Sekolah Luar Biasa

Everyday I ride my bicycle past Sekolah Luar Biasa on my way to teach at SMK 1. Often some of the students are outside in front of the school and we exchange excited waves as I pass by. This is not an elementary school, nor a middle or high school; rather, Sekolah Luar Biasa or SLB is for students who are, as the name suggests, "outside the ordinary" (sekolah-school, luar-outside, biasa-normal/ordinary).

As a Special Educator I was quite interested to see how students with disabilities would be treated in Indonesia. My interest was further piqued when I noticed that there were no exceptional students in my placement school, nor had I seen any during my interactions around the city. Where were the Indonesians with disabilities? Sitting with two of my fellow teachers one day I asked this question and was met with a less than satisfactory "I don't know, why?" When I answered that I taught those students in America and that my Masters degree was in Special Education I was met with a look of shock and a "why?" as in "why would you want to do that?." After bewildering them by saying that working with those children was my passion, I was told that "o yes, we have a special school for people like that." Aha! I knew it! There were people with disabilities in Indonesia, they were just being hidden. I immediately pictured 1800's style asylums full of dark rooms crowded with stagnating children of different disabilities lumped together under the umbrella of "defective". I immediately asked if I could visit and possibly volunteer there, only to be given a very vague answer. After months of advocating for my right to visit the special school I was finally granted permission and arranged a visit this past Saturday.

We were ushered into the cluttered office of the headmaster, a round, spectacled Ibu with a kind smile who cleared some space for us to sit down and chat. I knew I was in the right place when I told her that I was a Special Educator in America and her face lit up as she eagerly asked "why?"- although this time it was not an accusatory why. When I answered her question with "I love it" she smiled broadly and emphatically agreed. She took us on a tour of the school herself, holding my hand as we went through the building. She showed us the various rooms where students learn practical skills like sewing, woodworking, cooking, and salon skills. The first classroom we visited contained three students and one teacher, and to my amazement the students were reading and writing in braille! After talking with those students we were taken to the next room where eight deaf students sat in two neat rows learning sign language. As soon as my face appeared in the doorway one the the girls in the back row gasped and started making a pedaling sign with her hands- she knew me from riding past each day on my bicycle. We practiced the alphabet together in sign and they sang a song for us using sign. Before we knew it we were surrounded by other students and teachers who had been drawn by the commotion, and subjected to the photos customary of Indonesia.

Needless to say I was thrilled that my vision of Indonesia's asylums was far from the truth, but I was even more thrilled that, for the first time since teaching in Indonesia, I saw teachers who were truly passionate about their job and loved their students. Never have I had such an affirming and impassioning experience- I was reminded of all of the reasons why I had become a Special Educator. The headmaster invited me to come back as often as possible and I promised to take her up on her offer. I regret that I waited so long to venture into SLB; but, I hope in the months to come that I can keep my promise to this school that is truly outside of the ordinary.

Jeepers Creepers

Living in Indonesia is often like being an albino goldfish in a crowded tank of my amber-hued brethren...bottom line, I stick out like a prostitute in a convent. Often referred to as my "celebrity status" my ability to be recognized as a foreigner can be both a curse and an honor. In just the past week I have guest taught at three different English courses, one for high school, one for a mix of elementary and middle school, and one for teachers. The grapevine here in Pekanbaru is strong and while I was asked to teach two of the courses for fellow teachers, the last was an invitation by a woman I had never met. Along with these English courses, my voice was also immortalized for a listening section of an examination to be given in all of the vocational high schools in Pekanbaru. I felt more than a little cool as I was ushered into a sound booth (albeit an Indonesian sound booth that looked like it had been built in 1982 and smelled of stale cigarettes even though a large sign pronounced "No Smoking") and seated in front of a microphone behind a large glass window. Slowly and clearly I read a  sometimes-grammatically-incorrect script while my fellow teacher nodded in approval from the other side each time I repeated "mark your answer on your answer sheet." Afterward I was praised for my accent and what could I say? I'm a natural.

Along with the honors of being a foreigner come the curses...or should I say creepers. For a reason unknown to me Indonesians do not understand creepiness, and I constantly find myself disregarding all of the "stranger danger" training I had as a child to make excuses for the men who ask for my phone number or stop me to chat- it's cultural right? Last Monday was one of my favorite encounters of this kind. While on my daily run a small red sedan slowed next to me and the open window revealed a beaming Muslim couple. Usually when this sort of thing happens (and it's happened before) I can answer the simple "Where are you from?" and be on my way; but, the man behind the wheel of this car was a little more curious than the average Indonesian. After about a ten minute interrogation session on the side of a busy road which revealed my height, weight, and that yes I do like bakso (meatball soup), but not for breakfast-he was satisfied and left me with a "Happy Valentine's Day" as they pulled away. Yesterday while running I heard something over my music and turned to find a teenage boy keeping pace with me. The adrenaline that the scare of this new addition to my run pumped through me elicited a "Jesus f*%!ing Christ!" (so much for that whole ambassador thing) while he laughed and continued to keep pace. This boy, a twelfth-grade student at a local high school, had started running with me in January but I hadn't seen him since returning from my mid-year conference. After recovering from my shock he told me in his halting English that he had been following me and then promptly asked if he could come to my home. After giving him the vague answer of maybe sometime in the future, he told me that he would wait for me everyday and asked if I would like a ride home. After refusing twice and telling him that I needed to go home he left me to retrieve his motorcycle, but no sooner had I rounded a corner than he was there waiting for me and drove along side me for a few minutes before speeding off. A similar situation occurred during a bike ride in which a guy, with his girlfriend on the back, drove his motorcycle in pace with my bicycle in order to talk to me. When faced with these situations I have learned to laugh, it's one of those things that is truly Indonesia and I don't think I could avoid it if I tried. I just hope that I remember my "stranger danger" training upon my return to the states- I doubt that strange men at home will want nothing more than to practice their English.

