deployment

Just a quick post to let everyone know we are all safe here in Banda after the terrible earthquake Saturday morning. The quake occurred on the island of Java, and I'm on Sumatra island, so we didn't even feel a thing. The latest update is that I will be traveling tonight and likely on site tomorrow. Please keep me, all of our team, and especially the people of the region in your prayers.

More info click here .

Also, thanks to those that have called and emailed with concern! It means so much...

Love always,
bonnie jean

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…

**************
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!

india.2

So, there we were, in the last two seats on the very back row of a seemingly normal bus. The sun was setting as we inched northward out of Delhi in late rush hour traffic, and a cool breeze signaled that the heat of the day had finally abated. It seemed all the ingredients for a pleasant ride were in place.

After awhile, though, our speed picked up, and pavement gave way to very rough “pavement” …and we found ourselves in what felt like a human popcorn popper. In the back of the bus, the ride was so rough and so bumpy we were flailing around in our seats like rag dolls, whacking our heads senseless at times on the overhead compartment. And this went on for hours and hours and hours through the Indian countryside. All we could do was laugh at the incessant rattling and banging (and our own gullibility in our seat selection) and just trying to make the best of it.

But as evening evolved into way-past-bedtime, we rumbled into mountainous altitudes, and with the new terrain came two new complications – bumpy AND curvy roads, and plummeting temperatures. We had been the first two boarding the bus earlier that day, and naively asked our bus driver if we needed our jackets. He’d barked back a gruff “NO,” so our warm apparel was stuffed away in the luggage area underneath the bus. Yet, as our fellow travelers boarded, we couldn’t help but notice that each of them seemed to be carrying (and some already wearing) a jacket or a blanket, or both. And as the bus strained high into the mountains late that night, we quickly knew why.

We wondered aloud if the bus driver simply didn’t understand our earlier question about needing jackets, or if he had made it a personal mission at some point during our 10-second encounter to torture us. So somewhere around Hour Nine of the ride, we were absolutely freezing to death, in addition to holding on for dear life as our now-madman driver two-wheeled it around 90-degree turns. Jennifer put socks on her hands and I contorted myself into a ball as we shivered our way through those delirious last few hours. “Awful” could be one assessment of the situation, but if you add to that “ridiculously" awful it somehow becomes laughable… and so that’s what we did, until 6:00 a.m. when we finally rolled into Mcleoad Ganj.

“Little Tibet” as the city’s sometimes known, was still sleeping as we swaggered toward our guest house. Most of the “hotels” there are small, family-owned modified residences with 5 to 20 rooms to rent out cheaply to an international array of travelers. Many Westerns come seeking situational enlightenment, others come to research the culture of Tibetan refugees, while for wisdom-seekers of all kinds, the Dalai Lama is a well-spring of instruction and insight, and an unyielding activist for Good.

Nestled in the shadows of the Himalayas, the small community of Mcleoad Ganj sits just up the mountainside from bustling Dharamsala, and both are sweet-smelling melting pots of soul-searchers and peace-seekers from far and near. Buddhist monks in flowing maroon and orange robes stroll the narrow streets alongside Tibetan and Kashmir refugees, regional India natives, and a few anomalies like us. Apparently (and thankfully), we were there “off-season” so were among only a handful of non-locals roaming through the interesting shops and quaint restaurants and up and down the mountain trails.

The snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas offered a dramatic backdrop to the mostly two-story dwellings, with the largest structure in the area being a yellow, modest hill-side residence resembling a dormitory – the home of the Dalai Lama, and many of his fellow Tibetan Buddhists. “Dali” as began to call him (though not to be confused, of course, with the great Dolly Parton) wasn’t in town when we first arrived, but did return during our three-day stay – perhaps because he heard we there? Just kidding. He does hold public teachings, as do other esteemed wise men, but unfortunately nothing was happening while we were there to attend. We did stroll through many temples and took walks along sacred hillside paths designed especially for pilgrims.

People were warm and friendly, and it was approaching Tibetan New Year, so festivity was in the air. One morning we even took a Tibetan cooking class and helped prepare special traditional sweets for the upcoming celebrations. Other than an unfortunate incident involving a goat with an uncontrollable bladder, our time there was serene, relaxing and well-worth the excruciating bus ride! No longer naïve to strategic bus-seating, we booked our tickets back to Delhi in the very front seats, and boarded for the return nighttime journey already bundled up to combat the chilly air.

Just when we thought we’d totally out-smarted the gods of Greyhounds everywhere, we were no less than 15 minutes into the journey and an elderly woman directly behind us started throwing up… and she puked, and puked, and puked until it was inconceivable that she had anything left to puke. Once we finally stopped for the lone bathroom-break about four hours into the ride back, we noticed also, from the tell-tell splatters down the other side of the bus, that someone just across the aisle from us had been throwing up, too. No wonder the sounds and smells had become almost unbearable! By this point, our “let’s just make the best of it” tolerant attitudes had long since been projected out the bus window as well, and we plugged our ears with the headphones, covered our noses with the blanket and tried desperately to sleep and dream of the lovely, luxurious hotel awaiting us in Mumbai…

Stay tuned, one more india.entry to come...

india.1

I’ve only been back from India a few days, but I’m already reflecting much more on the revelations of the journey than the (dare I say) “touristy” details. The Taj Mahal was breath-taking; the Himalayas, pristine; Mumbai, fantastically cosmopolitan; the food, divine. But, as with many things in life, it was the experience of the journey – the people, the sounds, the tenacious spirituality, the energy of a place so incredibly invigorating – that is still mesmerizing.

I arrived equipped – my Indian friends here readied me with a list of places to go, numbers of people to call, a list of foods to eat, and foods to buy and bring back to Banda. Jennifer brought the guide book, and with a general idea of where we were going and staying, we set off.

After landing in Delhi and spending two days there with a friend, we traveled south by car about four hours to Agra, the “small town” (according to our guide) of 2 million people and home of the Taj Mahal. Even from a distance, you could begin to see why it’s the eighth wonder of the world. In a country with a disproportionate amount of architectural marvels compared to the rest of the world (in my opinion at least), The Taj stood in gleaming white brilliance above them all.

Our first look through the gateway, Jennifer and I both gasped aloud. “Breath-taking” took on the literal definition at the sight of something so incredibly beautiful… and that was from hundreds of meters away! The real beauty emerged the closer we moved, and saw and felt the hand-laid jewels meticulously placed in flower patterns and designs across the entire surface of the colossal structure. And the symmetry of the building, built hundreds and hundreds of years ago, personified perfection and balance down to the centimeter.

So, yes, it was incredible, and I could probably write this entire post about its brilliance, but before I drone on, I will share one little interesting tid-bit that I learned. Most of you probably know that The Taj is a “monument of love” of sorts, that Shah Jehan built for his favorite wife after she died giving birth to their 14th child (the other wives gave him no kids, no wonder she was favorite). Anyway, his plan all along was to build a matching Taj for himself that was black marble instead of white marble within sight, just across the river. But he died before realizing his vision, or there would be two Taj Mahals instead of one! Interesting, eh?

In the evening, we made the bumpy, four-hour trek west to Jaipur, or “the Pink City.” Years ago, the facades of buildings there were all “washed” with a pink-ish coating that lingers still today, giving the city a unique and lovely ambiance. It was Saturday night as we traveled, too – the day of weddings in the season of weddings, so mile after mile we saw wedding parties celebrating along the roadways. Ensembles that looked like marching bands played traditional Hindi songs, revelers danced, and grooms adorned like sultans sat atop bedecked horses. (Watch the movie Monsoon Wedding when you get a chance and you’ll get a glimpse into Indian weddings and many of the characters and personalities common in that part of the world. And, it has a great soundtrack that I’m listening to right now!)

After touring the palaces and sights in “the Pink City” the next day, we returned to Delhi (on a much less bumpy highway) and returned in time dine with our friend and secure our bus tickets for the next day… a booking which turned out to be a grave error and unforgettable adventure at the same time.

