This day saw the execution of the first Halloween Party in Xaverius High School, and likely in any school in Padang (or at least I thought so, until Citra said that they had a mask party when she was at Don Bosco, but from the sounds of it … ours was far better). Disaster was narrowly averted on several occasions, and I think the end result was that people had fun and were safe. It was a busy day, and I am writing this passage a couple days after the fact, as I was simply too exhausted to put words on paper immediately following the festivities.
Kelvin and several members (Prima, Ferry, Tonny and others) of the student government were willing to stay at the school for the duration of the afternoon to ensure the sound equipment was safe from thieves and from the weather, which periodically threatened throughout the hours leading up to the party. Class was finished at shortly after 9:30 AM, and the preparations commenced. It came to my attention that most of the teachers had to be present at the Don Bosco High School for a curriculum meeting immediately after class.
This left no other adult supervision for the twenty-five plus student that I had at the school, simultaneously decorating, wielding knives and carving pumpkins, cleaning the classrooms and the floors and setting up the sound equipment. But, the students were great. And some of the Year 3 students stayed around to help, which was invaluable as they could periodically translate where needed.
By noon time, most of the things had been accomplished, and many of the students had gone home for the afternoon. With the help of several folks, we made loads of popcorn for the movies that were to be shown. We used 3 kilograms of corn, four liters of oil and a kilogram of butter before the afternoon had come to a close.
It was very efficient. Also, Ibu Theresia had ordered drinking water and chocolate cakes for all of the students. So, there were plenty of snacks.
Around 4:45, when were testing the sound and the VCD player for the movies, we began having power problems. We think that there simply was not enough juice in the school for all the equipment. We were beginning to think about how to redistribute the electrical requirements of the system.
I had to go home very fast, and so I left it to some of the Year 3 students to think of a solution and caught a ride home with Ferry. We returned 15 minutes later, at around 5:30PM to find that all of the power had gone out. This is Padang, and power outages often happen.
But, we had already had one that day, and generally once one has occurred, then it is smooth sailing for the remainder of the day. Not today. The power was to remain off until precisely 9:00, just as all the students were going home.
It later came to my attention that it had been a power transformer that had actually exploded near Xaverius that evening. But, at the time we figured our block had drawn the short straw for the rolling blackout that evening. We had to be flexible, and what transpired over the next three hours was largely improvisation and certainly made successful only because of the efforts of some of the students and the administrators.
Ibu Theresia and Pak Wir were on the telephones from the time that they arrived at 5:45. They were asking about the phased blackout, if indeed that is what it was, and whether an exception could be made for the school. Also, they were tracking down emergency lanterns and generators, which arrived through the course of the evening.
Students began gathering outside around 6PM, and the party was underway, while not in the exact manner that it had been planned, by 6:20 or so. Candles were placed in every possible safe location, the jack o’ lanterns provided some light too, and for the first hour or so, the party proceeded with the light from small candles. The masks were great, very creative.
We tried to get the students to play some of the games. The organizational plan I had made with the OSIS students quickly collapsed, as many of the games were inaccessible due to the light deficiency, and many of the students who had signed up simply could not be located. Kelvin walked over to me at some point in the evening and asked, "Can you tell me how to start the party.
" I was a bit confused, and I said that the party had already begun. Students would ebb and flow from the courtyard toward the main entrance. Just when it looked like the party was going south, I grabbed Bonar with his guitar and we played some pumpkin passing (like musical chairs) for a spell, thus drumming up some interest in the games.
The 125 apples for the bobbing for apples game were consumed very fast. The vessels were very easy for the game, but I was simply glad that all the apples were consumed, and that none were wasted. We made strides with the portable generator and were able to get just enough juice for the speaker system.
We played some of the scary music for a bit, and then it was deemed necessary to start the dancing in order to keep the students occupied.
The full moon made an appearance later in the evening, just as the dancing had begun. The timing was perfect.
The dancing commenced shortly before 8 PM. Some rock and roll and some Conga Line type music were played, and the students slowly got into it. Then the call was made for some house music to be played.
Pak Tumpal did a great job near the front door, keeping things under control on that end and ensuring the safety of the students there. Pak Sumarban, Pak Legiman, Pak Lukas, and Antoni were excellent chaperones in the courtyard. The entire affair, while it turned out OK, was punctuated by periods of personal fear that the party was going down in a flaming ball of mediocrity.
But, things happened just when they needed to. If the rain had come, then there would have been problems. But, the mask party by candlelight and moonlight actually was spectacular.
Many students commented on the excitement they felt with the eerie nature of the evening. Kelvin and several members of OSIS stayed afterward. And, with the help of Ibu Hilda, they made efficient work of cleaning up the mess.
All were to be commended for the success of the evening.
I had received a text message from Pak Cai yesterday, informing me that Pak Ahoa, the Hash Master for the Padang Hash House Harriers, invited me to join with the group for their once-monthly excursion outside Padang. We were to go tracking at a tea plantation situated on the flank of Gunung Talang, near the city of Solok.
I had seen the name of the mountain before; it had been in a short Jakarta Post story announcing that Gunung Talang had awakened from its year-long slumber and had begun spewing ash and minor amounts of magma. Last year, 2500 people were evacuated in response to the minor eruptions. The threat level has been raised to its second highest level, but the general consensus is that an eruption is not imminent.
We met in Padang near the Taman Budanya cultural center. One of the folks I met was Stephen, and I rode to the hash site with his family. He had studied micro-economics at UCLA (sharp kid, evidently).
He was in the process of searching for work, after finishing in LA last spring. He was to go to Singapore this week to continue the job search. We passed the Bung Hatta Nature Preserve that I remembered visiting with the Xaverius crew and continued up in elevation until my eyes were met with the wide expanses of tea that had become so familiar during Deanna and my jaunt from Kerinci to Solok last week.
When we arrived at the hash sight, the mountain was shrouded in clouds and smoke (kabut asap) from the forest fires in Jambi Province. The hash was divided into a long, medium and short option. It was great to see entire families present for the event.
Well over 75 people were present. There are over 100 active members in the Padang Hash House. I followed the lead of the others there, and there were many.
It would have put one of our Orono functions to shame. For the long race, we queued ten deep and 5 abreast. Most of the people did not run the hash.
Most walked it, save those few in the front who were obviously the most diehard in the group. I ended up in former, majority group, and I had no problems with it. It was nice just to treat it as a stroll through the tea fields.
The scene was picturesque. Mountains shrouded in clouds; a light rain coating the miles and miles of tea bushes; and rolling hills carved from the recent volcanic ash of Talang. The post hash festivities were fantastic.
