**I'm probably going to be writing another blog on the Mercy Corps website. This will be the first entry once I get the password for it**
I have been at my post in Banda Aceh, Indonesia for not even two days. It’s currently Sunday morning, and I’ve yet to see the Mercy Corps office here. What I knew about my position before I arrived, I gathered from a few informative documents sent to me by e-mail, and of course, from the two-paragraph job description that I read online when applying for this internship. But after arriving on site, and after being here for only a slightly greater number of hours than I can count on my two hands, I can assert – with the confidence of someone who knows this country quite well – that my experience here with MC will be an overwhelmingly positive one.
Development work can try one’s patience, force one to constantly rethink decisions, drive one to question widely-accepted and long-established standards of efficiency and effectiveness, and provide one with no fine line between success and failure. But that, my friends, that is the name of the game. That is precisely why most who enter this field are compelled so strongly to become part of the solution. My first impressions of the local Indonesian staff hired by Mercy Corps to run and implement Kedai Balitaku (the program I’ll be focused on all summer) could not be more positive. The limited interactions I’ve had so far with my new colleagues have already instilled a confidence in me that I will be working with a results-oriented group of experienced professionals. I am not so unrealistic to immediately assume that the road ahead won’t be bumpy and won’t lead to a certain degree of debate and conflict among staff, but at least my initial experience certainly did not have to be as positive as it has been.
Two years of prior experience working as a teacher in Indonesia allowed me to become familiar with common, local organizational challenges, as well as cultural obstacles to progress. One of my favorites is the notorious Indonesia expression, jam karet, or “rubber time.” Whether you interpret this as a healthy, laid-back, stress-free outlook on life, or simply as a lame excuse for poor work ethic, it is nonetheless a reality. Behavioral change and improved quality of life will remain the broad, intrinsic goals of my team’s work here over the life of this project, and I already believe that my Indonesian co-workers are making sizable efforts to combat a number of local challenges,whether directly or indirectly.
I am a second-year graduate degree candidate at Boston University, and my development experience to this point has been largely theoretical, but the passion I’ve built, and the knowledge I’ve acquired, over the last year has ingrained in me a very high – but realistic and empathetic – set of expectations for how onsite project operations should be conducted. Maybe I’m still naïve about the nature of development work, and maybe I shouldn’t make hasty conclusions about my position here with limited evidence. But I buy that argument only to a certain extent. What I’ve seen in such a short time has managed to build my enthusiasm and motivation to the point where I’ll at least be able to coast on pure excitement until I truly get this job and situation figured out!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Knock on Wood
Although many Indonesian cultural dynamics remain endlessly puzzling to me, I have still become accustomed to many important and ubiquitous features of this complex society. I certainly like to think of myself as a member of “the club.” When I step foot on Indonesian soil, I generally know what to expect from people and how to interact with my surroundings.
The time I spent on the island of Nias, where people are notorious for their fiery and combative personalities; multiple trips to Lombok, where residents are among the poorest in the country; a year in Central Java, where I was an instant and permanent local celebrity; and another year in North Sumatra, where the Catholic community tops off every social gathering with a strong glass of homemade palm wine, have all conditioned me for virtually anything that could happen on this archipelago. Additionally, I know where I feel most comfortable, or more aptly, where I will feel most comfortable.
Let’s talk about first impressions.
If I had been air-lifted and dropped off in middle of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, I could only hope that I would have felt as giddy, amazed, and excited as I felt yesterday afternoon.
The Acehnese experience began on my plane ride from Jakarta, where I sat next to a couple of punchy, witty Acehnese men, as well as an eager college student who is also involved with NGO work in Banda Aceh. The plane landed for a temporary stop in Medan and then continued to Banda; and without a single dull moment or lapse in conversation, we passed over the entire vertical stretch of Sumatra. Phone numbers were exchanged about the time I began to gaze out my cabin window, as our plane neared the end of its descent. A barely discernible boarder separating a vast seascape from kilometers of entrenched, glimmering, inland fisheries, and miles more of breezy green rice paddies almost distracted me from enjoying the seemly endless volcanic mountain range stretching along the opposite side of the city.
As our Boeing 737 came to a bumpy – and admittedly unnerving, but nonetheless expected – stop at the end of the runway, my charge and anticipation had begun to manifest themselves physically, and I’m sure I looked no less ridiculous than the two-year-old in front of me, who’d been entertaining himself with a few new toys his parents had gotten him from Jakarta. I even managed to do something that I hadn’t done since the first international flight I’d ever been on – forget my baggage tags in the seat pocket in front of where I had been sitting. But of course, being that it’s Indonesia, the pencil-and-paper-wielding security agents at the baggage claim exit trusted me wholeheartedly that I had retrieved the correct luggage from the revolving conveyor belt.
And as I walked toward the exit and gazed through the dense crowd of anxious friends and family members, who were eagerly awaiting their loved ones at the security gate, something caught my eye. Just as we all hope for upon landing in a new city – and don’t pretend like you don’t – I was greeted with a big sign that read, “KENNETH MOORE, Mercy Corps.” Nothing makes you feel more important than having your own sign at the airport.