Dharamsala – the destination, near Mcleoad Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama. An estimated 12 hours overnight bus ride north into the Himalayas from Delhi. Were we crazy? Perhaps, but it was the shortest/cheapest way to get there so we figured it couldn’t be so bad. UNTIL the bus started rolling and we instantly realized why no one else had bought the last two tickets for the last two seats in the bus…

To be continued...

valentines

I just left Banda Aceh for the fourth time in over four months of forever. It’s my first time traveling alone since journeying here and I’d almost forgotten the idyllic solitude of solo travel. And being able to sit by the window. As the familiar landscape below faded into a tangle of evening clouds, I felt something unfamiliar in all of my comings and goings from Aceh … relief.

Yes, it’s true – this many months and weeks of working that many days in a row can (even in the most humanitarian of efforts) result in the same condition as too much time in an office or cubicle in Anywhere, U.S.A… Burn-out.

So, you’ve found me not reflecting pensively over adventures or inspirations as of late, but beginning to discover the blissfulness of a real vacation. India awaits. A new continent, a new journey, and the familiar sight of a dear friend’s face. I’m thrilled!

It’s been a grueling few weeks. The “site opening” event I mentioned in the last post that we were planning for a group of newly-constructed houses went incredibly well. The attendance was great and we even had a few write-ups in local papers and much positive feedback. However, the predictable disconnect that occurs in this type of work between “field staff” like myself and those running the show from afar, happened in the day’s following, shifting me into full-blown “I need a vacation” mode. It’s a difficult situation to explain without boring through details, but suffice it to say, that perhaps my greatest struggle work-wise has little to do with anything in Aceh, but more so trying to communicate the realities of our program work (and my related communication tasks) to people far, far away… who just don’t seem to “get it” 99 percent of the time.

Anyway, that’s the downside of things, the very issues I’m endeavoring to leave behind as I prepare to explore a new place. I did have one particularly exciting adventure this week, though – I drove! Well, actually I “test drove” for the first time a month or two ago, but this week, we at last got a car assigned to our house for us to use. Since I had already passed the local “test,” I was ready to hit the road. This may not seem that earth-shattering of an event but, well, they drive on the left-hand side of the road here, so the gear shift, blinkers, and everything are on the opposite side of what I’m used to. But I did it! And amid the crazy traffic, motorcycles, cows, goats, bikes, I cruised around all weekend in our new truck with no radio feeling the freedom of a newly-licensed teenager. It was great!

That was about the highlight of my week, until leaving tonight. I’m in a hotel in Medan now. It’s evening and my flight to Kula Lumpur then on to Delhi leaves in the morning. I’ll likely spend the evening repacking my over-stuffed suitcase and trying (at last) to catch up on some emails.

I’m leaving Indonesia with an expectant heart, anticipating fully to receive the refreshing my soul needs. At least some of the weight of the past few months will still be with me days from now as we reach Dharamsala in the mountains of northern India. Perhaps I’ll find the same refuge and rejuvenation that the Dali Lama discovered there during his years spent in exile from Tibet. Perhaps I’ll plop myself down in the middle of a group of meditating monks and pray and breathe and be quiet… until the knot in my stomach unwinds and the pounds of pressure fall off like raindrops in an afternoon shower…

We will see what lies ahead... and I'm certain it will be good.

I'll leave you with a holiday thought, since Valentine's was a more "visible" holiday in Banda than Christmas was. Yesterday, over a delicious, spicy Valentine’s night dinner and pink drinks, I learned from my Colombian amiga that the literal translation of how they say “Happy Valentine’s Day” in her home country is “Happiness to you on this day of friends and lovers”.... and I thought that was so lovely, so inclusive of all of our loved ones on a day that Love itself should be celebrated. So, I’m embarking on this trek a bit weary, yes, but with a heart full of Love from near, and from afar… feeling all of the compassion and prayers coming from each of you continues to give me strength for the journey...

So, thank you… and Happy Valentine’s Day (in the Colombian sense).

All my love,
bonnie jean

afterglow

A few years ago, while taking photos amid the husky gray light of wildfires in California, my wise and dear friend Gene told me about the afterglow… it’s the clandestine light cast after the setting sun sinks below the horizon. Many photographers make the mistake of capturing the sunset, and walking away. But the veterans know if you wait just a few minutes longer, the sky erupts again, with light reflecting through a new prism of colored clouds that’s often more spectacular than the first. But the key is… one must wait for the afterglow.

Perhaps I’m in the afterglow of my time here in Indonesia. The brightly-lit busyness of the first few months segwayed into what at times felt like the darkness of the past few weeks. But now, now the light is peaking through again, and I’m waiting and watching as beautiful hues reform against the clouds.

On my last blog my sister Angie gave me what I felt like was Divine Permission to write about boring things. Because, yes, I often do feel like things are monotonous and that I’ve transplanted myself into the eastern hemisphere yet still have an office job. It’s excruciating at times. But it’s all part of it, and that part I know I haven’t written very much about, for obvious reasons. So, be forewarned, that what follows will likely not be inspirational or exciting, but it’s still… me.

I have the Yellow Palace to myself tonight and am sitting outside on the porch enjoying the cacophony of insects and our orange kitty who probably thought we’d abandoned him. My housemates are still in Medan at a team training that I bailed out of early today because work duties lured me back. I went there on Saturday, and since it’s third or so largest city in Indonesia, there was actually stuff to do… and a Starbucks. I helped with set up and then participated in what was and is a week of programmatic and strategic planning jibber jabber that in many ways was… fascinating. It stirred in me the reoccurring realization that I really do miss being in school. When one gets excited to talk about qualitative and quantitative analysis, there’s certain to be a problem… Problem. Now that starts with a “p” which makes me think of Ph.d… oh, one day, one day...

Anyway, it was good, interesting and a lot of togetherness. Sometimes I feel like my world exists only of these 15 or so people! But I had some good food in the evenings and a nice shower and squishy bed in the hotel, did some shopping and oh, had a semi-disastrous salon experience…

My hair has gotten long, really long for me in recent years, and though I’d decided to let it grow so I could continue wearing it in a ponytail 24/7, what I really needed was a color. My once-lovely highlights had grown out halfway down my head, and well, the gray was showing. So, to simplify things, I decided to ask for just one color and get it all dyed back my natural color – medium brown. Pretty straightforward, I thought, and easy to communicate with a book of samples to point to and a colleague there translating for me. But oh no, it wasn’t simple at all.

Suffice it to say, two hours later, after having my hair methodically painted with some substance that smelled suspiciously like bleach and watching my hairline underneath become a dark shade of orange, the hair was washed, the towel removed and as I saw it unveiled in the mirror all I could say was, “Oh my god!”

And so now, my hair is far, far from a nice shade of “medium brown.” It’s more like an orangey-reddish sorta brown that glows much more vividly in the front than in the back. But I guess that “simple” request was much like many things in my life the past few months… it was Lost in Translation.

The adventures large and small, trivial and significant, never seem to stop.

Speaking of, I’m going to India later this month and am absolutely thrilled. We have “R & R” every few months that’s basically just a free week off, implemented because there were so many people way too stressed out that never could tear themselves away from work. But I will indeed be exiting Indonesia, and what better place to go than somewhere I’ve wanted to see for as long as I can remember… and now it’s only a short plane flight (or two) away! My dear friend Jennifer (aka The Cowgirl) is coming from D.C. to meet me in Delhi, so not only do I get to traipse through a new country, I get to journey with someone I love and adore and have missed terribly. It will be amazing!

