Week 4: Gong Xi Fat Chai

I once read an article about life in a Dayak community (Borneo) claiming that it is impossible to be truly alone in a Dayak longhouse. Although each family unit has their own quarters, the permeability of the partitions creates a constant flow of sound down the longhouse. After four weeks of living in an Indonesian kost (boarding house) I cannot help but draw parallels. Each resident has their own room and bathroom looking out onto a communal square, but for some reason the upper segments of the walls are made of netting. The sound of people coming and going can be quite comforting - in a foreign country it is quite nice never to feel alone - but can also be intensely irritating. My neighbour, for instance, has a penchant for country music and, somewhat incongruously, bad 90s dance tracks, blasted out at unsociable hours. Also, because my room is located next to the external entrance I can hear everything that goes on in the street. When a motorbike goes past in the street it sounds like it's driving right past my face. Likewise the calls of the street sellers, so intriguing and amusing in the day, become massively irritating at 7am. Nevertheless, I like living in the kost and although I get woken up early in the mornings, I fall immediately asleep most evenings which, after months of insomnia, is blissful.


Monday was Chinese New Year so we headed to Glodok, the Chinese quarter, which was a bit of an eye-opener. The area is pretty run down compared to Tebet and a million miles away from the imposing sky-scrapers of central Jakarta. There were a lot of beggars and I felt awful walking through the streets clutching my digital SLR. The temple was absolutely beautiful though - hundreds of candles (some taller than me), shrines covered with food and money and incense everywhere (so intense that my eyes started streaming and I had to leave). We then went to a New Year performance in one of the malls (malls, it seems, are Jakarta's cultural epicentre), which was absolutely swarming with people. In the end we couldn't actually see anything of the performance and just sat on the floor listening to the music, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the crowds. Whilst we were sitting there people kept asking us to pose for photos with their children, who stared at us wide-eyed.

I spent the latter half of this week at a conference in Bandung, a city about 3 hours drive from Jakarta. Spending time in Bandung helped me to clarify why I dislike Jakarta. Although they are similar in size, Bandung is a whole lot more pleasant than Jakarta. Bandung has wide, roomy streets, lots of greenery and hundreds of cheap 'designer' shops, whereas Jakarta has congested streets, no pavements, parks or trees and actual designer shops (which are, of course, no use to me whatsoever).

The conference was interesting - it was about school accountability - but the same old frustrations arose. When I was arranging my placement I was told that the two working languages in the office would be Indonesian and English, which I now consider to be slightly misleading. Although the NGO publish reports in English, all meetings are in Bahasa. For the first day of the conference they kindly arranged for a member of staff to translate for us, but for the remaining two days I understood nothing. Not only is this slightly dull, but it means that we, as volunteers, are very limited in what we can contribute. Also, I'm still struggling with the different working culture here, particularly the propensity of plans to change at the last minute. For instance, after spending a week reading up on accountability in schools and traveling all the way to Bandung, I was told by the programme director that I probably wouldn't be working on the project any more. Also, our start time on the last day was changed from 9.00am to 7.30am AT 5.30AM THAT MORNING (which involved ringing around all the hotel rooms to let everyone know). I do love how relaxed it is here, but I have my limits!

Week 3: Obama Fever

The homesickness has, thankfully, almost entirely disappeared this week. It happened almost without me noticing - I suddenly realised that I hadn't felt bored or homesick in days. Hannah, Kamran and I have joined a gym in a hotel near our kost, which not only gives us something to do in the evenings, but provides a welcome source of warm showers (what luxury after three weeks of showering by throwing cold water over my head!). The hotel is amazing and we have access to a gym, sauna and outdoor swimming pool. There are also classes and the three of us have taken up yoga and pilates. The only problem is that the instructor, used to teaching people of a different body type to me, tends to confuse my inflexibility with a lack of understanding. His subsequent efforts to correct me contort my body into some interesting, often painful, positions.

On Tuesday we all went to an inauguration party in a hotel thrown by Democrats abroad. They had big screens showing the ceremony - he was sworn in at midnight Indonesian time - and the atmosphere was amazing. Jenna, my American friend, a self-confessed politics addict and dedicated Democrat, was ecstatically happy. The news this week has been totally monopolised by the inauguration. Indonesians are very proud of their Obama connection and there have been a number of interviews with Obama's sister's counsin's dentist etc. The only Indonesian not to be obsessed with Obama, it seems, is Anggrek, who took one look at the hotel room - with its floor length posters and red, white and blue banners - and asked "what are we celebrating?"

