3-1-07
I have three months remaining in the city of Padang. What a revelation. I knew this time would come, when I would reflect on some of the many things I have seen and done, and ponder over the things I should have done, or still want to do. And the lists are long, and they get longer. But, one item that was on my list has been removed by an act of nature. The Minagkabau Palace (albeit reconstructed) near Batu Sangkar was struck by lightening and burned to the ground last night. This classic stop on all West Sumatran tour itineraries was supposed to be a must see item. And, I am sure it was. But, I will be relegated to finding a dusty photo of it somewhere and calling it good enough. One more reason not to procrastinate: the thing you want to see might, one morning, be smoldering in a hot, smoky pile.
I asked Lina if she was a bit nervous, and she was. Everyone was a bit nervous because none of us knew what to expect from the debate in which we had agreed to participate. The Don Bosco team has been preparing for the debate in Jakarta next week, and so they had had ample time to think about and prepare for the topics. We received the questions on Saturday and had effectively three days to prepare. But, these kids that comprised the two 3 person teams are sharp. To be willing to engage in a debate in a native language, let alone a foreign language, is commendable. At 11:45 AM, we convened and marched in the direction of Don Bosco. We arrived promptly at 12:05, and we made out way to the general area where we suspected the venue to be. Don Bosco is one of the best schools in Padang, and they have the facilities to show it. The debate was slow in starting, almost an hour slow, in fact. But, no matter. We prepared for a few more minutes, but I told them just to sit back and relax. It was out of our hands at his point. The first team was Edward, Fauzi and Lenny: they were debating the elimination of the EU Farm Subsidy Program. The DB team’s primary argument was that instead of rejecting the EU Subsidies, Indonesia should make their own subsidies to help the farmers. It seems to me that this argument would not be met with much acceptance. But, it was their approach. Xaverius argued for the elimination of the subsidies on the grounds that they flood the market with cheaper goods, and prevent developing countries like Indonesia from being able to infiltrate the domestic markets in the areas with subsidies, creating an unlevel playing field in the global food trade market. From the standpoint of the quality of the arguments, I have to say that ours were as strong, if not stronger than, theirs. In terms of rhetoric, they demolished us. But, they have had a month and half to prepare; we have had four days. I was slightly (no, actually, tremendously) put off by the nature of the comments made by one of the DB teachers, Pak Hendra, where he based the "winner" of the debate on the time management and the number (not the quality) of the points made and examples given. These were certainly valid points, but to blatently chastise the Xaverius students for nit picky aspects that are strictly a function of preparation time, with the aim of making his student look better, was (to say the least) sad. DB’s approach was very structured. And they spent a good part of their time saying patterned phrases like "we believe 100% on our arguments," or "you said perhaps: that means you are uncertain of your argument, but we are 100% sure of ours arguments." This wind blowing accounted for a significant portion of the time management strategy. A bit more prep time, as well as having experienced a debate one time before, would have eliminated this
Prima returned with a revised copy of the essay he wants to submit to the Jakarta Post. This essay has transformed immensely since its original form. In fact, it is almost unrecognizable. But, it is printable. And that is the important thing when you write: write for a purpose; write so it will be read. Along the same lines, I received an email from Mark Putnam at the Star Herald in Maine, saying that he received the maps and photos and article text and that he will review and plan for the serial piece in March.
Basketball practice this afternoon. The coach/player is keen to get me to play on the HBT team. And the proposed practice schedule is rather time consuming. So, I will have to decide. If I want to do anymore traveling, I will need to keep a large numbers of my weekends free. Pak Chai invited Ibu Maria and I for dinner to usher in the fasting month leading up to the New Year in the Bahai calendar (if you are counting, this makes the 5th New Year celebration here). This faith is not one of the nationally recognized faiths in Indonesia. In fact, the gathering had the qualities of a clandestine operation: an old building that by day has other uses, in a back, dark alley. The Bahai are not unlike the Mormons, in the sense that their religion is a new-age one. It is less than 200 years old, and it comes from Iran. Its principles include the recognition of all the diciples/prophets submitted to by people in the mainstream religions, with the caveat that not one of them actually speaks the word of God. They, of course, have their own who does that. There are texts, and the headquarters is in Chicago. This is something I was not aware of. The food was delicious, and there was enough cake afterward to feed a small army of followers. Starting tomorrow, they will begin a fasting regimen, not unlike that of the Muslim people during Ramidan. They adopt aspects of many religions (kind of a "Best of" religion). And, one of their tenants is that it is God’s desire for humans to be economically prosperous, and so capitalism is written into their SOP, the book of Bahai. They accept scientific advances as being compatible with religion, but they believe people should strike a balance between spirituality and the pursuit of scientific advances. The children sang songs; it had the feel of a Methodist revival in some respects, with the parents pushing religious doctrine on to their children who, not knowing any better, blindly accept it and prostalitize its virtues through song. It is not unlike fundamentalist groups in America.
More angkots: Please?, Cute abies, Pot, Garbel, Malang Komo, BF Goodrich, Speed, 82 Volcom
3-2-07
A new camera was purchased shortly before noon time. I had been set on getting the 1,450,000 rupiah Nikon Cool Pix L4, but I stumbled onto a Canon model that has better optics and higher resolution for about ten dollars more. I paid 1,800,000 for the camera and a 1 GB card. Even if my old camera can be fixed, it will be several weeks (since it must go to Jakarta), and so I decided that I would purchase a second, "cheap" camera. It will become the primary camera, or the backup camera, depending on the fate of the Sony that I have come to love so much.
I went to the HBT this evening. I was curious to see the activities. As it turns out, there was not much to see. But, I ran into a group of the Year 2 Xaverius students (Ferry, Chandra, Edbert, Theo, and Prima), and we have a good time shooting the breeze. The activity turned out to be teenage karaoke, and so I took my leave shortly after 10 PM. They replayed the first episode of the theater production (about the transvestite matchmaker who messes with love scene in Padang).
A small boy was eventually grabbed by his mother and placed away from the four foot high speaker that blasted the high pitched, generally unintelligible vocals, but only after he had enjoyed loud sounds that will likely result in long-term hearing loss. The production was mediocre. And, I did not feel very bad about my lack of understanding, when the students agreed that they were having a hard time understanding what was being said.
I was told off twice today. As I have said before, I attribute the use of the F--- word to kids seeing movies and simply using the word as a meaningless expression of emotion (happy, or otherwise). But, both times today, it was used in a manner that was appropriate for telling someone off, or at least it was said in such a way that I considered its use to be malicious in its intent. The tone was matched to its real meaning. One case involved two young Pak’s riding their motorbikes excessively fast; they screamed it as they passed my in the 6-way death-intersection near school. The next instance came from kids playing soccer in the front of the oldest Mosque in Padang. They screamed at me across the road for money; and when I used the tactic of ignoring them and simply talking to an old man on my side of the road, they shouted in chorus, "F--- You." The collective mind had spoken, and the context was correct. I had denied them money with which they could buy candy or cigarettes. I suppose they felt justified in using the language, though I like to think they truly do not know its meaning. It is the same anytime you know some vulgarity in a foreign tongue: if it is not your native tongue, then what is the harm? Well, plenty. But, it sits better if I can chalk it up to simple, good old fashioned ignorance. The sting is less. It is certainly a blow to my perception of the insatiable West Sumatran friendliness. I suppose the one saving grace was that they used very good articulation when thy delivered that zinger. If only you could motivate them to do that more, with bits of English that are not riddled with expletives. Ah, the Holy Grail of English teaching.
And, as I made the final approach to my home, after escaping from the Karaoke at the HBT, I was struck with a twinge of "terror" as the Vespa motorbike gangs prowled the ocean front promenade. The puttering, gasping Vespas were out in force, and the young Pak’s who were driving them were looking for nothing by trouble. Some were hot pink, and just as flamboyant as so many of the androganous males that seem to live in Indonesia. One was black, and it had a skull stickered on its front. There was line of them. The Hell’s Angels instill fear in the hearts of many in America, but these young hellions who rip along the road at not-nearly breakneck speeds and shout feminate "hi guys" from behind their friends while riding, at minimum, double, and more likely, triple … they are the ones you must fear. Hell’s angels would never be able to eat a durian. They would never eat chilis and rice with their bare hands. These androgenous males from Padang can, and do, and they drive tricked out vespas to boot: top that one, Hell’s Angels.
Angkots: F--- (appropriate, given the above recount),
3-3-07
Troubling news arrived from Ibu Maria at dinner regarding a mutual friend, C.M. Evidently, there are some marital problems unfolding, induced partly by the downturn in the successfulness of their business and financial problems with the banks, and partly by a series of personal choices by C.M. to place distance between her and her husband. These include her recent conversion to the Bahai faith at the suugestion of Pak Chai. In many ways, there is nothing new in this equation. People see it in America all the time: finances are the leading cause of marital scisms. Also at play is C.M’s decision to change to the Bahai faith, which she molded after Pak Chai. Pak Chai is Bahai, and he has unwittingly become embroiled in the conflict. C.M made the foolish move of telling her husband about how much better a man Pak Chai was than he. "Pak Chai does this and this," and "he is such a good husband." When C.M’s husband wanted to have some dinner, C.M did not want to go, but when Pak Chai wanted to have dinner, C.M wanted to go. True, a part of this is the new religious preference by C.M., and the fact that the Bahai people are fasting this month, making the timing of eating food more restrictive. But, this merely serves as a smoke screen for the underlying problems. She would not have eaten dinner with her husband, even if she were not fasting.
