A Tribute to Desa 'Dos and Laki-Laki Yang Nakal...

...and how much I love them.

The Hairdos
Since arriving in my village oh so many months ago, I have had a special appreciation for the creativity of boys' hair styles I encounter from day to day. One of my students could come in one day looking like this: 

And then the next day like this: 

Special note that Nidhom, my friend above, will often go to the bathroom with one hair style and come back to class six minutes later with another. Skill.

Below, one of my fav Gang Dua guys (Gang Dua is my street), Angga, will bike past my house with this rad 'do (check the red highlights):

And another day look like this:

Even more enjoyable is that most of my students cut each other's hair. Sometimes during school breaks. Or during class time when teachers don't show up.

Here are some other shots of the 'dos I've been able to capture so far. I regret this is a poor sampling. Most of the best 'dos are lost to the ages due to the boys' unwillingness to be photographed.  

I always enjoy running into the lines haircuts shown below as it reminds me of when my brother, Brian, was suspended from his Catholic High School for violating the dress code for just such a haircut.

Here...standard. Hopefully, Msgr. Francie Bellew has lightened up a bit since.

Not one of my village kids or students,
but this guy at Bromo had a truly enviable cut.

Cutting Them Down to Size
So unfortunate are the days when the administration does a random sweep, coming into my class with a pair of scissors to chop these carefully-groomed coiffes. I die a little inside as it's done. Last month, I actually yelped as a lovely faux hawk was mowed down in one careless swipe of the gunting (scissors).

For the remainder of my class, I did my best to reassure these once rambunctious remaja (teens). Faces down on desks and hands held on their heads to hide the remains of their once meticulously manicured manes, these lads look positively beaten after these sneak attacks.

Laki-Laki Yang Nakal, or Bad Boys
These boys who are supposed to be nakal (naughty) have become the light of my days (check upcoming May blog post on the equally, and arguably even more inspirational Indonesian girls/women I have had the privilege to know). In my madrasah, the disobedience and rebellion is pretty mild and manageable. Mostly, from the beginning, I could see some of the boys just starving to fit in, looking to the cooler, funnier, or smarter kids to guide how they should act. The cool guy with confidence would start a trend like wearing ties to school (not required of the uniform), and in a couple of days, most all the other boys would follow.

Ah, youth.

For the past two years, I've authoritatively stood by the nakal boys' desks as they were talking or doing something inappropriate until they stopped. I made them sing English songs in front of class if they were late. I gave special attention to the "trouble-makers" or "slower" students giving them smaller, easier tasks that they could do rather than disrupt class. I made them study question words (who, what, where, why, how) and basic vocab they should have learned six years ago, and every day I asked them the English meaning as I ran into them outside of class until they could respond with the correct answers.

[Insert commentary on disproportionate classroom attention based on gender here. It's very real in my school, and I was horrible at managing it].

Bangga, or Proud
Somehow, now, these madrasah boys are my heart. They mostly just need acknowledgement and to be told that they are smart, cool, funny, talented, and kind. My fellow PCV friend, Allyson, shared a story at our last conference of when she told one of her students that she was proud of him, and he responded that no one had ever told him that before. [Sound of heart breaking].

For tonight's homework: you are to tell someone you love why you are proud of them. 
  
The world obviously needs more of this, people.

You'd be amazed at what recognizing that these boys are smart or telling them that you missed them when they were absent does for their classroom attentiveness. However, due to my less-than-mediocre teaching ability, I seriously doubt they will remember the meaning of the word "when" for too long after I'm gone.

Meh. I'll call it a win anyway.

The Boys 

So, here are some of the madrasah boys I will not soon forget:

 

And here's a closing from two of my favorite village posse, Ifan and Agil, being their normal cool selves as they take off to play futsal in the rain. They thought they were being photographed instead of videoed...as did I, until I realized I didn't know what I was doing. 

Living the Dream

What a PCV Does in Her Spare Time
Yesterday after school, I settled in for a quick nap. I had about an hour before my fourth grade friends would start taking over my stoop for our weekly English LES. Before snoozing, I took some time to enjoy my inner sanctum - behind a closed bedroom door, shades drawn, and positioned in front of my fan on full blast. I indulged in three pre-packaged Mrs. Fields cookies* as I watched the final five minutes of a British mini-series, North and South, for the 17th time.

I’ve been doing this for the past week or so.

North and South (not to be confused with the Civil War mini-series starring Patrick Swayze) is a period piece about industrial England in the 19^th century. It also stars the actor who plays the loveable character Bates** from Downton Abbey, which, incidentally, is another British show I've spent a lot of my second Peace Corps year catching up on.

Aside: Ironically, living in a country with a loose attachment to copyright laws, I am a full season ahead of my American brethren in Downton. While I've had a couple of months to deal with the trauma of episode 5 (a real doozy, eh?), my family and friends at home are freshly coping.

It's only recently occurred to me that I’ve spent a considerable amount of my Peace Corps laptop viewing time watching these shows, as well as a plethora of other period pieces (thanks, ALV and Brianna).

