halfway

Just a few days ago marked six months since I arrived in Indonesia. It’s a milestone of sorts among my colleagues here, but I wrestled with mixed emotions of celebration versus sadness throughout the day, and I guess to some degree always do. Sure, it may seem interesting and exotic to live abroad, and inspirational to be a part of endeavors like these – and it truly is. But (there is always a but, eh?) the flip-side is the hard part – being away, feeling immeasurably detached from the people and places you love the most, the strangeness of never being able to quite “settle” in a place that continues to be… foreign.

But you keep on. You live and stretch and grow and try to learn (some days much more so than others) and you try to make something familiar out of the unfamiliar while still embracing the new. And somehow, along the way, you discover new pieces of yourself that you never knew existed. So, in that sense, I celebrate these as six months of Survival… partly, of getting to know myself better.

I celebrate a Faith, that is sustaining and ever-present. The verse continues to prove true that God is faithful when we are faithless. Applying traditional ways of believing, living and loving just doesn’t work when the shapes of our surroundings are all are all suddenly (and continuously) unrecognizable. But through walking out on the precipice of Openness and Acceptance, one discovers that a leap of Faith really isn’t so far from the foothold of the familiar. And the world, and our Faith, becomes only Bigger if we’re brave enough to jump…

I celebrate the people of Aceh, and their manifestation of Resilience and Perseverance, of having the courage to blend Need with Dignity, Grief with Recovery, and Tradition with Openness. One of the little things I love so much about the people here is their way greeting each other. When they meet someone, they shake hands in a typical fashion, but when the extended hand is retracted, they place it over their heart, almost in the posture of saying a pledge, but for just a moment. To me, it symbolizes their acceptance of one another, and how in meeting someone, they truly take them into their heart. And I feel that’s what the people of Aceh have done with me. And for that I’m immeasurably grateful…

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I wrote the above paragraphs a few days ago, when I was obviously feeling a bit nostalgic and reflective. Today, I’m lingering in thoughts of a lovely Easter yesterday. Though I’m far away from my favorite egg-coloring partners in recent years, Sierra and Daniel, I got to share in that little bit of fun-for-all-ages with friends here who’d never experienced the magical joy of watching a Paas tablet dissolve or the seeing the first hints of brilliant color emerge on a once boring egg (yes, you know it IS that fun!). Instead of attending a church service with hymnals, a well-tuned choir and Baptists in their Sunday best, I found myself in a little sanctuary with a few dozen other internationals wearing blue jeans, singing songs slightly out-of-key. But when the preacher-of-the-week greeted us with a hearty “Christ is risen!” and my voice and spirit echoed “Christ is risen indeed!” –- I knew my steps had led me to the Perfect Place to remember the Resurrection.

I am surrounded by rebirth here, and New Beginnings. A few weeks ago I went to Chalang, a small town a few hundred kilometers south of Banda, and one of the areas hardest-hit by the tsunami. We’re doing “immediate needs” projects in the surrounding area (yes, there still are many urgent needs more than a year after the disaster) and supplying basic things like water sources and spouts, building roads and small bridges – projects that are “small” in comparison to other efforts, but life-changing for those they affect. The center of town sits on a peninsula that was struck on three sides by the tsunami. Of the 2,000 people that lived there, only 17 people survived. When our field officer approached the community about their needs, they told him honestly that houses were being built and water was supplied, but what they really could use was a place for their kids to play, something to help them return to “normal” life, even this long afterwards. So what did he do? Together with a team of locals, they built a volleyball/basketball court for the children and teenagers of the community, and now scores of local kids from the surrounding areas have a place to come and play, to just be kids, to continue moving forward with hope and laughter…

Isn’t it always the simple, little things in life that make such a big, big difference?

And I colored Easter eggs yesterday. And went to church, and picked fresh mangoes from the tree in our front yard, and cruised around by myself at sunset. And I felt something more than “making it through” in my own little struggles here… Amid the simple things, I had my own resurrection of sorts, a New Beginning at my Halfway Point… in the little things, I found a big reminder that my own Tale of Survival is much moreso a Story of Purpose...

And is for us all. Happy Easter.

With love from Banda,
bonnie jean

india.3

And so we made it. The haggard and worn bus travelers bumped back into Delhi and caught the easy two-hour flight down to Mumbai, or Bombay, which we learned it’s still perfectly acceptable to call it. The mountains had been spectacular, but we were ready for some rest and pampering to wind up our adventure. And oh, did we go to the right place…

The Intercontinental Hotel was situated along Marine Drive, a popular strolling area for locals and visitors alike, just beside the ocean. Still wearing our bedraggled travel-wear, we were a bit of a spectacle when we arrived in its immaculate lobby draped in modernist luxury. But when we finally dropped our bags in our room on the sixth floor and glimpsed our picturesque view of the Arabian Sea, along with the massive flat screen plasma TV mounted on the wall and the bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, we knew we’d found a new place to call home… at least for a few days!

Before I left for India, my friend there told me that every country has a “New York” and a “D.C.”, and that in India, Delhi was D.C. and Bombay was New York. So, knowing my love of the Big Apple, I knew Bombay must be on our itinerary. And it took only one look out of our window to know that I was in one of my new favorite cities on the planet (yes, it’s right up there with Vienna, Rome and NYC). Even from afar, the city was bursting with energy, and walking the streets, the people were warm, extremely friendly and everyone seemed to speak English – not just in Bombay but really everywhere we went. After more than 10 days of Power Traveling, we weren’t up for much “touristy” stuff, but instead indulged ourselves in some shopping, pampering at a spa/salon, and ate our way around the city’s smorgasbord of eclectic restaurants and danced with locals til all hours of the night to Hindi club music.

