My House
After a few days of house hopping, and one really creepy experience, I found what is going to be my home: I have affectionately named it Casa de la Candy Land because it is a pink palace. My room is pink, the house is pink, my single bed is pink, my sheets have strawberries and hearts (of course all pink) and it even has hello kitty dolls with pink purses around the house, who could ask for more! The house has six bedrooms, right now I am the only occupant but a few people are moving in soon. Housing for my NGO is sort-of like the humanitarian's answer to the real world. We even have our own Puck, I have at least one story of total creepiness that brought about my quick move but I will save that for a less public forum, I will say this, to put mom at ease, it was an American that caused the creepiness not the fine people of Indonesia (yea yea).
My missing bags arrived on the 4th and yes Mr. Bear was unpacked just in time for both of us to laugh smugly at the house. I unpacked on Tuesday and it felt great to finally end the in-transit phase.
After unpacking, I went to sit on my bright yellow autamen (with sunflower patterns) and it broke, so I moved over to sit on my bed and it broke, the legs were made of plastic but regardless I feel fat now. Which brings me to my next point: no running so far, there are no sidewalks and the streets are too dangerous to run on. Supposedly there's a runners group that goes every evening around six so I am trying to get their contact information. My GPS watch is just itching to be used.
On Guard
Our housing comes with a maid, a guard and a driver. Neither my maid nor my guard speaks a bit of English so I have taken to grunting and playing charades with them. I am glad, and sad, that I don't have cameras recording our interactions, it really isn't that funny but it is funny. [As a side note, the drivers speak at least a little bit of English, most of them have college degrees but drive because of the lack of opportunity, my NGO has actually promoted some of them into more programmatic responsibilities which I really appreciate.]
So, the first night in Casa de la Candy Land was fine but the security guard came in the house without asking, this was a bit odd to me but I figured I'd let it go because my room requires a separate key that only I have a copy of (and, of course, the guard is about 5 feet tall, 45 years old, weighed about 125 pounds and was armed with only a pack of cigarettes to fend off intruders).
The next day I made certain that the house had an outside bathroom and water supply, which it did, so I could justifiably ask the guard to stay out. Once evening prayers ended, and they had consumed the break fast meal, a new guard arrived and walked right in. I asked him to leave, which he did, but he came back an hour later for no apparent reason. Then, as I was getting ready to call it a night three guards came in; none speak any English. At this point I was ready to blow, again I must add that I tower over these people (one driver asked me if I played American football because I was so big and strong). I kept asking them what they were doing but all they could manage were a series of girlish giggles and then they would flip light switches on-and-off and leave again. It took a while before I realized what was going on: they were checking to see if I was going to sleep so they could watch TV and sleep in one of the empty rooms. They have been "guarding" this house for a while and became very comfortable with its amenities while it was empty.
Needless to say night three was very pleasant, we have fired the guards and I have never felt safer or more at home. I found-out that the guards were from another organization, one of suspect contribution to local trainings. My NGO will be brining on its own security detail shortly but in the meantime I live in an amazingly safe place so do not fret (again mom, yea yea).
My Cozy Little Bathroom
I will avoid the graphics but should say this, what goes down sort-of spills to the side rather than following the natural pulls of gravity. The landlord and a repairman just dropped-by to look, grunt and play charades with me while we all cross our arms and look knowingly at the toilet--it's sort-of like watching me try to fix a car. I have also noticed that the water smells putrid, like burnt formaldehyde and hair, nothing like feeling grosser after a shower than before.
Say what you will, I love Casa de la Candy Land and it would take an army to drag-me-out.
Running Towards the Purpose
I know you want to hear more about my work, and I promise that will come, but for right now I want to relish the newness of this place. I give you my word that in just a few short weeks you will be visualizing my soapbox as you read along.
Monday will be my first day in the office without the woman I'm replacing, she left on Sunday, the 8th, that is when I see my job truly starting. Saturday night was her going away party. We spent the night drinking and dancing. It was the one week anniversary for me in Banda Aceh and it was amazing how much had changed. I felt less like the new guy and more like the guy with something to say. My jet lag had past and that sense of chaos was replaced by the confidence and comfort level that I always strive for. We partied into the night, my driver came and took me home around two, I then made food and watched Scrubs on DVD.
