The Story of Anna, Spanglish Teacher in the Dutch East Indies

I want to tell you a story.  Now remember, this story is entirely fictitious.  It is not at all related to anyone's real life.  This story is about a girl named . . . Anna.  Although she is from . . . Canada, she lives and works in a foreign country called . . . the Dutch East Indies.

Anna hates her job.  She teaches . . . Spanglish to the children of the Dutch East Indies.  Everyday she goes into work with a forced smile on her face and a secret resolve never to teach Spanglish again in her entire life no matter how desperate or poor she is, even if Taco Bell isn't hiring.  But if she ever does have to teach Spanglish again, it most definitely will not ever be in the Dutch East Indies.  Of this she is confident, so much so that she swore she'd rather die than return to the Dutch East Indies.

The sad thing is that Anna didn't always feel this way.  In fact, when she first arrived in the Dutch East Indies, she was quite confident that she would flourish and prosper in her new environment.  Little did she know what she was in for.  When Anna arrived at her school - WOMAN 11 is the name - she was surprised to find that the principal of the school, Mr. McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead, bore a striking resemblance to an Amer...ahem, a Canadian used car salesman.  His protruding stomach, his greasy face, his oily mustache, and his too-perfectly-slicked-back hair exuded an attitude of self-important arrogance that gave Anna a bad vibe.  Little did she know how right she was to distrust him.

In their first meeting, Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead insisted that Anna wear the traditional clothes of the school, a constricting mummy uniform that trapped the heat in her body and made her sweat bullets every moment she was at work.  In spite of the fact that Anna did not subscribe to the beliefs that required women to wear the constricting mummy uniform, she had no choice but to comply.  It was only the beginning.

At first Anna was happy to accommodate this aspect of the culture because she wanted to be respectful.  As time progressed, however, Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead continued to impose rules and regulations and responsibilities upon Anna that were not within the stipulations of her contract.  According to her contract, Anna was not a direct employee of the school and, as such, was not subject to the authority of Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead.  But Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead didn't seem to care at all about the contract.  In fact, he seemed to think he could boss Anna around because she was a woman and he was a man and therefore the naturally superior person.  Anna quickly began to resent and revile the principal.  When Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead told the other teachers at WOMAN 11 that Anna said they couldn't teach, Anna was advised not to confront the principal about his lies because it was not her place.  Anna reluctantly followed this advice, although she regretted it later.

For many months, Anna succeeded in avoiding Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead.  On the few occasions she did encounter him, she felt violated by his blatant stares at her breasts.  She didn't understand why he couldn't look anywhere else.  Here she was, wearing the most conservative, culturally sensitive, constricting mummy uniform she could find.  She did not feel in the least bit sexy and couldn't even tell by looking in the mirror that she was, in fact, a woman.  Yet her Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead continually stared for long, uninterrupted periods at her lady parts.  This infuriated her more than ever, especially because she had no real options for addressing this problem except to increase her attempts at avoidance.

This lack of respect from Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead made Anna feel crushed and worthless.  She had been working very hard to be a good teacher and do a good job at her school, but the continued shows of disrespect from the principal left her feeling like there was no point.  Suddenly the mummy uniform, a benign piece of clothing, became the symbol of all her misery and unhappiness and she loathed wearing it.  She had come to learn that the students and teachers at her school had not expected her to wear the mummy uniform and that it was, in fact, just another imposition from Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead.  Why should she respect him and his rules when he so very clearly did not respect her?  Anna did the only thing she could thing of: subversive acts of rebellion.  She started small with things like changing into her Western clothes before leaving school in the afternoon, but this was dissatisfying.  Eventually she decided to hit Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead where it hurt and deny him the one thing he really wanted: status.

See, in the Dutch East Indies, people from Canada are very special.  Not just Canada, actually.  Any white person.  Their origins don't matter as long as their skin color is pale.  And because white people are so special, anyone from the Dutch East Indies who knows a white person immediately increases their social status tenfold.  This is why Anna was often encouraged to take photos with Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead and to come to his parties.  He was also fond of calling television reporters and forcing her to be profiled on their TV show (she later learned that he was misrepresenting her position and tenure at the school in order to appear to have a native Spanglish speaker on staff permanently and increase his status as a principal - not to mention his paycheck).

It was with all this in mind that Anna stopped taking photos, appearing on video cameras, and attending events at which students were not the focus.  Although Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead spoke enough Spanglish and Anna spoke enough of his language that they could communicate with each other, Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead started playing dirty.  After Anna started rejecting his invitations, he would go to one of the other Spanglish teachers at the school and make them invite Anna on his behalf.  If Anna continued to refuse, the poor Spanglish teacher would get in trouble with Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead.  The distress in their eyes when she said she already had plans for the scheduled time of the party (the previously-made plans almost always really existed, though, because Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead had a habit of remembering Anna as an afterthought of objectification and rarely gave her notice exceeding 24 hours) caused Anna undue stress.  She really hated the idea of Principal McDoody Jerkface Poopyhead abusing his power like that, but she almost always refused to give in.

