Losing all my survival skills, or, Why there are fifteen pairs of underwear drying in my bedroom
I’m not sure if my ibu enjoys doing things for me out of sense of motherly hospitality, or if she’s convinced I’m completely incapable of caring for myself. Either way, I fight a battle every day to boil my own water for coffee and to carry my dirty dishes to the sink.
Sometimes I perversely enjoy the swaddling attention. It’s been a long time since someone made me a packed lunch. And the food my ibu cooks has been nothing but enak sekali (very delicious), while the kitchen remains a vague mystery of propane tanks and baskets of garlic on the floor.
The one thing I think I should be capable of doing, at least, is washing my clothes. I’ve washed plenty of delicate clothes by hand over the years, so I doubt I am that unskilled. In Indonesia, clothes are typically washed by hand in buckets in the bathroom- unless you pay for laundry service, or have a washing machine, like one of my cluster mates (she lives with the head of our village). The first day I washed clothes, my ibu showed me the various buckets to use, and the laundry detergent, and I got to work. After washing and rinsing, I wandered outside towards the clothes line. It was the morning, and she insisted I sit down for breakfast and she would hang them later. She took the basket from me, and proceeded directly back into the bathroom and rewashed my clothes. The same thing happened the next few times I attempted to do laundry. After two weeks of my clothes getting a double washing, she told me that my clothes weren’t clean enough, and that I should just give my laundry to her and she would wash them.
I’m just saying, I don’t think washing clothes by hand is rocket science. I even tried to spy on her while she was washing my clothes (my typical way to learn where things were before I had a lot of language experience), and from what I can tell, she’s mostly vigorously pouring lots of water everywhere. I don’t understand how she can tell my clothes aren’t clean enough if they are stain free and smell like detergent, and are well-rinsed.
So for a few weeks I gave her all my laundry, even though I was racked with guest-guilt. She washes laundry every Sunday and it looked like SO MUCH clothes next to hers and my sister’s. Not to mention after they are washed and dried, she irons everything. Including my leggings. There is nothing better than hot and freshly pressed yoga leggings.
But I draw the line at giving her dirty underwear. No one should have to go there but me, and a washing machine if available. But paradoxically I didn’t want her to know I wanted to wash them myself, because we already have tug of wars over my dirty plates. The last thing I want is a dual language argument for my underwear. Finally one morning I realized I was getting low in the clean underwear department, and embarked on a Mission:Impossible style smuggle of all my underwear into the bathroom, wear I could wash them in peace. And then I smuggled them back to my bedroom, and proceeded to hang them everywhere so they could dry without the judgment of my ibu.
Maybe this is something I need to be more assertive about. Maybe it seems silly to smuggle my underwear back and forth, and then worry that someone will see them drying in my room. It’s just a weird, lack-of-language situation where I was worried I would somehow offend her or otherwise be weird and awkward… at least this way, no one knows how weird and awkward I am but everyone who reads this blog. I’ve decided to go back to washing my laundry myself- if Ibu decides she wants to double wash everything, at least I’ll know all my clothes are so fresh and so clean (clean).
Tips for the Mandi, and My Mandi Theme Songs
Sometimes I forget what a hot shower feels like, and what aid toilet paper brings to the bathroom. Is that a good sign of my cultural integration, or just a testament to how small my short term memory is?
The mandi seems like a formidable adversary, but it’s your friend- sometimes your best friend. It provides you with what might be the only time in your house when you are guaranteed complete privacy. It’s a chance to decompress, ponder upcoming lesson plans, and identify various insect and reptile species that live around you. It is completely possible to emerge from the mandi feeling just as clean as you would from a hot shower at a fancy hotel. Not that I dream about luxury showers I have taken in the past. No way. I love my mandi.
Your mandi supplies should include: (1) towel (can be smaller than usual, you won’t be able to wrap up and walk back to your room in it), (1) hair tie (if its your every-other-day hair washing routine, (1) toiletry bag, containing all your bathing needs but especially including (1) loofah, (1) shampoo (I use a Lush shampoo bar and I can’t recommend that highly enough, in fact, I might need someone to mail me a few from the states), (1) body wash, and, most importantly (1) TRAVEL SOAP CONTAINER- I didn’t bring one with me, and my toiletry bag was a slimy mess for two weeks. My soap immediately started to fall apart. I bought a mini tupperware box that holds both my body soap and my shampoo bar.
