It might be a strange comparison but I'm just going to go ahead a say it - I feel like my life here sometimes resembles a video game. And not just any video game - Super Mario. You know the kind of game where you are just walking in the same direction and you have all of these obstacles, little turtles or pitfalls or something, to avoid. Here in Jakarta it is much the same.
You start out walking, take a big step to avoid the hole in the sidewalk - miss that one and you'll end up in the sewers. Walking, walking, oh no, you have to cross the street. Put your hand out and hope for the best - cars stop, motorcycles don't. After tangoing your way across the street you have to avoid the woman begging for money, walk around the garbage dump (hold your breath!) and balance on the edge of the sidewalk so you again don't end up in Jakarta's sewer system. Walking, walking, past all of the starring Indonesians, the children yelling stuff at you and the food carts. This really isn't an exaggeration, actually in many ways it is slightly watered-down (I am tired to into more detail...).
Not going to lie, it is not the most fun game BUT it keeps me engaged.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
My Birthday!
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I have to say, turning 21 in a foreign country, where the legal drinking age is either 18 or not enforced, is rather anticlimactic. I have sort of been “21” since living in Australia. Who cares – its official! I am 21 and am now legal to drink IN and OUT of the United States of America.
We celebrated on Friday night, the 30th, by going out to eat at this really nice Italian restaurant. I had the best pumpkin ravioli and everyone surprised me with this massive strawberry cheesecake – words don’t even begin to describe how delicious it was…I am a chub. After dinner we went to the Black Cat, a jazz club. The place had a good atmosphere to it – little round tables, candles, a low stage. There was a jazz trio with this amazing piano player (she had the coolest voice!). I was stoked because they were taking requests and actually played the song I asked for. Happy birthday to me!
On my actual birthday we Americans had a rather uneventful field trip to a handful of museums in Jakarta (blah) but at night we went to a traditional Balinese wedding reception. I know, I know, I do things in style around here. Weddings here seem to be a bit different than in the states. It is normal for second cousins to invite friends because the wedding list is often over 1000 guests. There were actually 1500 at the one we went to. It was held in this massive ballroom and there were no tables or chairs for people to sit; just tables and tables of food. People queued to greet the wedding party and then mingled around the hall eating. It was a really fun way to celebrate. Even though it was a wedding I kept telling myself everybody was there commemorating my birthday. Things did become slightly awkward when I was asked to record a video message for the bride and groom figuring (1) I was one of the four white people in the room; (2) I don’t speak their language and (3) the minor detail that I don’t know the bride or groom….once again, a smile goes a long way.
We celebrated on Friday night, the 30th, by going out to eat at this really nice Italian restaurant. I had the best pumpkin ravioli and everyone surprised me with this massive strawberry cheesecake – words don’t even begin to describe how delicious it was…I am a chub. After dinner we went to the Black Cat, a jazz club. The place had a good atmosphere to it – little round tables, candles, a low stage. There was a jazz trio with this amazing piano player (she had the coolest voice!). I was stoked because they were taking requests and actually played the song I asked for. Happy birthday to me!
On my actual birthday we Americans had a rather uneventful field trip to a handful of museums in Jakarta (blah) but at night we went to a traditional Balinese wedding reception. I know, I know, I do things in style around here. Weddings here seem to be a bit different than in the states. It is normal for second cousins to invite friends because the wedding list is often over 1000 guests. There were actually 1500 at the one we went to. It was held in this massive ballroom and there were no tables or chairs for people to sit; just tables and tables of food. People queued to greet the wedding party and then mingled around the hall eating. It was a really fun way to celebrate. Even though it was a wedding I kept telling myself everybody was there commemorating my birthday. Things did become slightly awkward when I was asked to record a video message for the bride and groom figuring (1) I was one of the four white people in the room; (2) I don’t speak their language and (3) the minor detail that I don’t know the bride or groom….once again, a smile goes a long way.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
In Sickness and in Health
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I am imagining this blog-post as one of those movies, you know, with all of those flashbacks and special effects; the kind where you are always sort of in the dark because the writer wants it that way but they still sort of leave you in the light of the plot; everything is really not brought together until the end, you know? Well, here’s a go.
Our story begins with me getting sick. Crap, I revealed the plot too soon. Let me try again, everything is fine, I’m better – DAMN! Here’s to spoiling the happily-ever-after. Screw it, I don’t have a future in Hollywood, here is what happened.
