Happy Mother's Day to Me!

Here’s my new grandson – Arlo Stephen Young. He’s a week old now and my son says that he already has a really great personality. “He’s optimistic, but realistic at the same time.” David and Anna are thrilled to be his parents and I am pleased to show him off to the world.

I'm sitting in my bedroom at my desk, drinking some herbal tea that my daughter sent and thinking this is a really good Mother's Day. I may be far from my children and grandchildren but with all the pictures in my room I see their faces all around me.

The night before Mother’s Day a neighbor came to my house and gave me a 3 hour massage for $3.00! Actually it was only supposed to last for 2 hours but I think it takes her longer to do my bigger body. Indo. massages are a little different. My host mother put a 4 inch thick mattress on the floor in front of the TV and turned it down low and she and my neighbor talked while my body was gently and not so gently kneaded and pulled. It ended up with her walking on my bottom and thighs while she held my leg for support. By the end of the session I was ready to sleep and this morning I feel great – there are a few muscles that I’m more aware of now…overall a great experience.

As I was walking this morning I saw a group of teenagers riding their bikes. One of them had a monkey on his handlebars. I laughed and told him, “Wonderful! I like your monkey!” The monkey seemed to be enjoying the ride as much as the boys.

I was able to talk with my three children and skype with 2 of them so I’d say it was a great day. And I am in the process of figuring out how to get an internet cable to my house so I can watch the youngest Young grow up over the 14 months that I will still be here. It costs a little more than the modum usage fee I now pay each month, but the current signal is often so weak I can’t even get my mail and I really want to keep my eyes on this beautiful new baby in Boston!

A Walk Inside My Soul

It’s Easter. I am exactly halfway through my Peace Corps service here in Indonesia. 405 days complete – 405 days to go till “Close of Service.”

My first born child will have his first born child any day.

I think it is a good time to examine “Why am I here?” “What is wanting to be born from the tomb/womb of my own life?”

The questions flow freely from my fingertips. The answers are a lot harder.

This morning when I was walking I was watching the moon. There was only one star in the sky – the Eastern star, Venus.

Unexpected, spontaneous joy. I’ll begin with that. My “work” here: I think up creative ways to teach English to students in an Islamic High School. My room, board, health insurance & vacation pay are a result of my “job” playing with cardboard, colored pencils, pieces of paper, songs and stories. All my physical needs are met because I make students smile and think.

This yearning to be creative inspires something that satisfies deep inside. It’s what I give, but it’s also the atmosphere in which I receive. When the students (and my co-teachers) are actively involved in this imaginative endeavor it’s like I’m the midwife.

My job description according to my supervisor, the Vice Principal at my school is to be a Model and an Inspiration.

Of what? I sometimes ask myself. Much as I try to be a “Good Indonesian Teacher” I know parts of my hair poke out of the jilbab, my ankles sometimes show, sometimes I yawn and forget to cover my mouth and my classes are much louder and chaotic that other classes. Ultimately I model “me.” I expose the students to this one life –so different and so similar to their own.

Then there is silence. I simply cannot express many things – sometimes it would be culturally inappropriate, sometimes I don’t know the words, other times I am watching and listening so intently that I almost dissolve.

I walk an average of 2 ½ hours a day. I have a substantial amount of reflective time. It’s not always quiet. Right now there are several lively conversations in the local language in the teacher room. Because I don’t understand this language, I pay more attention to the body language, the intonation, the laughter, “how” they are speaking rather than “what” they are speaking.

Not understanding so many things is sometimes difficult. We humans generally live like we know what is going on. There is a certain numbness that’s almost peaceful when I am just believing the story that is running through my head. And then in an instant it all unravels – where I saw clarity before, I now see ambiguity. My certainty become a watchful curiosity.

My English co-teacher just asked to borrow my computer mouse. I asked her if it is better now and she said “No,” but she is smiling. I think the mouse is working for her computer – what did she mean when she said “No?” It may be that people don’t understand me or that I don’t understand them. The way we say “No” here is by saying “Thank you.” It that really what she means?

