tales from the new beginnings....

Although I was supposed to stay for two years on this placement, I decided to leave after 6 months. It was a hard decision since it meant leaving wonderful friends and colleagues and a beautiful corner of the world but it was the right decision because it came from my heart.

I have had a fantastic time in Indonesia, and I will take great memories with me til the end.e

Thanks for reading.

When I think about Ende, I will remember the smiles!

A lovely day...

A few days ago I got home from work and felt really happy since the sky was blue and the sun was out. We have been going through rainy season in Ende where it is usually cloudy, although bright and ever humid.

I decided to take a walk to see the coconut juice man and enjoy a glass of my favourite thirst quencher. As I walked along my street, Radio Street, a neighbour I didn’t meet before stopped me to say hi. It turns out we had actually spoken in the supermarket the week before when I was cooing over his cute little baby! So that was cool, a new neighbour friend.

I continued on my walk down the hill, round the corner and along the street to the little coconut cart, just opposite the gravel football pitch. They open a young coconut with a small machete, pour the juice into a big plastic container, then half the coconut and use a beer bottle-top nailed to a piece of wood to scrape out the coconut flesh and throw that in with the liquid. In your glass you get ice, coconut, a little sugar water, a drop of condensed milk and a squeeze of lime, it is a delight!

On the football pitch, there was a game on which I was not expecting, but was pleased about since it gave me a reason to linger a little longer and enjoy the sun. I had a chat with the coconut man and told him I am going to Lombok island soon, which is where he is from, and he was very proud to think I would visit his home island, and I in turn felt happy for making him smile.

And then a friend from the office walked over and said he spotted me from the crowd. So we went over to watch the second half together. On the way, we bumped into another workmate and his girlfriend so stopped to say hello to them. We sat behind the away goals, in the shade of the park trees behind it and Willie tried to update me with the first half action. A voice from behind interrupted us and as I turned round I saw the friendly face of the policeman from the airport. Since I am there a lot we have spoken a little so it was very funny to see him out of work. He knew Willie too, who told him to come and join us.

In this moment, I felt really happy. I felt very settled in the town of Ende, and liked the homely feeling of bumping into people I know. Despite my minimal language ability and different lifestyle, I’ve turned a corner in Ende, with people getting used to me being there and starting to like it.

So I enjoyed the rest of the game with a smile on my face, not really watching it, but taking in everything that was around me – the mountains, the food stands, conversations with my friends, the people watching the game wearing their helmets, the group of policemen watching in their uniforms, the sea and the boats out fishing, aside from the litter, it is a pretty place.

The man standing with the mustard top is my workmate, Heri. He initiated this university league 3 years ago and now it is a highly anticipated competitive cup!

 Jogya, who made it to the final but were knocked out on penalties. This is the team I supported since my friend Arie went there, and Willie played for them as captian.

Enjoying local fruit and the game with Sebastian and Helima.

Little miss scatterbrain!

For those of you who know me well, you will know that I can be a tad forgetful. Well, Ive been going through a spate of this recently. A few days ago I left my purse at home but needed it for my lunch. I nipped out of the office to bike home for it quickly only to get to my house and realise I left my house keys at my desk - a double whammy! Luckily my neighbour has a spare key since she is also my landlord so I didn’t have to have the embarrassment of going back to the office unsuccessful.

So, when i packed the next day to go to Maumere, I spent some time looking at my rucksack and figuring out what needed to go in there. Sleeping clothes, toothbrush, always need a toothbrush, I will put the toothpaste on top of the bag so that in the morning I wont forget that it has to go in the bag, same for the malaria tablets....what else, oh yeah, blanket to protect me from the mosquitos Theresa warned me about. Haha, if Ive remembered something so luxury and smart as that then I am laughing. So, I felt good when Arie arrived to take me to the travel stand.

It wasn’t until one hour into the four hour journey when we stopped at the market to buy snacks and I opened my bag for my purse I realised noooooooo! What did I forget, what was the other thing I brought with me to the internet cafe the day before to book flights....only my passport!!!!! The very thing I had to deliver to the immigration office, and take the trip for was the thing I ended up forgetting!