Really, keep it simple in that toiletry kit. When I went into the mandi for the first time, I had so many extra lotions, skin care products, tweezers, etc. Your mandi toiletry kit should contain the basics- the things you keep on the rim of your shower. Do all your other grooming back in your room.
Never, ever, if you can in any way prevent it, wear skinny jeans into the mandi and expect to put them back on after bathing. I have a pair of big baggy sweatpants that I wear expressly for the journey to and from the mandi. Indonesia’s country motto should be “Indonesia: Perpetually A Little Damp.” You will never be totally dry when you put your clothes back on. If anything, your feet will still be wet from standing on the wet tiled floor (expect and embrace that the floor is constantly wet, and that means its clean!)
Which brings me to shower sandals vs. bare feet in the mandi. In orientation we were encouraged to go bare foot, so to prevent slipping on the tiled floor. At my first day with my host family, my ibu chased me around with sandals that she wanted me to wear into the mandi- I think. I have yet to go bare foot in the mandi- the wet tile sensation kind of grosses me out.
Mandi Mini Playlist:
Self Care and the Peace Corps, or, I talk about Dr. Houk and Chakra Mantras
In our various training sessions, we discuss tools and methods for dealing with stress and adapting to our new situations. We receive diagrams of PCV mood swings, and make rosters of phone numbers and support networks. I’ve overshared, I’m sure. I’m okay with being transparent with my own experiences with stress and self care. I will always recommend deep breathing exercises, mantras, meditation malas, imagining physical manifestations of your stress, etc etc. I might have just become “the girl with stress experience.” The Peace Corps sessions do give great advice, but I thought some of the most important advice- that could use a lot more discussion- came from one of my fellow PCTs quoting the show “Parks and Recreation”- that is, treat yo’ self.
I think maintaining guilt-free self care is important for a happy life, in general. I wrote a lot about it on my (sadly inactive) personal blog before Peace Corps. In a stressful, often high pressure term of Peace Corps service, self care is essential. Amongst a group of driven, frequently type A personalities, there’s a tendency to hold ourselves to high standards, push hard for success, and not want to cut ourselves breaks. Reading descriptions of Peace Corps mood swings- feelings of inadequacy in comparison with others, guilt over taking holidays or traveling, disappointment with one’s efforts in the community- was disheartening, in the sense that it saddened me that so many PCVs stress over these kinds of things.
You should always grant yourself just as much patience, grace, and kindness as you would offer to other people. I know from personal experience in the past that I tended not to give myself the same understanding I would show my friends or peers. If I tried to take it easy, I would feel guilty that I wasn’t working hard enough. Living like that burns you out, and can damage your relationships, your work (in my case, sophomore year of college), and eventually will completely incapacitate you.
I’m not saying that I should treat Peace Corps as an extended vacation or a pleasure cruise. I look forward to embracing the challenges my permanent site will have, to problem solving and working hard. But I also want to remember that so many aspects of my service are out of my hands, and that on top of all my work and efforts, I’m constantly adjusting to an entire new country, culture, and language. So taking a break is okay. Needing an evening of alone time to watch movies and eat some off-brand Nutella is not being weak. Taking a weekend to travel to see my friends for “bule time” isn’t extravagant. I’m not here to take on the national Indonesian curriculum, and I can’t hold myself to impossible standards of accomplishment.
Ultimately, in listening to the presentation on resiliency and stress management, I felt that a lot of the situations could be dealt with by giving yourself some credit, and a few breaks. I guess not everyone has been forced to repeat “I could always do less, I could always do worse” by a therapist in an attempt at reverse mantras for an hour (also, as an aside, attending counseling does not in any way make you damaged, as one horrible pre-invitation Peace Corps nurse tried to convince me). Who knows, maybe I’m projecting- but I don’t think so. I think that a lot of PCVs share these stressors and high self expectations, without seeing the necessity of treating themselves gently.
