Everyone knows I'm not actually in Bali, right?

Sulawesi is a completely different island.  

Here's a map for clarification: 

You'll notice from the above that Bali is down near the central bottom of this image.  To the east of of Java, west of East Timor and southwest from Sulawesi.  Where I am.  Honestly, it's really not even that close to me.  While it's true I flew in and will fly out of Bali when I leave, mostly, I'm not there. 


Just trying to drive this point home for mainly you, Dan, who told me you were "just gonna keep on telling people that [I'm] in Bali" the last time I tried to correct you.  


The more you know!

Data Collected!

Last week I followed up with Lian about when, exactly, she thought my best shot at distributing an attitudanal survey on community views of domestic violence would be and she said, I think at the opening ceremony of the Women’s School. 

When is that, again?  I asked. 

Wednesday, she said. 

So with a solid five days ahead of me I set out to create maybe the least-scientifically sound questionnaire ever created by man.  For those of you who are interested, the process of how I did so is detailed below:

First survey, son!

First, I began by pulling every validated domestic violence/intimate partner violence-related instrument I could find off of the Internet, compiling them into one massive list, and pestering Sondang on all of her cigarette breaks (there are a lot of those) until she agreed to go through the contenders with me.  Then, I sat with her, read aloud each possible option and discussed which ones she thought would and would not fly.  Often the wording on the validated items was changed to try to increase its cross-cultural translatability…so lord only knows if they remained valid.  Sometimes, we also made Eka—Sophie’s 19-year-old pregnant, live-in nanny—sit for some of the questions to see if they made sense to her.  Then, after widdling down the list, I put in a 5 point Likert Scale format (Strongly agree-Strongly disagree), complied with Sondang’s demand that space be present for the women to opitionally and qualitatively explain their answers, and, with one day to go, handed it over to her to translate.

When will I get over how cute Lian's legs are?

The night before the opening ceremony I diverted Lian away from a nap and instead demanded she sit with Sondang and me in our Poso hotel, approving each item.  At that point, Sondang typed up a version of an informed consent page that included things I shouted out to her as I thought of them and we passed it on to a “layperson,” Ibu Lina, to make sure everything made sense.  This process was officially capped off by everyone—Lian, Me, office manager ChiChi, docu filmmaker Sue, facilitators Ibu Masna and Ibu Lina, renegade Sondang, driver Sam, and cutie Sophie—dropping by a late night copy place/internet café somewhere in Poso after dinner to wait patiently while one man single handedly photocopied 130 versions of the questionnaire and individually stapled them each together.  I bought 2 boxes of pens.  Didn’t want to just assume women would show up with them.  That night, we passed out the survey to all of the facilitators, I fed them chocolate, and we went through the items together with Lian translating, trying to ensure that they all understood what each question was asking. 

Masna and the early arrivers

Seriously though, that would annoy you too. 

The first hour of the ceremony was reserved for the women to fill out the survey.  Ibu Masna, one of the facilitators, explained what it was to the women as they trickled in.  I sat anxiously on the side with my arms folded, tapping my foot, and imagining all the ways the directions were not being explained to each woman uniformly, convincing myself that there would be nothing reliable or accurate about the information I was collecting.  Sondang sat there next to me telling me I had to learn to let go.  She had also done this twice the night before.  The first time was when I told her no one could go to dinner yet because I needed to reformat the entire questionnaire so that “Sejutu” (or Agree) could fit on one line.  Then second was when I requested that she read over all five pages of the questionnaire for errors before we rushed off to the printer's.  She said absolutely not. 

Just some interfaith ladies, coming together post-destructive conflict to find peace and share their thoughts on DV!

So that’s how it happened.  That fast.  And when it was all over, I had 65 complete answers from women aged 21-60, of Christian, Islamic, Catholic, and Hindu faiths.  And as it’s been explained to me—and as I agree—for many of the women, it was the first time anyone had ever asked them their opinions on these things.  Can a woman divorce her husband if he physicaly hurts her?  Should others be allowed to intervene if a husband is physically hurting his wife?  Is a husband entitled to have sex with his wife whenever he wants?  Does a husband own his wife’s body? 

Again, work here is often work done for the first time.  I’m not gonna try to take this data over to Psych Services or journals of that stature, but it’s sort of cool to feel like I accomplished even this.  I feel like it’s providing a lot of insight into the attitudes here and I feel like it’s a solid start. 