Work-wise, I’m organizing an event for Monday with one of our big partner organizations (working again with the guy who I met within my first few weeks here who was the veteran journalist I thought could be a mentor). One of the housing sites we’re funding through them is finished so we’re doing an “Opening Ceremony” where we’ll hand over keys to the families moving in, have the big wigs speak, and hopefully have some media come out, too, to spread the good news. I’ve gone through every back alley way I know trying to get the Aceh governor to come, and right now it’s looking like the Southern Charm may just have prevailed in Indonesia again… Will let you know how it all goes, so just say a prayer for us Monday morning (Sunday night there) that it all comes together. There are many, many loose ends left to tie up which is why I’m back in Banda from the training earlier than everyone else…

And this event honoring and celebrating the 42 persevering families who will at last have a home to call their own again is just one sliver of light of the Afterglow shining on me in Aceh. My head is so full of ideas that I’ve only partially begun to get down on paper, and hopefully, in the coming weeks will be able to get it all formed into a strategic communication plan for our program here. I want to do and leave something that’s sustainable… long after my journey here has ended. There are lots of people that need to hear from us, and most of all, the people we’re trying to help. And uncovering and understanding the best means through which to do that is a challenge in and of its self… But I’m putting together the pieces of the puzzle, which will likely form a blank canvas to then create upon. Endless possibilities are slightly scary, but mostly… exciting.

I read something today that really moved me and is a link I wanted to share. It was an article from MSF/Doctors Without Borders and described the 10 most underreported humanitarian stories in the world today. Scrolling through line of line of text reawakened a profound awareness of the Reality of the world we live in, and was a good dose of, well, Reality…. Having been mentally wandering through the ups and downs of day to day trying to figure out, carve or create a place and role for myself here, I had forgotten about so much… and even so much of what was happening not too long ago in the community I’m immersed in – civil conflict, people dying of diseases completely curable in the Western world – it’s taking place somewhere in the world every single minute. And I share this not to depress you, but to reawaken you, because maybe you need it like I did… and because we can’t help solve problems that we chose to ignore. Awareness equals Action… and I believe we are all Called To Make Difference.



With love and prayers from Banda,
bonnie jean

irma

It’s was just after 7:00 a.m. this morning, and I was lying in bed waiting to hit snooze again on my phone alarm, when all of a sudden my door flung open. It was our doe-eyed, adorable housekeeper – Irma. “Bone-y, Bone-y,” she squealed in a voice entirely too early for me, pre-coffee.

“Yes, Irma?”

“Today. Irma (she points at herself every time she says her name). Birthday. Irma. Birthday. Today.”

Suddenly, I was awake.

“Really?” I said with a half-asleep smile.

“Yes. Irma (pointing again). Seventeen. Today.” She was beaming from ear to ear at simple expression of this annual milestone.

And for her, it truly is, and as I awakened enough to realize it, I understood perhaps why this young girl was celebrating life with such sincere joy… because she has known so well its ending.

Irma was just fifteen last year when the tsunami hit Banda Aceh, taking with its destructive fury both of her parents, her siblings, her community – and for a teenage girl, basically her entire world. Her grandmother survived, but died just this past week.

Like thousands of others, Irma eventually moved into a barrack camp, and a new family emerged around her – older people that looked out after her a bit (one lady being another housekeeper who recommended Irma for the job with us). But she was a young pretty girl, relatively alone, and soon found herself surrounded by other teenage orphans… one of which became her husband.

Yes, sweet little now-seventeen-year-old Irma is married to an equally adorable boy just a few years older than her. Both of them had no family, so they have now become family for each other, while also abiding by the strict cultural standards that permit little interaction with the opposite sex unless you’re married.

And today, Irma was thrilled to celebrate life… her own.

She, unlike so many others, has a husband, a job that she seems to like, friends, growing English skills, a community that embraces her, and four foreign girls who adore her, despite frequent laundry mishaps and odd placement of cheese and other items in the cabinets instead of in the fridge.

So, needless to say, I awoke with a smile, refreshed already at seeing someone so resilient and precious celebrating the gift of Life.

May you celebrate yours today… even if it’s not your birthday.

With love from Banda,

bonnie jean

quiet

No news is good news, right? I hope so, because it’s eerily quiet around here. I’m “between projects” so to speak, or really, am just trying to figure out what I’m going to launch into next. I have a lot of ideas, so just pray that I have direction and drive for what to avidly pursue. Only a few exciting notes to share at the moment, though…

The clips from the tsunami anniversary coverage that I took part in are now online, so I finally got to see the results of what all the hard work was for! You can watch them online, too, or download them for easier viewing.

There are four clips available, that you can click on each to link to – First, a piece on the island of Pulo Aceh that I’ve written about numerous times, followed by a piece on children in Aceh. I’m actually in those. The other two feature our program coordinator Dellaphine (who I lived with when I first arrived), and one focuses on overall relief work, and the other is about the impact of the tsunami on children.

Enjoy!

In other news, my household has expanded here. No, not babies, but new fun roommates! Sharmila and I have been by ourselves in the “Yellow Palace” for a few weeks and our colleagues/friends Sujata and Elzat had been wanting to move in and were finally given permission. They both moved this week (bringing along a ping pong table and a cabinet-full of delicious Indian spices). Aptly so, we’re hosting a party tonight to celebrate…. there is indeed fun to be had in Banda!

I have loved the emails and endless array of cards and care packages everyone has sent! Thank you so, so very much. You may never know this side of heaven what a difference a card or a phone call makes when you find yourself living at what seems sometimes like the end of the earth … So, thank you!

Much love,
bonnie jean

2006

Selamat… new year! Happy new year, that is! And now you can see why my first new year’s resolution is to learn more Indonesian. I know “thank you” and “good morning” and other pleasantries, but making an honest attempt to study the language of the people my life is now immersed in, I have failed incredibly to do so. Translators at my every side are a good excuse, as is the fact that I’ve been “too busy” to take a class – Ha. I have to laugh at myself for the lameness of my excuses… but now, with the crazy workload subsiding, I hope to take full advantage of my every opportunity to learn the words and phrases that will help me communicate at a “connectable” level and better tell the story of the people of Aceh…

Practicing Espanol (which has faded dreadfully since my days in Dallas) is another aspect of that resolve. New friends who are native speakers are ready to practice with me at anytime. And a new Spanish/English book of Pablo Neruda’s poetry will help, too… The vast majority of my peers here are multilingual, and I, with my accented English, have been intensely feeling my own verbal inadequacies...

I returned an hour or so ago to Banda Aceh, just at sunset, and am sitting now on our front porch with a mosquito coil burning (like incense) to ward off the malaria-transporters, while draped in my new pink “Life Is Good” t-shirt (thanks, Cris!). I’ve been away for four days that zipped by ever-too-quickly in Jakarta, a.k.a. “civilization”. It’s amazing that one doesn’t even think about how isolated life is here until you get a glimpse of … a real city, a mall (with stores you actually want to shop in), a movie theater, women without head scarves, a hotel room with a bathtub, restaurants, clubs, bacon, hash browns and exquisite coffee, a variety of breads and cheeses… the list of things large and small goes on and on and on. A few weeks ago I realized that somewhere along my short (yet seemingly long) tenure here, my internal attitude had shifted without me even realizing it – from having high expectations of things and life (i.e. what I “should” have), to simply being delighted in finding the unexpected (like pancake mix and maple syrup, recent DVDs, or a Christmas tree and a turkey). So, a good dose of “civilization” in Jakarta reminded of all the things I’d forgotten to miss…

But the New Year’s trip and all its indulgences were amazing. Jakarta's a bustling (though smog-filled) city with fantastic restaurants (I think I’ve mentioned food once or twice already), great live music, an overnight trip to a lovely island, new friends to celebrate it all with… it was truly an incredible new years, and perhaps symbolic of new years ahead in unexpected places.

The brief island jaunt to Sepa, about a two-hour bumpy boat ride from Jakarta, included solitude, a beach-side cottage, jet ski riding and an Indonesian band that played “Maria Maria” at least a dozen times. Returning to Jakarta on New Year’s Eve, we met up with friends for a fabulous dinner at a Turkish restaurant where I ate more than my share of hummus (oh, how I’d missed it) and other traditional delectables, while reclining on low couches and giggling at the belly dancers. Soon thereafter we headed out to hear a Colombian band so our Colombian friend could indulge her salsa cravings… and didn’t leave until the wee morning hours. Shopping the next day (after what felt like an 18-course breakfast) was great, but soon paled in comparison to my first Indonesian movie-going experience. Along with the massive screen and suped-up surround sound, the theater seats resembled plush Lazy Boy recliners! With popcorn in one hand, a Diet Coke beside me and watching the Chronicles of Narnia, I was in a movie-goers heaven. Another scrumptious meal of tapas and sangria followed that evening, and my state of bliss was very well complete… except for one small thing – my phone.

