One week before I finished my contract, four teachers at my school invited me to lunch. It was the first time in nine months that I had been invited to a non-school social engagement by anyone from my school (except for one really cool old lady who wears a leather jacket when she drives her motorcycle and plays ping pong with me when she's supposed to be praying), and I was happy to accept. These women had been really kind to me throughout my time here, albeit distant, and I was curious to see what they were like outside of school. I had no idea how illuminating the lunch would be.
As we finished eating, I mentioned that I was having a really great time. One of the teachers smiled shyly and said, "Yeah, we wanted to invite you to lunch for a long time, but we didn't want to break the rules." I thought that was an odd thing to say, but I didn't press it. After I got home, though, I started thinking about what she said. Then I remembered some things my counterpart had said to me throughout the year. When the aforementioned really cool old lady took me to her house for tea, my counterpart was really angry. And later in the year, she tried to make me promise never to talk to another English teacher that my counterpart didn't like. As I thought about these and other things, I got suspicious. The next day, I asked one of the teachers from lunch what they meant by "rules." She looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "Oh, well just that we have to ask your counterpart's permission if we want to invite you anywhere." I was shocked and asked her to explain more. She said that my counterpart had told all the teachers at the beginning of the year that, in order to take me anywhere - even to lunch across the street between classes - they had to first get her permission. They had to tell her who was going, where they were taking me, why we were going, how we would get there, and how long it would take. Given that she's not very well-liked and had refused permission to one teacher very early on (her arch nemesis and the one she asked me not to speak to), no one else tried.
I looked at my fellow teacher and said, "But that's not true. It's a lie. That's not a rule." Her eyes were round as saucers as she asked, "Really?" I couldn't believe what I had just heard, and neither could she. I explained that, as an adult and a grown woman, I am perfectly capable of scheduling my own social engagements and do not need anyone to act as my guardian. "In fact," I said, "my counterpart has absolutely no idea what I do when I'm not at school. She doesn't know who my friends are or where I go because she's not my mother." Her mouth dropped open. She said, "But I wanted you to come to my house and meet my children and visit. You mean we could have done that?"
Apparently they decided that, with only a week left, they could throw caution to the wind and go behind my counterpart's back to issue me a lunch invitation. Now it makes sense why they were insistent I not tell my counterpart about it.
Three days after I learned this bit of news, I had a goodbye party with the English Club. My original plan to have them over to my house for some American food was thwarted by my lazy resistance to cleaning and packing and my shrinking budget that just couldn't accommodate import prices for palettes that probably wouldn't even like the food. Instead I bought some pizzas from Pizza Hut (probably a better treat for the students anyway) and brought them to school. I had not spoken to my counterpart since learning of her treachery and was not eager to do so. As the advisor for the English Club, though, I knew she would be at the party. I decided not to confront her about the rule because she could make the lives of the teachers who told me pretty miserable. Instead I opted for the cold shoulder.
She came late to the party. The students were shy about eating the pizza, so they weren't quick to devour it even though their hungry little eyes kept swinging back in the direction of the food. My counterpart arrived as I was taking out my camera, and she insisted on a photo with me. I told her that we should wait until the students finish eating because I didn't want greasy pizza fingers on my camera. She immediately turned to a student and yelled at them to finish immediately so she could have her photo. I put my hand out and said, "No, there is time. They can finish whenever they want." She looked disappointed but didn't say anything else.
After the students finished eating, we took a bunch of photos. There was still enough pizza left for each student to have a couple more slices, so I insisted that they take some home. My counterpart walked over to an almost full cheese pizza (she, never having eaten pizza in her life but insisting she hates it, chose not by flavor but by the largest pizza left), slammed the lid, and declared that she was taking the pizza home to her son. I calmly lifted the lid and said, as if to a child, "No, this pizza is for the students. They should take it home." She threw the lid closed again and said, "No, it's ok. I can take it home to my son. It's ok, no problem." After nine months of her speaking so manipulatively to me, and after the recent realization that my loneliness at the school was due largely to her lies, I wasn't going to take it anymore. Still trying to be nice, I shoved the lid back open and said, "No, it's for the students. If there is still pizza left when they leave, then you can take some home." She stared at me for a second, then said ok. I turned my back to put up my camera and turned around to see her telling the kids, "Don't eat that. It's mine. You can't have it. I want it." Their hands still hovering over the pizza, they froze, then backed away at her bullying. At this point, I lost my temper. In a loud voice, I said, "No, you can't take it with you. This pizza is for the students. They can eat whatever they want. You can't take it home. It's for the students." Then I shoved slices of pizza into every students' hand until the boxes were empty.
I don't think anyone has ever stood up to her like that. She's pretty scary, actually, and most of the other teachers seem to avoid her. I think she was shocked that I wouldn't let her have her way.
For a long time, I've felt sorry for my counterpart. I think she's a very unhappy woman. She is extraordinarily intelligent and works very hard to be a good teacher. And in her defense, when I needed her to help me get a house that meets the conditions of my contract, she was really great. But I think that stems more from her desire to do her job better than anyone else and less from a genuine desire to help me. Also, she's terrified of AMINEF. That always helps.
She told me once that she wanted to be a biologist. She said she really loved biology in high school and was good at it, but her parents insisted she become an English teacher. Her brother got to study whatever he wanted. At that time, she didn't speak any English. Now her vocabulary is really extensive and, although her accent really muddles her pronunciation, she deserves to be admired for her accomplishment. So many Indonesian teachers of foreign languages can barely read a sentence in their second language (this is not just English but German, French, Chinese, etc), so to encounter a person who has worked hard to master such a difficult language (not to mention mastering the art of manipulation in a foreign language) in a culture where it's really not necessary for a teaching position should be noticed.
I often wonder about the reason for her behavior. For the longest time I thought it was something to be pitied, the result of living in a place (not Indonesia in general but her own small society of her family and school) where she can only get what she wants through manipulation and deceit. She comes from Aceh, the notorious Shariah Law province in Indonesia that's known for it's religiously-based violence against women and it's alleged international terrorist training camps. She also works in a school that never gave me the impression of placing much value on women in a non-maternal, non-caretaker sense.
I don't know what her life is like, and I don't know what might have happened that makes her act this way. What I do know is that she crippled me when I was at my most vulnerable, a lonely stranger in a foreign place. It appears that it was for no better reason than to use me as a pawn in her petty departmental politics - "owner" of the bule - thus solidifying my eternal status here as an object, not a human being. Now that I'm removed from the situation, I'm not angry. Instead I only feel sadness and regret for what might have been a very different and much more meaningful experience here. I am glad that I found out about what she did, though, because it left me with a kind of understanding of the past year and a kinder feeling toward the other teachers.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Tortured Taste Buds
As I was eating lunch today, the same white rice and chicken that I've had twice a day, almost every day for nine months, I was pleasantly surprised to find a rare treat on television. Every once in awhile, on weekends, Indonesian TV will feature a special from American TV in English. Today I happened upon a show from the Food Network highlighting the success of America's two biggest burger franchises - McDonald's and Burger King. Although the story behind the success of these two competitors was indeed fascinating, I couldn't take my eyes off the nonstop images of burgers, fries, salads, onion rings, sausage, cheese, and milkshakes that filled the screen. For nearly an hour, I was entranced. As I continued to eat my lunch, each bite of white rice got smaller and smaller until, finally, I couldn't bring myself to eat anymore. My taste buds were screaming at me, "Give us flavor! Give us what we see on TV!" And suddenly all I could see, smell, or taste were the foods from home. Scrambled eggs and bacon and sausage and silver dollar pancakes with syrup and cheese grits. Sawmill gravy and biscuits. Collard greens and honey-cured ham and green bean casserole and fresh summer squash roasted in olive oil and rosemary. Warm brownies and rich chocolate cake and fresh cookies. Salmon and mahi-mahi and fresh trout and Cajun shrimp. Tacos and burritos and refried beans and salsa and tortilla chips. Even condiments like stone-ground mustard, Chipotle sauce, real ketchup, horseradish sauce, honey mustard, ranch dressing, balsamic vinaigrette, and barbecue sauce filled my head and refused to leave. And then I stared at my white rice and chicken, seasoned only by the flavorless but eye-wateringly spicy chilies, and my heart sank. It was nothing short of torture.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Nothing Surprises Me Anymore
I am currently renting a room in my friends' dormitory, where I plan to spend my last few days having fun and saying goodbye. Renting a dormitory room is easy - it's pretty much a hotel. An expensive one, though, by Indonesian standards. For Rp100,000 (a little over $10/night), I get a room with a bed, a tv, electricity, a/c, and a bathroom with a dipper bath. Because I know the people who live here, I also get free wifi (but they told me the password, not the caretaker). For half the price, I could get the same thing in the city center, but it's worth it to be with my friends. God knows there is absolutely no other reason to return to this city.
When I got the key to my room this morning, I discovered that the a/c in my room is not working. Because one of my friends, who has now returned to his home country, used to live in this room, I know that the a/c hasn't actually been working for several months and that the so-called attempts to fix it were really just for show. Since I'm recovering from a bad cold and am still feeling pretty irritable and under-the-weather, I decided that I just didn't have the patience to tolerate anymore unnecessary nonsense for the sake of cultural sensitivity.
I went down to the caretaker's room and knocked on the door a few times. He did not answer, so I headed back to the staircase to go back to my stifling hot room. On the way, I noticed a group of men lounging in the back room. I walked back there and found the caretaker surrounded by six or seven buddies. They were gambling (something which is, incidentally, incredibly illegal in Indonesia and haram for Muslims, and they were all Muslim). As I have discovered often happens in Indonesia, when you walk in on a person at their place of work and they are playing Solitaire or making a personal call or, in this case, playing poker, there is not an ounce of shame or guilt at being caught. There is no quick shuffle to hide or disguise the illicit activity but instead a bored look of irritation at the person who has interrupted and an immediate resuming of the activity. As I spoke to the caretaker to tell him my a/c was broken and I wanted to change rooms, he barely looked at me, preferring instead to watch the money being rapidly counted around the table. Finally, exasperated by his complete and utter failure to even pretend to do his job, I told him that I was paying for the room and I expect there to be a/c. He glared at me, then told me that none of the rooms were clean and they would do it later. Then he stood up and claimed a recently abandoned seat in the poker game.
I went back to my room, giving them one hour to finish their game and do their jobs before letting my illness-induced irritability get the better of me. An hour later, I walked back downstairs and into the room where the gambling was continuing. They merely glanced at me, so I left and went and got one of my male friends to come with me. They seem to respond more favorably to men, especially when that man is a head taller than all of them. As soon as we entered the room this time, they jumped up without us having to say anything and said the repairmen were coming to look at the a/c. Two blue-uniformed men slowly relinquished their seats around the table and grabbed a toolbox hidden inside a cabinet. Fifteen minutes later, then sauntered into my room.
I told them that the a/c was not blowing cold air, and they set up a ladder so they could reach the unit. Since a/c units in Indonesia are almost always window units, the cold air blower is inside the room but the motor is outside, mounted on the side of the building. One of the repairmen climbed the ladder, stuck his hand in front of the fan, and said, "Yup, that's not cold." Then his coworker said, "Huh." Then they stared at it for - no joke - TEN MINUTES. Every once in awhile, one of them would mutter something about it not blowing cold air. It was like they were trying to will it to work.
Finally the said something and left the room. They came back with an older man, apparently someone who actually knows what to do, a super special a/c remote, and a length of rope that looked no stronger than twine. For awhile, they merely pointed the super special a/c remote at the unit, turning it on and off. Surprise! No change.
Then it got interesting. One of the repairmen is really bright. Instead of getting a ladder and using that as an aide to examine the motor mounted on the side of the building, he decides to repel out the window. Remember that itty bitty rope I mentioned earlier? Yeah.....
I watched him in disbelief as he wound the twine-like rope around and around, never making a knot but just looping it every once and awhile and pulling. He mounted himself on the windowsill and was just about to jump out with only the unsecured, untested, itty bitty little rope to hold his weight. His friend, who had also been watching, suggested almost as an afterthought that he get a bigger rope. The aspiring mountain climber looked at his friend, looked at the rope, then slowly leaned back to test its strength. A few minutes later, he was using a much more appropriate-sized rope to support a human being.
Now I would just like to say that this is characteristic of most interactions I have with people here. Customer service is unheard of. Work ethic...well, you read for yourself. I wish I could say that was a rare occasion, but it wasn't. In my school, in this university, in the bank, in the mall, at a restaurant - customers are treated as an inconvenience, an interruption to a TV show, a cell phone game, a phone call, or a social visit. It's just the way the culture goes.
When I got the key to my room this morning, I discovered that the a/c in my room is not working. Because one of my friends, who has now returned to his home country, used to live in this room, I know that the a/c hasn't actually been working for several months and that the so-called attempts to fix it were really just for show. Since I'm recovering from a bad cold and am still feeling pretty irritable and under-the-weather, I decided that I just didn't have the patience to tolerate anymore unnecessary nonsense for the sake of cultural sensitivity.
I went down to the caretaker's room and knocked on the door a few times. He did not answer, so I headed back to the staircase to go back to my stifling hot room. On the way, I noticed a group of men lounging in the back room. I walked back there and found the caretaker surrounded by six or seven buddies. They were gambling (something which is, incidentally, incredibly illegal in Indonesia and haram for Muslims, and they were all Muslim). As I have discovered often happens in Indonesia, when you walk in on a person at their place of work and they are playing Solitaire or making a personal call or, in this case, playing poker, there is not an ounce of shame or guilt at being caught. There is no quick shuffle to hide or disguise the illicit activity but instead a bored look of irritation at the person who has interrupted and an immediate resuming of the activity. As I spoke to the caretaker to tell him my a/c was broken and I wanted to change rooms, he barely looked at me, preferring instead to watch the money being rapidly counted around the table. Finally, exasperated by his complete and utter failure to even pretend to do his job, I told him that I was paying for the room and I expect there to be a/c. He glared at me, then told me that none of the rooms were clean and they would do it later. Then he stood up and claimed a recently abandoned seat in the poker game.
I went back to my room, giving them one hour to finish their game and do their jobs before letting my illness-induced irritability get the better of me. An hour later, I walked back downstairs and into the room where the gambling was continuing. They merely glanced at me, so I left and went and got one of my male friends to come with me. They seem to respond more favorably to men, especially when that man is a head taller than all of them. As soon as we entered the room this time, they jumped up without us having to say anything and said the repairmen were coming to look at the a/c. Two blue-uniformed men slowly relinquished their seats around the table and grabbed a toolbox hidden inside a cabinet. Fifteen minutes later, then sauntered into my room.
I told them that the a/c was not blowing cold air, and they set up a ladder so they could reach the unit. Since a/c units in Indonesia are almost always window units, the cold air blower is inside the room but the motor is outside, mounted on the side of the building. One of the repairmen climbed the ladder, stuck his hand in front of the fan, and said, "Yup, that's not cold." Then his coworker said, "Huh." Then they stared at it for - no joke - TEN MINUTES. Every once in awhile, one of them would mutter something about it not blowing cold air. It was like they were trying to will it to work.
Finally the said something and left the room. They came back with an older man, apparently someone who actually knows what to do, a super special a/c remote, and a length of rope that looked no stronger than twine. For awhile, they merely pointed the super special a/c remote at the unit, turning it on and off. Surprise! No change.
Then it got interesting. One of the repairmen is really bright. Instead of getting a ladder and using that as an aide to examine the motor mounted on the side of the building, he decides to repel out the window. Remember that itty bitty rope I mentioned earlier? Yeah.....
I watched him in disbelief as he wound the twine-like rope around and around, never making a knot but just looping it every once and awhile and pulling. He mounted himself on the windowsill and was just about to jump out with only the unsecured, untested, itty bitty little rope to hold his weight. His friend, who had also been watching, suggested almost as an afterthought that he get a bigger rope. The aspiring mountain climber looked at his friend, looked at the rope, then slowly leaned back to test its strength. A few minutes later, he was using a much more appropriate-sized rope to support a human being.
Now I would just like to say that this is characteristic of most interactions I have with people here. Customer service is unheard of. Work ethic...well, you read for yourself. I wish I could say that was a rare occasion, but it wasn't. In my school, in this university, in the bank, in the mall, at a restaurant - customers are treated as an inconvenience, an interruption to a TV show, a cell phone game, a phone call, or a social visit. It's just the way the culture goes.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, May 20, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
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.
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.
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