Cynthia

Some girls live in the orphanage because their families are too poor to afford to feed them and send them to school, others are here because they have no family, and finally a few are here because where they live is not safe. Cynthia is from the island of Sulawasi. She came to the Untal-Untal orphanage because just before she was about to start junior high school, riots broke out in her town. Her father woke her up in the middle of the night, told her to get dressed, and together with her mother, her family fled their home and their village. From a hilltop, she watched her village light up in flame, and at one point, her father showed her which fire was their house. Thankfully, it was not her house that was burned, but the small building right on the road which they used as a small store. When Cynthia returned to her village, she found out three people were killed, including her favorite teacher. In order for Cynthia to go to junior and senior high school safely, her parents sent her to Bali while they remain in Sulawasi fulfilling their service as pastors.

. Cynthia is amazingly generous with her time: if she has a holiday, she spend it in the kitchen frying tofu balls for dinner, and once she spent over four hours helping me find a lady in Denpasar to figure out my visa. A wonderful friend, she told me once that if her friend needs help she will do anything to help them, and if she cannot help them she becomes really sad and cries. That’s another thing about Cynthia, she wears her emotions right out there on her sleeves, and sometimes her attitude crosses over from emotional to down right dramatic (which is quite hilarious, really). One night we corrected a practice test she took in preparation for the final exams, and she had a few answers which she had changed the right answer to the wrong one. As we went through and came upon each these problems she would exclaim, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God. OhmyGod!” I thought the world was about to end right then and there.

Originally Cynthia wanted to become a doctor but after finding out how long she would have to go to school for, she decided that maybe a nice English degree would be just the right thing for her. Besides taking national exams and school finals, she has been applying to university English programs (I guess Senior year is the same everywhere). Now, she is just looking forwards to returning home to Sulawasi and her family for a month in June once she gets her test scores.

It is easy to forget or never even learn what really happens to people after violence or disaster because that reality is either not newsworthy or so long lasting that the world cannot keep interest. But Cynthia is a living, breathing, tofu-frying reminder of the reality of conflict. When I read about all the “bad stuff” that happens, now I don’t just think of the families of the people killed, I think of the children like Cynthia, who had to run from their homes in the middle of the night and watch their safe place burn.

　

Chi Chi

It took me over three weeks to learn everyone’s names at the orphanage. When I first arrived, I couldn’t tell anyone apart by how they looked, and so I had to depend on recognizing their earrings or hairstyle. Now, I laugh at myself for only seeing brown skin and black hair because everyone looks so different to my trained eye. But that’s what I required: training. Now that I know everyone’s names and stories, I thought it would only be right to introduce you to some of the people who I have spent so much time with for the last ten weeks.

Chi Chi was my first friend at the orphanage. The evening I arrived, jetlagged and blurry-eyed, she came right up to me and asked for help with her English homework. From that point on though, she’s been helping me. Because she has some of the best English of the girls here, I constantly ask her for translations, and she and I would often sit up on the balcony exchanging English grammar for Indonesian vocabulary. Chi Chi goes to a vocational school close by where she learns all about multimedia.

She loves computers and technology in general. Her dream is to own an iPod, and she often comes into my room to listen to mine. Everyone here loves pop music; it is the only type of music they listen to, and I don’t think Chi Chi is particularly impressed with most of the songs on my iPod. When Chi Chi has a CD or tape cassette (who knew those still existed) she listens to it over and over again. One evening she listened to “21 Guns” by Green Day three times in a row before I had to ask her to change the song. Besides Green Day, Chi Chi loves Justin Beiber, and because of her multimedia background, she is able to take pictures of Justin and photo-shop herself into them.

Besides her music preferences, I go to Chi Chi whenever I have a problem. She helped me pick out my outfit the first time I went to church and reminded me to bring a few thousand Rupiah to put in the basket they pass around; she has killed the countless cockroaches that live under my desk and find their way into my bathroom; she even helped me de-lice my hair with minimal humiliation.

I’m not sure what Chi Chi wants to do with her life. She is only 15, but with her English skills and knowledge of computers I am confident she can create a good future for herself. She has a family who loves and supports her and good friends. I know that she will do fine without me, but already I am beginning to worry what I will do without her! She helped me transition to life in a different country, with a different language and customs, and I will miss her and, as much as I make fun of them, her photo-shopped pictures of Justin as well.

A cremation ceremony procession in Mas.

An oh-so-cute monkey in Ubud.

