Chris di Indonesia

Sampai Jumpa Lagi Indonesia

2010-06-21T18:50:00.007-04:00

I don't think I can ever correctly or adequately write this last post. Honestly, I've been avoiding it. But here it goes:

35 books

4 cases of food-related illness

1 parasite

1 bout of Ecoli

2 cases of food poisoning

1 crazy, unidentifiable Indonesian rash

6 visits to the hospital

Countless weddings

4 scorpions

1 dead cicak on the bottom of my foot

23 scarves

17 skirts

Batik, batik, batik

3 layovers

5 best friends

2 families

258 pages of blogging

72 blogs

32 ETAs

2 simpati cards

4 seasons of Sex and the City

1 season of Glee

2 killed chickens

1 trip to Bali

5 trips to church

11 packets of jello

3 futsal matches later...

Miss Chris is home in America.

As I interviewed for a job in America, they asked me to talk about my most heartbreaking experience. I just lived it: leaving Indonesia. At the airport, I looked into John's eyes and cried thinking about how much he and everyone else dedicated so much time into helping me. A stranger. The one bule in all of Depok. An American. All of these strangers made Indonesia my home. They took care of me when I was sick, they fed me when I was hungry, they showed me around when I was lost, they held me when I cried, they explained cultural misunderstandings when I upset someone, and they opened up their homes and lives to me. They became my best friends and family. I miss them every day.

Indonesia had its ups and downs, but I left loving the experience. I loved being a teacher for Indonesian students, and I miss it terribly. I miss my cozy village life. I miss volunteering at UI. I miss Bule Burger. I miss all of the sounds and smells. America is so quiet. Where are all the street vendors? Where are all of the people? Where is the public transportation? Where are those friendly smiles? Where the HELL is the nasi uduk?

I know that in this lifetime, my journey will lead me back to Indonesia in some shape or form. I have friends and family there. It is so much like home that I am homesick for it. But I cannot complain. America has embraced me too.

I will live at home with my family until I figure out finances, where I want to be, who I want to be, and what I want to be doing. My room in the basement is spacious and almost like a studio apartment. Everyday I wake up and run. My cat growled and hissed at me that first week, but he has since stopped. I got off the plane, and I ate that much desired meatball grinder. Where one relationship ended, another beautiful one started. Within two weeks of being home, I scored a full-time job in Springfield, working for an organization that ties together all of my youth development work for the past five years. I can't wait to start in July. I attended a Library Science information meeting with my best friend from college and my best friend from High School. While it seemed at first that America was pounding me with choices, bills, and rude people, it has since evolved into a really OK point in my life.

To say my life has changed drastically in the past two years and in the past 2 weeks is an understatement. I worked one intense but amazing job in Hartford, struggled through being laid-off, had a best friend tragically and suddenly pass away, became diagnosed with colitis, and moved to Indonesia against the advice of my doctors. I lived in Indonesia. I will never be the same, in such a good way. I am not sure where my blogging career will head, but for now, this is the last post. Thank you to everyone for following my journey and thank you to those who were a part of it. I love and miss all of you, especially.

Things That Make Miss Chris Cry

2010-05-25T12:52:00.012-04:00

My Wednesday lunch buddy, Bu Sri, bought me ayam goreng and gado-gado.

Class XI RSBI made me a going away present. Yep, that's me. I make one sexy Anime character.

I've hit a wall with blogging, or doing anything for that matter. I am heartbroken. For nine months, I woke up happy and excited to my start my day. I wanted to go to work. I liked the work I was doing, and I did not want it to end so soon.

Today was my last walk down the side streets of Jalan Merdeka as Miss Chris. I took pictures all the way to school telling neighbors, "mau pulang 30 Mei." In class I told my students that I said, "goodbye cat, goodbye mosque, goodbye palm trees, goodbye garbage, goodbye men that shout 'bule' at me in a friendly way, goodbye, goodbye." Lets face it, I went to my last day of classes wanting to cry. This was not a 'goodbye' I was prepared to make. I never thought it would be so hard.

My students gave me letters and sang songs. I was pulled into classes for gifts and photos. I took a break and headed to my tailor. For my Birthday, my teachers gave me batik so I made 2 skirts and a dress. Even the tailor depressed me. In Indonesian we talked about going home, how much they would miss me, and when I would come back. We clasped hands. I gave her a 'thank you so much' tip and wistful smile. I have a tailor. You know Depok is home when you have a tailor.

I came back to have my last mie ayam with bakso from a favorite street vendor outside my school. During second break another one of my students came in to give me a present. She and I had gone to Dufan together, and she framed a picture of us on the ferris wheel. She swayed back and forth, not wanting to leave yet not wanting to be late for class.

I went to my last class at SMAN 2, X4. I stood up in front of 35 students and said, "This is my last class EVER at your school," and they all shouted "NOOOO!" They stopped me in the middle of my lesson to sing "Leaving on a jet plane," and I had to think about every happy memory I could conjure up to keep from crying.

Before going home, a few of my X1 students bought fruit and snacks for a mini-party. We sat on the floor of their classroom in a circle, ate, and played cards. They started to cry as we said goodbye.

At home, my WORDS competition student came by to give me a gift and talk about how much the competition meant to her:

"Miss, I still talk to the friends I made there. I love that they comment on my pictures. Did you know that two of the students are dating now?! We all say 'cie, cie.' I want to thank you so much for that moment. I will miss you so much. I do not like to say 'goodbye' so I will see you later."

Tears in our eyes, I hopped in the shower before heading to dinner with another student.

A X2 student sms'd me earlier in the day inviting me to her house. She picked me up, we bought sate at the vendor in front of my street, and brought it to her house. Her mom and dad sat far away on the other side of the room, shyly speaking to me in Bahasa. They called my student's sister to come over, and when she arrived, she fired the typical, very to-the-point Indonesian questions at me: How old are you? How much money do you make? How much money do you spend? Do you have a boyfriend? How old are your parents? Do you drink? How much money do you make in America? Where do you live? Who pays for your house? Do you live alone?

I apologize now to my friends back home. When I come back, I will ask you evasive questions. I find myself meeting someone for the first time and saying, "How old are you? How much money do you make? Oh, and by the way, my name is Christine." I'm not kidding.

Having dinner exemplified everything I love about Indonesia. Honesty. Openness. Family. Friendliness. As the night progressed, my student's parents moved closer. They started talking directly to me. I was invited to stay over for the night and share a room with my student. It was all so touching, and as she walked me home, I couldn't stop soaking up my surroundings.

Damn I love this place. I love the dim lit streets and all of their crazy smells. I love watching boys hang out at the mosques across from futsal games. I love the sounds of the vendors trying to seduce people out of their houses with temptations of nasi goreng and martabak. I love that the only things you can see are the candles in the street vendor stalls and house windows.

I ended my night at Burger Loves Me, easily convincing Rie that we HAD to have nasi uduk. The vendor does not open until 10 PM, and he makes a mean fried mashed potato. Next week, at this time, I will not be sitting across from Rie sharing nasi uduk wrapped in paper. I will be in America. It just doesn't feel right.

Indonesia got to me. I got to it. Anas's mom, Lisa, turned to me the other day and while holding back tears said, "We all love you. Everyone loves you. We will miss you so much." Another friend over JCO donuts said, "When you leave, your life will be so different. But our lives will be different too. Nothing will be the same. Things will change with all of us when you leave. People won't go to the local cafe as much. Your brought our friends closer together. We love you. People here love you."

Again, immodestly, I just had no idea. I came to Indonesia to teach. When I first got here, I thought, "Well, if Depok sucks, it's only for 9 months. You can travel with your fellow ETAs, work longer hours at school, and make the time pass." I didn't even stay in Depok on weekends for the first half of the year. Then something happened. I started to make friends. I started having fun. I started becoming a part of my community. I was no longer a bule. I was one of the gang. I fell in love with Indonesia and its people. I made it home. I made connections and touched people just as much as they touched me. My presence had impact, and there is no way to describe that feeling.

A few final notes from my students:

"I think Miss Christine is a funny teacher. Miss Christine is always happy."

"funny and crispy"

"this is unforgettable moment on my life"

"I love the way you laugh."

"You are very beautiful because you not like American Bule. I get bored with American bule." (my students think I look French and Italian)

"If you arrive in America, don't forget to report to Facebook."

"I was laughing when you told us about the ghost in the middle of the day."

"I'm sorry if I was lazy. I was sorry if I was cheating." (Yes, you were.)

"The first time we met I had a headache because you talked to fast."

"Thank you for your attendance." (It's true, teachers here skip class a lot.)

"missing your story every Monday about your weekend"

"Someone tell you that you are lebay sometimes, I agree, but it is ok because we are all lebay sometimes."

"Miss Chris, I really hate when u talked in English-Indonesian combined into one. It really hurt my ear. Really strange and make me ill-feel. You know that....It just the same as people who talked indonesia try to use english and they can't speak english. it really disturb me."

"you are so up to date"

"your games not make me bored. It make me love study English"

"thank you for loving Indonesia"

"she is very respectful of Indonesia culture"

"because without you, there is no me."

"Miss Chris is superwoman."

"I don't want you to leave me."

"I have many friend in foreign, included USA, you know? They always despise my country! INDONESIA. Why?"

"you must pray more and say thanks god in all of your activities."

"I like your teaching."

"You are so patient. Thank you."

"You are the best bule teacher I ever meet right now."

"When I see you in first time, I thought you not friendly people. But it was a mistake. I like you. You are so kind to us."

"What do you think about Indonesian men?"

"C = cantik
H = Helpful
R = Rajin
I = I love you
S = So much"

"I just can give you a small present. My mother made it with her own hand. This is a batik skirt. I hope you like this, because I don't have enough money to buy you an expensive present."

"You make me smile and happy."

"I love your style and cool skirt."

"You are funny, although, I seldom understand what you say."

"I feel sad when I heard you will leave us."

"You are the best teacher from USA because you are the only teacher from America who teach me. But you is the best teacher this year."

"I like your laugh because it is unique."

"I hope you will be my friend. I want you to be my friend."

Goodbye, Miss Christ

2010-05-22T00:56:00.004-04:00

I taught my students a very important lesson this week. One that I should have taught months ago. I wrote it out on the board:

I am 'Miss Christine.' When you use my nickname, you take off the 'tine' and I am 'Chris.' When you write to me:

(Miss) Christ = Yesus

This is pronounced Cry-st. Not Chris.

(Miss) Chris = Me

My classroom burst into laughter.

My classes are starting to wind down. I have two days left to teach, and it's devastatingly sad. My students have been writing letters and singing songs while my teachers keep buying lunch and planning one last outing together. Immodestly, here are a few snippets of student goodbyes from about 1/4 of my classes thus far. Students had the opportunity to write anything they wanted about our past 9 months together. My class X's are RSBI, so they have the best English in the school:

Some excerpts from letters- Class X5

"I like your I-pod and your sound player. I like when you are dancing."

"I like your style when you are teaching us, even though sometimes we don't understand what you say, but you are the best teacher we ever met."

"Even though you teach us with games, we still understand about English, more than any other teacher teach us with a very serious lesson. You gave me more experience in my life. P.S. I love your skirts."

"I envy Ms Chris's nose because her nose is very pointed. I like her nose."

"I think I want you teaching English class in my school for a long time because I interested to study English when you came here. When Junior High School, I'm not interested to study that. I'm relaxed when you teach my class."

"I like the way you teaching. You very funny. She always told something about what was happening to her."

"You inspire me to become a teacher, so, thanks for it."

From Class X3

"I like your eye color because I never see anyone that has blue color."

"Hello Miss Chris, it's me ____ (a little boy with curly hair). Of course you know me because we have the same thing. We cannot say 'R' well and I wouldn't forget that because you have the same thing with me."

"I like your job very much because you are a foreigner who want to teach Indonesian students."