Even giving examples reduces it further into something that seems manageable. It’s challenging to “embrace the ambiguity” rather than searching for the reasonable.

It’s like always being in an earthquake. If feels as if the world is just a little off balance all the time. At some point I just give up and go with the flow. Living with the uncertainty becomes the standard.

There are some hard parts. Not being in my grandchildren’s lives. It’s been how I define myself. I am a grandma. My Indonesian name is “Oma.” If I let go of that definition of who I am what will be left? Why am I clutching it so tightly? I’m afraid to let that crack in my heart find the end of it’s journey. Maybe this is just another area where I’m being invited to surrender the things that have seemed so clear and so dear.

The lesson I taught on “Embarrassment” was instructive. I gave examples to the grade 11 students of times when I was embarrassed, shy and ashamed.

The things I am ashamed of –

I often forget people’s names. I know I can’t remember all the words I want to, but it feels especially awful when I can’t remember names. I think if only I tried harder, I would remember. But I can’t. It’s humbling.

Secret eating – I have kept a stash of snacks in my room (in Tupperware so the ants won’t get them) and I hide in there and eat my cookies and candy by myself. In an ideal world I would just eat the food I am served and feel satisfied.

I can already hear the voices of the people who read this blog. “It’s okay. You don’t need to feel ashamed.” Maybe I do. Maybe it’s time to let go of this yearning for satisfaction. Maybe the “me” who is yearning to be born needs to feel dissatisfied and not numb out.

It’s only when I pull the secrets into the daylight that I can see their shadows.

The current journey is labeled Peace Corps but the real journey is so much more.

Pray Day

Pray Day

Students and the big drum on the porch of my mosque.

Today is an all day prayer day. There is no teaching at my school. All 900 students, 60 teachers and staff and several hundred parents, grandparents and other dignitaries have gathered in the large mosque and have been praying for 3 and a half hours. I just took a break and came back to the teacher room. We are all praying so that the seniors will pass the national exams.

All the teachers got a notice yesterday stamped with the official school seal that we were to wear white clothes today. My ibu-mama loaned me a frilly white shirt and some white pants that are a little bit tight. My co-teachers also told me to wear make-up and jewelry. In fact, one of the teachers was doing a good business selling bracelets and jilbab jewels for $1 - $3. I bought one of the strings of sparkly plastic peals and pinned it on my jilbab where the scarf part goes around the back and attaches to the top of my head. The shirt sleeves are almost down to my elbows, so I needed to wear the arm warmers too, so that I’m covered to my wrists.

It was raining hard so the tent which was set up yesterday was flooded and all the activities had to move to the giant mosque next door. There was a steady stream of people arriving from 7:00 till 9:30. It’s called “rubber time.” There are many reasons why things don’t start on time and a giant rainstorm means that usual method of transportation – motorcycle - just isn’t as easily accomplished. I was impressed with how many grandmothers came. Every single person was wearing white. Most shirts are long so that when you sit, the bottom of the shirt touches the floor. Some are down to your knees. This is a lot of clothing to be wearing in a hot tropical climate. The men wore either short or long sleeves and their heads, hair, neck and ears were exposed.

There prayers have now shifted from chanting Arabic to a speech in Indonesian. I can sit on the floor for a few hours but then my old bones just beg for a little padding. Actually about 10% of the teachers are in the teacher room now. The prayers are being broadcast over the loudspeaker system, so I guess we’re still praying. There are also dishes of snacks here – boiled peanuts, cassava and bananas – each served separately.

I asked how long the prayers were going to last. No one knew. The students were told to bring a rice box – the equivalent of a lunch box. It isn’t considered to be a meal unless there is rice. I think the people in the 6 little shops which make up our canteen are there, but maybe they are busy preparing food for someone else.

I just asked one of my co-teachers what the speaker is saying and she told me that he is imploring people to ask Allah for help. The speakers, distinguished Islam men called Imams wear a shawl around their necks. At least that’s what I look for to tell who the dignitaries are.