My 25,000 rp got me as much beer and rice as I wanted. There were outlandish antics and costumes, just like there should be at a hash event. People asked about hashing in America, and I enjoyed sharing some of the more memorable events of the Orono Hash House Harriers.
Pak Ahoa’s hash name was "Bolt," and of course, his wife’s name was, "Nut." It was a perfectly perfect marital hash name combination. The post hash festivities included "On downs" for people with certain distinctions (either flattering or not).
The Hash organizers (the hares) and the winners, and members of the diehard group (the ORJIs) all partook first. Then, people with a hand in their pocket, or people sitting in a car, were called out for a public chugging. One of the more diehard members was Patrick, who I met after the beer had been consumed.
He invited me back for the next event, and I think I will certainly join if possible. We were greeted with a semi-clear view of the mountain, and its steaming lava dome. The dome was similar in style to the one currently growing on Mt.
St Helens. The side of this volcano was similarly missing, suggesting a similarly violent eruption as St. Helens in 1980.
After returning back to Padang, I was exhausted. I slept for the remainder of the afternoon, waking only long enough to ingest some of Ibu Maria’s fine fare. I retired shortly after 9 PM.
Mondays are always rough, especially when it feels like you have not fully recovered from the previous week, which I had not. Periods 1 and 2 were unremarkable. Although, the group did seem to enjoy the exercise of drawing my friend, John, one of the activities that Damon shared in Jakarta.
During the intermission, Pak Sumarban and I discussed the information provided to the Year 1 students when they arrive about the procedure to follow for an earthquake/tsunami scenario during the school day. Evidently, there is a tsunami siren located at the Mayor’s office near Balai Kota (and Pasar Raya) that is allegedly capable of raising the alarm for the people in the central Padang area, at least. It was unclear if there are additional systems in place elsewhere.
The best course of action that we agreed upon was that after the earthquake, students should move quickly One student (Fauzi, I believe) was telling me some time back, that according to his parents, there was an earthquake and tsunami combination in Padang in the early 1800s (1830s sticks in my mind but I must confirm this). As for the second class: "The climate in the classroom was not very good," as stated by Pak Sumarban. This was after the conclusion of the final period.
I had to agree. This group of Year 2 students continually tests the patience: sleeping, not working, etc..
I fully recognize that this is not necessarily a unique situation in a high school setting, but it is more endemic in this group than in most of the others. On this occasion, and on other occasions, I seriously ask myself, "Why do I put up with this. I have a Master’s Degree in geosciences and I am concerning myself with these trivial annoyances each day?
" But, then I stop and think about the one time that day when it felt like I had sparked an interest, or answered a student who had a question of deep importance to them. And it is then that I realize why I am here. They are good kids.
They like to have fun, certainly. My favorite is when they simply hang out after school and play guitar in the hallway. Ibu Theresia began a plan to decorate the main hallway of the school with plants.
Between the plants and the new paint that is going up, the school is looking mighty sharp.
I met a young man named Putra when I was going for a walk this afternoon. He was in the first year of middle school (12 or so), and I have to admit that I was most impressed by his English.
I introduced the concept of the Frisbee at Xaverius today. People seemed to enjoy it, although many still clamored for my baseball gear tomorrow.
Pak Sumarban had to take his wife to the hospital today; she evidently hurt her arm.
So, I filled in for him, and did not go into Ibu Hilda’s class today. I had been at Don Bosco previously. I arrived there with Papian and Sandra, shortly before 7:30 AM.
I went to find Ibu Poppy, the vice principal. She was in the Teacher’s Room helping Ms. Kwan deliver the morning motivational talk.
I was greeted by the group when I arrived. I had planned to scoot out and deliver some papers to Ibu Hilda in Xaverius, but once I was at Don Bosco, it was very hard for me to sneak out for a minute. They enjoy having me come, and I enjoy going.
I just get to talk with students about any range of topics (geology often comes up with the upper level classes, which is nice). The teacher with whom I worked today was Ibu Vitri; her class was the Year 3 Accelerated Class. It came to my attention afterward that these students were only 14 and 15 years old, but that they would finish high school this year.
I expressed my reservations about these sorts of accelerated classes (from the standpoint of the social development of the student before they go onto university study) after I had finished, with Ibu Poppy and Vitri. The students were very quiet. I had to tell them that they had the distinction of being the quietest class I had worked with in Padang.
As I was leaving, a girl asked me, "What do you think of our class?" It was a rather direct question. And, I wanted to share an answer with them that I thought would be meaningful, and so I started talking about how shyness, when they reach the university setting, is not very good, as you just become one number in a large group of aspiring academics.
Making mistakes when learning is not only acceptable, but is essential, for developing a fuller understanding of a topic.
Ibu Henny and I had another round of weighty conversation after school today. She is an incredibly sharp woman, and driven, and passionate about what she does: biology teaching.
She reminds me a lot of Mom. We discussed how she had wanted to be a doctor (and a fine doctor she would have been), but she had two older sisters who got preference over her. But, had she not gone into teaching, she would not have met her husband (at Andalas University, in the Biology program), or met the good friends she has at Xaverius.
She is very happy, although she, like everyone, wonders what might have happened if different courses where charted at different junctures in our lives. It is only natural. I find myself doing it quite a lot, here in the sweltering evenings.
She told me a Minang saying: "If you go to the goat cage, you should be a goat. If you go to the lion’s cage, you should be a lion." We had been talking about life philosophies, and how ours are remarkably similar: take life as it comes; be ready for anything.
The Minang saying certainly carries the same gist as the latter component of our philosophies. Be prepared for life, and things will turn out OK.
Willy asked me repeatedly for the baseball equipment tomorrow.
We had a good discussion about the "thinking man’s" nature of the game. He seemed like he would be a great player, if he gave it a go. If we could find critical mass (20 or so), then I would have no problem starting a team.
But, the accessibility to equipment is essentially zero. Ibu Maria hosted a catholic ceremony for her late husband at the house. I ate before people arrived, as I did not feel comfortable (having not met the man) in attending.
After, I tried walking to the internet. But, upon arriving, I found that that particular block was enjoying one of the rolling blackouts … there was no electricity, and no computers. Oh well.
I had the best of intentions for sending some updates and updating the blog (which badly needs it after over one month of no posts). But, like so many things, it will have to wait for tomorrow. I will attempt to go for a walk tomorrow morning.
I have just been so tired lately. I think that it is my lack of morning exercise that has dropped me into a rut. I will try and remedy that tomorrow morning.
