Taste of home

From left, Mas Kusen, Bu Peni (Peni D. Arggani), Mas Ted, Mbak Elizabeth and the author in a celebratory moment.

July 5, 2011

By Maria "Rai" Hancock

For the Fourth of July, I finally got to see those fireworks our mothers warned us about. You know, the ones that explode and blow off your fingers and the ones that spiral wildly back and put out an eye. Yeah, I saw those. Some of the teachers set them off and they veered wildly toward the neighboring buildings or shot only 5 feet or so before exploding in every direction. I was just waiting for something (or someone) to catch fire, but (Alhamdulillah!) everyone made it through the night with all their fingers, toes, and eyes.

While classes continued as usual this week, there was a lot of time and effort that went into preparing for the Pesta Hari Kemerdekaann (Independence Day Party) or HUT Amerika (America's Birthday). Each class had to prepare some sort of show or event. It's pretty diffficult to decide what sort of show you want to do when you have such an odd collection of people. While we're generally a pretty self-assured bunch, we're certainly not all performers. Even the performers cannot agree on the type of performance. A few classes chickened out and just led games. My class did a dramatic musical about Umar Bakri. I still don't entirely understand it, but I did my part as a rowdy student.

There were a few students who were ultra brave and got up and talked on their own. Mbak Elizabeth, for example, who has really just begun learning Indonesian, translated and read a short description of America's history as a model for democracy and natural rights. Mas Jonathan, who sticks out a bit here at 6 foot 3 or so, also spoke on his own. The advanced class both acted as MCs and provided some much-needed humor as the three little pigs.

We managed to actually learn around the event. The teachers took the opportunity to teach us about Indonesian games and celebrations and used the holiday as a background for learning. When we worked with comparisons, we compared Independence Day in America to Hari Kemerdekaan in Indonesia. We wrote sentences about pictures of the events and planned movies and concerts to celebrate.

In the end, even with special effort from our Indonesian hosts, the day was not the same and it came just as many of us are really starting to miss our foods (and drinks) from home. It's not that we don't like Indonesian food, but there is something about those things that your mom cooks, those comfort foods, those foods you choose yourself, that we miss. I miss breakfast burritos, fried fish, and biscuits and gravy. Occasionally, I even tire of rice with every meal. Tonight, for the holiday, I made some American food. While my family says they like it, I'm pretty sure they are just saying that. For me, it's nice to have a small taste of home, and I'm happy enough with that.

Mother of invention

The author's tutors, Mbak Dwi, foreground, and Mbak Anin (Rai is in between). Their full names are Dwi Fatmalasari and Anindita Sastavianti.

July 3, 2011

By Maria "Rai" Hancock

When I started really reading the literature on the Critical Language Scholarship program, I started to worry. The numbers were frightening. Five hours a day of class plus lunch in Bahasa Indonesian. Lunch followed by either two hours of cultural classes or two hours of tutoring. Evenings filled with at least an hour, perhaps more, of homework. Weekends frequently scheduled with trips to remote locations.

In reality, none of this is so bad. Classes aren't lectures; they're generally discussions, role plays, and silly inventions of ads. Occasionally we have grammar lessons, but more often we ask for clarification on what we need. Because we all come from different backgrounds, often we can help each other out. For instance, I have a strange knowledge of grammar and phrases, but don't have the smooth delivery of conversation that Melanie has or the broad vocabulary of Jonathan. One day, Kieran took it upon himself to teach us animals during a class break because he noticed that he didn't know ones that others did. Sometimes we even learn from the beginning classes because they cover topics we never did in class.

Our tutorials aren't bad either. We are not sitting in the library within ruler-whomping distance while being forced to write perfect Indonesian sentences. Tutorials are visits to special locations around the city to learn about culture and resources, and to practice talking to others. So far, my tutors have taken me to the market, library, train station, government offices, their friends' places, a temple, and great roadside food stands. Sometimes Mbak Dwi is pretty tough on my grammar, but I certainly appreciate the learning scaffolding. Really, they're like friends with an imperative to make me sound smarter. Our classes are also fun and interesting because we have great teachers, and there are quite a lot of them. When not in class, they're hard at work creating lessons, cutting out game pieces, and otherwise working to make everything engaging and valuable. My class has a head teacher -- Mas Kusen -- and four other instructors, Bu Agnes, Mbak Wuri, Mbak Ayu, and Mas Thoriq. This program is remarkably staffed, and they really know how to distribute the work load. There are 25 participants and 50 tutors. There are six classes with one lead instructor and four instructors each. I think there are several cases where teachers outnumber students. I think a student rebellion is out of the question, despite our clear size advantage; we are far outnumbered. Fortunately , many of the tutors double as teachers, so we manage to keep the total under 100. But then there is still also the regular academic staff, plus the great building staff that makes things more manageable with food and coffee.