In closing, this is my favorite Sacral Chakra Affirmation, and I say it to myself all the time:
“I am enough. What I do is enough. What I have is enough. Who I am and what I do is enough.”
Say Yes to Everything Sunday, or, sometimes half a mountain is all you need
This past Sunday about half of our PCTs decided to hike Panderman Mountain, a nearby mountain in Batu. It was reportedly a six hour hike, in total, up and down. I was on the fence about committing to the hike all week- we’ve been in our practicum schools while also attending Bahasa Indonesia classes in the afternoon, and there was a wedding in front of my house Saturday night that was guaranteed to rage on until two in the morning, speaker system set to full, poorly balanced, blast. (Really, what is wrong with Indonesians and their desire to BLAST poorly tuned stereo equipment at weddings, inside grocery stores, or from cars? It’s an audiophiles worst nightmare. It’s one of the few things I really resent about Indonesian culture because IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. IT DOESN’T SOUND GOOD, INDONESIA. IT HURTS YOUR EARS).
Maaf, tangent. I was waffling back and forth until I decided to call upon my 2011 mantra of last year: Say Yes to Everything. I like to use this mantra to force me to do things, when I’d rather lie in bed all Sunday and take advantage of the recently discovered electrical outlet and watch movies until I’m in an English language stupor. 2011 was a good year, and Say Yes to Everything never led me astray. And hiking tropical island mountains is the type of thing you imagine as a Peace Corps Invitee packing for the grand adventure. That and, you know, helping people. (My other imaginings included being present for a home birth (still hopeful) and being part of a ceremonial animal slaughter (guaranteed)). Late Saturday I finally committed and was looking forward to a fun! and challenging! but ultimately rewarding! hike. Just kidding it was awful and I hated myself for agreeing to it. Until I was really glad that I did it.
The hike up was really hard. I’ve nearly blocked it out, the way mothers’ insist that they can’t remember the pain of childbirth because of the joy of having their child in their arms. In my case, the joy was the hike being over. I don’t think I should have to defend my unenjoyment of hiking mountains, but I would just like to say that some people derive great satisfaction and accomplishment from physical challenges. I do, if that physical challenge involves Nordstrom’s Semi Annual sale, or maybe hot yoga. Or walking the entire length of North Carsons Street in Pittsburgh while wearing five inch heels in the middle of winter. Those are things I can get behind, enjoy, and feel accomplished after finishing. Hiking steep mountains brings no pleasure to me. I can’t enjoy the views because I’m too busy having an anxiety attack that something venomous will bite me or I’ll slip and break my ankle, and I obsessively mentally size up my hiking mates wondering who could make me a temporary splint and carry me to safety. Not that safety means anything in Indonesia, where eight year olds regularly drive motorcycles.
Besides my constant worst case scenario panic, I greatly overestimated my own capabilities in the trekking up the side of a mountain department. My physical fitness was maybe on par with the thirty year old cultural facilitator who smoked five cigarettes during our ascent, and rides his motorcycle anywhere more than five minutes away. All the CFs were complete dolls, of course, as I whined my way up the side of the mountain. My CF, Ido, was completely babying me and kept trying to carry my backpack for me (he and my ibu could make a club for “Emily is Incompetent Believers”). And when we got to the checkpoint and they told me it was only half way, they prevented me from throwing myself off the side of the mountain. It was then that I decided that half a mountain was plenty of mountain for me. One of the CFs, Heru, and I hung out at the checkpoint for about an hour- I got to listen to Neutral Milk Hotel and The Decemberists while looking at some spectacular views. I’m pretty certain that I’m the only person to get to say that. Heru and I discussed one of my favorite topics, education availability and affordability in our respective countries while chilling on some rocks. Then we happened to bump into two of his friends from Malang, who hike Panderman every Sunday, and we hung out and ate some white bread slices (of course) and headed back down the mountain. The walk down was fantastic. I was only mildly panicked about falling, I could enjoy the serious lushness of my surroundings, and also, uh, so much easier. Heru and I walked back a different way and wove through a series of mountain villages, which I really enjoyed. And then, Heru insisted we should buy ice cream. He is a man after my own heart. We caught up with his friends again (they had ridden their motorcycles down to the main street) and ate Nasi Pecel (rice, stewed greens, spicy peanut sauce). Heru even shared his fried egg with me.