At 5:30 AM, I had full intentions of joining the jalan pagi group for the every-Thursday walk up the hill. Then, I dawdled in my house, and did not get out the door until 5:45 AM. I was late, and I would miss the departure of the group.
But, I made tracks to the bridge, regardless, and I quickly navigated the 500 steps to the crest of the hill. There, waiting for the return of the remainder of the group, was one of the older men in the walking group. We talked, and when the others returned and began heading back to the 100 steps, I took my leave and went back down the 500 steps, as it is closer to my house (only about 20 minutes at a brisk pace) by going this way.
I had to be at school at 7:30 AM, this morning. Thursdays, I teach all day. The steps were wet and slippery.
The folks who live on the hillside, in amongst the old Chinese graves, took pleasure in seeing me half slide-half walk down the moss covered stair case. I made it OK, and rushed home for a bit of breakfast. Ibu Maria was still in Padang Panjang, and so Citra provided some very basic vittles.
The raisin bread and a couple slices of reprocessed cheese product were very delicious. Ibu Hilda had plans for what she wanted to do for the class today, and so I took the co-pilot role. We did the "My Friend, John" listening activity for the latter portion of class.
Pak Sumarban told me that he wanted to focus on certain things between now and the end of the semester, which is quickly approaching. So, I relented, and we did some book exercises, to make up some of the ground on Ibu Hilda’s class. This is something that I have always had a problem with, and that I have lamented to Pak Sumarban: that the Year 1 classes should all get the same treatment, but that Ibu Hilda likes to stay to the book, as that is what the test material covers, not the conversational activities that we often do.
I suppose it is not very different from schools in America, where government regulations strong arm teachers, who may be very creative and motivated, but who feel the constant urge to cover material, thus forfeiting possible learning opportunities for the students in return for test preparations.
Several students joined me for "Let’s Discuss It: American History and Politics," after school today. We looked at the Texas ballot for this year, and we took a short trip through American History with music and bad sketches of important Washington, D.
C. landmarks, as I had shirked my duty to find appropriate pictures the night before because the power was out. I stayed after class with Bonar, one of the sharper Year 2 students.
He had some interesting questions regarding the perception of American policies in southeast Asia. I was just informed yesterday by Pak Sumarban that President Bush will be traveling to Indonesia for a round of appearances and meetings with the leadership. The folks at school enjoy discussing these topics with me.
Many of the fundamentalist Muslim groups (namely, Muhammadiya) are vehemently protesting his planned visit. When Saddam Hussein received his sentence of death from the judge, there was alarmingly prevalent undercurrent of sentiment within a segment of the population that if Hussein could get the death penalty for killing people, then why should not Bush. The media here is biased against the foreign policies of the US, and unfortunately, people in the general public, and most people associated with these fundamentalist groups, simply parrot the lopsided media coverage, or subscribe to the skewed interpretations of their group’s leadership.
There is very little independent thinking on the part of most people. Unfortunately, this lack of critical thinking, or the ability to synthesize one’s own perceptions of a very complex, dynamic geo-socio-religo-political landscape currently developing on the world stage, is only perpetuated in the high schools here. There is little sign of relief on the horizon.
I battle every day to get kids to believe that having an answer slightly different from their neighbor’s is OK, that individuality counts for something.
Indeed, I must concede that certain aspects of American policy may not have been the best course. But, it was a course.
And, I argue, sometimes successfully with people, that it is extremely easy to "second guess" the actions of someone after the ball is set in motion, or when sufficient time has passed to allow a slightly more objectified view. Hindsight is 20-20. Of course, things in Iraq and elsewhere could have been handled differently.
But, they were not. Any situation can be handled differently. And in the aftermath of decisions that are made, the world does not have a clear picture (and can never have a clear picture) of what would have happened if X had been done, or if Y had not been.
It is easy to second guess. I ask if they have a solution to the various hot spots. What would they do?
They do not know. No one knows for sure, until they think they know what they should have done because they see the results of what was done. Then, it becomes an exercise in pointing fingers and assessing blame, an exercise that is sometimes justified and sometimes unjustified.
Many of the conflicts (Israel-Lebanon, sectarian violence in Iraq) and the perceived conflicts (the Christian v. Muslim, or the West v. the East) have existed for a long time (years, generations, centuries, or longer) before the current US political landscape was fashioned.
These are issues that have needed addressing for some time, and that had been shoddily patched by a variety of techniques (ignoring, dictatorial regimes, etc.) for some time. The charge from the fundamentalist Muslim leadership that the "War on Terror" has turned into a front for Zionist pursuits and for the renewing of Crusade-like ventures by the dominantly Christian West, are of course absurd.
But these notions are subscribed to by an alarming number of people. The misconstrued comments of the Pope last month in Germany; the furor over the publication of Muhammad cartoons in a Danish paper (there was a lawsuit that was recently dropped due legal technicalities --- and some political pressure, likely --- in Java against a newspaper press that also printed the cartoons; the buzz over that topic is still alive). One of the things that Bonar and I discussed at length was the treatment of minorities (namely the Catholic-Protestants in West Sumatra by the Muslim majority).
Griyah was waiting near the mouth of Parak Karambil when I returned from the photo shop. I still do not know how he knew I would be coming that way at that time, but he did, and I came. He wanted to use my computer for a school project.
I hesitated. I like the kid and family, but this could be a slippery slope into a situation where I have a line of neighborhood children at my door looking for the use of my computer, which is a non-option. I relented, as he continued to explain the situation, and invited him back to my house.
I felt bad because I had not had dinner yet, and neither had he, but I did not want to spring an unexpected guest on Ibu Maria this evening (and as it turns out, we were having pork (babi), which would have been offensive to his Muslim sensibilities, so it is just as well that I balked). He finished around 8:30 and said that he would go home and get a diskette. I had dinner and he returned at 9:00.
It was a busy Friday, as usual. I joined the teachers for their after-school English lesson. I had been talking with Pak Tumpal about the Xaverius booth for the Don Bosco fair, and so I was a few minutes late, but no one seemed to mind.
We practiced more with directions activity from last week, and I played a little rock n’ roll (Yakety Yak!) for them as a listening activity. Most enjoyed it, Pak Wir, especially.
In other news from today, Pak Sumarban and I hiked from his house to Teluk Bayur, via Air Manis beach. We left at shortly after 4 PM. I had told him 3 PM, but then Pak Legiman got a text from him during the English class, and I realized I had missed this meeting.