Bombay is also the home of Bollywood, which is, yes, the “Hollywood” of India. Theirs is the largest film industry in the world, with audiences that top U.S. screenings by millions. Bollywood helps cultivate the added glitz, glamour and endless stream of breath-takingly beautiful people that gives Bombay an unmistakable cosmopolitan and captivating vibe. We even ventured to the local Regal Cinema while there, after asking locals what the hottest new movie in town was. “Taxi No. 921” was the resounding answer, and so we saw it, without sub-titles, and still loved it! Bollywood actors often over-act, with gesturing and mannerisms that would seem more suited for soap operas in the States. But not knowing the language, this completely helped us understand what was going on, even though we may not have gotten the conversational jokes. Plus, the leading actor was so good-looking that it was kind of beside the point that I had no idea what was being said because the price of the ticket was worth it just to see him for two hours on a big screen!

Beautiful people were everywhere, though, and not just on the big screen. Dark and handsome men are always delightful to see, of course, but it was the women who created a unmistakable air of beauty. Many had long, flowing dark hair and most wore brightly-colored saris in traditional and modern styles. By the end of the trip, Jennifer and I realized that we had yet to see two saris alike! Each one, like the wearer, had its own unique splendor. Though the context was very different, I was reminded many times of my first trips to Africa and seeing the women there, and how magnificent and graceful they were in juxtaposition to the their often harsh surroundings. India is very different, certainly, but even women in the small country towns we passed had a similar regal mystique.

It wasn’t until leaving behind the mesmerizing country and culture, saying a severing good-bye to my sister of the heart at the airport, and returning to Aceh that I began to process why the beauty of the people (inside and out) was one of the most outstanding aspects of the trip for me…

I had several hours in Medan before my flight to Banda, so I escaped the airport for a last fling with a Starbucks latte. The city environs seemed drab and complacent, and it wasn’t even my post-vacation blues already manifesting… something was missing. I sat in front of Starbucks, sipping my coffee and staring, still feeling a lack of vitality in my surroundings. And as a group of teenage girls walked by in their conservative school uniforms and headscarves, my eyes began to open to the source of the absence of Color and Energy around me. I looked to my left and there were moms shopping with their kids in tow – those women, too, were draped in clothing literally from head to toe. To my right, another woman sat alone, her hair invisible under the mandatory, traditional headscarf… In comparison to the visual boldness of the women I had been seeing for the past two weeks, these ladies seemed muted by their own appearance. Sleeves stretched to their hands, skirts to their feet, and scarves hid what every woman knows is priceless attribute – her hair.

Perhaps I’d been in a community so long where the women I see at work, in the markets, riding down the streets all look this way, that it had become normal to me… or even, unconsciously, a part of me, as I acquiesced my own wardrobe to be found “acceptable” and “non-offensive” to the culture I’m in. Yet, after being immersed in country like India, rich and overflowing in expression (and with strong women who lead that in many ways), I returned to Banda to find myself shocked at how much the overall environment of a place is robbed of its spark, beauty and intrigue when women are unable to show and express themselves. To me, everything around them seems a bit dulled and shrouded, just as they are.

I in no way say this negating the beauty of ones eyes, smile and other features that distinguish a person so incredibly. Nor am I speaking against a religion I’ve grown to respect, a nation that’s now my home away from home, or a culture that’s generous, humble and has embraced me. But what perplexed me upon my initial return, and still concerns me now, is for the women here and in other parts of the world where they are completed denied revealing any part of themselves at all… and I guess it troubles me because through this, I’ve realized how my present environment has affected me personally. My own compromises in something as seemingly simple as clothing style, along with daily taunts from male passersby and other issues denying or insulting me as a woman, has taken it’s own subtle toll on my sense of self. Any woman knows (don’t try to deny) that when you look good, you really do feel good. And when you feel unattractive, you’re less confident, and I think, less yourself… So, in my own trivial little wrestlings with these issues, I can absolutely not imagine what it must be like to get up every morning, and brush your long beautiful hair, and even though you may not want to, you hide it away under a drab headscarf. Then the clothing, the attitudes of a male-dominated culture justifying its discrimination through religion… Oh, I could go on and on, but won’t… this time.

Instead, I hope I can encourage the women reading this with one of the many things I learned in India – to remember that you’re beautiful. Go out today and do whatever girlie thing makes you feel good about yourself – get a pedicure, go out dancing, get your highlights touched up, or do what I did in Bombay and get your hair returned (at last) to its natural color! Be yourself, and express yourself. Wear your hair down and let it flow, and relish in the freedom your community, your culture gives you to do that. Put on your favorite outfit and go out for a nice dinner with someone that adores you … and most of all remember, that you, every part of you, is beautiful. And because of you, the world (especially the one around you) is a more beautiful place…

All my love,
bonnie jean


p.s. Here are a few other random things I learned in India:

1. There is no such thing as food that’s too spicy.
2. Don’t sit on the back of the bus.
3. A little bit of indulgence in a nice hotel and really good meal is worthy investment.
4. Working too much is not good for anybody. Vacations are just as important as dedication to your job.
5. International cell phone roaming charges are VERY expensive.
6. You alone are in control of how you spend your time, and whether those choices are wisely made or not.
7. Few things are as beautifying as a good eye-brow waxing.
8. A change of scenery and good company is priceless therapy for the soul
9. Beware of "friendly" mountain goats. You may want to pet them, but they want to pee on you.
10. That my next trip abroad is going to be to the United States of America. Hope to see you in May!