On arrival Thursday night, I accidentally left my cell phone in the cab coming from the airport. Though the cabbie miraculously returned it (after answering calls from even my boss), I felt like I’d lost an appendage for a few days. Not only is it always permanently affixed to my hand like a painter’s brush, but I was unable to call my family who’d gathered to celebrate, and my dear friends who always yodel happy new year’s wishes from cell phones everywhere. I loved not hearing the ringings of “work” calls, but the personal communication disconnection was almost unbearable. Now, thankfully, it’s back in hand, so expect to receive belated wishes very soon!

But being back in Banda now and the day to day of Life Here, I've been ruminating a bit. And the dawn of a new year has yielded a plethora of mixed emotions, weighing definitely toward the positive side of the scale (of course), but juxtaposed with the struggles of the past 12 months. It was a year of disasters, and the tsunami tragedy bookends my 2005, with catastrophe in my home state sandwiched in the middle. Clarity and understanding of it all I’m still seeking (and may always), along with trying to discern why I’m always in places of human need when I myself am so needy…

I had a friend that left here this weekend after seven months – it was his “end of mission” as NGO workers say – and as he (a grown man) sat weepy-eyed with us in the airport, another friend turned to me and said, “Will you be sad to leave here?” And before I realized it, I blurted out a quick, “No way!” But as soon as the words rolled out of my mouth, I knew that my response was far, far from the truth. My reaction was tainted perhaps by being in dire need of a break (which we all require from time to time), but my heart and soul have indeed become immersed in the life and people of Aceh and my community here, more so than I think I’ve realized. And though I have no idea what adventures lie ahead for me in Banda, I’m certain they will continue to be amazing…

A new year is undoubtedly a symbolic new beginning. And to start my 2006 among people who have lived through the most unthinkable of tragedies, yet still personify the unyielding power of Hope, Resilience, and Love of family, community and God… it is, needless to say, a pretty inspirational place to be...

With love from Banda,
bonnie jean

p.s. I stumbled upon these good Words for the new year, especially after 2005... "And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper..." (1 Kings 19)

christmastime

I should probably be working. But as I sit at my desk and watch as the clock inches within an hour of our departure to the airport, I must confess that I have already launched into holiday mode. After non-stop work for what at times seemed like forever, I feel like I’m long overdue for a bit of a vacation, complete with great food, endless shopping and a proper venue for a New Year’s celebration. Some friends and I are going to Jakarta, with a day detour to an island, for a dose of civilization, and needless to say, I’m excited!

From the media monitoring I’ve been able to do from here, all the toiling over the past weeks really paid off with positive anniversary reports on our projects and efforts, and I must confess, the gratification I feel is immense. And for all of you who prayed for me, emailed, called (or tried to!), sent me cards and fabulous care packages and simply supported me in an infinite number of ways through it all – I thank you, thank you, thank you. We made it!

Christmas did indeed come to Banda Aceh. There were times when I doubted that it would – in a region so steeped in Muslim traditions, nativity scenes and lights and Santa were non-existent. But toward the end of last week, I glanced out of the car window as we cruised down one of the main streets, and a lone tiny shop was selling what I’m convinced were the only Christmas trees in Banda Aceh. Of course, we turned around and went back, and I bought a plastic, tattered Charlie Brown-sized special. It may as well have been a towering spruce or fir for how excited I was. The timing was perfect, as I had just begun to feel the creepings of homesickness. And a tree, which prompted discussions of a Christmas dinner and small party, was just what I needed…

And we did party Christmas Day. Not only did I find a tree, but a turkey, too! Christmas miracles, I’m telling you. So team members cooked, I decorated and what not, Santa brought little presents for everyone, and I even rewrote “Twas the Night Before Christmas” and made it fit life in Banda Aceh. We had a great time, and it actually felt like the holidays …

The next few days were very quiet and somber, as the anniversary arrived, and with it, many memorial events and commemoration services. I attended several – two at mass grave sites and a few dinners, and wherever it seemed wherever I went, the Indonesian President was there, too. Gatherings of all sizes were held throughout Aceh, as people marked the end of a year of grieving and recovery after such an unthinkable tragedy.

I’ll write more about it all soon, but have to depart now for the airport… but I wanted you all to know that Christmas came to Banda, that I am OK now after being so overloaded for so long, and that I’m escaping for some much-needed R&R in a big city!

Happiest of new years to you!

All my love,

bonniejean

prufrock

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table...

I was in a frenzy. It was only a few minutes after 8:00 yesterday morning and somehow my day had already launched into chaos mode. After a late night, I had risen early to finish several tasks before hopping on the boat for Pulo Aceh with some teammates, British colleagues, and media crew from the BBC. I got to the office and hurriedly flipped on my laptop let my outbox empty and watched with growing anxiety as the new messages tumbled in. One after another I that I needed to read or answer or consciously ignore. My mind raced through the next 24 hours, and the calls I had to make but wouldn’t be able to since we’d be out of cell range almost the entire trip. Time is critical between now and the 26th, and a missed media opportunity translates into lost demonstration to millions the visible evidence of their donations at work in Aceh. The pressure is at times nothing less than overwhelming, and I was definitely “having a moment.” Dark clouds poised in the sky outside evidenced an approaching downpour, and jolted my recollection of my rain jacket safe and dry at home and not packed dutifully in my bag. My house was only a few minutes away, but the opposite direction of the port. I had to get going, and the car was waiting. I stuffed my laptop into my backpack, slung my camera over my shoulder and stopped to give Sharmila, my housemate and officemate, a quick hug goodbye. When I turned to bolt out the door, she said, “Wait, I have something for you.” She placed a paperback copy of T.S. Eliot’s collected poems in my hands and smiled. “Read it on the boat.” And suddenly, my hurried, hectic day came to a screeching halt. Stillness and quiet overwhelmed the noise inside me. And it wasn’t until later, sitting on the deck of our open-air boat sailing across the Indian Ocean and reading “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” that I realized why just a little book had touched me so deeply. Only one day before, I had begun a writing a list of the things I needed sent from home. And the first item on the list? A book of poetry…

And indeed there will be time…
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet…
Time for you and time for me
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea…

The blog has been stagnant for awhile, I know, and the pictures and my phone calls nonexistent. And I’m sorry. I am existing in a state of running from one thing to another, feeling like I’m behind on absolutely everything, like I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing other than just trying to keep up. Amid it all, my colleagues are tremendous, and doing not only great work, but great interviews sharing about our projects here with journalists from all over the world. Am I ok? Yes. Am I enjoying what I’m doing? Most of the time, the people make it worth it. Am I eating? Sometimes more than others. Am I sleeping? Not nearly enough. The 26th is fast-approaching, and everything will surely calm down after that. Until then, I will be living and breathing work during both my waking and dreaming hours, and may very well not write in my blog or send another email until after that, so bare with me. Just pray for me. And know I miss you.

For I have known them all already, known them all –
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons…

Bill Clinton was here – was that last week? It all runs together. But our program coordinator and I basically had to do cartwheels through the UN offices to finagle us an invitation to join in on his site visits. And its official = southern charm works internationally, and we left with one invite, which our program coordinator utilized to the max. She’s charismatic and hilarious, and said she was one of only two women, as well as the only black woman, within a ten mile radius of the former president. Needless to say, she stood out from the crowd, and when Bill left, she asked him for a hug, and he responded, “Come here, girl!” and gave her a big ole squeeze.

That same day was the third round of the national polio campaign, which we contributed to significantly, so that’s where I went. Tragically, though, it rained incessantly all day, which is terrible for vaccination campaigns that usually have sites set up outdoors and scattered throughout neighborhoods to be accessible for residents. But even amid the downpour, we found some persevering parents traipsing through puddles to bring their kids for their third and final vaccination to prevent a disease which has reemerged in Indonesia for the first time in a decade. And I even got to actually give a vaccination; it was in a dropper, not a needle. And I felt at that moment like I would’ve come here just to be able to do that for that child...

