students

I want to give you more snapshots of my life. I think you might get a kick out of the things that are now biasa (normal) in my life, but quite entertaining for those watching from a distance (and let’s be real… for me too). I’m going to start a little series called, “A Day in the Life.” We’ll see if I can keep this up…

The particular day I’d like to share was this past Wednesday when I joined my school on a 22 hour field trip. Yes, 22 hours.

Let’s begin the story on Tuesday…

Somehow, despite not having class until 10:30am, I’m late to school. It’s 10:27 and I’m just leaving my house. What have I been doing all morning?! I even set my alarm early so I could go for a run! (Didn’t happen.) It’s a good thing I live about three minutes walking distance from school…

I walk through the asrama, say good morning to the security guard, and wave at the students outside their classrooms cheerily calling to me, “good morning, Miss!” I walk up the dirt path, pass the 12th grade classrooms, the administration office, and come upon the teachers lounge. Like usual, a group of teachers are sitting outside chatting away excitedly. Pak Elit calls out, “Selamat Pagi Miss! Apa Kabar?” “Grinning I call back, “Baik! Anda?” The other teachers all giggle excitedly as I say the most basic words ever in Bahasa. Then, Pak Elit says, “Miss, mau ikut ke Banjarmasin besok?” Me: “What? Umm… Tidak bisa!” (I’m not spending my precious vacation days on a trip to Banjarmasin with my school). Pak Elit: “But you have to!” Me: “Berapa hari?” Pak Elit: “One day!! Berangkat jam 5am dan kembali jam 24:00” Me (to myself): Good lord. “Oke! Bisa 😀 Saya mau ikut.” And ten teachers cheered.

And that’s how I was ambushed into a 22 hour field trip. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my students. I was excited to spend the day doing something different. But Banjarmasin is a solid four hours away. Probably five by bus and I quickly realized I had just agreed to a very, very, very long day.

Wednesday:

My alarm goes off at 4:15am. Ugh. Five more minutes, please? But alas, not knowing when exactly we will leave I best be ready by 4:30. I throw on my teacher batik, slacks, wash my face, brush my teeth, and am just grabbing my bag when my phone rings. It’s 4:35. Shit, am I late already?! It’s one of my students. “Mack, where are you?” “Um, at home. But I’m ready to go!” “Okay, I’ll come get you!”

We walk around the swamp and into the dining hall, each of us grabbing a plate of rice, and sit down with the other 49 students who are coming along on the trip. We sleepily walk through the school to the buses where we wait for about an hour before climbing on and setting off. I’m lucky enough (truly) to get to ride on the “girls” bus, with 24 female students and another female teacher. I’m thankful I’m not stuck on the teacher bus and subjected to five hours of questioning and dangdut music. We pull out at 5:50am and set off. The girls are bubbling with excitement. This 10th grade class “won” this trip by having the cleanest classroom in the “clean and decorate your classroom competition.” Someone pulls out a selfie stick and we take a million selfies. They pull out cell phones and snacks. I’m impressed… 10th grade students aren’t allowed to have smart phones at our school (only brick phones), yet all of a sudden, they all pull their Androids and Samsungs out… Slowly the bus quiets as the girls begin to drift off to sleep. I pop my headphones in and attempt to doze off to sleep but the road between Palangkaraya and Banjarmasin is not meant for sleeping. It’s pot-holed and uneven and narrow and windy. I’m tossed up and down in my seat and resort to staring out the window for four hours.

At 11am, we pull into Martapura, a tourist trap and city I have come to hate. It’s supposed to be the diamond capital of the world and there is a market full of gemstones and diamonds. It doesn’t feel authentic in the slightest and it’s hard for me to believe that these gems and diamonds are real. Plus it’s small, with really only one “famous” store and a dozens of others with shopkeepers trying to win your attention before you walk into the “main” diamond store. This is my third time here. The first time I bought a simple $20 gemstone ring. The second time I was here (three weeks ago on another day trip with a teacher), said teacher’s sister-in-law bought a Rp 34,000,000 diamond ring. That’s $2,500. WHAT? People here don’t have anywhere near that kind of money.

Now we are back. I wander through the market with my kids taking selfies, and watching them splurge on Rp 5,000 keychains ($0.30). I spend $4 on two pretty bracelets, one for me and one for my best friend back home (lookin’ at you Martha). An hour and a half, 14 Magnum ice cream bars, and 55 packets of rujak (some fermented fruit thing) later, we board the bus. We then wait for an hour or so because two of the students are missing and it takes someone ages to find them in the small market. Our wait for the boys means we don’t have time for lunch before we are supposed to visit another school.

