Boersma's like it hot

Meet my granddad, Tjibbe. He served for four years in Indonesia from in the forties. Yes, during this time the Dutch colonial government violently tried to hold on to its colony. Recently (sparked by photos of mass executions), discussions arose again about the amount of violence used by the Dutch. There is quite some re-writing of history be done.

The young Boersma in the Dutch Indies

However, my grandfather speaks only with a happy spark in his eyes about the time he spent in the Dutch Indies (the Dutch still considered Indonesia as the Dutch Indies until 1949). He signed up voluntarily and even falsified his father's autograph in order to be able to go. He loved the climate, the people, and the food. These days his health does not allow him to eat anything spicy, but there is no way the doctors (or my grandma, for that matter) can make him stop eating sambal (Indonesian hot chilly sauce).

Sambal in the soup

Very superstitious

It seems nobody listens to Stevie Wonder here in Indonesia. In any case, the average Indonesian probably wouldn't sing along to "When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer." Because superstition IS the way! In the past two weeks here I have gotten to know some new superstitions, which I shouldn't refer to as such of course. They are "facts''.

As always my health is slightly unstable with a change of temperature of 20 degrees and an invasion of polluted air into my pores. Thus, my eye is irritated. I must have been peaking in on someone taking a bath, someone tells me. No, someone else says, you gave someone something and took it back, or was considering it - after I heard this, I did actually start contemplating asking back a dress I had given to Esther a few months ago. Today my ear ached: someone misses me, or so they say. Last week I learned that unmarried couples shouldn't visit the botanical gardens in Bogor together, or they will certainly never get married. Finally, when a child stands on all fours, they want a little brother or sister. I wonder what more I will learn in the next two weeks. In the meantime, I'll sing along to Stevie...

Laundry magic: how my undies were lost and found

Have you ever left a bag of dirty laundry at a hotel and wondered how they managed to bring you back exactly your clothes the next day? How do they organize that? How do they remember which clothes belong to whom? If you know, please do share!

Honestly, I had never really thought about all of this. Maybe because it had always gone right. Until my last three months in Jakarta that is. From February, I lived at a place where they could not get it right. The laundry kept on getting mixed up! Several times the landlady came up to me with a piece of underwear, holding it up to ask me if it was mine. Once I was flattered (it was a tiny little undie), but mostly I was embarrassed - as was she. One morning I ran into a neighbor who was writing a note to go with a stack of my underpants ("Hey, those are mine!"). The note said: 'Sorry, but these are really not mine'. She told me she had already given them back before, but somehow, they kept on coming back to her.

The poor landlady (whose maids kept on running off without notice or falling ill) realized something had to be done. She got a big notebook, sat down with the (loyal but not all too bright) maid  and wrote down every piece of clothing someone wanted to have washed. When my boyfriend lost a shirt, I actually went through the notebook. It was fantastic! They had described every item including as much detail as possible: 'Ami - black T-shirt, size M, blue butterfly'. Since too many of us were apparently wearing undistinguishable black underwear, they had to abandon this method though. Instead, they decided to sow a colored thread to every piece of clothing. Every person had their own color.

They day I left, I realized my laundry had not been delivered to me yet. As the maid insisted there was no clean laundry for me, I started going through all the clean clothes myself. And guess what? I found my clothes, with several different colored threads (mostly brown, blue and black) in them!

So how DO guesthouses, hotels and laundry services keep track of which undie belongs to whom?

The misery of free time

Or, struggling to manage myself (Part 1)

Since my contract ended as advisor on Planning, Monitoring and Evaluation at KontraS on the 1st of May, I have had time off. I knew from the beginning my posting (by Togetthere) would only be for 18 months and had come up with the idea to write a novel about my family. I was inspired by Eat, Pray, Love, I guess, and envisioned a little house between Balinese rice fields where I would write for 3 months. After doing some initial research (interviewing some family members), I decided not to write the book. At least, not now. It's a great story, but too much to handle (believe me!). Jokingly I told my nephew, who had been helping me, that only he would be able to tell the story of how his aunt went insane, if I'd continue.