I’m glad I listened to myself and called it satisfied at half a mountain. I spent twenty minutes at the checkpoint battling between feeling like a slacker for not finishing (type A complex), and being real with myself that I wasn’t actually enjoying the uphill battle at all- and that’s totally fine. Don’t have to be good at everything, don’t have to like everything. By the time I got home, I was filthy and ready for the best mandi of my life. I got a fair share of sun “shine”, but I look much better than some of PCTs who are covered in bug bites and scratches or walking with twisted ankles.
In the theme of Say Yes to Everything Sunday, I also tried durian, this mysterious fruit that I have smelled from afar (think rotting fruit smell. That’s natural for durian). It’s a soft, pulpy fruit inside a spiky, hard rind. And I did not care for it. Truly the first time Say Yes to Everything has disappointed me. I was squatting on the floor with my ibu, making horrible faces and repeating, tidak suka tidak suka as I tried to choke down a piece. It was similar to my experience with Cheez Its, if you’ve ever seen me drawn to them (like a moth to a cheezy flame) only to be utterly repulsed once I tasted one. Every time I hope I’ll actually like them. I wanted to like the durian, as if it would be some physical manifestation of my integration into Indonesia. Sadly, durian and I are not meant to be. Durian and challenging mountain hikes will be on the shelf until further notice.
April Overview, or, Sorry I’m a Horrible Blogger/Family Member/Internet Huntress, or, This Be Long
Remember when I always knew everything about current events, and had a fresh youtube video to share, and was generally so relevant? I’m the complete opposite now, and it’s pretty great. But I am planning on buying an internet modem flash drive, possibly soon, which will hopefully make it easier for me to Skype with family, respond to emails, and learn about important developments in the presidential race. As it is now, I get internet service about once a week, either by going to a Warnet (internet café, Rp 2.500,00 for an hour of service) or sometimes picking up wi-fi at the University where we have PC training days.
I’ve gone from speaking zero Bahasa Indonesia to being able to hold conversations with my host family. I’ve made a lot of friends, both among my fellow trainees and my family and neighbors here. I live in a house with my Ibu and my sixteen year old sister Ida, who studies at a vocational high school for hair and beauty. But there are three other families that live around us, with a shared courtyard of sorts, so I feel like my family is much bigger. All of the children have grown up together, and everyone is in and out of each other’s house. I’m still not 100% sure who the toddler who wanders around belongs to, because everyone feeds her and plays with her. There’s an incredible sense of community here that I really treasure. I think it’s very telling of Indonesian culture that the words for mother and father- ibu and bapak, are the same words you use in greetings and in place of Mr. and Mrs.
Travel to Indonesia & Trainee Orientation
Travel took about three days, maybe four- we never experienced Tuesday. I can assuredly say that the flight from Thailand to Jakarta had the best dressed staff, and a propensity for pink and orange that I appreciated. We landed in Surabaya late Wednesday night. Walking through the airport and getting into buses was surreal. We had Peace Corps staff with us at that point, thankfully. We were all in such a daze that I don’t think we could’ve made it much further on our own. Outside the airport, some of the current PCVs were waiting for us with signs, and I think that was the most surreal part of it all. They were the ones we had talked to a lot on Facebook, and to see them in person was really a “this is happening” moment. Imagine being wrapped in a thick, wet, hot towel that smelled like clove cigarettes, and motorcycles driving around you in circles. That’s exactly what walking out of the Surabaya airport felt like.
In Surabaya, we had three days of orientation, language lessons, and cultural instruction. The hotel we stayed in was so swanky. I was lucky enough to get a wonderful roommate, Sarah, who is now one of my closest friends amongst the trainees. Every night I would attempt to do language homework but would wind up passing out on top of my laptop immediately, and Sarah always woke me up after a while so I could get in bed like a normal person.
