Other teachers may have some ideas

I have been working all day on my plans for the upcoming term. I have to teach kids as young as third grade and have been trying like mad to think of something that I can do with them. I would like to do a unit on holidays either religious or secular. I have the idea that I can spend at least part of the term on the "day of the dead" holiday, but would also like to do something about Ramadan--perhaps using the first part of the term for the latter and the last part of the term for the former. Any ideas on how to make this accessible to young children? I'm all ears.

I was asked a question about posting a picture of Indonesian money, I can do that, soon. By the way, the rupiah is now losing value and is back to its pre-july 20th rate. That's good for me, but not so good for the country. I was also asked about geckos. Yes, I see them all the time. They are, after all, "friendly and everywhere." They do not look at all like their avatars in American television commercials.

I did see the tail of a very large lizard in one of the canals that seem to line all Sumatran roads. It scurried fast and so I don't know what it was, but it was definately a lizzard of some sort.

I did not see monkeys on this trip to Toba--a major disappointment. Where they were, I have no idea.

Ramadan began last Saturday, but I will not begin my fast until this Saturday. I'll let you know how it goes.

Back to Toba, back from Toba

J. and I found transportation to and from Toba in the form of a taxi. It was actually cheaper than the last trip which was considerably shorter. The weather was cool by Indonesian standards and gray and J. did a lot of sleeping--which inspired a song. We mainly lounged around, eating three square meals a day off the Niagara (pronounced NEE-a-Gar-a) hotel menu. We more or less tried everything once, and some things twice. On the night of my birthday the two of us went to the hotel's own private disco and sang karoake--we were the only two in the disco making it considerably less emabarrassing.

We also went and paddled around the lake in a swan shaped paddle boat. Leaving that venue a man came to me and practically begged me to buy something from his little store. Of course, he wanted to know where I am from. He then asked if I am a Christian, and I said yes, and he said, "good, Muslem bad." He then asked J. if she were a Christian and she said "no, Muslim." He looked a little embarrassed to say the least. Nevertheless we gave in and bought to touristy t-shirts.

People have different responses when I say that I am American, most seem excited. I was sitting in the hot tub at the hotel pool and a busload of teenagers arrived. Their teacher came up to me and asked to take my picture. He then pointed to his students and said, "they want to meet you." So I went over and shook hands and told them my name. Because no one has ever heard of Minneapolis I just told them that I was from Chicago. Judging from their reactions, I am not sure that they are aware of that city either. They all wanted to pose for pictures with me and I just sort of tolerated it and eventually begged to excuse myself.

A man who worked in the hotel stopped J. and asked if she were Acehnese which she took to be a sign that her Bahasa Indonesia was at such a level so as to be confused with a native Indonesian. People are very curious about her origens as well. He also asked if I were Spanish which we think must have to do with the fact that he came to clean the room when we were listening to French music. He asked if I were French, but I understood only the word "French" and thought he was referring to the music, so I said "yes." Over the span of 24hours he must have conflated the two nationalities. That's the best I can offer by way of explanation. I can see no other reason why someone would assume me to be of Spanish descent. I first knew something was up when he addressed me in the corridor saying, "Buenos Dias!" He asked J. about this while she was in the hallway on her way to meet me somewhere. When she told him I was American, he said "Really?!"

I am in school now trying to come up with my plans for the new term. So far I've done nothing but blog. Time to work.

pictures of Maimoon Palace and street kids

Hi guys,

These are pictures of the city, Maimoon Palace, the legendary cannon, the sultan's dais and street children of Medan. I shall not steal the limelight from the birthday boy. Have a good weekend to all.
- J.

GUest Post: Orphanage (finally, after much persuasion!)

If not for day 4 of the birthday week, this post might not have happened. I guess my bad habit of procrastinating irritates our dear birthday boy.

Yesterday, you should have seen how his face lighted up upon seeing a package with his name on it. He ripped open the package and started devouring the candies like a 7-year-old, smiling. Gummi bears, twizzlers, choc bars! I wish someone would send me a magic package too! He was feeling generous and started sharing the twizzlers to the major irritants of the staff room too. Oh, and he could be a good marketing agent for that pack of ciggies. Thanks to the sender of that package for I wouldn't have seen that side of him if not for your generosity.

About the Orphanage....

I came up with a service learning program last year for the students. I thought it would be good for them, the ignorant spoilt brats. They were divided into groups where they had different duties to perform during the visit. Some came up with an art and craft demo, performed song and dance items, introduced games etc. Some came with beans and wanted to teach the orphans how to plant them. They came thinking that these orphans do not go to school and are poor.

I made them write journals everyday during the preparation week. They were embarrassed when they reflected on their ignorance. (only a small number of them...and they were non-medanese students).