Sorry grandma, no 'Wild Swans' about you

No book then. But the idea of taking 3 months for myself still sounded very good. As my boyfriend was planning to start an online business, I figured we could do what Tim Ferriss advises us all to do: work remotely and take a mini retirement. That is, in short, how we ended up in Hanoi. After enjoying a holiday by the beach, writing out my notes and reports for Togetthere and going around Vietnam with my dad, I have now been behind my computer for a week and a half. You're probably wishing you could take a break from it all and take a few months to do anything you like. Well, I can tell you: this freedom is a pain!

All set to work!

Every day I have a new idea of what I could do or a different approach to what my life should look like. Do I want to do something meaningful or make buckets of cash? Or should I just try to find a niche to make some passive income on? This way, I'd have enough money to live from and could use all my time helping other people. Or should I start a social enterprise? Maybe I should just be a consultant in monitoring and evaluation, or a writer of blogs on coffee, or a remote English teacher for Indonesians. The web provides loads of inspirational material, but it's overwhelming too. Can I be as good as Salman Khan? Am I really the first female lifestyle designer? "Neh, don't be silly", my Dutch calvinist brain says (constantly), "Just act normal, that's crazy enough". Then another hour of browsing for a safe 9-5 job begins. For all my life, I've been trained to do what other people wanted me to do: homework at school, tasks at work. Now that I choose to be my own manager, I just cannot decide on what to do. 

Activists in Jakarta - they know what to fight for

Yes, I know: I have to not be too critical about my own ideas and set small goals for myself (I have read every single blog about this topic!). But the lizard brain is at work. As Seth Godin tells us, we all have a part of our brain that will resist to anything scary. In this case, I can tell you: I am scared shitless. I want to contribute to something bigger and I want everybody in the world to like it. Just the thought of you thinking "What is this girl doing?!" makes me want to hide my head under a pillow for the rest of the day. Instead of doing that, I have decided to drag you along with me. With this post I am starting a new series keeping you updated on my progress. Stay tuned for my next post! 

Any advise? Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

Five things I learned in Indonesia

The past few weeks in Vietnam have been very relaxing. After escaping the bustle of Saigon, I breathed in some fresh mountain air in Da Lat. More lazy days followed on the beach in Mui Ne, where I reflected on my time in Indonesia. I wrote reports for PSO, ICCO and KontraS telling them about what I think made my posting successful and which great plans never materialized. All this thinking about my year and a half in Indonesia, made me realize that there are so many things I've learned. Since five is my lucky number, I came up with my my top five! After living in Indonesia, I can (amongst other things):

5. Use dirty toilets. Yes, I have complained about the hygiene at Indonesian toilets before, so I will not do that again here. Instead, I will just applaud myself for being able to deal with the unfreshness (to formulate it nicely). My lady bag (I have had complaints of it being too messy) is always armed with wet and dry tissues. Also, I can squat and hold my breath at the same time now. Hear, hear for that, no?

4. Laugh out loud. In an earlier post, I explained how the roaring laughter of Indonesians (usually occurring in groups) can make my day. Well, I can do it too now! The joke doesn't even have too be that funny, which is a good bridge to number 3 on my list.

3. Make bad jokes. Indonesians are stars in slapstick and obvious jokes. Not to mention repetition. Who cares that the same joke about two single colleagues possibly being a good love match has already been made during every staff meeting in the past six months?! Right, no one. As I enjoy being the center of attention, I also wanted to take part in all this fun. No need to be creative! I just recycled someone else's joke and was sure to be met with a room full of laughter. Wow, I'm sure gonna miss that back home...

