This is the view from my porch one Saturday morning.
My neighborhood I think is probably the most reliably hilarious part of my life. It never fails to surprise me with more ridiculous happenings and conversations, and it also by far, the most welcome neighborhood I have ever lived in. I can literally think of hundreds of examples of this, but I think a few stick out more than others.
The benches that form the center of neighborhood activity. In the morning its occupants are the older Bapaks and Ibus, in the afternoon the children stake their claim, then finally the middle aged Indonesians just returning from work and waiting for their nasi goreng.
The Bapaks
Among my favorite things to do on a Tuesday night in Indonesia while I'm waiting for my Mie Goreng (fried noodles) to be cooked up for Rp. 6000 (about 65 cents) is to sit and chat with the old men in my neighborhood. They always ask the same questions in simple Indonesian, knowing full well that if they introduce any new vocabulary I wont understand. While I'm pulling out all of my Indonesian in an attempt to reexplain that I will go home in June they consistently offer me a Kretek cigarette (Mom stop reading now). Kreteks are an Indonesian specialty, onomatopoeticly named so as to distinguish it from the sounds of other cigarettes. They are loaded with tar (39mg per cig) and just are completely unhealthy, even more than other cigarettes. It is however, incredibly relaxing. After a long day of four 90 minute classes trying to explain English grammar to a bunch of 15 year olds who want to do nothing more than play games, it is a nice break.
As I wait for Pak Budi to cook up my noodles, I sit on a bench and chat for ten minutes almost every night. Sometimes, I look around and try to count all of the ways my life is different now than it was last year. Last year, my social circle was limited to the 20-22 year old demographic. Everyone I knew drove cars, wasn't that religious, and more than often our conversations revolved around Snooki's latest antics on the Jersey Shore. This year, I spend a lot of my time with people over 60, all of whom wake up at 4am daily in time for morning prayers, and who find it exciting when a new speedbump is installed in the neighborhood.
The primary mode of transport around my neighborhood is by pedicab. Despite being way too expensive, completely useless, and clogging all of the roads, they are staffed by a cadre of drivers who always talk to me despite knowing only two words of English ("hello" and "mister"). Hanging out with people significantly older than me who I can only communicate with through a mixture of simple words and acting things out, is very challenging, but also very relaxing.
These two guys stopped me as I was coming home from picking up my laundry and insisted that I sit with them. They offered me coffee and we spoke for a little while until I discovered their real purpose - translation. Somehow they had acquired an imitation US bond issued in the 1920's and wanted it explained in Indonesian. My only hope is that they didn't think that they actually owned US bonds.
My Friends
Everyday I start each day with a ten minute walk to school, and finish with a ten minute walk back at around four o clock. The walk back is usually far more exciting if only because I am consistently hounded by children who persistently ask the same questions that they really should know the answer to by now. “MISTER JACK” they yell at the top of their lungs as if I was just returning to the neighborhood after living in Canada for ten years. Then its always they same, “apa itu?” – “what is that?” they inquire of my ipod, “dari mana?” – where are you coming from.
The gang in one of the rare moments they aren't trailing me around.
When I first arrived the questions were more persistent, but recently they have become somewhat casual, as if I am actually having a conversation with these little terrors. One day I went to visit a high school in another city and they gave me three enormous boxes of brownies (a popular delicacy here – why exactly, I’m not sure). Instead of becoming even fatter than my students apparently think I have become and eating these things, I literally took one of the boxes of brownies and walked around the neighborhood until I had none of the candies left. The normally rambunctious group of children seemed to become cautiously optimistic that something good was happening. One by one they bravely ate the brownie they had taken, and then, upon realizing how many I had, demanded another.
A university student who lives next to me and can speak pretty good English always jokes with me whenever I’m sitting on my porch and the same kids come back by turning to me and exclaiming with feigned surprise “your friends are back!”
Street festivals
The same neighbor also is one of the only people that speaks good enough English to be helpful in almost any task. As a result, I usually ask her to help me perform basic tasks that my Indonesian will not be useful in solving. For example, one day when I returned from dinner to find that my key no longer worked (and I couldn’t call anyone else to help me because my whole school went to a wedding) she walked me down to the street and spoke with one of the bakso vendors (meatball) who showed up at my house with his tools. Five minutes and three dollars later, I had a new lock.
In the aforementioned story about the tent you can see in the picture above, I was really curious to know why a tent was above my street. When I asked one of my neighbors she said it was a yasinan and that it was a type of Muslim prayer – or at least that’s what I think she said, too be honest I couldn’t really understand her. I was even more confused when another neighbor said that there would be dangdut music (a traditional Indonesian music charachterized by high pitched and loud vocals and traditional instruments) and dancing. Usually these two things do not go together.
I waited patiently for my English-speaking neighbor to return, expecting that when she arrived she would be able to explain what was going on. When she finally did come back later that evening, I asked her what the deal was:
“Its for a Yasinan Jack, you know? Yasinan?”
“No, actually I don’t, what is it?”
“Humm…. Well, I can’t really explain it, its just a Yasinan!”
I just decided after that to stop wondering why strange structures are erected over my street.
PS
So that’s my neighborhood, I should also let you know that this weekend I went to Yogyakarta. Yogya is a small city about 325 km west of Surabaya, but is particularly important in Indonesia because it is essentially the cultural heart of Java.
Sunrise at Borobudur Temple.
The Javanese language is on all of the street signs, it is still ruled by its Sultan. It is also (usually) the place where Indonesia’s religious diversity lives on in relative harmony. I say relative because just this past weekend several churches were burned in retaliation for a Christian man distributing pamphlets critical of Islam.
Students from an Islamic school visiting the world's largest Buddhist temple, pluralism in action? hopefully...
However, it does have two of the most beautiful temples I have ever seen. The first, Borobudur is the world’s largest single Buddhist temple. We visited it at sunrise, and then after we went on to Prambanan, one of the world’s largest Hindu temples. Both are over 1000 years old and remain in pretty good condition thanks to government support and UNESCO backing.
Ash path from Mt Merapi (in the distance).
This past year though, both were well within target of Mt. Merapi, the volcano that erupted for weeks this past November, blanketing Yogya and both temples with over 6cm of ash. You can see in the above photo the flow of Merapi and the devestation it caused, literally wiping from the map the village that use to stand where this photo was taken.
Prambanan Temple, Central Java, Indonesia.
Sampai nanti semuanya! See you later everyone!