I made everyone contribute something for the orphans. These orphans lost their parents in the 2005 Nias Earthquake. COntribution became some sort of a competition amongst medanese parents. On the first day, we saw mothers carrying 2 boxes of dried foodstuff. The next day, the number increased. By the end of the week, parents came with brand new blankets and foodstuff enough to feed all the homeless in Indonesia. There are also those who think the orphanage is a dumping ground for their unwanted old, horrible clothes. Some even gave used undergarments! It took us days to repack everything. There was a nice parent,a Malaysian, who prepared sandwiches with her daughter.

On the day before the trip, we were sad to find out that 6 children from the orphanage we wanted to visit, had pneumonia and doctors said it wasn't safe to visit. So, with the help of the same parent, we contacted an NGO in Medan who happened to own another orphanage which houses Nias orphans. We were very lucky.

It was a long drive. Almost an hour- through potholes and earthy roads. We were on a big bus and it was difficult to enter those small lanes. We had to walk in for the bus was much too big for the lane.



The orphanage was situated somewhere rural- the same route we take to go to the mountains. It wasn't in a big building. It was like a village of orphans. They had a small house where they gathered for prayers and meals. The children live in groups of 4/5 in separate houses. The condition wasn't too favourable. Mosquitoes were swarming, children look dirty, the restrooms weren't clean. The orphans were very independent. The older ones look after the younger ones. They had duties and were very polite.





My students, of course, were restless. They were fanning themselves, asking the a/c to be switched on. Of course the room wasn't air-conditioned. Some were sulking so bad and asked to go home. They looked so uncomfortable and were perspiring so bad. However, some were really good, talking to the orphans, exchanging stories.At the end of the visit, they performed for us with such immense energy and passion, we were all embarrassed with our performance. It was a fruitful trip for me. In Singapore, the orphanages are like resorts.



I went to the other orphanage we were supposed to visit, 2 weeks after. The 6 children with pneumonia were quarantined. This orphanage seemed to house younger children.I noticed all the girls had cropped hair. When I looked closer, I saw that they had bad scalp and skin. They told me some had lice so they had to cut all their hair short.



They were constructing extensions to the building and clothes were hung where there were dust and dirt. This orphanage seem to receive more help from the public, said my student's parent. The space is bigger, though they still sleep in one crammed room. 4-5 children sleep in one bed.



There were 5 who weren't victims of the earthquake. They were almost sold to Malaysia and the authorities handed them to the orphanage. Their identities were unknown, there weren't any documentation for us to know their real ages. The youngest one was about 11 month old. He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.



I did ask about adoption. They do not allow it but they welcome sponsorship. They are still in need of funds for the children's education so they welcome the public to sponsor a child's education.

I presented them with a painting done by my friend from Singapore. They were curious and started crowding around it.

Birthday Week; Day Four--the turning point

Day Four of any Birthday Week is pivotal. Everything hinges on Day Four. Tonight my mates and I will hit the town which means that we will probably try to make it to two different places because in Medan there are no more than 3 places we could go and one of them did not impress me at all last time--not that any of them are impressive. The driver to Toba will arrive at 7am but no matter, it is not Day Four of Birthday Week everyday. My roommate N. leaves for Bali in the a.m. But caution will be thrown to the wind!

In ten minutes the first SLC (Student Led Conference) will commence. I am ever so eager.

Gosh, I have nothing else to say. I will post again when time permits, it may be several days. J. may post later today, if she knows what's good for her.

See jamison's comments; beyond satire

Thanks to Jamison for providing the link the Beyond Satire blog. See that blog before reading this.It's the first time I've read him but it was well worth it.

I have read about the case of three christians who have been convicted in connection with a terrorist attack that killed 200 Muslim Indonesians. That this is a concern to those on the American right is of no surprise. My parents paraphrased Bill Clinton to me as saying that the Republican Party has an "ideology" while the Democratic Party has a "philosophy." The difference being, apparently, the difference between rigidity and flexibility. He has made this point before. I think that may be true in reference to the current administrations policies vis a vis Iraq, et cetera, but not true of the politcal machine that is the Republican spine. They are without an ethos except the will to power. There is no consistency in their principles, if they have any. They are hypocrites in the extreme. The President mouths praise for Islam, but his supporters are ignorant and fearful and believe this to be a battle between religions, their's (the good one) and Islam (the bad one). That explains the Sophistic concern for fair trials for Christian terrorists here, in Indonesia, and not at home or Guantanamo Bay. Obviously, if they bought their arguments regarding due process in the case of Christian terrorists, they would have to apply them towards all terrorists. They don't. They must be aware of their inconsistency. They did not object to arms sales to the Indonesian government when these were being used in Timor, it is only now, when so-called Christians may be executed that they have made irregularities in Indonesian trial a cause celebre.