All the teachers were served an elaborate meal – buffet style. We get our plates of rice, cooked vegetables, piece of fish or chicken, fried tempe and sit on the floor. Most of the teachers eat with their hand.

Now the meal is finished and we all go home early! I really do pray that the seniors pass the National Exams. Our teachers will go to other schools to monitor the testing so that the urge to help the students is reduced or eliminated. Last year every one of our Seniors graduated. It’s important for schools to have everyone graduate. That’s a lot of pressure on students and people who are grading the exams. Prayers and mandatory passing -Education is a different system here in Indonesia!

I miss my family

My family is circulating an update email where each one of us checks in and talks about what is going on in our lives. I have 6 brothers and sisters and a zillion nieces and nephews and a whole new crop of children in the generation beyond that. I’m including some of my family conversation so that other people who follow this blog can grasp what it means when I say, “I miss my family.”

If I could capture the essence of "missing my family" and put it in my water bottle it would be overflowing with my tears. These 27 months are so much harder than I imagined. I just never thought I would be homesick. That's something kids do. I mean I've lived on my own so much and my kids have left home and I've left many homes. It's hard to even say where my "home" is. Is it the home in the forest in New Mexico where I lived 13 years ago and have been renting out ever since? Is it the little apartment in Salt Lake City that I rented for 2 years to be close to my daughter and grandchildren? I have 2 Rubbermaid bins with all my worldly belongs stored at her house, but the idea of “home” is hard to define. But “missing home” is perhaps the hardest part of living here. Yesterday was my youngest son, Peter's birthday and this week is the "due date" for David, my oldest son and his wife Anna to have their first child. I will have a new grandson living in Boston very soon.

When my first grandchild, Talon, was born I was at Hurricane Katrina and volunteered to drive a big truck to Cody Wyoming. When I stopped in Boulder to spend the night with my daughter, Katrina, she was in labor when I left. I dropped off the truck in Wyoming, flew to New Mexico and drove up to Boulder so that I was there within 24 hours of when he was born. When my second grandchild, Kira, was born I was living 2 blocks away and took care of Talon when she and her husband, Matt went to the hospital and then Talon and I got to see little Kira when she was just a few hours old. The thought that I will not be able to hold this grandbaby until he is over a year old is just painful!

This morning I got up at 4am, like I usually do and went for a 2 hour walk. I love the relative cool in the morning. Of course I'm sweating by the time the sun comes up at 5:15 or so but I love the quiet and the stillness of the early mornings. I live on the most densely populated island in the world! (At least that's what they say - I would think Manhattan would be more densely populated but maybe not.) My ibu-mama is already up when I leave the house, cooking rice and boiling water in a wood burning fireplace outside. The first person I usually say good morning to is an elderly lady leaving the little mosque where she has gone to say her morning prayers. Today I picked up several bunches of sprouts that had fallen off the motorcycle delivery cart that the vegetable seller, Dewi, drives. She was appreciative of me returning them to her.

Then I walk for about 1/2 hour to a place where the houses end and the rice and corn fields begin. For about 20 minutes I can sing my heart out because it's still dark so the farmers have not yet come to the fields. Then I'm in another little village. I follow a winding road down to a big river, cross a bridge and go past a graveyard build into a steep hillside. All the graves are the same direction so that the people can be placed in them lying on their sides with their faces west - toward Mecca. Then I walk past a slightly rural area to another village where there are a lot of dogs - I counted five! (Yes, 5 dogs in a village is a LOT of dogs.) Muslims are generally not allowed to have dogs so there must be some Christians living there. Then I walk past the place where they make bricks by hand out of concrete and past the little ditch where I always see villagers squatting and pooping.

Things I have seen in streams and ditches: People washing their goats, people giving their cows a drink of water, people herding their ducks to get a drink, people washing their clothes, people cleaning out the canisters of pesticide that they spray on the fields, people brushing their teeth, people washing their children, little boys peeing as far as they can, and of course people squatting and pooping. Before I came, I had read that most rural homes in Indonesia do not have toilets, that people use the streams.