I grow old .. I grow old
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled…

I escaped to Bali for Thanksgiving and wore flowers in my hair everyday. It was perhaps the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, and if I had to be away from loved ones during the holiday, that was indeed the perfect place to go! We stayed at an absolutely amazing resort for a tiny fraction of its normal cost, and flew ultra-cheaply since it’s an in-country destination. So, somehow, living the high life was incredibly inexpensive. The oceanside hotel and grounds were expansive, lush and draped in flowers and greenery. Beside the lagoon pool and under the palm trees beside the ocean were the perfect places to unwind, along with the spa, of course. Almost hourly, I would wondered, “Who am I?” I was truly out of my element and far, far from the rustic confines of Banda Aceh. Did I have turkey? Umm, no. But I did have what I’ve been craving since I left – Mexican food. Followed the next day by Italian and other delicious dishes, and daily breakfasts of omelets and *bacon* which I hadn’t realized I missed until I ate it. I got some sun, had fruity beverages and did some shopping and touring around. We went to the “monkey forest” where the monkeys lived beneath a canopy of tall, twisted trees and dined regularly on coconut pieces and bananas from the hands of tourists. Yes, I had no bananas, but my camera I did have. At one point I was crouched down shooting and suddenly felt something land on my neck – a big something at that – and then I realized there was a monkey on my head. He took out my hoop earring and hung out for a few minutes, then hopped down and scampered off when a loose coconut rolled by. It was hysterical, though slightly disconcerting.

The entire trip was amazing, though, and I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my first holiday away. The only downside was seeing firsthand the lingering impact that terrorists have had on an island overflowing with natural beauty, culture and character. And meeting the beautiful Balinese people and learning of the financial hardship all are now living under after the bombings. The restaurants were all relatively empty, along with the shops, the clubs, and our resort. People are afraid to come to paradise – it’s so ironic. And all because of senseless, heartless violence. But despite it all, we realized after only a day or two, that we never met a Balinese person who wasn’t smiling. They may have been struggling in innumerable ways but were still happy, helpful and incredibly charming – especially the ones who put flowers in my hair. I can’t wait to go back.

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decision and revisions which a minute will reverse…

I can’t believe that it’s Christmastime. It’s so surreal when and if I let myself stop and think about it. I’m so far from overcrowded shopping malls and lights and decorations and loved ones and winter winds and snow. (It was 100 degrees in Pulo Aceh yesterday when I was hiking up to water sites. And oddly enough, it felt normal.) But there are no visible signs of Christmas here, just conversation among the expats asking each other what their plans are for the holidays. My signpost is the 26th – to slow down, to not be so busy and overwhelmed, and to remember with the people of Aceh the timeless tragedy that struck just a year ago and changed this region and its people forever. It makes me feel not so much like celebrating, so maybe it’s best that I’m away from the hoopla of tinsel and wrapping paper… as I'm feeling a growing appreciation for the intangible things this time of year represents - Love, and so many other blessings, both near and far away.

Would it have been worthwhile,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teascups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
And this, and so much more?
It is impossible to say just what I mean...

It’s almost midnight, and I must sleep. Another early morning tomorrow, and again the day after. It’s seven days a week now, and feels like 24 hours a day. I started typing this yesterday on the boat ride back from Pulo Aceh, sitting on the deck in the blazing sun. One day soon I’ll get some new pictures to Gene to post, but know that even though you can’t see me, I’m ok… my brow is furrowed a lot of the time according to friends here, but I’m still smiling.

In case I don't resurface in cyberspace again for awhile, enjoy instead reading an amazing article that recently appeared in the NY Times magazine about the tsunami and focuses largely on Banda Aceh. It's eloquently written and well-worth filling out the free online subscriber form. Yours truly also has another article online as well, about my first trip weeks ago to the island of Pulo Aceh.

Thanks for all the prayers, the love, the emails, the cards and the often enormous care packages. I appreciate it all so very much. Many of you have asked for my updated address, which I'll put below. Enjoy this time of year, the holiday parties and fun preparations, and have an eggnog latte in my honor. Keep an eye on the news in the coming weeks, too, and you may just see our team here, and even...

your bonnie jean
xoxo

Address:
bon
IFRC - Banda Aceh Office
American Red Cross
Jl. Fatahillah No. 8
Geuceu Iniem
Banda Aceh, 23239
Indonesia

Phone:
62 812 698 9387

life

Since tales of island hopping isn’t disappointing to you, my loved ones, I’ll faithfully continue to share my “sufferings” here in the other hemisphere, including the recently-schemed Thanksgiving excursion. But more on exploring this nation of 10,000 islands later…

It’s been another crazy week, actually, the busiest so far. I hit a point somewhere mid-week on about hour 12 of the work day that I think I’m working harder at this job than I ever have any other in my life. Maybe it’s that there’s more to do, maybe it’s because I’m living amid the disaster aftermath, maybe it’s because there’s not much else to do here other than work, or maybe it’s e a combination of those and a lot more, but I have realized that I definitely couldn’t go at this pace forever! The one-year mark ahead signals a time of respite, and for that I’m thankful. Things *will* eventually slow down. In the meantime, though, I’m hard at it. Meeting, planning, typing, walking, talking on this tiny black cell phone that is my constant companion, and overall, trying to keep up with more “to do” details than my little brain will hold.

Thursday of this week, though, I did hit a bit of overload… or maybe it was bad chicken, but something made me deathly ill for about 24-hours. I woke up the night before throwing up, feverish and nauseous and that’s about it, but my symptoms continued into the next day and sent me home from work after a few hours and back to bed. Sleep helped immensely, and I was fine again by the next day. Through it all, I came to two important conclusions – First, I will not be eating chicken again while I’m here. None. The only variation of what I’d eaten from my housemate Sharmila the night before was chicken, so it’s been deduced to be the possible culprit. So, since the fish here is so delicious and knowing there will be plenty of hot wings waiting for me back in the States, I’ll have all the chicken I want *after* returning. Second conclusion – That I’m grateful for my “on-call” doctor here in the eastern hemisphere. Sharmila is an M.D., so if I'm lying in bed convincing myself I have bird flu, she'll be there to assure me (with authority) that I indeed do not.

I have much, much to be thankful for…

Other items of late include the joy of finding a little café near my office that serves PIZZA. Yes, that’s right – fluffy dough, something that resembles tomato sauce and a few shreds of unidentifiable cheese. After rice for every meal for well over a month now, it was absolute deliciousness! And, to top it off, the restaurant even has internet connection (dial-up, like everywhere here, but I’ve gotten used to it) so I’ve decided that it could likely become my satellite office, away from the sheer chaos that often invades my working quarters. My current workspace did, however, receive the indescribable blessing of an air conditioning unit this week. So, even though it’s still noisy and packed with people, it is much, much cooler than it was!

And, we can now wear shoes in the office (another exciting little happening this week). Had I mentioned that you have to take your shoes off before you go inside most places here? Well, you do. It’s like that in many cultures around the world, I think, and even though it keeps the germs of the street outside, it makes for quite a shoe assortment piled outside every door! Within my first few days here, I switched from wearing my New Balance and tying and re-tying them every time I came and went, to the slip-on ease of my Chacos as a result of the “shoe policy.” But for some reason, they changed it for our offices now. Perhaps because it became more sanitary to let everyone keep their shoes on than have dozens and dozens of people running around barefoot on floors that may or may not have been cleaned this year. Who knows, but I’m just glad the bottoms of my feet aren’t entirely filthy at the end of the day anymore… my shiny red toenails are one of the only remaining things that help me feel pretty!