In a land far-far away, closer or farther depending on where exactly you are in the world, technicalities… where am I even going with this sentence? Fate finally caught up to me and I got sick for the first time since being outside of the States. It had lasted for a few days; it being a chronic stomach ache accompanied by the occasional shooting pain. Whatever, I have a high tolerance for pain and I wasn’t dying. So I started drinking more liquids, popped a few more vitamins and carried on with my life. Then I woke up with a fever, and was really tired, and was freezing and had chills, and was weak…but I went to class…and then to work…and then came home and crashed. Drained.
My Indonesia friends were convinced that it was “masuk angin” literally translated to “open wind” (if they only knew) and that it simply meant I had contracted this Indonesian wind from going outside with wet hair, or sleeping with the air con too high, or anything else that can make you feel under the weather. Anyways, to test for this threatening medical anomaly, one must receive a back massage using this Chinese oil and a street coin. I am not joking. If your back turns red, you have masuk angin; if it doesn’t, you don’t. Simple, right?
Not if you are me. When this was explained to me I didn’t fully understand what I was getting myself into. I thought the directions were described to me in a way that said that if the oil was the indicator of the redness, not my back. I was gravely mistaken. Picture this. Me, shirtless, lying on my bed. Okay, back to the story, simmer down ladies. My friend is rubbing this oil on my back before beginning to scrape my back, my actual back, with a coin...from the street. You no doubt want to know if this was painful.
Yes, yes it was. They were carving into my back with a street coin (which we sanitized, I didn’t want a staph infection on top of the open wind). Of course my back turned red, how could it not? I had six neat lines running in pairs away from my spine, along my ribs. The best part was that my friend, a superstitious medic, burps every time they give a massage like this. To them, they feel as though it represents them taking out the bad from my body and releasing...the good? They claim it’s involuntary but I'm not convinced. So, between the sound of scraping flesh, the muffled squeals from me, and the burps from my friend I had quite the cultural experience.
I ended up having a really bad fever that night and thus decided to go to the doctor the following morning after class. I still had a fever of over 100. He said my symptoms were either Dengue Fever, Typhoid Fever or a stomach bug (with a such a wide range of diagnosis I was expecting to hear the Black Plague or breast cancer next, either one) but after some blood work we concluded that it was a stomach bug. Oh joy. After consuming only plain food (scrambled eggs, toast, cereal) for a week and getting my fever down, I can finally say I am back to 100%. Thank goodness. I can also say that I didn’t have to visit a dermatologist for any skin infections that I may have contracted after what some call the “witch-craft” I endured.
Our story begins with me getting sick. Crap, I revealed the plot too soon. Let me try again, everything is fine, I’m better – DAMN! Here’s to spoiling the happily-ever-after. Screw it, I don’t have a future in Hollywood, here is what happened.
In a land far-far away, closer or farther depending on where exactly you are in the world, technicalities… where am I even going with this sentence? Fate finally caught up to me and I got sick for the first time since being outside of the States. It had lasted for a few days; it being a chronic stomach ache accompanied by the occasional shooting pain. Whatever, I have a high tolerance for pain and I wasn’t dying. So I started drinking more liquids, popped a few more vitamins and carried on with my life. Then I woke up with a fever, and was really tired, and was freezing and had chills, and was weak…but I went to class…and then to work…and then came home and crashed. Drained.
My Indonesia friends were convinced that it was “masuk angin” literally translated to “open wind” (if they only knew) and that it simply meant I had contracted this Indonesian wind from going outside with wet hair, or sleeping with the air con too high, or anything else that can make you feel under the weather. Anyways, to test for this threatening medical anomaly, one must receive a back massage using this Chinese oil and a street coin. I am not joking. If your back turns red, you have masuk angin; if it doesn’t, you don’t. Simple, right?
Not if you are me. When this was explained to me I didn’t fully understand what I was getting myself into. I thought the directions were described to me in a way that said that if the oil was the indicator of the redness, not my back. I was gravely mistaken. Picture this. Me, shirtless, lying on my bed. Okay, back to the story, simmer down ladies. My friend is rubbing this oil on my back before beginning to scrape my back, my actual back, with a coin...from the street. You no doubt want to know if this was painful.