So in a panic, I told the driver, who found it all very amusing. He stopped a bus heading back to ende and after taking full payment, sent me back home. So, take two and l got back on the road a few hours later, and made my way along the now familiar road. I had the front seat this time, in the people carrier but it wasn’t much of a benefit since the driver had mirrors and cuddly toys stuck to the windscreen blocking the view and the seat was so far forward I was sitting leaning forwards not back. I didn’t dare to adjust it though, since behind me was a women with a baby, next to a young girl and a tiny grandmother. Behind them were another three people. A while into the journey we stopped to pick up someone else and this meant that the drivers helper (I think he put peoples bags on the roof), had to come and share the front seat with me! So there we were, a can of sardines travelling far too fast through the Flores mountains on the windy road from South to North. I have to say I was relieved to arrive in Maumere!

Theresa, a fellow volunteer, met me at the stop, and we went to her house so I could dump my bag and have a cup of tea and relax after the journey. She knew the man from the immigration office so she called him round and  I was able to give him my passport. Theresa was able to help me ask about how and when I will get it back which was a relief because a passport is not something you want to give out without certainty of its return!

I had a lovely time exploring Maumere with friends who know it well, meeting some new people and seeing others I hadn’t seen for a long time. It is a nice feeling to come to a new place and have lots of people to visit! The two days flew in before I had to make the journey home, in which i met more friends one of who owns a warung which I visted last night and met the rest of Elizabeth’s family and enjoyed a very tasty cap cay (vegetables in a stock with fried egg, which I gave to my friend!)

Out and about in Indonesia

Recently, I was in Makassar, a 5 million people strong city, mainly muslim, with a huge mix of rich, poor, local and other Indonesians all on top of each other on the island of Sulawesi. Its a very dense city, with rubbly shacks next to huge shopping malls! Its a coastal city, with a big active port from what I could see with a lot of cargo ships.  

I was there for another VSO workshop, with four other Government placed volunteers. Each volunteer was invited to bring two facilitators (people who’s job it is to get the views of the villagers and communicate them to the Government) from our regions and a co-worker from our office. The material was aimed at equipping them to represent the village further up the government chain than they usually manage to do today. It was run by a local NGO, which I thought was good because it meant the facilitators could relate to them and it showed VSO trust the ideas and thinking available locally.

I was really happy with the opportunity to catch up with volunteers on the Sulawesi island and was surprised at how different their social life was to mine in Ende. They were living city life, with Heinz baked beans in the supermarket, posh coffee houses and a MacDonald’s to fend off western food cravings we all have suffer from. In Ende, you will more likely finding me eating bbq’d sweetcorn sitting on the ground, in the dark with a circle of friends and a gas lantern or at the seafront market jumping over the fish water puddles trying to buy my fish and vegetables. It was great to experience the difference and really nice to see the sense of community between volunteers there.

I had a very fun experience while in Makassar, when I got to drive a baycek (pronounced bay check). These are bicycle taxis, not unlike the ones you can find in Edinburgh or India, with a 2 person seat at the front and a pedalist behind steering the three wheeled contraption. I was so excited when I was allowed to harness the hot seat and steer us shakily down a quiet street, I filled the street with laughter and us, with my zig zag driving! It was after 2 in the morning when we took the ride, and the streets of Makassar where serene and empty, allowing me to really see the city and its architecture away from the usual distractions of traffic chaos.

From Makassar I went straight to Bali for my first VIWG duties. We had a meeting with the VSO office and then organised the itinerary for new volunteers. It gave me time to get to know fellow volunteer Pete better and see returned volunteers Anouk and Mark again so it felt a bit like a holiday having spare time with friends and the Bali sunshine.  

We went to some places I spend a lot of time when I was new and studying language and I met some of the waiters that I used to talk to. This was really nice as they all mentioned with surprise at how good my Indonesian had gotten. They seemed genuinely impressed that I was able to hold a decent (chit-chat) conversation with them in their language, and I was genuinely pleased with myself for the first time being able to see a marked improvement in my language. I still say I am in the bottom quota of ability in comparison to the other volunteers, but in terms of personal achievement, its a big one!

It was great to meet the new volunteers, and see the excitement, enthusiasm, wonder and intrigue on their faces as they asked a million questions and tried to take in the huge change their life was about to take. We didn’t get very long with them though since their flights were delayed due to visa hold ups but I hope I represented volunteers well and gave them a friendly welcome!