Finally Anna's contract ended.  She was so happy and relieved and ready to go home to Canada and eat some bacon.

Don't Call Me, I'll Call You

Well the moment I have been waiting for for so long has finally arrived.  I have finished my tenure as a Fulbright ETA.

Let's pause for a satisfied, elated, relieved sigh.

I have a lot to say about many things I have experienced and observed over the last several months, but I'm going to hold my tongue until I'm safely back stateside and can speak my mind plainly.  Until then, I'm going to travel around Indonesia and make some great memories.  Stay tuned!

Food for Thought

Today I woke up at 6am, dragged myself out of bed, and stared out the window into the dark.  I hate waking up before the sun rises.  It's unnatural and depressing.  Then I took a cold shower, got dressed, put on my jilbab, and drove to work for my 7:30am class.

I hate 7:30am.  Actually, I hate any time before 9am. Man I miss college.  If it weren't for the fact that my 7:30am class is with my advanced English 11th grade students, I would be really really mean.  Fortunately, they're a good class.  They are intelligent, thoughtful, interested in the world, and fun to talk to.  I always enjoy teaching them and challenging them both in the English language and in their ideas.  Today for my lesson, I told them that the Indonesian government has decided to give one of it's uninhabited islands to the UN for the creation of a new, international country with a population consisting of people from every country in the world.  Then they broke up into groups and had to design their country.  I gave them a series of topics to discuss, including things like political system, type of economy, official language, official religion, censorship, marriage laws, and industry.  Everyone in the class agreed that democracy was the only option for a system of government with their reasoning being that every person has the right to participate in government.

I was surprised by many of their answers.  Only one group said that there would be no official religion.  The others mimicked Indonesian laws and said that there would be four official religions - Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, and Hinduism.  I reminded them that this is an international country and there would be people from Israel, for example, living there, and I asked if Judaism would be recognized.  After a few minutes of discussion, they decided (begrudgingly) that Jewish people would be allowed to live in this country but only for a limited time and without the right to practice their religion.  When I asked why, they couldn't answer.  Not even in Indonesian.  All they could say was that because it's not one of their chosen official religions.

When I got to the censorship question, I gave a little speech.  Indonesia has a censorship board that monitors all forms of media and removes anything deemed immoral.  This includes something as minor as pecks on the cheeks between a husband and wife in a movie on TV all the way to cutting out sex, violence, or drug use in movies in the theater (this policy is not consistently enforced, however).  It is with this in mind that I gave my speech.  I told them that there is a debate about censorship.  Some people think it violates a person's right to make decisions for herself or himself or that it takes away freedom of expression for artists.  Other people argue that it is a dangerous governmental practice because if it's not controlled, it can eventually erode the people's freedoms in regard to government.  Still other people think that maintaining a certain moral fiber throughout a society with censorship is the responsibility of the government because the people cannot be trusted to make good decisions.  I told them that they should decide which argument they agree with and make their censorship laws accordingly.  Every single group agreed that morality is more important than freedom of choice or expression and that the government has a responsibility to enforce morality.  They also decided that all forms of media - newspapers, books, movies, TV, magazines, internet - would be censored for kissing (PITY!), sex, drugs, violence, and other immoral acts.  I asked them if a movie was portraying drugs in a negative light and showing the harm they do to people (Requiem for a Dream and Trainspotting came to mind), would those still be allowed.  They said no, absolutely no depictions of anything.

Finally we got to the issue of marriage laws.  I told them they had to decide if there would be restrictions on who could be married in regard to religion, race, etc.  The only restriction they chose was for religion (this also mimics Indonesian laws).  Their argument was that in Islam, it is forbidden to marry a person who does not share the same religion.  I asked them if these laws apply in religions other than Islam, but they ignored me.  They continued to say, "A Muslim must marry a Muslim."  It was like a broken record.  So I asked the group that had chosen to abstain from an official religion if it was fair for them to impose a religious law in a country with no official religion.  Again, the broken record.