My fellow trainees are such an interesting and diverse group of people. I think in total we’ve traveled to every continent (except Antarctica), hold a series of advanced degrees and other accolades, and have worked in every kind of field- from lawyers to congressional lobbyists to yoga teachers. I would say the group is pretty evenly split between recent college grads and volunteers who have already had careers, families, and lots of travel experience. I am, of course, the youngest person here. Not that shocking, I guess, for everyone who knows me and my continual position as the baby. Don’t worry, I’m still Mama Kitty.
Homestay & Training
On Sunday we drove from Surabaya to Malang and UMM, the university that coordinated our training homestays and provides our cultural facilitators. I hadn’t been nervous to meet my host family until I was in the car. My nervousness slowly surpassed my excitement. But getting out of the car, my family (and all the neighbors!) were so happy to meet me. My ibu was so excited I thought she was going to cry- she started hugging me right away and talking to me in Bahasa Indonesia—at this point I could pretty much only say my name, where I was from, and my numbers from one to 100.
I live in a small village with five other volunteers- A. and W., our “married couple,” who are so down to earth and funny and some of my favorite people both as individuals and an adorable couple, M., who I’m pretty sure I described to Michelle as “totally would’ve been a PAN, or maybe a Phi Tau” (oh man, is my youth showing by referring to my recent college life?), E., who served with AmeriCorps last year, and J., who worked as a reporter in Brooklyn for a while before moving across the country to Portland and becoming a yoga instructor (she recently told me that “never say never” is a pretty influential motto in her life). I am pretty attached to my cluster mates, to put it mildly. Being here has reminded me of just how extroverted I am, and I’m appreciative that they put up with my incessant neediness. Don’t worry, I don’t follow them around whining that I need a hug (yet)- I save that for Sarah and some of my other girl friends at Hub Days.
While in my training village, I go to language classes during the week from 8 in the morning till about 3:30 or 4. Once a week I have TEFL training with another village group. And 7 out of the 10 weeks, I go to UMM for Hub Day with all the volunteers in Batu for training on medical situations, travel, community integration, lain-lain (etc etc). Some Saturdays we have class or group excursions, like when we went to buy hapes (cell phones).
It’s been important to me to spend a lot of time with my family and neighbors. My first week here, I spent most evenings sitting in the front patio room with either the neighboring Ibus or the neighboring anak-anak (children). I brought some English language animal flashcards, so we did them first in English, then they taught me the Bahasa Indonesia names. My family and neighbors love to hear what I learned each day, and read over my vocab book. They also always want to help me with my PR (homework) but in Indonesia, helping typically means giving you the answers, so I tell them they can only check it after I’m done. In general, I want to be seen as accessible to my family and friends- if they’re watching TV, I’ll read in the living room with them (however, I am hooked on morning Indonesian gossip channels, and a soap opera called Abu-Abu dan Putih).
I feel so loved by my host family. The other night they asked me if I would come back and visit them after I’ve been assigned to my permanent site, and were like, “Don’t forget about us!” Forgetting them is impossible, of course. I was so nervous about making friends with my host family, pre-training. I thought the language barrier would be impossible to overcome. But right away, we had jokes to share- be it reenacting my surprise when a huge mouse ran into our front room and right at me, or the time they tried to teach me the word for “handshake,” and I misunderstood and thought it was a greeting, so I kept shaking hands with people while saying the word “handshake” to them.
In other news, it’s really freaking hot here. We’re so close to the equator, you can get a sunburn much easier than back home. I’m not sure if my ibu was more amused or horrified when I returned one day after a morning walk and was bright lobster red. I’ve adjusted/acclimated in a lot of ways. Right now, it’s nighttime, and I’m wearing a Gamma Chi hoodie and leggings, and I still feel kind of cool. I’d say I feel hot only 60% of the time, instead of the first week when I was constantly hot without any reprieve. Batu, where I currently live, is in the mountains, so there are both beautiful views and lovely breezes, with less humidity. That doesn’t mean I’m not a sweaty hot mess after my fifteen minute uphill walk to language class. And when I say uphill, I mean, Stairmaster got nothing for the glutes I am developing.
