When I first got to Garut three weeks ago, I was kinda pleased to find that the main street in front of my compound had sidewalks. Where I had lived in Putin for three months during Pre Service Training there were very few sidewalks. In Putin I was always looking at my feet to make sure I was walking on solid ground or not risking a sprained ankle by stepping on some kinda rock or into some kinda hole or watching for crazy drivers as I was walking along the side of the street. I didn’t get to see other things while I was making sure I wasn’t going to fall. I wanted to see the shops.  What were they selling? What did the little restaurants serve? What was growing in the fields? Had the clouds lifted and could I see the tops of the mountains all around me? Putin is a village. Garut is a city. Perhaps that explains the sidewalks.

The main drag of Garut, a few steps from my house, is about a four lane street. Except, there are no lanes and both directions of traffic like to use the whole street. I have not yet seen a stop light so crossing the street can be a bit of a challenge. Along both sides of the street are rain gutters.  They are about 2 feet deep and these days usually have lots of running rain water. These sidewalks are wider in some places because these gutters are sometimes covered, usually in front of shops or where people need access to driveways or garages. Every once in a while the sidewalk just has a big open rectangle through which you can see the running water.

These days there isn’t a lot for me to do.  There are no teachers or students around the school.  The family at home is doing all kinds of things getting ready for Ramadon which begins tomorrow.  I have been taking walks.

Garut is a big city.  There are lots of places for me to walk. I usually start off on the main drag outside my compound than head along that street toward the center of town.  From different points I branch off and explore. There are lots of shops, cottage industries, fast food shops and stalls selling all kinds of Indonesian foods and lots and lots of people.

It has been raining off and on for the last week. It rained twice yesterday.  I didn’t get a chance to walk during the time the sun was up.  I decided to go out last night at about 7:00 p.m.to see some place I haven’t seen before. Last night I headed away from downtown. There were new shops, new food sellers and new people. I was looking across a street to see what was there when I walked straight into an open section of gutter. It was kinda like taking an extra low step by surprise. I landed on my feet in about 18 inches of running rain water.  At lease, I hope it was only rain water.  It was dark.  I couldn’t see. I only scraped my right thigh on the way down. A guy who was seated at a food stall just behind me came over to help me out of the ditch but I was able to do it on my own. I was wet up to my knees and my thigh hurt a little but, as the book says, “It could have been worse.”

I decided that I had had a long enough walk and went home. I have a big scrape on my right thigh so used my Peace Corps medical kit to clean it up.  I will live but I’m sore all over today from the experience.

I was rather looking forward to evening walks during Ramadon when everyone would be out in the streets. Perhaps I will take my walks during the day.  Perhaps I will limit my evening walks to sidewalks I know. I will continue to walk.  I want to see everything but know that I have to see if there is sidewalk no matter where I walk.

Reading Harry for Ramadon

June 25, 2014

I had an e-mail from a dear friend yesterday.  She’s a PCV in East Java. She wrote about having nothing to do. Her school is on a two week vacation following re-testing. Friday (or there about) starts Ramadon, the month of fasting when everything gets turned day to night. She wrote about her English teacher counterpart and the host family with whom she lives. She said she was going to re-read all of the Harry Potter books to help her pass the time when nothing is going on.  This seems like a really good idea. The phrase, “Reading Harry for Ramadon” has stuck in my mind since I read her e-mail. I think I want to do the same. I’m not sure I will tell my new Muslim friends that I’m reading books about wizards during their Islamic holy month. I might just keep that to myself.  Seven books I like during a month of nothing going on during the day – Yea.  I can do

My PCV friend’s counterpart is really looking after her.  REALLY looking after her.  She is feeling a little restrained. I can kinda understand the Indonesian guy’s thinking.  Here comes a 23 year old pretty American woman into a school and community where there has never been a resident American yet along a pretty young female American. He’s trying to make sure nothing untoward happens while he is on duty.

She’s living in a small village where every time she sticks her head out of the door of her host family’s house, the entire village knows it. She’s probably hears, “Hello Miss” a thousand time a day or more.

The formal welcomes are over. She’s been shown around her school. She’s met the neighbors. Everyone in the village knows who she is.