At 1:30 we finally leave and head directly to the school. We pull in at 2:30, 30 minutes after we were supposed to be there, and climb up a massive set of stairs and enter the most glorious Aula (auditorium) I have ever seen in Indo. EVER. And I’ve been to a LOT of schools (see Fulbright’s recent Instagram post). It’s huge, it’s shiny, it’s clean, it’s fully air-conditioned, it has recessed ceiling lights. There are huge, cushy couches for the teachers to sit in. I’m in shock. We then hear a presentation about their school, hear lots of speeches, sing our school song, and after two hours, my poor students are ready to faint from hunger (their last meal was at 4:30 this morning… 12 hours ago). We take a zillion photographs. Their English teacher asks me, “Are you that bule teacher who taught at UNLAM this fall? Everyone is talking about you!” HA. Yes, that’s me.

Squeaky clean and SHINY!!!

We quickly tour their school and then board the bus. We pull into a big restaurant where a buffet is waiting for us. My kids stuff themselves to the point that the restaurant runs out of food and the last 15 students in line didn’t get any food. We wait for them to cook more food. We change out of our batiks and uniforms in the bus. The headmaster then informs the students that we no longer have time to visit the waterfall (the point of this field trip) so instead, we go to the mall.

I’ve been to this mall at least 20 times. Carlie and I would go here almost every day when we were in Banjarmasin during the evacuations. It’s a small mall (but ten times what Palangkaraya has) and is really a place I’d hoped never to go back to. But alas, here we are. The students disperse with strict instructions to be back on the bus in two hours time. I wander off with the teachers to a fancy coffee shop where we order $5 coffees (mahal sekali! very expensive!) and take another set of selfies with our selfie stick. We wander around the mall for a bit, take some more pictures, and then meet the students at the bus.

It’s now 8pm. We go back to the same restaurant and eat again. This time there is plenty of food. My students ask me endless questions about America, the WORDS competition (more in a later post), and about scholarships to study in America. This is what I love. Informal, fun, away-from-school conversations with my students. They are shy but trying hard. I use a little Bahasa. They giggle with glee. 447 pictures later we climb back aboard the bus. This time, two more teachers have joined us and I have therefore lost my double seat (and to begin with these are not spacious luxury bus seats – but built for tiny Indonesians). I now have the aisle seat in the front row next to another teacher. I know that no sleep will come. By the time we get gas and wait for the kids at the mosque, it’s 9:30pm. This is my bedtime. I only stay up past 10pm if I’m waiting for it to be late enough in the morning to talk to mom (15 hour time differences are HARD). Oh, and did I mention I have class at 6:30am tomorrow?

We head out of town. The bus driver doesn’t know where to go but seeing as I have made this drive only about 8 different times, I know the way… I direct him “left” “right” “straight” until we are back on the single lane road. The teachers are impressed. I laugh and point out the restaurants and places that Carlie and I went to while we lived here.

The bus is flying through the dark. The students all nod off to sleep but I’m trying to stay in my seat and not picture the image of a crashed bus in the dark in the middle of the jungle. We’re whipping around corners. We’re passing cars and trucks like no one’s business and barely making it back into our lane as an oncoming car zooms past. We’re driving in the middle of the road to avoid the pot holes in our lane. We go over so many bumps that my fingers are white from being clenched to the bar in front of me trying to stay in my seat. I try to close my eyes, try to fall asleep, but I keep being bounced up and down. Finally, I relax my hand on the bar, put my head back and close my eyes. And am subsequently thrown out of my seat when we hit a bump and literally fly into the air, arms flailing, and land on the floor of the bus. The teachers gasp and the bus driver grins. I scramble up and back into my seat. No more attempting to sleep.

Oh, and the floor of the bus is literally burning. It’s metal and the the engine must be underneath and its literally so hot it’s burning my feet through my shoes. I’m trying to move my feet to different places, stacking my shoes on top of each other, putting my feet on my bag – anything to relieve the burning. Five hours of this people. Five hours.

We ended up spending a total of 13 hours in the bus this day

I’m taking hourly snapchats just to pass the time. It’s so late now, that many of my state-side friends are awake and I text with people I haven’t talked to in months. At 2am we pull back into the school. I pick up my bag expecting to see holes burned into it but no, it’s just so hot I can’t even touch it. I stumble after the students back to the asrama. I dig out my keys, open my door, set my alarm for 5:45am, and crash into bed.

Part XXII:

That moment when you pull up to your house after being gone for 11 days and your 2 and 6 year old neighbors see you and run squealing and shrieking into your arms.

I’m happy and excited and my heart is full and today was hard and hot and frustrating and exhausting. It’s Indonesia.

