I began my trip to Java at a sold out Jake Shimabukuro concert at the Bankhead Theater in Livermore, California. Lutfiansyah (Lutfi) and I met over a table of hundreds of pictures scattered across a long table pressed in a corner of the theater out of the way of passing traffic. Loving any opportunity to be a ‘do-gooder’ and even more excited that it would be helping children, I eagerly shuffled through the Childfund organization’s sponsorship cards until Lutfi and I connected. Quickly jotting down my credit card info my pseudo-adoption was finalized. I spent the rest of the night chasing my boyfriend around with a cardstock photo of a foreign brow-skinned boy, asking him, “Why won’t you hold the baby?!?” He continuously reminded me that we did not adopt a child, we sponsored a family, and as always, he is right, but somehow it felt important to me. More important than just sending a check every month to some far off land, but a connection…a way to make the world smaller and come together.  

Less than a year later I stepped on to a questionable airline; headed to a city with a less than stellar reputation, to lay eyes on the family I have only known through translated letters that take months in transit.

 

It was a little jarring when the staff showed up to my hotel to pick me up. There were three of them wearing very serious expressions and saying something in Indonesian, but all I got was ‘Lutfiansyah’, so I said “yes” nodding and bowing slightly in nervous respect. We sat down and the translator, who spoke fairly good English said, “we will visit the family of Lutfiansyah, but must first.” And he unfolded an itemized bill of the faculty member fees, translator, transportation, and various other expenses. It seemed like a huge number considering rupiah are 10,000 to $1US and I had been struggling with my ATM, but after a short while of concerned phone calls on their part the translator smiled, “It is good, no pay whole thing. Just today. It is good, yes?” I smiled, nodded and we piled into the car. We traveled, what I later realized was a very short distance, which seemed much further to me at the time, as my eyes could find nothing familiar to gage the passing terrain.

 

On arrival I was surprised to find the family waiting outside a very nice dwelling, complete with a jungle gym for the children outside and a TV inside. The walls were brightly painted with a lot of open space, and I asked Arwan, my translator, if this was the school. He conversed with the Childfund faculty, and said “School and home.” I was impressed with their home/school, and what appeared to be what I refer to as, their ‘Sunday best’ (which is an odd comment considering it pays reference to a religion neither they or I practice). Lutfi is the eldest son, but only by a moment. He and his twin brother Lucky are the only children of the Maulana family as it is ‘suggested’ by the Indonesian government to only have two children and, I am told, many people comply. Today both Lutfi and Lucky were dressed in new white and blue button up shirts with gold patterning roping across the fabric that reminded me of a fancy Hawaiian shirt pattern. They each had new looking jeans and shoes that seemed clean out of the box. The clunky blue plastic watch that each boy brandished on his left arm, almost as big as his whole hand, struck me.  At just over 2 and a half years old I couldn’t imagine they were telling time.  The facility member said something and was gesturing to the children. Arwan translated, “They use the money you send for boys. Nice things for them.”

My initial thoughts were confirmed as they were all picture perfect in their formal attire for my benefit. Their mother also dressed well, wore make-up and a dressy red blouse with fabric roses dangling from it, and grandma, less formal, in a white t-shirt.  There was another young girl off to the side, not initially introduced, and I asked who she was when I noticed she was crying. “She is the sister of Lutfi’s mother.” She appeared quite young and I learned she was only 11 and feeling jealous of all the attention the boys were getting. They ushered her away quickly and snapped many photos, each with the two boys shyly hiding their faces in the nearest protective shoulder or scowling, confused and probably frightened by everyone calling their names, “Lutfi smile, Luuuuutfi!”

I realized that the expressions so often seen in the photos used to elicit sponsorship, big eyes and neutral or sullen appearances, are not actually sad and suffering the way they appear to our smiling-happy-conditioned expectation.  Most people I met here do not smile in photographs. First, this area is not a tourist destination so they are not familiar with lots of photographs. Second, I was told that smiling means you are ‘confident’. I wasn’t sure if that meant ‘arrogant’ and my translator was just being polite, but it didn’t prevent the staff from demanding smiles on every occasion (presumably believing that is what I would want).