There is no school this week because it is the National Exam for seniors. I went back to my Pre Service Training Village – where I lived for the first 3 months and visited with the family and spent a few hours with the new Peace Corps volunteer who is now living in my house. There are 30 new ones who are learning the language and culture and in 3 months will graduate and join the existing 17 of us from the first group. I’m still the oldest.

It’s been really hot lately, as opposed to just regularly hot. Two other volunteers have said that they will come on Friday and we will go swimming at the new pool just 2 blocks from my home. I’m looking forward to that.

At my new house, where I’ve been living for the past 6 weeks we eat a lot more tofu and tempe and a lot less fish heads and tails. The wonderful thing is that they have figured out that I like fruit – I brought some apples home from a trip I took – and so we have fruit almost all the time: bananas; pineapples; papaya; apples; Asian pears; selak which looks like snake skin on egg size balls and it sort of tastes like pears; hairy fruit which looks weird but tastes good; & oranges!

I miss you guys! Love and hugs from ½ way around the world, Colleen

And a response from my sister, who is a nurse-

Col,
We miss you too. It will be wonderful to have you back home - when will you be coming home? I think it is in May of next year is that right? You can almost start the count down. Just think off all the stories and adventures you will be able to tell for the rest of your life about your being a Peace Corps volunteer in Indonesia! Are you more glad than not glad you did it? I hope so. I'm sure there are days you wish you never did it though. I just hope the more glad over all out weighs the not glad.
All those things happening in the streams and ditches is enough to make me seriously cringe. I am bringing toilet paper with me no matter what and even though I hate to use the stuff normally I think I will bring a gallon of hand sanitizer with me! Actually, now that I'm thinking of bringing Calvie wipes (not sure of the spelling) but the kind they use in hospitals that kill all kinds of big bad bugs. How is your health? How do you wash your hands? Do you wash them often? My god the sanitation conditions sound bacterially awful! Okay, I'm not freaking out - well, maybe a little - I still want to come but I will definitely listen to every bit of advice Matt our doctor gives on how to stay healthy while there!
Stay healthy - stay away from those ditches and streams!
Love,
Your sis Pinky

(My daughter, Katrina and her husband Matt, the doctor, will visit me in June of this year and Pinky is planning to come in March of next year.)

My response to my sister-

It's not as bad as it sounds, Pinky. I have been wiping my butt with my hand for the past 13 months and I'm still alive! I used to get diarrhea pretty often, but now I sometimes go several months without it. Water is so cheap - you just keep washing your hands with soap when you are finished, over and over until you can't smell poop any more. Actually sometimes I can still smell poop - I'm careful not to floss my teeth after that because when you floss you really do wind up putting your hands in your mouth.

People are very careful about only using their right hand to give you things - the left hand is the butt washing hand. But sometimes I forget - oh well, the students still love me even if I pass out papers with the wrong hand and the shop keepers still keep the money even if I reach in my purse with the wrong hand.

Of all the things I deal with in life - the hardest is missing my family, the 2nd hardest is not understanding what is happening (language and cultural differences). Heat, mosquitoes, transportation difficulties, incredibly loud prayers, the smell of burning trash, sanitation issues and strange food are really just minor annoyances.

Easter Sunday is day 405 in Indonesia - exactly half way, only 405 more to go. I really am glad I came. I have so many grandma stories to tell, but I better tell them fast. I can already tell that my memory is going...

Love you guys, Colleen
(My due date for going back to America – close of service - is June 2, 2012.)

Things I wish I knew on DAY 1

This blog is for the new Peace Corps volunteers who will be leaving American and heading to Indonesia in one week. (Actually right now they are called "Invitees" and once they sign paperwork in San Francisco they are called "Trainees" and once they "swear-in" after 3 months of learning the language and culture they are called "Volunteers.")