This is a recipe for trouble, especially when the husband is the one with the financial power. But, even this financial support seems to have broken down; C.M married very young, 25 years ago, and it seems now that things have hit a boiling point. The kids are, of course, the ones most affected. They have one boy who is at SMA Don Bosco; he is a good kid. As a sign of the troubles, though, when I stopped at C.M’s house to say "Hello" on Friday, Rico told me that she had gone out with her husband. I asked him if there were any problems, and he said things were just fine. This evening, I found out from Ibu Maria and C.M. had shaved her head and was not eating well. He had lied to me; C.M. was upstairs when I was talking to her son. This is not a situation that is fine, and Rico did not want me involved in it.
This story could very well be unfolding in any number of countries, in any number of households. The communal pressures that come with making a long term commitment to someone can emotional distress. In fact, I wonder if this is why I have worked so hard for so long to remain autonomous in my personal life. It is easier that way. And though this perspective is self-centered, selfish on so many levels, it is the tactic I have chosen until now. There is no one to disappoint and no one to lay blame on, except myself. But, I must ask myself if I really want to hold this course when I return to the States? Sharing of sadness and of happiness is only possible when you have someone to share it with, and while it truly is easier to be an island, I must ask whether it truly is preferable. The best things in life are not easy; they come at a price.However, those costs are better viewed as investments for the future. The joy incumbent to sharing mutual successes and heartaches is likely greater than any gained from experiencing the same in solitude.
Ah, my apologies for that tangent. Back to the task at hand. Antoni SMS’ed me around 8:30 PM, and asked if I wanted to go to the HBT for the evening festivities. I did, and so he fetched me shortly before 9 PM. The scene was crowded, as it will be tomorrow evening for the Cap Go Mei, the finale of the 15 day Chinese New Year celebration. I saw Ko Yam, and I paid my respects. It is fun, and a bit intimidating, having a Godfather-like figure hiding in the alleys of China Town; it is a bit like something from a B-rated movie. I don’t know what will happen if I pass through without paying respects to him: probably nothing, but do I want to take that chance? I treated Ivan and Antoni to some iced drinks: Ivan and I opted for Iced durian, but Antoni does not like this fruit, and so he opted from something less odiferous. Many students and friends were at the HBT this evening. Antoni introduced me to some of his family who were visiting from Pekanbaru. His young cousin (a few months) was a bundle of energy. We tossed rings, and Antoni won twice. He was elated. He has been on a strong streak today, as he just received word that he had received a full scholoarship to study English at a university in Jakarta, starting in July. It is the same program into which Fauzi was accepted and granted a full scholarship, for elementary education. The ring victory was a continuation of his good luck. On the way out from the HBT, Antoni was lured into trying a machine that tells you (by analyzing your feet) whether you have osteoperosis or not. A couple oldern men and women went before he did, and their results came back fine. Antoni tried the device, and it spit out a printout with a dreadfully low Ca content for his age. It said he needed to worry about osteoporosis. He became concerned: they said he should exercixe more and get more Ca in his diet. Conveniently, they had a stack of boxes of powdered milk sitting not 2 meters from the osteoporosis device, in case the test results made you want to buy some overpriced milk powder. In Antoni’s case, he was convinced that one of these boxes should help him, and despite my hints that milk much cheaper and with the same Ca content could be purchased at the grocery store, and so he bought one. Unfortunately, people in Indoensia are incredibly trusting. Well, let me retract that: it is good that they are so trusting, but sad that in some cases they make for easy prey from peddlers and swindlers. This brings to mind the experience Antoni and I had in January, before we went with the Santu Yosef group to play volleyball with the young children near Teluk Bayur. He was charged with a mission to deliver a large amount of Lontong from his Ibu to the staff at a store that had succeeded in duping her. Now, that is salesmanship. The promotion was done over the phone. The Ibu’s number had been drawn at random from "all the numbers in Padang," and she had been given this "exclusive" chance to get free stuff, if she came to the store to play their game. The game was as follows: she scratched a game piece, and the number unveiled was the number of free gifts that she would win, and the percent discount that she would get, if she bought a certain number of items at regular price. It turns out she got the best number possible, which entitled her to a large amount of stuff if she bought the required number of items from the store. The end result was that in order to get the free stuff (which was virtually worthless, in terms of quality --- some had already started to malfunction when I was at her house meeting Antoni), she had to spend more money than she would not have otherwise spent. If she bought a microwave (for something ridiculous like 2,000,000 rupiah), then she was entitled to a list of free items. But the microwave was not any special: the same could have been purchased for 500,000 rupiah someplace else. Did she need a microwave, which is an appliance that is very popular in America, but that I have never seen in use in Indonesia? And the prizes that she got in return: did she need a water filter, or a foot massager: no, probably not. She spent money she would not have otherwise, and she did it because of a phone call and a phony scratch and win game. Everyone who came probably got the same discount. But, she was happy; so happy, in fact, that she sent them a good amount of food (itself, quite valuable) as a thank you. The store was typical of so many in Indonesia: there was an overabundance of people for the number of customers (which was zero when we arrived, and zero when we left), there was a lot of empty space, and it occupied the equivalent of a soft story garage beneath someone’s apartment. The staff was young; and it looked like they would gain great satisfaction from swindling an old lady. Antoni had also brought the store people a photo of the lady with her happy, new appliances; he had to pay for having the photo printed, and they wanted to use it for promotion in their store. They ravenously took the lontong and divided it amongst them selves, like the vultures they were. Ibu had paid a very large amount of money for an appliance she probably did not need, and that she would not have purchased otherwise. Her payment was worth more than the total suite of products she walked away with, but she was the big winner, because they told her that she was. Such is the pitfall of the recklessly trusting Indonesian.
3-4-07
Cap Go Mei
This is the 15th day of the Chinese New Year, and the Chinese community is abuzz with excitement. I went to Pak Chai’s home for the late morning, as I knew that he had told me he had young children there occasionally for recreation and education. So, I decided to oblige this week. I was a bit disappointed. There were three young children: two brothers and a younger, smaller boy. More, younger children arrived later, but for the most part it was these three. And they were not poor, as I had been led to believe. They were the children of affluent friends of Pak Chai. And they were brats: one of the brothers, especially. We did some coloring, and I talked with them a bit. C.M. was there helping with the education. Pak Chai likes to talk about evaluating the long term success of this program (and the rural schools program that he is involved with, the collaborative with the Dutch foundation and the Mentawai schools that John and Nick visited). He told me about his five year plan: to make Yamaha the number one in the Kerinci area (where he has just opened a showroom and service center. It is a boldly general goal, and one that is hard to argue with. Smply improve your performance by a large amount in every aspect of the business, and success is sure to follow. This is likely true, but what steps do you take to get there?
3-5-07
Not having a destination in the China Town, for the New Year Celebrations, this evening, I opted simply to go for a short stroll to wile away the evening hours. When I passed the Ambacang Hotel, near the Xaverius High School, I acquired a young boy who wanted money. I declined his request and continued walking. But, he was set on pursuing me. I ignored him, but when it was obvious he was not leaving, I began devising an exit strategy. "Ke man?," I asked. He said he wanted to go home. "Tinggal di mana?," I asked. Near the Siti Nurbaya bridge said he. He wanted money for an ojek back to his house near the bridge. He was the youngest of ten siblings. I was suspicious from the start of his intentions, but I was not going to let an 8 year old roam the streets alone. So, I decided that I would simply walk with him, rather than give him any money. It was a nice evening, and I had nothing better to do. He was barefooted, but he moved briskly, so I did not give it a second thought. I offered to buy him a bit of rice and chicken, but when I pointed to the small warung, he declined the offer. He was being picky. Interesting, I thought. Antoni passed us on his way home from choir practice; he stopped and I outlined the scenerio. He continued home, but I could sense that he was a bit suspicious of the scenario also. We climbed the sloping bridge causeway and crested the arch. The smells of jagung baker (roasted corn on the cob) wafted from the goat urine saturated bridge sidewalks. This is the hub of roasted corn in Padang every evening. I have no idea who buys this corn, since everyone always seems to be selling it, but they sit here and cook it nonetheless. I offered the boy a corn on the cob, and he declined again. I stopped at a small group of people and joined in the conversation. Eventually, we came to the boy, and I outlined my understanding of the situation and my remedy for it. But, the old women in the group immediately realized that he was not from where he said he was from; they did not know him. And then the truth came out: he lived near Teluk Bayur, but he was simply trying to get money by telling me he was from this area. He did not expect me to walk with him there. I asked what I should do: go to the police with him, or what. Just then, Antoni arrived again. He had doubled back. I left the boy with this group of people. It was sad; he is just one of so many kids here with parents who do not care.