We agreed on 4 PM, and I was still a few minutes late. Today, I seemed to be perpetually tardy. I sat at my house this morning, calmly reading the newspaper, thinking that I did not teach until the second period.
I was convinced of this; I had seen it on the schedule yesterday. But, when I arrived, I realized that I had indeed missed the first period of the X.3 class.
I would have to apologize to Pak Sumarban and the class. But, I could not find the class, or Mr. Sumarban.
Evidently, there had been an impromptu field trip to the Hero’s ceremony (today, Indonesia celebrated the heroes from their history) at the Governor’s office. I would have liked to have gone, but it was not to be. Senility seemed to have arrived at my doorstep early today.
I went to join the jalan pagi crew this morning. There was some rain in the air, but it was a mere sprinkle. But, evidently, it was enough to keep the folks away.
I ran into Pak Ahoa near the Siti Nurbaya bridge, and he informed me that he did not think folks would be coming today. This was fine; I continued my walk in spite of the weather. He invited me back to the place where I met him at 7 AM, as there would be a birthday breakfast.
As it turns out, I did not know the actual woman whose birthday it was, but she invited me in warmly regardless. I knew most everyone else at the birthday breakfast, and I had been invited, so I felt justified in being there. I continued over the bridge.
It seemed quiet today. I suppose I have not walked since I returned from North Sumatra, after Idul Fitri, and maybe I simply had forgotten what it has been like before the start of Ramidhan, when 85% of the Padang population was up at 3:30 AM every morning to ring in the new day of fasting. The familiar voice of Faisal rang out shortly before I arrived at the 100 steps.
He joined me. We saw some monkeys playing on the roof of a house at the foot of the hill. They were amazing to watch.
They hung from the TV antennae, and slid to and fro on the metal roof. We discussed many things. He outlined how he thought that many of the women in West Sumatra were materialistic and would prefer to marry a man they did not love simply for the money.
I explained that this was the case with some women in America also. Materialism, at some level, is a universal pitfall of humanity. Once a man has a job, and a motorbike, then he can start looking for a woman.
The motorbike is the mark of a man who has made it, in Indonesia. In Faisal’s words, "When you have a motorbike, then the women will look at you." We discussed his business schemes again.
As he knows I am geologist, he pitched a plan to sell sand and gravel from a quarry about 15 kilometers from Padang to Semen (Cement) Padang, the largest cement producer in Sumatra. We could get a used excavator for around 400,000,000 rp and we could be in business. There is no shortage of opportunity for making money here in Padang, certainly.
But, I would be leery of engaging in any sort of joint venture like that, though I suppose it would be fiscally feasible with the strength of the US dollar relative to the rupiah. At Faisal’s urging, we had some breakfast at a warung run by a small lady who was formerly his next door neighbor. It was delicious.
He said that he had been given some extra money by his boss for a job well done (a bonus), and so he wanted to share some of it with me. It was a nice gesture. We continued to the location of the birthday breakfast and we parted ways.
Pak Cai and others trickled in around 7:30. I had to depart for school shortly before 8 AM.
I taught one class today, and then partook of the extra-curricular activities.
Some of the Year 1 students asked me to join then for basketball. I obliged, and at 11 AM, were convened at the courts near the beach. The day was hot already.
We played until noon, but then people started leaving due to the heat. They were tired. I showered and then went back to school.
The teachers were in the midst of being sold cooking wares by a traveling salesman who was giving a demonstration of the super food you can make only with his pots and pans. This reminded me of the obnoxiously energetic man who tried to sell Pak Sumarban a cup with his picture on it. He was very persistent.
Hawkers do enter the school from the street: A man selling honey from the Mentawi Islands; The pot and pan man; the creepy guy with the small head and big eyes selling cheap mugs with people’s photos. Such an encounter would not be permitted in a school in the US. Soliciting is not permitted.
But, it is part of the culture here. Maybe it is just that many people here have a hard time saying no (or expressing displeasure with a situation) that they sit through, and maybe even buy something in a moment of weakness, or compassion for the salesman. Impulse purchases are amusing things.
If you need something, then you must go and find it. If some product finds you, and you think you can not live with out it, then why were you not out looking to buy it already? When I am tired of hawkers on the street, sometimes I joke with them: "Oh, so that is why I came to Padang … to buy an oversized camoflagued sombrero," or a plastic doily with no apparent function other than to occupy space, or some other equally superfluous item.
Sure, I do not blame for trying. But, really, if the economics here are so rough, then how can you expect people to want to buy that sort of junk. I would rather buy a meal of rice and rendang.
I did not stay long at the advertisement. I simply wanted some paper from my desk. I put up some of the photos and optical illusions that I had collected and printed.
These will be part of the Discussion Board this week. I was quickly sidetracked into playing basketball again, this time with some of the Year 2 students. We played for two hours, until I simply had to throw in the towel.
I was exhausted, and I had sweated through my fourth pair of clothes that day. It was an unsustainable pace, from a laundry perspective. I played Jelius in some one on one.
Some of those kids have a lot potential. I asked if there was a team. They said there was, and that there would be a 5-5 contest at Don Bosco in December.
We worked on drop steps and up-and-unders in the paint, as well as our left handed lay-ups. I suggested we study some plays (motion, high-low). They liked the idea; perhaps we will do that another time.
I received an SMS from Layne and Caitlin, in the city of Malang, East Java. They were curious what I was doing at the instant they sent the message. I gave them a play by play account of my journey home from school.
They seemed to get a kick out of it. It will be fun to see folks and swap tales in Salatiga in December, in just over three weeks from now.
Faisal rounded the corner just as I closed the gate this morning.
It was fortuitous. He said he was just going for a walk. But, he lives so far away, and to be going for a walk on my small street at precisely the same time as I was leaving made me think that he was patrolling the area, waiting for me to emerge.
I don’t know, though. I told him that I was late for the meeting with the Hash crew, which I was, and that I would walk fast to Siti Nurbaya. If he wanted to join, he would have to walk fast too.
He declined, and he said that he would see me later. This was heartening. I have a hard time reading his intentions.
I walked to the bridge very quickly. Near the beach, in the parking lot of one of the old churches, there was a group of people doing morning exercises (essentially dance music and a music video styled dance routine). It was hilarious.
There was a slender young woman yelling out instructions to the group of probably 100 people. Simultaneously, in a miniature boxing ring perched high above the crowd, a short, fat man in a tight, black jump suit was demonstrating the dance moves. The choreography on display here was only rivaled by the karaoke and dancing to Minang Pop I experienced with the jalan pagi crowd at the Apollo Restaurant last month.