Tentena, Week 4

Where has all of my anonymity gone?

Among other things, this week I’ve had to closely examine how I would fare as a celebrity, public figure, tabloid sensation, pop culture princess, et cetera, and I have learned fairly quickly that, basically, I would not. 

Places I don't like to be disturbed:  My porch in the morning. 

For example:  When I’m sitting on my porch at 7:15 in the morning, bleary eyed, still bitter about my rooster wakeup call, with my hair standing up in all directions, my harem pants on backwards, and my first sip of coffee barely consumed, do I want to look up and see you snapping papparazzo shots of me from a far, grown man from Palu and your adult brother?  Nope. 

Or, after a long day in a hot room attending the opening ceremony for the new cohort of the Women’s School, am I able to handle 100+ females rushing me at once throwing cameras up in my face and draping their sweaty bods around my own sweaty bod in forced attempts to get me to pose for pictures they did not ask permission for?  Sure not.

It’s hard to walk many places in this town without locals stoping and staring. “White person.  Where are you going?  Where are you from?  Married? Hello Mister!” Sometimes, I really don’t want to talk.  I recenlty listened to Alec Baldwin’s Fresh Air interview where he discusses the perils of being famous in New York City.  He says, It used to be my worst nightmare to become one of those Los Angeles actors who never touch ‘public ground.’  Some celebrities, he says, walk through their bathroom, to their living room, into their garage and don’t get out of their car until they get to valet parking.  That wasn’t the life he wanted for himself.  In New York, though, it’s no longer possible to walk outside without encountering the ‘illegitimate press.’  He understands now the way the LA elite live. 

Alec Baldwin, Preach.  Sometimes, all it takes is a little trip to rural Southeast Asia to up your LiLo sympathies in ways never before imagined. 

SPEAKING OF THE WOMEN’S SCHOOL.

The opening ceremony was lavishly held in Poso this week.

Ibus Masna and Lina.  Facilitators/"Agents of Change" for Sekolah Perempuan at the Opening Day event. 

The Women’s School (Sekolah Perempuan) is the initial project to come out of the Institute Mosinuwu.  In the wake of the Poso Conflict, Lian’s vision was to implement curriculum covering a wide range of topics that could educate local, interfaith women in ways that would enable them to become future “agents of change.”  The Women’s School was the effort that initially piqued my interest in this place and drew my attention to Lian’s work. 

This week marked the induction of the 2^nd class of participants.  Approximately 100 women from nearly 20 villages gathered with us in Poso City to get an official welcome, meet all the facilitators, sing “I’m a Little Teapot” and particpiate in other not-necessarily-intuitive icebreakers, and break off into their geographical locales to familiarize themselves with their new learning communities.  It also marked the first ever time I’ve attempted to collect my own data. (You can read about those efforts HERE.)  Pictures from the event are below. 

Who's a little teapot??

Chichi (my hero/Lian's amazing office manager) and Ibus Irma, Asni, and Martinche.  All Agents of Change.  

Sue and me probably whining to each other about something (only actual picture of myself that I can currently find from the day.)

Lian stress eating the night before/celebrating the donuts Sue brought her from the Makassar airport. 

SUE'S HERE.

The woman, the myth, the legend.  

Ladies and Friends and Gentlemen!  Sue Useem--the Ubud-based, Pennsylvania-bred docu filmmaker who was my initial gateway into this Southeastern Asian Wonderland--has arrived for a visit in Sulawesi.

Here she is taking the obligatory-snack table (minus the snack)-caffeine-induced production break:

Typical.

She's in Tentena writing grants, filming the Women's School's opening ceremony (BIG explanation to follow), and coercing local village men to buy her beer while we await Jaime's return from Palu tomorrow.  Jaime's return from Palu tomorrow means our trip to the Togean Islands can commence on Sunday.  Trip to the Togean Islands commencing on Sunday means I have my first shot in life, ever, to get a tan. I just have to go to the equator to do it.

I am so excited she's made it.

Sue hard at work interviewing Lian.  Excuse the blurry pic.  My camera died day of and my iPhone was my last resort option.  

Tentena, Week 3.

I’m getting the sense that some of you don’t know why I’m here.

I’m surprised.  I can’t believe those pictures of me doing yoga with a kindergartner and staring at kittens didn’t sum things right up for you.