PC Indonesia. Survival Tips – Things I wish I knew on DAY 1

Disclaimer: The contents of this page do not represent the positions, views or intents of the U.S. Government or the U. S. Peace Corps or any other volunteers serving in Indonesia! This is just 1 full page to share with the newbies.

First day with PST family:

With so much going on the first day, I forgot names within seconds. Ask them to write their names Find out what people call each other and write that down too. Also their age so you can figure out later who is your father, mother, brother, sister, aunt, neighbor, etc. My name is = Nama saya. Pangil saya = Call me. What is your name?= Siapa nama anda? How old? Berapa umur?

Essential Javanese: Hello =Mongo Mr or Mrs.= Mbak (for people older than you) Yes = Ngeh No = Ora.

My host family wanted the windows shut at night for security and so I wouldn’t get sick (masuk angina = wind comes in) and because it was cold = dingin. I thought it was hot = panas.

If you can’t get the mosquito net up, you can cover yourself with a double layer of it and still fall asleep.

If the noise from the mosque / weddings /circumcisions is too loud to sleep, don’t worry, you will soon be deaf.

When setting up the water filter: Rinse First, then Assemble. Pour some regular tap water through it first to clean out the dust, then assemble the parts – they need to be put together firmly. Only put a little water in the top the first time so you can swish it around in the clean lower compartment and empty it. Tap the handle to stop drips.

Always eat with your right hand, pass food/papers/money etc. with your right hand (see bathroom tips below)

Very delicious/nice = Enak sekali. Extermely delicious = Lezat sekali. Tambah lagi = add again / take more. I’m full = Saya kenyan. Thank you, enough -= Terimah kasih, cucup

Assalamu alaikum = standard Arabic greeting when coming into a house Response= Waalaikum salam. When leaving the house, say to the father/mother Pamit saya? = May I?

I am not allowed to ride a motor cycle= Saya tidak boleh naik sepeda motor. I am forbidden to ride a motorcycle = Saya dilarang untuk naik sepeda motor. Kenapa = why. Many volunteers dead= Banyak relawan mati (dead for animals, not people, but easier to remember.)

I must wear a helmet (for bicycle) = Saya harus pakai helm.

Things every 3 yr old knows: Cover your mouth if you yawn. Don’t cross your legs so that people see the soles of your feet. Take your shoes off every time you enter a house.

In the bathroom

Where is the bathroom = Di mana kamar kecil? Water is plentiful and very cheap in Indonesia. When you go in turn on the faucet to mask the noise. The squat toilet WILL flush if you pour enough scoops of water in it. Until you get the hang of it pooping is easiest if you are naked from the waist down. Stabilize yourself by putting one foot off the foot rests and one a little farther away so you can put your foot down flat rather than balancing on the balls of your feet. To wipe without toilet paper: while squatting, put your left hand behind you and extend it between your legs, pour water from the scoop with your right hand. Scoop, pour and wipe, scoop, pour and wipe. Do not stand up until your left hand is clean. Your natural tendency is to grab hold of something with it as you stand up. In all my families I kept my own soap on one side of the soap dish. To rinse both hands at the same time tip the dipper up while you are holding your hands together so the water runs from the dipper to your right hand and into your left hand below it. When I see people squatting in my host village in the stream, I avert my eyes and keep walking. Works for me. You will be expected to mandi = bathe by pouring water over you, washing and then rinsing, twice a day. My family always panics when I try to bathe after the sun has set.

I use the first splash of cold mandi water to repeat the mantra that was given to our group at staging: “Embrace the ambiguity.”

Used tampons should be put inside a plastic bag and put in the trash. The sewer water runs into the rivers and irrigates fields. I have a lot of plastic bags to give your group because I remember the panic when we asked the PC doctor where do we get plastic bags and she said “They are everywhere.” They are, but you need a stash to start.

Community / Walking around

Mau ke mana? = Where are you going. (Common greeting, much like we would say “Hello”) Jalan, Jalan = walking or Jalan saja = Just walking. Mampir = come in (to my house) (It’s polite for them to offer.) I always smiled and said Terima kasih, nanti = Thank you, later.