3-6-07
I had an interesting encounter this morning. The morning was right for taking a short walk and doing some photography. The moon was still above the horizon and the sun had not yet begun to rise over the mountains. Waves crashed on the tsunami wall; it shuddered with each pulse. The tide is high now, and fishermen are busy putting their boats into the shallow surf, attempting to push them over the waves and get into deeper water to begin their day’s activities. They struggle and yell. And eventually, they break clear of the pounding surf. A man approached me while I was taking photos. He was an older man, but he still seemed strong and his worldly intellect immediately showed that he was not an average citizen of Padang. The first topic he raised was US politics and the fact that the people of the world wanted to see the first woman president, in Hillary Clinton, not because of her political views, one way or the other, but because she was a woman, and it was his humble opinion that as a bastion of democracy, America would do well to make the historical decision to elect a female president. This was his opinion and he was entitled to it. But, who was this man? And why was he starting to quote United Nations executive summaries, and why was he succinctly telling me about why people in developing countries, Indonesia are simply not ready for the ground moving changes that come with globalization. That the people of Padang think they are ready because they can wear the clothes, or use the cell phones, but that from a spiritual standpoint, they are not ready. I asked him if all people would ever really be ready to embrace the emerging world. He did not answer my question, but instead gave me a quote worth repeating. "People are so busy today, and they do not know what they are busy for." He said it in the context of the need to balance the spiritual needs of the human body with the material needs, and the desires to manage the world around us. It had weight. He invited me to his house for a cappuccino. I accepted the offer and we crossed the street to a small, traditional square house immediately across from where we had been standing. The remnants of a wedding from the past weekend were visible around the property.
And then he gave me his credentials: he had served for about 30 years in the Indonesian Foreign Ministry, and in that time he had amassed a wealth of experience in a variety of contexts. He had served as Indonesian ambassador to Yugoslavia (he knew Tito, and he named his oldest daughter Tita), Tunisia, South Korea and most recently, Ethiopia. He had served as special UN envoy to East Timur and to other regions of the world. Currently, he is developing a center for Social Responsibility, based in Jakarta, a sort of think tank that brings together current and former Indoensian and world leaders on a quasi-regular basis. It is analogous to the intellectual salons that popped up in the big cities of the US, where the select few gather to discuss weighty issues. He still works with the UN when they call on him, has a professorship from Iowa State University, and is a personal friend and consul for SBY. He knows the present ambassador to the US. And so we talked about many things, too many and too varied to discuss here. I would certainly not do it justice. He writes and reads extensively on a variety of issues, especially the need for cultural dialogue in an ever shrinking world, and the need to view culture in a broader sense.
I am picking this entry up at 2:45 PM on Tuesday. We have had a wild and wooly day here in Padang. I was speaking with Pak Sumarban in the teacher’s room at school at around 10:45 AM. Gatok and I had just returned from the book store to get supplies for the English Teacher’s meeting on Friday. I was showing Pak Sumarban the logo I had thrown together for the meeting. I had been bored. But, it was a good logo. A sensation came over me as I was sitting in my chair. I stood up. After a second or two of a low frequency hum, the building began to shake. The shaking only occurred for about 6-8 seconds, but it felt much longer than that. It was strong enough to slide the desk on the floor. I closed my computer and put it under the desk. The USB Stick was still in the back, and it was bent in the transfer. Fortunately, it still works. Chatter arose from the school simulateously. You could hear some yells and shouts. Footsteps filled in the central hallway as students made a break for the front door or the open courtyard. Our teacher’s room is near the front entrance. Pak Sumarban and I uttered something to each other, and we proceeded outside as well. I thought for a second about getting under the table, but the shaking was not very strong and we were very close to the door. There were two or three stronger rocks, and then a continuation for a few seconds of a subtle, low frequency pulsation. We watched as the power lines not far from us swung a few inches to and fro. I suggested for students to move out from underneath them, but they did not do so.
People from the second floor had also made their way downstairs: in some cases, while the shaking was in progress. This was certainly not the thing to do, and we talked about it after. This was the first significant earthquake since April 2006, when the M 7 earthquake centered off the Mentawi island chain rocked the province of West Sumatra. That event could have caused a tsunami, but did not. Peering around the end of the school, a new crack could be seen in the side of the Hotel Bumiminang. There was no apparent damage inside Xaverius, though I did not venture upstairs, where the shaking was amplified from the building’s resonance, to check. School was closed. Everyone was told to go home, and they obliged. I stayed with Pak Tumpal and we talked about the school response and about the nature of the earthquake. He is keen to do an awareness activity with the students. I had planned on doing a Tsunami in Padang themed "Let’s Discuss It" on Thursday anyway, and this even simply gives me free promotion for it. The earthquake was not large. I guessed around 5.5; some people guessed 6 or a little above. The reports came in across the radio waves that the epicenter had been in Batu Sangkar, to the north and east of Padang, and it had been M 5.8. This was a relief, as I was trying to explain to Pak Tumpal the significant difference between hazards associated with a quake along the Trans-Sumatran Fault System, which would not cause a tsunami, and one centered on the Mentawi Islands, which could cause a tsunami. Regardless of the location, I had told people immediately after the quake, it had not been long enough or strong enough to cause a significant tsunami. And if it was centered inland, then the tsunami threat was minimal, anyway because of the earthquake mechanism (strike slip, dominated).
Scoped out SD Maria and SMP Maria where Antoni was when the quake happened. We climbed to the fourth floor of SMA Don Bosco because I wanted to see how a larger building responded. Fascinating. The second floor sustained the most significant damage (still minimal, just cracks in the wall, some fragments of ceiling and cracked floor tiles). There was a toppled bookcase on the fourth floor. The shaking here had been the largest amplitude likely, but with the free surface exposed to the air, the building responded freely to the shaking and was not pinned and sheared like the second and third floors were. The ground floor showed no major damage. It was coupled to the ground. But the second and third floors sheared between gorund and top floor. The cracks in the emergency exit of the Botel Bumiminang, which is visible from the Xaverius school, have enlarged significantly following this event. I question the maximum magnitude earthquake that hotel, one of the largest buildings in town, is engineered to withstand. Time will tell, unfortunately.
We arrived home and Antoni joined us for some cold drinks. At about 1:15 PM, a second earthquake occurred. This was longer than the other, but it was a lower frequency of vibration. The shaking was less intense. We still exited the house, where we had been sitting in the living room area. But, it was not necessary. We opted to sit outside for a while in plastic chairs, until the shimmying subsided. Through the afternoon and evening, there were many smaller aftershocks. The Xaverius students and teachers played soccer at 4 PM. This is in preparation for the Prayoga League, in celebration of the 45th Anniversary. Following the soccer practice,
This evening, I ventured next door to see the neighbors with whom I sometimes practice English one time per week. They were busy, but I sat in the chair and ate delicious cakes while they puttered about. The electricity was still out, and I was enjoying the quiet calm that had befallen Parak Karambil. There was a generator humming in the distance. But, the normal night time noise pollution was non-existent. The shops had all closed early, immediately following the earthquake, and most remained closed into the evening. One of the bits of information was the connection people were making between the lightening strike burning of the Pangaruyung palace near Batu Sangkar last week. This event had stunned many people. This place is on all of the Sumatran tour itineraries; it is the heart of the Minangkabau people. Many valuable artifacts were lost. It was taken as a sign that the ancestors of the Minangkabau were experiencing some unrest. There was imbalance in the Minang; the root cause was the loss of the old traditional ways by the young generation. This loss of cultural identity is one that has been echoed by members of the older generation in many venues since I have arrived here. The young people prefer to tour the malls and go people watching, rather than partake of the traditional dance or recite epics. Many of the widely held traditional ways of the Minang people will die out with this generation. And, the ancestors were voicing their dislike of the present course of events by burning the palace. Now, with the earthquake centered not far from Batu Sangkar, many people draw the connection. Many people subscribe to this earthquake being the actions of angry Minang ancestors.
3-7-07
Wednesday
School resumed as normal today, even as reports were starting to get funneled into the city from radio and television about the earthquake event near Lake Singarak. We have bene without electricity since the event, and so news has been limited. Likely, people in America and Jakarta know more of the details of the event than we do, and we are 30 miles from it. Many roads are closed due to the large numbers of landslides. I have travelled all the roads in the area, and certainly I can predict the exact places where the largest longsors would have occurred. The very nature of the road construction, precariously carved into soft volcanic ash deposits, is a recipe for slope instability, whether there is an earthquake or not. There is a rumor (that later was substantiated) that there had been a small tsunami within the lake; it was small, only enough to slosh over the road on the lake bank a couple of times, but it goes to show you that tsunami type events are not restricted to the ocean. Students had many questions abou the event. And, I was only too happy to go ahead and tell them about it. As bad as the event was (and it was bad for the villages near Solok and Batu Sangkar), it serves as a "teachable moment." The last major event in this fault system has been more than 50 years ago. But, there was a similar, albeit smaller, event about 25 years ago. And there will be more in a few decades, no doubt. But, will people remember?