Yes, yes it was. They were carving into my back with a street coin (which we sanitized, I didn’t want a staph infection on top of the open wind). Of course my back turned red, how could it not? I had six neat lines running in pairs away from my spine, along my ribs. The best part was that my friend, a superstitious medic, burps every time they give a massage like this. To them, they feel as though it represents them taking out the bad from my body and releasing...the good? They claim it’s involuntary but I'm not convinced. So, between the sound of scraping flesh, the muffled squeals from me, and the burps from my friend I had quite the cultural experience.
I ended up having a really bad fever that night and thus decided to go to the doctor the following morning after class. I still had a fever of over 100. He said my symptoms were either Dengue Fever, Typhoid Fever or a stomach bug (with a such a wide range of diagnosis I was expecting to hear the Black Plague or breast cancer next, either one) but after some blood work we concluded that it was a stomach bug. Oh joy. After consuming only plain food (scrambled eggs, toast, cereal) for a week and getting my fever down, I can finally say I am back to 100%. Thank goodness. I can also say that I didn’t have to visit a dermatologist for any skin infections that I may have contracted after what some call the “witch-craft” I endured.
FIFA 2010
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I am not sure who, I am actually not sure when, but somewhere in history I am positive that some famous person once said something about the significance of sport on the world stage – it connects people through friendly competition or something. Just look at the Olympics – bringing the world closer than white on rice. But even better than the Olympics and a bit more timely was the FIFA World Cup. The tournament that started many a conversation in Australia continued to amaze me in how it brought people together here in Indonesia.
Actually, my first experience, arriving in the airport and while waiting for the other students, was with the two Indonesian men who picked me up. You can imagine that everything was a bit awkward – I spoke no Indonesian and they spoke little English. Yet, with one simple word a broken conversation began: “FIFA”? It makes miracles happen. The names of countries and players are accompanied by smiles and nods of yes or no. Same thing in the office. Talking about last night’s game or asking people which team they want to win –it builds bridges when there seems as though there is nothing else to link you to the people around you.
Besides being a marvelous conversation starter I am actually a huge fan of international soccer. Unfortunate though, the time difference did not play to my advantage here. The games began at 9:00pm or so but the games I always wanted to watch (USA!) started after midnight. Nonetheless, I was able to catch two of the games, downstairs, at the lovely cantina. The World Cup was only aired on one station here so we had to watch the game on this old-school TV with a flimsy antennae taped to the top left corner. Whatever, I could see what was happening. Picture this. Ghana v. the USA, me sitting in a restaurant, long closed for the night, along with six or seven Indonesians, some in chairs, most lying on the floor: it’s 3:30am. For some reason everyone is cheering for the US (well, I think my reason is rather legit). The game winds into extra time. We lose. The experience though, the instinctual screams we all shared when a goal was narrowly stopped or when we all jumped to our feet simultaneously when there was a breakaway; the sadness we felt when that last goal was scored and our team lost. Those things aren’t unique to any one country, they aren’t cultural. They are human and it is through sport, both playing and watching, that I have felt more connected to my surroundings, both in Australia and Indonesia, and to the rest of the world than I ever have before.
the Real World
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Well, it is official – I can no longer say I am studying abroad. No, no, don’t get your hopes up, I am not back in the U S of A just yet. Simply stated I am living abroad. In Australia I was studying abroad – being enrolled at a University, taking classes, doing homework all while soaking up the culture and living my life down under. But you know all about that. Here in Indonesia my life resembles something more out of MTV’s the Real World – not with as much drama…or alcohol…actually, yeah, maybe this isn’t the best metaphor.
We all joke (here’s where I make the connection), “here’s the true story of eight strangers…picked as FINIP fellows to live in Jakarta...work and learn together and to find out what happens... when people start getting real...The Real World Jakarta.” Seriously though, I have a real life here. Wake up at 6:45am, class from 8:00-10:00am work until 4:00pm or 5:00pm, gym, dinner plus whatever time is spent in traffic. I am very happy to have been given this experience to really learn what it is like to truly live and function in another country and not just be a tourist or a student. But I can’t help but wonder, as I think about the real world, what other aspects of my life here in Indonesia represent the “real world”.
