Hantu Pulang

I believe in ghosts.

Go ahead. Take a moment to laugh. It’s ok. I get it all the time.

Are you finished? Ok, cool.

So yeah…I believe in ghosts. I’m no Ghost Buster. I don’t chase after spirits or play with Qujia boards. In fact, I try to live in ignorance when it comes to the unknown (that’s why they call it the “unknown”, duh).

Unfortunately I can’t escape the subject of ghosts in my household. My host sister (Nia) constantly watches a reality television show about people who are possessed by demons. Whenever I walk passed the living room Nia’s eyes are glued to a man screaming and crawling around the floor. Supposedly, he’s possessed. I don’t stick around to find out whether this is true or not.

Last week I left my house after dark because I needed to get an assignment from another trainee. When I returned my ibu (host mother) pushed me into the kitchen corner and instructed me to stand there. She then frantically waved her arms around my body as if she was performing reiki on me.  I stood there utterly confused. Afterwards, she took a deep breath and said, “Hantu pulang.” This translates into, “The ghost went home.”

I screamed for Nia to explain everything. Apparently, a ghost followed me home and clung onto my back. By waving her arms at me, my ibu successfully sent the ghost home.

My ibu then casually asked me if I wanted to take a bucket bath. I looked into the bathroom. It must have been a weird coincidence, but at that moment the bathroom light flickered.

I skipped my bucket bath and slept with the lights on.

My Life is Rice

It’s no secret that I love food. My family jokes that I am never (and will never be) full.  I frequently turn up at my sister’s doorstep in New Jersey unannounced and hungry in hopes of a home-cooked meal.

You can imagine how thrilled I was when I had my first meal in Sumberejo. Even my ibu was excited to have me as a guest. She made sure to cook her absolute best dishes. The first night I had fish coated in a tomato and onion paste, potatoes in a spicy curry, satay (an Indonesian favorite) and rice. It was heavenly!

However, I overate. I later hid in my bedroom and concentrated on not vomiting. I sat in an upright position and mentally chanted, “Digest. Digest. Digest.”

The next morning I woke up to discover that the leftovers from the previous night were sitting out on the dinner table. My host family offered me last night’s fish, potatoes, satay, and rice for breakfast. I was so confused, but I ate it.

As I integrate into Indonesian culture, I notice major differences between American and Indonesian eating habits. Everyone loves lists these days, so let me make this easier to read.

Here’s a list of Indonesian eating habits I have noticed in the past 3 weeks:

1) RICE. All day. Every day. Every meal. No exception.

2) All 3 meals are cooked in the morning

3) Food is left out all day. People eat when hungry

4) Rice needs to be mentioned again

5) Family members rarely eat together. Eating alone is absolutely acceptable.

6) If it’s not salty, it’s sweet.

7) Sugar + Avocado = Tasty Indonesian Snack

8) Food is offered whenever your enter someone’s home

9) Wait!!!! Did I mention rice? I wasn’t sure if I had yet…

10) Everything is fried

11) You are officially a crazy person when you explain what a salad is

12) You are legally insane if you tell them you don’t eat rice in the morning

13) The biggest gossip around the desa (village) is what you like to eat in the States

14) When you say you are full, they wait 5 minutes and ask again if you are hungry

15) Snake fruit. It’s a thing

16) Rambutan (a fruit) literally translates into hairy head

17) ...Rice

I have been in Indonesia for a month. In the last few weeks I truly believe that I have eaten my weight in rice. I can finally say the following to my family:

I AM FULL

The Ups and Downs of being a Minority

Raise your hand if you are a minority in America.

Now raise your hand if you have ever had a conversation similar to this one:

Stranger: “Where are you from?”

Me: “A small farm town in Connecticut.”

Stranger: “No, I mean…where are you from?”

My initial reaction is to sarcastically repeat the word Connecticut. But 99% of the time I satisfy the question that is actually being asked. I politely state, “My parents were born and raised in India.”

These conversations did not frustrate me when I was growing up. I knew people were just curious about my background. Plus, I love talking about me; it’s my favorite subject.

This topic often sparked debates about how immigrants contribute to the changing perception of the average American. I was be happy to discuss what it felt like growing up in a Gujarati-speaking household and stepping out every morning into an English speaking America.

Sometimes, however, my heritage frustrated me. For instance, a few of my college friends referred to me as “the Indian” behind my back. Apparently my first name wasn’t good enough for them to use.

But that was in America. Now I am in Indonesia. This country is a whole new ballgame. When people meet me on the street, they speak very quickly. The only word I can catch is, “India.” I quickly use my broken Bahasa Indonesia to tell them that I was born in America, my parents were born in India, and I have only been to India 4 times in my life.  It is frustrating that they don’t immediately think of me as American. However, their only reference to American people is Bay Watch. I really can’t blame them.

Being Indian American does have its benefits, though. I can integrate easily into the community. Locals feel comfortable with me. I am also familiar with village life; there are many similarities between Indian and Indonesian culture. My trips to India have prepared me well for the two-year journey. But I must say, the best benefit from being brown is that I can sing along to the Bollywood songs that play at the local Internet café.  

Now raise your hand if you’re a minority and darn proud of it! 

Training Days

I won’t lie; Peace Corps training days are long. The first week felt like months. In fact, a fellow trainee said, “Each day feels like a week.” And it’s true! It’s not because the training sessions are boring. I actually enjoy them. We act out skits, we do group activities, and we continuously learn to speak Bahasa Indonesia. The days are simply long. To prove it, here’s my daily routine:

PAGI (morning) 

4:30- 5:15am Wake up to call to prayer. Put on yoga pants. Attempt to go for a jog.

5:20am – Tell myself, “Tomorrow.” Lay down for another 20 minutes

5:40-6:00am – Mandi (shower) and Makan (eat)

6:15-7:25am – Head to Katie’s house for Wi-Fi and guava juice

7:30-11:45am – Language Class

SIANG/SORE (Early Afternoon/Late Afternoon)

12:00-12:30 - Makan

12:40pm-1:00pm – Walk to the next village

1:00-5:00pm – Culture/Teaching training with Peace Corps staff

MALAM (Evening)

6:00pm – Makan

6:45pm – Mandi

7:00pm – Hang out with host family.

8:00pm – Alone time in my room. I get to wear SHORTS, read my book, write 

      brilliant blog entries like this one, and write in my diary.

9:00pm – Sleep

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Needless to say, I’m tired! But it’s worth it.