  The funny bunch

2. Be late and say it was due to traffic. In the Netherlands, I am usually perfectly on time. That means that for formal things I will be 5 minutes early and for a date with a girlfriend (depending on the timeliness of the friend) be on time or up to 10 minutes late. In Indonesia, everyone is too late. Or (not many people know this) too early. Whether too late or too early, the stress should be on the word 'too' here. People stuck in traffic can be an hour late and text you when they are 30 minutes late to tell you they will be even later. People who were prepared for traffic can on the other hand suddenly be an hour early. Very inconvenient when you planned to clean up your house before they came. Anyway, I can do it too now. Come an hour late, that is. I'll do my hair, dress up and jump in a taxi way too late and then blame ever congested Jakarta for making me arrive so late.

1. Eat spicy food. My mom eats everything with chili sauce. Even hotchpotch (Dutch culinary explosion consisting of mashed potatoes and vegetables, usually eating with a meatball or sausage) is better with a spoonful of sambal. I think living in Indonesia did something with my taste buds as I long for spice all the time. I add red (or when I feel adventurous green) peppers to my Vietnamese noodle soup and will not eat fried rice without spicy sauce. What's worse is that pizza's have lost some flavor. At pizza places in Indonesia you will always get some sauce on the side (French fries come with chili sauce too by the way and you have to ask for ketchup if you want it). If I wouldn't feel ashamed, I would eat them with spicy sauce now as well...

Spicy!

In-between and inside-out

Even though I am not in Indonesia any more (and no longer in-between and inside out), I wanted to do some self-promotion here and direct you to an article I wrote not too long a go for a great online magazine about Indonesia called Inside Indonesia. All the experts on Indonesia are represented there, so I feel especially honored that my article was published. Let me know what you think of it!  Click here to read it. Do also browse their website if you're interested to learn more about Indonesia. Their latest series is about the rich in Indonesia - that's bound to be a fascinating read!

Five things I will not miss from Indonesia

Before I was about to leave Indonesia for a while, I was beginning to get a bit melancholic. The last weeks in Indonesia, I kept on thinking that this may be the last time I do this (have dim sum lunch with a friend) or that (be in a KontraS meeting) and continuously ended up teary eyed (or heavily sobbing). One way to cheer myself up was making this list of things I will most certainly NOT miss about Indonesia.

5. Wet toilets - As most Indonesians use water, not paper, after doing their thing on the loo, many toilets are wet. Very wet. Sometimes it's just the toilet seat, sometimes it's the entire floor. The ritual is thus to roll up your pants, so when you lower them, they don't get all wet. The fancier the restroom, the fancier the water supplier (a little spray). Some places have these water sprays that literally shoot the water at you (I am too scared they will harm my private parts that I have never attempted to use them). So, it has happened several times now that my foot was hit by the water splash party my toilet neighbor was having by herself. Yuck.

4. Being called 'Mister' - Need I explain?

3. Witnessing other people's personal hygiene moments - Maybe Westerners (or just the Dutch?) are a bit too uptight about it, but usually we keep bursting zits, clipping nails or pulling out unwanted hairs for our bathroom. Here I often find that people think these activities make good time killers. Often men picking up their wives, use their motorbike mirrors to get rid of any nostril hair. During a meeting, someone can just take out a nail clipper and clip away.

2. Burps and throat scraping - air needs to get out, okay, I agree. It's actually quite freeing for me to be allowed to burp. But everything should (as we say in Dutch 'met mate') remain within certain limits. In the case of burping this means I do not want to hear yesterday's food speak out to me. Loud throat cleansing (including spitting) I just don't get. It sounds as if someone has an eating disorder and makes me loose my appetite. No need to wash up your throat if you don't have a cold.

1. "Gapapa ya?" - Some Indonesians can have interesting ways to deal with disappointment. Mine that is. So at a (quite fancy) restaurant they may ask you if you prefer to sit in a smoking or non-smoking area and when you answer 'non-smoking', tell you non-smoking is full. Why didn't they just say that in the first place? Another way of dealing with disappoint is telling me that I don't mind. So, say I reserved a nice suite at a hotel, but upon arrival it appears they made a double booking and my reserved room type is not available. The receptionist could then easily say: "Kamarnya sudah penuh, gapapa ya?" - "Oh, the double rooms are all full, but you don't mind, right?". I did actually mind and hearing that I don't mind really gets me angry. What I've learned is that saying that I do mind usually doesn't works so well. It's better to just repeat what the original deal was until they look for a better solution.