Dari mana? = where are you from. Saya dari Amerika = I am from America But now I live in ____.= Tapi, sekarang saya tingal di _____. People may be asking you where are you coming from= Dari mana? Saya dari sekola = I am coming from school.

It’s good to memorize and write down your full address: street name, number, desun, desa, RW, RT, village, kabupaten, everything people tell you.

Tomorrow = besok = sometime in the future, not necessarily “tomorrow”

For weddings/circumcisions the protocol in my village was to put 20.000 Rp. ($2) in an envelope and “palm it” to the appropriate person.

Cell phone

2010-2012 PCV’s all went with Simpati as a provider. It’s cheaper to contact each other if you are all on the same network. To call home 010171 (area code and number) is LOTS cheaper. I programmed all my USA numbers in that way. For texting you have to do 1 (area code + number) So people I text and call have two different listings.

If you can’t send a text = sms = small message system or make a call, you are probably out of pulsa=cell phone minutes. You can buy pulsa from shops or sometimes neighbors who are set up as dealers. *888# will show you how much pulsa you have left and when it expires. If it gets too low you can’t send or receive messages. The more pulsa you buy, the cheaper it is per minute.

Batu, the big town near PST villages has stores where you can buy cell phones. We got better deals buy going together and buying more than one phone at once.

I'll print some copies of this to give to the next group who haven't yet figured out the PC blog system. See you guys in Surabaya!

Oma Colleen Young (I'll include my phone number in the printed copy.)

Walk to my school

Come with me on a walk to my school. That's it in the distance beyond the rice fields and behind the mosque.





This public service announcement is at the entrance to my town. Please don't poop in black puddles. Throw your trash in trash containers and wash your hands often.







This is the loud speaker tower outside the mosque. You can hear the prayers about half a mile away.









Two of my students who are also walking to school.









My friends, the snack sellers at the front of the school. Today she told me that she is a salesperson and also said "I love you." in English.










And here I am in my teacher's uniform at the entrance to my school.

Fried Chicken Intestines

Here is my host father with a chicken leg and foot and my host mother with the intestine stick.

I really like living with my new family. I get to experience a lot of different things. They are teaching me the value of different foods. I want to make sure that they don’t spend too much money preparing my food. We had a discussion about “village chickens’ versus “cage chickens.” Chickens who are mass produced at a chicken yard and stacked in cages their whole lives cost 20.000 Rp a kilo, ($1 per pound) but “village chickens” who run free cost 35.000Rp. per kilo. ($2 per pound) A 1 foot long by 6 inches high delicious papaya costs 50 cents. A pineapple costs 50 cents.

There are about 20 chickens that live in our back yard. Yesterday my host parents killed 3 of them. When I arrived the chickens had their throats slit and almost all the feathers off. My host mother and father were in front of the outside faucet, cleaning the last of the pin feathers. I pulled up another little 5 inch high stool and watched. They cut off the legs and wings and spilt the chickens open and very carefully pulled out the innards. Then they cut off the chicken feet and hacked off their toe nails with a big knife and put that piece in the pot, then they took the chicken head and cut off the beak and put that piece in the cooking pot. They carefully pulled out the intestines, put a long thin stick inside of them and then slit them open. Then they washed them over and over again, changing the water and scrubbing the intestines together to get the poop from the digestive tract out off of them.

All the intestines and internal organs were cut into pieces and fried. My host mom kept telling me they were delicious.

The other chicken pieces including the head and feet were washed thoroughly and then fresh lime juice was squeezed over them and they were put in a pot to boil or maybe soak overnight. I’m not sure. This morning my mother took out some chicken pieces and deep fried them and we had them for breakfast with rice and boiled leaves, green beans and sprouts with a spicy peanut sauce.

It looked to me that everything in that chicken was cooked except for the toenails and beaks. My host mother told me – they aren’t meat! The fried livers and hearts taste like fried livers and hearts. But the fried intestines really are delicious!