The class's response to these questions really surprised me.  I wasn't expecting them to be rebellious, American-style teenagers.  They are very pious Muslims in a VERY strictly religious Muslim school.  But I was still surprised.  Since I have been teaching here, we've talked about a lot of things.  Corruption, education, religious conflict, political freedom (and lack thereof), and religiously-based self-segregation are all topics of interest for these students.  They often speak critically of these issues and offer up thoughtful, insightful solutions.  Disagreements and debates between the students are not uncommon.  In fact, their comments and suggestions seem more intelligent and realistic than some of the things their teachers say.  Based on these past conversations, I was expecting at least some sort consideration of what is different.  I continued to remind them that it was an international country in the hopes that they would talk about what it means for all sorts of people to come together and what kinds of problems might ensue from imposing rules that can exclude or alienate a great deal of people.  Instead, they sounded like a propaganda piece for the current government.

I don't write this to try to make Islam look bad or further enforce the stereotype that Muslims are trying to take over the world.  On the contrary.  If you went into a Christian school here, you'd probably here similar answers in favor of Christianity (that's just a guess, though. I don't know any Christians here).  What saddens me is that my students, who are full of questions and criticisms and ideas and confusion, are not taught or encouraged to think critically.  On more than one occasion, they have been silenced by teachers for speaking to me about religious conflict or tension (Apparently it doesn't exist here *cough cough*).  I don't know if they are silenced because they aren't supposed to talk about it at all or because the teachers want me to think everything is ok (like I don't read the news and experience life here).  I often get the sense that I am lied to about many things regarding Indonesian government or culture, which is one of the reasons I don't feel like I can get a grasp on this place.  But what kills me is that this country, like every other country in the world, is riddled with problems.  Serious problems that need to be fixed in order for this country to become more developed.  But how can they?  How can they work to create effective and lasting solutions if they aren't taught to consider what is beyond their own world? It breaks my heart.

Here It Comes!

One more week!  woot WOOT!   I'm so so so so so so so so so excited to be done.  Although I do feel the occasional moment of nostalgia, most of the time I just want to do a little celebratory jig.  I never thought this moment would get here!

I've already sent a menu to my parents of all the foods I want when I arrive.  And when I say arrive, I mean in the airport before we even get to the car.  The following items will probably do a number on my stomach, but let's face it - I've endured nine months of weekly bouts of diarrhea.  It will almost be a sincere pleasure to endure gastrointestinal disfunction in the luxurious accommodations of a bathroom with a sink, toilet paper, a Western toilet, air conditioning, and a fan.  Bring on the processed, preservative-filled, artery-clogging, FDA approved wonders of a Western diet!

1.  More than anything, I want a bottle of wine.  Or a box.  I'm not picky.  And if you're thinking of a welcome-home gift, I like Cabernet Sauvignon.

2.  Taco Bell has been on my mind since I arrived in Indonesia on August 22, 2010.  Yes, I am fully aware of the questionable meat in their tacos, but let's face it.  I've been eating vegetables fertilized with human feces.  I can take it.

3.  I wouldn't be a Southerner if I didn't want biscuits, green beans, mac and cheese, squash casserole, fried okra, and creamed corn.  Yummmmmmmy!

4.  B.B.Q.  Enough said.

5.  And finally, to wash it all down (the wine will be my appetizer), a gigantic glass of Chick-Fil-A lemonade.  Maybe coupled with a chicken biscuit.

You might be reading this and thinking, "Whoa fatty!"  I don't care.  You just don't understand.  The closest thing we can get to American food is McDonald's and an Indonesian-friendly Pizza Hut (which means gross - people here eat tuna and corn on their pizza).  I haven't come within a mile of anything even closely resembling the home-style soul food that we get back home.  I'm salivating just thinking about it.

Blah

Today is a blah day.  I feel fat, my a/c is giving me congestion problems, I'm wearing dirty clothes because I've been too lazy to wash my clothes by hand, and nothing sounds better than sitting on my bed-turned-couch all day sipping tea and reading Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation.  But here I am, dressed for school (sans that horrific and HOT jilbab), typing on my blog and trying to think of games to play so I don't have to teach.

Thursdays are always blah days.  My classes on Thursday are really bad.  The students are unruly, discipline is nonexistent, and I spend most of my time waiting for them to be quiet.  Here's an example:

A few months ago, I was doing an activity with this class that lets them talk and move around a lot.  Unbeknownst to them, I'm always trying to find fun, energetic activities to connect to the lesson to accommodate their, well, spunk.  It doesn't seem to matter what I do because I can't keep control of these students no matter what.  And it's not just me - my co-teacher gave up on them before I even got here!  A class usually has one or two bad students that rile up the class.  Bond with them and your golden.  But when a class of 43 students has 15 boys who would've been in alternative school in America at the age of 7, there's really no chance.  Especially if you can't speak the same language.  And when any form of discipline results in cheering and clapping from their cohorts, it all seems pretty pointless.

So on this particular day, we were doing an activity.  The time was up and I needed them to sit down.  Despite my many efforts of speaking to individual students, yelling over the noise, and attempting my pathetic teacher staredown, nothing worked.  So finally I thought, "Hey, they just can't see me.  I'll pull a soapbox!"  And I stood on my chair to make the announcement.