Birthday Week; Day 3

The festivities continue. Last night, not the previous night as advertised, we ate at Socrates--a vegetarian restaurant. I was skeptical, not of vegetarianism which strikes me as sensible, because I was hungry times 10 and wanted something familiar. I envisioned elaborate dishes served inside coconuts laden with tofu, and did not feel up to it. I tell you, Socrates was delicious! The mock meat was completely meat like, so much so that if I had to eat at Socrates everyday, I would be delighted. It has to be eaten to be believed. In fact, if I held a different job, I could eat at Socrates everyday. They offer a lunch delivery menu that is delivered to your home or office daily for about 24 US dollars per month. They do not offer the service for dinner it is my misfortune to report.

Tonight I may go see an Inodnesian movie about which I know nothing. The movie theatres here offer bascially Hollywood crap. Last friday, just to go to a movie, J. and I saw "The Lady in the Water." It was terrible, no offense to fans of the movie, but J. fell asleep and I wish that I had. Here, as in Singapore where I saw the equally awful Pirates of the Carribbean 2, one buys their exact seats; it is not general admission. In Singapore, my roommate N. ordered a hotdog and a rootbeer and received two pepsis instead. I ordered popcorn and received kettle corn. I have been told that salty popcorn, which I have always adored, is hard to come by, but the theatre last week did have it, and while it was the salty butterless variety often found at American high school sporting events, it was a breath of fresh, salty air--I had not had popcorn in ages.

Tomorrow are the Student Led Conferences. Students compile a portfolio of their work throughout the term and then present it to both me and their parents. This is in lieu of report cards. There are benefits to this approach, but deficits as well. Some students will lead well rehearsed presentations while others will be uncomfortably short and shoddy. I am to say nothing, but I think that I will ignore that instruction and give guidance when needed.

I have begun following the sports teams back home via internet. I can check in on the Twins everyday and the Vikings weekly. I read up everything I can. Things are settling into a routine, finally. I believe that was to be expected. When I first arrived everything about Medan was interesting and different. Now nothing surprises. I have grown used to the environment. It's a more comfortable feeling, but not nearly as inspiring. I wrote a lot when I first got here and now not as much, but am reading more. Medan does not have much to offer in way of culture. There is no theatre, there are few venues for musicians. By contrast, Jakarta is, I'm told is thriving culturally. When I arrived in the Jakarta airport on my way here, N. and I waited to board in a hot, small room populated by local musicians who were waiting as well. They played guitars, violins, and one guy blew through one nostril which produced the sound of horn, actually. They were very good. The musical style resembled Hawaiin folk, but it had, as one would expect, Asian elements. I have not seen that sort of thing in Medan.

The popular music enjoyed here is really bad American music. Sentimental, but meaningless, ballads are adored. Cabbies love the Scorpians (who are German, no?). It's insufferable. The dvd's are pirated and cheap but also edited. Some scenes are taken out clumsily. As I begin to read about Medan's history I will post my findings. I hope to get to Jakarta soon, but travel is not so easy as advertised. I will post tomorrow if time allows, but otherwise, my next post will be next week--post Birthday.

Lastly, if anyone is still reading, I am going to try my best observe Ramahdan. That is I will fast from sunrise to sunset. Many non Muslims do this for the experience. That should lead to some interesting observations, I hope.

Birthday Week; Day Two

Still, I await presents.

In other news, I went to Palace of the Sultan of Deli yesterday. There is still a Sultan of Deli although he exercises no power. The palace was constructed, or reconstructed in 1888 using Dutch architects. I took pictures and will some day post them (yes, I know, don't hold your breath). The palace houses one half of a cannon that was used in a war between the territory that later became Deli in 1612 and Aceh. J. told me a legend that she had heard about the cannon that went like this: There was a princess of the Sultanate that would become Deli but which wasn't Deli in 1612 (I don't know what it was called but bought a book on the history of Medan which should tell me more). She fell in love with an Acehnese prince and when their union was objected to, she turned herself into a cannon. The cannon is supposedly magical and flies to far off places when it wants to. I am sure that she will correct my recollection of the legend she told me but, nevertheless, I think that was the jist of her version. When we got to the palace we heard another version which made a little more sense. There was this war between this particular Sultanate and Aceh. There were three brothers (princes, I think) and one of them went missing. This cannon that they were using (of Portuguese origen) fired continuously throughout day and night and it was assumed that the missing brother had transformed himself into the cannon. Some people here take this seriously so I tried not to laugh. Anyway, people still come to this place to give offerings to the cannon--which in this version, too, has magical powers. The other half is in the mountains near Berastagi in a region which is Muslim and has had a good relationship with the Sultanate. The cannon was also supposed to have fired all the way to that location, which is some distance.

