My second day visiting the boys began with my usual 4:30am spiritual calling via loudspeaker permeating the walls to my hotel from the nearby mosque, with long low notes resonating the still air it seemed a much more soothing wake-up call than my usual alarm. I laid quiet in the dark listening to the prayer and wondering what it was actually saying.  As the almost eerie song climbed its way through my thoughts, I wondered if it left blessings there, in a language I could not comprehend, part of a religion I knew almost nothing about.  When I was young, I remember being told that I was being blessed as I impatiently fidgeted through a long Latin mass, maybe this prayer was wrapping it’s own best wishes for my wandering soul, as well.  With that reassuring thought I jumped up and headed to the empty (as usual at any hour, much less 4am) dining room to see if the internet was working.

Four hours later I was pulled from my electronic chatter to find that the Childfund staff was there to collect me for the day. Unlike Bali, I had no resounding guilt about my wasted hours on my computer. With no near-by nature to speak of, and terrified expressions from hotel staff when ever I wander off the property to explore, I found it easier to just sit with my laptop, interrupted every few moments for a photo with another smiling member of the hotel staff or the infrequent hotel guests.  I’ve become accustom to the psuedo-stardom with people staring, pointing, and pictures coveted with the 5’9, white, blonde foreigner rarely seen in these parts. I figure I am deserving of the slight embarrassment and disruption considering the thousands of photos I have taken over the years in my travels, besides I think it is helping me get over my usual need to strike the most flattering ‘thinning’ pose I can in every photo. I mean why bother here? I am a giant in all aspects no matter which way I stand, “Radical self-acceptance” my friend Naomi always says!

We drove away from the hotel towards the village. Today we were supposed to go to a large shopping mall and amusement park. I concealed my inner eye-roll behind a nodding smile and continued to listen. Arwan continued saying that unfortunately we can’t get there because the roads are filled with demonstrators. The Muslim practice or Ramadan was to begin in three days and the street were lined with people dressed in traditional wraps holding signs and chanting. It looked more like a picket line for a union strike than a celebration, but they were on every street, lining every sidewalk, and weaving through the traffic in the middle of the road.  If I were unaware of the spiritual practice that Ramadan is for the Muslim people, I would be expecting the energy to burst into riots and initiate the sheer mass of people yelling and calling out with such intensity into  levels sparking violence in the streets.    Instead, it just continued as a loud, and mildly unnerving, part of the bustling streets.

Because much of the city was at a standstill they decided we would take the family to a local shopping area. I was pleased. I appreciate the local culture and was eager to see the day-to-day goings on in life here. After insisting that the boys aunt be included, grandma, mom, aunt, and two active 2 year-olds somehow fit nicely into the back bench seat of the minivan, leaving me and Arwan plenty of space to turn and chat with them. 

Today they were much more comfortable.  They asked questions and expressed shock about my traveling alone. They shared that the boys father IS actually a fisherman (correcting my original doubt). They have fish ‘farms’ here, which looked more like swimming pool sized shallow mud ponds, where people pay to come get fish for eating. It is still fishing, in a more controlled environment, I suppose.  “It is Lutfi’s father’s job to ‘wait’ for people who want to fish and help them.” I creased my forehead in that place that always makes me consider getting Botox even though I’ve seen some terribly botched jobs. “He waits?” I asked, “How often do people come?” 

“Not so many,” Arwan translated.

I learned that the family’s only income is the money sent by Childfund, and the extra money that I send each month. They apologized for not getting the boys more toys and clothes with the money I send, but they have had to use it to buy food. They reassured me that when they “make more job” they will get the boys more ‘stuff’. I was suddenly acutely aware of the month I didn’t send extra money just because I had gotten busy with my life and casually thought that I would just send it the following month.  My nonchalance suddenly had a very real consequence in the lives of these amazing people. I explained that the money was for food and anything they needed, the boys seemed very happy, they were doing a great job, and I was very happy (which seemed to help them relax a little).

We continued to talk and I asked questions trying to learn about each of the family members. They didn’t understand questions about ‘what they do for fun’ or ‘hobbies’. They said, “If people have money sometimes they make extra food and a friend can come to talk,” but it seemed to be spoken more ‘in theory’ rather than something they have done.

We arrived at the local shopping area and I was hit by a wall of chaos. It was huge, complete with escalators and ‘sale’ signs that seemed to go into infinity. There were people talking what seemed like auctioneer speeds through loudspeakers with their mouth too close to the microphone so it was just loud and muffled with no real annunciation of words. “This is small?” I asked. Arwan said, “yes, very good deal here. Other shopping very far away, very expensive. Ramadan sale. Very good sale for Ramadan.”

After repeated explanations that I wanted them to each get something and not just the boys, they finally conceded. We walked away with new outfits and shoes for all the family. Thankfully, one of the benefits of shopping with people who never shop is exactly that…they don’t shop. They walk in, pick something up, and hand it up for purchase. As someone who doesn’t like malls and shopping this was a blessing, on the other hand, I really wanted them to get to enjoy having options. They seemed satisfied as they smiled and showed each other their new treasures, so we moved on to another arcade, jungle gym area located upstairs.

The boys squealed and ran in to the blinking abyss. They played for a while and when it was time to go, I was amazed at the ease in which the 2-year-olds were corralled and redirected.  The Childfund staff lead us to the KFC (yup, fried chicken) and we sat eating chicken and rice with our hands. (Two side notes: one-almost everything is eaten with your hands, yet they have very little paper products, and two the KFC in Indonesia served rice in wrapped packages, but sadly no mashed potatoes or mac-n-cheese 🙂

We made quick work of our lunches and I cringed a little seeing the boys gulp down soda, which I assume (although their dental work would suggest otherwise) that they don’t get very often.

As we left, I was again shocked at the size and urban nature of this place. Amazed that such small, poor, villages were tucked quietly in the shadows of its sprawling wings.

We arrived back at the village and everyone seemed comfortable and relaxed. The entire village piled into the small front room, spilling out the door, and peering from the outside with faces pressed against the dirt-smudged window trying desperately to be a part of the goings on.

We all sat and talked with Arwans help. They sat close, touching and bowing; the children taking my right hand and pressing it to their forehead in sign of respect. We laughed and told jokes, we talked of life in the village, of families, and relationships. We talked of different cultures and similar people. We talked and, for a moment, I was not white, and rich, and foreign…for a moment we were just sharing this time, sharing our lives, sharing laughter and joy…for a moment we were just friends who had long been parted and were catching up on the adventures in each others lives. 

They begged me to stay and many offered for me sleep at their houses, but the staff said it was time to go and we would return tomorrow. This magical time was all too short, and the spell was broken as I stood and climbed noticeably taller than the tallest person in the room. They laughed and touched my waist, and hair, and butt. One woman kept patting my butt and saying something that made Arwan laugh and he was slow to tell me. Finally he said, “So big, so big.” We all laughed.

(and I repeated radical self-acceptance, radical self-acceptance *grin*)