"Well I love to see with your skirts. (yeah, you never wear any trousers, even I met you in angkot, you always wear skirts) they are so compatible for you, and I love it. You are good in volleyball too."

"You are so pretty with you skirt the girl in here are envious with your skirt because it's good skirt."

"I hope you come to Depok again. (Maybe you can bring your boyfriend)."

"You are very funny and cute when you speak the Indonesian language."

"You have cool eyes. I hope I can get one of those. I really want to go to New York and see Times Square, Empire State Building, and of course, Statue of Liberty...And sometimes you save us from Bu ____."

"I love you Miss Chris."

"I really like and enjoy when you teach English lessons in my class. You always show your smile and it is make me and my classmate feel happy. When you join in my class you always tell anything you like. Stories about America, place in Indonesia, and anything."

Class X2:

"One critic for you, Miss! I think you talk English so slowly! I know you do that so all of Indonesian can understand what you speaking but my debate coach suggests me to talk with bule who talks English fastly. And he also suggests me to listen to rap music. Maybe I will get a bule who talk quickly next year."

"I like Miss Chris because she makes we save from (you know who) marah-marah. When you came, all of the students say 'Thanks God'...I know you don't like to say goodbye but now is the time to take apple from the tree. Right."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I can't speak English well. So, I choose silent and just look at you. Hehe."

"You're a hero for me."

"Thank you for sharing to us and your patient for teaching us. I really like when you say 'ciyeeee.'"

"When I first met Miss Chris you looked so a beautiful teacher and you were so funny when you said 'selamat pagi' for students of SMAN 2 Depok. Because I wasn't close to you. So I want to know you very much. Do you remember? I ever been to Dufan with you, Miss Alison...I weared green t-shirt and brown short pant. I am big girl."

"I want to go clubbing but a healthy clubbing. Just dance and fun. No alcohol. because I like RnB music."

"Ohhh, if you want rambutan you can come to my house because I have a rambutan tree."

"Don't forget to invite me on your wedding party!"

"You are friendly, confident, and make me laugh. You refresh my brain. And I have new spirit since you come to Indonesia because you so funny...You must try rujak buah because the sambal is very hot and you can really like that food."

"I really like your POINTED NOSE. I really like your BULE EYES."

"I remember first meet you at Smada you speak selamat pagi yeah is a respect for my country...I remember first time meet you in class x2 you appear very hot because ac before on you bring a glass of water because you very thirsty."

"If they are all like your nose, but I love your ears and all those earrings."

"You look like a barbie doll."

"You are a protector for me and my friends from Bu ____. Stttt. Don't tell Bu _______."

"Miss Christ is a brave woman and it automatically make me brave too. I like the day we were going to hang out together to Grand Indonesia and Dufan. She loves frozen yogurt so much and its makes me loving frozen yogurt too...Tell your friends that Indonesia is a cool country."

"Miss Christine Siahaan. Haha"

Class X1

"I remember when Bu ___ was angry to our class. You always make us laugh together. I don't know what happened without you."

"You very kind and friendly so we interact fast with you."

"You make me not confuse."

"On Oct. 30th you and several students cass x1 went to Margo for dinner."

"She said that in America cheating is the worst attitude."

"In memories with Miss Chris, when we have dinner in Margo and listening a music jazz, took a picture."

"Yesterday Miss Chris come to my class and said 'tomorrow will be the last class we study' and I felt so shock. My heart was hurt. And I can't say anything. Miss Chris, I am sorry if I ever made you angry when you teach me. And I want to say I love you."

"I like your laptop."

"Your skin is so white I feel jealous."

"Can you stay here awhile longer?"

"One day, in Wednesday, a women very beautiful came. She's a american. She's tall, beautiful, white skin, brown hair and gray eyes. Her name is Miss Christine Frascarelli. She's my English teacher."

"I feel disappointed when you accuse me cheating when in the test. The fact is I didn't cheat but my friend ask for answer on my test. I forgive it."

"I remember when you told us about scorpion or Brian in your stomach. You always told us about everything that happen on you. You always told us about your journey in Indonesia...You make us happy until right now."

"And when the first time we incited you to have dinner together. You come there, in Margo City. We ear together and I still remember you order bakso. But not spicy, because you don't like it...And not long after that day, I know my grandpa is die. And I dont know how do you know about about the worse moment. Thanks alot of you was gave me support."

"You are the best teacher we ever had."

"I like your style. I am never bored."

"You are different than all of our other teachers. We are never bored, have fun, and we learned a lot."

IPS3

All year, I taught Class XI IPS 3 and thought that maybe they learned nothing from me. Almost all of them don't speak a lot of English (maybe 50 words), and they don't pay attention. None of the other teachers really teach their class. I always see students hanging around outside the class or at the canteen. When I come to class, they are asleep at their desks, on their cell phones, or listening to music. I always have to get them back on track, and usually they get mad at me for raising my voice, shutting their computers, tapping on their desks, and stopping my lesson until they be quiet. Lets face it, they have a reputation for being the worst class in the school both academically and socially. But sometimes, I love them. They give me a few chances and good moments, and when I manage to teach them, it's the best feeling. They can be fun and surprising. Here's from class IPS 3:

"One word that stuck in my head from you, that is "SUCK. Haha."

"My favorite English class when I saw my friends ran on the yard. When we searched some words from 'Happy Valentine's Day sentence. When we act drama. When we played that last game with clapped our hand and we said the number, jobs, and the name of fruits of vegetables."

"I liked when we playing Wizard, Zombie and more. when miss chris said my class is the funnier class. when you teach us about american slang. when first time you came at my class"

"I love when we play drama in our class. And if a group cannot show it. they must run along 5 minutes."

"The most unforgettable class is when we have to act out our drama and we suppost to be ready..but we not ready yet...so we have to run. I like your voice when you teach to us. I remember when you scared with scorpio in your house. we so sorry for your stomach, cause you drink some ice. thank you for your caring to us."

"it make me work hard to understand your spoken English."

"I like you care with my class and always question to us 'how about your holiday last week? you care person."

"sleep"

"I'm so amazing I find more than 100 words only from sentence 'happy valentine's day.' I will never forget it."

"sing a song."

"play game"

If nothing else, at least they recall some of the activities we did and had the opportunity to speak English. At least most of them lifted their heads off of their desk for 45 minutes each week : )

I never really knew how much I impacted my students. I didn't realize how closely they paid attention. They remember everything--events and lessons that happened my first month as a teacher. In fact, they remember the first day they met me.

Most of my students ended their letters with:

never forget us, come back and visit, and keep in touch.

I will.

Um...I lived in Indonesia for 9 months?!?!

2010-05-12T05:31:00.027-04:00

It's hard to believe: 9 months has flown by, and I barely remember the first few months we arrived. Each month seems so different from the last and the first half of the year looked nothing like the second half. At some point I stopped being a tourist and made Indonesia home. It became real. Leaving I realize this just wasn't a '9-month and then you are done' type of situation. Indonesia will forever be with me, and I hope to return, some day, in some capacity. With only 18 days left, here is a tribute to the past year and its defining moments:

In no particular order, lets not forget the day that I was at my second favorite warung with John and his friends. His friend came up to me and said, "Your face, it's in the paper." What?! "Yes, your face is in the paper." Indeed, my face WAS in the paper, The Depok Monitor. Apparently I met a reporter at a school event, and she asked me two questions: why are you a teacher in Depok, and where are you from? A week later, an article all about me, quoting me as if she gave me a real interview. Unfortunately, I didn't say most of what she wrote but for guessing and making up a story about me, it's pretty fair. I do love Depok. My face. It's in the Depok paper.

I feel like a character out of a novel. It's my second persona: Miss Chris. Over the past year I turned into an English teacher, an ESL one. Everyday I jump up and down, wave my arms around in big gestures, talk loudly, make bad jokes, and try my hardest to have a wonderful English class. I love teaching English at SMA 2 Depok. Some days I go mad dealing with MIA teachers, English teachers who don't speak English, and a school that has more holidays than school days. No matter what, I look forward to my job every day, and my grateful students make it all worth it. Some still clap when I enter their class, and when I leave, they all shout 'Thank you, Miss Chris.' Above is Class X-3, which represents the new class size that comes along with the SBI (soon to be RSBI) status. 25 students verses my classes of 44. Phew.

One of my English teachers wrote a letter for my Birthday (it spells my name):

Clean your body

High your spirit for life

Red you face and beautiful

Interesting to see you

Someone love you

Teenager as like you

Interactive to activity

Not to do crime

Excellent

I think this explains a lot.

So for the past 9 months, I have lunched with teachers who don't speak a lick of English, wormed my way into people's hearts, taught in the dark and during monsoons, sweated out bottles of water, watched cows and goats get murdered on the courtyard, attended more ceremonies than I ever will in my entire life, gave many surprise speeches, received salam from 600+ students, taught over 600+ students, played volleyball and other sports in gym class, ran English Club for teachers and students, and brought my students to random English competitions all over Java. I am Miss Chris! But usually Miss Christ on facebook and in text messages. Oh dear. As one student wrote: "Miss Christ, you are beauty @ perfeck. I love you, swear."

Taken in Palembang but true to all of Indonesia, the rain is a large part of my life. It makes my showers freezing. It adds hours of travel time to my commute into Jakarta. Even though it rains 70% of the year, everything stops. Traffic, people, plans, schedules. Everything but planes, and man, those are some scary flights. Depok is the 'city of thunder.' I can attest. More than once I thought there was an earthquake only to realize the thunder was vibrating my house. Those ojek rides in the pouring rain. Soaked. I rode my last ojek from UI in the rain, and the driver put a tarp over my head. He sprayed it with cologne. I could not see. As I heard the train bell sound and felt the gates close, I thought, 'this is it.' He flew over the train tracks seconds before I heard the train whoosh by.

Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert, I won't insult you or your book. I did enjoy meeting Wayan, your traditional healer, in Ubud. Three kids, long life, late marriage with love that will last forever. I can deal with that. Giving up sweets?! F' no.

I will never know what this was or how I got it. And this picture: It's nothing. My 'heat rash' got much, much worse. Add it to my list of illnesses. 2 times food poisoned. 2 more bad bacteria instances. 1 killer parasite. Ecoli. Rash that required a visit to the hospital. I wear them like initiation badges. I just came back from the tailor. She measured my waist for a batik skirt. In Indonesian she asked me if I was on a diet because I lost weight since the last time. "It's called the Es Buah diet." She smiled. She knew.

Dear River Water, you have probably either a. destroyed my immune system or b. made it stronger than ever. I lived in Indonesia, 110%.

I had one of the most memorable Birthdays of my life. A never-ending, 5-day party with my school, Bule Burger gang, John, and Pete and his family. We spent a beautiful night at my favorite place, the villa between Bogor and Puncak. Sabina's sister, Lavina, was in from America, and we enjoyed a night of drinking, relaxing, heading to the mosque on a hill in Puncak, eating corn, and chugging anggur merah straight from the bottle as we drove around the Pass. Waking up to the gorgeous view, we had a late start to tackle Gunung Gede. We lunched at Cimory Resto, a place even closer to my heart. John had taken me there for dinner late one night during my first month in Depok, and it was that moment I realized I lived in Indonesia and better be happy. I knew I had to adjust and make it work.

On a mission to find the Blue Lake and waterfalls we made it up part of the mountain before dark. Pete, Ethan, and I hopped in the waterfall, a rather chilly experience. We went back to Depok that night where Bule Burger bought us sate ayam, we played cards, Merry gave me a Birthday cake, candle included, and I opened the most heartfelt presents. The party did not end there, but that was the best part.

I learned a lot my Birthday weekend. I truly saw my integration into Indonesia and my community. I felt the love of everyone around me, and I knew that I made the most out of my Fulbright grant. I knew that Rie, Anas, John, Pete's family, and Ogie owned a piece of my heart. My school touched me with a heartfelt party. Some of the poorest teachers bought me gifts and wrote letters.

The WORDS competition allowed some students who never had the chance to visit Jakarta come to their capital for the first and maybe last time. Although my student, Nurul, had been to Jakarta, she had never bowled. Nervous and shy, I watched her have an amazing night. When her family picked her up from my house the next day, they shook my hand and thanked me for the opportunity. I cannot adequately describe the moment. I knew Nurul was proud that she won the school competition, as she is one of my quietest students, and more so, I knew she had a weekend to remember. 'Miss, I am so tired, but so very happy."

I am glad I forwent the Flores trip of Komodo dragons, beaches, and colored lakes during National Exams. I hope to one day visit all of the islands off of Java, but going back to Padang, one of my favorite places in Indonesia, added passion and labor to an already meaningful experience. I had never seen such destruction from nature and the impact it could have on a community.

Although the living situation was rough, volunteering in Padang was one of my greatest adventures in Indonesia. I helped build a house. Even though I feel impact as a teacher and with my work at UI, you couldn't feel anything but useful in Padang. Helping tear down, salvage, and build shelters for families as they watched and served you food. Hard physical labor for at least 8 hours a day in the hot sun. Watching women walk their cows down the street, carrying buckets of water on their head. Meeting a unique group of volunteers brought together by the common cause of disaster relief.

Eating a parasite practically killed me. It almost sent me home. 1.5 months of misery. I got sick. I slept. I cried. I missed a lot of school. I couldn't leave my house. I couldn't eat. I visited the hospital every week, sometimes twice a week. My friends didn't visit me because boys weren't allowed in my house. My school forgot about me. Only John took care of me, bringing me to the doctors, sitting with me all night as I got sick, visiting me as much as he could so I wouldn't be sad or lonely. At one point, I had enough. I wanted fresh air. I wanted to leave my house, so I did. Anas and his family invited me to spend a day volunteering at the orphanage. They put together over 70 meals of rice and chicken for the children, chartered an angkot, and headed off to 70 crazy little kids.

I felt awful. On the ride there, I didn't think I was going to make it. I sucked in deep breaths of air as Anas's family talked about adopting me. And having Anas marry me. We got to the orphanage, I took deeper breaths, and I lasted the 3-hours or so that we were there. We watched performances, chatted, ate, and played outside. I saw a beautiful side of Anas, and after weeks of lying in bed trying to make the room stop moving, I remembered why I was in Indonesia.

Pete's friend, Ethan, called home while the gang slept over my house for the night. He told his mom, "This girl, Christine, she has tape covering the cracks between the wall and her floor to keep the scorpions out." I had FOUR scorpions in my house. Whip scorpions, so they won't kill you. Just freak you out and possibly hurt you. Two were in my bedroom, another crawled up my leg, and the last was hanging out in my dining room. I killed 2, John captured one, and one got away. I slept in my spare bedroom for a week without AC because I was so scared I'd wake up to the little sucker crawling up my stomach. I showed the above picture to my school staff, and they tried to tell me it was a harmless bug. "A cockroach, Miss Chris." Yea. Right.

I've spent the majority of my grant in public transportation. Taxi. Becak. Bejaj. Ojek. Motorbike. Bus. Busway. Train. Bemo. Angkot. The 7-hour trip to Pantai Carita almost pushed me over the edge. I decided not freak out and to just laugh it off. As long as your survive, it's pretty funny. A roller-coaster ride. Thank gosh for Dramamine. It's my best friend. I've been in two small accidents while here. One of my angkots got rear-ended by a car, and I flew into the passenger seat and slammed against part of the car. The second: our bus back from Carita side-swiped an oncoming bus. Both were on the wrong side of the road. The mirror on the bus cracked off and a window broke. Both times no one was hurt. I've also seen some pretty bad accidents. Blood, people hurt, possibly dying on the side of the road. It's scary. Recently, one of the trains I take into Jakarta derailed. Luckily, it was empty.

I headed to Carita with my Depok gang. Besides the cheap route to get there and its tribulations, we had a fantastic time. We wrote our names in the sand, went swimming and jumped huge, thrashing waves, ate good Indonesian food, and saw beautiful sunsets. Krakatau in all its historic glory shone in the background. Indonesia is the most fun when you hop in an angkot with backpack and go.

Fireworks over the hills, mountains, and rice paddies of Puncak. Surrounded by friends. Saying goodbye to the 2009 moon and welcoming the first 2010 sunrise. Beer. Rambutan. I remember the night before my power, water, and internet had been out all day. I watched as my last candle flickered and died. I let a tear fall. John came over and we sat in the dark for a bit. I woke up the next day and took the 2.5 hour motorbike in the rain through tons of traffic to meet Pete and the gang. We had a blast. I felt extremely lucky to be able to celebrate New Year's in Indonesia. I got to celebrate it again over the phone in America. One of my favorite memories.

Oh Ekonomi train. I will not miss you. I once rode a train that was just as crowded as the above picture. The doors don't shut, people sit on top and in between cars. It's scary. Dangerous. Not a lot of fun. People stare at you. They shout at you. Thieves and beggars are plentiful.

This one night it was around 10 PM, the last time for trains. The ticket men refused to sell me a ticket because they were worried about my safety. I pleaded back in Indonesian. I wanted to take the train, and I knew exactly what to expect. Hell. Finally, they caved. I take trains all of the time. This one must have been cursed. On the stairs up to the platform, the lights went out and I could not see. There were tons of people around. The train pulled up packed as always. It was the last one. I had to take it. I pushed my way on, could barely move, and people jeered. 5-minutes into the ride and a woman starting throwing up and screaming. Her friends held her down. For the entire one-hour ride, she continued to convulse, get sick, scream, and cry. Frightening. At my stop, I couldn't move. The train was literally over full with people. I pushed my way through until someone shoved me out the door. Typical train experience.

Are you ready for the ultimate Bule story?! In Indonesia we love when bules come to weddings. We love it even more when they are in weddings. Skinny, white bules. Whoa!!!! The skinnier the better. When I came to Depok in September, my teachers took me to the former headmaster's house. She and her family liked me and invited me along with my teachers to be a part of her son's wedding party. They gave me the material for my songket skirt and kebaya top. Bu Tati and I headed to the tailor who made the outfit as tight as possible. I knew I was in trouble. Hot weather, sweating bullets, and tight clothes. I could not walk. I could not sit. I could not breathe. After loosening my outfit twice, the tailor refused to make it any loser. Sigh.

I got up at 6 AM to head to the make-up place with my school. I got outfitted. It was hot. I could not get enough air. Too tight. Five minutes into the car ride to UI, I begged my teachers who don't speak English to pull over. SAKIT! They brought me to their family's house where I half fainted and threw up in their bathroom. I slunk to the floor while trying to unzip my corset. I came out and everyone looked horrified. They took my outfit across the street to a tailor for some emergency work. Bu Ani started ripping seams. She knew it was way too tight. We couldn't even zip the skirt all the way. The new tailor loosened everything two more times, and we were ready to go, 2-hours late. I was told that I look like an Arabian princess in a jilbab. The wedding was fun, we took a lot of pictures, and we fought people for lunch. There are no polite buffet lines here.

"Miss Chris, are you going to watch our Idul Adha ceremony today." Hands go to throats in quick slicing motions. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. 10 goats and 1 cow were sacrificed on my school courtyard. Blood flowed through the sewers of SMA 2 Depok and throughout the entire city. You could smell it for days.

I told my students that the last goat looked at his friends and then looked at me. He said, "Toooolonnng, Miss Chris. Tooooloonnng." (In a baaaah, kinda voice.) He knew what was coming.

I'm told that the animal does not suffer. His nerves are cut off and although he lay there, thrashing around, blood flying everywhere, he feels nothing. It is not easy to watch. It is not easy to hear. But here, this is usual life. Teenage boys helped take off the skin, hack the bones, and package the meat to give to the poor. Nothing goes to waste. I would like to say that I am indifferent to the holiday. I understand its religious groundings, although I don't agree. But the animals are kept in a humane way, they die in a less painful manner, and the food goes to a good cause. In America, we just remove the way we raise and slaughter animals. I can't imagine a little kid being handed a hatchet and told, "Get to work, son. This is your dinner." Or "Ok, Mary, now it's time to kill and eat your bunny rabbit. We want sate."

On a lighter note, there is nothing like partaking in Indonesia's magical history. Walk through the Banyan trees blindfolded and make a wish. It's not a tourist gimmick. Everyone at every time of the day can be seen paying 3,000 rupiah to walk through the trees in Yogya. Miss the trees and veer off?! Your wish is toast.

Lonely Planet just can't keep up with Indonesia. When it doesn't list a full address, you know you are in trouble. We read about a little place that offers cobra sate. Drink cobra blood with red bull, cool. Our becak driver dropped us off in an open field, we looked around, and saw a bench with a banner, "Cobra sate." Oh. Shit. On the ground, two bags moved around. The man opened them up, and two cobras jumped out. We jumped back a few feet, saw some Red Bull on the ground, thought about it, paid the man, and decided Italian sounded pretty good.

It was a very E-juvey Halloween. My English club came over to carve pumpkins, wrap themselves like mummies, eat candy, listen to scary music, and bob for apples. They changed into costumes, we decorated my house--the decorations are still hanging on my walls--and played guess which body part you are touching. Halloween celebrations are rare in Indonesia, and I had a real Halloween at the American Club in Jakarta. My favorite part of the night: Trunk or Treat. People decorated the trunks of their cars for Halloween so little kids could go tricking or treating from car to car.

I really don't like monkeys. Indonesia helped me discover this fear. They are mean. Full of rabies. They bite. The steal. They are ugly. On the way to Ubud we stopped at the Monkey Forest aka Hell. These mean little guys jumped on people's backs, tried to grab purses, bit a woman, and attacked each other. Ew. I'd call them little rats with tails, but rats aren't so bad compared to these little monsters. I never did like the Wizard of Oz.

I fell in love. I love you rambutan, you little hairy fruits. They are out of season, so my rambutan thumb has gone away. Rambutan thumb = very sore, sometimes bloody and dirty finger nail from cracking open these bad boys. My teachers believe that if you eat too much rambutan, you will get a cough and get sick. I'll take my chances.

Petting a zebra in Indonesia?! What?! My students took Pete and I to the Taman Safari in Bogor. Along the way we picked up carrots and the student's father joked that they were for his uncle. I didn't get it. Not until we got to the safari. We stayed in the car and drove through the zoo, literally. The animals stuck their heads in car windows and grabbed the carrots. Rules!?! Who needs rules?! At some points there were signs that told us to roll up the windows. That giant hippo or lion might attack. Hati-Hati, ya?

I don't have to be a vegetarian. I killed my dinner, helped cook it, and ate it too. Remember that fateful day on the farm in Bogor? "I thought I was killing one chicken. Why do you have TWO?!" I did it. I didn't cry. I didn't really flinch. I said sorry to the little guy and offed him. I can eat meat. I earned my right. I felt I had something to prove. I know where my dinner comes from.

My house. My HOME. F' you mati air (no water), mati lampu (no electricity), and mati internet. I can live without you. I've showered in the rain under my drain spots when the water went out for three days. I've gone through more candles than I can count. Electricity out 5 times in one day, whatever. I will kind of miss it; I will miss the quiet, dark streets with candles burning in the windows. I will miss how people come out of their houses to light fires in the streets and sit around them. There is such a sense of togetherness when everything goes dead.

Scorpions, rats, ants, spiders, giant, mutant cockroaches, stray cats. Yep, they live in my house. I remember the night I took a knife to the shower because someone jumped on my roof. Cold water showers, I don't like you. I haven't had hot water all year, and you know what, I can live without it, but man, I don't like it. Squat toilets, boo. Wet floor, boo. In the end, it didn't matter. I was happy. I looked forward to going back to my house every night. I like my street. I like my house. It is home.

The earthquake four days into our stay in Jakarta shocked us all. My first earthquake. Scary. I remember sitting in the immigration office on the third floor watching chairs and televisions sway back and forth. I remember Indonesians panicking and running for the exits. I remember having no idea what it was or what was going on.

I guess it foretold that Indonesia was about to rock my world. It did.

A Humbling Lesson

2010-05-11T11:07:00.007-04:00

Every Monday night I take the one-hour journey to the University of Indonesia to volunteer with the English Department and their English Club, Shout Out. For this meeting, we were all supposed to bring an item that was precious to us and explain why.

The first student opened her purse and took out two notebooks. They were her dairies from growing up, and she flipped through pages, showing us pictures and relating stories. She said that when no one else would listen to her, her diaries would.

Another student took out his flash drive. He said that he didn't have a computer, and he could not go to college and pass his classes without his flash drive. A few weeks ago, he lost it with all of his school work. He had no money and had to save up to buy a new one. It's how he gets by in college.

A girl opened her purse and took out a book. She said that her books mean the most to her. At home she has one bookshelf and it is too full. Books are all over her tables and chairs.

Across from me, a girl took out her cell phone case. She said it was important to her because her dad got it for her. He quizzed her with questions from her recent studies and because she answered them correctly, he gave her a present. To her, the cell phone case showed that he was extremely proud of her. It exemplified her hard work.

The last one I remember was a hair clip. A red hair clip. The student had it for over a year, and she bought it at the train station. She told a wild story about buying the hair clip and how all of her friends bought one too. For some reason, they put curses on hers. Hers is the only one that did not break. She also remembers wearing it with a red dress and people commenting on how beautiful she was. It's special to her because of the stories and memories it holds.

My Show and Tell was my grandmother's ring, and everyone loved that I took it off and showed them the engraving.

At first, I thought Show and Tell with college students sounded pretty silly. As we started, it surprised and humbled me. I left touched. I don't think we would find as much meaning in such simple things in America. We could. But do we? I could be wrong.

---***---

I headed to Bule Burger that night to spend some time with the guys. Rie looked at me and said two things:

"Whenever I see you, I see May 29th." His eyes got glassy. "I am going to stare at you and remember everything about you."

Sigh. Leaving is going to be miserable. Everyday I feel like a family member has died. Indonesia is so very far away and such a very large part of my heart.

It was a humbling day.

Love

2010-05-09T03:35:00.012-04:00

With 20 days left, I am caught between two worlds, which is a tough place. America and Indonesia. I've had one of the most memorable, best, and craziest years I can remember, and the outcome of my stay here has surprised me. I never expected I would leave with so much in my heart.

The journey started out hard. It's hot. It's dirty. Nothing seems to work right. Traffic is something you cannot even begin to imagine: 1 hour down a street that should take you 5 minutes? Flooding. Pollution. Sickness. Parasites. Food poisoning. Ecoli. Power, water, and internet outages more times than you can count. Being alone. Having way too much free time. Earthquakes. Teaching at school that as my friend Allan would say is 'a hot mess.' Being the only white person in a city of 1 million. New language. Poverty. Beggars. Dust. Having people shout at you. Scorpions, cockroaches, rats, ants, spiders, and lizards. Heat rash. Doctors too afraid to touch you. Religious differences. Cultural differences. Public transportation. Car accidents. Consistent death. Bule. Bule. Bule. Getting lost. Getting pinched. You get the idea.

I knew I would come to Indonesia and meet new people. I knew I would teach and enjoy it. But I never thought I would be so attached to a place. To people here. To everything. 9 months isn't that long to build relationships. But in the end, I have a home in Indonesia. I have family. I have best friends. I love them. I love them more than I ever thought possible. How can you not?

How can you not love someone who looks for any excuse to graphic design you a picture or a t-shirt? Who sees you almost everyday at the local cafe for teh tarik. Who blows you smoke rings. Who argues with you over Scrabble words and correct English facebook statuses. Who is a ridiculously funny sore loser. Who buys you sate ayam and nasi uduk for dinner. Who asks you to stay 'just 30 minutes longer' each time he sees you. Who drives all over Depok with you to find a new razor because yours broke and they are hard to find in Depok Timur. Who tells you how pretty you are when you get dressed up. Whose eyes get glassy when he thinks of saying goodbye in May. Whose brother is your student and you torture both of them with that fact. Who gets you ice-cream when you are down. Who smiles every time you see him. Who takes a few days off his busy schedule for an adventure to the beach. Who embraces your friends. Who makes you one of the guys. Who nervously enters your house. Whose haircuts usually do suck, as he says. Who is obsessed with RadioHead and cloves. Who gchats and skype chats with you everyday. Whose favorite expressions are 'Ah man' and 'Seriously?!?!' Rie.

Yep, he is one of my best friends, who will forever be in my life. I love him.

How can you not love someone gifted with the crazy eyes? Who meets you for dinner after your volunteer work. Who loves beer. Who is so shy and nervous to speak English with you but still sucks it up and hangs out. Who when you ask if they will miss you replies, "always." Who plays air hockey at the arcade with you. Whose laugh and giggle make you smile. Who gets excited when you go to church with him. Who gchats with you during church. Who sends you pictures from his commute home on the train and of his lunch at work. Who fights you over the dinner bill. Who walks you home from Bule Burger late at night. Who has many inside jokes about 'mas' and 'kiri bang.' Who has all of these cute girls who are friends and secret crushes. Who always looks suspicious. Who wears hats that say 'fuck racism' and Jakartan t-shirts with people having oral sex. Who makes you an Indonesian football jersey for your Birthday. Who invites his cousin to the movies with you because he is too 'malu.' Who is probably the sweetest guy you know. Ogie.

Yep, he is one of my best friends too. I love him.

How can you not love someone who embraced you from Day 1 when you were lost, scared, alone, on the verge of tears, and confused? Whose mother and aunt tell you, "Your family is in America, so we are your family in Indonesia." Whose mother wants cucu bule. Who shuts down the burger kitchen for a night to have pasta night for you. Who has martabak with you and random friends at random times. Who gets roped into Friday Night Jazz and Uno games. Who has kidnapped your Scrabble board and plays it all of the time. Who always smiles. Who is always so relaxed. Who is always the peacemaker. Who loves and has seen more American movies than you. Who voraciously reads and watches all American sitcoms. Who loves beer and pork, and shares. Who goes along with anything. Who secretly loves God. Who wears colored contacts. Who is interested in your country and loves having those taboo conversations. Who you see almost every single day for dinner or coffee. Who volunteers with his mom at the orphanage and has the sweetest, softest side with children. Who hates tomatoes. Who went to the school you teach at and everyone remembers him. Who runs your favorite cafe. Who sits across from you at a table and reads with you. Who is innately such a wonderful, compassionate, caring person. Anas.

Yep, he is one of my best friends. I love him.

How can you not love someone who is like your sister and best friend? Who takes you everywhere, shows you everything, and is up for anything. Who makes sure you have the best birthday possible. Who shares a twin size bed with you on the floor or sleeps with you in a gazebo outside. Who gives up her room and bed for you when you stay over. Who loves balonkus and fro-yo. Who always splits food with you at Bule restaurants. Who you share clothes, shoes, and accessories with. Who you read and study with. Who helps you play Scrabble in Indonesian. Who has girlie days in Jakarta with you full of salads and cream baths. Who you gossip with on the couch for hours and send text messages to at all hours of the day. Who takes pictures while you kill chickens. Who you've spent the most important holidays with. Who loves anggur merah too. Who saves you from sketchy situations. Who puts crackers by your head when you are sick. Who reads the same books as you. Who watches the same movie for the third time just to see it with you. Sabina.

Yep, she is one of my best friends and family members who will forever be in my life. I love her.

How can you not love your second family? People who rub your shoulders while you throw up in their bathroom and who rub medicine on your stomach. Girls who watch the Frog Princess, play scrabble, and make jello with you. Who tickle your feet. Who watch Saturday morning cartoons with you. Who all stand at the gate and wave goodbye to you when you leave. Who help you navigate Indonesia and Jakarta. Who take you around to buy the best batik. Who sit with you at 3 AM and listen to your stories. Who have Christmas in their Muslim house and buy you Christmas presents. Who text you all of the time to check in. Who make your favorite meals when they know you are coming over. Who give you a place to sleep even if it makes their house too crowded. Who always smile when they see. Who ask about everyone in your life. Who teach you Indonesian. Who are always there for you, no matter what. Who take you to weddings and eat your bacteria-laden food so you don't have to. Who show you pictures from their past for hours. Who consider donuts oleh-oleh. Who pick you up in Depok before ever knowing you just to show you the train route. Who text you late at night to make sure you are home safe. Who you share books with. Who meet all of your friends and instantly love them too. Who light fireworks for New Years. Who go crazy when you leave your used glass on the table. Who you make pancakes for. Whose priest you terrify with your sexy legs. Who raise trees, eels, alligators, catfish, and chickens. Who lay down on top of graves in Chinese cemeteries. Who you absolutely cannot imagine life with out. Pete's family. The Fathonys.

Yep, you guessed it. I love each and every one of them.

How can you not love someone who has always been there for you? Who takes you to the hospital for weeks, multiple times a week, until you are parasite free. Who picks you up in Jakarta late at night after falling victim to yet another bout of food poisoning. Who holds you while you sob through all of it. Who spends 12 hours one day trying to get your colitis medicines released from customs. Who takes you and your friends everywhere and anywhere. Who holds your hand as you trip over and fall through a sketchy bridge while hiking. Who surprises you at the local mall to have dinner. Who watches crazy Indonesian talk show hosts with you. Who falls asleep on your couch. Who sneaks over to take a shower. Who is just a nice guy. Who puts up with your bitchy moods, frustration, and impatience. Who teaches you swear words in Indonesian. Who takes you to all of the local warungs (that won't poison you) for dinner. Who is so protective of you, everyone knows. Whose mom makes you donuts. Whose friends call you to play pool. Who all of your friends know, love, and miss. Who thinks he can sing, but can't. Who buys you roasted corn at the mosque on the hill. Who says 'laughing' but it comes out like 'loving.' Who asks you to have patience but has very little himself, in a funny way. Who reminds you, "this is Indonesia." Who points to your stomach and says, "I want bule baby there." Who you spend so much time with. Who you would be absolutely lost without. John. Rachman.

Man, I owe him the world. I love him. He is without a doubt my best friend, even though we frustrate the crap out of each other.

And lets face it. There is also my community, students, and school. I guess the article in the Depok Monitor about me said it best: "I love Depok."

I do.

I'm pretty sure it loves me too.

A Week In The Life of Miss Chris (Part 3 of 3)

2010-04-23T01:51:00.013-04:00

This picture popped up on the school website. (We have a new website since it is required for RSBI schools.) I'm standing with Bu Yeni, the food queen, and Bu Dia is my desk neighbor. Remember, it's at least 95 degrees with very few AC classrooms.

Coconut Wednesdays:

It’s fair to say my days follow a pretty clear pattern: School all morning and early afternoon. Nap. Bule Burger, alone time, or John at night.

Luckily for me, my 4:00 PM swim date with all of class X was cancelled. Every few months the gym teachers take students to the local hotel pool for class, and I don’t think my progressing heat rash would have faired well in dirty, chlorinated water with 150 high school girls. Prior to the cancellation, a lot of conversation ensued about Miss Chris’s swimming attire:

(Me) “What do you wear when you swim?! How long is your suit?”

“Normal bathing suits, Miss Chris. One piece. Normal. Oh and Miss Chris, we don’t swim with our jilbabs. No bikinis, of course.”

"Yes, but how long are your swimsuits? I don't think Americans use the same type of the one-piece bathing suits."

My counterpart walked out of her office.

“Miss Chris, you must swim in shorts down to here.”

She pointed to below her knees.

“You must wear a t-shirt.”

If gym class was not cancelled, I think we might have had an international incident.

I had a lunch date with Bu Sri and the gang at 12:30. Siomay dari Bandung. We used to have teacher English club during lunch but that faded with exams. Prior to lunch, I bought an es kelapa muda for 20 cents, and one of my teachers treated us to es puter. At that time, it was only 10 AM in the morning.