3-8-07
Denis arrived this evening. I had been trying to get a fix on what time should expect him, and when he said he was leaving Medan at 2 PM, I was shocked, as I thought he would arrive later. And he did, around 7:30 PM or so, as he was routed through Jakarta, rther than taking a flight straight to Padang. There is only one flight direct from Medan, and it departs in the morning, at 7 AM. I have used this flight before. He decided to hop in a taxi, even after I made the suggestion to take the Damri shuttle. He paid the bule price, but he did not seem to have a problem with it. This trip, he is on the State Department (RELO-Regional English Language Office) tab, so he was not worried. It is only some poor American tax payer’s money. He arrived at 8 PM, and I offered him a seat in my apartment. We discussed a variety of things. He said he had to make a phone call, and so I took him to the Telkom Office. He returned 30 minutes later, after successfully getting a line through to America, but unsuccessfully making contact with the people to whom he needed to speak. Evidently, he tried called American Samoa, per the suggestion of the young man who likely did not know the difference between American Samoa, and the United States of America. We walked to the Hotel Immanuel, where I have had other acquaintances stay. He left his luggage and we went in search of some food.
3-9-07
Friday
I was pleasantly surprised to see representatives of the SMAN 1, the oldest school in Padang, present at our small gathering for English Teachers this afternoon. Jam Karat was in full effect, as people straggled in almost an hour after the appointed starting time. Denis was shifting in his seat: he has not learned to embrace jam karat. I told him to lighten up. At 2:10 PM, we began. I gave some opening remarks, and then Ibu Theresia welcomed everyone to the school, and finally I introduced Denis. The first hour was his presentation about the RELO resources available for teachers, and to be quite honest, it was mediocre. It was undynamic, riddled with bad jokes and plagued by strange tangents. But, he circuitously found his way to the end without losing too many people. I began to rethink having invited him when he made a joke about the Chinese version of hell, and how it looks like a bureaucracy, and when you need to get punished, you go to one office and take a number and then get redirected to someplace else for your punishment. He was explaining the architecture of the RELO and the US State Department. A simple PowerPoint slide would have done wonders, but there was none to be had. I shifted in my seat as he made this delivery, keeping my eye on the large Muslim contingent in the room to see how they would react. Nothing happened, but I was highly concerned about his direction.
3-10-07
Saturday
I let Antoni down by failing to show up for the SMP Maria English Day, which Antoni had told me about several weeks ago, but that I had completely forgotten about. Neither he, nor Daci, told me at the English teacher’s meeting yesterday. I had to teach anyway, but I would have changed the time to accommodate him. I felt bad.
3-11-07
Padang Panjang with the Hash crew; I misunderstood Pak Piloman’s cryptic text message, and so I was a bit late arriving at the rendez vous point. But, I was not the only one for whom this was the case, so there was no trouble. The damage in Padang Panjang was significant, but unfortunately, the damage could have been significantly minimized by simply using better construction teachniques. A scary number of houses remained perched atop vertical bluffs that had partially collapsed in the shaking. The only houses that I saw completely collapsed in this location were those that had tumbled down the hillside because they had been undermined by a landslide.
3-12-07
Just had another small aftershock, maybe M 3.5 or so. Ibu Theresa has, for the first time, made me disgruntled. We exchanged words regarding the new schedule. It has just been brought to my attention today that there is effectively no English class until next Thursday. This stems from the practice examination to be taken by the Year 3 students for the upcoming national and school examinations. It is no wonder the students abilitities are incommensurate with the time they study in school: because they spend so much time preparing for the successive examinations used as benchmarks for success in Indonesia. There is a limited schedule: Class 1 and 2 students only study for two periods each day, and until next Thursday, none of those periods includes English. She, as the headmistress of the school has a vested interest in seeing that my services are utilized to the utmost, but she has taken the approach recently that I should work harder than I have been for the remainder of my time here. I disagree with this, on the grounds that I work too much already, and that I have been doing as such since the beginning. But, what really got to me was the fact that she did not give me a straight answer in person, and that she leaned on Antoni to send me a couple SMS’s to emphasize her points. They read as follows:
Have you asked permission to Ibu Theres? She told me that you don’t have vacation anymore except if the school is off. It’s based on the appointment with aminef.
And how about ur responsible in taking picture [for the 45th Prayoga Anniversary events]. Pak Sumarban can’t take pictures as well as u. I love if you can go. But I think you have to think about ur duty.
I told him I wanted to speak with him directly. He said he was at home. I finished booking the ticket for Jogya, and went there. On the way, I received a phone call from the water man: I had told him that I would join him for a recon of a new drill site. He said he was waiting for me at home. I told him I was not there, and that he should meet me at California Fried Chicken after I spoke with Antoni. He said he would. I arrived at Antoni’s and called for him. He was lounging, watching a travel television show. We sat down, and I told him that I did not know what Ibu Theres had told him to say to me, but that, on several accounts, her arguments were invalid. First: I still have 8 days of holiday which I may take at any time, school holiday, or not. Second: If she wants to play hardball, then I have been putting in far more than the required 20 hours per week, and I have been working on many Saturdays (both of which are forbidden in the AMINEF contract). Third: I was never asked if I would like to be the documenter for the Prayoga Foundation events. My name appeared (misspelled and misorganized – Richard Ethen Perry) on a list that was placed on my desk while I was away. And, when I said I would help as much as I could, the schedule had not been determined (and the schedule has since changed), and I was agreeing to document the big celebration in May, not the events on all the weekends leading up to it, through March and April. Many of these events seem trivial, given this is only the 45th Anniversary of Prayoga, not the 40th or the 50th. Why not have one for the 46th Anniversary, too?
I had desires to use the internet to communicate with the outside world. But, it was to no avail: the internet connection was balky at best. I opted instead to sit down in the corner warung and down two cups of coffee with crack-like potency. I remained there until 9:15. Pak Sumarban came by around that time, and we chatted for a bit. I will try and get up the energy to go for a walk tomorrow morning. The goal is to get to Gunung Padang for the sunrise.
3-13-07
I arrived atop the hill for the sunrise, as planned. The walk across the Siti Nurbaya bridge was uneventful. People were leaving their homes in the early morning hours to go to the mosque; the air was still and refreshingly cool. I waited before ascending the stairs, past the grave of Siti Nurbaya; the light was not sufficient to make the journey safely. The fishing boats made their way from the mouth of the river, and into the open sea. One had engine trouble and simply floated with the current. At the top, I was greeted with a mediocre sunrise; clouds painted a dull grey palor on the morning landscape. As I made my way down the path again, I had to be careful of the wet patches from yesterday’s rains. The leaves were slippery. A large (1.5 meter) lizard scampered from the path into the shrubs. It was the largest such lizard I have seen, and I do not know the official name of it.
I was heading to the travel agent across from the school to buy my ticket to Jogyakarta for Wednesday afternoon when Ibu Theresia stopped me. She informed me that the examination schedule had again been changed, and that we would have class this week. The trip to Jogya was off. The reason for the one week delay was valid: the earthquake last week had prevented many students and schools in West Sumatra from preparing fully for the examination. But, it was just another example of the general lack of anything that resembles a schedule here. It is hard to feel bad about missing appointments and other commitments when the schedule in general is so fluid. People seem to have an internal mechanism for knowing when things will happen, or perhaps, they simply do not care (this is more likely).
But, Ibu Maria and I talked this evening, and she reminded me that Monday is a national holiday, and that I could still make a meaningful trip to Jogya. It would be nice to join the birthday festivities for Willow. It sounds like there might be quite a scene near old Jalan Maliaboro on Saturday night, and I think I would be remiss if I were to be absent.
3-14-07
Sometimes I forget to simply take note of the absurdly interesting things that happen right outside my front door on a typical afternoon. So, I will recount a few of them from the one hour I have been at home today:
Right now, the mosque is making the calls that lead up to the evening prayer. A motorbike roars past my window, drowning the mosque’s call for only a split second. The man with the cart that contains all manner of noise makers made his way down the street. In his wake were children bearing these same noisemakers. They were proficient at using them, and the honks and whistles, while shrill and unbearable at first, have faded into the background as white noise. And the man with his bright yellow Sate cart set up shop at the mouth of our driveway; before too long he had a line of eager customers. Anytime of day is a good time for sate in Padang.