So, obviously all this complaining was just meant to disguise the fact that I have grown to love Indonesia even more and that I will definitely miss it. Thank you all (you know who you are) for a wonderful time!

How I met a dead man...

Two weeks a go I was lucky enough to be able to visit Tana Toraja on Sulawesi after a week of hard work in Makassar. On day two we got up at 5.30 to get a glimpse of the sunrise at Batutumonga. It had rained all night and it was foggy in the valley. Just when I was about to give up and go back to bed, the sun broke through the clouds. After a a breathtaking panoramic view overlooking the seemingly endless valley with sawas and traditional toraja houses, we went on our way for a walk.

View at Batutumonga

After about twenty minutes a man approached us on his motorbike. Cutting straight to the chase, he told us his father had passed away three days earlier and according to Toraja tradition they had made him sit. Yes, you read that right: they made the dead man sit! Then, he asked us if we wanted to come to his house (he points to a traditional Toraja house on a hill) to see his dead father. After getting past some initial shock, we agreed and went on our way. The man directed us to an overgrown path behind a few slippery rocks and said we would meet him again at his house. While climbing unsteadily up, I wondered why I was actually doing this. Arriving at the house, where people were praying and singing, made me want to turn around and leave. Soon enough however we were greeted by one of the dead man's daughters who seemed to be absolutely delighted to see us. She brought us tea and a local delicacy of rice and red sugar and told us all about her father. He was in his nineties when he passed away and spent his life working as a local tour guide. He spoke fluent English, Dutch and German.

And then it was time for the moment I had started to dread: meeting the man. I considered backing out, but realized that this may be once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So up the stairs we went. And there he sat. A man. Dead. He was wearing traditional Torajan clothing, sunglasses and band around his face to keep his cheeks together. His hands were neatly folded. As the family has used Formalin to preserve the body, he looked very good. Also, it didn't smell bad at all. Still, it was weird. Very weird. The daughter (a woman in her fifties) urged us to sit down and started telling us how much her father would have enjoyed meeting us, were he still alive. She told us about her daughter who lives in Holland now and how cold she was when she visited her last year. She went into all sorts of details of her daughters wedding to a Dutch man, where they met, where they live now and more. In the meantime, we were still sitting in front of her deceased father. There were kids playing there - one was secretively taken pictures of us with a cellphone. Nobody seemed to mind there was a dead person in the room, except for us, that is.

Feeling rather uncomfortable as you can see

The family wanted us to stay around for another day so we could witness the ceremony the day after. Unfortunately, we had a plane to catch. After wishing 'opa' (as I decided to call him) a peaceful afterlife and saying goodbye to all the very sweet relatives, we continued our walk towards Rantepau. We couldn't stop talking about it for a few days and told everyone we met afterwards. The funny thing is that this experience made me less scared of death. I used to avoid looking into the coffin at funerals afraid to see what death looks like. Now, I realize that it may help the mourning process if you can be around the familiar body for a while longer. But when it is an unfamiliar body, it's slightly different. Even though I wouldn't have wanted to miss this experience, I think I would have preferred meeting opa while he was still alive...

Sporty Sundays...

On Sundays, groups of active Jakartans almost make their city look like a livable place! They get up early and hop on their bicycles. The bring packed food, water and blanket and head off to the city center. Twice a month an important traffic artery there (the area around the Hotel Indonesia roundabout) is closed for traffic from 6 to 12 AM. It's a popular outing. Lots of people use this opportunity to wear their sporting outfits and cycle, jog or walk to the National Monument.