“You are going to have high cholesterol, Miss Chris.”

Yep.

I ate Siomay with Bu Sri as American music, sung by the Chipmunks, played in the background. Later, Whitney cracked out a solo. We talked about arranged marriages and food. Bu Sri asked me to write her a poem, so I taught her about haikus. She wanted one on her facebook wall. This is what ensued:

“My haikus for you:

Bu Sri's room is hot

But Pak Azar plays music

So her room is cool!

Another one:

Bu Rini eats rice

But today she was busy

She looks like Bu Tri

Another one:

Miss Chris is healthy

She does not want Dre's pink eye

She must stay away

Another one:

Es puter enak

Mau nasi uduk nanti

Ada mie ayam?

If you want to write one remember:

The first line has 5 syllables

The second line has 7 syllables

The third line has 5 syllables

Facebook Comments On This Thread:

Sri Rohayat

Tri made u confuse.....

and u gave funny questions ....

"Rin.. you change your veil?"

Rini said ...,"I'm not....."

Tri, Chris and Rini confuse

I want more Haikus....

(Haha.... Is it right Miss?)

Rini Sugito

es puter enak

nasi uduk more enak

i like all cheap food ...

ha ..ha ..ha .. is it right???

Christine Frascarelli

Haha, yes : ) They are all right!

Your haikus are great

You both learned very quickly

I am proud of you!

Sri Rohayati

Don"t forget......Jogjakarta...5-8 of May....; Bu Rini jangan dulu berangkat ke Bangkok..ikut Jogja dulu yach...plz..aq aja ke Turki di cancel...

I had a pretty embarrassing afternoon. The reference to Bu Rini looking like Bu Tri was pretty bad. Most of the year, I had been cofusing Bu Rini and Bu Tri. They are both really small and could practically be twins. In the morning I saw Bu Tri but thought she was Bu Rini. I commented on much I liked the color of her jilbab, and she walked away looking confused. The biggest difference between the two women is that Bu Rini speaks English and Bu Tri doesn’t. When I saw Bu Rini later in the day, I asked her why she changed clothes. Her jilbab was tan. Then it hit me. My face went red. For the rest of the day, teachers laughed in Indonesian about the incident. Way to go Miss Chris. Of course all Indonesians look the same. Way to go.

After lunch and stereotyping Indonesians, one of our school staff gave me a ride home on his motorbike. I read and headed to Bule Burger. Later in the night, most of the gang arrived and we chatted about sex before marriage and giant cockroaches in bowls of soup.

Anas and I looked up to see orange light. We grabbed our cameras and ran out of Bule Burger. The orange was emanating from the toxic sunset. Depok houses a lot of Jakarta's pollution. The sunsets are unbelievable, but unfortunately not because they are up in the mountains of Tupper Lake, removed from light and people. Pollution gives birth to the wildest Indonesian sunsets. All of Depok was cast in an erie orange, yellow, pink-ish glow.

Creepy Thursday:

I cannot start re-telling my Thursday in chronological order. This is one of those days where I think, “Only in Indonesia.” I saw a ghost. Or something pretty creepy. As I walked home down Jalan Gede, a woman appeared in the middle of the street. I had no idea where she came from, but she was close to me and just stared right at me. I pass the same people everyday, and I had never seen this woman. I waved, smiled, and said ‘sore,’ but the woman just kept staring at me. She didn’t move, breath, or smile. I’d never had anyone not respond to me; I always get a smile (or frown), words, a headshake, something. I started to get a weird feeling, and I turned to walk away. A few steps later--completely creeped out--I turned and the old woman was gone. She just disappeared.

Indonesian ghosts are taken pretty seriously. I told my friends at Bule Burger about my ghost, and they said, “oh you saw the old granny; a famous urban legend. People see her on the bridge and on Jalan Gede.”

Oh great. I’m not sure I want to know what all of this means. I hope she didn’t give me the eye.

John came over later that night. “Tell me about your ghost.”

So I did.

“You are very lucky.”

“Why?? Are ghosts good luck?!”

“No. Not many people get to see ghosts.”

“Oh.”

Somehow our conversation turned into how he wanted Bule babies. My bule babies. Haha.

Compared to this, the rest of my day was pretty ordinary. I had 4 classes back-to-back, reprimanded a student for cheating, and had to personally escort my teachers to classes. I started my morning at 5:30 AM and headed to school an hour later.

At lunch I wanted mie ayam, and oddly enough my teachers had ordered a huge lunch including mie ayam. No one ordered some for Miss Chris so Bu Tati politely forfeited her mie ayam. I felt bad, but she ordered more for herself. I’m not sure why they forgot me, but given that this has been a recent habit and I keep eating their food, hopefully they won’t forget again.

By 2:00 PM I made it home from school, fought off taking a nap, read, wrote a blog, and headed to Bule Burger for dinner with Rie. He bought sate ayam from the local vendor. We were both pretty exhausted and restless—I should have taken that nap—and on my way home, I found my neighbor staring at the trees in front of my house.

“Why??” he asked in Indonesian, "are there are all these coconuts?”

He was right. There were a pile of coconuts in front of my house. They had fallen off my tree.

“Small children must have taken them.”

“Maybe. I hope no one throws them at my house.” As I made throwing motions.

“Haha, Iyyyyyyaaaaaa.”

Weird.

I should also mention that it rained. I might be a little crazy, but I put out an umbrella for my stray cat.

Dinner Party Friday:

I no longer teach on Fridays, which means that I get to sleep in until my maid comes over to clean. I spent the morning reading, eating, talking to friends, blogging, and watching my rash spread farther across my body.

By 5 PM, I grabbed a taxi and headed to Kuningan for a rare moment in Indonesian history: A DINNER PARTY! Stuck in awful traffic, the ride took over 2-hours. Sebastian has a new apartment, and he invited John C., his wife, Angie, and I over for pasta, salad, wine and a movie. We cooked dinner, enjoyed his 27-story view of the city, and watched movies. As we sat on the balcony, we spied on neighbors from the other 18 towers. You could see clear into their rooms if the shades weren't drawn. We could write a book about them.

By the end of the night, we convinced the security guards to let us go swimming.

"But first, the pool needs 'obat.'

Once the pool was given medicine, we were ready to jump in. We decided they wouldn't notice the difference between our underwear and a bathing suit, stripped down, and jumped in.

Sebastian lives in a rather funny place. There has to be over 5,000 people living in the complex and most of them are from India. The people who lived in his apartment before him ordered all of the Indian/Bollywood channels, which he still gets. Leaving to get a taxi, we passed women in saris, which is usual for Indonesia.

Rumah Sakit Saturday:

This is never a good title for a day. I woke up in Jakarta, had a Bule breakfast with Sebastian at Pacific Place, and we headed to Starbucks to get some work done. By now the rash on my stomach had spread and was angry. Time to go to the doctor.

Thank goodness Sebastian came to the hospital with me. Since I was in Kuningan the nearest hospital was MMC for Indonesians. We all remember my FUN time at the Bule Clinic in Cipete. Never again. So this time I decided to brave an Indonesian hospital. The bad part was and still is that my Indonesian is not great. I walked in and gave my name. They directed me to the general doctor. Besides my phone number and address, this was all the information they required. As Sebastian and I sat with the doctor, who could not speak English, he looked scared. Here is this white woman, and she is going to have to lift up her shirt.

So I lifted up my shirt.

He looked at my stomach and flinched. Oh great.

"Are you taking medicine?"

"No, that is why I am here."

"Eh..."

He made some bad faces.

I got on the table. This guy was clearly nervous.

"Your blood pressure is OK."

Yep....

Here's were it gets interesting, and I have no idea what was going on because Sebastian and the doctor were going back in forth in Indonesian:

"Is my rash from the sun?!"

"No. Usually it is from loose teeth or holes in your teeth. When there is a hole in your tooth, people get this rash."

(I stifle a laugh.)

"I don't think the rash is from food. You would have it everywhere. Maybe something in your house."

Dramatic Pause

"It is a rash from ULAT (caterpillars). I think it is from bugs. Allergy. It is an allergy."

He prescribed oral medicine, but I was pretty sure I could not take it with my colitis medicine. It would have had a bad interaction. Sebastian told the doctor as such, but the doctor didn't agree.

"But her colon is down here."

Doctor points

"Her stomach is here."

Doctor points.

"This medicine is for her stomach, not for her colon. They are different body parts. She can take this medicine. Her colon is down here."

Sigh

At my suggestion, the doctor switched to a topical cream. I thanked him, we headed to the pharmacy, and I paid about $25 total for the entire visit and medicine without insurance. I hopped in a taxi and headed to Bule Burger.

Anas at Bule Burger also has a problem. Yesterday he was bit by something and his hand swelled up to three times its normal size. He also went to the doctor and came back with a lot of medicine. ULAT juga?!?! We took pictures. Unfortunately, Anas missed his church date, and his mom and I were trying to discuss this in Indonesian and English. I didn't know the word for church, so I said 'rumah Jesus.' Lisa burst out laughing. Oh, 'gereja.'

This is my life.

An amendment to this post:

After sate ayam for dinner at Bule Burger, we played 41 and waited until 10 PM. The boys wanted to play Futsal (indoor soccer), so a few of the girls and I watched. I wanted to break stereotypes and play (Indonesia could use this), but I was worried I'd get nailed where my rash is (most places), and couldn't afford for it to get any worse. It's pretty bad on its own. After futsal, we headed back for a late night at Bule to drink beers, sit in a circle, and chat. We talked about buying alcohol in the US, Indonesian prostitutes, and church.

I came home by 1 PM to find ants all over my kitchen--hundreds of them--eating a dead cicak (lizard) on my kitchen counter. A cockroach jumped out at me, and I sprayed him with HIT. I swallowed some benadryl, put steroid cream on my rash, and headed to bed by 2 PM.

This is my life.

A Week In The Life of Miss Chris (Part 2 of 3)

2010-04-22T23:48:00.011-04:00

As I wrote this blog, I realized why I never summarize my days: it is tedious and a little boring. Hopefully one day looking back, I will appreciate depicting an 'average' week.

My last bule weekend was not a typical weekend. It never is. My weekdays better represent my life, and they are almost always bule free. I spend my weeks teaching, hanging out with friends, and planning lessons.

My lessons this week were game-oriented. We danced to the Cha-Cha Slide (listening to directions), played charades with verbs, and learned a new concentration game to practice speaking. We had a little refresher in numbers and professions. My school needed it. 3 weeks of vacation in the past 1.5 months and my students were on another planet. I think most forgot how to speak English. And remember, some of my classes speak 3-5% English while my better classes have a few fluent students.

Manic Monday:

Luckily grade 12 is testing and no longer attends regular classes. On Mondays I enter school much later. By 8 AM (a sleep-in day for me), I made my $20 pancakes from the Bule grocery store in Jakarta.

Just an ordinary day of teaching classes and planning lessons. Mie ayam from the canteen for lunch costing 40 cents, and a special visit to the school nurse and doctor:

“I have this rash.”

I hold up my shirt. She stares. Smiles. This is a special visit for her. I never go to the nurse’s office. I don’t think she and I have ever met before. I pull down my shirt. She shakes her head. She has no idea.

“Do you have fever?!”

“A small one. Can you take my temperature?”

Hand goes to face and neck. Of course, they don’t own a real thermometer. She pulls up my shirt again.

“Sorry Miss, I just wanted to look at your tattoo. Come back soon if you have a fever.”

Sigh. I leave school at the end of my last class, 3:00 PM, and hightail it to the University of Indonesia. I have to be there by 4 PM for English Club. I volunteer every Monday as a facilitator and native speaker.

