Independence Day

When I lived in Washington, D.C., I loved celebrating Independence Day. My friends and I would drink America-themed booz the in the early afternoon and head downtown afterwards. I’d watch the fireworks from the National Mall and listen to the loud, patriotic music playing in the background. Even in Indonesia, I managed to have a spectacular Independence Day celebration. My fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I headed to Pachitan Beach for the weekend. We got drunk and ate a lot during the day. At night, we realized there was not going to be a firework show. Naturally we created our own. We torched a few firecrackers towards the Indian Ocean and played drinking games while sitting on the beach. It felt refreshing to forget about Peace Corps life for just a night.

Indonesians celebrate their Independence Day a little bit differently.

Last week, my school officially opened for the new semester. I was so ready. I was eager to teach, to start a new schedule, to get to know my students, etc. I walked into school looking for my counterpart. When I located her in the teacher’s lounge, she frowned.

“Kruti, I am so sorry to tell you this, but there are no classes this week. We are preparing for Independence Day. Will you join us?” She asked

At first, I was confused. I assumed that classes started at the beginning of the semester. Well, the joke is on me. I shouldn’t assume anything since assuming just makes an ass out of u and me (especially here).

I then had the following conversation with my counterpart, Bunda:

Me: “Hmm..Well, what do you do for Independence Day, Bunda?” 

Bunda:  “We march. We march from the school to downtown. You will join us, yes?”

Me: “Why do you march?”

Bunda: “It’s a symbol of discipline. You will join us, yes?”

Me: “What do we wear?”

Bunda: holds up grey pants, grey t-shirt, black sleeves, and black hat “These. You will join us, yes?”

Me: “What are those? Are those sleeves?”

Bunda: “Yes, so that the women can cover their arms. The t-shirt only goes up to the elbow. You will join us, yes?”

Me: “…..Yes’

So, what I’ve gathered about Indonesian Independence Day is this: multiple groups of people march downtown (approximately 2.8 miles) in a military-like fashion. The groups are determined by your school, your neighborhood, your sports team…whatever group you want to choose. But all group members need matching outfits; that’s a must. All groups are judged by how well they march, but most don’t take the competition seriously. Honestly, the whole production looks like a long parade without the floats. Once the march is completed, everyone eats. Game over.

I marched with a group of teachers from my school. No one was serious about the military-like fashion of the march. In fact, we walked about half of it. Our group leader was this guy, who everyone calls Uncle Sam. He had no clue what commands to yell or even when to march or stop marching. We were just a confused group of people marching under the blazing hot Javanese sun.

In the middle of the march, I got noticeably hot. Now I’m quite used to the heat. In fact, I know I adapted to the weather because I now get chilly in the mornings. However, marching in the island heat with no water for over an hour was torture. My counterpart came up to me during the march to ask how I was doing.

Me: “Bunda, I’m so hot!”

Bunda: “Oh, please take off your sleeves. It is ok. We know you are not used to this type of heat.”

Me: “Will I offend anyone? Most of my arms are showing.”

Bunda: “Do not worry about anyone else. Take care of yourself.”

This was by far one of the nicest conversations I have had with my counterpart. I’ve been so worried about being culturally insensitive. I don’t want to be the talk of the town just for wearing shorts around my house. I’ve been so consumed with hurting others that I forgot about taking a step back into my own comfort zone.

I ripped off the sleeves and shoved them deep into my pocket. I marched the last half hour showing off my sweaty arms. I even wore my hat backwards, just to make a point (and soon, all the men in the group copied me!). 

I clearly looked different from all the other women who were marching. But to me, that screams independence!