This week, I also had fleeting moments of feeling like I actually knew how to do my job (which is always exciting). I prepped my boss for an interview with Associated Press, and we went over the questions that I knew I would ask if I was the reporter. And amazingly, the reporter asked those questions verbatim! It was extremely reassuring, and made me feel more confident looking ahead to the onslaught of journalists who will be coming our way in the next few weeks…

On a happiness of the heart note, I’m starting to feel like I really have friends here. And we all know how very important that is. Everyone’s been super nice from the get-go, but over the last week or two, the moments of connection and familiarity with people have saturated my day-to-day with an ease and comfort I had been missing. Whether it’s going to a big meeting and knowing most everyone around the table, or having coffee with colleagues from England or Canada or Argentina and chatting long after our “official business” discussion was over, it’s been really good to start to feel connected. There have even been parties to go to the past few weekends. These regular get-togethers for all the “foreigners” had slacked off during Ramadan but have now restarted. Usually they’re hosted by one of the organizations and held at one of their group houses. Most, like my new house, are ridiculously spacious, so it’s plenty of room to hold 50, 60, 70 people. It’s a great place to get to meet people outside your organization, and the mixture of backgrounds makes it seem more like a United Nations assembly. So it’s been great to get to “socialize” too, and we’re planning to host party ourselves in the next few weeks.

But amid working and socializing and island hopping, I hopefully will never lose sight of why I’m here – to be a part of helping the people of Aceh. I’ve resolved that no matter how crazy work activities are, I’m going to make sure I balance tasks and meetings with being out in the field interacting, reporting, photographing and doing what I truly love most – being a journalist. My duties here necessitate so much “other stuff” than I ever realized I would be responsible for… which is challenging and stretching, but very fulfilling in realizing that I can help our work here move forward in an assortment of ways. But it’s being out in the hot sun in the middle of a village with my camera slung over my shoulder and my notebook clutched in my hand when I know I’m in the posture that suits me best.

So, yesterday, I went with our psychosocial team out to an ocean-side community about an hour away that was ravaged by the tsunami. Hundreds died there and almost everything was destroyed. Survivors live in makeshift houses and tents now, but the school has been rebuilt and was the site of the event yesterday. Our Indonesian partner agency took the idea of a competition like American Idol (which they have here and in almost every other country around the world) and are holding singing competitions for kids in the schools throughout Aceh. The winners’ songs will be played on a radio station that we’re helping sponsor, and then anyone can call in and vote – just like American Idol. And if the fun and big turnout of yesterday’s activities were any indication of what’s ahead, it will be huge success. The community loved it! We even had a videographer come out film it, and that could evolve into something very cool in the long run. But for now, I hope you’ll enjoy seeing some of the scenes from the day and some of the sweet, adorable faces I encountered. I’ll try to get them downloaded and posted soon.

As the pelting rain drowns out the sound of Sarah McLachlan and clicking keys, I’ll sign off for now. (This has indeed become a novel-length posting, and I have no idea really what I've been rambling on about.) But as I mentioned earlier, on the next island jaunt, we’ll be taking advantage of two unexpected days off this upcoming week –Thanksgiving. Our team had assumed that since we follow local holiday schedules that there was no way we’d get time off for turkey, much less travel, but our director surprised everyone and gave us two days vacation and another reason to be thankful! I’ve concluded, though, that the only way to cope with my first Thanksgiving away from my sweet family is to treat myself to a trip to a place that makes me almost as happy as Mamaw’s house – the beach. (But it’s definitely a *distant* second, of course!). More details after we know if we’re actually able to get tickets tomorrow…As always, thanks for all the love and prayers i feel coming my way!

All my love,

Bonnie Jean

p.s. If you heard of the earthquake here over the weekend, don't worry. We barely even felt it! The one that happened a few days after my arrival was much stronger. Everyone's a-ok.

snorkeling

It’s been awhile since I’ve written, so please accept my apologies for the delay in updates! Moving into the new house this week and trying this weekend to get settled, allowed for no rest for the weary after a long, long week in the office.

The island trip last weekend was fantastic and relaxing. I learned on the ferry ride there that the names of my destination that I had shared were wrong – the island itself is Pulo Weh and the main city there is Sabang. We stayed in a “resort” area called Gapang on the north side of the island that was situated at the center of a magnificent blue lagoon. But don’t be mistaken – by “resort” I mean a very rustic cabin with running water and not much else. I even had to take a “bucket bath”, which means I splashed water on myself with a bucket from the little basin, and used the squattie potties because that's all there was! The little community had three hut/house type restaurants and a dive shop, all of which had either withstood tsunami waters or been rebuilt afterwards. So it wasn't like Panama City or Cancun or other beach towns, and rivaled only the island of Pulo Aceh where I went the week before in its exquisite natural beauty.

I decided not to try scuba diving on this trip and opted to snorkel instead, and soon learned that depth isn't required to see some amazing underwater sights! A coral reef which miraculously stayed in tact during the tsunami ran along the perimeter of the lagoon, providing one of the best underwater viewing sites on an island world-famous for its aquatic opportunities. The first day was primarily a beach day, swimming a bit and sitting around lazily with colleagues and new acquaintances enjoying the spectacular scenery. But by the second day, I strapped on my rented flippers and mask and headed out to the reef. Inching along on the water’s surface, everything below me shimmered in vivid, fluorescent colors. Coral of all shapes and colors erupted from the ocean’s floor, and fish of unimaginable varieties darted and drifted all around – I felt like I was inside Finding Nemo! Over the next few days, I patrolled the waters of the lagoon like Jacques Cousteau and never ceased being amazed at Life under the water. Huge sea turtles, baby octopus, and my favorite – giant purple and green starfish – were absolutely incredible to witness. Oh, how I longed for an underwater camera…

It was a great trip, and just good not to have to use my brain for a few days. As vacations like that should be, my most taxing daily decision was what to eat next. And we did a lot of that! One of the “restaurants” was literally the front porch of a family’s house and we feasted there several times on grilled tuna and mysterious dishes drenched in deliciously spicy sauces. Fantastic! But even leisure days seem to go by quickly, and before I knew it, I found myself back in Banda and back to work.

And in the midst of a busy week in the office (national program director coming in, media beginning to arrive, lots of meetings and multi-tasking and what not) I moved into the new house. It’s so nice and incredible spacious, but like any new house was missing lots of things when we arrived, like furniture and dishware and cooking and cleaning stuff and so on. So evenings and this weekend, we’ve been scrambling around trying to get the basics, and shopping even for what you’d consider “basic” things in Banda Aceh is like the hunt for the Holy Grail. But I think at last we’re about to get there. We even have an adorable housekeeper that’s young and sweet and speaks some English, plus she cooks like a gourmet chef! It’s wonderful (and yes, absolutely everyone here has housekeepers, so I’m only as spoiled as all the other foreigners in Aceh!) It’s a one-level house on the edge of town near the mountains, which makes for lovely sunsets, provided I leave the office in time to actually seem them. My room is on the west end of the house and has its own porch and door outside. I’m even on the hunt for a swing. But perhaps the nicest thing is to have a housemate that I can sit up and chat with at night, or watch a movie (we bought a DVD player this weekend) or whatever – just having good company in a place where it’s easy to feel far away from loved ones makes an immeasurable difference. So I’m thankful for my new living situation here for many, many reasons, and thank you all for your prayers to get me here…

I should be traveling some next week gathering new stories, so hopefully my next post won’t be tales of island hopping again! Speaking of stories, my first story is posted online after weeks of delay, so have a look if you get a chance, keeping in mind that it's been edited, so any awkward wording didn't originate with yours truly! And I’ll send some new photos in soon, too, of Pulo Weh and the new house and room.

I love and miss you all.

-bj

lobster

We set sail across the midnight blue waters of the Indian Ocean toward Pulo Aceh just as the noonday sun reached its pinnacle. It was a beautiful clear day, and I had worn short sleeves just for such a semi-tanning opportunity (women here wear long sleeves only, a cultural imperative I try to abide by). Since I can’t estimate feet very well, I’ll just say our wood-frame boat was longer than a ski boat, but shorter than a luxury yacht. There was an enclosed area for storage and one for the pilot, situated strategically over the long metal bar he balanced on, steering the rudder with his feet. My teammates and I relaxed on the floor of the deck, soaking in the sun and spectacular scenery.