I kept an eye out for a large group of funnily-dressed individuals, which is the hallmark of Hash groups around the world, but I did not see any. Had I missed them? Was I in the wrong spot?
I texted and then walked toward the jalan pagi departure point, thinking that maybe I had misinterpreted the directions given to me by Pak Ahoa yesterday. I received a call, and indeed I had missed them. The group was small in number.
We walked the 100 stairs (which are actually the set of stairs that I have previously referred to as the 500 stairs; I have been wrong) to the top, and then turned left. We took a new trail that led into the trail that took us to the top of the hill, at the Telkomsel tower. Pak Sumarban and I had walked this in the opposite direction almost two months ago.
The view from the top was splendid. The visibility was far clearer than it has been. Perhaps, the winds have shifted, or the fires have diminished a little.
I do not know the cause, but the effect was such that I could see mountains far up and down the coast of the Indian Ocean. Padang is truly sandwiched between the lofty mountains and the ocean, but for almost two months, the haze has prevented a clear realization of this. You know it to be true when you drive from Padang to the mountains, but you do not appreciate it until you see the ocean and the mountains in the same field of view.
The city was crisp. While it was incredibly hot, as we made our way down from the hill, the scope of visibility had the qualities of a crisp autumn day in Maine.
The appointed departure time for the wedding was fast approaching.
I met my friends at the corner coconut stand around 12:30; I wanted to ask Ibu what I should wear. Batik, was the expected answer. And I was right.
I returned at 1 PM, and we left by motorbike (two bikes, six people). Pak said 5 kilometers, but this was a very long 5 kilometers, to be sure. We arrived at the characteristic orange, yellow and black flags that signify the presence of a wedding party at that house.
These are the Minang colors. We had passed many before this one, but we turned here. We were destined for the wedding of one of the sons of Pak’s brother.
But, as the Minang culture is a matrilineal society, we had to find the house of the female’s family, as that is where the wedding party is held. As it turns out, Pak only knew the way at night, and so we ended up at the wrong party. No problem.
We continued up the road and found the appropriate flags. We entered the flag covered gate and paid our respects to the bride’s family. I signed my name, got a key chain as a souvenir (which was better than my last wedding party favor, a small bottle of beauty wash) and proceeded to eat royally.
The music was, as it should be, obnoxiously loud. We had the privilege of sitting directly in front of the speaker system. Communication was impossible except during the song breaks.
We decided to relocate when another table opened up. The music was a mix of traditional flute and violin music and Minang styled pop music. We sat, and I was entertained by some of the kids who I let borrow my camera.
The cendol was cool and delicious. We were invited inside for photos with the bride and groom. The floor was set out with a pile of plates for the pending feast with the bride’s family and the groom’s family.
I do not dislike many people. But, there is one person in Padang who I cannot stand. It is the man who tried to sell Pak Sumarban the mug with the photo at school.
He is the man who I have run into in a number of inconvenient situations. Evidently, he knows (or claims to know) the family on the corner. Bapak refers to him as a friend, but I saw him shift his weight when he made the declaration.
The kids I was talking with seemed to share my distaste for his presence. He is loud, obnoxious and talks with such a fervor and high pitched whine that the very sound of it sends chills down my spine. You can hear him a block or more away.
He told me several times that the Indonesian word for bird and genitalia were very similar. And he felt my leg excessively. He wanted to exchange eyeballs (my blue for his brown); he wanted my nose, I told him that both these exchanges would be difficult and left it at that.
He termed me "keren habis," for handsome man. I was told that I looked like Jesus Christ. I get the creeps just talking to him (or about him).
He tried to sell me mugs again. He is, after all, the only man in Padang with the revolutionary technology to put photos on mugs. Imagine that.
He would even put Happy Merry Christmas on one just for me. I thanked him, but declined. I wished him to go away.
But, he would not. Bapak took a nap while he continued to harangue us about a variety of trivial topics. Finally, I paid my respects and asked permission to leave.
I could stand him no more. I was careful not to tell him where I live. Though, he has already surmised that I live near Pak Sumarban.
And while that is true, and I am at least 5 blocks from him, a 5 block circle is not nearly a wide enough buffer for this little, round spectacle wearing demon.
I arrived at school shortly before 7 AM. I like that time of day, when things are still quiet, and the entire day lay as a clean slate before you.
Indeed, Ibu Theresia had arrived just before I did. We exchanged greetings, and then she informed me that Ibu Mei’s mother had passed away this morning. The finality of the statement was profound.
I stopped and thought. She and I had talked about Texas. She loved horses, and I had promised to give her some Texas photos the next time I came for a visit.
I had not made it back since that promise, and I felt badly about that. We often run through our days in pursuit of something that we have not yet achieved, and we often forget about the things that we do have, and about the far more important issues in life that sometimes get taken for granted. I texted Antoni and asked what we could do.
We agreed to go to visit Mei and her father at 10 PM this evening, after his meeting is over. I left it to him to decide a course of action, as I have not had the firsthand experience in how to handle such a situation in Indonesia. I will gladly follow his lead.
It is quiet now, save the quiet cries of a child replicating an Iwan Falls song on one of the mosque’s loudspeakers. A man is shuffling past my house on the street. The obnoxiously loud clock in my room is keeping time.
It poured this afternoon, from about two until shortly before 5 PM. This will be the regular occurrence for the next couple months, until musim panas arrives again after the new year.
I am continuing now after I returned from the wake for Mei’s mother.
It was one of the most light-hearted wakes I have ever attended. Both Mei and her father were there. Evidently, he mother died from Hepatitis C, after she had been in and out of the hospital three times during the past several weeks.
The Padang Chinese hold their funeral services near the Telekomsi. Several students from SMA Don Bosco, and one of my students from Xaverius (Mei’s cousin), were also present. The place was very bright, and it had very few of the qualities of someplace that I would recognize as a place of mourning.
Ibu Mei’s mother, with another Padang resident who had passed away today, had been placed in the wooden casket. Antoni informed me later that the deceased is put into the casket at high tide, as that is considered good luck for the family. Generally, the funerary process unfolds over the course of three days, sometimes more, as family from away arrive to pay respects.
Antoni indicated that the hand clasp and shake that we give the family members when we enter the room was different from the one that we gave to the newly weds at the Bumiminang wedding so many weeks ago. Tonight, we clasped our hands such that the left hand and fingers covered our right hand. Though I do not know if I observed this subtle difference at the wedding, I was supposed to have clasped the right over the left hand for the happy occasion.