Pak Pilemon just dropped me off. We had been distributing relief supplies to people between Batu Sangkar and Padang Panjang. This is my second trip to the area, and we still have not penetrated into the hardest hit areas. NGOs have already set up shop in the towns of Solok and Batu Sangkar, and so the Padang Hash House Harriers have taken the less glamorous job of dispersing supplies (still badly needed) to people less affected by the earthquake (oops… just had another aftershock ---- quite long 25 seconds, followed by another long one --- 6:12-6:15 PM). But, my, the damage that we saw just a bit closer to the epicenter was staggering. Several of the small villages had lost people in the event (actually two events: the first at 10:45 AM, and then the second after noon). In the small village of _______, we met the head of the village in the makeshift command center that had been set up in the soccer field of the school. The school itself was flattened, and if people were still inside at the time of the collapse, there must have been victims. Several patterns emegered in our survey. First, was the heterogeneity of the level of destruction with respect to terrain. It was highly heterogeneous. But, in general the damage was most extensive in steep terrain, along river beds. The flatter paddies atop the cliffs were generally spared, at least in the region where we were. But, even here there were some that collapsed entirely because: a) the foundations subsided, or b) they possessed incredibly heavy cement balconies that collapsed on a soft story below. Here, it was generally construction/substrate related. I ventured out this evening for some vittles. I found them and then proceeded to a small place to buy some tea telur (egg tea: a cup of sweet tea mixed with condensed milk and a fres egg). I met two men with whom I engaged in conversation. Fales (Aurduri, HP: 081363962460) was quiet, but Basrizal (Jl. H Agus Salim, No. 91 A, HP: 081363407834) was more talkative. I bought them their drinks and some food (for a total of 15,000 rupiah … about US $1.60), and Basrizal offered me a ride home on his Honda (actually a Susuki, but Honda is the term people use for any motorbike … just as they do for Ski-Doo in Maine). He is a member of the TNI, and is stationed in Padang. He invited me to join him for training sometime; perhaps I will take him up on it.
3-15-07
I was scooped up at my house by the young man who works for Pak Lukas at JeJe Water, shortly before 3:30 PM. I had finished at Don Bosco, and was on my way home when he called and asked if I was available to go surveying. I said I was. I needed some intellectual stimulation. I had sat through a meeting of the Prayoga committee for the 45th Anniversary celebration. This meeting, which was short and focused compared to a typical meeting, still contained its share of pointless discussion about matters of trivial importance. We debated for ten minutes about whether or not (and if so, what kind) of snack should be provided to the guest for the teacher recollection next week in the van on the ride from the airport to the school. This is trivial. My head hurt afterwards. People here are so concerned with the appearance of things, rather than the meat behind it. Oleh-oleh is only good if it comes in a tacky box that says it is from a certain city. The quality of the same thing may be equal in the city in which they are receiving the oleh-oleh, but if that box is there: boy, oh boy, you’ve really done something great. The "souvenirs" that people give to the guests of any event are equally trivial. I have to admit that even I fell into this rut, as for the English Teachers workshop last week, I did make binders for the teachers with a sticker for the event. But, this is at some level useful. It can be used in a variety of contexts after the initial event. But, a flowered mini-photo frame, or a spoon with a mis-spelled English saying at the top to celebrate a wedding is something that is better off left alone. To boot, Ibu Theresa is balking at giving me a clear answer on going to Nias. I am going anyway, for a number of reasons that I have already spelled out for her, but she remains uncommitting. I do not want to play hardball, but will if push comes to shove. People here want something from you, and if they can get it (even if it is a product of benevolence, not obligation) then they want it more and more. It is an aspect of the culture that needs revision. At the request of Antoni, I met him at SMP Frater (middle school) at 11:30 AM. We sat down and I was introduced to the English teachers. One man was from North Sumatra, and his personality was "intense" as far as Indoensian personalities go. Somehow, he convinced Antoni that I should join him in his classroom. Antoni agreed, and while we walked toward the classroom, he expressed the fact that he had promised these students (Year 3) that he would bring them a native speaker, and "the day had come." It sounded like something a giant would say to his ogre children about a fresh capture: a new plaything, or possibly a fresh snack. He was bringing me to his lair.
This brings an interesting thing to mind: there are many people in Indonesia for whom "collecting bules" is a hobby. I have been inside houses where there are more photos of bules with a member of the family than of photos containing only the family members together. It is perverse. The bule becomes the objecta wisata (tourist object). A person’s status is determined by the number of bules that are hosted in their confines. This works for food establishments, too. If a bule can be lured in by some means, then this begins a phase of promotion for the establishment’s owner. Another aspect of this perverse fixation people have with bules is the idea of a "bule network." People ask me if I know the other bules in town, or if know a distant relative they have who lives in Calfornia. People do not grasp the fact that America is, in fact, large and diverse, not unlike Indonesia. And while the first question that people ask me, in broken English, is "where do you live in Australia?," I do not hold it against them. For most of them, Aussies are the picture of bule that they have. Most have never met an American. And, almost all do not know that California is a state, and a large one at that, and that I have about the same chance of knowing their distant relative as they do of knowing someone in my family.
Inside the lair, the teaching conditions were less than optimal. And I eventually gave up trying to win the battle with the marching band that practiving outside. The white board was stained black, and the legibility of anything written on it was minimal. But, we had fun. And, at least now, when they shout "Mister, Mister," at me on the street, perhaps I can repel the onslaught by identifying them as Frater students and threatening to engage them in conversation. This is a (silver lining) corollary of the Proximity Theorum: once people know you, they are less likely to vie for your attention through bombardments of "Mister, Mister," as they are afraid you will recognize them and actually want to speak in English to them. What a frightening proposition; it is better to keep quiet. And in order to maintain my sanity, I have no problem with that.
Needless to say, after pointless meetings, a man who collected bules for his pupils, and the cold shoulder from Ibu Theresia, I needed some fresh air and some intellectual stimulation. We headed to the JeJe office and we had a seat. Later, we met with the young man’s father, a wirey, sharp law school trained person from south of Padang. Now, he works in the export of Indoensian laborers to Malaysia and other locations. While not called slavery, or indentured servitude, it is not far from it. It is a government sanctioned program to reduce the population pressures on the islands of Indonesia, and to reduce the resultant unemployment. It is a win-win for many people (though, perhaps, not the workers themselves from a quality of life perspective), I guess, though there are unsatisfactorily frequent reports of abuse of Indonesian laborers abroad. And, like all people trafficking, people may have the "best" intentions (for themselves, usually) but that is usually not sufficient to ensure people’s safety along the way. We headed for the mountains, passing the bus terminal that sits at the fringes of town, far from anything. We passed two building that had collapsed during the earthquake last week. These were anomalies, and their demise was facilitated not by the earthquake, but by the low quality construction with which they were characterized. In one, the foundation had subsided into the rice paddie on which it was constructed, thus leading to the collapse. And in the other case, the destruction was a result of shaking (the building was shattered), but it was not a testament to the shaking intensity of the earthquake, but instead to the low quality brick-like material that was used in its construction. A building 50 kilometers from the epicenter of a M6 earthquake should not collapse. And I worry about the prospects for larger buildings in the city of Padang when the larger event comes. The building codes are non-existent here. And most people have opted for low cost construction, including in the larger shopping malls and hotels. The substrate is weak from Imam Bonjol to the coast, as much of this land (on which much of the central part of the city is constructed) has been reclaimed since Dutch colonial times. Even if a building manages to survive the shaking, its fate may be sealed by the solifluction of the ground beneath. Grim prospects for the city of Padang.
We met a friend of a friend, and scoped out a small village just off the main road. Continuing on the main road, the scenery was spectacular. The road turned to dirt, and we continued to climb. Our destinatation was near a soon-to-be villa of a business man from Padang, and to the spring that had been alleged to exist by some of the residents of the small village down the hill. We brought one of the local men along to show us where it was. At a small warung at the foot of the final ascent to the spring, we drank coffee and ate keripuk ikan and kacang (fish and peanut crackers). The rain held off, and we climbed by foot on the weathered red clay material. The rain returned, and we worked our way slowly the remaining half kilometer to the spring location. The local man used the machete to get us close enough for a look. The spring was nice, but the discharge, even though it is still the rainy season is quite minimal from a production standpoint. Mr. JeJe himself treated. The trip down the mountain back to the car was made tough by the greasy mud. The beef that we had for dinner later was worth the effort of the trip in its own right. I returned home at 8 PM and had a second bit of dinner with Ibu Maria. It was nearly 9 PM, but she had cooked and I had not told her of my plans to be out late, so I felt obliged to eat what she had prepared. It was, of course, not hard. But, I was truly stuffed and could not eat another bite, which was unfortunate as she had prepared jengkol and fish … very nice indeed.
3-16-07
Dysfunctional is a word that comes to mind, or ludicrous. Either one would suffice in describing the scene at school today. The examination schedule was revised for a third time (if you are counting). Now, the Year 1and 2 students are beginning their school tests, and they will continue through next Wednesday. From next Wednesday through to Wednesday the 28th of March, the Year 3 students will have their practice examinations (for the National Test), during which time the Year 1 and 2 students will have abbreviated days of school, or no school at all. Sometimes, I will teach, and sometimes not. But, I will usually not know until a day before or so. And, today, while I arrived ready to teach the Year 1 students, my services were deemed unnecessary, as the Class 1 and 2 tests lasted until 9:15, and then they had a religious ceremony and break until 10:30. I could have (and should have) gone to Padang Panjang with the Lions Club (at the invitation of Pak Chai), but I had declined in favor of the teaching obligations. Alternatively, had I known that I could have left yesterday afternoon, too, I would have gone to Jogyakarta for Willow’s birthday. But, evidently, two days before a desired flight is too early to book, for, as I have seen repeatedly, nothing resembling a schedule exists in Indonesia. It is culture; it is culture, I tell myself. But this only gets you so far when you have other commitments that must be left unfulfilled because you try and accommodate the school’s bogus, revolving door of a schedule.
I finally leaned on Ibu Theresa enough to have her give me her graces for going to Nias. I was going anyway, but out of respect, I wanted her consent. She was still reluctant. She sees the light at the end of the tunnel, and she is determined to squeeze what she can from me, as if I have not already delivered more than I have been obliged to. That last sentence sounds mighty self-gratifying; I am sorry. Let me clarify: I enjoy teaching for the students’ benefit, not for the personal benefit (or lack thereof) of being another cog in the wheel of a sadly dysfunctional Indonesian academic system. If they would focus less on the preparation for, and then the execution of, examinations on an excessively regular basis, then perhaps they would leave some time for the intellectual development of their students. This would, of course, be preferable to throwing them into a festering pool of endemic academic dishonesty that permeates the West Sumatran (and I know other provinces across the archipelago) school systems (city sanctioned, right from the Balaikota’s office, cheating on examinations) and makes the value of the examinations as a tool for student progress essentially worthless. In a discussion with Pak Sumarban last week, he said it was well-known that the principals of the high schools had colluded to distribute copies of the examination "for practice." SMA Xaverius refused to take part, and the students still did reasonably well. However encouraging as this sounds for the prminence of Xaverius, it is also well-known that many of the students (those who can afford it) also attend private evening classes (sometimes with the same teachers who have them during the day), and these private lessons are not constrained by the desires of the school in terms of academic honesty or dishonesty. And so, while I cannot prove or disprove it, I fear the cheating still happened, though perhaps not within the walls of the school. Other fellows have reported proctoring examinations and observing students cheating; they say something, but are disregarded by the classroom teacher, or are chided for causing problems. These are not the signs of an academic system that produces students capable of critical thinking and self reliance. And it is sad, because so many of the students do have quite tangible potential, if they were allowed to explore that potential.
While my teaching services were rendered useless at Xaverius for the students, I did engage in some meaningful dialogues with the teachers, as they came and went between the periods. The topics focused on earthquakes and tsunamis. I figure, at this juncture, a very good use of my time is making the teachers literate in terms of the scientific aspects of earthquake hazards in Sumatra so that they can continue to disseminate the information in the coming years, after I am long gone. Pak Lukas and Pak Tumpal, especially, have taken a keen interest in the problems surrounding Sumatran tectonics. Pak Tumpal’s English is sufficient to allow for a meaningful dialogue about such topics, even of the theory of Elastic Rebound and of S and P wave dynamics. I went to SMP Maria shortly before 12:30 PM, as I had promised Antoni that I would join him for the English Club today. It was a full house, and the classroom was much more conducive to teaching that it was at SMP Frater yesterday. Antoni and Daci helped with croward control and we discussed many aspects of American culture. But, I was starting to come down with a sore throat and so perhaps I was not as dynamic as I should have been.
The rice I had saved from yesterday’ s Don Bosco meeting, I think, had turned a bit bad, but it was still good enough for lunch --- only a little sour. I did not need much, as I was still full from breakfast, which had consisted of delicious noodles with pork (ahh, quite a treat). And, on the way home from school, I stopped at the corner warung and was graced with a plate of hot steaming rice for a snack. And, momentarily, I will venture next door to have a bit more dinner. Ibu Maria said that she prepared some fish and curry sauce. Such are the culinary hardships that I experience on a regular basis here in Padang. The caloric intake is high here, but without the regular beer calories, and the amount of exercise I get each day, it is not a problem to keep the waistline slim. Some would even say I appear gaunt, but this would be a gross overstatement.
3-17-07
Classes were abbreviated today for reasons that were not entirely clear (oh, that’s right … examinations). But, Pak Sumarban and myself finally had a chance to enter the classroom at 9:30 or so. We did a short discussion bingo game, and it went over well enough. The students continued to work through break. I ventured out the back exit to go to SMA Don Bosco to see what extracurricular activities were to be had there. There were not many, but I did stop to watch the students playing at SD Theresia, and I was told that Pramuka would meet there at 1 PM. Excellent. Frater had some events to. But, not many. The students from the class I visited the other day asked me to shoot the basketball. I obliged and made it. They loved it. I retreated toward Xaverius, stopping only to view the volleyball action at one of the other elementary schools. I felt bad, as I served as a distraction for everyone, but I figure it is there problem. I sauntered to the elementary school at 1:30 PM, and sure enough, the kids (boys and girls) were engaged in tying lashings on a bamboo square frame for a dining tarp. The groups were strictly divided by sexes. And the girls were far and above more efficient at their task than the boys. When I prepared to leave, all the three girls groups had constructed and erected their frame, while most of the boys’ groups were still languishing on the intial steps. A curious trend developed at the end of my time there. First, a student asked me for my signature on a scrap of paper. I said OK, and signed it. Before long, the floodgates had opened and I was besieged by young people clamoring for a bule signature. Why? I do not know. But, now, there are several tens of awkwardly scribbled signatures from Ethan Perry floating around an elemtary school in West Sumatra. My hand was tired and I retreated to SMA Xaverius as the young scouts forgot their lashing tasks and turned to eating instant noodles.
3-18-07
Sunday
Jalan Santai with the SLTP Frater crew, and many other people (Xaverius students, parents, teachers, random people from the street). I made my way to the front gate of Frater at 6:15 AM. Crowds had amassed, and I waded through them. I found Pak Lukas and his children. They watched the marching band. Many people were here from Don Bosco, Xaverius and from the other Prayoga schools. While this was not the official Prayoga Anniversary Jalan Santai, it was a precursor to the (now) May event. Some of the Year 1 Xaverius students invited me to join them for the start of the walk. I obliged. The band marched into the street, and we were underway, walking toward the Bumiminang Hotel. The morning was still young, and so the police diverting traffic had little to do but stand and wait. There was not muh traffic yet. I received an SMS from Antoni telling me they were preparing depart for Air Manis. I had told Antoni I would join him and the Santu Yusef crew for this walk. So, I gave my doorprize ticket to Amin (Year 1) and veered to the left to meet Antoni at his house. Together, we walked to the Siti Nurbaya bridge and found many young people (members of the Catholic Youth Group) gathering near the entrance to the stairs up Bukit Gado-Gado. As with any large group, it was lethargic in beginning to move. It was 8 AM before we charged the mountain. The group quickly spread out along the length of the path, as those who were fit set the pace and those who were not trailed behind. The group numbered about 25; mostly they were students from SMA Don Bosco. I had turned down an invitation to join the Jalan Pagi group on a relief trip to Padang Panjang, in favor of joining with Antoni and the Jalan Santai activities.
3-19-07
Nippee Holiday (Hindu)
I asked three different people this morning what exactly this holiday is that we are having today, and I received three different answers. The fourth and fifth answers confirmed the one that I thought was right, but the fact that even Indonesians do not actually know is a bit concerting (or disconcerting), depending how you look at it. Perhaps, if the holiday does not pertain to their religion, they simply do not care. But, the young Angkot driver who told me it was in celebration of the Prophet Mohammed’s birthday needs to brush up on the Koran, I think. I had no firm plans. And it was just as well. I had the liberty to go and stop when I pleased, and while I never quite made it onto a bus bound for Solok, as I had originally planned, I met some interesting people and saw some great scenery. I bought some rice and chicken for the day’s journey near where I got off the angkot, where the bypass intersects the road that parallel the coast. The lady gave me a lesson in Bahasa Minang. Lhita means tired. Ambo/Awok means I. Uni is Ibu and paiy means pergi; Kerbau is the word for water buffalo here and is undoubtedly where the name Minangkabau is derived from. Pupoit and Rendai are (respectively) the local flute and drum music of the Minang people.
In the late morning, I drank coffee with policemen staking out the traffic light somewhere around kilometer marker 22 on the Padang Bypass. One of them was asli Takengon, Aceh; he was taller than the rest, a fact I noticed for the general population of Takengon: they are tall folks. A member of the TNI (military) sat with us at the warung. He bought me my cup of coffee. There is a lot of sitting and waiting that goes on here, and I have (unfortunately) fallen into its clutches. I am now content to wile away hours sipping coffee and watching people watching people hand out tickets to drivers who commit infractions. The tickets are not so much tickets, as official requests for oleh-oleh from the drivers for the police. The money goes straight into their pocket. An angkot with "I Lovely Love" tore past at some stage, and I found the wording worthy of writing down.