After a flurry of pictures (side note: I truly never thought I would meet my equal in rapid fire photo six-shooting, but Lisa of the Childfund staff put me to shame with the sheer volume of pictures she snapped and insisted on!) they asked me, “Shall we go?” I nodded ‘yes’ having no idea of the agenda.   As it turns out we were to go to an amusement park of sorts. Arwan told me that the children can never go here, “it’s very expensive.” Looking around it consisted of a few coin-operated rides that you might have seen years ago outside a grocery store when excitedly you would bound aboard a fire truck or a mechanical horse that played music while it rocked back and forth, and a plastic ball jungle gym so commonly seen at fast food restaurants in the states.

I watched the boys break free from the formalities that had just passed and watched them fall into play.  Lutfi was discerning about everything. He observed the goings on from a distance carefully surveying. He did not like to be lead or coerced. Although, seemingly more shy than his brother, he was much more dominant.  His thin features accentuated the image in my head of a small rebel without a cause. He did not follow the other children or get drawn into their play easily. He was watchful, and where another child would bound down the slide and into several other children flopping all of them into the pool of rainbow skittle balls below, he would wait until the area was clear and slide cautious not to run into anyone. Although he became more lighthearted as the day went on, he was a powerful presence, both in his silence and in his authoritative nature.

Lucky, easily distinguishable from Lutfi even though they are identical twins, has a round face and an easy smile. He was instantly sociable and obliviously giddy tumbling from one pile of giggling children to the next.  I noticed he brought a quick smile to the face of both mom and grandma and you could sense that he was the more compliant, and less challenging, of the two children. Lucky would race to the side of the play area to grin at his family and then spin around and topple laughing uncontrollably back into play.

I enjoyed watching the contrasts of their personalities, and couldn’t help but be drawn to Lutfi because he reminded me of the quiet, discerning, introverted nature that I so admire about my boyfriend. Although Lutfi was far from quiet! He had a quintessential 2-year-old voice, but he seemed much more determined and clear than other children his age about what he used his powerful scream to elicit. 

In all the hours I spent with them I didn’t hear Lucky fuss a single time. He seemed almost like a baby version of the chubby Buddha representation.

Hours passed, lunch, many conversations about the children and the US, and we were on our way back. We continued to talk and I asked about Childfund and why both children were not in the program.  They explained that only one child from a family can be sponsored through this program, but oddly they seemed alarmed.  I had brought gifts for both boys and the family and explained that my intention was to treat the boys the same and try to help the whole family.  Shockingly my comments were met with, “you don’t like? You want a different child for sponsor?” I was instantly appalled, and explained how wonderful Lutfi was. They continued with, “Lucky is more friendly, always smiling. You like smiling. Lucky is better for sponsor.” I was dumbfounded by the comments and the concerned expressions the family as they tried to hold out their second son for me to hold. I tried to smile and said, “I like Lutfi very much. He is a wonderful boy,” Arwan translating for me. They continued to hold Lucky out to me. I was perplexed and resorted to all I knew of their culture, “Lutfi is the eldest son. It is a great honor to sponsor him.” At this they seemed satisfied, they calmed, nodded, and smiled. It was all kind of jarring for me, but I found my anxiety melted away quickly when Lutfi fell asleep while I held him. His tiny warm body betraying the fragility his strong presence and stature denies.

We arrived at the end of a long steep dirt pathway and I carried Lutfi with mom and Lucky near by. On arriving at the bottom of the path a swarm of children and families approached. I learned that the small concrete floored room we had arrived at was their actual home. The previous place was the school and home of a staff member. With no furniture except a small fan we all piled into the boys home, and sat easily upon the floor. There was a small attached room where the entire family slept and I saw nothing of a kitchen or bathroom.  Their home consisted only two small, nearly empty rooms and nothing else. There were no toys or amenities, but there were many curious playful children, and smiling welcoming villagers.

We only stayed for a brief time, the faculty stating it was late (nearing 2pm) and we would return the following day. I handed out the remaining gifts that I had brought and bowed humble gratitude as we departed. I looked back to only find gracious curiosity, and kind waving. I wanted to stay. Repeatedly ushered, I joined the staff, and we found our way back the winding path and narrow dirt road that had brought us here.