***********

The funeral

This week (10th Jan) has been quite mixed. I have been chatting a lot more with the young staff at the office since our workload has cooled down from the mayhem of December budget submissions. It has been great to see them relax a lot more around me, knowing I can speak a little Indonesian with them or that I am willing to help them with their English. They have been telling me that I should take time to chat more, and work less and we have laughed at each other discovering they don’t like to disturb me when I am working, and I they, resulting in a polite standoff! We have a better balance now, although I notice when the boss is around, they never chat, or at least, they leave the room to do it.

However, on the low side, my neighbour who is also my landlord died. He was an older gentleman who had already suffered a stroke, which meant his youngest (I think) daughter came back from Java to look after him. He was a very nice man, very considerate, quiet, calm and intelligent man, who kept an ear out around my house to know that I was fine, who got up at 4:30 am to wash before prayer, who offered to keep my motorbike in his living room so I didn’t have to put it in the neighbours garden.

I had some friends round at mine for on Tuesday, when we saw a lot of bikes and people going into the neighbours house. It seemed odd as I’d never seen that before, and the next thing I knew, I was told he had died. I got a real shock, and my friend Arie said he would join me to visit and pay our respects to the daughter.

So, we sat in their garden, on plastic seats which were laid out as if there was a garden wedding going on. Plastic canopies were raised for the imminent rain, and outdoor lighting put up, it was all so efficient, I was shocked. Everyone was chipping in to pass round water, or trays of tobacco and people sat outside to give strength to the family, respectfully chatting in whispers.

At about 11pm we left, and I went home to have a good sleep.

The next day we attended again, this time in the afternoon, for the departure of the body to the tomb at the mosque. We had to sit three hours because the man’s wife was delayed in the air from Java. The family had to beg the ministers (not sure what you call a muslim religious leader), to allow them to keep the tomb open long enough for her to be there, and it wasn’t very pleasant to see a proud adult man pushing back tears begging some angry sounding elders to respect his family wishes.

They had to rewash the body during this wait, and the smell blew out to the garden where we sat and startled me. I found it a bit stressful, I didn’t really know what was going on, I hadn’t seen Yanti, the daughter I knew from the house and was worrying about her as she has been looking skinny and ill lately anyway, I didn’t understand why some people were sitting and others hanging around smoking on the street. The time to contemplate made me think about people from home, and generally I felt sad and unable to talk. It was therefore a long three hours.

When the wife finally arrived, things turned frenzied. The crowd stood from the chairs, oohing and gasping, peering over each other trying to get a view of the old lady struggling to get out of the van. Then she yelled and cried loudly as she was aided to walk into the house, past all the staring faces, and then it set others off. It was the first time I had seen anyone in the crowd show sorrow, and it confused me, death is a different thing here.

So no sooner had she arrived then they had to get her husband to the tomb because the sun was starting to go down. I averted my eyes so as not to see the body being laid on the wooden bed, but looked back round in time to see that he was wrapped in white cloth, just as they covered him with the cradle and cloth cover. Then the men lifted him onto their shoulders and his grandchildren ran, crying, through the middle of them, underneath him. The crowd were really all over the place now, taking pictures, trying to get close, showing concern for the children and the body. One girl even fainted and collapsed on the floor. The neat lines of chairs were all squashed up or stacked to be out of the way of people who wanted to be up close and part of this tradition. Then they loaded him into a car and we all dispersed.

A lot of people were hanging out on my porch because the tradition is that people are there for three days. I tried to stay in my room with the curtains shut and no music on to be respectful, but it was an uneasy feeling because I wasn’t sure if I should be bringing them tea, chatting with them or what.

The next day, on my way home from a relaxing walk on the beach, to get some space, and give some space, I was invited to meet the wife. She was very proud to introduce me to all her children which was nice and I thought its probably the first time in years they have all been together and at least she could find comfort in that. I only met three of them before because the others live on Java island. Before I left, they invited me to join a service at their home the next night.

NOTE: if you are squeamish, stop reading here and scroll down a bit.

