cows

We had a staff meeting a few days ago where we spent about fifteen minutes discussing how to buy a cow in Aceh. “Exactly how much does a cow cost? Where exactly does one go shopping for a cow? Will one fit in the back of a truck to transport it?”

It’s Ramadan, and these are the Topics of the Times. It may have been a very Seinfeld-esque conversation for us, but the outcome will be quite meaningful. We have a special fund to buy Ramadan gifts for our communities to use in their celebrations, and cows are one of the most requested items. So, in addition to buying rebuilding supplies and the such, we’re now on the market for some livestock as well. Not your typical vision of a day’s work, but it’s important, since these are the most sacred of times for our Muslim friends and neighbors.

They awake early, well before sunrise for prayer and a morning meal, then fast the remainder of the day (food, water and everything else). After evening prayers and the sunset, they break their fast with a big meal shared with family and friends (enter the cows, prepped and barbecued). All office hours are reduced, and we don’t eat or drink in front of our Indonesian colleagues. Almost all the shops and restaurants are closed, largely because every other little venue is a food joint or local-style coffee-shop. It’s taking me back in time to my arrival during Ramadan last year – I spent the first month wondering why nothing was open!

Now, I guess I’m a bit wiser about my environs, and hopefully, about a lot of other things, too. One more week left, and I’m starting feel the strange twinges of a yet another looming major life transition creep upon me. We had our first two (yes, two – it’s a very drawn-out departure process) farewell parties this weekend. “We” meaning me and seven of my colleagues (one other with American RC, the rest with other RC societies) who all arrived about the same time I did and are now very good friends.

The first was for us and all our Indonesian staff and was supposed to be big fun with a local band we’d hired playing at one of the big traditional open-air coffeehouses. The day of the party, though, the community members, who’d already given their permission weeks before, decided it would now be offensive to them to have a potentially-loud band playing when pre-Ramadan praying started that night. We can all understand that, of course, and want to be sensitive and respectful of their wishes. But the last-minute timing (and not having a Plan B) was a bit disappointing. However, my boss and a big-personality Indonesian friend serenaded the crowd acapella. Granted, neither of them needed microphones and belted out an improvised “My Girl” singing revised lyrics with mine and Sharmila’s names inserted, along with “Leaving on a Jet Plane” and “You’ve Got a Friend.” It was fantastic, and band or no band, turned out to be a lot of fun.

Saturday night we gathered with the same group of Eight Departees (sorry, that looks too much like “detainees” which, ironically, I do feel like sometimes) for an “expat party” with all of our international friends working for other organizations. It was quite a big soiree and everyone stayed up way too late dancing and reveling (quietly and indoors, of course). A friend/co-guest-of-honor and I deejayed, playing our favorite salsa, Hindi, Arabic, 80’s (for the Aussies), and hip hop jams. (My musical horizons have indeed broadened this year!).

All was great fun, and though our pre-planning aimed at avoiding “reveling” too close to Ramadan didn’t quite work, we still enjoyed ourselves immensely. Later farewell celebrations closer to our actual departures will likely be “breaking fast” dinners with our national staff, which is all that will be appropriate until Ramadan ends in late October.

My official departure date is still uncertain. I thought I had things all sketched out last week, and our D.C. office informed me that my replacement will be arriving on the day I planned to leave, so I should stick around to help him get oriented. Poor guy, I think he has no idea what he’s getting into – the only thing I’ve heard from him was an email asking if he could wear his running shorts and sleeveless shirts to jog around town... Obviously, he's about as clueless as I was coming here and hasn't read up on the escalating enforcement of Islamic law - even men can't wear shorts and sleeveless shirts. Also, the biggest and most violent protests happened outside the government reconstruction offices last week, as tensions here continue to rise for a multitude of reasons... It's a good time to be leaving.

But all that to say, I’m still not sure when I’m flying out! I’m trying to change all my tickets to Kyrgyzstan, St. Petersburg, Bangkok, etc. but it’s quite a complicated process. Plus, if I delay my departure only a few more days I’ll be in-transit on my birthday, and I refuse to spend another birthday without loved ones. So, if I can arrange it, I’ll leave on the 10th of October and be home the first few days in November. I will keep you posted, because though I won’t be in Banda anymore, I’m likely to have a few adventures in my trek around central and southeast Asia.

Please keep me in your prayers in the next two weeks as I search for the ambiguous balance between being excited to travel and come home with the sadness and the uncertainty of leaving friends that have become family and my life here that’s become wonderfully (yet strangely) familiar...