The bikers all ride their way through Menteng, the chic neighborhood, where I temporarily live, making stops at the parks along the way. I decided to join the fun, albeit on foot. Two Sundays in a row I went for a walk before breakfast. I actually 'discovered' there were quite some parks! On my way back last week I saw someone get his (folding) bicycle from his car - I guess you shouldn't overdo it and ride your bike all the way from another neighborhood to Menteng, that would be a tad too sporty.

It almost looks like Amsterdam, bikes everywhere!

The casual bikers, not going very fast, just cruisin' the hood

Besides casual bikers (at taman suropati), we have the serious bikers. They're all geared up and had a happy glow around them - look at us doing a Tour de Jakarta.

Folding bikes are cool!

Bikes for sale at the park

Taman Situlembang

With a cute fountain in the middle and kids around it blowing soap bubbles...  (not in the picture, sorry) 

Suggestion box at the park. I wonder if anyone suggests anything... (Has anybody read 'A fraction of the whole? If not, you should. Here's my review. If you have, you'll know why I mention this now *wink wink)

Why do you do what you do? Part two

After asking my first wdydwyd session, I decided it wouldn't be the last. As I teach English at work every Wednesday, I took the opportunity to ask some of my colleagues why it is they do what they do. The result speaks for itself. Thanks guys!

Putri: "Because I have no reason not to do it"

Daud:"Because I love justice and I'll never stop fighting for it"

Astri: "Because I love to interact with victims"

Neneng: "Because I hate doing the same thing all the time"

Regina: "Because it will help me buy a beautiful house"

Ati: "Because I feel great working with activists fighting the generals :)"

Ali: "Because I am a socialist and I want to go to heaven"

Note: the pictures were taken with iPhone Application Hipstamatic (which make all pictures look good).

Flu: Why some people never get it & the wonders of Tiger Balm

While I was struck by a flu that put me into a mini hibernation of two days recently, I started thinking about several flu related topics. At the time, I thought these topics may be interesting for a single interlinked blogpost, but now I don't see their connection except that they both deal with 'flu'. Well, here they are:

Tiger balm
Growing up with an Indonesian mother in the Netherlands, being sick was not only terrible. It was also a time of being terribly spoilt. Suddenly, I was being brought cups of tea, tucked under layers of thick blankets and sometimes even spoon fed again. I'm sure kids with Dutch moms had the same treatment. The most significant thing for me however has always been tiger balm. Whenever I was sick, my mom would always pop a little Chinese can with red goo and rub some on my chest and back. She would also put some on a handkerchief for me to sniff. The scent would open up my airways and my whole body would warm up after a good rub. Now when I smell tiger balm, I am reminded of these childhood flus. Whenever I have a cold or a muscle ache now, I rub tiger balm on and it immediately makes me feel a bit better.

Here in Indonesia the magic substance is kayu putih (white wood) oil, which is actually an ingredient of tiger balm. Whenever someone is sick, they rub it one themselves or on each other. It is not only used for the flu, but also for stomach problems, muscle aches and migraines. If they could, I think they would even use it for toothaches. Rubbing kayu putih usually goes together with saying that the illness you have is 'masuk angin' (the wind inside). I don't know how it works precisely, but whether I have food poisoning or the flu, there's always 'wind inside' me.

Getting back to the topic of the flu: while I was in my mini hibernation, a dear colleague came by with food and medicine and she offered to massage me. This I never decline and being sick it seemed like I was being massaged by an angel. It was great! She found the sore spots and then she burped. Yes, she burped. And I can tell you: all Indonesians do when they massage you (well, not at salons, usually) or when they get a massage. They do this to let the air out that comes free with the massage. It thus makes you wonder if maybe there WAS air inside all along... I even know people that already start burping when they see two other massaging each other. So don't be shocked should this happen to you - it's perfectly normal.  My advise for anyone being sick: get some tiger balm and rub away that nasty flu!