The highlight of this week was definitely yesterday, when we went white water rafting at Citarik river. It was a bit of an epic journey, not because it was geographically far away, but because of the sheer density of traffic. Driving in Indonesia is an interesting experience and road etiquette is rather different here. When you are stuck in a queue of traffic (which is almost always) it is acceptable to start driving in the other lane if it is free. Because we were in a bit of a hurry we spent most of the journey driving down the middle of the road, which was somewhat startling to begin with but I soon got used to it. After a while I stopped noticing entirely and just stared out of the window at the beautiful mountain scenery.

After getting in the boat we were given some quick safety instructions ("if you fall in the rapids just try to keep your head above water and relaaaax"), learnt some important new words: "mandir" (paddle forwards), "mondar" (paddle backwards) and "boom" (danger! get down in the boat), and then we were off. The rapids at Citarik are level 3 (of 5), so they're not too dangerous but neither are they an easy ride. We were pretty much in hysterics the whole time. You're never quite sure how the rapids are going to carry you and each time you hit a rock you go careering off in a different direction. Every time we hit a big rapid I fell into the middle of the boat with my legs in the air, laughing too hard to get up. Occasionally our instructor would shout "move to the left/right" and we would all have to jump to one side of the boat to dislodge it. As you can imagine, with my spatial ineptitude this was a bit of a challenge, and I merrily threw myself to the wrong side of the boat a couple of times. After we'd finished the 8km route, which took about 2 hours, we were presented with fresh coconut and fried bananas (so bad but so good).

A few of you have noted my change of name on facebook, so I should probably explain. For some reason "Madeline Nightingale" is very difficult for Indonesians to pronounce. After suggesting that they might like to call me "Maddy" I was designated the name "Maudy". My initial displease at being allocated such an ugly name was somewhat mitigated by the fact that it was chosen because it is the name of a tall, beautiful Indonesian celebrity.

Week 2: And the rain came . . .

This week's phrase of the week? CULTURE SHOCK

I had hoped that my training in anthropology might render me immune to culture shock (believe me, it takes quite a lot to shock an anthropologist). However, I realise now that I had misunderstood the meaning of the phrase. Culture shock is not suprise at that which is different, but a more insidious feeling of groundlessness that comes from being immersed in the unfamiliar.
I had similarly misunderstood the meaning of homesickness, which is not necessarily desire to be at home - given the choice between being here and being at home I would undoubtedly choose the latter - but a profound awareness that you can't be. For me, culture shock and homesickness have produced a kind of emotional volatility (yes folks, even more so than normal). One minute I am contented, full of optimism, the next I am overcome by melancholy and depression. I had forgotted how hard it is to be somewhere entirely new - it's the same feeling I got when I started university. It's a confusing, guilt inducing condition because it is seemingly dissociated from your actual enjoyment of the experience. You feel ungrateful and borderline ridiculous for feeling depressed when you should be having - and often actually are having - an amazing time.

I had a bit of a wobble at the beginning of this week. The constant bouts of rain, coupled with culture shock, homesickness, illness and an agonising proliferation of mosquito bites, resulted in a period of depression and doubt. I began to wonder whether I had it in me to stick it out - six months suddenly felt like an intimidatingly long time. This has been a recurring theme this week, but the feeling is always fleeting and counterbalanced by more positive experiences.

Last week I described the traffic system in Jakarta as a sort of organised chaos. Now I see that this principle extends to all facets of Indonesian life. The pace of life here is unhurried and relaxed - stress is simply not on the agenda. Work is a relatively unstructured affair, an approach which is both pleasing and infuriating. At big team meetings, people come and go as they please, interjecting when they have something to say, emailing or chatting quietly on the phone when they are not interested in the discussion. Since the meetings are in Bahasa I sit at the back reading my book and no one seems to care. Organisation here is an imprecise art and plans retain a certain malleability - a meeting that is due to start at 10am may well not commence until late in the afternoon. A few suggestions of trips to visit regional offices have failed to materialise, which has been frustrating. Also, so far I have not been allocated much work to do, which has been slightly boring. I think that if I want to achieve anything here I will have to an engineer a role for myself, rather than relying on others to allocate tasks to me.