I hear my little friends squealing and laughing outside and although part of me wants to go outside and play with them, it’s also almost 9pm (my bedtime) and I’m wearing shorts (inappropriate) and I already took two cold showers today (not asking for another) and oh yeah, the smoke that has descended on this city for the last five weeks is extremely dangerous to my health and I really shouldn’t be running around outside.

On the other side of my house I hear chanting and marching from my dutiful students. Moments ago, it sounded like they were surrounding my house. But then I realized they were only walking past my house to get new uniforms from the teacher’s house next door. A good 100 students excitedly murmuring and passing uniforms back and forth.

I’m reading the blog of a previous Fulbrighter in Semarang, struggling to navigate it on my phone but I have no other option as I’m out of internet data on my modem until I buy a new sim card. As I’m reading, Astrid comments back on her photo and says “thanks mack!!!” and I feel warm and fuzzy inside because someone called me Mack – and not because my name is too long and they can’t pronounce it, but because through the chaos of the last month and seeing Astrid and the others in Jakarta last week, our relationship has moved from supervisor and grantee to… friends. And lying on my bed in the middle of a smoky jungle in the heart of Southeast Asia, 10,000 miles from anything familiar, surrounded by all these sounds of children and insects and birds and generators… I needed that familiar reminder of a friend calling me Mack.

Scrolling through facebook and I see so many pictures of pumping patches, boots, and colorful leaves. I miss fall! Instead, I’m sitting here sweating my ass off trying to decide on the most conservative outfit I can wear that also involves the least amount of clothes.

“Miss, will you eat lunch with us?”

I’m sitting at the entrance to the asrama (dorm) chatting in Bahasa with the security guard. It’s 2pm and school just finished. I left my class and began to walk the short distance to my house to drop my things and grab the documents to take to immigration. But the security guard, whose name I can never remember, jumped out of his chair when he saw I’d returned from Jakarta and called, “duduk! duduk!” (Sit!) So I sit outside his hut and we chat in Bahasa, while also watching the students line up outside their classrooms and begin to march towards us.

Marching and chanting. It’s the perpetual sound that carries across SMA 5 at all hours of the day. Class by class, they march from the field to the asrama. Many giggle excitedly when they see me outside, they wave and call, “good afternoon, miss!” When one of the 11th grade classes passes by, two girls duck out from the line and run up to me. Sheepishly the ask, “Miss, do you want to eat lunch with us?” Aw! My heart! Had I not already gone to lunch with bu Tisia and was not on my way to the immigration office I would have jumped at the offer. Instead, I explained that I had to go to immigration but, maybe I could have dinner with them instead? With huge smiles on their faces, they agree and tell me they will come to my house later to take me to dinner 😀 YES. I’m excited for them but I’m also excited that I don’t have to go alone.

Tomorrow (Wednedsay) is a holiday – the start of the Islamic New Year. So with no school, many of the students have gone home for the day to be with their families. Thus, the usual regimented schedule is gone and I have no idea what time dinner is. Regardless, I’ve been gone so much that I can’t remember what the daily routine is. Most of the time I just listen for the chanting to pick up in intensity and then the voices began to move from one side of my house to another. But tonight, I have friends. I open my blinds and sit in my main room (which I usually try to avoid because there is no AC) waiting for my visitors. At 5:30 on the dot, four girls pass by my window and wave at me. I jump up and meet them at my front door. “Hi Miss! Dinner?” “Yes! Let me just grab my fork and spoon!”

Walking to the dining hall, we laugh as I mispronounce each of their names. They guide me to the table where there are perfectly portioned plates of vegetables and meat. We add rice and then spoon broth over it to make soto (soup). They lead me to the dining room and gesture for where I should sit. They laugh when I reach for the sambal, shocked that I like spicy food 😉

It’s much more informal tonight. Usually, there is chanting and feet stomping involved, speeches and a limited time to eat. But tonight, students are meandering in at their leisure, sitting wherever they like and they are abnormally chatty. I pepper my students with questions and in turn, they ask me all sorts of things. These girls are in grade 11 and speak better English than most of the students in my classes. We laugh and have a grand time. I’m so happy.

While I had a great dinner last night, I’m on my own to wander to the dining hall tonight. I listen for the chanting and at 5:30 on the dot, I see the students march into the dining hall. I grab my fork and spoon and with my stomach rumbling, I cross the lawn. I feel like such an outsider and I’m nervous to enter the dining room. Where will I sit? Will they be too scared of me to want to talk? Should I just fill my plate and go back and eat it in my house?

But quickly, I’m surrounded by students saying hello and pointing me where to go. And then, the girls from last night appear and say, “Miss!! Will you sit with us again?”

Relief. Happiness. Excitement. Belonging.

Bring it on Indonesia. I can do this.

A Day in the Life: Field Trip

The Joy in Returning (Part XXII)

Mackenzie

A Look Back