Farther down the road, in the early afternoon, I found a family lounging in their warung and I decided to join then. One girl was on holiday from UNP (University Negri Padang) and was practiving her Arabic, writing the script on the back of a ragged piece of paper. It is such a beautiful language. The degree of precision required to formulate the script is immense. And, it is written from right to left across the page, just as the Koran is supposed to be read. No easy task. Men played dominoes next door. A curious feature of their game was the utilization of a cardboard cake box as a hat for the person whose lead it was. I thought I was seeing the birth of a new fashion direction. Crossing a bridge, I encountered an old woman and a young child drying the padi (the rice when it is still in the husk, before it is milled so it can go to market). They worked hard in the noon sun and did not acknowledge my presence. A few kilometers down the road, just beyond I encountered a small warung
I rounded the bend with my newly acquired walking partner, and there sitting under s canopy and showing its years was a Fiat. There was a Fiat, in West Sumatra. I had to take a photograph. The men standing around it ushered me over. They were the Indonesian equivalent of used car salesmen, and so I was leery from the start. But, they seemed nice enough, and I told them I had no intentions of buying it. It was a 1962 Fiat, brought to Indonesia from India, during the last vestiges of colonial influence in the two countries. I was told it had recently travelled to Medan and back in the span of four days. This is a good time, given the distances and the road conditions. We took it for a test drive. I had a hard time fitting into the driver’s seat. But, once there and hunched over the steering wheel, I stroked the accelerator and head the engine pur to life. It sounded quite strong. The engine, like the car was asli (natural, original). I turned left from the driveway, and realized that there was no power steering. I reefed on the wheel to get into the stream of traffic. We made it, and I shuted to third gear, and then pulled to a side road. After making a nine point turn (as my legs kept getting in the way, and the steering wheel would lock up and then release and it had no power steering), I swung it around and re-entered the main road. Turning right in Indonesia is more difficult, as you must cross the opposing traffic. We made it, and I returned the antique to its resting palce in front of the small garage. It was safe, and we were too. What a fun car to drive. I was curious: how much was this fine piece of European engineering? The answer: 15 juta rupiah, all inclusive, with the cost of importing it to America. Interesting. For $1800, I could have a piece of history. This would be quintessential snap purchase, and one that I would likely live to regret. Now, if for $1800 it included this small, Indian man to serve as my full-time mechanic, then maybe we would have something to talk about. Taufik was his name, and he was undoubtedly a skilled mechanic. The number of Fiat mechanics in the US is, the last time I checked, quite minimal. Of course, if we still had the one sitting in our yard in Maine, then I would have a parts car … another parts car on the Perry Farm. In the week before I left for Indonesia, a man came with some hard cash and took away the Jeep, Buick and one of the Subarus. For so many years, we had kept these as parts cars, or as cars awaiting rehabilitation that never came. This man had given us the excuse we needed, $20 a piece, to step out of the white trash gutter. And this Fiat would surely serve the same purpose, as an oversized lawn ornament, either in Maine or in Texas. But, how fun would that be? It would be ultimate chick-collecting vehicle.
I parted ways with my walking partner at this juncture. Zubir was his name (Kampung Lalang, tungku_2006@yahoo.com) and he is a student at the extension campus of Andalas University. He was nice enough. I have no idea what ailed me, but in my zeal to test drive the Fiat, I left him with my bag and camera. I had known him for about 30 minutes by this point, and I saw no reason not to trust him. But, to let down my guard like that is inexcusable. We reached him boarding home, and he bought me a cup of iced coffee from the downstairs warung. I met some of his neighbors; one of them insisted that I come for dinner this evening. I told him I was in no condition to join him for dinner. I told him "another time," knowing full well that it is unlikely I will ever some to this small kampong ever again. There are so many places in Padang, and it is not possible expect to revisit all of them. Thus, I have amassed a formidable collection of addresses and phone numbers that will likely go unutilized. Such is the culture here: exchanging HP numbers is expected after a 2 minute conversation with someone. I usually decline, but even my selective nature had netted me more numbers than I know what to do with.
In the same area I stopped to view some of the traditional houses (more similar to Batak arhictecture than the West Sumatran Minang style I am accustome dot seeing here). It was old and dilapidated. No one lived there, and it was a wooden shell of its former self. Old, abandoned, like so many of the traditional ways of the people in this rapidly changing place. "They are not ready for globalization," was what the man I met on the beach two weeks ago said about the people of Indonesia. They see things that they misconstrue as progress (leap frog technology, western music and clothes, European car horns, etc.), and want those things. But inside, spiritually and mentally, they are not prepared to make the shift. These were the words of the former ambassador (alsi Minangkabau) to South Korea, Yugoslavia and Ethiopia; I respected his candid assessment of his own people.
Ants from the rambutan I had purchased had infiltrated the deepest crevaces of my backpack, and they had invaded the remnants of the rice and chicken I had bought earlier in the day. I was hungry, though, and so I sorted the ants from the rice and enjoyed the remains of my daily sustenance.
3-20-07
Confused. Perhaps I will go to Xaverius and see if there is anything that can be done, or perhaps I will make another attempt on Solok. Either way, I am sure I will find something to do with my time today. I went to Xaverius, just as Ibu Luci was slicing some pearly white bras rendang (a rice flour cake that is asli Payakumbuh, and was compliments of Edward, Year 3). It is sweet and has the consistency of cornmeal … a little gritty, but nice. The cake is itself gelatinous and it slices like a fine cheese. In fact, I thought for a moment that some fresh cheese had arrived at school. I was excited. But, the bras rendang was delicious also. Many students ventured home this weekend, given the long weekend that we had. I missed meeting up with Bonar in Solok yesterday. I started the wheels in motion to obtain some susu murni (natural milk) for making the pizza crust. I hope that I can pull this off for the end of this week, as a treat for the student examinations.
I SMS’d Sonya at Yos Sudarso and volunteered my services for the morning. The elementary school was a buzz of excitement. Grades 2, 3 and 4 were my destinations. And in between I was able to have meaningful conversations about geology with the teachers in the ruang guru. The kids were bundles of energy, and it brought back fond memories about teaching geology in the third grade classes of Milford and Old Town so mnay years ago. We looked at photos and I tried to get them to ask simple questions. When one learned how to ask a questions, then they all mimicked him or her and asked the same question, repreatedly, like little tape recorders. It was annoying, but it was practice. Mimicry is how people learn a language. Sonya bought me some sate from the man with the cart outside. And there was an ice cold bottle of tea. What a treat! Soccer practice convened behind Yos Sudarso at 4:30 PM. People were leisurely in their arrival. Pak Carlos, one of the Spanish pastors in the Catholic church and one of the greatest amateur soccer players I have seen, joined us for a bit. He is amazing to play against. Pak Tumpal and his wife graciously provided me with a ride home after practice. The vast quantities of mud acquired from my cleatless performance gripped my legs and shorts. What a mess.
3-21-07
I decided to return to Don Bosco today. I joined a Pak Hendra Senejaya’s XI IPA class first, and then a very interesting XII IPS class for the third and fourth periods. Finally, Pak Hendra Tennajaya invited me to his accelerated class (where Sandra was a student). We talked afterward and would like to have an English teacher workshop in early May to shre innovative teaching ideas. Of all the teachers, he is one of the younger ones, and he seems to be the most progressive in terms of using student-centered activities. But, as I have found out, the applicability of many of the theoretical methods for teaching English in Indoensian classrooms simply do not work. There are too many deep-seated hurdles to overcome. The production of passive students begins in the SD system, and it is propagated into the SMA, where it is generally too late to change them.
I ventured to the Pasar and bought a kilogram of oranges and rambutan and had a fest this evening. My throat is starting to bother me, and I fear I might be coming down with a bit of a cold or flu. Though, now it is only in my throat. I figured a dose of Vitamin C would be good regardless. I passed on buying some bengkwan (white, sweet, beet-like tuber, like a very crunchy potato) because it did not look very fresh. On the way to the market, I passed the neighborhood clan that lives down the road. They are always there, and it is like running a gauntlet to escape from the confines of my house. But, I have accepted it, and have decided that simply engaging them (in spite of their generally abrasive disposition toward me) is the best course of actions. In doing this, I dictate the terms of the encounter: when it starts and when it stops. At the market I was harassed by an ojek driver wanting to give me a ride, despite the fact I was not finished shopping yet. So, I engaged him in conversation (this often alleviates their barrage, if you simply talk with them). It turns out he is from Bukittinggi but came to Padang to find work. He simply drives ojek in the evening for some exta money. He actually works for a building contractor. His name is Hafiez (Jl. Parak Gadang Raya, No. 9, HP: 081363432742), and like most people here, once you overcome the initial divide between you and them (and get them to stop pushing whatever it is they are selling at the time) they are intensely nice people.
3-22-07
"Fire, Fire! Load, Load. Drop the gun!" Fire! Someone across the street is playing a video game this morning. The English language is, of course, not the intellectual level one might hope for, but it is English nonetheless, and I suppose it is "language practice" for the players. The houses across from mine house students and generally underemployed people, primarily from North Sumatra, but also from other locations. The music late at night, and the video games at various times of day when one should be engaged in meaningful activities is a sign that they likely have too much time on their hands. I have engaged in conversations about the unemployment rate in our respective countries, not because I want to, but because they push me to. While reliable statistics are not available, I would think a reasonable estimate for the percentage of the working age population that does not work would be in the neighborhood of 30%. And, this number is even a distorted one because things that, I guess by definition would be considered jobs, are temporary at best. They are the ojek drivers, the food cart people, and the men who force you to pay for their assistance in parking your car, if you need it or not. Some are transients. And some do have homes and families, though I am still unclear on exactly where they receive their income from to support their chain smoking, coffee drinking lifestyles.