Here I am exposed to so much in my day-to-day life. I see extreme poverty and I see extreme wealth. I see the shanty shops and houses and the mega-shopping malls and luxurious hotels. I see pollution and I see what development can do to the environment. More than anything else, however, I see the rift between the developing world and the developed world: the majority versus the minority. Here we experience random black outs where the government decides that for a certain amount of time one section of the city will not have electricity. In some places they don’t have electricity during the day, only at night and still yet, some people don’t have electricity at all. The people of the slums bathe in the rivers and streams – strengthening the realness of environmental issues here.
I have started to think a lot about the environment, my chosen area of study and what I want to spend the rest of my life working with. Unlike in America where we worry ourselves with oil, natural gases, alternative energy sources, and greenhouse gas emissions, here in Jakarta their environmental state is visibly in a very critical condition. I saw a map a few weeks ago showing the amount of forest covering the island of Java, where I am living. In the past fifty years the island has gone from being almost entirely green to being sporadically dotted and consumed by development. The sewage system runs parallel to the streets and is clogged with garbage; the rivers and streams are stagnant and covered with a film of rubbish and trash. When people clean their shops at night they sweep everything into the streets – the ocean is their dumping ground. We worry about composting and recycling, they don’t. We worry about having twenty different kinds of cereal to choose from, they think about feeding their families. We complain about a minimum wage of $7.50, they could change their lives with that much money.
In my “real life” here in Jakarta I am finding more and more that I am far from real in this very real world. There is a disconnect between me and my surroundings. I cannot fully say that I have stepped out of my protected bubble that the Western world has provided me; rather, the majority world has broken through and opened my eyes yet has not accepted me - I am different and will always be different. Even though I feel a separation from the nation I reside, I couldn’t be more thankful to Indonesia for helping me realize what the real world even is.
We all joke (here’s where I make the connection), “here’s the true story of eight strangers…picked as FINIP fellows to live in Jakarta...work and learn together and to find out what happens... when people start getting real...The Real World Jakarta.” Seriously though, I have a real life here. Wake up at 6:45am, class from 8:00-10:00am work until 4:00pm or 5:00pm, gym, dinner plus whatever time is spent in traffic. I am very happy to have been given this experience to really learn what it is like to truly live and function in another country and not just be a tourist or a student. But I can’t help but wonder, as I think about the real world, what other aspects of my life here in Indonesia represent the “real world”.
Here I am exposed to so much in my day-to-day life. I see extreme poverty and I see extreme wealth. I see the shanty shops and houses and the mega-shopping malls and luxurious hotels. I see pollution and I see what development can do to the environment. More than anything else, however, I see the rift between the developing world and the developed world: the majority versus the minority. Here we experience random black outs where the government decides that for a certain amount of time one section of the city will not have electricity. In some places they don’t have electricity during the day, only at night and still yet, some people don’t have electricity at all. The people of the slums bathe in the rivers and streams – strengthening the realness of environmental issues here.
I have started to think a lot about the environment, my chosen area of study and what I want to spend the rest of my life working with. Unlike in America where we worry ourselves with oil, natural gases, alternative energy sources, and greenhouse gas emissions, here in Jakarta their environmental state is visibly in a very critical condition. I saw a map a few weeks ago showing the amount of forest covering the island of Java, where I am living. In the past fifty years the island has gone from being almost entirely green to being sporadically dotted and consumed by development. The sewage system runs parallel to the streets and is clogged with garbage; the rivers and streams are stagnant and covered with a film of rubbish and trash. When people clean their shops at night they sweep everything into the streets – the ocean is their dumping ground. We worry about composting and recycling, they don’t. We worry about having twenty different kinds of cereal to choose from, they think about feeding their families. We complain about a minimum wage of $7.50, they could change their lives with that much money.
In my “real life” here in Jakarta I am finding more and more that I am far from real in this very real world. There is a disconnect between me and my surroundings. I cannot fully say that I have stepped out of my protected bubble that the Western world has provided me; rather, the majority world has broken through and opened my eyes yet has not accepted me - I am different and will always be different. Even though I feel a separation from the nation I reside, I couldn’t be more thankful to Indonesia for helping me realize what the real world even is.
the Indonesian Open
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“In-do-nes-ia”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. “In-do-nes-ia”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. That was the chant at the Indonesian Badminton Open. That’s right, I have finally found a place in the world who loves badminton and they don’t just play it recreationally like I have always loved to in the states, they play it for real –it’s their most popular sport.