She’s the new American English teacher. Except there is no English teaching to do at the moment. Her school has been closed since re-testing finished last week.  There may or may not be classes the second week of Ramadon but the first, third and fourth weeks are off for sure. A national school vacation starts right after the vacation for the end of Ramadon. The “Peace Corps Community Entry Workbook” assignment for the third week at site is to ‘Get to know your community.” She met the entire town the first or second day she was there. Yep! Reading seven books about wizards sounds like a good idea.

I’m gonna read them too. I’m in a very similar boat to my friend. I was thrilled by the surprise of finding 430 future ninth graders at the school when I walked over this morning.  Seems the school has 430 boys and girls whose parents want them in this school but the school has places for only 330 of them. I walked around the school and talked to as many of the prospective students as I could before they had to go into the classrooms.  As I sit here in the men teacher’s room tying, the 430 are taking a qualifying test. The school will accept only the top 330. I’m pretty sure those are the only students I will get to even talk to for the next long while.

The counterpart I have met (I may have another but that teacher has yet to reveal him or herself) lives two hours away from Garut and only makes the commute when he has to.  The principal of my school, a strong supporter of Peace Corps and the English Language, also commutes 2 hours and also only comes when he has to. He doesn’t have to these weeks. I’m on my own.

Garut is a big place. Use Google Earth to have a look at it. It goes for miles in every direction. I have walked and walked and walked and walked and not covered a fraction of the place. A goodly portion of my neighbors and shop keepers round my home and school and in between have seen and greeted the new American man in town. The street the school is on is a quiet one.  Little kids perhaps 5 – 7 years old play out in the street all the time.  I’m greeted by shouts of “Hello!” and “Good Morning” every time I pass. I’m working on getting them to say “Good afternoon” as I pass on my way after lunch when I come over to the school to use the Internet.

My house on the pond continues to fascinate me. I’ve started a little garden beside my veranda. I watch the fish. I play with the 1 ½ year old grandson and think of my grand-nephews the same age. My host family mother makes great tasting varied meals. (Perhaps a lot of tofu but I know it’s good for me.)  Otherwise, life on the pond is a little quiet.

I think I’ll read Harry for Ramadon.

I really struggled with learning Bahasa Indonesia during Pre Service Training. For ten weeks this geezer’s brain fought to overpower Arabic enough to replace it with the language spoken here, Bahasa Indonesia.

I am now in Garut, West Java where I will be living and teaching for the next two years. I live with an Indonesian family in a house built on a fish pond. It’s a family compound actually with separate houses for a married son, his wife and their 1 ½ year old son (same age as 2 of my grand-nephews), a house for their unmarried son, the daughter and her husband’s house, an aunt and her family’s house and a house where there is a family who may or may not be related – I’m not sure yet.

So far, I have been able to understand and respond to everything they all have said to me. I miss only a word now and then. The reason for my ability to understand is that they all speak with me using English, Bahasa Indonesia and Arabic with a word now and then in Bahasa Sunda (the language of this part of West Java.) All four languages are used in the same sentence. Most sentences have four languages in them. I have no idea how my geezer brain is able to switch from language to language this quickly but it seems to be working.

MAN 1, my school, has several Arabic Language teachers. These teachers have been speaking to me in 100% pure formal Classical Arabic straight from the Koran. The Arabic I know best is Egyptian Colloquial. There’s a big difference between the two. When these teachers speak slowly I can usually add a neutral kinda response that keeps the conversation going.

I’ve been given a desk in the male teachers’ room. There are 25 desks here. Only one of the English teachers has a desk in this room.  The others are used by teachers of all kinds of different subjects. All of these teachers have been speaking to me in English (except the 2 Arabic Language teachers).  They have different levels of English but we seem to understand each other. I have asked them to speak either Bahasa Indonesia or Bahasa Sunda with me so that I can improve and learn these. No go! I’m their English teacher and they want English more than I need an Indonesian Language or two.

The teachers in charge of the media center, computer lab, motor repair lab and the music teachers all speak English as well as the English teachers. The teachers in the Clothing Fabrication class seem to speak only Bahasa Indonesia and their language, Bahasa Sunda. If I’m going to practice my Indonesian languages at school, I’m going to end up with a lot of well-made Batik clothing.

.

I'm a PCV again. It's time #3.  The U.S. Ambassador to Indonesia swore us in. He tweeted this picture of him and me talking about time #3