Here’s an attempt to try and explain better:

It’s not that important how I ended up here.  I wanted to go help out with research in Lebanon this summer and it didn’t work.  This did, so, great.  Prior to coming, I had next to no agenda.  If Merry Minkler’s Community Based Participatory Research Class last semester taught me anything, it’s that you do not go into communities unknown to you demanding to fulfill a predetermined agenda.  True change has to be community partnered.  Things have to come from within.  Lucky for all of us (but mainly just me), my community partner based within, Lian Gogali, is a real life Indonesian Energizer Bunny with high prospects for world peace and a laundry list of tasks to dole out. 

My messy outline/shinning example of my poor spatial-visual skills. 

Task #1 for me this summer is working on ways to increase education, awareness, and intervention for domestic violence (DV).  The Institue Mosinutuwu is expanding and Lian is hoping to establish a safe house for women and children.  She asked me to think about ways we can work to break multigenerational cycles of DV.  I asked her to start thinking about working with the men.  She asked me to create a perpetrator curriculum for the church-run men’s disucssion groups.  (That lady sure can counter.)  I thought, omgggg I’m officially never going to stop working with domestic- and gender-based violence kill me.

But then I said okay.

There is a real need here and I suppose, after all these years of DV counseling, rape crisis counseling, and sexual trauma researching I have, at least, some knowledge on the topic.  

Sondang & Ibu Lina

Included, find some images from our first meeting going over an initial curriculum outline created by yours truly.  Take note of the very official Institute Mosintuwu office space, which also doubles as Sophie’s playroom. 

As things are unfolding from here, I’m now trying to figure out a good way we can train male church leaders to be facilitators of perpetrator groups and good ways we can start assessing community attitudes towards DV.  Evaluation is ethical practice, people!  And propsects for a little data…maybe even a few publications…never hurt anyone. 

Jaime and Sophie's Disney Princess backpacks

Also, Jaime is working on a curriculum for training law enforcement on the fairly-comprehensive-but-rarely-upheld DV laws they have here.  Sondang is working on youth awareness and training because she’d rather work with them when they’re young.  Better to do it when you can actually change them, she says. Ibu (meaning Ms or Madam) Lina, who’s pictured here, works for and closely with Lian and is the official church liaison because she’s a prominent member in that community.  

Lian's mantra. 

***

I want to add that all of this is my on-paper answer to what I’m doing here.  My truth is different.  I took a T.O. from the States this summer to break away from the chaos of my routine and to live a little bit outside of what I know.  Lately it feels like the harder I try to be calm and present the less good at it I get.  My anxiety at home is often barely manageable and I’m not sure what it means when you no longer have time or energy to be available to the people you love.  So in response to this question I’ve been getting a lot, what are you doing?,  my actual answer is: Nothing.  I am working with Lian, but I’m mainly just trying to exist.  Away from constant social media and wifi and frivilous spending and alcohol.  Eve Ensler says that happiness exists in action, it exists in telling the truth and what your truth is, and it exists in giving the world what you want the most.  This summer, I’m just taking a couple of months to sit on my porch overlooking Lake Poso with hot drinks and good reading, trying to figure out what it is that I want the most. 

And also relishing in the Saluopa Waterfall located just outside of town.  (I got a little camera excited here.): 

Palu Jaunt.

Palu Bay at Sunset

This week I traveled alone to the provential capital of Palu to get my visa extended.  While some of us (Jaime) were smart enough to take care of that prior to entering into this country, others of us were not.  So three nights and 20 overwhelming hours of roundtrip shared van travel later, I’m back in Tentena and pledging to never again leave. 

There were some really nice parts of the excursion (see pictures for reference) but overall the trip there and back, the four full days of communicating effectively with no one except for my temporary host mom, Lita, and the bureaucratic nonsense I endured at the immigration office dampened the Palu 2k12 experience.  Yesterday, especially, during the ride home, my ability to handle cross-cultural differences was put to the test.

And I failed.  In a big way.  

Look: I’m not saying I’m proud about how the afternoon went, but you try spending eight hours sitting in a van with no seatbelts, plowing through mountainous terrain in pouring rain, fully wedged between a leaking door and a chubby lady holding her barfing, crying baby, all while consistently inhaling secondhand cigarete smoke from the horn-happy driver puffing away freely two seats over, directly next to the babe.   

The vans that destroyed me. 