Why some people never get sick?
This topic came to mind as I spoke to some people who always seem to get a break when the flu goes around. This group (frustratingly) includes my boyfriend. It made me wonder if they were that much stronger physically and whether that is something that I can work towards or not. I don't really enjoy getting each flu that breaks out, so I wouldn't mind taking a cold shower everyday if that helps. Well, another Google search led me to find this brilliant article stating that it's above all else positive thinking that keeps us healthy. I guess it's time to fix my attitude... Say it with me: "Yes, we will be healthy!"

The flexibility of flip-flops

There's something about flip-flops in Indonesia. They don't seem to belong to anyone in particular. If you don't guard yours with care, they may disappear. You enter a house, leave your sandals at the door and may find them gone. This doesn't happen out of evil intentions, your sandals are just public property.

It has surprised me several times to see a male colleague wearing the pink fake diamond embroidered flip-flops he came across. When it's warm, you want to take off your sneakers and slip into a sandal. That makes sense. But to wear someone else's? Yes, you can! Apparently, sandals also have a tendency to disappear at mosques, someone quickly slips into them for doing wudhu (ritual washing) and misplace them.

I've learned a few things this past year: 1) expect a 2 euro flip-flop from the supermarket to disappear if you place them anywhere but under you desk, 2) when you leave your sandals at someone's doorstep, place them strategically on the side. This way people will not step on them. 3) wear shoes that are too out of the ordinary to be worn by someone else.


For the past weeks, I've been taking pictures of the flip-flips lying around. Plenty of choice it seems.

Ramadhan and the power of food

This year was my first ramadhan. Well, I did not actually join the fasting, but enjoyed seeing a completely different Jakarta. One thing all expats and Indonesians alike agree about is that Indonesian like to eat. They don't just like it, they love it. They LIVE it! Usually the first question when meeting a friend or family member is "did you eat yet?"If not, we have a good excuse to go and find some good food somewhere. Some of my Indonesian friends have really turned talking about food into an art. They can (seriously) talk for hours about great flavors, combinations and places where to find all these. No matter what they do for a living, after a while the conversation WILL turn to food.

And if you talk the talk, you must walk the walk,right? Well, that is no problem either. At work, for instance, there is basically always someone eating something at any random moment. Walk into someone's room unexpected and they're hanging above a noodlesoup, opening a bag of crackers or mixing the spices to go with rujak (young fruit). Go to the warung (foodstall) in front and someone chews away some krupuk or nuts. Any meeting longer than two hours is a reason to order snacks; fruit, filled tofu, pastei, pisang goreng, sweet coconut jelly cakes and more.


Curtain behind which people are eating

So, how does this go together with a month of fasting? Well, the days have been somewhat long. Lunch was sometimes hard to find, since many of the food stalls were closed. In respect for those fasting the warungs were covered and closed by cloths, so it felt a bit as if we were secretively steeling cookies from the jar (my mom used to hide the jar in some high up cupboard, but I always found it). However, when dawn came nearer. things quickly became fun again. Almost every day there was an invitation for 'Bukber', opening the fast together. We've had several at the office. About an hour before people could start eating they would already prepare all the food and gather around it. Plastic cups of Kolak (coconut soup often with banana, sweet potato or cassava) and es buah (fruit punch) were handed out about half an hour in advance. And then, you wait.















Bukber with my colleagues (Photo copyright I. Fernida)

The atmosphere was truly amazing. Everyone made sure no one stood there empty handed. Sometimes someone said a prayer and then, food! After people ate. they starting talking about food again. What to eat later on? And what to eat for saur (the last meal before the sun comes up)? Of course plans needed to be made for tomorrow's meal. I'm not sure if it was necessary, but fasting made us all appreciate food even more.

Remembering Munir

Last week Tuesday, it was six years since Munir was murdered. Munir was an Indonesian human rights activist who was a strong advocate for victims of grave human rights violations in Indonesia. He set up several human rights organisations, one of which is KontraS.