And then, in accordance with the same fortuitous pattern that the trip had been following all day... why wouldn’t the person holding the sign have been a strikingly gorgeous Indonesian native? Piva, who’d conducted my phone interview, then led me to where our car was parked. And in all honesty, our drive back to my new apartment will likely remain in my memory as one of the most entertaining car rides of my life. Both Piva and the driver were rattling off eccentric facts about Banda Aceh in a passionate and comical manner that put to shame any scripted lines that even the most talented tour guide could have come up with. I was squirming in the back seat, almost in tears from laughing so hard.
Upon arriving at my new place, Piva also happened to drop some new information on me. Not only would Mercy Corps be covering my living expenses, but I would also be receiving a modest salary. This was not expected – not in the least. In fact, the title for this job when I applied online was, “Aceh Unpaid Internship,” and I was told explicitly through e-mail how much money I could expect to pay for an apartment. I’m absolutely going to be giving half the bag of the bite-size Snickers bars that I brought as gifts to the person in the Mercy Corps office here who made that happen!
Later I intend to give more details about how awesome my place is, and what a great location it happens to be in. And I may describe later how a huge fair and expo is currently going on in the city, and also how I’ve already got a young, cool group of friends to show me around, but I think the euphoria has gotten annoying even to me at this point. All in all, it seems like nothing short of a natural disaster or a civil war could possibly…
…oh wait.
Well, be happy for me, but pray for me too, would you?
The time I spent on the island of Nias, where people are notorious for their fiery and combative personalities; multiple trips to Lombok, where residents are among the poorest in the country; a year in Central Java, where I was an instant and permanent local celebrity; and another year in North Sumatra, where the Catholic community tops off every social gathering with a strong glass of homemade palm wine, have all conditioned me for virtually anything that could happen on this archipelago. Additionally, I know where I feel most comfortable, or more aptly, where I will feel most comfortable.
Let’s talk about first impressions.
If I had been air-lifted and dropped off in middle of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, I could only hope that I would have felt as giddy, amazed, and excited as I felt yesterday afternoon.
The Acehnese experience began on my plane ride from Jakarta, where I sat next to a couple of punchy, witty Acehnese men, as well as an eager college student who is also involved with NGO work in Banda Aceh. The plane landed for a temporary stop in Medan and then continued to Banda; and without a single dull moment or lapse in conversation, we passed over the entire vertical stretch of Sumatra. Phone numbers were exchanged about the time I began to gaze out my cabin window, as our plane neared the end of its descent. A barely discernible boarder separating a vast seascape from kilometers of entrenched, glimmering, inland fisheries, and miles more of breezy green rice paddies almost distracted me from enjoying the seemly endless volcanic mountain range stretching along the opposite side of the city.
As our Boeing 737 came to a bumpy – and admittedly unnerving, but nonetheless expected – stop at the end of the runway, my charge and anticipation had begun to manifest themselves physically, and I’m sure I looked no less ridiculous than the two-year-old in front of me, who’d been entertaining himself with a few new toys his parents had gotten him from Jakarta. I even managed to do something that I hadn’t done since the first international flight I’d ever been on – forget my baggage tags in the seat pocket in front of where I had been sitting. But of course, being that it’s Indonesia, the pencil-and-paper-wielding security agents at the baggage claim exit trusted me wholeheartedly that I had retrieved the correct luggage from the revolving conveyor belt.
And as I walked toward the exit and gazed through the dense crowd of anxious friends and family members, who were eagerly awaiting their loved ones at the security gate, something caught my eye. Just as we all hope for upon landing in a new city – and don’t pretend like you don’t – I was greeted with a big sign that read, “KENNETH MOORE, Mercy Corps.” Nothing makes you feel more important than having your own sign at the airport.
And then, in accordance with the same fortuitous pattern that the trip had been following all day... why wouldn’t the person holding the sign have been a strikingly gorgeous Indonesian native? Piva, who’d conducted my phone interview, then led me to where our car was parked. And in all honesty, our drive back to my new apartment will likely remain in my memory as one of the most entertaining car rides of my life. Both Piva and the driver were rattling off eccentric facts about Banda Aceh in a passionate and comical manner that put to shame any scripted lines that even the most talented tour guide could have come up with. I was squirming in the back seat, almost in tears from laughing so hard.
Upon arriving at my new place, Piva also happened to drop some new information on me. Not only would Mercy Corps be covering my living expenses, but I would also be receiving a modest salary. This was not expected – not in the least. In fact, the title for this job when I applied online was, “Aceh Unpaid Internship,” and I was told explicitly through e-mail how much money I could expect to pay for an apartment. I’m absolutely going to be giving half the bag of the bite-size Snickers bars that I brought as gifts to the person in the Mercy Corps office here who made that happen!
Later I intend to give more details about how awesome my place is, and what a great location it happens to be in. And I may describe later how a huge fair and expo is currently going on in the city, and also how I’ve already got a young, cool group of friends to show me around, but I think the euphoria has gotten annoying even to me at this point. All in all, it seems like nothing short of a natural disaster or a civil war could possibly…
…oh wait.
Well, be happy for me, but pray for me too, would you?
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