The homework hasn't really become all that laborious. It's difficult sometimes, but not laborious. Often, our homework requires us to ask questions of others and to write up the answers. In fact I reckon this is the teacher's favorite type of homework. Journal writing is also a major homework assignment since we have two journals to be done daily, one which is somewhat formulaic and the other which is free writing. In the end they are time-consuming, but not really difficult either.

All of the students seem to find time for other things, despite classes that start at eight in the morning. Many of the guys work out and there are frequent trips by different groups to karaoke, restaurants or other places of interest. I like to play with the kids at my house (or the kittens). I've taught the kids how to play Speed and Go Fish and they taught me Empat Puluh, which is very much like Gin Rummy. Aden, 9, and I spent a good half hour the other day playing with a bracelet and two juice bottles.

In the end, I've actually sought out additional language challenges. I've bought several Indonesia books that are at my reading level -- I can get through teen books in a reasonable way -- and try to spend some time learning new vocabulary. The best lessons, though, are still the times when I have to do something like buy a new dress or order dinner on my own, and find that I can be successful. Necessity is not only the mother of invention; it is also the mother of growth.

Remembering words

The author makes some new young friends while taking a walk in Malang.

July 1, 2011

By Maria "Rai" Hancock

When you learn a new word, you're supposed to use it so that it sticks in your mind. While that's all fine and dandy, there are a couple of truths that should also be known: 1) Not all words are created equal and 2) sometimes there are words that just never stick.

I was born in Kansas with its miles upon miles of corn, lived in Arizona and enjoyed the Mexican foods that were the original products of corn, and now I live in northern Illinois, where each road this time of year is framed with tall walls of sweet corn. I have a million and one reasons to use the word (hold on, let me check it) jagung when I describe my favorite food, talk about where I'm from, or answer all the "What about in America?" questions. I have not yet ceased to need to look it up. Similarly, food names tend to disappear as quickly as the food itself, though I'll admit I really have ceased trying because there are so many options here.

To the first point, though, not all words are equally useful. Sometimes a learner discovers a word or phrase that they can use every day, a hundred times, and others that really have very specific uses. I'm not going to use the word memetik (to pick) very often, but it was useful when we went to the Winosari Tea Plantation and it has potential if I ever decide to do research on colonial agriculture. On the other hand, words like turun (to get down off something, bakar (to burn or bake something), goreng (fried, and everything here is fried), and ambil (to take, subtract or bring) all have many applications daily. Then there are super words and phrases that help to sweep away many linguistic sins, culture differences, and troubles. In Indonesia, one such phrase is "Tidak apa-apa." This roughly translates to "It's nothing, no problem, no big deal." It's a cultural phenomenon that both expresses the easygoing character of Indonesians and their endless politeness, patience, and kindness. It is for when class runs long -- "Tidak apa-apa" -- and they offer you great food and drink -- "Tidak usah repot-repot" (You don't need to do that). "Tidak apa-apa."

On Tuesday, the second day of classes, Pak Peter, the Resident Direct, came into Bu Tari's class while we were working. He looked around at our group, looking a big confused, and said, "I think there has been a mix-up." He quickly left and we went back to our studies. It seems that while my class had taken the higher-level test, we'd somehow been given the wrong designation and the wrong teachers. I'm not sure what actually happened, but we took a rather laid-back approach and finished our day just as we had planned. At the weekly meeting, we simply exchanged books and homework assignments and appeared in the new class the following day. "Tidak apa-apa."
We Americans have plenty of opportunity to use "Tidak apa-apa." Mostly it relates to our general foreignness here. I'm well, chunky and finding American-sized clothes is very difficult (even the tiny girls in the group have discovered they're a large or extra-large here). "Nothing to fit me?" -- "Tidak apa-apa." Our height, some more than others, and our paleness makes us stick out, like a blue giraffe or a purple tiger. Random people want to take pictures with us -- "Tidak apa-apa."

While, frankly, sometimes it works against the American value of industriousness and the desire to blame, this phrase and the cultural acceptance or tolerance that goes with it certainly helps us in our studies. It helps to put us at ease as we struggle to do really basic things, like order food or bargain, and helps us deal with everyday differences.