This is a superstitious place. During my first month here, a girl committed suicide in Sun Plaza (the main mall of Medan). People stayed away for a short while, I'm told, for fear that she would haunt the place. J. pointed out that it is inconsistent for Muslims to give offerings to a magical cannon, it is idolotry. I've read that Indonesians have tended to blend Islam into local tradtions and perhaps this is one example.

We could not go to the Mosque given time restraints, and it has been rather hot again lately.

Next week will be largely post free as I will be in Toba and not near any internet connection. Tomorrow I will post if there is time. I keep pressuring J. to post and post photos but she tends to forget things and has been very busy. I assure it will happen someday.

Birthday Week, Day One

This is the first day of Birthday Week, a holiday celebrated worldwide though few of the particpants are aware of either me, or the fact that they are participating. This morning, all around the globe, young and old alike partook in sacred rituals that, I say, are small, and sometimes grand, gestures to the week that preceded my birth. It is this preceding week that is the cause for celebration; the week following my Birthday is, for some, a time of mourning.

Getting others to admit to this holiday can be something of a challenge. Naturally, I would expect a series of gifts given in daily succession with each one topping the last both in symbollic meaning and in monetary value. Alas, I am lucky if I get socks, and while I don't hold that against anyone in particular, I do hold it against J.

I will be attending the Palace today and J. will tell me the history and legend of the place. The Grand Mosque is across the street, and if we have time for J. to go home and change into clothes appropriate, (we just decided to do this, so she would not be allowed to be wearing a sleeveless shirt, or wear a skirt; and she would have to cover her head) we may go in there as well; otherwise, another time. We are then going to a vegetarian restaurant called Socrates.

When the educational testing elite of Singapore were here last August, they took those teachers who monitored the test (including J.) to this place. The Singaporeans have a habit of speaking with absolute authority on issues they know nothing about (well, the ones I've met, J. excluded, of course). I received a text from her that night asking how one is supposed to pronounce Socrates. She wrote, "I've always said Saw-kr-tees and this person is telling me it's So-Crates." I texted back that she was, indeed, correct. She wrote, "I thought so, but she seemed so sure about it, I started to doubt myself." It's funny how that happens, how we can be talked out of the correct opinion by strong-willed ignorant people, particularly if no one in the crowd will back you up. For me personally, I don't think I would have let it go. I would have insisted to this person that it is not "So-Crates." I mean, if it were, the film "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" would not have been funny, right? Oh yes that's right, it wasn't.

Birthday week greetings and donations can be made or pledged in the comments section. Contact my parents for information about how to deposit money directly into my account.

M.O. revisited

The teacher who was promptly dismissed and the retained in a matter of three hours was hardly given due process. In fact, his plane ticket was purchased prior to any investigation into the facts of the matter. The alleged victim had told his father a rather bald faced lie about the events of the day. The father became enraged and called the school. The powers that be reacted by dimissing the teacher without asking questions of other students who were witness to the episode in question. Those questions came later and the evidence squared with the teacher's version of the story. Parents of other children were then asked to prevail upon the father of the boy who had exaggerated the source of his injury. The father calmed down, and the teacher was allowed to stay.

What is the "M.O."? As I indicated earlier, this town is run by a few powerful interests. Call it what you will, but it functions like a political machine, or, yes, mafia. This what was once called the "Third World" and this is not that unusual. The particular flavor of these particular syndicates is conditioned by the history of the Chinese community in this area. The school might be different in Jakarta, but these organizations would be there as well, a different flavour, however.

Power outages are common, and earlier, as I was blogging, we had another one. The school has a generator and so things were running again within minutes, but the internet is slow. That's happened before and it can be frustrating. I'm sure the earlier post was more interesting, but it's lost. That's how things are here, and you get used to it.

Dogs are cowards

Back in the States, I used to tutor Somali students, helped them with their high school homework, et cetera. Once I was editing a young girl's essay for a college scholarship. Her story was moving, and strange. It was about how she'd been seperated from her mother during the war. How soldiers had stormed into her home and shot her aunt along with newborn niece. How her mother had been at work and roadblocks kept her from returning. How she was taken by an uncle to a refugee camp in Kenya, went to school there, and suffered for two years. It was about how one day, she received word that she needed to find a telephone and stay there, that her mother would call that number. Her mother called and said that she was going to America. She would send for her daughter as soon as she could. Two months later, this young girl was on her way to New York City, and from there to Minneapolis.

At the begining of her story she wrote about life in Somalia. She said that she would try to avoid gangs and other thugs to and from school. She said she and her friends would sometimes encounter dogs on the roads home from school. She used the following phrase when explaining how they handled that situation, "We would see the dogs growl, then we would stone them." In my head I held the image of this gentle girl, and others like her, pelting a dog to death with stones. I asked, "you killed it?" "What? No, we throw stones and he runs away. Dogs are cowards."