Well, I don’t really want to end this on a note about my glute muscles. So, I’ll say that the food is typically wildly spicy or sickeningly sweet, I’ve already eaten my fair share of goats and rabbits, and white rice three meals a day for a month. I’ve been to one wedding, an arisan (women’s club), and aerobics in the city’s downtown center. Every day in Indonesia is a delicious
Indonesia Bicara…
OH MY GOD I HAD A BEAUTIFUL ELOQUENT POST AND I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT.
Enraged.
Long story short (I’ll post the long story on Friday when I’m at UMM for Hub Day), I’m incredibly happy living in Indonesia. My host family is kind and so much fun (even though they possibly think I’m an idiot and don’t let me do much myself), my training group is the jam and the best to hang out with, I love learning the language (grammar geek out), and every day I’m amazed at the world I’m living in. More on Friday!
Staging!
I’m in DC at staging! It was a looooong day and tomorrow (and the subsequent days of flying) will be long. We got lots of information, received our passports, played ice breakers, etc etc.
Tomorrow we fly from DC to Bangkok (stop for refuel in Tokyo), spend the night in Bangkok, an 8 am flight from Bangkok to Jakarta (West Java), and then a flight from Jakarta to Surabaya (East Java). And then we’ll be in a hotel in Surabaya till about the 8th, getting shots and training before we meet our PST host families.
I love everyone who’s sent me sweet texts and messages and phone calls (and cried on the phone, cough, Caroline). I’ll check in hopefully by the 4th when I get to the Surabaya hotel.
It all fits… but what does it weigh???
I put off packing for as long as possible, but it’s finally done. Pretty much. I forgot to pack all my bottles of contact solution. But other than that- done! It’s all been accomplished between 1 and 3 in the morning. The last few days my body has just gotten super off whack and won’t fall asleep till 3, and then sleeping in till 10. I think it’s trying to prepare me for the 12 hour time change ahead of me.
I’ve got a wheely duffel backpack from High Sierra, that has approximately 8000 ways of being carried- wheel it, carry it on duffel straps, carry it by a hand strap, wear it as a backpack. And then the large BFD from Timbuk2, which really is insanely large. If you could actually fill this bag to capacity (which I don’t think is actually possible, there might be a space-time continuum rift at the bottom of this bag, it’s endless) I wouldn’t be able to carry it. Those will be checked, and I’ll be carrying-on a Phoenix pack, also from Timbuk2, and also Curiously Expandable.
So, what you got in that bag?
I’ve got a yoga mat, a world map (rolled up inside the mat!), some geography puzzles (unboxed and bagged), an inflatable globe, chapter books, animal fact flash cards, a stock of hair ties, headbands, razors, and sandwich baggies. And clothes. The top half of the bag has dress clothes in it.
Let’s see, inside the duffle you can see my hiking shoes and dress shoes, random bars of soap, my toiletries kit, a make up bag, gifts for my host families, and more clothes.
The toiletry kit is the jam. It’s also from Timbuk2, and it holds everything I needed and a few things I didn’t really need.
I obviously didn’t bring toiletries for 27 months, but I brought stuff for the first few months of training. I picked up a shampoo bar and a few other all natural necessities from Lush, including Tea Tree Toner (refreshing!) and a bottle of dry shampoo (lazy!). Look at all the compact packing. And the little mesh pocket at the top for hair scissors and emery boards and other things I need for a semblance of pulling myself together (as I type this in a GCC fleece jacket, fake glasses, and no makeup. I’m in public.)
AND I love this tech sleeve I also bought from Timbuk2. I swear I’m (sadly) not being sponsored by the company, I’m just obsessed with their products.
All those cords, so safely contained.
Does this mean I’m ready to go?
Host family gifts! (I have two sets, one for my 3 month training homestay and then my 2 year homestay). Thankful for tacky souvenir shops in Downtown Naptown. Historical Annapolis picture book, saltwater taffy, Old Bay!, and DC monument glitter stickers.