For no reason I understand, almost everyone here thinks it’s acceptable customer service to shove you into tiny places next to sick people for hours on end and it is NOT, okay.  It’s not.  I have a high tolerance for touching and being touched but no one’s tolerance is high enough to handle a sweaty stranger’s body draped half across you for an entire day, elbowing you in the breasts, and unapologetically pushing their full body weight into you (and you into the door) at every road curve.

I couldn’t communicate anything effectively or politely, though, so for a long while I sat there.  I sat there, curled up as small as possible, telling myself: This is what you wanted.  You wanted to come here.  It’s your fault that you came here and didn’t know the language.  This is not your country; people should not cater to you.  You are representing America.  Don’t you remember that you want to be a social worker?  Where is your compassion!

But the second that kid opened up his mouth and projectile vomitted on to me, I snapped.  Then, when the mom started taking napkins, sopping up the throw up, and tossing the trash directly past my face and out the window I snapped again. I was like, DON’T LITTER.  And then to the driver I was like, STOP SMOKING IN FRONT OF THE BABY. And then a woman behind me, laughing, was like, “Speak Indo-niece-ia, ha ha!”  And I was like, LADY, YOU DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.  And then I called Lian.  And I said I was sorry.  But I couldn’t do it anymore.  And with only an hour left in the journey, I put her on the phone with the driver, and he pulled over the van.  And he told some poor kid that he had to switch places with me while the whole car looked on at me in disappointment and shame.  They began referring to me as “the tourist.”  And even though I felt embarrassed, and just generally bad for being such a brat, that last hour of the drive—without anyone throwing up on me or touching me with their too-warm body—was a pretty perfect hour. 

If I ever leave this place again, I’m doing it in a private car.

Palu's redeeming qualities: 

#1. Raka.  Lita's 22-month-year old.  Some of you may remember Lita as the woman who works with Lian on the Malinuwu Project--Mosintuwu's eco-consciousness initiative.  Her home is actually in Palu so I stayed with her while I was there.  She was a wonderful host.  Thank you so much, Lita!  

Little bit windy.  

Raka & Lita. 

Q. T. 

#2.  Fruit Galore.  You don't see stands like these in Tentena. 

#3. The essentially empty beach at Tanjung Karang, 40ish minutes by ojek from Palu.  I spent Thursday day here, waiting for immigration to finish processing my visa.  (No idea why they needed two full days for that little stamp but whatever.)  It even had wifi!

Just hanging out with my self-timer!  

Tentena, Week 2

Yoga with Sophie Bean

Where are all the pet owners. 

There's really no debating the fact that Western cultures think it’s perfectly normally and even indicative of your sense of humanity to coddle cats and dogs like they’re special little people and put time, energy, and money into making sure they’re clean, well-fed, and loved for the angels they are.

Most of Tentena does not agree.  In fact, dog is actually a delicacy here so the true humanitarians are the ones who simply don’t eat them.  That’s it.  That’s their big sign of respect.  Everything else—petting, feeding, housing—that’s for the crazies.  The crazies like Jaime and me who stop and stare at those pooches, snapping shots, and gurgling at them with high-pitched nonsense.  For a few days, Lian humored Jaime in her rant about how “dogs just want to be man’s best friend!!” but at this point, she’s no longer interested in hearing it.  She thinks dogs are terrifying and has women and children to save. 

To add to that, my first or second night here, one of the cats that hangs around Lian’s house gave birth to four kittens and I lost it.  I sat and stared at those newbies nursing in love and astonishment for hours, genuinely concerned about their wellbeing and happiness.  Lian just kept shaking her head at me and asking me what I was doing.  Then, two days ago, I came to the Institute and the kittens were out on the porch, looking lost and afraid and really sick.  One had even been throwing up.  I know nothing about cats but suddenly felt that the time had come for me to save their species. I tore into the house, demanded someone tell me what the word for milk was (“Sousou”), and then turned around and went running down the street to all the tiny little vendor stands yelling out “Sousa!  Sousa!” imploring town folk to provide me with a non-existent thing because sousa is not a word.  As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, no one actually drinks anything but condensed milk here and even then it’s hard to find.  The group of 8 or 9 year old girls that started followed me around in pure bewilderment while I was mid this inexplicable plight were unapologetic abut looking at me like I was an actual unstable person.  In hindsight, I guess I can sort of see why.  Plus, after I failed in trying to find sousou I came back to Lian’s and discovered that someone much more rational than me had located the Mama Cat and calmly placed the kittens in a cardboard box with her.  They were nursing and fine.  Looks like sometimes I maybe overreact to some situations. 

