Afternoon Walk

It’s 4:30. The sun is settling behind the trees, and in the ensuing coolness, the village is stirring to life. The growing commotion means it’s time for me to get up as well. Putting down a book (4.5/5 kerupuk crisps for Donna Tartt), I get ready for my daily walk. Mosquito-proof jeans come first. Next, I gather up the extras—Frisbee, notebook, wallet, and keys, and stuff everything into a bag. Then I’m outside tightening the Chacos. I’m not alone. Two boys circle their fixed speed bikes under mango trees. My sister cradles her youngest in a shoulder wrap. Several cousins chat under the shade of their own porch. “Where are you going?” one of the cousins asks. “To the stream,” I answer. After a respectful leave-taking, I’m off.

The walk down to the stream is a short one. My cobbled side street declines steeply after turning behind the house, and in less than one hundred meters, I’m already there. The wooded path ends at a small, concrete dam that was set—according to my father—one hundred years ago by the Dutch. If it were a few minutes later, I’d climb the adjacent bank and watch the sun set over the paddies. I’m too early, though, so I keep walking along a terraced aqueduct supplied by the dam’s diverted water. The narrow path forces me to walk carefully. And after spotting two snakes within the next hundred meters, I’m ready to redouble that caution. However, it’s not long before I abandon the trail for another leading back up to the main road.

Leaving the tree cover, I find myself standing on the shoulder of the main motorway next to the local minimarket, my next stop. Entering, I resist the ice cream cooler and wander to back to the Oreos. The owner sums my total on a calculator, then silently spins the screen around for my convenience. I count aloud “Enam ribu lima ratus” while handing over the change. She appears tremendously impressed by my Indonesian. Pretty soon I’m seated on a bench outside talking to her family: husband, wife, and daughter. The daughter definitely stands out. Her name is “Happy,” and she has remarkably good English for a high school student. Before leaving I write down everyone’s name in my notebook, so I can have them memorized when I next visit.

And then I’m off to visit an SD (primary school) that’s usually teeming with kids by 5:00. Fifteen boys knock about a plastic soccer ball as I walk into the schoolyard. I take a seat on the side, having learned that being outgoing with Indonesian kids just makes things awkward. On the other hand, kids respond well if I let them direct the interaction. Soon enough a few break from the game, wander over, and ask if I’ve brought the Frisbee. We try tossing for a few minutes until our numbers reach critical mass for full-court futsal. To pick teams, every player finds a partner and plays a sudden death round of “Person/Elephant/Ant, ”an Indonesian version of Rock/Paper/Scissors. After my own bout, I head to the winners’ side and volunteer for goalie, thinking it the most dignified position available for a schoolteacher.

I don’t see much action during the game. Most of the older, bigger, more aggressive kids are going my way, so whenever someone on the opposing team gets the ball, it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s knocked to the ground and stripped. While the ball is at the other end, I have time to check out several kites—way bigger than the one’s kids flew in Malang—flying over the paddies. And still enjoying the lull, I also scout around for a trio of little sisters in strawberry dresses. An ill-thrown Frisbee knocked the youngest of the three in the forehead yesterday, so she’s due for a make-up gift—specifically, the Oreos I’ve bought. However, I don’t see the girls, and because it’s almost dinnertime (5:30), the game is breaking up. I say my own goodbyes, and trudge on home for a quick bucket bath while the sun-warmed water lasts.

And that was today’s walk. Since I'm having some trouble uploading images, here's a video made by one of the other training groups for their Community Project: