Stepping off the yellow angkot, something wonderful but vaguely creepy happened: namely, none of us knew what time it was. Right after we passed through the gates, a few of my students came giggling up to me “Selamat Pagi Miss!” “Pagi Miss Emily!” Pagi? Morning? Am I dreaming or is it not actually dark outside and 7 o’clock in the evening? “Oh no miss,” one of the braver girls replied to my confused question, “it is always morning here.”
For the past few weeks a clump of soon to be Peace Corps volunteers and myself have been completing our teaching practicum at the Selamat Pagi School in Batu, Indonesia. When we first arrived, we couldn’t believe our luck. On our first day we were greeted at the canteen with cold (real glasses!) of floating lychee fruit in sweet coconut milk. It is the custom of Indonesian hospitality to be warm and welcoming to guests, but these kids are on another level of psyched. Can you imagine a pre-teen girl and her best friend at a One Direction concert? Take that enthusiasm and direct it towards the sweaty American subtly trying to shake pee off her pants.
It is inspiring and gratifying to see these children so happy, because they come from not so great backgrounds. You see, this school is a special place. Not for your average Indonesian high schooler, the student body is comprised of 100 hand picked boys and girls. To be accepted into Selamat Pagi, a student must be orphaned, or come from a very difficult home situation. Knowing this, and after hearing a few of their stories, it makes me want to hug every single one of my students. “Thank God they have this place” I think to myself. That is until I put down my fruit juice and take a real hard look around.
Hanging from all the trees and cheerfully painted buildings are strings of modified prayer flags with catchphrases like “Grateful Is Our Breath”, and “Integrity Is Our Action”. Words that are a little short on sense and a little long on whimsy if you ask me. Resort music is always thrumming around the compound. It’s a constant playlist of songs like that weird O-zone ditty “Mai Ah Hee” and throwback Shakira jams. This is a privately funded school and home for these kids, which means that it has to generate its own income. The founder of Selamat Pagi decided to harness the enthusiasm (and maybe naiveness?) of youth and make the school a quasi retreat/conference location for businesses, families and other schools to bring in money. It’s what I’d imagine going to school at Club Med would be like. While we hold classes in beautiful outdoor bamboo classrooms, I can see other kids in the distance leading middle aged businessmen in a choreographed dance number to a Justin Bieber song. There is a swimming pool with aquatic aerobics for kids. Did I mention the zipline?
It is the peppiest place in Indonesia, but I’m not certain what they are doing here is legal, or entirely pc. To live and study here, the students must also run the place. While I get to sleep in every morning until the ungodly hour of 5am, chances are my students have been up since 3:30, cooking for the conferences that day, cleaning the compound, out in the fields harvesting produce to sell or rehearsing for the performances they have a few times a week for paying guests. The work is hard. It is easy to get caught up in the general cult like atmosphere here and frown at the structure of this school. Apart from a few secret society and kool-aid jokes here and there, we are glad that the students live in a safe and nurturing environment, and that schooling can be had when they are not putting on elaborate shows (there is fire breathing and acrobatics!)
To live my life as a Peace Corps trainee but also work every day at this school is like stepping off the angkot and into the twilight zone. This is not real life, and certainly not what I am expecting my actual school and students to be like once I reach permanent site. At Selamat Pagi, my students don’t leave the compound, because everything they could possibly need is there, and everyone they love is there too. It’s actually similar to how I’ve come to feel about PST these past three months. In PST we trainees never have to plan our own days, as Peace Corps organizes everything for us. And hey, we all get to do it together as one big bewildered and happy family.
So it was a bit of a wake up call on all switchboards earlier this week when two things happened. First, I looked at the calendar and realized I only had a week and a half left of training before I move to permanent site. Second, I taught a class on occupations and careers. I started class by asking my students if they had thought about what they would do when they graduated Selamat Pagi. Silence. I asked again, “what will you do, what do you want to do when you leave school?” Again, nothing. At last, my best student raised his hand. “Excuse me Miss, but we will want to stay at Selamat Pagi and work here after we graduate”. I didn’t really know what to say. Don’t they know that there is life outside of this school with new experiences to be had and new people to meet? Don’t they realize that there is a big, wide world waiting for them?
I could say the same thing for myself. I could never compare the suffering and real atrocities my students have encountered in their young lives to my own, but these past three months have been no easy cake walk for me either. It’s because of these past months that I understand why my students would be afraid to leave the only home and family they know. I’m scared too.
After the stressful and incredibly emotional months leading up to leaving for Peace Corps, it has been a blessing to fall into a routine here, and to be with people who completely understand what it means to be a PC trainee. My fellow trainees have become my biggest support system here, and it’s hard to imagine a day without them in it. That is why it was a shock to realize that once again, a week and a half from now, all that initial discomfort and confusion will be repeated, but this time I’ll be flying solo. It doesn’t help that Peace Corps has warned us time and again that the first three months at permanent site are the most difficult to get through. It’s like being pushed out of our cozy American nest with nothing but potential depression, physical illness, anxiety and other unsavory things below. Gee, thanks.
Let me tell you I have given myself many a pep talk these past few days to gear up for The Big Move. Motivational speeches in front of my mirror that may or may not include me gripping the edge of my desk and quoting the Somalian pirate from “Captain Phillips” (“Look at me, look at me, I am the Captain now!)
At the core of it, I know that I have to take to heart the same advice that I want to tell my students. I want to remind them (and myself) that being afraid of the unknown is the human condition, and it is the price we pay for this wild ride we call life. And if this fear of the unknown is inevitable, I think we can, and should all breathe a little easier. Because the truth is, the worst thing that could ever happen is death and that’s going to happen eventually despite all of our worries and effort. If you think about it in these stark terms it’s irrational not to say fuck it, and just go for it. Not that I would ever swear in front of my students. But if I know the upcoming months are going to be difficult, I’m not going to sit here and worry about it being difficult. Life keeps going and we have to keep going with it. I’m not saying that I am going to move to permanent site and defy my impending fear by riding motorcycles, or start hanging around outside my local mosque in a tank top and cut off jean shorts. I’m not going to tell my students to leave Selamat Pagi after graduation and start having sex before marriage or eat pork. But I guess I’m not going to tell them not to do those things either if that’s what will make them feel most alive. It would be a real shame if my students and I only schlepped through our days to “get through” them. Life is hard, but maybe it is supposed to be. So why not embrace it? PST has been a happy prelude that allowed me to transition into my new life here. Eventually though, the bubble had to burst and I will have to take whatever comes my way and figure out what will make me happy through it all. I guess at some point we all have to turn off the party tunes and face the real music.
rootsandfernweh 