I sit in the hot, brown angkot 04, waiting 10 minutes in the sun before it starts to move. My ride is 45-minutes to 1-hour, and I get off at Detos, which is an indoor market. Our angkot is pretty empty, so the driver creeps down each street, stopping when he sees people who are clearly not interested at getting on. Traffic is bad, and he brushes cars and other angkots as he maneuvers in and out of the mess in front of us. He drives off the side of the road. He fills the angkot and peels off at the first break in traffic. Now we are in a race. If he hits anything, I am dead. 30 cents one-way.

I am soaked in sweat, and 30 minutes of the ride consists of being stuck at the terminal in traffic. He has no reason to go into the terminal. Some drivers skip it. The driver blows cig smoke in my face, and there are 14 other people crammed into the van. My legs are glued to someone else’s.

“Kiri, bang.”

I hop off and walk behind Detos. I have to cross the train tracks, look both ways, and bolt across. These tracks are nerve-wracking because there are no alarms, warnings, or gates, and trains fly by at illegal speeds.

I walk through a market and stalls, get crazy stares and 'hello MISTER,' flag an UI ojek (motorbike), hop on, and take off for my building. Sometimes it rains, and I am soaked. 50 cents later I arrive at English Club where I am supposed to lead a discussion on food. So we talk about food: fast food, warungs, vegetarianism, ethnic food, etc. We play a trivia game in groups. My group chooses to write American 'history' questions. "Where is Disney World?" "Who is the talk-show host replacing Oprah?" "When is American Independence Day?" 2 hours later—6 PM—time is up, and I hop an ojek back to Detos.

There is something to be said about UI. It is not the friendliest of campuses. As the second best school in Indonesia, students are a little full of themselves. When I was on campus for English competition, a girl came up from behind and kicked my leg off a step. I was sitting with a student, waiting for others, and my American calve must have been offending her. Ironically, UI students wear the tightest and shortest skirts and clothes I have ever seen. Even in the US, it wouldn't fly.

UI is a liberal place. Guys and girls can kiss in public and hold hands. During English competition, my jilbab-wearing students looked on in horror as a boy wrapped his arm around a girl. My male students' eyes and heads drifted, following girls in their mini-skirts.

The University of Indonesia English Club

I crossed the highway and headed to Margo City. Dinner time. Usually I hang out at Starbucks until John can meet, but tonight, he was busy. I bee-lined it for the Indonesian chain, BreadTalk, and grabbed some pizza and a chocolate croissant with dreams of watching Tony Bourdain and Top Chef. Besides architecture in the old city, the Dutch influence lies heavily in baked goods. I never expected to find so many bakeries in Indonesia. They are even warung bakeries. Heaven.

Before bed and after another ice cold shower (I usually need to talk myself into my shower and jump around to get really hot), I signed online. Another night of funny cultural misunderstandings on gchat:

“Me: I have this crazy rash all over my tummy

Indonesia Friend: are you sick ?

IF: or it's your period? PMS?

Me: what???!!!

Why would my period give me a rash? PMS?? what??

IF: what is rash?

wait a minute

am going to look my dictionary

Me: haha

IF: aaahh

Rash is kinda...ummm red spot?”

11 PM, time for bed.

Mooching Tuesdays:

6:15 AM wake-up, classes, and school until 3:00 PM. My schedule changed, new class time (again!), and lunch with Bu Yeni and Rini. They ordered soto ayam but forgot me. Bu Yeni forked over half her soup with that look: 'This is my soup, but I am polite and will share.' We have the running joke:

"Bu Yeni selalu makan. Dia makan sama ratu." (Bu Yeni always eats. She eats like a queen.)

We joked in Indonesian about two staff dating/crushes—who weren't really dating. Ciiiiiiiieeeeeeeee. This wouldn’t fly in America. I also learned that my school sells es kelapa muda (an ice coconut drink). Thank gosh I didn’t know this at the beginning of the year.

“You are going to get fat, Miss Chris.”

Yep.

I came home and could not help feeling dead tired. Another ETA, Dani, and I joke about how we promise not to nap and then end up passed out anywhere. I never nap in the United States. In Indonesia, though, I sit in my AC bedroom for a minute and a few hours later, it is a few hours later. Oops.

I headed to Anas’s warung for dinner: egg sandwich, frozen fries, and some teh tarik. I worked on job applications. My phone vibrated.

"I want to see you."

Again.

"Di mana lo. I want to see you now."

John.

I got home and he stopped over—technically this is not allowed in my village. He ducked into my shower. I swear sometimes he comes over just to take a shower (Indonesians don't usually have showers. They mandi with a big tub full of water) and to drink my bottled water.

"Would you like to shower with me?!"

Nice try, John. Nice try. Gotta give him credit for trying.

"Go home."

Another ETA, Mike, called to catch up and ask a few Jakarta-oriented questions. Bed by about 12:30 PM.

A pretty uneventful day for this American in Depok.

A (Bule) Weekend In The Life Of Miss Chris

2010-04-22T06:23:00.010-04:00

Some days my life is really exciting and borderline unbelievable. As I am driving in the car with male Indonesian friends who are listening to and singing along with the Backstreet Boys, listening to Bu Tati describe how her 14-year old maid ran away, watch 7-year olds drive motorbikes, look ahead to see 20 car/motorbike lanes of traffic on the 5 lane highway, and pay $9+ for a Hoegaarden, I have to laugh and think, ‘hey, I live in Indonesia.’ If America is where dreams come true, Indonesia is where you think you are dreaming. Good and bad. Some days, life can be pretty mundane. Weekends never exemplify every day ‘village’ life, and usually no two days are ever the same. I know I write about major events and ‘aha’ moments. I try not to summarize my days, but for once, this is what my life really comes down to (weekdays will continue in a separate post):

Jalan-Jalan Saturday:

Today, I tanked as a teacher. Last Monday after volunteering I headed to Margo City, our only ‘mall,’ to wait for my Indonesian friend, John. We were meeting for dinner at Sagoo Kitchen, which serves traditional, old-fashioned Indonesian food. While waiting I grabbed a coffee, the one Bule perk in all of Depok: Starbucks. Unfortunately, I got in a fight with a bad latte. You know it’s bad when Starbucks takes you out. Bad karma for choosing Starbucks? This has been a common theme for me in Indonesia.

Throughout the week, I attended classes, napped off bacteria, and on Thursday escorted students to a 9-hour English competition at The University of Indonesia. I sat. I waited. I stared. I brought them home. By Saturday no other English teacher wanted to bring the students back to competition. Cough, cough, I don’t blame them. Teachers were not allowed to watch or participate. A few students SMS’d me the night before, and we decided I would go with them. A few hours later, Bu Tati called to tell me that I also had to attend mandatory ‘book reports,’ giving report cards to students. I am not allowed to give tests or grades, so in reality this was a publicity event: Meet the Bule.

Both events were 6 AM’ers, and I just couldn’t make it out of bed or, well, other certain rooms in my house. My stomach is not a morning person. I went back to bed, took a few phone calls from my school, and got up later in the day. I started to feel slightly better with only a ‘gurgle, gurgle’ left to attest to my pain.

I had plans to head to Pejompongan for the weekend to spend time with Pete’s family, especially Sabina. As mentioned long ago, Pete’s cousin married Sabina’s sister. They met when she was in America attending high school.

Sabina, Rohan, and I headed for Loewy’s in Kuningan to have a nice dinner. Gurgle. Gurgle. A light dinner for me. Rohan was an ETA from last year, and he lives and works in Jakarta for a teaching company called WallStreet. Sabina left after dinner to work on her thesis, and I stayed back at the house doing the usual American family calls. My parents announced my health insurance was dropping me for my 26^th Birthday and my car needed a few adjustments. $$$ I sucked in some air. “I have to go now, mom. Bye.”

On my way to bed, Nina peeked in while I was brushing my teeth.

“I’m going to miss you, Chris.”

“I know. I am going to miss you too! Your house is going to be so quiet without all of the bule staying over all of the time. No Peter, his friends, ETAs.”

“No. I am going to miss YOU especially, Chris.”

“Awww, thanks.”

“A bule who loves Depok. You make me laugh.”

I don’t think I can say anything else.

I stole this picture from Sabina, taken months ago. It best portrays the family, Rohan, and Alison along with all of the good food.

Bule Sunday:

9:30 AM: I woke up and had no idea where I was. I sleep at so many different places on the weekends, I had to lie in bed and orient myself. I peeked out the door to see Ibu heading to the Sunday pasar for vegetables and fish, and Eyang clipping the plants out front.

Life is pretty simple. For breakfast I ate white bread with chocolate sprinkles as Bu Sisu, the maid, started cooking lunch on the stove. The house smelled like good, fried food, and it was making me pretty hungry. I read on the couch—I’m in love with Janet Evanovich’s, Stephanie Plum series right now—drank my coffee, started sweating, and watched 7-year old Ilma bounce up and down while watching cartoons with Bu Sisu, her second best friend. Her sister is number one. I cracked open my computer and motivated myself to apply for jobs back home with thoughts of COBRA.

2:00 PM: I headed for Plaza Indonesia, Bule heaven and one of the biggest malls in Jakarta, by taxi (oops!). I met Angie, also a former ETA, for brunch at Kitchenette where we gorged on garlic fries and salad. We laughed over Indonesian boy stories. Jakarta always equates to me spending a lot of money on imported/bule food since I cannot find salads, sandwiches, ethnic food, good pizza, and pasta in Depok. In Depok, warungs are my life.

4:30 PM: Bule bowling at Senayan City. Angie and I met with up for bowling and beers with John and Sebastian, both former ETAs, and John’s wife who is from Indonesia. We were pretty rusty and caught up on the latest books, movies, and business ventures. After bowling, Angie, Sebastian and I headed to Arcadia for some Mexican food at Hacienda. This is the second time in a year I’ve had Mexican. Guacamole. Burritos. Sigh. Expensive but worth it. We made potential, future weekend plans for a dinner party and movies at Sebastian’s new apartment. All of these guys are fairly new friends for me. Only a few months ago, I met Angie at a wedding and at the time, Sebastian was her kost-mate.

9:00 PM: I had one of those moments. I needed to get back to Depok. The journey home is half the journey to Jakarta because traffic is headed in the other direction. Everyone is coming back into the city from a weekend in Puncak and Bogor.

I had my taxi driver drop me off from dinner at MPR, my landmark for Nina’s house. He and I bantered back and forth in Bahasa Indonesia because he didn't believe I knew what I was doing and where I was going. He was worried that I would get lost and that someone would attack me. After a few minutes, he gave up and said ‘goodbye.’ I walked up the stairs that lead to the bridge over the highway and hightailed it back down to the other side where there were lights and people. I darted into Nina’s home, said goodbyes, and flagged a taxi.

10:30 PM: I needed to stop at “Burger Loves Me, It’s Time to Bule.” I usually spend Sunday nights playing cards and drinking teh tarik with Anas and the gang. Uno, 41, Bullshit. I was late, and Anas was closing. Rie and I chatted for a bit, but I had to go: class in the morning, and I needed to plan my lessons.

Miss Alison visits Depok for a night of cards at "Bule Burger." Made by Rie.

1:00 AM: At home, I noticed little red bumps breaking out all over my body. I had tons of mosquito bites on my legs. Clearly they loved the repellent I used. I called America, prayed I didn't have dengue, popped a benadryl in case it was an allergic reaction, and went to bed. These days it takes a lot more to get me scared.

Oh. Dear.

Ethiopian Easter

2010-04-12T21:42:00.008-04:00

Shoulder dancing over the city of Jakarta? Sometimes I love holidays in Indonesia. I may not be able to spend them with my family and they may go pretty unnoticed by the general population, but I always find myself in a unique situation.

Halloween at the American Club watching families make pumpkin cookies, walking through 'Trunk or Treat' with the trunks of cars lavishly decked out in cob webs and magic wands, and costume fashion shows.

Thanksgiving in Yogya eating rambutan and drinking beer on the street, asking everyone where to get turkey for dinner, eating turkey sandwiches, watching the Ramayana Ballet.