On 7 September 2004, he went on his way to study in the Netherlands, but on his trip he was poisoned with arsenic. When his plane landed in Amsterdam, Munir already passed away. For six years now his wife, former colleagues and friends have been pushing for justice. Even though the Garuda pilot who gave Munir the poisonous drink, Pollycarpus, is behind bars, the people who planned the murder still walk freely. After the case against the suspected mastermind Muchdi was acquitted due to lack of evidence in december 2008, not much has happened. Last week some 500 people demonstrated in front of the presidential palace to demand justice. Munir, you will not be forgotten!

Five (of all the) things I like about Indonesia

Sometimes I complain about Indonesia. Because things are different here. Because I'm having an off day. Because sometimes I just don't understand why things go the way they go here.

But today I want to stress the things I like. Because I do like a lot here. So here's a list of five of the things I like about Indonesia:

1. The way people laugh. Sometimes a group can just explode with laughter, in a way that we in the Netherlands have outlearned. One colleague of mine, who will leave the office and whom I will miss dearly, has a laugh like that - it's convincing and contagious. She can just let herself go and through out a loud: "Whaaahaaa!" and without knowing what the joke's about, I will laugh along with her.



2. It's only the way people laugh, but also the way they find a reason to laugh. It can happen during a rather dull meeting. Someone makes a joke and everyone will just burst into cries of laughter. When someone was happy with the joke they made, the joke will later be repeated to those absent and the same reaction can be expected.

3. Everyone's love for food. Every conversation will eventually lead to food. Even amongst human rights activists, it won't last long until the are debating where to eat or sharing stories of a great dish they tried somewhere. Foreigners will always be asked about the food in their home countries or their favorite Indonesian food somewhere.

4. How fast things can get done, if they have to. When I was writing an email inside the office, the yard in front has been rearranged from a cafe-like area to a stage where a full band is trying out or where five well-known Indonesians suddenly have a forum about the state of human rights in Indonesia.

5. The way the rain comes crushing out of the sky. Within just a few minutes the view from my balcony has dissolved into white mist which seems to hang over the ridge of my balcony. And then the rain starts. The kids start splashing around in the water, which flows as if someone opened the tap in the kitchen sink.

Indonesia, Indonesia - "But you're so bule!"

Every day in Jakarta, I have the same conversation. With taxi drivers, waiters, cashregister personnel, NGO colleagues, they all use the same format. After the standard questions (which in the West would seem very nosy) about where I'm from, my purpose for being in Indonesia and my marital status (including "Why don't you have children yet?"), the rest of the conversation goes something like:

"For how long have you been here?"
"Six months now', I say.
"What? But your Indonesian is already fluent!" they exclaim in happy surprise.
I say:"Yeah, well, my mom is Sundanese".
"But, your so bule!"

That sentence always leaves me silent. What can I say to that? "Yes, I know"? Because I really do know.

So, I tried the strategy to just NOT mention my Indonesian roots and say I have studied Indonesia for a long time. Sometimes I even pretend I'm such a genius that I mastered the Indonesian language in a mere six months. That one isn't very nice, especially not when meeting very friendly people. My latest is to tell people I am from Cimahi, Bandung. That one works amazingly well. People laugh and think I'm just a bit crazy. Sometimes I'm really fed up by re-telling this story day in day out. On the other hand, it's great to be here, because I keep on reinventing myself!

*bule refers to white people



















With my mom and sister in the centre of the Old Jakarta

Indonesia, Indonesia - The power of ignoring

A funny thing happens when I move around in Indonesia with one or both of my sisters here. Both of them have an Indonesian father, mine is Dutch. Since my dad's genes were also significantly stronger than my mom's, I turned out several shades lighter than my siblings. This often leads to surprised looks or exclamations varying around:"Noooooo! Are you REALLY sisters?!".