A few of us bought “VIP” tickets and spent the better part of the day watching a tiny court in the middle of this big arena where men and women all over Asia (and Poland of all places) competed in the doubles and singles finals. I had so much fun. All the screaming and the chants; watching these really intense athletes smash this tiny shuttlecock. Watching the winner fall to his knees Roger Federer-style with just as much emotion and happiness as I had ever seen in a champion. But isn’t it just badminton? Well, yes, yes it is but when you see people that into it, cheering, clapping, riding the emotional rollercoaster any sporting event takes you on, it becomes hard to resist joining in on the fun. I mean they could have been throwing sea urchins back in forth while jumping on one leg and singing Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” in Dutch but hey, if people were cheering and in to it and that was the cultural thing to do then you can count on me being right there next to them chanting “Al-e-jan-dro”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. I digress.
This experience for sure has reinforced my thoughts on world sport. From playing tennis, soccer, and water polo to watching rugby, AFL, the World Cup, the French Open –all overseas- I have definitely formed a higher respect for the power of friendly competition and the unity of fan-hood.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
FOOD!
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I can officially say I have been eating like a king in South East Asia. My first week I was eating rice three times a day but have since cut back to eating just two servings a day. Please don’t think that it is the rice that has be being a chub, no, no, it’s the fact that this entire region is vegetarian heaven. It’s like the Promised Land…except instead of flowing rivers of abundant milk and honey there are endless restaurants/cars full of endless tofu and tempe. And the vegetables are delightful. Sure they have their cabbage and spinach and little corns and mushrooms but they also have the strangest looking bundles of tubers and legumes and other Earthly treats…I just smile and eat.
My favorite thing so far has been nasi goring (basic fried rice) although I enjoy it with tilur dan tempe (egg and tempe). And a shout out to all my Latino/a friends, I can officially hang with the “in” crowd at your next spicy food festival. We eat chili peppers like it is our job here…and by “eat” I mean nibble at the tips of the peppers and when I say “we” I mainly mean the fire-breathing Indonesian’s –my God they are tanks. Funny story though, I refuse to admit something is spicy or hot in the presence of Indonesian’s I am not really chummy with…like the office ladies, we keep it professional. I had something the other day at the office that easily ranks in the top 5 spicy things my tongue has ever come in contact with…and do you know what I did when asked if I thought it was spicy? I straight up lied – “no it’s not bad,” said my mind. Meanwhile, my esophagus was temporarily paralyzed, my sweat glands turned onto 40 meter dash mode and I began inwardly crying. Silly masculinity.
It is easy to conclude that I will not be losing any weight here. Rather, between the amazing meals (and cheap meals) and the selection of various Asian cuisine there is a strong chance this experience will turn me into a fatty boomba. Let’s hope that my active lifestyle and fast metabolism pull through me once again. But on a serious note, food and eating is a very cultural thing here. Restaurants are often family run and count on service and quality. I have adopted eating with fork in the left hand and spoon in the right and when need be, can eat an entire meal, including rice, with my fingers. Thus far, Jakarta has been very good to this food-fanatic.
P.S. They have breakfast pastries in Indonesia…and I found them. We have become very good friends.
My favorite thing so far has been nasi goring (basic fried rice) although I enjoy it with tilur dan tempe (egg and tempe). And a shout out to all my Latino/a friends, I can officially hang with the “in” crowd at your next spicy food festival. We eat chili peppers like it is our job here…and by “eat” I mean nibble at the tips of the peppers and when I say “we” I mainly mean the fire-breathing Indonesian’s –my God they are tanks. Funny story though, I refuse to admit something is spicy or hot in the presence of Indonesian’s I am not really chummy with…like the office ladies, we keep it professional. I had something the other day at the office that easily ranks in the top 5 spicy things my tongue has ever come in contact with…and do you know what I did when asked if I thought it was spicy? I straight up lied – “no it’s not bad,” said my mind. Meanwhile, my esophagus was temporarily paralyzed, my sweat glands turned onto 40 meter dash mode and I began inwardly crying. Silly masculinity.