Antoni said it is a very old tradition, and that often, people do the wrong one at the wrong time. So, I did not feel so badly about my possible violation. As a final note, Ibu Mei offered up an explanation of the Padang ghost, Kolar hijau (the green underwear ghost), which was the topic of writing for many of the students in Year 2 when we wrote the short, scary stories last week.
I had thought that the image of a ghost in green underwear was very funny. But, after the explanation, I am left wondering Pak Sumarban allowed me to even continue the train of thought in class. Mei said that Kolar hijau is a rapist, plain and simple.
The green underwear is the calling card left behind when he has violated women while they sleep (they wake up not knowing what happened, but knowing that something happened). This is not the definition that I had been given by the students. Had it been, it is obvious that I would not have allowed them to continue with that line of thought for the writing activity.
.
I ran out of the house around 5:40 AM, destined to join the jalan pagi group. I was already late, as I often am.
I made fast time to the beach, along the beach, and onto the hills behind town. Just as I was pushing for the final leg, Faisal shouted my name. He was riding in his usual area.
He hopped off the bike and joined me, heading for the jalan pagi rally point. I made the offer for him to join us, not thinking that he would. And, he did.
He locked up the bike and climbed up the hill with a group of the women and me. Pak Cai, Pak Wu and others were behind us. We started up the hill.
He had made a comment before we left the road that he and I were both minorities in this group of entirely Chinese-Indonesian descent. And, in turn, these Chinese folks were the religious minority in Padang, of which Faisal is a majority (a Muslim, although he is of Indian descent, and so is not of Minangkabau lineage). Of course, I am a minority in all respects here, but it is fine.
He seemed to enjoy the walking, and his spirits seemed high. He and I met under strained circumstances many months ago. He was the one, in this order, asked me 1) why all Amercians hated Indonesians, 2) what I thought about the accident in New York in 2001 and 3) .
I was hopeful that I had remedied my internet woes today when I asked Pak Wu on the morning walk to reconfirm the fact that I could use the network at his office. He said I could, and I went there after school. As it turns out, I need Service Pack 2 installed on my computer in order to use the "next-generation" of encryption associated with their network.
Of course, this is the Windows patch that caused my computer to go squirrely in the US while I was working on my M.S. in Texas.
This was very scary, and the only remedy was to uninstall the Service Pack using some mystical computer tricks at the University help desk.
I was coming back to the house this evening, when the lady two doors down from Ibu Maria’s flagged me down. "Ethan, can you help me?
" was the exact phraseology. Her English was good. I said, "of course," thinking that she wanted help moving something.
But, I was wrong. She wanted more than that. She was thinking of starting an English discussion group with some of her friends from the hospital where she works (she is the head of the ICU), and she wanted me to make a commitment to attend two times per week.
Here was yet another slippery slope of goodwill. I was poised at the top. I hesitated, and finally stated that I could not teach any classes outside of Xaverius … the police man my first days in Padang had told me as such.
But she persisted, and I genuinely did want to help a little bit. I emphasized that I could only do it once a week, and even that would be subject to my travel and work schedule. It was also made clear that I was not a teacher in this setting.
I was a friend coming for a bit of chatting. This lady is obviously quite sharp (head of ICU) and a rather integral component of the community, and so I would naturally be more willing to help her than someone else, perhaps. I left it that we would talk more about it.
Perhaps, the entire idea will be lost in the evening breezes.
Sandra showed me the latest edition of the Don Bosco newsletter (The Flame), and she pointed out my appearance in the text. My name was spelled Eaten, just as I hoped it would be.
It seems that "to eat" is one of the first English words people latch on to, and so they often make an instant association with my name. I try and correct them, but it is usually fruitless. But, I have bigger things to worry about on a daily basis than the chronic mispronunciation of my name.
I spent the hours from 5 until 7 this evening with Frankie and Pak Wu at his office near school. I had gone to try and get the Seismic Eruption software downloaded for Pak Tumpal and the Don Bosco Fair booth. My computer refused to even accept the land line cable connection that Frankie provided.
It had worked yesterday, after some frustration. But, Frankie was nice enough to allow me to use his machine for the duration of the time. Frankie’s wife comes from Germany.
He met her when she came with a large group to the Mentawai Islands, where he was formerly a guide (South Siberut). It turns out that Frankie has quite an interest in the geology of West Sumatra, and notably the impending earthquake and tsunami that will likely impact this segment of the coast within in the lifespan of the children I am teaching at school. And, he shared with me some of the recent articles published by a group out of the UC system.
Perhaps, I will attempt to touch base with that work group and see what their research schedule appears to be like. It would be great to get out the Mentawai Islands with them. They have collected some interesting information on the Mentawai Islands (and on Nias in the aftermath of last year’s major event) using coral and detailed permanent GPS suveys.
I have reached the two month, two week mark of my stint in Padang, and I have to say that I really do not know where the time has gone. Things around me have gone from being mind blowing, to simply being extraordinary. I still cannot go a day without being amazed by something, however small.
Today, it was the kid of no more than 9 years leaning against the flashy side of one of the city’s many angkots, puffing away on a cigarette and beckoning people to jump on board for a ride. He was a good salesman; the angkot was brimming with people. But, the idea that, there he was, a kid of so few years, was living the role of a 40 year old, uneducated man, was startling.
I see it all the time, though. The kids look like they are very weathered. Unfortunately, school in Padang costs a fair bit on money every month, and so not all kids can (or do) go.
And even fewer follow their high school studies through to completion. I have met many kids who are still less than ten but who look like they have lived a life of manual labor. And it is sad.
I walked north this afternoon. This is a place to which I have not paid sufficient attention in my exploratory activities. A lady screamed at her ojek driver to pull over when she saw me.
I had just shaken a hoard of unsavory characters, and here was a woman willing to impose on her poor ojek driver to wait for her while she talked to me. I hesitated, but I stopped walking, and we talked for five minutes. She is a private English teacher (she teaches some of the Don Bosco kids).
She had the oddest, quasi British English accent that I have ever heard. It was so incredibly forced, and the nasal qualities it possessed far exceeded any I had ever heard. There was nothing natural about it.
Yet, she seemed very proud of it. She had very good English, but if anything, her comprehensibility was diminished by her attempt at realism (or lack thereof, as the case may be) with the accent. She finally jumped back on her ojek and rushed to class, shouting one final nasally goodbye over her shoulder.
I then proceeded another 50 meters when I was asked by a young man, "Is there anything I can do for you?" No, there was not. And I kept walking.