Islands in the clouds

Mountain tops poke through the clouds as the plane approaches Malang.


June 26, 2011


By Maria "Rai" Hancock



If there is one word I have learned so far it is takut (scared) or perhaps gelisah (nervous), but that's not a bad thing. One week ago, I embarked on an experience which is meant to push me, challenge me, expose me, teach me. While learning in the classrooms at NIU or taking a trip to a Southeast Asia tourist destination can shrink the distance between me and the cultures and people of Indonesia, they cannot eliminate that space. If we could so easily and comfortably understand everything about another culture, we would all be anthropologists, global political experts, and--I think--humanitarians and peacemakers. Instead, creating such knowledge, finding authentic understanding, takes bravery to face travel, immersion, and daily challenge in foreign locations. So then, I embrace "takut" and try to cultivate "keberanian" (bravery) so I can learn.

On June 12, my fiance Justin piled me into the car very early in the morning after a thoroughly sleepless night so that I could tearfully get onto a plane and go to Washington, D.C. On the plane and at the airport, I met other Critical Language Scholarship (CLS) participants from the Indonesia program and from the Turkey program, who were also gelisah to begin the program. In our welcome packets we received a list of participants that revealed the diversity of the group. Participants came from all over the United States, with western U.S. universities sending 40 percent; eastern schools sending 28 percent; and the Midwest and South sending the remaining 32 percent. While there are many small and state universities represented, participants also hailed from big-name schools like Cornell, Stanford, Berkeley and Georgetown, ranging from sophomores working on their bachelor's degrees to graduate students well through their doctoral studies. Some participants came with several years of work experience in the United States and abroad. Although there are some expected clusters of specialities like political science, anthropology, and area and international studies, there are others with backgrounds as diverse as nutrition, forestry, biology, education, musicology, and physical science (and it is certainly interesting to note that one of those in area studies actually studies native Americans).

The orientation was mostly your average job or program orientation--a lot of paperwork and discussing things either readily apparent or in the advance materials we all received. What stuck out in my mind were the stressed and yet thoroughly defeated-sounding warning against riding bicycles and the discussion of bathroom habits, i.e. how hard is it to use a squat toilet? The Indonesian Embassy's educational and cultural attache, Haryo Winarso, and the counselor and head of the information division, Heru Subolo, came and spoke to us a little about the warming relationship between the U.S. and Indonesia and had lunch with us.

Studying Southeast Asia should come with a warning label that begins like: "Southeast Asian studies may cause excessively long flights, long layovers, upset stomach, and . . . ," well, you get the idea. I can now testify that regarding airports: the security at Hong Kong is low-tech, but very efficient; the floors in Singapore are surprisingly comfortable; and the local food options in Jakarta are amazingly good for airport food. The airport in Malang, however, I can say little about because I was pulled through it like Justin Bieber through a crowd of panting teenage girls after a concert. As bad as it was, however, that flight to Malang was worth the view as we flew around mountains that stuck up like islands in the clouds, like a heavenly version of the country below, some of them with light plumes of smoke. All the participants were just bursting with excitement as the Resident Director Dr. Peter Suwarno (Pak Peter) and a collection of porters and students gathered our luggage and got us settled on the bus and then in our hotel.

On Friday--yes, that's right, we began orientation on Monday, then traveled for three days before finishing it--after a night at a swanky hotel, we went by bus to the Universitas Negeri Malang (UM). In a way that I have come now to expect, the length of the bus ride has little to do with how far apart places are here. While one of the participants had easily and quickly found UM while running, it took us almost thirty minutes to navigate the crazy narrow streets of Malang in the big bus.

The opening ceremonies included a formal welcome from Dr. Dawud, the Dean of the Faculty of Letters, and Pak Peter, but also an enthusiastic introduction, all in Indonesian, by Mbak Ardurna (Mbak is a term of respect for women, with Mas being the male equivalent). Between speakers, Javanese traditional dancers performed in costumes and even brought up participants to join in. Best of all, when we were released and sent to snack--even though we had only just gorged ourselves on the luxurious breakfast at the hotel--our tutors found us (there are two for each of us). Mbak Dwi and Mbak Anin pulled me over to the refreshment table through a sea of batik-clad Indonesians and conspicuously tall bule-bule (Caucasians) and helped to load my plate with fruits and cakes. We sat and talked as well I could expect with jetlag, sleeplessness, and a cold weighing on me. Mbak Dwi is an effervescent and beautiful young student and Mbak Anin is sweet, tiny, and more withdrawn, even quiet but helpful.