It is easy to conclude that I will not be losing any weight here. Rather, between the amazing meals (and cheap meals) and the selection of various Asian cuisine there is a strong chance this experience will turn me into a fatty boomba. Let’s hope that my active lifestyle and fast metabolism pull through me once again. But on a serious note, food and eating is a very cultural thing here. Restaurants are often family run and count on service and quality. I have adopted eating with fork in the left hand and spoon in the right and when need be, can eat an entire meal, including rice, with my fingers. Thus far, Jakarta has been very good to this food-fanatic.
P.S. They have breakfast pastries in Indonesia…and I found them. We have become very good friends.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Program
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How rude of me, I realize I really have not yet explained why I am even here in Indonesia…and now I feel the need to apologize for such a poorly constructed sentence…is it too early to blame a language barrier?
Here is the program at a glance. The Freeman Indonesia Non-Profit Internship Program, sponsored by the International Institute of Education is a cross-cultural program designed to bring Indonesian and American students together. There are ten American students paired with ten Indonesia students who study at US colleges and universities spread across three cities in Indonesia: Jakarta, Bandung, and Yogyakarta. Besides strengthening the relationship and understanding between our two nations, the program is designed to expose us students to the NGO (non-governmental organizations) sector in Indonesia. As Americans, we are enrolled in an intensive language and cultural course where we attend class Monday through Friday from 8:00am to 10:00am and then have field trips every Saturday. The Indonesians will have two weekend intensives on non-profit management in Indonesia.
We are each paired with an Indonesian counterpart to complete our main task in Indonesia: our NGO internship. Upon acceptance to the program we were placed into different areas: education, public health, the arts, environmental protection and economic development. Every day from 10:00am until 4:30pm I work with Kehati, an NGO working to protect Indonesia’s biodiversity through sustainable development and community empowerment (aka environmental protection). They are a source for grants to a number of NGO’s in Jakarta and they are not only well known in environmental initiative but are also doing some amazing work. So far all I have done is help formulate the early stages of a proposal for a grant for a mangrove education center and give a fifteen minute presentation on sea-level change and coral reefs for what they call “knowledge-sharing Fridays.” My main project will be to work with various mangrove projects over the course of the summer ranging from grants to education to restoration. I am very excited about what I am doing here.
Hopefully this gives you a better idea of what I am doing with my life. I am really trying to learn as much as I can and will hopefully come away with cultural, academic and self knowledge.
Here is the program at a glance. The Freeman Indonesia Non-Profit Internship Program, sponsored by the International Institute of Education is a cross-cultural program designed to bring Indonesian and American students together. There are ten American students paired with ten Indonesia students who study at US colleges and universities spread across three cities in Indonesia: Jakarta, Bandung, and Yogyakarta. Besides strengthening the relationship and understanding between our two nations, the program is designed to expose us students to the NGO (non-governmental organizations) sector in Indonesia. As Americans, we are enrolled in an intensive language and cultural course where we attend class Monday through Friday from 8:00am to 10:00am and then have field trips every Saturday. The Indonesians will have two weekend intensives on non-profit management in Indonesia.
We are each paired with an Indonesian counterpart to complete our main task in Indonesia: our NGO internship. Upon acceptance to the program we were placed into different areas: education, public health, the arts, environmental protection and economic development. Every day from 10:00am until 4:30pm I work with Kehati, an NGO working to protect Indonesia’s biodiversity through sustainable development and community empowerment (aka environmental protection). They are a source for grants to a number of NGO’s in Jakarta and they are not only well known in environmental initiative but are also doing some amazing work. So far all I have done is help formulate the early stages of a proposal for a grant for a mangrove education center and give a fifteen minute presentation on sea-level change and coral reefs for what they call “knowledge-sharing Fridays.” My main project will be to work with various mangrove projects over the course of the summer ranging from grants to education to restoration. I am very excited about what I am doing here.
Hopefully this gives you a better idea of what I am doing with my life. I am really trying to learn as much as I can and will hopefully come away with cultural, academic and self knowledge.
I am just a white Shaquille O’Neil living in Jakarta…
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...except I am tan, 6’1’’, have curly hair, green eyes and nice teeth –still, I am a minority through-and-through (or a Greek-god depending who you talk to). Here are a few stories I feel best represent my, hmmm, looking different?