A Sure Thing

 Most things in Indonesia are uncertain- electricity and running water are often mati (off/not working), classes are often cancelled on a whim, and flights are more often than not, late- but the one sure thing in Indonesia is that behind every corner lurks an eager Indonesian with a camera phone ready to shoot the unsuspecting buleh. I've been photographed in the most unimaginable places- on the side of the road while running, on a gangway into an airplane, while waiting in the airport, in front of a monument in Bali, and yes, even while I've been teaching. My most favorite photo shoot occurred while visiting Bukit Tinggi in West Sumatra- a young mother thrust her baby into my arms and then proceeded to photograph us with various members of her family. I sometimes wonder just how many photos I've been in since arriving in Indonesia and I can only imagine that numerous family albums contain photographs of an unidentified female buleh. It makes me laugh to think of all of the children who have been shoved at me for a photo, like the baby in Bukit Tinggi, who will look back on their childhood photographs only to ask "Mom, who's this white lady in the picture with me?." So it was no surprise that after only three days in Indonesia grainy photographs of my Mom and sister appeared on facebook compliments of my students and their ever ready camera phones.

My Mom and sister's Indonesian adventure was the fastest ten days of my experience thus far and filled with a plethora of emotions. They arrived exhausted and overwhelmed by the stark contrast between the first and third worlds. Those first few days were stressful to say the least as they tried to assimilate into Indonesian culture and recover from their 24 hour flight, and I tried to make them as comfortable as possible while protecting them from some of the rawness of this country. They were troopers though and happily (at least on the outside) endured a day at my school where they had various foods pushed at them and were photographed at least a hundred times, a lunch at the home of one of my Ibus, and a bumpy flight to Bali. Our time spent in Bali was much more relaxing since the westernization of the island as a tourist destination allowed them such comforts as a gorgeous beach side resort with pristine pools and a western breakfast buffet; restaurants that served food sans chile; and a little anonymity with other white-skinned, pointy-nosed people abounding. We lounged by the beach and pools; perfected the art of bargain shopping; took in some cultural dances and art; played cards; caught up; and overall just enjoyed being together. Our parting on Thursday was tearful and left me feeling a little empty; but, I am more than grateful that they braved the long journey and distant lands. As I write they are probably picking up their luggage from the carousel in BWI airport- happy to be home. Like being photographed in Indonesia my family is always a sure thing and I hope that they are as glad as I am that they made the long trek for such a short visit.

The three of us inside a 1,000 year old Hindu Temple.

  

An Indonesian Welcome

After returning home from the conference I had one of those weeks that required an "oh, Indonesia" while shaking my head in defeat. My first night home the plastic chair off of my front porch was stolen- not while I was gone for an entire week- but the night after I returned. After missing it for the day I walked down to my neighbor's house to find it comfortably situated on his front porch (note: we've had issues with chair ownership since I moved in). The next morning I woke to find a rat's head and entrails on my front porch next to the chair that I had stolen back- (I'm taking this as a sign that I've been accepted by the cat community). When trying to clean up the entrails I realized that my water pump had stopped working and thus, I had no water. With an hour before I needed to be to school and sweaty from my morning run, I unabashedly took my plastic mop bucket to the spigot on the building in front of mine and stole a bucket of water to shower with. The next day I received  a call from AMINEF to say that the head of the Asian Fulbright commission was coming to Pekanbaru to visit on the same weekend that my Mom and sister were to arrive, and would I mind changing my plans to show him around? On top of it all monsoons descended upon Pekanbaru and it rained unceasingly all week.

Today my Mom and sister are scheduled to arrive in Pekanbaru in one hour. My chair has stayed in place, my water pump has decided to work again, and I wrote to AMINEF that there was no way I would miss time with my family no matter who was coming to visit. Brian has good naturedly agreed to rubbing elbows without me. Unfortunately with all of the rain the laundry that I dropped off on Friday with all of my towels and sheets was not dry when I went to pick it up today. I sure hope that my Mom and sister don't mind sharing for awhile. Having experienced life here it seems too fitting- welcome to Indonesia Mom and Cybbie!