Seesters

Leaving at 4:30 AM tomorrow for the trek to Sumatra with seester.

So far she has...

• Been to an animal market where she saw some black magic guys performing, barns of Indonesian livestock, a man skinning cobras, draining their blood, and selling it as medicine (people paid to drink it!), owls, jungle cats, giant bats, flying squirrels, pythons, etc.
• Eaten soto 3 times.
• Visited a nearby village to bring gifts to some friends of mine. While we were there, we witnessed all the men of the village competing to walk out onto a greased bamboo pole situated over a dropoff with a mud pit below. They had to jump off the end of the bamboo to grab baggies filled with prizes hanging overhead.
• Gone to church. Twice.
• Drank coffee and tea.
• Eaten cow brains. On accident.
• Been to Jogja.
• Shopped for batik fabric.
• Ridden the motorbike like a pro.
• Had lunch with my boss.
• Seen two weddings and a funeral (all happened in my neighborhood on the same day).
• Been to the combined birthday party of four of my good friends.
• Eaten approximately 4 meals per day.
• Toured an ancient palace + mosque and learned about the sultans of old.
• Visited a horse ranch and riding school.
• Met just about all of my friends who are currently in country.

And tomorrow begins the biggest adventure of them all!

Church

My pastor has a pretty good grasp on the English language, and for some reason, he likes to use it a lot in his sermons.  I would estimate that about 25% of what he says is in English pretty much every single time he takes the stage. You can count on it.

Now, my church has a very wide demographic. There are extremely old people, and there are hordes of babies. One of the wealthiest families in town goes to my church, as do several families who live in the closest thing my town has to a slum. We have doctors, and we have people who never learned how to read or write. We have people from at least 15 different tribes/islands. But there are only two white people - me being one of them. And both of us speak Indonesian. So there's really no need to use English at all.

A few people from my church have a very basic grasp of English - mostly students who have learned it in school. Even fewer have a very excellent grasp of English, one being an English teacher himself. But other than that handful, nobody understands what is being said when the pastor uses English. And sometimes it frustrates me when he uses English because I know I'm part of only a select group that understands the ENTIRE sermon.

Today was a funny example of that. After the sermon, pastor asked everyone to stand up for prayer. But for some reason, he said it in English. Aswan, who speaks fairly good English, jumped right up. I started to, but then I realized that with the exception of Aswan, NOBODY was standing. He looked around, embarrassed to be the only person in the whole room standing up, and then he whispered to me, "Why is nobody moving?" I whispered back, "Because he said it in English and nobody understood him. Sit down."

So he did.

Aaaaand now that I'm writing it, it seems way less funny than it did at the time. There's a chance I may have had to stifle my laughter during the closing prayer...

Weird Fact

Go to Google images and type "pakfilemon" into the search box and press enter. The first 20 images that come up are photos I have taken that all link back to my blog. And I have no clue why.

Seester

Sister is here safely.
Took her to a cock fight this morning.
Then we watched a guy skin a cobra, drain its blood, then drink it.
Then we ate opor ayam (a chicken dish) and rice.
Now she is sleeping.
All is well.

Conversations With Ibu

Since I'm the only person left in my building, I've been spending lots of time with our shared helper, Ibu Sri. I've always liked her a lot. She is a hard worker, an amazing cook, extremely trustworthy, and just an all around wonderful lady. She likes working for single people because she enjoys being a mother figure and taking care of us when our parents are far away. This is the first summer that she's worked for me that I've actually been here for the whole summer, so I've been spending a lot more time than normal with her. We've had some really interesting conversations in which we both learned a lot from each other. Usually those conversations start out with her asking a question out of the blue such as:

"Do Americans circumcise their children?"
"Are Americans allowed to have more than one wife?"
"Did you fight with your siblings when you were little?"
"Can you please pray for my Muslim neighbor who is going to Papua to persecute Christians?"
"Are you more like your mom's side or dad's side of the family?"
"What are you making, Nona?" (Nona is the formal word for Miss. She always calls me that.)
"How hot is it in America right now?"
"The internet tells you THAT?"
"Are you lonely?"
"What kind of food does your sister like?"
"American kids are a lot different than Indonesian kids, huh?"

Usually when I start a conversation, it begins with:

"Ibu, do you know where I can get. . . ?"

I'm realizing more and more what deep thoughts this woman has. I've seen some of the burdens she carries in her heart. I've seen her love for the Lord and how that overflows into love for people. I know some of her biggest regrets. I know her favorite color. We've laughed together and cried together. I wish that I had written down every conversation we've had this summer so that I could read them again and again.

Today she told me she wanted to buy some flowers for my sister who is arriving tomorrow. I asked if she wanted to use my money, and she said, "No. I will use my money." So she drove all the way across town to the pasar (market) to buy a few different kinds of flowers. She brought them home and spent some time arranging them in a vase. When she finished, she brought them to my apartment to ask what I thought. I smiled so big because I'm pretty sure she's almost as excited about my sister's arrival as I am.