Careening through mile after mile of Indonesian islands, I was astounded by the beauty that unfolded before me. Towering mountain peaks, coated to their tips with trees and vegetation. Secluded beaches nestled in tiny coves, with white-capped waves tumbling and crashing onto their shores. It was Nature at its most magnificent. Yet, amid the brilliance, every shoreline still bore the visible scars of the tsunami, with only reemerging greenery wrapping the landscape’s border with the ocean. Like a rim stretching 20, 30, even 100 yards inland, a distinct line evidenced what was vibrant and what was recovering.

As we reached Pulo Aceh about two hours later, the scene was the same – lingering marks on the land of the tragedy, but an unencumbered natural beauty rivaling few other places I’ve ever seen. It was an undeveloped, untouched paradise. A few dozen villagers greeted us, and a staff member who had been staying there packed us into our four-wheel-drive truck, which I soon learned was the only motorized vehicle on the island. The curvy, dirt roadways had been reconstructed following the tsunami and had the makings of a great off-roading trail. We bounced around in the truck bed, the tires sloshing and slinging mud, and I felt like I was back in the Delta!

Before the tsunami, there were about 25 villages on the island, now there are 17. The disaster claimed the lives of entire communities, and up to 80% of the people in the remaining villages. Survivors are now living in government-built barracks made mostly of tin and plywood, resembling summer camp cabins at their worst. Residents now depend on faulty water tanks and live amid deteriorating sanitation conditions. This is where our current work in Pulo Aceh begins – to build dependable new water systems by tapping into fresh water springs from the nearby mountains, along with working to improve the overall living situation.

Hiking up to the system construction sites was like walking through a rainforest. Our lead engineer kept shouting, “Watch out for the wild boars!” Thankfully, I never saw any, but heard lots of rumblings in the bushes! Our engineering teams designed the concept of water system and dam, but the local people are building it, creating a sense of ownership and pride within them and their communities. Utilizing the downward slope of the mountains and a natural spring, fresh clean water will flow freely into the villages below. One of the projects should be completed in a few weeks, having taken around two months to complete in its entirety. Needless to say, everyone is excited!

Later, we walked on the deserted beaches at sunset, listening to the thundering waves and picking up shells. Lying amid acres of stone-white coral, the shells' hues were vibrant and distinctly pure. After a Ramadan breaking fast dinner at one of the villages, we talked long into the night with colleagues from Britain and our new friends from the island. I slept soundly in the tent, and awoke in the morning to a scene of palm trees, blue waters and fog-draped mountains. Turkish coffee and crackers kick-started the day and fueled me for an early hike to another water construction site. When we came down the mountain a little while later, the Lobster Tale began...

Apparently, the last time our lead engineer, Teh, was on the island he mentioned liking fresh fish and that he should perhaps get some next time he was there. So, as we’re coming down the mountainside, two small fishing boats are easing toward the shore, and we hear a distant voice from the water’s edge, “Mr. Teh! Miss Bonnie! We have fish! We have fish!” We hopped in the four-wheel drive and sped over to see the catch. Even though the locals were fasting for Ramadan and wouldn’t be eating the fish themselves, they had gone out and caught fish just for us – and they were enormous! Red snapper, barracuda, tuna, an ocean catfish (who knew?), and even a shark. The locals clamored around, and the Brits soon caught on to what was happening, too. But amid the chaos brewing around our instant mini-fish-market, one of the fisherman motioned us off to the side, “Here, here, look here. Special for you.”

And then we saw it – the dripping-wet cage filled with absolutely gigantic lobster! I shrieked aloud, and I think my colleagues all did as well. Teh questioned me excitedly, “Which one do you want? Which one do you want?” I tried to pin-point one or two but they were all so huge it was impossible to decide. We paused simultaneously, looked at each other and nodded. He turned to the fisherman and said, “Pack them up, we’ll take them all.”

Seventeen lobster, two red snapper, and one ocean catfish later, we headed back to Banda, having invested significantly in the local economy for a price that would have been unheard of in the States, even in Maine. That night we rallied our whole staff for Banda Aceh Lobster Boil 2005 and feasted on massive crustaceans, fried ocean catfish and grilled red snapper until we couldn’t eat another bite.

Hardship conditions? I think not.

And to perpetuate my “suffering,” I’m actually headed out on another island jaunt today. It’s the end of Ramadan, and celebrations abound like Christmastime back home. Since all of our local staff is gone (as is everyone else, too), seven of us are headed to Sabang island for the next four days, home of such areas as Pulo Weh which is among the top diving and snorkeling sites in the world. Unlike Pulo Aceh, it’s developed to some degree (or so we’ve heard) and has resorts, huts, and a restaurant… oh, and a pristine lagoon as well!

Yes, I know – I’m supposed to be over here toiling away doing good deeds, and I’m eating lobster and island hopping. Who would’ve thought? But, seriously, I look at it as a God-given chance to step away from the weight of day to day conditions in both life and work here, so I’m thankful… very thankful. But I will be taking my laptop with me to do some work, so I'm not goofing off completely!

I’ll be moving into the new house when I get back, and the new offices are nice – much quieter and a bigger work space. However, it did take me about four days to find the “western-style” toilet. I thought all we had was the squattie pottie and had been using that one, or walking back next door!

Keep the notes and prayers coming – they’re much needed and appreciated! And I’ll update as often as I can. Oh, and don't forget to check out Pulo Aceh photos. Gene said he'd be posting them soon!

Love from Banda,
Bonnie Aceh

travel

We just had a staff meeting about bird flu. And it seems that despite the fact that chicken is one of the only things I’ve been eating since I got here, unless I take a job on a chicken farm, I’m more likely to die of stress associated with the media frenzy around the disease than the disease itself. Phew! However, they will be offering traditional flu-shots to all of us which is said to lessen the risk should the virus mutant into a human-to-human contractible form.

It’s been a busy week, and I’m about to head out to one of our island-based water sanitation projects on an overnight field expedition. We’ll be taking a boat out, stocked with piping and other project supplies, then hiking to the different sites. With a full pack of camera gear and my sleeping bag strapped on, I look more like I’m headed down the AT trail! I have fall leaves as my screensaver on my computer and daydream about the mountains this time of year, while smoldering in the 85+ degrees and 1000 percent humidity :) One would think my home state would have acclimated more me to this, but I spend most of my time outdoors (and inside as well) sweating profusely!

I had my first big media adventure yesterday, hosting a crew from one of France’s major TV networks at our psychosocial training event. It couldn’t have gone better! They were fun, interested, positive, and spent the afternoon interviewing our staff and participants. Who knew I’d be doing “international relations” here as well as media relations? I’m learning that 90% of it comes back to Southern Hospitality, so it comes pretty easily!

Other excitements of late include receiving my copy of Photoshop, which was hand-carried from the States by one of our financial guys from headquarters (who was for some reason cute and charming, or perhaps I’m in withdrawals from American boys). Also, I got the word that I can move into our new house (House #5), which I’ll be doing with another current housemate early next week. His name is Sten (pronounced “Steen”) and he’s from Denmark and about my Dad’s age. We’ll be jointed shortly be other new colleagues scheduled to arrive later in the week. My new room has its own porch and door outside and all the walls are painted a delightful yellow. I’m excited! We’re also switching offices to a new building (house, actually) next door to the one we’re all currently crammed into with Brits and Canadians, so that should be a good move as well.

I had sushi this week, which we bought at the fish market, brought it home, sliced it up and ate it, so it was literally the freshest fish I’ve ever had. Out of the tuna and barracuda, it was hard to pick a favorite! And I’ve been watching movies at night that I bought for the low bargain price of 80 cents a piece. Also, I got my first piece of mail! (A sweet birthday card from my sweet Mamaw Barton.) It looks as if it took about two weeks to make it here, which I’m learning is pretty typical. Packages are said to take between four and six weeks through standard mail, and padded envelopes are supposedly faster. I’ll keep an eye open for those of you who said you’ll be sending things and let you know how long it takes. Thanks so much!