Then he pulled up along side me with his motorbike and he began talking. I was trapped. "Did I want a ride home?
" No, I did not. "Did I have a hand phone?" No, I did not (a lie).
"Could he come to my house to practice English?" No, he could not. And I continued to walk.
He dodged potholes and traffic to maintain the onslaught. I answered him in short sentences. I wanted him to go away.
I was trying to gauge exactly what it was he wanted. I finally reached the conclusion that he was likely harmless. He was a computer science (IT) student.
At one point in the conversation, he accused me of being scared of him: "Do you think I am some sort of bandit?" was his exact choice of words, more or less. "Are you?
" was my answer. He laughed. I told him that I was sorry, but that every day I get the requests of 20 people to come to my house, to know where I live, or to know what my hand phone number is.
I would be a certifiable lunatic to comply with everyone’s requests.
I walked to the north side of town both because I wanted exercise, and because I wanted to, perhaps, catch a glimpse at the aftermath of the demonstrations that were purportedly held at the West Sumatra Governor’s Office today. They were, of course, protesting the arrival of President Bush in Bogor on Sunday and Monday.
To protest a war, or a policy, is a fundamental right of people in a democratic society. If you are protesting on the grounds of personal conviction, and not simply on the flimsy basis of parroting what your overzealous leadership plants in your mind, then I have no problem with people exercising their right. It is a testament to the robustness of a democratic society, tha its people can express themselves peacefully, albeit vocally.
But, the demonstrations here, and those that will be carried out through the weekend (and especially today), as it is prayer day in the mosques, are not exercises in personal thought. They are orchestrated by the religious organization, Muhammadiya, and they are directed, not at policy or something that is constructive, they are instead geared exclusively at making a man, President Bush, unwelcome in the country of Indonesia. "Join with us in telling Mr.
Bush that he is not welcome in Indonesia," was the rough translation I could muster of the article in the Singgalang paper. They are taking up the cause that Mr. Bush is a killer, as shown by his international policy, and so is little better than Saddam Hussein in this regard.
It seems to me that the people of Indonesia should take this visit as a platform for dialogue. Pak Wir and I had a conversation regarding the rationale behind the demonstrations. The bone that these people have to pick with America is about the policy, not the people, themselves.
A large percentage of the money for the tsunami relief originated in America; the general goodwill of Americans toward Indonesians has been demonstrated. As Pak Wir noted and I suppose I agree, it seems cutting to take the stance that "we welcome your funds, but we do not welcome your commander in chief." Whether you agree of disagree with policy is fine; demonstrate the policy.
But, the push here seems to be for demonstrating something that is not particularly useful and, if anything, opens the door for future misunderstandings between cultures. Because in dialogue lays the seeds for changing courses and promoting wider understanding. People have every right to protest something, but when you protest the thing that may, in the long run, enhance the relationship between two countries, then I considered that misdirected.
Now, the truth of the matter is that those people who demonstrate do not necessarily represent the mindset of the larger majority. And I agree with this. But, the sense that I get, especially here in West Sumatra, is that there is indeed a fundamental and pronounced gap in terms of how people view "Americans" and "American policy.
"
The area around the governor’s office was quiet, and so I did not have to execute my plan of feigning an Australian accent to maintain personal safety. Of course, I know that it is not wise to mingle with demonstrating groups of people, but I was curious. I had seen them in Jakarta when they demonstrated about the Lebanon situation, and invariably reverted to delivering searing rhetoric directed at the American people.
I imagined that the same sorts of individuals would be out in force here in Padang. Fundamentalists, and activists from the university circles, will comprise their ranks.
Don Bosco after school, back for the English with the teachers at 1:15 or so.
On my walk between the grocery store and the photo shop to collect my pictures, I passed a small crumpled box in the gutter that read: "European Horn." Now, I am not a connesieur of car horns, European or otherwise, yet it strikes me as odd that such a distinction could even be made. A horn is a horn is a horn; or is it?
Have I lived my entire life thinking there was one, global horn, or has a horn counter culture developed half a world away that finds itself warranted to subdivide the seemingly un-subdividable? A plethora of things that I assumed would be universal turn out not to be so, horns included.
I question where the time goes on my weekends, and then I remember that the "weekend," here is not the same as we think of in the US.
The weekend is one day: Sunday. I taught for one class today. I was sitting at my desk when Pak Sumarban asked when I was coming to class.
"In an hour, when the class begins," I said. Ah, but today, they decided to skip Periods 1 and 2 and jump directly to Periods 3 and 4 after the examination first thing this morning. Why didn’t I think of that?
When I arrived, it was fun, and it did not seem like work. The last class before the start of the one day weekend was, as you would expect, a bit rambunctious, although I cannot say that I blame them. Students here work longer hours than students in America ever would.
And their curriculum seems rather rigorous. Yet, they still think their system is broken, and I guess I am inclined to believe it. If the purpose of the education is to allow one to think critically for themselves, then I suppose the system does fail in many respects.
Teachers here complain about discipline problems. But, from my experience, even the rowdiest classes are catatonic on a good day. The scope of the "incidents" in the schools here that I have heard tell of would be little more than a drop in the bucket when viewed next to the everyday happenings in a middle or secondary school setting on a daily basis.
These students are angelic. But, if it turns out that they are not learning anything, then I suppose their mannerisms count for very little.
I was asked by Pak Wir to serve as a judge in the extracurricular food cooking contest.
There were four dishes. Each was surrounded by the group of students who cooked it. There was nasi goreng, mie goreng, martabak mie and another variety of mie.
All were good, but the martabak mie took the cake, in my book. The students delighted in pushing their food on the judges. It was fun.
After class, the OSIS met with Pak Tumpal and Ibu Renny to prepare the DB Stand. It seemed like a dysfunctional operation, but miraculously, at 4:30, the materials and computers were loaded into Pak Tumpal’s truck, and we caravanned to DB to set up. The students had a number of games, and they had two computers with many games loaded on each that students could pay 1000 rp per ten minutes to use.
I also gave them the Seismic Eruption Software that I have used in class. I happened to see some of the game selection, and to be quite honest, I was offended. Several of the games used profuse amounts of vulgarities, and many had, if not actual nudity, at least implied.
I asked the students what they thought about that. And then I raised the question with the teachers in the room. The consensus was that "because it was for fun," it was not a problem.
Moreover, because the lyrics were in English, it was not a problem. This was ridiculous, but I decided to let them make the decision. I spoke up; this will enable me to sleep this evening.
