As the event wound down, she asked if she could ask me a question.
I said of course, but in my head I was thinking "oh gosh - somebody wants to practice their English...at 11 o'clock at night!"
"You seem like a person who loves Indonesia," she opined. I hesitated because I'm grateful and I appreciate many things, but love is a strong word. I guess I kind of looked to her to continue because I wasn't really sure what I should say.
"Well, specifically I guess it seems that you love Malang" she continued in her precisely articulated English. After a flash of appreciation and amazement for her language skills, I breathed a sigh of relief. Whew! That's easy and a good conversation starter.
We were able to talk about some serious things like opportunities to work, in general, to teach, specifically, but what we talked the most about was how, in her words "most white people do not love Indonesia."
The fact that she said "white people," oddly enough, was a welcome change for me because the word that is most often used in Indonesian is "bule." Bule means "white person" - or a white water buffalo, even - and sometimes people will say that it means "foreigner", but that phrase is "orang asing" and I've yet to hear of a white person being called an "orang asing" in conversations. We're "bule".
Listening to people dance around the justifications for using the term "bule" is tiresome and, so late at night, I just didn't want to begin a conversation centering on why I can live on foods other than bread and cheese and how the weather here, for me, is not too hot.
I was very pleased that this young woman was prepared to communicate honestly and openly.
She shared that she once had a professor who couldn't stand it here, I'm assuming this was a white person even though the country of origin wouldn't necessarily be a clue, The professor, apparently, had mentioned the traffic, the burning trash, the low salary...
"Wait wait wait..." I interrupted. "She told you all those things?"
"Yes, and she's now in Jakarta teaching there" she replied.
"Oh Jakarta," I quipped "that's an improvement." (I try not to be snarky, but I am, actually, proud of Malang. This is my home.)
At this point in our conversation, I shared with her a story about a kind of rule that I try to follow. It goes like this:
The region I come from in the United States is called the South. We have our own culture and it's pretty different from what most people from other countries think of when they think of the US.
When I was growing up, I went to school with a lot of kids who had come there from other parts of the country. When I was still a child, I often heard from friends that "we" talked funny and "we" were backwards, I can still clearly hear the comments in my mind because I heard them so often and because, I believe, they are still common.
"Why is everything closed on Sunday?"
"Why are there no bagels around here?"
"Do you have any decent bakeries?"
"Why do you people put so much sugar in your tea?"
"Is everything fried?"
"Why do you guys cook all your vegetables to death?"
"I bet you don't know even where (insert name of country or Canadian province here) is!"
That was tiresome. And it still is. I've had more than my fair share of conversations with people from the "civilized parts" of America who still think the South is a backwater bog of inbred derelicts.
The common retort, as I got older, to the barrage of insults and denegrating remarks was "The road that brought you here will take you back!"
I guess because of that experience, I'm determined to never say bad things about where I live. Of course I see the things and experience the things that so many "white people" complain about. Everybody sees it. Everybody experiences it.
But I also see something else.
I see a community of people who have welcomed me. Where I used to live, it was common, even for adults, to point at me and screech "BULE!!!" That does not happen here. People actually treat me like a person.
I see a community of people who speak up for what they love and what they care about. The motto for the local football team, Arema, is Salam Satu Jiwa (Peace of One Soul). It doesn't only apply to the fans and the team, though. That spirit is in the water here and diversity is embraced and celebrated.
Malang has many big trees, sidewalks, efficient public transportation, and an engaged citizenry.
There are committed scholars, religious leaders, environmentalists, business owners, activists, and elected representatives who work to make Malang a place to live with a high quality of life for all its citizens.
And just as much, I know that the road that brought me here can take me back. I will not be that person.
My new friend and I had a nice conversation this evening and I'm glad that she initiated it. Sometimes I need to be reminded of good things, of how my own life experiences shape and form my present, and most of all, that there are still people in this world who care - about decent conversation, about learning something new, and making a new friend.
From Malang, Salam Satu Jiwa.
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