Just the Way We Get By

I have spent the last however many weeks with mismatched flip flops. It’s not too obvious that I am wearing different shoes, but I can never forget because one shoe is more worn than the other. So my left foot always has a slightly more comfortable walk than the right. I brought them with me because when I was packing for Bali, I couldn’t for the life of me find a matching pair of flip flops in my house, and so far, I haven’t seen a need to buy a new pair since these different flip flops serve the same purpose as matching ones would.

A lot of Bali is mismatched and well worn. Like America, people use what they have, but unlike America, people keep using what they have and work around what they do not have. For example, the Untal Untal orphanage only has 2 cutting boards. One is wooden and about the size of a paperback book. Although it is thick, the wood has warped, but the cutting surface is still usable, and therefore, we use it. The other cutting board is plastic, a pastel mint green. We can only use one side of it though because the other side has been burnt or melted and dirtied. Because this cutting board has been warped as well and doesn’t lay flat on the table, it is important to place the board the right way and cut in the right spot. We use these two cutting boards to feed over 70 people 3 times a day.

In an American household, replacements would have been bought years ago and these items (and items like them) would have been thrown away for the sake of efficiency, quality, and ease. It is true; it is much easier and much more enjoyable to work with quality equipment. But the Balinese are not as spoiled as us Americans, and it seems to me that they work with what they have until it disintegrates. No one complains or talks about replacing the warped cutting boards, dull knives, our single ragged mop, or shortage of spoons. That is just the way life is, and the Balinese work with what they have.

This use-until-disintegrated habit can seem like a less wasteful, more responsible way to use resources, but it is not by choice, and given the opportunity, I think the Balinese would adopt consumerism enthusiastically. I work with what I have here, but my frugality is self-imposed. I could buy a new pair of shoes across the street for $2 if I wanted; I just don’t care enough to do so. The Balinese work with what they have because they cannot afford to have more, and if and when they can afford to do so, the Balinese will explore new found wealth and will adopt American-like consumerism just like they have with cell phones, Valentines Day, and Facebook.

In Bali, I am fine walking around for over two months with mismatched shoes because it’s just the way life is. But in America, I would have bought new shoes months ago, probably even before I realized I had a pair of mismatched sandals, probably before I noticed that the right foot was worn. I prefer to have nice, easily usable things, although I believe that our American consumerism is wasteful and irresponsible. (I am a walking, talking contradiction, but acknowledging I have a problem is the first step to solving it.) I think that it is important to find a balance between Balinese frugality and American consumerism which optimizes comfort and sustainability. I am already excited to embrace quality and flat cutting boards when I return to America, but while I am in Bali, I will work with what I have and continue to favor my right foot.

Traditional Ogoh-ogoh

Nypei

Many aspects of Bali would never fit in American culture. Laws state that buildings cannot be higher than the coconut trees and that one day of the year, no one is allowed to leave their houses. The streets are patrolled in the cities to enforce this, and in addition, you are not allowed to make any loud noises: no TV, no music, no screaming or yelling. The island is silent, as if for one day, all of the people just up and left. Which is exactly the point.

This day, called Nypei, is the traditional Balinese New Year. On the night before Nypei (which we will call ogoh-ogoh night), the entire island makes a racket, rousing up all of the demons from their hiding places to join in the festivities. On Nypei, the island goes silent, in order to trick the demons into thinking there are no humans on the island, so this way they get bored and go away.

The Balinese lure the demons out by parading around homemade statues, called ogoh-ogoh, which are anywhere from 8 feet to two stories tall. Some are traditional demons, with large, frightening faces, teeth, and hands, while others take a more modern approach. (I saw a couple punk rocker ogoh-ogoh as well as a Spongebob Squarepants likeness.) The ogoh-ogoh are carried on bamboo bases by anywhere from 12 to 20 men or boys, depending on the size. The carriers make the ogoh-ogoh dance in the streets to loud gamelan music which basically sounds like a lot of drums and gongs smashing together. The ogoh-ogoh are shaken and shaken during the dance, and when they lose heads or arms or break altogether the crowd cheers. With the music, the darkness, and the ogoh-ogoh, it is easy to believe that demons are flying about, joining in the festivities. In the darkness, fireworks boom and flash, and the atmosphere seems exactly like a demon’s cup of tea.