There are a few dogs on the streets of Medan. I see them most often at night as I walk back from J.'s. I saw one, he had no interest in me, but I remembered this story. I picked up a rock (there are no shortage of loose rocks in Medan) and was prepared to test the theory that dogs are cowards. He saw me but just moved on. I was glad of that.

Another night J. and I walked past a stray just sleeping in the road. We didn't even see him until we were right on top of him. J. was startled and I instructed her to sneak. She said, "is he sleeping?" I said, "yes. We had better let him lie."

Don't tell me there's no "m.o."

Last night, as the Basketball session was ending my assistant was called in to talk with the principal and director. He, having long fingernails (not extremely long but in need of a trim) had inadvertantly scratched a small student while breaking up a fight. The parents of that student were very angry and this teacher was told, that for his own protection, he would be sent home--that very night. A wave of uneasiness spread. We said, 'goodbye' and J. and I went to an Indian restaurant both finding the entire episode beyond explanation. An hour later he phoned to say that the matter was cleared up and that he was staying, and unpacking. How the matter was resolved I still don't know, but the whole "for his protection" bit suggests something about some of the parents that send kids to this school.

The Medanese Chinese do very well here, but never feel safe enough from the locals. There are 'syndicates' and I needn't say much more about this.

The Indian food, by the way, was spectacular although J. says it pales in comparison to what is available in Singapore or Jakarta--not to mention India, I'm sure. The Indian population here is quite small and while this was the best Indian restaurant in Medan, it was also the only.

J.'s hospital bills, which I paid for, due to her having gone to the hospital before she could get to her bank, and which I will be reimbursed for eventually, will prevent us from travelling off Sumatra over the break but we will go back to Toba. We had only 24 hours there the first time and this time, with more time, we should be able to do and see more. The break is only a week anyway, and the thought of extensive travel or time in an airport seems less relaxing than a 4 hour drive and days on end of what was once fashionably, though annoyingly, called "downtime." After this term, "downtime" seems like "uptime" to me.

The english language newspaper "The Jakarta Post" had many stories regarding the five year anniversary of 9/11 which seemed to come directly from American news services. I wonder about the mid-term elections back home and how the anniversary was cynically spun in the campaigns. I am not curious to know, I can guess. I do wonder how I can vote being so far away. I read an essay about Singapore last night which discussed the lack of political engagement in the country. While being an extremely successful capitalist nation, it is also a one party controlled nation and has always been. While censorship has been relaxed in recent years, few take advantage to push for more plurality in the policies of the nation. This is anathema to notion that liberal market practices bring with them few social constrictions. So there's that to consider.

Post to promise future posts

No time just now, but today I should be able to relay one or two interesting stories. Jun has also promised to post on her own whenever she feels like it and that will probably contain pictures and concern the orphanages (trips to which for me will probably take place in the next term). We have only 6 days of classes remaining and so time is of the essence. J. is back and feeling well. I will be guest appearing in her primary classes today so that I can accompany the drama teacher on guitar as she leads them in singing children's songs. My first gig in some time.

Very thrilled with the Vikings success the other day, I was able to check the score periodically that morning on the internet and saw pics of the new uniforms which I don't think look too terrible. More later.

13 clocks striking at once

Ben Franklin once talked about the difficulty of the original American colonies unifying by comparing it to the difficulty of getting thirteen clocks to strike the same hour simultaneausly. Clockwork did not run like clockwork early on and so, because there was no universal point with which to compare a clock, and because clocks would lose time rather easily, the likelihood of thirteen running on the same time at the same time was slim. In my school no one clock seems to be set to any other. Thus, one can enter a class believing it to be noon only to see that the classroom's clock says 12:05. Since that class has been operating on the assumption that their clock is correct, one finds themselves with shorter period than scheduled. It would seem that this is an easy fix, but no fix is in the making.

The Minnesota Vikings begin their season tomorrow morning my time. Of course, there is no way for me to see this game and I don't remember the last time I missed one. This one I will miss on several levels. It's not exactly homesickness I am feeling, but...

Everyone else here expresses feelings of homesickness from time to time--even the Singaporeans who are but a short flight away. I have avoided those feelings mostly. I don't miss driving, I don't miss much of the lifestyle, but I've cared about the Vikings as long as I can remember, and I always loved fall in Minnesota.

It is raining here today. I asked about when the rainy season begins and was told by a colleague that there is no noticeable rainy season. It rains periodically all year round. I wouldn't mind if rained all day today, I could go home earlier.

Watched "Dirty Pretty Things" last night. It's a story that follows two illegal immigrants in London. Very good. I reccomend it.