I'm Learning Other Things Too.

Specifically, about how to create curriculum for male perpetrators of domestic violence and about the ways in which gender-based violence was woven into the Poso Conflict.  How can intimate partner violence be exacerbated in the aftermath of social and cultural conflicts, if at all?  What’s the gender equity culture here, really?  Is there a way that men could voluntarily agree to participate in perpetrator groups?  Can the justice system help us with that?  What are the best ways we can create safety plans and options for men, women, and children interested in breaking cycles of violence? 

These are the questions Lian has asked me to explore, and these are the things I’ve been thinking about this week.  There is so much to learn and so much work to be done here. As I overheard someone say while I was eavesdropping on a conversation this morning, Poso is a clean slate.  Most work to be done here is work done for the first time.  Instead of naming everything that’s wrong with a broken and bureaucratic system, I feel like there’s room, here, to create.  And it’s refreshing.  I want to do everything I can to ensure that I’m helping and not harming, but Lian is a leader here, surrounds herself with good people, and I trust that I have strong insight to guide me through this. 

One of those good people is Sondang.  Here is the closest thing I could get to a picture of her (and Sophie):  

Everyone told us that women aren’t allowed to smoke here but Sondang smokes wherever she wants and doesn’t care.  She says if it’s not around pregnant women, children, or the old and sick, why does it matter.  She’s unapologetic.  She speaks English near perfectly but doesn’t always want to admit it.  And best of all, she’s a mental health worker—a counselor who travels around to conflict ridden areas working with gender-based violence and trauma.  It took a few days before anyone let me in on that little tidbit of juicy gossip but once I found out, the questions did not stop.  Sondang, do you guys diagnosis here?!  Sondang, how do people talk about health and wellbeing?  Sondang, what kind of therapy do people use?? Is there stigma?  Where have you worked?  Do you know people that I can connect to?  Where do I go to wash these dishes?  I want a cookie.

I’m thrilled to have her as a resource and energized by my current opportunities to learn from, contribute to, and engage with this community of extremely gracious souls. 

Pictures of Tentena Life are below.  

My hotel room

Lunging with Sophie because it's too rainy to run. 

Head, Shoulders, Knees, & Toes Kills it Every Time

Daytripping with Project Sophia’s Mobile Library

To clarify, this is not what I came here to do.  But it is a nice way to start exploring and engaging with the Poso communities.

Not sure I’ve ever come across a game as crowd pleasing as a jovial speed-round of Head, Shoulders, Knees, & Toes.  A couple of years ago I babysat for a 2-year-old Norwegian girl named Susanna and she couldn’t get enough of it.  She knew that I’d only start singing with her after my prompt of, “ready?” (she’d respond, “okay!”), and after a few days she began blowing past me altogether—ready-okaying herself.  It was cute.  Anyways, it didn’t take long here to discover that HSK&T is an ice-breaker not exclusively enjoyable to Western, highly industrialized societies. 

Examples: 

The girl in blue is named Rinda.  She ruled.  She found out about Lian through the thriving Indonesian blogosphere (not sarcasm) and now she volunteers on these Sophia runs.  She’s studying to be a teacher and was such a natural in the classroom it’s hard to imagine her doing anything else.  Except maybe becoming an extremely highly paid manicurist.  This girl’s nail art was off the chain.  I wish I had gotten a picture.  She told us that she changed it every morning to match her hijab of the day.  Every morning.  I can barely manage to brush my teeth every morning let alone spend an hour intricately bedazzling my hands.  Caro, you would’ve gone crazy for it.  Rinda told us she’d come back to our hotel in Poso where we were staying later that day to do our nails for us, but then Jaime and I both fell asleep.  


My napping schedule gets in the way of everything.

Here are some more pictures of the morning.  And of our efforts to read and translate the first half of Dr. Seuss’s Red Fish, Blue Fish.  Most of the credits for these photos do not belong to me. Again, please see the Sun Super Dreams contest post to vote on some extra funding for this lovely initiative!  

In the background, you can see Sam, he's Lian's driver.  But he's also just sort of learning to drive so the car stalls a lot.  His nails are extraordinarily long.  Everyday Jaime and I are like, Sam, cut your nails.  But he doesn't speak English so I think our words are falling on deaf ears.

Flocking to the book table.