The of day of Nypei seems a little less straight forwards than ogoh-ogoh night. I was originally told that on Nypei, people are not allowed to do anything. I thought this meant that I would get to sleep in, and that there would be no cooking, cleaning, using electricity, and talking above a whisper. But it seems that the rules here at the orphanage are pretty lax. (Of course, living in a Christian orphanage is not exactly the most traditional way to experience this holiday.) I woke up at 7 (Yes! I got to sleep in an extra hour!) and ate a freshly cooked breakfast, read, and basically sat around.

I definitely expected a different few days than what I ended up experiencing. I thought that on ogoh-ogoh night, we would all stay out late and be loud, and I thought we would get to light the ogoh-ogohs on fire. I thought that on Nypei, we would all be silent and bored. Instead I ended up watching a parade and having a pretty normal, if quiet day (ahh, the absence of motorcycles…).

Regardless of my expectations, I still had an amazing experience, sitting on the street, the pavement still warm with small pieces of gravel sticking into my legs, and watching a green ogoh-ogoh dance above torches to the sound of gongs, drumming, and singing. I looked up into the stars (Nypei is always held on the new moon) and saw the Orion constellation. For the past few weeks, I have begun to see Orion as a connection to home, but I looked up, and instead of seeing a ancient Grecian warrior, I saw a Balinese demon, dancing across the night sky.

Nothing a Good Sense of Humor Can't Handle!

If one would assume that after living in a foreign country for two months I would be able to struggle through a conversation in Indonesian, one would assume wrong. My Indonesian can do little more than ask “How are you?” but if someone asks me how I am in return, the only answer I can reply with is “Fine” or “Not fine.” Indonesian is surprisingly simple however; there is no grammar and everything is spelled like it sounds and sounds like it’s spelled (just remember “c” is pronounced “ch”). I feel lucky that Indonesian is so easy; all I really need to do is memorize vocabulary words. However, this memorization can get extremely confusing when the girls give me a Balinese word instead of the Indonesian word without telling me.

In the cities, most people speak Indonesian, while in the traditional villages people speak Balinese. (Indonesian is spoken throughout Indonesian, while Balinese is spoken only on Bali.) Balinese is ridiculously complicated because not only is it a whole different language, but there are three levels used according to class, each with its own vocabulary. In the villages, the uneducated and older people cannot speak Indonesian and speak only Balinese. There is also an animosity in the villages towards the less traditional city dwellers who can’t speak Balinese, and those city-folk are not considered true Balinese.

I have two primary reasons for not learning much Indonesian. First of all, I am here to speak English, and so I have not been forced to learn the local language, instead forcing other people to practice my foreign language. Being able to speak English in a tourist driven economy is one of the most important skills a worker can have because it helps get better jobs in the tourist industry instead of as a day laborer, and these girls need all the practice I can give them. The second reason I have not learned Indonesian is because it is a one purpose type language. It’s purpose is to be spoken in Indonesia, and I do not expect to need to speak it ever again in my life, unless I return here.

However, I do enjoy using the Indonesian I know and learning more. The vocabulary sounds so different that it is fun to say, and a lot of relationships between words make sense. For example, the word “kapala” means “head” while the word “kalapa” means “coconut.” Although I admit that I don’t use the words “head” and “coconut” very often. Instead my conversations go something like this:

“Julia, suda mandi?”

“Tidak.”

“O! Bao!”

“Ok, ok, saya mandi!”

This roughly means:

“Julia, you already bathe?”

“No.”

“Oh! Smelly!”

“Ok, ok, I will go take a shower!”

(One of the Balinese habits is to take a shower in the morning and in the evening before dinner. I have had a hard time adapting.)

Besides knowing daily needs and greeting type conversations, I can also order food. The Balinese do not use the word “please” at all; I think I learned the word (“tolong“) after being here two weeks and only after looking it up in the dictionary. To order food, you simply say, “Mother (or Father), I want fried rice!” I learned how to order fried rice while cutting vegetables one morning. While practicing with a fellow vegetable cutter, I repeated, “Ibu, saya mau nasi goreng!” over and over again. After practicing that same sentence for about ten minutes, the cook, Kumang, brought out a plate of fried rice. Apparently, my Indonesian was so convincing she thought I actually wanted some even though saya suda makan pagi (I already ate breakfast).

The few Balinese words I know a just entertaining to say and completely unrelated to anything I would ever want to say. For example, “lab blab” (pronounced, lob blob) means boil. I just walk around the orphanage saying “lab blab” over and over again because I like the way it sounds. I also know the word arm: “limeh” (leem-uuh) not to be confused with the Indonesian word “lima,” (leem-ah) which means “four.”