Sunday felt like my day. The hand-over was complete and I knew that on Monday my mission would begin so I decided it was time to get back to my version of normal. I woke-up at ten and walked around my empty house, getting to know its character. I made coffee with my coffee-press for the first time and it was the most amazing cup I can remember ever having. I played some music and danced like an idiot in my living room, the tile floors are perfect for sliding around on your knees. Then came time for me to reclaim the only hobby I have ever had.
I unpacked my GPS watch, heart rate monitor, running shoes, lucky running shirt and my running pants. Since this is a Muslim country, and follows strict Shari a law, it is important that I do not run in shorts. It is about 90 degrees today and humidity is an ever present part of life here but this was my time. Anyone who knows me knows that I get insanely determined about something when I make up my mind, I was going run. You all also know that I get crazy sweaty when I run so just imagine me in track pants, I was a sponge.
My driver took me to the only safe place in town to run, an outdoor track—not too bad, each lap is .25 miles, I went during evening prayers and ran to the sounds of Islamic verse. I went just over 5.5 miles but more importantly I felt so normal, so at home. Kids stood by the track giving high-fives after each lap (while practicing their English on me), cars would drive by with people shouting hello, men would try to race me, all I knew was that I was running and it felt great. For a while I forgot I was on the other side of the world, when I did remember it was during my own prayers of thanks.
Banda Aceh has its challenges and will, I am sure, continually reveal new obstacles to me along the way. I will be working straight through until after Christmas, I already am spending more time in the office than in the home and the feeling of complete isolation can be felt in even the most welcoming of crowds. Yet, today as I ran and sweated on a track in the oppressive heat and tired night sky I couldn’t help but wonder why I was so lucky. I also knew exactly why I was here and exactly what I am suppose to do.
After a few days of house hopping, and one really creepy experience, I found what is going to be my home: I have affectionately named it Casa de la Candy Land because it is a pink palace. My room is pink, the house is pink, my single bed is pink, my sheets have strawberries and hearts (of course all pink) and it even has hello kitty dolls with pink purses around the house, who could ask for more! The house has six bedrooms, right now I am the only occupant but a few people are moving in soon. Housing for my NGO is sort-of like the humanitarian's answer to the real world. We even have our own Puck, I have at least one story of total creepiness that brought about my quick move but I will save that for a less public forum, I will say this, to put mom at ease, it was an American that caused the creepiness not the fine people of Indonesia (yea yea).
My missing bags arrived on the 4th and yes Mr. Bear was unpacked just in time for both of us to laugh smugly at the house. I unpacked on Tuesday and it felt great to finally end the in-transit phase.
After unpacking, I went to sit on my bright yellow autamen (with sunflower patterns) and it broke, so I moved over to sit on my bed and it broke, the legs were made of plastic but regardless I feel fat now. Which brings me to my next point: no running so far, there are no sidewalks and the streets are too dangerous to run on. Supposedly there's a runners group that goes every evening around six so I am trying to get their contact information. My GPS watch is just itching to be used.
On Guard
Our housing comes with a maid, a guard and a driver. Neither my maid nor my guard speaks a bit of English so I have taken to grunting and playing charades with them. I am glad, and sad, that I don't have cameras recording our interactions, it really isn't that funny but it is funny. [As a side note, the drivers speak at least a little bit of English, most of them have college degrees but drive because of the lack of opportunity, my NGO has actually promoted some of them into more programmatic responsibilities which I really appreciate.]
So, the first night in Casa de la Candy Land was fine but the security guard came in the house without asking, this was a bit odd to me but I figured I'd let it go because my room requires a separate key that only I have a copy of (and, of course, the guard is about 5 feet tall, 45 years old, weighed about 125 pounds and was armed with only a pack of cigarettes to fend off intruders).