Story One: The program, FINIP, gave us enough money to go out and purchase mobile phones so that in the case we get stranded on some dismal, shady street corner by a sketch taxi driver we would be able to call for help. Well, the only problem is they sent all twenty students in the program at once to get the phones from one of the nearby malls. Of course we were a sight to see; ten Americans and ten Indonesians walking into an Indonesian mega-mall, wow. It was like we had walked out of a circus act and into South East Asia daily life; I felt as though I needed to juggle knives or breathe fire or something to appease their strange stares. The Indonesia students gibber-gabbered in Bahasa with the store clerks trying to negotiate prices. A few of them strongly urged me to walk away from the bargaining battle ground because my luminescent white skin was making it difficult for them to get the price lower – apparently a stereotype here is that white people have money….go figure. We ended up getting phones and then promptly exited the mall, single file. In hindsight we really didn’t do much to make ourselves incognito.
Story Two. The first Friday here in Indonesia about half of us decided we wanted to go to Friday prayers. Since Indonesia has the world’s largest population of Muslims it was rather easy to appease our cultural craving since religion is such a part of daily life here. We hitched a few taxis to a market near a local mosque. Picture this. A small group of American’s along with three or four Indonesians winding our way through this maze of an open-air-market towards the source of the call-to-worship. I am practically walking sideways, bent at the waste as to not knock my head against the low lying electrical wires and lines supporting the colorful tarps and tents covering the periphery of the narrow path I wander through. The people I pass either stare or do a double-take; their confusion is understandable. They must be wondering to themselves what we are doing there…we ask ourselves the same question. A quick smile and nod goes a long way in this country as it melts away the concern and curiosity chiseled into the Indonesian’s faces: they always smile back.
Story Three: Children are infatuated with white-people. It is not uncommon for us to walk past a group of Indonesian children on the street and then have one of the Indonesian counterparts lean over and whisper to me that they just called one of us beautiful. I actually had a group of women say I was very handsome in one of the malls this past week…of course they said it in Bahasa so I had no idea I had just been complemented…again smiling goes a long way. Back to the children. We were standing at a queue yesterday for about an hour waiting to ride a sky-rail at a local cultural theme park and for sixty minutes we were like television to those kids. Honestly, I feel like a celebrity sometimes. Every time the line wrapped around the children would tug on their parents sleeve so they too could sneak a peek. Some would chatter with one another and giggle before returning to their whispering. There was one instance when this baby was just crying and crying –clearly unhappy—and then the little runt caught sight of us. Literally within two seconds the kid stopped crying and just looked at us with those big, dark watery eyes.
Basically, I could write about every single day here in Jakarta and have similar stories to the ones above. Some people get frustrated being under the spotlight all the time; they begin to crack under the pressure of the stares, glares, and whispers. As for me, I embrace it. The way I look at it, I strive to give them something to look at. No, not like “hey look at me, I’m an American!” as I flaunt my lanky self around the streets of Jakarta. Rather, I try to radiate sincerity and kindness and be an ambassador for my country, to be a model “white-person.”
Story One: The program, FINIP, gave us enough money to go out and purchase mobile phones so that in the case we get stranded on some dismal, shady street corner by a sketch taxi driver we would be able to call for help. Well, the only problem is they sent all twenty students in the program at once to get the phones from one of the nearby malls. Of course we were a sight to see; ten Americans and ten Indonesians walking into an Indonesian mega-mall, wow. It was like we had walked out of a circus act and into South East Asia daily life; I felt as though I needed to juggle knives or breathe fire or something to appease their strange stares. The Indonesia students gibber-gabbered in Bahasa with the store clerks trying to negotiate prices. A few of them strongly urged me to walk away from the bargaining battle ground because my luminescent white skin was making it difficult for them to get the price lower – apparently a stereotype here is that white people have money….go figure. We ended up getting phones and then promptly exited the mall, single file. In hindsight we really didn’t do much to make ourselves incognito.
Story Two. The first Friday here in Indonesia about half of us decided we wanted to go to Friday prayers. Since Indonesia has the world’s largest population of Muslims it was rather easy to appease our cultural craving since religion is such a part of daily life here. We hitched a few taxis to a market near a local mosque. Picture this. A small group of American’s along with three or four Indonesians winding our way through this maze of an open-air-market towards the source of the call-to-worship. I am practically walking sideways, bent at the waste as to not knock my head against the low lying electrical wires and lines supporting the colorful tarps and tents covering the periphery of the narrow path I wander through. The people I pass either stare or do a double-take; their confusion is understandable. They must be wondering to themselves what we are doing there…we ask ourselves the same question. A quick smile and nod goes a long way in this country as it melts away the concern and curiosity chiseled into the Indonesian’s faces: they always smile back.