The rains have come for the past several nights. The nature of the rains is different now: evening, and early morning. We have not had an appreciable afternoon rain in quite some time. The monsoon season is different this year from what I gather in talking to people in town. It is later than normal. Usually, things have swung around back into the dry season by this time. It must be global warming.
The rains prevented me from going for a morning stroll. I am quite certain it scared away the jalan pagi crew anyway, so I did not miss the Bukit Gado Gado rendez vous. Around 7 AM, I did venture to the corner warung and indulged in a hot cup of sweet tea and some fried rice. The schedule is open at school now: only practice for the national examinations for the Year 3 students, and the normal school tests for Class 1 and 2 students after the Year 3 students have finished each day. This schedule will continue until next Thursday, at which time normal classes will resume. But, then Easter is approaching, and there is one week more of class before the arrival of a 5 day holiday, coupled with non-class, in-school activities following the Easter Holiday. There is not much school that will go on this month. The national examinations are on April 14, 15 and 16. No class then, either.
I had an enjoyably lazy morning at the corner warung. People came and went. We chatted. A curious number of angkots were using the street that parallels the normal route. I came to find out that police were doing their scheduled vehicle inspections today at the usual angkot hub, and so those drivers with no licenses, or with bad vehicles, were simply taking the detour to avoid the police. The police know it happens. It is just a formality, and no one cares if the angkots bypass the inspection. Such is the mentality here. People go through the motions without demanding anything of substance to result.
I came across some old notes from my first days in Padang while I was cleaning out my vast nest of assorted papers and nick-knacks, many of which will be burned in the near term, as I will not be bringing them back to America with me. Much of the information I wrote in thise first days was just plain wrong: or more correctly, I simply misunderstood what was being said. My favorite is the map I drew to get to the book store on the back alley near Xaverius. If I tried using the map now, I would surely get lost. It is useless. I must have eaten Keripuk Balado on my first day here, because it is written down as Repeat Balado.
3-23-07
Friday
I have been a bit under the weather for the last couple days: sleeping a lot and handling a sore throat. Around 9:00 AM I went to Xaverius to make sure the schedule for the teacher’s workshop remained the same. The internet provided a candid assessment of my own assessment of Joe’s question of whether I was serious about the petroleum industry as a career. The text follows:
I bought some Mie Riebus from the sidewalk vendor and then hiked back to school. Pak Eddy greeted me as I walked in the door. Utilizing the back exit from Xaverius, I waded throught the sea of SD Theresia students mulling about in the playground area. The students all know my name by now, whether from me directly, or from their friends or teachers. Either way, they shout it loudly. I guess it is better than a chorus of Misters.
The Recollection with the teachers was of minimal use, I thought. But, it was deemed a cornerstone moment in the Prayoga 45th Anniversary celebrations by the administrators in attendance. The guest speaker, flown in from Jakarta, was a newcomer to Padang. The content of the talk was typical of most every motivational speech I have heard. There were iceberg photos, and pictures of cats, lots of cats: cats looking in mirrors, cats staring down a pack of dogs, and cats playing ping pong. Some points were valid: every student is unique; Michael Jordan, Thomas Edison and Abraham Lincoln were successes because of their attitude; and spouses can choose to like or dislike spicy food without harming the security of the marriage. There were allusions to the success of American CEO’s and tips straight from their autobiographies about how to be effective peoples. He was sadly keen on building up the American style of business as being the global benchmark: we are apparently all fast and innovative. There were number games: a = 1, b = 2, etc, such that the sum of the latters in words like Skills, Knowledge and Hard Work do not get you to 100 points, but Attitude does. There were data from the WHO about Indonesian teenagers. It was eye opening, though, I suppose not surpising. In Indonesia, something like 24% of HIV/AIDS patients are in the age 15-19 age bracket, and 19% of 15-19 year olds said they had had sex by the age of 15. I have seen from my daily movements in Padang that sex is prevalent in the culture, even if it is swept under the carpet. The Golkar Party Religious Committee leader accused of sexual relations with the Dangdut singer, the Minang cab driver who forget their Muslim virtues by carrying car loads of women selling sex after the sun goes down. It is like so much of Indonesian culture: appearance is everything, substance counts for little.
There were Pak Suparman (Superman) jokes. And there was a video with Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon type effects showing people playing table tennis. I have no idea how this related to his overall presentation. But, it was entertaining, I suppose. Corny English phrases were used. "Go the Extra Mile," "Value Plus," and "Out of the Box" were particularly popular.
One valid point that he did make was the role of the family in the development of the student, and how the total success or failure of a student is not in the hands of the school. This is something that teachers everywhere grapple with. Where does the line between family influence and school environment influence reside? At what point can you stop blaming a school for all the problems of a student and instead recast it on the student’s home environment. Schools are influential, but homes are pivotal.
This man had a Master’s Degree in some aspect of psychology, and apparently many places are willing to pay him to come and speak. I have never taken much stock in the talking heads with cleanly polished, over animiated motivational slides who eek out an existence spouting statistics and telling people what they should be doing to improve the condition of their schools, their businesses, theis community: all the things they say are innately intuitive, if people would simply open their eyes and their minds. I despise people who say they are experts on something and them proceed to regurgitate other people’s ideas and show vaguely relevant videos simply to give their presentation abit more flair. If I were the Prayoga administration, I would have made him buy his own ticket back to Jakarta. The travel will arrive shortly to collect me and my bag to go north to Sibolga. 4 PM is the appointed time, though I suspect they will be late, as usual.
3-25-07
Saturday
Arrival in Gunung Sitoli was shortly after 2 PM. The boat was 20 minutes late in departing from Sibolga. A bad movie was shown, and I found my time better spent relaxing on the top deck, rather than festering in the hold with the rest of the humanity. There are two boats, and this one was the nicer of the two. The cost was 105,000 rupiah per person, and while it was more pricy than the night ferry (75,000 rupiah), it was also three times faster. Antoni gave me a crash course in the foods and the language of Nias. My appetite was whetted: pork of all forms, something unheard of in West Sumatra. The travel had arrived at my house precisely at 4 PM, causing me to scramble and to forget the batteries I had recharging in the wall socket. As a result, I had to bite the bullet and buy some disposable batteries at a small market in Sibolga while we waited for the boat departure at 10 AM. The Mie Pangsit we found was delicious; it was the same warung that Deanna, Clarissa and Amanda and I stopped at when we were passing through Sibolga with Talib so many months ago. The coffee was just as good as I remembered it. Sibolga (and as it turns out, Gunung Sitoli) has an overabundance of becaks bouncing along its narrow streets.
3-26-07
We attended Church at St. Maria’s; I sat with Antoni and his brother, Victor. The sanctuary was unlike any of any religious denomination I have ever entered. The construction was fashioned after the traditional North and South Nias forms, and open vents allowed the free passage of birds and other animals into the chamber. They chirped happily as the pastor went through his steps. Finished shortly before 9 AM, we returned to the car and made our way through the sea of becaks back to the house on Jl. Sudiraman. The market across from the house of Antoni’s family was in full swing this morning. Some delicious wet noodles were enjoyed, and we then turned our efforts to preparing for the road trip south to Teluk Dalam.
The aspects of the travel fare were extraordinary: it was a culinary masterpiece conceived by Antoni’s aunt. It had the feel of one of the elegant European "picnics" that they take, with a complete table setting and carefully packed containers, and was a far cry from the greasy, brown paper bag that I prefer. Fresh rice was packed, along with pig brains, tongue and chicken hearts and livers. There was some sate left over from the other day too. All these things would remain packed until we arrived at a vista overlooking the southeast coast of Nias, a sight well worth the drive.
3-28-07
2 Year Anniversary of the Nias EQ; many activities will comment more later.
3-29-07
Antoni dropped me at the bus terminal shortly after 8 AM. The bus stood with the engine compartment gaping; men climbed inside and were tinckering with the moving parts. This is always a good sign when beginning a road trip. But, they were apparently competent (or simply did not fix the problem and chose to forget it) because they closed the bus and we rolled to the canteen area to retrieve the remainder of the passangers. I had thought the bus would be empty, but like all buses everywhere in Indonesia, it was overfull and teeming with all forms of life forms: livestock and people.
3-30-07
Morning arrived very quickly today, as it often does when bedtime is 3 AM.
3-31-07
Arrived in Gunung Sitoli at shortly before 9 AM. The boat was scheduled to depart for Sibolga at 3:30 PM. I arrived with Antoni’s uncle at shortly after three, bought the ticket and proceeded to find a seat in the front of the boat. Of the two boats that make this trip, this was the lesser of the two. There was no upper deck, although the option did exist (and I took it before too long) to simply sit on the roof like I had on the bus to Sirombu.