The next day I made certain that the house had an outside bathroom and water supply, which it did, so I could justifiably ask the guard to stay out. Once evening prayers ended, and they had consumed the break fast meal, a new guard arrived and walked right in. I asked him to leave, which he did, but he came back an hour later for no apparent reason. Then, as I was getting ready to call it a night three guards came in; none speak any English. At this point I was ready to blow, again I must add that I tower over these people (one driver asked me if I played American football because I was so big and strong). I kept asking them what they were doing but all they could manage were a series of girlish giggles and then they would flip light switches on-and-off and leave again. It took a while before I realized what was going on: they were checking to see if I was going to sleep so they could watch TV and sleep in one of the empty rooms. They have been "guarding" this house for a while and became very comfortable with its amenities while it was empty.
Needless to say night three was very pleasant, we have fired the guards and I have never felt safer or more at home. I found-out that the guards were from another organization, one of suspect contribution to local trainings. My NGO will be brining on its own security detail shortly but in the meantime I live in an amazingly safe place so do not fret (again mom, yea yea).
My Cozy Little Bathroom
I will avoid the graphics but should say this, what goes down sort-of spills to the side rather than following the natural pulls of gravity. The landlord and a repairman just dropped-by to look, grunt and play charades with me while we all cross our arms and look knowingly at the toilet--it's sort-of like watching me try to fix a car. I have also noticed that the water smells putrid, like burnt formaldehyde and hair, nothing like feeling grosser after a shower than before.
Say what you will, I love Casa de la Candy Land and it would take an army to drag-me-out.
Running Towards the Purpose
I know you want to hear more about my work, and I promise that will come, but for right now I want to relish the newness of this place. I give you my word that in just a few short weeks you will be visualizing my soapbox as you read along.
Monday will be my first day in the office without the woman I'm replacing, she left on Sunday, the 8th, that is when I see my job truly starting. Saturday night was her going away party. We spent the night drinking and dancing. It was the one week anniversary for me in Banda Aceh and it was amazing how much had changed. I felt less like the new guy and more like the guy with something to say. My jet lag had past and that sense of chaos was replaced by the confidence and comfort level that I always strive for. We partied into the night, my driver came and took me home around two, I then made food and watched Scrubs on DVD.
Sunday felt like my day. The hand-over was complete and I knew that on Monday my mission would begin so I decided it was time to get back to my version of normal. I woke-up at ten and walked around my empty house, getting to know its character. I made coffee with my coffee-press for the first time and it was the most amazing cup I can remember ever having. I played some music and danced like an idiot in my living room, the tile floors are perfect for sliding around on your knees. Then came time for me to reclaim the only hobby I have ever had.
I unpacked my GPS watch, heart rate monitor, running shoes, lucky running shirt and my running pants. Since this is a Muslim country, and follows strict Shari a law, it is important that I do not run in shorts. It is about 90 degrees today and humidity is an ever present part of life here but this was my time. Anyone who knows me knows that I get insanely determined about something when I make up my mind, I was going run. You all also know that I get crazy sweaty when I run so just imagine me in track pants, I was a sponge.
My driver took me to the only safe place in town to run, an outdoor track—not too bad, each lap is .25 miles, I went during evening prayers and ran to the sounds of Islamic verse. I went just over 5.5 miles but more importantly I felt so normal, so at home. Kids stood by the track giving high-fives after each lap (while practicing their English on me), cars would drive by with people shouting hello, men would try to race me, all I knew was that I was running and it felt great. For a while I forgot I was on the other side of the world, when I did remember it was during my own prayers of thanks.
Banda Aceh has its challenges and will, I am sure, continually reveal new obstacles to me along the way. I will be working straight through until after Christmas, I already am spending more time in the office than in the home and the feeling of complete isolation can be felt in even the most welcoming of crowds. Yet, today as I ran and sweated on a track in the oppressive heat and tired night sky I couldn’t help but wonder why I was so lucky. I also knew exactly why I was here and exactly what I am suppose to do.
posted by Banda-aid at 12:14 AM
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