Story Three: Children are infatuated with white-people. It is not uncommon for us to walk past a group of Indonesian children on the street and then have one of the Indonesian counterparts lean over and whisper to me that they just called one of us beautiful. I actually had a group of women say I was very handsome in one of the malls this past week…of course they said it in Bahasa so I had no idea I had just been complemented…again smiling goes a long way. Back to the children. We were standing at a queue yesterday for about an hour waiting to ride a sky-rail at a local cultural theme park and for sixty minutes we were like television to those kids. Honestly, I feel like a celebrity sometimes. Every time the line wrapped around the children would tug on their parents sleeve so they too could sneak a peek. Some would chatter with one another and giggle before returning to their whispering. There was one instance when this baby was just crying and crying –clearly unhappy—and then the little runt caught sight of us. Literally within two seconds the kid stopped crying and just looked at us with those big, dark watery eyes.
Basically, I could write about every single day here in Jakarta and have similar stories to the ones above. Some people get frustrated being under the spotlight all the time; they begin to crack under the pressure of the stares, glares, and whispers. As for me, I embrace it. The way I look at it, I strive to give them something to look at. No, not like “hey look at me, I’m an American!” as I flaunt my lanky self around the streets of Jakarta. Rather, I try to radiate sincerity and kindness and be an ambassador for my country, to be a model “white-person.”
Friday, June 25, 2010
Indonesia through my Eyes
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People keep asking me what is Indonesia like? What does it look like? Where is it (get a map, lazy!)? Well, here you go, some answers to appease your curiosity: Indonesia through my eyes. You already know about my airport experience so I will not bore you with more from that. One important thing to understand, before we embark on this visionary quest, is that Jakarta, the city where I will be for the next two months IS NOT representative of all of Indonesia. Imagine being asked to judge all of the United States on a two month stay in Los Angeles. You would get a very skewed picture of the place…well, that is how it is in Jakarta. Indonesia is massive and thus is rich in culture and traditions –unfortunately Jakarta is very westernized. Here we go.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was fascinating. One second you are driving past beautiful shopping malls next to lovely office buildings and skyscrapers…the next second you are driving past landfills, polluted rivers and slums. It is quite the juxtaposition. There are motorbikes everywhere, street carts selling food wherever you look and people all over the place. I think that the biggest adjustment has been not being able to see the sun or clouds or a blue sky. There is so much pollution here that it is very rare not to see an endless expanse of gray above you.
I suppose there is some beauty here. The people thus far, beside the starring and the occasional judgement for being white, are lovely. Also, at night, when all of the city is lit up and the skyscraper’s lights are able to penetrate the polluted air it is quite beautiful. I am hoping to see some more of Indonesia cultures during weekend day-trips and some weekends we have planned in Bali and Yogyjakarta. So excited. It is for sure nothing like Australia…but alas, if you are trying to “see Indonesia through my eyes” you should understand that I have quite poor eyesight…I wear contacts. Therefore, you should see it for yourself. I will undoubtedly take pictures and share stories until you can plan a trip.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was fascinating. One second you are driving past beautiful shopping malls next to lovely office buildings and skyscrapers…the next second you are driving past landfills, polluted rivers and slums. It is quite the juxtaposition. There are motorbikes everywhere, street carts selling food wherever you look and people all over the place. I think that the biggest adjustment has been not being able to see the sun or clouds or a blue sky. There is so much pollution here that it is very rare not to see an endless expanse of gray above you.
I suppose there is some beauty here. The people thus far, beside the starring and the occasional judgement for being white, are lovely. Also, at night, when all of the city is lit up and the skyscraper’s lights are able to penetrate the polluted air it is quite beautiful. I am hoping to see some more of Indonesia cultures during weekend day-trips and some weekends we have planned in Bali and Yogyjakarta. So excited. It is for sure nothing like Australia…but alas, if you are trying to “see Indonesia through my eyes” you should understand that I have quite poor eyesight…I wear contacts. Therefore, you should see it for yourself. I will undoubtedly take pictures and share stories until you can plan a trip.
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