Did this work?  NO!  I got their attention all right.  They heard me speaking and they looked around to see me standing on the chair.  For just one fleeting moment I thought I'd achieved success.  And then a Dead Poet's Society scene unfolded.  Only instead of me being the thought-provoking Robin Williams and my students feeling inspired by my wit, intelligence, and compassion, they jumped on their desks and started shouting at me and each other.  I suppose it would be more accurate to liken it to the crucifixion trial of Jesus.

That's why I hate Thursdays.

Tales of Tails

Today I walked into class and was immediately met with a horrible, death-like stench.  I asked the students to sweep the floor, hoping it was some rotten food that could be removed after a short cleaning session.  As I supervised the girls (boys don't clean, of course) who were pushing around the scraps of paper, food wrappers, mothballs (don't ask), grains of rice, and food crumbs with the broom, I discovered the culprit.  A group of boys was crouched in the corner.  They surrounded the supply cabinet and, while laughing and whispering in Indonesian, kept poking at something inside.  I peered over their shoulders and saw, with great surprise, a cat curled up inside the cabinet with six newborn kittens drinking milk from her teats.  She had given birth the night before and stayed in the stinky, nasty, birthy rags she curled up in before.  Yuck!

Cats are everywhere.  Big ones, little ones, yellow ones, black ones, fat ones, starving ones, and oh-so-pregnant! ones.  Maybe one out of 20 cats has a full tail.  The rest have a variation of bobbed, zig-zagged, crimped, and just plain funky.  Many a night we've spent discussing the possible causes of this strange disappearance.  The Indonesians insist that the cats are born this way, but we see as many kittens as we do cats and the kittens keep their tails for at least the first five or six weeks.  The kittens born in my classroom had full kitten-sized tails.  So where do they go?

Speculation ranges from spontaneous detachment to traffic mishaps to cat fights to incest.  There is compelling evidence for all four.  Never fear!  I will outline all of them.

Spontaneous detachment seems quite likely given the whole mystery surrounding this issue.  One day it's there, the next it isn't!  As I said, compelling evidence.

Given the commonly displayed crimped and zig-zagged tails we see, many of them violently bent at a right angle, I think it is safe to assume that these cats have encountered a fair amount of violence in their pathetic lives.  Since the staple food in an Indonesian cat's diet is rice, we can all imagine what a food scarcity they are facing.  Everywhere they go, they prowl around with hungry, sunken eyes, ribs showing through their patchy fur, and a little too much alleycat swagger in their walk.  They circle the cast-aside banana leaves full of unwanted rice and threaten any fellow cat from stealing their prize.  Needless to say, a loud food-fight RAAEEEEERRRRRRR is all too regular in schools, in restaurants, and in my trash bags.  And when they're not fighting for food or giving birth inside my classroom's supply cabinet, they're darting through traffic in search of food or a suitable kitten-birthing cabinet.  I'll never forget the time I was driving to the grocery store on my motorcycle and saw a roadkill cat in the middle of the road.  It's fur was matted with blood, it's tail bent into the air like a flag pole, and it's eyes had popped out of its head, blowing around on the road, held on only by the bloody strings still attached inside the eye sockets.  Not the best thing to see on your way to buy food, let me tell you!

Finally we have the incest theory.  As soon as my friend suggested it, everything suddenly made sense.  All the cats at my friends' dorm never leave.  There are three females and one male (lucky guy) nicknamed Garfield for the uncanny resemblance (both in size and laziness - the only time we've ever seen him move is to impregnate a member of his harem).  We've spoiled their boom-boom on many an occasion and even interrupted what I will always believe was a cat rape.  This male cat has impregnated each of the females at least four times since I've been in Medan.  And now their kittens are cats and making their own kittens.  Who's the daddy?  None other than Garfield.

This same scenario occurs at my school and in my neighborhood.  The same males are impregnating the females, then they impregnate their children, their grandchildren, and even their great-grandchildren.  And people say cats are intelligent!

Boundaries, Anyone?

My latest conversation with an Indonesian cab driver:

Him:  How old are you?
Me: 28.
Him:  How long have you lived in Indonesia?
Me:  8 months.
Him:  Who do you live with?
Me:  My husband.
Him:  Where is he from?
Me:  America.
Him:  How long have you been married?
Me: 8 years.
Him:  Do you have any children?
Me: No, we're still waiting a long time yet.
Him:  Oh, so you're a career woman.
Me:  Yes.
Him:  Good good. (thinking)  So what do you use?
Me:  What do you mean?
Him:  Do you use condoms?  Do you eat pills?  How do you not have children?