Christmas Day with Pete’s Muslim family, eating a beautiful lunch, listening to hilarious stories about Pete and Nicole’s Flores adventure, taking pictures in front of the Christmas tree with Anas’s family at Bule Burger, rocking out to Christmas tunes and watching Christmas movies in my living room with Miss Cas, sitting on the train back from Surabaya watching Mariah Carey sing Deck the Halls as rice paddies fly by.

New Year’s Eve in Puncak watching a skyline of fireworks, eating a candlelight dinner of Ikan Bakar, waiting for sunrise, and sleeping in the gazebo with friends.

And then there is Ethiopian Easter:

Angie texted me in Padang: “Hey, want to go to my Ethiopian friends’ house for Easter?” Sure. Easter doesn’t quite exist in Indonesia although Good Friday is a national holiday. On Sunday we arrived at one of the nicer apartments in Menteng and headed to the rooftop. I spent part of Christmas Day in an American apartment eating Christmas desserts and drinking tea, so I already knew that ex-pat holiday parties are usually the best. Ethiopian Easter was no different. The entire city lay in front of us and fancy tables were set up around the pool. Bottles of red wine next to the apple juice foreshadowed a good majority of our time on the roof.

With Monas in the background, we settled at a table with a family from Iran, mother, daughter, husband, and grandmother. Within the next hour, a group of friends and strangers gathered. Most people arrived in groups but did not know anyone else. While everyone lived in Indonesia, families came from all over the world. We met a woman from Colombia, UNICEF workers from Iran, American teachers, Indonesian retail women from Yogya, and men from Uganda. Our table represented what I love about Indonesia: the idea that you can meet a group of international people, make instant friends, have interesting conversation, and instantly connect based on the idea that you are all foreigners attempting to recreate and celebrate a holiday special to everyone back home.

Ethiopian Easter is best defined as eating traditional Ethiopian food—pretty spicy—drinking red wine, laughing and chatting, and shoulder dancing to American music. Wikipedia best describes lunch:

"Ethiopian cuisine characteristically consists of spicy vegetable and meat dishes, usually in the form of wat (or wot), a thick stew, served atop injera, a large sourdough flatbread, which is about 50 centimeters (20 inches) in diameter and made out of fermented teff flour. Ethiopians eat with their right hands, using pieces of injera to pick up bites of entrées and side dishes. No utensils are used."

Lets just say that this year, I didn't miss my American ham, pineapples, and mashed potatoes.

As I stood overlooking my city, I knew how I lucky I was to be here. Whether it was the red wine or the fresh air from high above, I knew that some of my greatest memories and moments were from Indonesia, and I was having the time of my life. My life will not always be this exciting or interesting in America, so I guess I will just have to try harder to make it just as interesting and special.

"Boling Jaya Ancol"

2010-04-11T10:58:00.019-04:00

This past weekend ETAs and one student from each school met for the 3rd annual W.O.R.D.S. competition in Jakarta. Each year, AMINEF-involved schools host an English competition in creative writing and arts performance. The winner from each school receives the chance to compete in Jakarta against 31 other students for a small education scholarship. The winning student at my school, Nurul from class X2, submitted this poem:

The Dark Night

The night should be peaceful

The sky should be clear

The stars should shine brightly

The moon should smile

But now, it is frightening

The night wind chills the body

Fear shakes the heart

Frightening silence

adorning the silent night

The shaking of the heart is heard

like the trembling outside

Explosions worsen the situation

Crying from fear

Fills the sky of the dark night

Stars,

please fill the sky with your light

Moon,

please give your light to the earth

Don’t be afraid

Don’t tremble

Don’t cry anymore

Everything is at ease

Everything is calm

Raise your hand, Friends

and say,

peace, peace, peace my world

Nurul read the poem in both Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Inggris. We did not win the competition, but Nurul won a lot more this weekend. She won confidence and new friends. Even though she stood up to perform with shaky legs and watery eyes, she shook away her fear to deliver a thought-provoking, somber poem. As cheesy as it sounds, I am so proud of her.

Aside from the actual competition, the most memorable and important experience from our weekend was the opportunity given to our students—for some a once in a lifetime opportunity—and the fun shared together. As Nurul posted on facebook this morning: she misses all of her new friends and the past weekend, and she wishes she could relive that moment again.

Most of our students had never been to the capital, and they may never have the opportunity to return due to finances or circumstances. Many have never left their villages or traveled to other islands in Indonesia. Many have never ridden a plane. During the taxi ride into the city, Nurul joked that she had never been to Jakarta with an American.

We did not have a lot of time to take our students around Jakarta, and we were not placed in the most convenient location, Ancol, in northern Jakarta. Before we left on Sunday our students toured the national moment, Monas, and for students who arrived early Friday morning, many had lunch in the city and went shopping. With the competition Saturday, we only had Saturday night to take our students around as well as see other ETAs for possibly the last time; we have no more Fulbright group meetings, and many people are not flying home on the same schedule.

With the conclusion of the competition, which was a huge success full of unique English entries, we had plenty of time to spend the evening in Jakarta. One of my friends’ students needed to do oleh2 shopping, as did most. In Indonesia it is extremely important to bring back food and sometimes trinkets from another city or island. Other students wanted to go to dinner while one ETA made plans for group bowling. A group of students and ETAs decided to combine all of these ideas and head out for quick oleh2 shopping and dinner with the hope to catch the end of bowling. Shopping proved rough as a lot of places were closing or too far away. The hotel staff recommended a pasar, which when we arrived was slightly shabby and did not have what our students wanted. By the end, we were all hungry and disappointed although some of our students did have success in buying t-shirts for family. We headed to the bowling alley (with some students who were starting to lose faith in our ability as guides).

Another friend and I who were trying not to be frazzled with the evening's escapades, and there were many, decided that we needed a turning point. We would get food at the bowling alley, everyone would feel refreshed, and we would bowl. Most students had never bowled. I sat crammed in the back of a taxi with Miss Cassie and 3 students, and we laughed about our favorite and least favorite foods. We also asked each other a lot of questions about home, as each part of Indonesia is unique and very different.

We had a decent dinner, convinced students they should try bowling, and helped them get shoes. We grabbed balls, entered funny names into the computer, and started bowling. In the lane next to us, balls hit the ground pretty hard and we saw some serious gutter balls. Students laughed, throwing balls down the lane from behind and through their legs. Of course, pictures were taken. One girl hit her first pin (in her entire life) in the third frame. We all clapped and cheered for her. By the end of the night, she managed to hit two more pins and ended with a spare, a huge moment. Her total score: 12.

We started the journey at 5:30 PM and ended at 11:30 PM. Along with New Years, Easter, Padang, and all of my Bule Burger time, this night was one of my favorites. My quiet and shy student made new friends, put her fears aside, became less self-conscious, and bowled. They giggled, cheered, and talked. We got to know each other better and shared experiences about America and Indonesia. Besides Monas, this was the most time our gang of students was able to spend in Jakarta. For some, it may be all they ever know of Jakarta if they do not have the chance to return.

I learned a lot this weekend. One of the ETA’s students was sick but really wanted oleh-oleh. She would have stayed all night at the pasar to make that happen and make sure her students were OK. I watched as my friends paced back and forth—trying to help two girls who were lonely and got left behind at the hotel by friends and fellow teachers—find their way to us at the pasar. I then watched a group of people try to meet and find these girls when they finally arrived but couldn't find us. I watched people spend the night with theirs' and others’ students—never feeling like they gave up their night and still managing to go out for drinks after students retired to their rooms. When the first half of the evening got a little shaky, everyone salvaged the night and had a blast.

I know that my student was hesitant to tell me what she wanted to do that night. It’s part of the Indonesian culture. She didn’t know what she wanted to do and was pretty ‘malu’ to suggest things. She doesn't know Jakarta. New place. New friends. Slightly nervous. Slightly overwhelmed. Yet happy, excited, and open. It's our job as teachers to step up and be leaders. To open the doors for students just as this grant has done for us.

If Fulbright has taught me nothing else about myself, it has reinforced who I am, who I want to be, and who I want to be surrounded by. I learned that in my life that is my greatest asset, gift, and talent: my heart and connection to people. That is the most I can bring to Indonesia. I think that might be the most I can bring in this life. Even if it takes the form of bowling.

A group of teachers named my friends, 'the moms.' It was not meant in the sincerest of ways since we aren't the group who closes the bars, but I'm OK being a mom. I think being a mom equates to being responsible and a good person, knowing who I am, being independent, and possessing maturity. Sometimes, I am just no fun ; ) Yes, I am a 'Mom.' I love my mom and all she has taught me. I am good person because of her. As a mom, I am happy and have a really wonderful, dedicated group of friends. The kind of people I want in my life. The kind of people I want to be like.

As a mom, I need to end my story as such: As we left the bowling alley, Nurul looked so tired. We didn’t mean to be out so late as we lost track of time. Walking back to the Aston I told Nurul,

“We are going back now. Are you tired?”

“Yes, Miss Chris. I am very tired, but I am so very happy.”

Bule Bubble

2010-04-07T05:33:00.007-04:00

It seems so unreal.

“I am moving back to the United States at the end of May, and I am interested in your current position as…” My friends in Indonesia keep saying, “Before you leave for America we have to…” It’s heartbreaking. “I don’t want to lose you, Chris.”

I don’t want to lose Indonesia either, but it seems as though I am pretty homeward bound, knowing that this will not be ‘goodbye.’ However, I could not pass up the opportunity to check out a job in Indonesia. It did not work out. The opportunity fell into my lap from friends of friends, and I thought why the heck not at least go check it out.

From the outside it seemed like a good fit: International School in Cipete (South Jakarta), humanities teacher: English Literature and Social Studies. They hired both a fellow ETA and a friend of an ETA. They accepted. Good salary. Good benefits. Housing stipend. Year contract. Round-trip airfare. 10 month school year, 12 month salary. In a nice area of Jakarta near the ‘bule’ places like Blok M. But as Eyang (grandma) said over lunch, “Everyone loved this place. Everyone but Christine.” For this job you would have to be a certain type of person, and quite frankly, I am not that person.

Everything happened quickly. I sent my resume Sunday at midnight, and first thing Monday morning I awoke to a phone call. The school wanted to schedule an interview that very day, but I needed a moment to grasp what was happening. I needed to turn my life upside-down for a day, sobbing, debating, and shocking people. I signed up for a year in Indonesia with Fulbright. Everyone could handle that—me included—but after that, the consequences had yet to be realized let alone discussed or planned for.

With very little sleep and a confused heart, I woke up the next day at 5 AM to leave around 6:30-6:45 AM for my 9 AM interview. I was going. I had to see the opportunity through. I owed it to myself. No one wants to spend the rest of their life wondering if they made a mistake. And whose high school graduation speech ended with, ‘I hope you don’t feel the pity of opportunities lost?!' That would be me.

Although Cipete isn’t far away—about 20 km, a 30 minute ride—it took me the entire time to get there. Macet, macet, macet. Traffic is killer and it never goes away. 5 AM, macet; 11 AM, macet; 1 PM, macet; 3 PM, macet; 8 PM, macet; 10 PM, macet. One of the things we accept living in Indonesia. I had a lot of time to think about my options and future.

I learned a lot that day. I entered the office and listened as one of the headmasters, lets call her Ms. A, had staff translate information from Indonesian to English for her. Ms. A had lived in this country for well over 15 years, as she was not from Indonesia. Ms. A ran a school full of Indonesians, with a few international students, but couldn’t talk to families in their own language. I listened to the phone call, and I understood the Indonesian conversation. I’ve been here for 7 months, and my effort to learn the language could be a 100 times better. This wasn’t a good sign of things to come.

You learn a lot about a place when you sit in their office.

Ms. A made a sarcastic joke to her translator about how ‘ojeks,’ motorbike taxis which are a popular form of transportation, would never go to her house. Haha. The implication was that she only took taxis or drove herself. During the interview she thought I would be impressed with her suggestion to take a bejaj to work (meaning her school) everyday. She said it with a big smile and tone that meant I was supposed to think it sounded cool and would ask her what a bejaj was. I didn't.