Food questions answered

First, I don't take a lunch to school as there is no refrigerated place for me to keep it and i don't do too much cooking anyway. We do not have an oven, I don't know of anyone who does, and, as you can imagine, if we did have an oven we would likely use it sparingly. We do have two gas burners and so everything we do cook is fried. There are many little shops that are sort of like convenience stores in America, but family owned. At some of these places one can buy frozen foods like chicken wings and french fries and so on. There are slightly bigger versions of these stores as well and they will carry some vegetables and crackers and toilet paper and the like. There are also enormous supermarkets and these have everything from shirts and socks to fresh bread and deli foods. The problem is finding things without being able to ask questions.

One day I was at Hypermart (it is aptly named) and looking for caeser salad dressing. No luck. They had creamy french and ranch and that's all. The next time I looked they had nothing. There is a shop called Mr. Ben and that has some spices and other things that one cannot find at the other stores. j. spent a week looking for cranberry juice and never found it. Mr. Ben's is the only place one can get tortillas, basil, and cranberry juice--though the week we looked, they were out.

The big grocery stores are like big Target stores back home, though not as upscale, if you will.

We have begun to receive the english language newspaper The Jakarta Post. Not such a good paper but it is good to have. Indonesia has been cited by the World Trade Organization as the 135th best country in which to do business--another way to put it would be to say that it is one of the worst countries in which to do business. Number One? Singapore, who else?

my fact checker; et cetera

Thanks to J. for posting and for correcting me on the facts involving the plane crash that took the life of our late govenor. I had first heard the story on the first full day I spent in Medan over a Pizza Hut lunch with my neighbor who is not so easy to understand and who ends most sentences by laughing. When someone does that, I feel some pressure to laugh as well even though I'm not at all amused and see no reason to be. She has a habit of describing situations as offering always three things--the third thing being "everything." "Oh you must go to Sun Plaza. They have KFC, Pizza Hut, everything!" Or, "You will love 'Traders! You can drink beer, get steak, everything!" She is really a very lovely woman, very nice and helpful but one finds himself at pains to converse with her.

J. is in Singapore visiting family and attending a wedding for the weekend. I'll be on my own and will see what I can find out that is postworthy, not that I've been at all discriminating.

School lunch here is absolutely terrible most of the time. At first I liked it okay, but now I cannot even look at much of what is served. I've been told that if I really want to be disgusted I should go watch them cook it. There is a KFC a short distance from here which is not too much better and would not even be a consideration if it were not so close. Last night I ate salmon at a Japanese restaurant that was quite nice. It's a place my father would like, if only for the salmon.

I'll maybe get to an internet cafe this weekend. Otherwise, I'll post again next week. So long.

The govenor's mansion

Located directly behind our school, and I can view it from the computer at which I am presently typing, is the govenor's mansion. It is a large, white house surrounded by a sizable lawn (garden, in British)which is populated by swans, goats, deer, and othere species, I'm told, but I've only seen the the three aforementioned.

Why are they there? It can be known for certain, presumably they are pets. Pets which are cared for by an orderly staff whose orders are to feed the goats, deer, and swans. I don't even know the govenor's name, and have never seen his picture.

The previous govenor died in a plane crash. When someone rich and powerful dies in Medan, the streets are lined with black, makeshift bulletin boards containing messages written in flowers. In the case of the late govenor, a personal friend and tennis foe of our school's director, it was apparently quite a big deal with flowering messages sewn into billboards everywhere.

His plane crashed landing in the small, old, Dutch constructed Polonia Airport. Polinia is the province that contains Medan, or so I assume, hard to say for sure without asking and no one is about to ask. I'll correct myself if I find out that I am wrong. They are currently constructing a new airport. The current one is essentially located in the city which and has a runway that was made for smaller planes almost 80 years ago. It is unlike any other airport I've ever seen. It is a stroll back in time, I guess.

The other day I walked around the govenor's mansion and saw that the gate was open. Members of the staff were crouched in a shady shed eating their dinner with their fingers. They invited me to join them, but I declined, not having time and not really wanting to join. I've seen the janitorial staff, restaurant staffs of various establishments eating in similar circumstances.

Today, as I rode to school and looked out the van window, I saw a teenage girl in a a tidy school uniform walking towards the street down an alley as desolate and dirty as any I've ever seen. It was positively cinematic.

The photo didn't post; Guest poster was J. obviously

Just a quick note to say the obvious. I will get the pictures from j. later, burn them on a cdr and post them as soon as I can. The identity of the guest poster really needn't be explained now, but I should have noted it earlier, just as a matter of formality.