This line between what is morally right and wrong seems to be a strangely wide and fuzzy one here. For a people who pride themselves in their rich traditional culture, they have all too excitedly embraced aspect of western culture and applied them to their daily lives in ways that they were not intended to be applied. Parents let their children watch some offensive, violent, vulgar R-rated movies, but because it is just for fun and that is not how they live their lives every day, does that make it OK?
Saturday was kid’s day, and one of the events was the beauty pageant. I have never actually sat down and partook of a beauty pageant, and while I did not today either, I saw enough to question the purpose that it serves. Is it fun for the kids, or is a We found a very disheveled room upon arriving at DB; it was devoid of electricity, or circulating air.
We tried to clean and ventilate, but it was only marginally successful. I was given a front row seat for the evening’s hodge-podge of cultural events.
Albert (one of the DB Science Instructors) was herding kids around the fair.
He is in charge of the robotics extra curricular group at DB.
Faisal knocked on my door at shortly after 6 AM. I had been in the mandi, and when I heard him initially, I was unsure who it was.
I had a guess, but I did not know. I pretended not to hear, and then finally opened the door in my towel for additional shock value. I have decided that he means well, but this particular encounter would have to be slightly stand-offish, for fear of him taking it to mean that I was at his beckon call.
I threw open the door and squinted in his general direction (no glasses for effect). He approached, and I gave a gruff acknowledgement. He asked to go for a walk; I said he would have to wait a few minutes.
I did not want this to be a precedent-setting encounter. We walked toward the north side of Padang to meet his friend for a walk to the soccer stadium.
My hash name was assigned this evening: Enteng (light, not heavy).
Drank beers until 12:15. We came to the Grande for the Grand Opening after the birthday party at the Apollo. Five men had opened it as a joint venture, and some of them were friends with the hash crowd.
Some strings had been pulled to get a wall in the newly renovated house
At around 9 PM, news came that there was a fire on Jl Dobi, ear Xaverius. People with financial interests in this part of town quickly vacated the party in order to obtain a clearer view of what was happening. Pak Wu was especially concerned with his businesses and house not far from the reported location.
Word of the fire nearly cleared out the Apollo. It was certainly not because all of these people had interests in this part of town, it was because they simply wanted to watch the fire. Indeed, the watching of fires is extraordinarily popular here in town.
People make an event of it: they bring some chairs, their friends and their pets, if they have them. So much is this the case that one must wonder if some are not created simply for enjoyment purposes. I felt bad for the people’s whose birthday it was; they had generously invited all these people and then, before the end of the party, many people rushed off for the fire party.
Many returned before long, though, and Pak Ahoa succeeded in stirring the remaining group into a mild fervor. And then the electricity went out. And this marked the end of the party.
An older Chinese lady gave me dance lessons: 1-2-3-4, 5-6. I was not a good student. My first Bintang in several weeks had gone to my head.
Citra’s aerobic competition; .
The aftermath of the bank fire was still evident when I went to attempt to use the internet (but it was still closed; sometimes it opens at 8 AM and sometimes at 9AM). A small fire could still be seen on the third floor of the BNI building facing Xaverius and a lot of smoke was still visible.
Water dripped through the carnage, the lingering affects of the attempts to control the fire. Indeed, the police are on hand, not to deal with the fire itself, or the safety (or lack thereof) of the remaining building, but to herd the hoards to people driving along the road to get a look at the mess. The end of Jl.
Dobi, near the school, was like a parking lot, with people jockeying for a vantage point; the food carts were on hand to provide the food for the entertainment. Business is good today at the corner of Jl. Dobi and Jl.
Pondok, unless you work at the BNI Bank building.
I am sitting here in the teacher’s room listening to the teletubbies playing on the television, and attempting to understand the conversations being thrown about the room. It is a bizarre contrast.
The TV is on, because today marks the big day after which all the demonstrations around Indonesia will come to an end, at least until they find the next event to protest. President Bush is in Bogor to deliver a goodwill speech. I am unsure what of substance will be said.
Certainly, it is important for him to make an overt effort to extend an olive branch to the most populous Muslim nation in the world. In spite of the many protests, many people are happy that he is coming.
Sweat dripped from my brow, onto the arm of a student in Year 2 class today.
I felt badly, and apologized profusely, but there was little I could do to undo what I had done. The "Making Appointments" game was enjoyable for the students. I sat back and let things unfold, trying intermittently to inject some pointers, or to get them to stop using Bahasa Indonesia.
Scolded by the lady on the corner for forgetting the wedding party she had mentioned in passing last week. I guess I need to take a more conscious effort in trying to discern what is simply a passing statement and what is an invitation. Indonesians can be very indirect when it comes to such things.
Tonight was the Battle of the Bands at the DB Fair. There were thirty groups, and the music (of varying levels of quality) lasted until 1 AM. The scene, I guess, was not that much different from an American high school.
There was a fight in the parking lot; there were hairdews that had been resurrected from a time since passed, namely the 1908s. There were mullets, and people with lots and lots of product.
The day was a blur.
I went to Andalas University with Bu Henney and the Biology Expedition group. We started at 9AM from school and walked the 15 minutes to the bus stop near Pasar Raya. The group numbered about 24.
We assumed control of a city bus, and made our way up the hill to the campus. It was an open house within the biology department, an annual event. The Herbarium was open and was very interesting.
A great mix of ethnography and botany. I met one of the older faculty members, and he seemed to enjoiy his work, even though he was not given a choice of what to study in college: he was bound to become a biologist, come hell or high water, since that was what his aptitude test indicated. These aptitude tests are qualitatively the same as the tests we took in high school, administered by the US military to identify our strengths and weaknesses.
It did not define our curriculum course, though.
Sensing the presence of Nelly in my mind, I went to the internet café to pound out the five questions for the upcoming meeting. I had received a threatening text message last night, and I thought it well to mollify her sooner, rather than later.
I did, and then I proceeded to initiate preparations for our Thanksgiving celebration at SMA Xaverius on Thursday. Pak Sumarban and I went to the Telconsi to get something that, I guess, serves the same purpose as chicken broth … it seemed to work alright. It was a bit expensive, but it was the "best from Singapore," we were assured by the small man.
It was good enough. Then, to an even smaller alley way we went to buy some old bread. I was unsure what I would get from this transaction, but the results were perfect.
For about 75 cents, I had enough breadcrumbs to feed an army. Next, we went to the Pasar Raya to acquire some potatoes. After some navigating of narrow streets, we arrived at the proper place.
40,000 rp bought me ten kilograms of potatoes, and three heads of garlic free.
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