Meeting the Counterparts

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Public schools are on summer break until July 11^th, so I’ve got a few weeks of downtime to adjust to my permanent site. Yesterday afternoon, I used that time to browse through the resources CD handed out just before swearing-in. Some of the manuals look pretty intense: “Well Construction,” “Small-Scale Beekeeping,” and “Basic Techniques of Blacksmithing” being among the more impressive. I won’t roll up my own sleeves for another few weeks, so this was a bit like listening to “Eye of the Tiger” before taking the field, a way to stay motivated during the quiet hours. For now I’m just trying to be productive—both at school and around the village—getting to know my counterparts and community.

I never considered my own high school a prime hangout spot in the summer months. Expect for a few dehydrated football players and unhappy repeat students, the place was a ghost town. My madrasah is different, though. A few administrators must be present to register incoming grade X students (Indo high schools start at grade X). However, many students and especially teachers still show up on a purely optional basis.

On Saturday, I came in around nine and took a stool in the science lab. Staff is using the room for uniform distribution, so several women sat on the floor, organizing piles of the boy scout-like patches that will be sewn onto student uniforms. At a longer table, six male teachers sat and snacked on fried tofu. I got the usual questions. “Did you buy a bicycle?” “What are your activities today?” And of course, “What did you eat for breakfast this morning?” I did my best to field everything in Indonesian, and the teachers appreciated my effort. After a while, and we ordered a round of guava and tomato juices from a roadside stand. No one uttered a word about coursework or next month’s orientation. And then at eleven, we quickly packed up, tossed the juices, and parted ways until another day.

I recognize that—at least in my village—work and social environments aren’t readily distinguishable. My community’s small size may explain why. Hemmed in by rice paddies, the farming village hugs a single road joining two bigger towns. Families here are long-established, often interrelated, and usually large, my own being among the biggest. Everyone attends the same weddings, walk the same paths, and has the same friends. Soured relationships can’t be ignored, and probably have discomfiting repercussions on the whole village and not just those immediately involved. I’m guessing that’s why social harmony seems to outrank professional duties, and more time is spent chatting rather than—something just peed on my shoulder—doing verifiable work.

Getting used to this laidback work culture has its challenges, but I’m also thankful for its advantages. On the one hand, my teaching aspirations aren’t receiving much recognition from the counterparts. I certainly have some innovative ideas for more engaging lessons, but no one seems interested in talking strategy. For now, I’m just described as “the new American who’ll help improve our English teachers’ pronunciation.” Gaining trust will take painstaking time and effort. However, at the same time, I’ve enjoyed taking things slowly. I’ve appreciated the volleyball, reoq performances, and daytrip to Java’s cultural epicenter, Yogyakarta. I’m hoping that the more time I spend with the village kids, neighbors, and teachers leading up to orientation, the more willing they’ll be to trust with whatever future projects and ideas I’ll propose.