But mostly it leads to nothing. Absolutely nothing. Last week, on the bus we start talking to a woman. My sister tells her I'm her adik (little sister) and the woman asks me if I'm studying Indonesian somewhere. I'm wondering if she even heard what my sister just said. She just completely ignored the 'sister' part. And she's not the only one. Most people just did not hear that. This white girl is her sister?! No, that's beyond comprehension. So what better way to deal with it than to ignore it? Problem solved.

Indonesia, Indonesia - Fogged out of the office

Where in the world do your colleagues run into your office saying: "Come outside now, they're coming to fog the office!" and then you grab your phone, you stand outside the office with everyone else, some guys in blue overalls come in with big smoke guns spreading out some deadly fog, only to walk out followed by cockroaches running for their lives (most of them in vain though)? Right, Indonesia. The area where I work was cleared of dengue mosquitos last week, or at least that's the idea. I hope it worked, cause I would not like to fall ill like my friend Egbert.

The fogging was quite an experience, especially since it took at least an hour before it was deemed 'safe' to move back in. Completely unprepared as I was, I hung around and chatted with the other 'evacuees'. They did not however seemed to be bothered as much as me by the smoke residues floating around. It smelled like Baygon all day and that can never be good for your health! Well, obviously someone made the decision that inhaling some toxic smoke would beat getting dengue, which I guess makes sense. While we were all standing outside though, with roaches running towards us, I wondered if there's no other way of beating the mosquitos. Or was this just an attempt to distract a bunch of human rights activists?

Anyway, at least many roaches died of suffocation that day. Also, when, one day later, I was surprised at being bitten by a very much alive mosquito, someone said: 'No, but the fogging only kills the dengue mosquitos'. Say what?! Can someone explain that to me please?

Indonesia, Indonesia - May your skin be white and unwrinkled

The past months, it hasn't been easy for me to find facial cream that wouldn't make my skin even whiter. Almost all skin products you can buy in Indonesia contain whitener! In my case, whitener is not really necessary... Actually, in the Netherlands I even sometimes bought the cream which made my skin look 'healthier' - back home that means it contains some chemical for tanning. That is where East and West still differ. In the West, we want bronze skins to look 'healthy' (and to show how often we can take holidays to warm places). In the East, whiteness is still seen as refined. It shows you have money enough to not to have to go outside. I've seen girls wearing umbrellas and gloves up to their armpits (when driving a car for instance) to protect themselves from the sun.

One thing we do seem to agree about everywhere in the world is that we, especially women, have to stay young. Or at least LOOK young. The billboard in the picture says something like "Pretty at age thirty and beyond'. The girl on the poster obviously is not thirty yet. The thirty-year old in the foreground however is happy to know that there is cream to battle her wrinkles with!

Indonesia, Indonesia - Tomorrow's leaders?

Because of my teachers, we can be smart

Right next to my apartment building is a High School. Every Monday morning I wake up from their weekly opening's ceremony on their main square. The kids all stand in their uniforms (often in the blazing sun) and recite the five basic ideological principles of the Indonesian state, the Pancasila. Usually the students are spoken to firmly and sometimes they're even scolded publicly by the teachers ("these two in the front here still have very messy hair and they will be punished accordingly later"). The teachers like to use a megaphone and preach about how the students should work harder to beat the Malaysians and the Chinese, how they cannot bring their cellphones to class and how they should not curse at school (see video).



"Often the teachers hear words that are not very nice to hear and which should not be used by students and which very easily come out of your mouths which means that these words are not uncommon to be used"

Every week I wonder what will become of these kids. Will they ever learn to use their minds freely, creatively and independently? How can they help this country forward if they were raised reciting texts and being spoken to by teachers in a demeaning way? Just recently the first two parts of a very popular novel tetralogy were made into movies; Laskar Pelangi (The Rainbow Troops) and Sang Pemimpi (The dreamer). The story is very much about education and how good teachers can bring out the best in almost anyone. The movies are box office hits and I can only hope there will be a lasting impact.


Trailer of Laskar Pelangi, the film directed by Riri Reza