I can add a little more. Over the past few days at the hospital, I would occasionally, well, frequently, have cause to run to the nearby mall for "stuffs." It being hot in the midday sun, I would often take the becak. As a white man I am expected to be rich and compared to most Indonesians fit that bill. Therefore, where an Indonesian might ride for 4,000 rupiah to a particular location, the drivers are likely to tell me that the cost is 20,000 rupiah. They would nearly always start with that figure. I would counter "Lima ribu" (5,000) and they would either say, "10,000" and refuse to come down or come down to 7,000. When I first arrived I didn't bother to haggle, but things have changed, somehow. I don't mind paying twice the average price, but I don't like the assumption that I'm just off the boat either--although I am pretty much still finding my way around the port. Prices are negotiable on just about everything here

Guest post: Street Children; other thoughts

Coming from a very systematic, rigid system of ruling, moving to Indonesia is a big eye-opener for me. What struck me most when I first came was the large number of street children roaming the streets selling crackers, matches, tabloids or wiping your screen or just holding out their hands begging for money. Street children in Bahasa Indonesia is “ anak jalanan”. I later realized the term does not only refer to children but anyone who is jobless and ‘helpless’ roaming the streets.

When I was traveling on a bus from Jogjakarta to Bandung sometime last year, a group of able-bodied men who called themselves street children boarded the bus for a while to entertain us with latest hot tunes in Indonesia. I did not give them anything since they look capable enough of landing themselves in proper jobs. They became persistent and started tugging at my shirt. I pretended I do not know the language and spoke in English telling them I do not like to be touched. Bad move! Cause now the whole bus started looking at me as if I’m some alien from outer space and some started to chat up with us, two foreign girls traveling alone. We slept throughout the whole 8 hours journey.

Street children are everywhere in Indonesia especially in thriving cities. Jakarta has the most number of street kids. Being the capital city, it attracts poor people, promising prosperity and good jobs. Slum housing lines every street and bridges in the city centre.

All these are very new to me. Where I come from, you never see anyone homeless or kids running around the streets begging. I shed a few tears as my heart goes out to the poor. I will unwind the windows to give them money. I was stopped by a mate, a Chinese Medanese. Not that I’m racist but I observed they are the more affluent ones and they try to avoid any association with the native Indonesians. This Chinese girl will never drive alone after 6pm and will lock everything when she’s driving. She said, “Do not trust the Indonesian. You never know if they will rape or rob you.” As she was driving, a few street kids crossed the road. She looked irritated and told me not to give them anything. She claimed that these kids are just creating trouble in the roads. They are owned by syndicate owners who will pounce on a chance of any kid getting knocked down by cars. They will approach the driver and will ask for large sums of money for medical fee of the child being hit. Most of the time, they will ask for 5 to 10 times more than what they have to pay. So, according to this Chinese girl, whoever accidentally hits these street kids on the road, they will reverse and hit them again until they die so they will escape paying exorbitantly for their medical fee. She said it so nonchalantly.

Poverty is really rampant in big cities in Indonesia. I once saw an infant about 2 years of age lying in the streets of Bandung. No signs of adults tending to him. There was also a boy, about 8, lying in a busy street in Medan, as if drugged. I heard a story about a maid who takes her employer’s 4 month old child out every time his parents were out and begged in the streets. The infant’s parents noticed that he was turning darker. ( Rich Indonesians hate tanned skin). One day their neighbour saw the maid begging and carrying their child in her arms at lunchtime. You can’t really blame these maids sometimes. They have mouths to feed and they are paid so miserably. A full-time stay-in maid gets paid about 300,000rp on the average. That is about 30 USD. If you think that is unfair enough, you’d be appalled to see how they are treated. Then again, not all employers are like that and not all employees are that innocent. I’ve got a horrifying maid story myself.

Narcotics are a really big problem in Indonesia. Some kids about age 7, I saw at the zoo, stopped me to ask for ciggies and I saw some sniffing glue on a high wall.
Some are really privileged they have connections with important people. I went to a really trippy club in Jakarta, said to be a drug centre. You do not see bottles of alcoholic beverages on the tables but bottles of mineral water. I must have appeared really loud in my red dress and must have attracted attention. A guy came up to me and asked what I would like to consume and told me it’s free for me. This place, is said to be owned by a son of an official so they seldom raid the place or they do it just for the sake of doing it. The authorities are not to be trusted. I have been warned not to hit the clubs alone,especially cause I’m a girl cause there are several ‘alligators’ who can bring me home even if I have a male companion with me. They are that powerful. I will be warned if there will be any raids on any particular Saturday night and I will be forbidden to go out because they said foreigners are more prone to be stopped by the authorities. They said these officials will be rewarded for catching foreigners in possession of narcotics. Some go to the extend of planting them in your pockets.

Then again, all these stories come from people who lead comfy lives locked behind high walls and fancy gates and who themselves own secret organizations or are in some ways connected to people who do. These are people who do not dare walk the streets alone or forgot what it is like to talk to others tactfully. These are the people who scorn the poor yet pay them a miserable amount of money to protect them and family, and dismiss them as and when they like without proper cause.