After some reflection, I think the reason I prefer these shows to, say, reruns of 30 Rock, is because I try to steer clear of any visual reminders of familiar places that I won't be able to get to for another five months or so. I also try to steer clear of any reminder of the existence of bagels. Sometimes, it's just too upsetting.

These period pieces, however -  they make me feel all comfy inside and happy to go on with my day because sometimes the similarities between these movies and my life are striking. 

• Everyone is fully covered.
• There are horse and buggies.
• There is no hugging.
• Everyone is pretty much the same color. 
• Everyone calls each other by Mr., Mrs. , or Miss.
• Even casual conversation seems so formal sometimes. And I usually can't catch when there has been an insult. 
• Washing clothes and ironing takes forever, and, unfortunately, everything has to be ironed.
• There is a lot of fainting.
• Parties lack the rage-like qualities I'd prefer, but even in these formal worlds, life still finds a way to dance - whether it be via strictly choreographed ballroom moves or in aerobic routines performed to theme song from Titanic. 

Sadly, I don't have footage of the Titanic aerobics, but here is one of our standard senams to enjoy. 

• If you have a few conversations with someone of the opposite gender, you could very well find the whole town planning your wedding.
• And there are no bagels.

A rare mixing of the Downton cast I turn to for solace
and a visual of the city I try so hard to avoid.

Living the Dream
When I was 9 or so and home sick from school, my mom rented a couple of movies for me. They have since become my go-to viewing comfort in times of sickness. The couple of times I've been really under the weather here, I kept to this life-long ritual and invested the full eight hours watching the saga that is: Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea.***

A scrappy, loveable, book-loving orphan who finds family, love, and her way in life, set against the backdrop of a Canadian countryside. Sans all the dresses and the glass ceiling you can't help but keep knocking your head on - I always sort of felt this is the life I was meant to live.

I longed to be that young woman, living in a boarding house, always wearing her hair up, getting into amusing scrapes, riding her bicycle...to teach English...

Oh my.

There it is.

Short of smashing a slate over some boy's head or winning the Rollings Reliable Baking Powder story competition, turns out I'm living the life of that scrappy, loveable orphan!

Let's take a further look.  

  

We wear roughly the same clothes. 

Bicycles are how we get around.

We can often be found talking to ourselves. Flat Michael Cera, as well. 

Reading is considered weird.

 

There is a lot of same gender touching, whether you want it or not. 

Seasonal illness hits hard. In Canada, it's the croup. Here, it's the typhus and dengue. It wasn't until Flat Michael Cera coughed up the phlegm that he really began to improve.

 
 
We can partake in the joy of the seaside.

And, there you have it. I’m doing it! 

 Another dream achieved. 

Special Thanks
When times get dark here, there is really only one sure-fire cure: Flat Michael Cera photo shoot.

You did it again, FMC.**** Thanks to you and the kids of Gang Dua for helping me to keep living the dream.

 

 

Footnotes:  
*Thanks to Ma & Pa Fitz, Stamford Fitz's, Tesa, and Eva for making January 2013 the month of the Mrs. Field's cookie. This comes second only to November 2012 which will hence be known as the month that I ate my weight in Halloween candy. Special shout out to fellow NYC PCV, Bart, for mengantaring some of these baked goods from my brother's SoHo office all the way to Indonesia. 

**Ah, Bates. Although, there is that one unfortunate image I can't shake of his "naked, fleshy arm peeking over the blankets in his and Anna’s 'intimate' scene." Thanks to Lorene for capturing this jarring image in words. I had posted here, but I removed because it was scaring the children. 

***For those willing to sit through all eight hours of viewing (I made my poor brother, Michael, do this during one bout of illness), here are some treat guest appearances: 

• A grown up Scutt Farkus from A Christmas Story. Learning, after all these years, that his character name is Scutt, and not Scott, was some of the most interesting news I'd heard since discovering Mark-Paul Gossalaar's mother is from Bali (thanks for that one, JT).

• And some of the guys from Kids in the Hall - Dave Foley and Bruce McCulloch  

****As FMC was originally created and delivered by Trish, she does deserve some credit here.

One day, this will end

Back when I was running a lot of races, I usually approached the long ones by breaking them into thirds. The first third was the warm-up, during the second I thought, “OK, let’s really get this thing going now,” and the last third was when I had to go to my bag of tricks and reach in to see what I was really made of. 

Upon discussing the length of Peace Corps service with people before I left, I shared this approach to the time I’d be away to give people perspective that 27 months really wasn’t very long at all. 

Speaking of babies - here is my host's sister new baby, Kania! 

The thirds. Or three nine-month stints of service. 

Three back-to-back Peace Corps babies, if you will.

And, here I am – suddenly finding myself in the second to last trimester of my third PC baby. 

I try to avoid the countdown trap as it implies I can’t wait to leave, and that is not at all the case. But having the end in sight certainly does prompt me to savor my remaining time more.

