, you are NOT MARRIED! He is SINGLE, you are SINGLE!" Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. He and I both turned bright red, and they just died.
Beasty Woman
My strength in Indonesia is beastly. Here are several examples of the way in which I awe my steadily growing audience:
1. Upon arrival in the Medan airport, I saw my 60lb suitcase coming around the baggage claim belt. Naturally, I lifted it off. It was by no means effortless, but my counterpart (who shall now be referred to as my Ibu) was so surprised that I could lift my own suitcase that her mouth dropped to the floor. Then she laughed and pointed. Rule of thumb: never pack a suitcase that you can't lift yourself. Duh!
2. Yesterday I took my backpack with me to school. In it was my laptop, a few books, and my purse. Maybe 30 pounds - nothing compared to the average weight of the American high schooler's backpack - and the other female teachers tried to move it. They almost fell backward and said it was far too heavy. They are tiny women. Then they laughed and pointed at me as usual.
3. Today I got a water dispenser for my room. Ibu Mai, the vice principal in charge of accounting, drove me to the local supermarket to buy a 5 gallon jug for my dispenser. When we got to my house, I knew there was no way that the women who were there would carry the jug up the stairs to my apartment, so I threw it over my shoulder and marched upstairs. Again, laughter and pointing.
I hope you have noticed the common theme of laughter and pointing. This is what happens in my life. Everything I do, whether it's carrying a bag that weighs more than 20 pounds or buying a liter size bottle of water, initiates laughter and pointing. Everyone talks about needing to have a sense of humor when you come here, but what they really mean is a sense of humor about yourself. Sometimes I will do something that is really and truly funny, like accidentally call the chief of police an orangutan while I wave my finger in his face (true story), but most of the time I just do normal stuff, like buy a big bottle of water when I am thirsty. Anything I do that is different is, apparently, funny. Good thing I can laugh at myself, although sometimes it does really get old.
1. Upon arrival in the Medan airport, I saw my 60lb suitcase coming around the baggage claim belt. Naturally, I lifted it off. It was by no means effortless, but my counterpart (who shall now be referred to as my Ibu) was so surprised that I could lift my own suitcase that her mouth dropped to the floor. Then she laughed and pointed. Rule of thumb: never pack a suitcase that you can't lift yourself. Duh!
2. Yesterday I took my backpack with me to school. In it was my laptop, a few books, and my purse. Maybe 30 pounds - nothing compared to the average weight of the American high schooler's backpack - and the other female teachers tried to move it. They almost fell backward and said it was far too heavy. They are tiny women. Then they laughed and pointed at me as usual.
3. Today I got a water dispenser for my room. Ibu Mai, the vice principal in charge of accounting, drove me to the local supermarket to buy a 5 gallon jug for my dispenser. When we got to my house, I knew there was no way that the women who were there would carry the jug up the stairs to my apartment, so I threw it over my shoulder and marched upstairs. Again, laughter and pointing.
I hope you have noticed the common theme of laughter and pointing. This is what happens in my life. Everything I do, whether it's carrying a bag that weighs more than 20 pounds or buying a liter size bottle of water, initiates laughter and pointing. Everyone talks about needing to have a sense of humor when you come here, but what they really mean is a sense of humor about yourself. Sometimes I will do something that is really and truly funny, like accidentally call the chief of police an orangutan while I wave my finger in his face (true story), but most of the time I just do normal stuff, like buy a big bottle of water when I am thirsty. Anything I do that is different is, apparently, funny. Good thing I can laugh at myself, although sometimes it does really get old.
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