I'm going to Jakarta tomorrow to get her.

Fun Times With an Old Guy

A few weeks ago, I went on a picture taking walk with some friends (Walk #2). You might remember seeing this picture that I took on that walk:

When we saw this kakek (grandfather) sitting there cleaning his sandals, we asked him if we could take his picture, and he told us, “Oh, please do! But can you give me the pictures later?” We said we would.

Three weeks later, I finally remembered to get the pictures from my friends and go get them printed. They look like this:

So tonight, I drove to his house, not knowing what to expect or what to say. “Hi, is your grandfather home? I’m the crazy white girl who took pictures of him three weeks ago.” Luckily, his wife (or so I assume, given that she looked about 100 years old) was sitting outside on the porch, so I told her that I had some pictures for grandfather, and she hollered for the guy, who came out. As he walked out the front door, I asked him if he remembered me. Sharp as a whip, he replied, “Yes! You took my picture when I sat there!” and pointed to the bench. So I told him I brought the pictures for him like I promised.

His wife sidled right up next to me - far within the American personal space bubble that I have long since abandoned – and asked to see the pictures. Based on the severe cloudiness of her eyes (they were almost blue – Indonesians don’t have blue eyes), I’m not sure how well she could actually see the photos, but she cooed and marveled over each one in turn. Grandfather just stood there smiling at us both until I handed him the pictures and told him thank you. He replied, “No, no, I’m the one who says thank you”, and shook my hand. As I got back on my motorbike to drive away, he sidled over to the same bench and sat down. And as I pulled out into the street, I glanced over again to find him smiling as he looked at his pictures.

CUTEST.KAKEK.EVER.

Some Very Important Things

Ah, summer. Wednesday was the Fourth of July. It didn't feel like a holiday here. A few of us Americans (those left in town) grilled some hot dogs and shot off a few mortars in the driveway. The most festive part of the day was probably when I got to Bible study late (due to the cookout and mortars) and an entire room full of Indonesians shouted "MERDEKA!" (freedom) at me as I walked in the door. It was good of them to remember my favorite holiday.

Both of my neighbors have now moved out. I have an entire apartment building all to myself. I've been pilfering things left behind. I got a whole bottle of parmesan cheese and some delicious looking mustard as well as a ridiculous number of potted plants. I also have access to a TV and a place for my sister to stay when she comes next week (!!).

My helper has been working on deep cleaning both of the apartments next door, and I've mostly left her to it. She hasn't cooked for me yet this summer. I don't know if she's happy or sad about that. When she spots me in the kitchen, she makes a point of coming in and asking if I need help. I don't know if she's more afraid that I'll think she's shirking her duties or that I'll burn the kitchen down or somehow poison myself. Sometimes I make a little extra so I can give some to her so she can see that I am somewhat capable. So far she's liked all but one thing I made (it was the pesto; she said it wasn't spicy enough).

Yesterday's lunch was an experiment. I found a can of Campbell's condensed cream of chicken that I had tucked away half a year ago. I decided to see what I could concoct with that, so into the pot it went. Along with some water to un-condense it. Then a bunch of white rice that was about to go bad. Then some cheddar cheese and rosemary. Then a lot of ground pepper and a little oregano. And then I found the chunks of buffalo meat. In went bits of that. And then I ate it on toast. It ended up being quite delicious. If you'd like the recipe, just message me. However, the success of the dish depends on the buffalo bits, so if you can't get that, don't bother. Given that I was skeptical about the outcome of that meal, I did not share it with Ibu Sri.

One of my goals this summer was to read more books. A week ago, I went to visit a student, and her mom cooked a boatload of Indian food for me, which was particularly amazing given that THEY ARE INDIAN. That food was as legit as legit can be. So so so good. BTW, if you've never tried Indian food, get on it. Back to the point though, that student is moving to American in a month, but she lent me a book that she says I HAVE to read. So I've been working my way through that in an attempt to finish it before she leaves the country. The book is Roots by Alex Haley. I would consider it a mix between fact and fiction. The author, an African American, traced his family history back 6 generations to a man named Kunta Kinte, a boy from The Gambia brought to America on a slave ship in the 1700s. It's been a week since I got the book, and I'm halfway through the nearly 700 pages of Haley telling the stories of his ancestors. A lot of it is historical fact, and it is about real people and their stories. But it reads like a novel, so obviously things like the conversations and relationships the characters have are largely fiction. I would strongly, strongly recommend the book for anyone over 16. Unless you are Amish because there are a few curse words in it. And I only say "anyone over 16" because the descriptions of the torture he endured on the slave ship and at the hands of his white master are pretty graphic and difficult to read at times.

And I've been drinking lots of apple juice. I found a place where I can buy it by the gallon. I'm a happy camper.