Now, I’m off to the island of Pulo Aceh!

working

I just turned off the lone book-on-cd that I downloaded to my mp3 player before leaving the States. I’m rationing it to myself, only a few tracks each night, to fill the quiet space in my room with a now-familiar voice. Time is passing quickly – I can’t believe the week is drawing to a close. It’s been a good one, and busy one. I wrote a lot, edited stuff, had lots of meetings and this and that. I think if I read another concept paper or try to analyze any more matrices, my head might explode. But it’s being out of the office, turning the endless stack of proposals and plans and paperwork into tangible experiences, that I’m anxious to do more of, and am beginning to.

Last weekend I went to cover the opening of a special training my colleagues were holding for the new local psychosocial teams. All Aceh residents, and tsunami survivors as well, these inspirational individuals will act as counselors for entire communities. It’s a unique and effective therapeutic approach that I’m learning more about all the time. Activities they’ll implement range from small discussion groups for adults, separated by gender, to games, singing and art projects for kids (much like Shades of Blue). The goal is to tap in to the resilience and strength which has sustained disaster-affected communities so far, and spur them on toward the final phases of healing and recovery through positive group activities. It’s not only interesting, it’s working, and empowers people in a lasting way.

Sundays, I quickly learned, are the only semi-days-of-rest around here. And mine entailed a trip to the newly-reopened Pante Birak, which I personally like to call the Super Wal-Mart of Banda Aceh. When most of the shops here are about the size of your living room, this two-story grocery-esque store is a haven for locals and expats alike. My day was made when I found… yes, a bottle of Clorox and a roll of paper towels (which no one uses here! nor do they have rolls inside their “rolls” of toilet paper because they don’t use dispensers, but that’s another story…)

That day, though, and again later in the week, I drove out (well, I don’t technically drive anywhere, the drivers do, which is still taking some getting used to), I rode out through the tsunami-affected areas and surveyed the progress. There is still a lot of rubble, but no mountains of debris. There are sagging tents and makeshift houses, but some new structures and restored homes, and workmen everywhere laying roads, building bridges, putting up more houses, tacking down rooftops – it’s a beehive of activity – the actions of recovery in process.

One site I visited was a temporary housing community to interview a friend of one of my officemates (literally “office mate,” as in I can look over the top of my computer screen and see her across our joined desk space). Wan Maulida and her daughter’s pictures are on the Photos page for you to see, and I spent a few hours getting to know them and learning about their life there. She and all her neighbors lived in the tsunami-devastated areas and are now lumped together in a small community of three-room, oddly brightly-colored houses (we all joke that someone from South Beach picked the color scheme for all the new housing here!). Even though they agree it’s not ideal, everyone I talked to was optimistic and thankful simply to have a place to live. I watched them haul water by the bucket-full back and forth through the muddy roads to their homes, watched them (and joined them) in wiping sweat from their foreheads in the baking heat and humidity, and I saw in them the word that captures their essence – resilience. Unspoken strength is innate in disaster survivors; after trauma, functioning itself is a victory, and the people of Banda Aceh are more than victorious…

The people of Banda Aceh are also very fun! My favorite driver, a local guy in his early twenties named Hadi, has a collection of mixed cds that makes even yours truly look like a novice. It’s all bootlegged music (as is almost anything here that comes on a cd or dvd here) and costs only a dollar or two, thus I plan on coming home with a case full! So, I’m not lacking for a good dose of cruising music when the need arises. However, I’ve unfortunately acquired the nickname “Britney Spears” among the drivers, even though it’s the Gwen Steffani songs that I sing all the words to…

In addition to a good music source, I’ve also acquired another essential in my life – a friend that cooks. A media colleague invited me over for a friendly dinner, but I soon found before me the most fantastic meal I’ve had since arriving here. And “what did you have?” you may ask… Well, I’m not exactly sure because the electricity was off (a daily occurrence in Banda), so I couldn’t see what I was eating per say, but it involved chicken and vegetables and was truly delicious. A Middle East native, he even prepared Basmati rice to perfection. Yum! And when I’m not making new friends that cook for me, I’m eating peanut butter and crackers, so, no worries, I am far from starving to death.

Other highlights of the week included calling in to Carrie’s surprise 30th birthday party (yeah!! Happy day, sista!), successfully chatting with Jennifer on SKYPE (which totally works and is *free* and downloadable from skype.com), reading the awesomely encouraging posts on my blog from you guys, and peering at my condo in Virginia Beach via satellite on Google Earth. The picture print-out of my Shore Drive neighborhood is now hanging on the wall here beside me… oh, it’s the little things.

Tomorrow, we’ll be sharing a special meal with our local staff. They’re all Muslim and the month of Ramadan they fast every day from sun up to sun down. So, the evening meal and prayer is a celebratory time of sorts, especially as the month draws to a close. And tomorrow, we’ll all gather to “break fast” with them with a big dinner at one of our houses. It’s a great way to honor such a dedicated and hard-working group of people – the work here literally couldn’t happen without them!

The power is off again now, and I’m going to try to sleep before my room gets too hot… We’ve just acquired the fifth house for incoming staff, and if you wouldn’t mind, do say a prayer that I’m able to transition over to the new one… on a scale of 1 to 10, it would raise my comfort level from about a four to about a nine. All the love and prayers I’m daily feeling are much, much appreciated… thank you.

With love from Banda,
bonnie jean

nighttime

I just walked out onto our second floor balcony, and two cows were soundly sleeping in the middle of the dusty street below. Evening prayer chants echoed from distant mosques, competing with the sounds of the one visible over my neighbors’ rooftops. It’s Friday, the Muslim holy day, and it’s the month of Ramadan, the holiest of times, so there is an air of serenity in the city that’s almost tangible.

Nighttime is quiet in Banda Aceh, or maybe it’s normal here but still seems quiet to me. No TV, no DSL, no phone ringing with friends making plans to do this or that, only the persistent meowing of our house cat that literally came as part of the house, and Blake Shelton playing on my mp3 player. It’s been a good first week, and I’m settling into my new environs. The bathroom is scrubbed, the bags are mostly unpacked, I’ve learned a few phrases in Bahasa and made a lot of good connections with people already. I met a man today that could easily become a mentor – wise, kind, a veteran freelance journalist who became a PIO for a one of our cooperative agencies just to be part of the humanitarian effort. Next week, we're going to the weekly meeting of all the communicators so I can continue getting to know my peers. It was an encouraging encounter, and one which profoundly reminded me again of how much I’m going to learn here.

Speaking of learning, that’s what my first days here have consisted of – sitting with my new team members soaking in massive amounts of information about the programs they’ve been working on. There’s 12 of us now, with three others arriving this week, too. It’s absolutely astounding to see and hear all that’s been accomplished so far with just these few dedicated individuals and two dozen or so local staff. Water sanitation programs, community health and vaccinations, partnerships to build houses, psychosocial projects, cash for work cleanup and rebuilding initiatives that help local residents earn wages while restoring their own community – I’ve been dumbfounded by it all, and very proud to now be a part of the team. Granted they all work 10/12 hour days six or seven days a week, but there’s really not much else to do in Banda!

And from a few months ago, the city has changed. Yesterday, I went out to few sites to see the cash for work programs in action, and driving through areas that were once completely devastated by the tsunami, I saw something that surprised me – vitality. Places I recognized from my own photographs in January were not only cleaned of mountains of debris, they were rebuilt and bustling. Shops were open, roads were repaired. It was awesome. But my stomach dropped when we rounded a corner and a caravan of yellow dump trucks rolled toward us – the same trucks that were hauling lifeless bodies away when I was last here. We eased into neighborhoods, that though they were free of debris, consisted of ramshackle houses, pieced together with scrap lumber, all sitting amid tattered tents that had deteriorated after months and months in the hot Indonesian sun and daily rains. It was heart-wrenching, but the people… the people seemed happy.

Much, much more remains to be done, yes, but the scope of what has been accomplished so far is staggering. The debris removal alone is a task I thought in January would take years, and now, relatively speaking, it’s done, with portions even being recycled for rebuilding projects… Banda Aceh is indeed recovering, and I’m so thankful to be able to see it, and hopefully, in some way, be a part of it …