This has turned into a bit of a rant, which is unfortunate because there have been some good parts to this week. The new UK volunteer Hannah has arrived, so now there are 4 of us in the office. I also made a new friend in my kost (boarding house), Anggrek, a very sweet university student who is living away from home for the first time. Anggrek would very much like an English boyfriend and wasted no time in scanning my photos for a suitable candidate. I also had the opportunity this week to visit Taman Mini Indonesia Indah (beautiful Indonesia in miniture), an epic 'cultural theme park', containing life sized models of all the traditional regional houses, and a massive lake representing the Indonesian archipelago. Created in the 1970s by the then-president's wife, this 'cultural disney land' offers a fascinating insight into ethnic identity and cultural politics in Indonesia.

Week 1: "Hello Mister"

I have been in Jakarta for nearly a week now and I don't really know how to begin describing it. I remember when I first moved to London I found the crowds and noise perpetually exhausting. Jakarta has a similar effect, but multiplied by 10. The noise, the people, the constant stream of cars and motorbikes, makes Oxford street appear serene. The area I live and work in, Tebet, has hundreds of little streets packed with back-to-back houses, roaming street sellers and little cafes. Street sellers walk the streets with their carts, advertising their wares with distinctive calls or sounds. You eat under a makeshift tarpaulin, sometimes for as little as 6,000 Rupiah (around 40p). The traffic here has to be seen to be believed; the transport system is a sort of organised chaos, with few rules and no pedestrian crossings. The only way to cross the road is to simply walk out into the traffic, holding your hand out to apologise to the drivers. As you can imagine, this is somewhat daunting task, but seems to be no less safe than walking on the pavement (where there is one), where impatient motorcyclists sometimes drive.

I have spent this week getting to know the NGO and exploring the city. My colleagues at work have been incredibly welcoming, inviting me to visit all the regional offices, visit their village, meet their grandmother etc. There are about 20 people who work in the office, but this is variable and people come and go. The working environment is extraordinarily relaxed; each employee is nominally allocated a desk but in reality people just work where they want. Most people who work here speak pretty good English, but my pitiful efforts to speak Bahasa (Indonesian) are always met with wide grins and raptuous applause. I have been learning more about what the NGO do and most of it seems to be orientated towards minimising corruption in public services. I have been working on a project sponsored by the EU to do with researching spending in education, in order to improve transparency and accountability. The government budget for education in Indonesia is massive but a large proportion of it ends up lining people's pockets. I have been doing a bit of research on this project, and I have also been asked to prepare a presentation on how the NGO could incorporate anthropological research methods into their work.

I am living in a basic but comfortable boarding house which is a short walk from the office. The other UK volunteer Kamran lives here too, and so will another UK volunteer Hannah, when she arrives next weekend. The other volunteer, Jenna, an Ameircan girl, lives in a high-rise apartment building in a more affluent area of the city. Yesterday Kamran, Adhe (one of the NGO workers) and I went to Kota, the old town, to look around and visit some museums. Kota is the old colonial centre of Jakarta and is quite pretty compared with other parts of the city. The highlight was the shadow puppet museum where we had our own brief shadow puppet performance. We then wandered down to the harbour where we were offered a boat ride round the harbour by an old fisherman which we (somewhat tentatively) accepted. It was a fantastic experience, great to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city and see a different side of Jakarta. It was an entirely different kind of harbour to those I have visited in the past; big, industrial fishing boats, polluted waters piled high with rubbish, and children everwhere, some of them showing off by jumping into the murky water. It seemed to sum up my experience of Jakarta so far; not appealing in a traditional sense, and far from aethetically appealing, but exhilerating, different and with its own unique charm.

I am beginning to understand why I was advised against living in Jakarta. To put it simply, Jakarta is not an easy place to live. When I was planning this trip I was keen to see the 'real' Indonesia, but what I did not appreciate was quite how interested the 'real' Indonesia would be in me. Knowing that Jakarta was a diverse and cosmopolitan city, I expected that my presence here would be entirely unremarkable. I could not have been more wrong. I seem to be the only Westerner living in Tebet and people cannot help but stare at me in the streets. Everywhere I go I am greeted by shouts of "hello", "Inggris?" (English?), "hello mister" (apparently in Indonesia I look like a man), but more often then not they simply shout "bule" (white person). It's only harmless curiosity, and people are absolutely delighted when I say hello back, but it has been difficult. I dislike being the centre of attention and it has been hard to get used to being the outsider for the first time in my life. It might sound like a strange thing to say but I have never really given my racial background much thought before (a very privilaged sort of ignorence I think). It seems that in Indonesia I will be defined by my race whether I like it or not.