Carpe Diem

One of the first journal entries I had my eleventh grade write last year was on the theme of “Carpe Diem”, as it was loosely related to the theme of a narrative we read in class. I introduced the phrase thinking it’d be news to them, but I saw the ears of all eleventh grade boys jerk to attention from their plastered positions on their desks. Turns out, “Seize the Day” is the title of an Avenged Sevenfold song.*

After trying to convince 16-year-olds that it was Horace and not some American metal band who coined the phrase, I wrote an example of a journal entry on what I would do if I knew there was no tomorrow and today was our last day. 

“If there was no tomorrow, I would call all my family and friends to remind them I love them and that I am thankful for them. I would give all of my money to help other people enjoy their last day. I would eat a lot of candy and cake, and I would ride a motorcycle.** What would you do?” 

I braced myself for journal entries revealing the hidden character and deepest dreams of a cell phone, FB, and punk hair-do generation of East Javanese teens. Across two classes, I got about seventy-five of the following entries:

• I will ask forgiveness to my parents and friends

• I will pray in mosque 

• I will ask forgiveness to God

BO-ring!

What a bust.***

The End

Anyway, with my last third in full swing and the end of the world slated for today, I thought I’d take the opportunity to reflect a bit on the end of things. In addition, I will be making an “End of the World” banner and having a sleepover at a friend’s desa. Nothing says end of the world like Crayola markers and jammies.

In reflecting on the short six months I have left here, I can’t help but selfishly prioritize my time to check things off my own personal Peace Corps Bucket List (PCBL). Sure, I want to get some serious volunteer and leadership-type projects done, but things like scheduling an opportunity to finally see my counterpart without her jilbab (PCBL  #1) or getting my hands on an Indomaret**** worker T-shirt (PCBL #5) are definitely occupying more of my thoughts now than they probably should.  

I have also started taking mental snapshots of memories I want to thumb through when I'm back home just thinking things over while eating a meatball parm sandwich…

• Hanging on the porch with Ila and Ayuk after school, rapping about our day or making some crafts and laughing over the latest dumb thing I did

• Getting trapped in the mushola with a few of my students during a heavy rainstorm, sitting around playing the guitar and singing songs together

• Asking a class I visited if they had any questions for me. After silence for a minute, one 8th grader raised her hand, looked me dead in the eye and said, "You are very beautiful." Obviously, she doesn't get out much.

• Skyping with my American family on Thanksgiving at school as Mbak Nur and Mbak Ira come on-screen behind me trying on their new I Love NY T-shirts

• Waiting to share the special moment of viewing the last Twilight installment in stadium seating with PC pals who appreciate how great bad things can be

I left Taylor and Bri's red eyes b/c it makes 
them look more like vampires.

• While in another city, escaping a mob of junior high kids who took an excessive amount of photos and wanted me to sign their school ties. And then that feeling of coming home to my friends in my desa who know me and no longer treat me like a piece of white bule meat that’s up for grabs. 

• Eating lunch beside a dirty canal after a Jalan Santai and singing One Direction songs with some random elementary kids across the way

 

My students

• Listening to the 36^th English speech of the day, where a contestant quoted a local commercial to support her argument that madrasahs provide the best education. “Madrasahs are 'my sun, my moon, my guiding star'”, she said. 

I enjoyed two things about this: 1) that this 9^th grader in a jilbab had no idea she was indirectly quoting a Barry White song and 2) the fact that amazing things like this happen so often here.

I thought of Barry and how he might enjoy this also, and I got unreasonably verklempt.

Sometimes, I feel like I need all the remaining days of this last third just to emotionally prep myself for those final moments of saying good-bye to this life I've made here and the people I love. I've alluded to this before, but leaving here will most certainly be one hot mess - the likes of which I’ve never seen, really. 

It will be a true test of what I’m really made of.

Good news is I’ll have these guys below to come home to, which will certainly cushion the blow.

Carpe Diem, and Merry Christmas!

 

 

*Avenged Sevenfold is one of the few American bands that has gained a devoted following here in my village. Prior to setting foot on Indonesian soil, I had never heard of them. I also much prefer David Moscow's rendition of a "Seize the Day" tune:  

Why Christian Bale conveniently omits this from his acting credits, I'll never know. On the other hand, I'd guess Max Casella enjoys touting this fact.

** The strict Peace Corps rule of volunteers not being allowed to ride motorcycles being moot at the end of the world. Right, Ken? Right?!

***Except for this one gem: “If there is no tomorrow I want to round the world. I want to go to the space to look the moon and earth from space and I want to hold star in my hand”. Way to be, Panggih!

**** Indomaret is the local convenient store here, similar to a 7-Eleven but without the slushies. For Wappingers Falls folk, think your neighborhood E-Z. I certainly do. 


  
NOTE: I hope one day I can avoid these notes referencing tragic world events as related to my crummy blog, but this entry was started and planned long before last week. I, in no way, wanted to be insensitive to all that has happened recently in Newtown. 

There is nothing I can add here except that even living as far away as one can possibly be, it is still overwhelmingly upsetting and spirit-crushing. Saya ikut berduka.