"Do you know what a bejaj is?"

Yes, I've lived here for 7.25 months.

Ms. A's office staff were Filipino. No Indonesians and not everyone spoke Indonesian. In fact, I only heard two people that could. Ms. A didn’t smile, didn’t radiate empathy, and was not friendly to her staff or the students who walked into the office. Not to mention that I woke up 4 hours early to get there on time through hellish rush-hour Jakarta, and they were late to interview me.

My interview wasn't an interview. They were going to hire me. They picked out my housing, my salary, and apparently my lifestyle. They had big plans for me. On top of teaching, I was going to create a library reading program, very tempting. All I had to do was demo teach in 2 hours—which they said would be no problem, just something they are required to do—and after would sit down, negotiate the final terms, and offer me the job. I kid you not. I’m not ‘sombong’ (arrogant).

Some of this sounds wonderful right?! Put in a resume, get a callback that day, go for an interview the next day, get a great package offered, and the job?! In Indonesia. The place you love. A place where it can be difficult to get a good job. With just two months left. Just like that.

No way could I do it.

The school was rigid and uptight. “The students will not speak Indonesian during and after school.”

But they live in Indonesia. Most of them are Indonesians.

“Group A gets only 3 hours of Indonesian a week.”

Ok, I understand the school is preparing them to work abroad, but they are INDONESIAN. This is THEIR country.

“You must follow our curriculum exactly. From this textbook. You have to use this. You do not make up your own curriculum.”

I opened the book.

“For your demo, you are teaching this short memoir about flying in CT. We always use this textbook.”

Sigh.

How to get out of doing something you don’t want to: I took the book to the library and looked around. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to teach this. I love teaching English as a second language. I love adapting curriculum. I love not always using the textbook and having freedom to use other materials. I live for the challenge. For creativity. For teaching something worthwhile. “Oh captain, my captain.”

A group of boys were sitting in the library on the floor quietly talking. Ms. A came in and said, “Are you in here to study or for the AC.”

“The AC Ma’am.”

“Get out, now. You know better.”

End of story. No greetings, no nice words, no handshakes, nothing.

Ok, so teaching spoiled, rich kids, at a private school with teachers who would rather the quiet students not linger in the library. At least someone was using the library…

I continued to stare out the window as Indonesian workers cut the grass and trimmed the trees: the only Indonesian workers I saw in the entire school. The teaching staff are ‘bule.’ So are we giving the message:

“Children, if you don’t want to be like your fellow groundskeepers, please study hard…and not come to the library for AC.” or “We only hire Indonesians to do these kinds of jobs. This is why you must go abroad and why we don’t teach you Indonesian. If you stay here, we won’t give you opportunities at this school or in your own country except to mow the lawn.” or "This could be you. Please thank us for the opportunity to save you now." Rich Indonesians on the inside. Poor on the outside. Where were the role models?!

I tapped my pencil on the book. I started writing out the lesson plan. Date, materials needed...objective:

…to build relationships between America and Indonesia. To work together to have a healthier, safer, better community and society. To teach English to children who want to learn and desire the opportunity for a good education. To have access to education. To make learning fun. To make them learn something, anything. To make it relevant and real. To be proud of who we are. To understand and appreciate cultural differences. To always maintain our identity and sense of self.

Tap, tap.

Sigh.

An Indonesian worker outside walked by, smiled, looked away instantly, and put her head down.

Tap, tap.

My phone vibrated: “Miss Chris, will you still meet us at Dufan today? We are there now. Let us know if you will come. We will wait for you. Students from class X2.”

I had a date with my students. We made plans to go to Dunia Fantasi (Dufan), which is Indonesia’s Disneyworld. I look downed at flying planes in CT. This was a no brainer. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to work here. I got up, told my interviewers I had to meet with students at Dufan, they unhappily rescheduled, and I left. I hope they anticipated my email politely declining their opportunity. Some things are best done in an email.

I learned a lot about the ex-pat and bule lifestyle (one part of it) during this interview. The school was in a rich area of Jakarta and resembled a gated community. During my interview both women—another headmaster also interviewed me—couldn’t believe I lived alone in Depok. They didn’t seem to grasp that I LIVED here. I take public transportation. I have Indonesian friends. I work at an Indonesian school. I eat Indonesian food. I teach to poorer Indonesian students.

Ms. A didn’t even know most of the Indonesian places I named in my interview. She glared at me when I used an Indonesian phrase or two. They informed me that their staff were foreigners. I would work with them and be friends with them so I wouldn’t be lonely. I would hang out with bule. They would help me do everything. If I was coming from America, this might sound a lot better. But I reside in Indonesia. I don’t want only ex-pat, bule friends. I don’t always want to speak English. I don’t want to live in a bubble. I don’t want to take the taxi home. I want the BUS. We are in Indonesia.

Ex-pat, bule Indonesia can be rough. I love their grocery stores, restaurants, bars, and bookstores. I live for them. I love my American friends here. I have an Indonesian maid. But I do not respect the lack of empathy for the place in which you live. You cannot erase Indonesia and being Indonesian from Indonesian students because you think that allows them to have a better life. They have options. The goal of this school was to send Indonesians abroad for better opportunities. I get it. But why do all of these kids have to go abroad? Can they not succeed in Indonesia?! Can they not learn their own language, go to their own schools, and work to better Indonesia? Do they have to go to college abroad to succeed? Do they have to go abroad to bring back the west to Indonesia and share their new enlightenment?

Maybe the class field trip to Bali did me in. Did I mention I was supposed to teach 7^th grade?And they don’t learn Indonesian history. China and Europe. Bali, really?

I left the building and switched languages. I spoke Indonesian to the guards. They gave me a big smile. They knew, what I knew: I would not be back.

I am a village girl. I want to teach to the less privileged. My students don’t always think they want to be in school, but when the teaching starts, they really do. They try. They listen. They participate. Yes, they have bad days. Really bad ones. But some travel 40 minutes by angkot to be there before 7 AM. They come to class, arms gashed and bleeding because they fell off their bikes. They start to get teary eyed if a teacher asks them to leave class, and they sit by the door, listening in. When you invite them back in (I don’t kick them out, but I have teachers that do), they say ‘thank you so much miss,’ look to their neighbor, and start the assignment. When they fail, they try even harder. Sweating, hot, and tired, they still participate. They share books and resources. Sometimes desks and chairs. Chairs snap apart from under them. Their markers don't work. They know that tomorrow their father could die and they could be pulled out of school to raise their family. They know that when they graduate, they may be that beggar on the train. They go to their crappy library with no real books and study together. There is no AC. They want a good future and they know they may succeed or fail. There are no guarantees for them. No wealthy parents to save them with connections in the corrupt government. Life is not that easy for most of them.

My teachers—they are Indonesian. If I want friends, I better learn some Indonesian. Their training and skills might be hit or miss. But they have fun. They like their jobs. Some follow the curriculum, but others veer off. It's OK. It's encouraged. They are allowed to joke with students in any language. My school is a mess. My students will never learn as much or as thoroughly as the international school. Their career options may or may not be more limited. But at least they learn who they are. They are taught to embrace it.

They and my students have hope. My students could be a teacher at their own school. In fact, one graduate is. And one is also the leader of English club at UI. And another writes for the Depok Monitor. All of them are their own groundskeepers, so to speak. My students have to sweep and clean their own classrooms. They have to take responsibility for their lives. If they want to go abroad, go to school in Indonesia, or get a good job, they have to study even harder.

That international school was not for me. It was a mini-America. A small bubble of everything Bule, unaware that they were in Indonesia. They breed that in their students. And if the school was aware, they were certainly afraid Indonesia would penetrate the walls.

I should have known better.

The Big Durian

2010-03-30T09:23:00.016-04:00

Excerpt taken from Culture Shock! Jakarta At Your Door (1999):

Planet Jakarta

"It is the worst place in Indonesia—and Indonesia is an amazing place. It is the biggest, most expensive, most polluted, most corrupt, most westernized, most crowded, most lurid, most worldly city in Indonesia. It is the worse you will see of Indonesia. Oh dear.

It’s so big, it’s in danger of imploding. It can’t quite seem to cope, but somehow, despite every overwhelming odd, it always seems to manage. It looks like it ought to work—on the surface, that is. It’s all there: gloss, fashion, technology, machinery, attitude but…something’s not quite right. Look closely and see that everything is slightly broken, slightly chipped and cracked, slightly skew-whiff. On paper, it shouldn’t really work at all. City planners would have given up at the drawing board had someone given them the plans for the city that exists today. It’s wonky; lopsided. It’s a mutant. It’s the wrong shape.

There’s no apparent logic behind its design—it seems to have just happened this way.

…The signs are everywhere: the endless traffic jams, the super-rich living opposite the very poor, hopelessly struggling telephone and transport systems, a suffocating confusion of red tape, and an increasingly restless young generation, frustrated with the inequalities of their nepotistic society and its rampant corruption.

…its map is vast…festering rubbish pile and sudden, surprise area of high-walled estate. It seems at times to be deliberately hiding itself. And people are absolutely everywhere.

Construction work goes on day and night…

…The railway lines and riverbanks are still home to some of the worst indications of poverty…

It shouldn’t be boring…

…A world of improbable extremes. A world where any notion of apparent ‘logic’ is out the window; where saving face outweighs any other obvious course of thought…where people actually ‘lie’ rather than risk offending you with what might be the truth…where human error runs high.

Where breakfasts are spicy. Where cats have no tails. Where brothels operate opposite mosques…where men hold hands. Where courting couples shouldn’t…where mosquitoes are hungry. Where endangered species are on sale. Where a glass of beer is expensive. Where hormone-loaded snake blood is drunk. Where the police are bribable…

…but as the people who live there will usually tell you, ‘tidak apa-apa’—it doesn’t matter.”

Welcome to my home. Although Derek Bacon wrote Culture Shock: Jakarta over 10 years ago, it is still pretty accurate. When we first arrived in Jakarta for our one-week orientation, most ETAs said they hated Jakarta and were glad they were leaving. No one really gave it a chance. I can’t lie: when I first heard that I was living near Jakarta, I was pretty upset. Cities aren’t my favorite. I like to visit them and leave. Live in, heck NO! One day is enough for me.

You can’t forget that you are in Jakarta either. You cannot ignore it. You smell Jakarta. You hear Jakarta. Your anger spawns from Jakarta. Your skin screams Jakarta. You lose your money in Jakarta. The sun don’t shine in Jakarta, literally.

Although I don’t live directly in Jakarta, I am pretty close--like 12 miles away to its southern tips. Let me rephrase that, though: I live close to Jakarta but the commute takes hours. Hellish ones. I spend a lot of time in the Big Durian and my little city, Depok, is affected by the rain, pollution, and traffic.

Something has happened, though. I love Jakarta. Not just like it. Not just say ‘it’s ok.’ I LOVE Jakarta. You kind of have to. It grows on you. Who doesn't love...

...bars and winning ridiculous t-shirts that say "I radio music."

...rallies in front of Plaza and Grand, even though some are scary.

...friends and family.

...the ex-pat lifestyle and nice places to stay. AKA: palaces.

...cream baths.

...Java Jazz

...Obama in becak sculptures.

...Circle K's, giant ITCs, and Jolly Time Mallow Magic Popcorn with microwaves to pop it.

...movie and Scrabble nights with my favorite girls.

...public transportation (sometimes).

...Obama's school!

...Ice-skating in the mall.

...Santa Claus.

...Halloween: Trunk or Treat.

...Bejaj's.

...Food and ex-pat grocery stores.

...the idea that I can find anything I want. Not that I pay top dollar.

...Giant malls

...Disneyland in Ancol.

...lots of free time to think about life.

You love to hate it. And hate loving it. But really, you just love it.