The family were given two goats and a chicken, who have been living in our shared back garden / drying green the last couple of days. However, as I made my peanut butter and jam sandwich this morning, I heard a very disturbing sound from a goat and wondered, did they just slit its throat? A lot of people were going back and fore past my kitchen window and I decided my instinct was right. I admit it crossed my mind to peep out of my toilet window to see, but then I decided I wouldn’t really like to see a bleeding animal so despite curiosity, I didn’t bother. When I left the house to head to work, I said morning to a few men sitting on the porch and saw behind them an almost fully skinned goat, hanging from the clothes pole with a bucket of blood below. I was glad to already be prepared for it by being aware of what was going on, and I was surprised at myself for not totally jumping or dropping the keys. I think I didn’t really look once I saw what it was, and just walked on, without chatting to the men. I’m not a vegetarian, and I eat meat, so I shouldn’t be upset by the scene. I’ve heard it’s a humane way to kill an animal, and I think if they are going to eat the animal then it’s just a fact of life....but I probably won’t hang my washing there for a while! 

**** Start reading again squeamish peeps!

After work I offered to help because about 20 people seemed to be busy with cooking duties in the garden, the drying green and in the house. One old lady decided to give me a tour and explain to me what all the food was, and asked me to try it all...which included the satayed goat, poor goat. It tasted like liver and was probably the freshest meat I’d ever eaten, but I couldn’t enjoy it. No-one would let me do anything though, so after the tour I just headed to the house.

I joined them later in the evening and was introduced to a grandchild of 14 who had very good English so passed some time talking to her, at first with an intrigued audience and much to the delight of her proud mother. She was a very bright kid with ambitions I am sure she will achieve to be a doctor. We ate the feast that had been prepared over the course of the day and then I went home. I wondered as I got ready to sleep where did they get all the plates from for all those people? And where did they get all the giant pots from? Did Yanti always have 3 ovens on that table in her kitchen? People in Indonesia are really self sufficient when it comes to food.

RIP old neighbour dude.

Peace.

My neighbour Yanti, her mother and one of her brothers, Erwan.

I want to be a tree!

The first time I hugged a tree was back when I lived in bridge of don, Aberdeen, and named all of the silver birches planted in a “grassy bit” just opposite our cul-de-sac.  I got a set of stickers, most likely from a magazine, and decided to use them on the trees. They were eyes, ears, noses and mouths so I made the trees into living things, with names and documented them in a table with names and distinguishable features. I did this one day on my own, when none of the others were playing football or hide and seek like we normally did, and went back out periodically to record anything of interest, but also to send good vibes to the trees of growth and health since at that time i had a fascination with the idea trees lived longer than people by potentially double or more, so they got to see the changes nature and evolution of man brought from a stand still point. I thought that therefore trees should be respected and admired because of their strength to live so long, because of all they have to endure and take in and because of their ability to give life. I loved those trees, since they were there every day reflecting the seasons, they were young like me and they had a future of enormous potential and probabilities just like me so they were inspiring.

But I cant remember that I actually hugged one of those trees, more like gave them a rub like a genes bottle or a good doggie or something. The first time I actually hugged a tree was on a camping trip with friends.

After hours of driving and an inability to find a campsite someone knew about we agreed to stop at Burghead nature reserve. It had a forest trail which gave a glimpse to a beautiful and vast area of pine trees which we veered off to find a clear area in which to pitch our tents. Some of us went exploring after that, and discovered over a ridge that the forest backed up to the beach. It was beautiful, two of natures most relaxing landscapes hand in hand with each other, giving us an idyllic spot to sip tenants, light fires, sing and be merry.

I must have been exclaiming as I often do about how beautiful it was, and how nice it felt to be around trees. We dont have many in my home town so its really something I notice and feel. One of my friends was laughing and calling me a tree hugger, when another asked had I ever. I said no and he said I should, his ex made him do it once and it was fun. So there we were, hugging trees in Burghead park. I feel really glad Gary got me to do that, because actually, I do love trees and it was nice to give a hug as a symbol of love!

All this reflection on trees is a result of finding myself sitting under the first coconut tree i noticed in Indonesia, 4 months ago. I really think the trees are the thing that makes Indonesia jaw droppingly gorgeous. There are so many, so deep green, so relaxing. They cut out the sound of the wind, provide shade from the suns heat and brightness and bear so much diverse and interesting fruit, I never cease to be amazed by them. They are nothing like you would find in Scotland, with huge green leaves to be found 365 days of the year, they really are cool.

amusing for all the wrong reasons....

Me: “I thought with all the trees that there are in Flores there would be a lot of birds, but I’ve hardly seen any!”

Friend: “Yeah! We shot them!”

Me: speechless.