I felt so happy last April. We had a carnival in school and I saw a group of street kids peering from outside with a desire to join the games. I gave them some stamps on their arms through the wires and invited them in. They had a whale of a time playing and left thanking me like they’ve never thanked anyone before. They still remembered me. They will wave every time they see me walking to the other school building as they pick old boxes and cans to sell.

This is a photograph of street children taken from a bus. It’s not that clear. They were happy I took their pics. They were selling drinks in the streets.



Sorry for digressing so much. I got so excited typing I kept rambling on and on. It is boring lying in hospital bed.

another quick note

It is pouring right now. I have only a few minutes before my next class. Last night the cabbie who drove me home from the hospital spoke a little english. "Little" is the operative word. When I told him I was American he reacted excitedly: "America! Big Money America! Big guns! Very Good! VERY good, mister, American. What's your nama?"


I said, "Michael." He said, "Michael Jackson! Number one singer! Michael Jordan! Very good, Mr Michael! American very bad at football World Cup. Very good SuperBowl! Do you like Kool and the Gang?"

"Sure."

"America very good singer. Indonesia very bad. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Harry Harrison, Very Good American Singers!" "They were English, actually." "Oh sorry sir, English and American friends, yes?" "Yes." "Oh very good, I love disco!"

Just a quick note

J. will be in the hospital until Thursday. She did write a guest post but it is in her laptop. I will transfer it via flash drive tonight and post it tomorrow.

Nothing new to report on my end. The hospital is sort of rundown for being the best in Medan, and the most expensive. J. was on a liquid diet meaning that her every meal was pureed and looked disgusting: a bowl of green stuff, brown stuff, and yellow stuff, and always blended rice. She struggled to get it down, but as of last night she was able to eat some softer foods that were not entirely liquid and said she felt like dancing. She is also now off the drip. Still, she must remain three more days in hospital care to ensure that she is completely recovered.

Weekend in Gleneagles Hospital, as a visitor.

J. began taking an antibiotic over two weeks ago. The condition it was intended to treat was not relieved and in addition she began to break out in an itchy rash and experience painful ulcers. Both spread--the ulcers spread even to the inside of her throat making speaking and eating next to impossible. On friday she went to the hospital, sat in a hospital bed receiving a saline drip and then asked to go home. Friday night she attempted to eat mashed potatoes but was unable. The condition worsened. Saturday morning I told her she needed to go back to the hospital as we both understood by now that her condition was most likely an allergic reaction to her medication. We arrived at Gleneagles hospital at roughly 10am. She is still there, feeling much better, but has no idea when she will be released. She has been receiving injections for pain and infection, and been on a glucose drip for more than two days. The rash burned her skin and she has red marks and a very swollen upper lip. She can, however, talk and has expressed a desire to partake in Dionysian feast as soon as eating solid food is not akin to eating glass.

The hospital is considered the best in Medan. It has the feel of an old high school or for those familiar with The State Hospital of Fergus Falls, it's kind of like that. Plaster walls and cold marble tiles and it looks as if it could be several decades old when it, in fact, was constructed less than 10 years ago. I will pester her to blog when she's healthy. She has agreed and it should be a nice change of pace as Jamison is right about her on both accounts.

On saturday we communicated via notebook, that is she would write what she wanted to say. For some reason I began to write back instead of speaking. Today she is bored and alone. Saturday and Sunday I spent at the hospital with her. My back still aches from sitting in that chair.

Her maid, now also my maid, came to visit yesterday and was impressed by the size and facilities of the hospital I described briefly above. She would not have been able to afford such a place. I wonder what her clinic looks like.

Last Friday was Teacher's Day here at the school. The parents organized a lunch and musicians and so forth. There is no conception amongst the kids or parents at this school that one should be quiet and respectful when another is speaking whether the speaker is a teacher teaching a class or another student presenting, or the school director trying to welcome everyone to the celebration. I have deemed teacher's day "The Festival of Bad Manners." The culture of entitlement that one sees at more prosperous suburban American schools exists here, although in a slightly different strain, in spades. There is apathy amongst some students that seems to result from an understanding that no matter what their performance at school, they will continue to live like kings. The stereotype of the respectful Asian student does not apply. They are easily intimidated and raising a voice will quiet them down. They are not about to storm out of the room or hit a teacher, but they will return to chatting away mindlessly the minute you''ve finished reprimanding them. Thus, the teacher's day celebration was chaotic with one student performer after another playing to a completely uninterested audience of students and parents. No one could be heard.

There was some good food, but the lines were long, and again, there was no conception amongst students or parents that one should not butt in ahead of another. Bizarre, it was. The best bit of food was the omellette like thing with pepper and onion and chilis and chicken and curry sauce.

I still have not my work visa but do have my passport back which means I can travel soon. Yeay!