Before lunch, the regional security officer from the U.S. Consular Office in Surabay addressed us in theory about safety, generally assuring us that within reason, we were pretty safe in Malang, and that there was excellent surf to be had in Indonesia. While important, this visit seemed more like a formality than anything to be really concerned with. After lunch, the ubiquitous orientation materials and discussion of goals, schedules, logistics, safety, etc., continued. The most interesting part was signing up for our elective classes. My choice of pencak silat (traditional Indonesian martial arts) elicited giggles and gasps, but in the end that class was actually weighted toward females.

By the time I reached my host family Bapak and Ibu Iqbal, I was so congested that my breathing was somewhere between a wheeze and a gurgle, and so tired that I could barely hold my head up. Mbak Dwi accompanied me in and helped to introduce me and find my room. My host parents introduced themselves and the children, but my brain was soup and everything they said seemed like submerged nonsense. But then I heard an amazing word, istirahat, meaning "rest." After putting my things away and sharing a gift with my host mother, I laid down and was asleep almost before I hit the pillow. They woke me for dinner--something resembling a hot dog and roasted chicken with rice--which was somewhat awkward since people still did not make sense and no one else was eating. Despite my exhaustion, I woke up ready to go at 2 a.m., which I eventually considered a blessing because it gave me almost four hours to study for my placement test. I started through my books and made some notes about grammar and vocabulary. This is when I bothered to find out what nervous was. I can't say that I was any less nervous when I arrived and they had me on the list with all the people I knew had serious language skills, who had lived in Indonesia or visited several times. I was taking the hard test! On the bright side, I told myself, that means I have potential, right? The test was tough, because there was a considerable amount of grammar, but there was a large chunk on the di- prefix that Bu Henry [NIU language professor Patricia Henry] had drilled into my head at NIU. There was also reading and working with suffixes, which it seemed like everyone was lost on, and the part I was most worried about, the Speaking Test. I think they took it easy on me. When the numbers came back, I was in Intermediate 2B just below Advanced. Wow!

On Sunday, our free day, my tutors met me at 6 a.m. to go running--to avoid the heat of the day--and to do some shopping. I didn't expect to do these activities together, but I ended up at the Pasar Besar (Big Market) and Pasar Minggu (Sunday Market) in my workout clothes. But it was a wonderful journey, talking with a few children on the way and receiving a wide range of greetings ("Hi, Mister!"). I bought batik, shoes, cakes, and fruit all in one place--and very cheaply--like Walmart with more character! We headed home from the Pasar Besar and ran smack into Pasar Minggu and had to walk through it to get home. That surely doomed us because the market was full of good smells, of meat roasting and cakes. With empty bellies, the smell was killing us, so we found a nice stall and ate heaping plates of rice, noodles, veggies, tempe, and other things covered in peanut sauce and sambal (chili sauce). We finished up with a sweet snack, like cotton candy but on short sticks, like little mounds of pink hay.

You can't long stay too scared in a country like Indonesia because every day you have to summon bravery to walk down the crazy roads where lanes seem more like a vague suggestion. You have to suck it up and try to the best of your ability to communicate with cashiers and others you meet daily, even though you're sure you sound like an idiot. And while I could probably minimize my fear by retreating to solitude, I'd miss the whole point. Bravery is a must here, and I have to admit that Indonesians make it easy, with their friendliness (and lots of curiosity) and the examples they set by just plunging head on into traffic and into life.

The journey begins

Welcome to the Northern Illinois University's Center for Southeast Asian Studies' Immersed in Indonesia blog. Follow along with CSEAS graduate assistant Maria "Rai" Hancock as she plunges herself into Indonesia's language and culture at Universitas Negeri Malang in Malang. Hancock is there courtesy of the U.S. State Department's Critical Language Scholarship program, the first NIU student to receive one of the highly competitive scholarships. Hancock traveled to Washington, D.C., for a two-day orientation in mid-June, where she and other CLS Indonesia students signed a language policy requiring them to speak only Indonesian in most situations upon arriving in Malang. The program includes four to five hours of language instruction per day, covering approximately a year's worth of study, and structured cultural activities designed to increase students' language facility. It is Hancock's first trip to Southeast Asia and she will be keeping us up to date as she goes along. She returns to the U.S. in mid-August.