While I may not be learning quickly, I have enjoyed picking up Indonesian slowly (“plan plan” pronounced “pulahn pulahn”). If I need to learn a new word or two, I learn; if I am bored during the day, I learn. I can say what I want and ask for what I need, and when it comes down to it, all a person really needs to communicate is a smile and good sense of humor anyways.

　

Important words to know in Indonesia:

Hot: panas (pahn-ahs)

Spicy: padas (pah-dahs)

Beach: pantai (pahn-tie)

Crazy: gila (ghee-la)

Water: air (eye-air)

I often feel like my time here, while worthwhile, is not as helpful as I hoped it would be. Much of my time is spent doing nothing. I read, I nap, I play Bejeweled on my computer, I sit in the office and distract whoever is working. I spend only 4 hours or so per day physically helping people here by helping prepare meals or working with groups of girls on their English.

English lessons themselves are mostly just conversation. These girls have already learned basic English in school; there is very little for me to teach. Instead, I feel that our English lessons are an opportunity to practice and remember the English the girls have already learned. So, while sometimes we read from the New Testament to practice pronunciation or translate American songs to appreciate culture and slang, mostly we just start a conversation with a dictionary on the table. Usually, we end up talking about true love and broken hearts, but it is amazing how much vocabulary one can practice while talking about past and present loves.

It is hard sometimes to reassure myself that I am earning my keep; however, I am starting to understand that my real contribution is a little more subtle. I realized this when one afternoon, a girl, Vicka, and I were sitting on the driveway waiting for dinner. She started telling me about a dream she had; in her dream, she and I were walking up a mountain and I told her I was staying until July. Then she woke up. I was so happy to hear this dream of hers, because while it was short, it made me realize that the girls here really do like me and don’t want me to leave. Also, the fact that the dialogue in her dream was all in English, made me feel really good about myself, because it means that these girls are embracing English even in their subconscious.

I may be a slow vegetable cutter and a bad sweeper, but just by being here, I am helping. I am teaching a different culture, forcing people to practice a new language, and encouraging girls to be successful and independent. And so when other visitors and volunteers show up with balloons and chocolate, I just have to remember that my influence here is much more long lasting and memorable.

Winda and Nia rocking the unicycles

Cleaning up our irrigation ditch. I have learned to dread holidays.

I know what freedom feels like; wind in my hair, rain in my eyes, my right wrist sore, and my left ankle cramped. Yes, I have finally learned to drive a motorcycle. I have been wishing to learn for the last month, slowly discovering who has personal motorbikes, slyly mentioning how I don’t know how to ride, and finally saying, “Ok, people. Teach me!” That was about two weeks ago, and, today, I finally got my wish. And what an auspicious day to learn as well because today is a Hindu holiday which celebrates transportation, and in the modern world, that means celebrating cars and motorcycles.

I began just in the driveway of the orphanage, 1^st gear, feet out. Then Dessy, the girl who was brave enough to teach me, and I grabbed some helmets and ventured out onto the real roads. After riding to a quiet street, Dessy let me take over, and I held the first feeling of freedom. Of course, this first freedom was quite bumpy as I hadn’t figured out the whole changing gears thing and since I was concentrating on changing gears so much that I failed to avoid a couple of potholes. But after about ten minutes, my teacher deemed me ready, and we set off towards her school, about 15 minutes away.

Oh, it was exciting. The roads in Bali are like the beginning of a race course, when all of the competitors are together, testing out their speeds and positions (xc skiers, think J2 Girls‘ skate mass start in which people end up on the ground somehow facing the wrong direction). The roads are narrow (although usually well paved) and people pass on the left and the right, giving a little “I’m passing you” honk as they go by. Basically, in a nutshell, it’s sketchy. But once we had maneuvered out of the village and into the rice fields the mass start anxiety was worth it. The wind blew the light smell of rice and smoke over small Hindu temples and homes, and we could see people in traditional dress walking towards temples to celebrate the great inventions that I now know how to drive.

I am especially happy to learn how to ride a motorcycle because now I have more independence to explore by myself once I leave the orphanage in April. I want to set out without a destination (so that way I can’t get lost), and just ride around, stopping at beaches, at warungs, at banyan tree temples. I want to have a fast way to experience Bali slowly and authentically (every modern Balinese family owns a motorcycle), and now that I have the basic ability, all I need is the courage, the bike, and the helmet.