It’s morning and I’m sitting on the porch, sipping my coffee and eating bakwan (fried vegetables). The birds are chirping and the roosters are still crowing.
And Eti, the friend/teacher I’m staying with, is in her PJs, off-white with small teddy bears, and sweeping the porch and the yard with a handmade broom. Her hair is down, uncovered by a veil (head scarf) since she’s at home. And she looks happy. As she usually does.
I’m feeling pretty content, too, but when she walks away, I’m hit with a mini wave of sadness. The reason? I’m thinking about the future–the day I leave here, that is. And what it’s going to feel like. For me. And for Eti. And a few other people I’ve connected with.
Eti wearing a headscarf (which I bought in Jordan) I gave her )
“I feel sad when I think that you leave. You are my friend and now, my family. Like a sister,” she’s told me a few times, with tears in her eyes. And I know she means it.
Eti’s family (minus her son)
That’s how the Minangkabau people are—the tribe to which she belongs. They’re essentially one big, extended family—with clans and yes, even a chief—and they take their friendships and relationships seriously.
Village chief at kindergarten celebration
And each time she speaks to me about being part of the family, I feel my own tears welling up.
“You should not go, but stay a long time,” she says, her eyes searching for a solution, “maybe forever.” I laugh and say, “mungkin”—maybe.
Then, both feeling emotional and wanting to change the subject, we turn to humor. And she loves it, just as the other Minangkabau do. One of their favorite things to do, it seems, is make jokes, tease people and laugh about anything and everything. (Check out the offbeat experiences I’ve had here…)
So we come up with a fantasy scenario.
“You like the physics teacher at my school, correct?”
“Well, I think he’s cute and nice, but…” I’m twice his age, and she knows it.
“So maybe you stay and marry him.” Her face lights up at the thought of a wedding.
“Then we could have good Internet in the house, right?” I say while chuckling. She nods. His part-time job is running the local Internet café, his own business, so he could definitely set her up set something up.
“But he’s too young for me,” I say. And that’s the truth.
“Never mind that…it’s OK.” She then laughs hysterically.
I laugh, too, and for a moment, my leaving is no longer the topic of discussion. And that’s a good thing.
Back in this moment, however, I feel it—the ambivalence and discomfort about my departure. There’s a part of me that doesn’t really want to go; it would be easy to stay longer. And skip another part of the trip I’ve planned in order to do so. That’s how strong the sense of community here is. And how compelling it feels to me. It’s beyond what I’ve felt in other villages and with other families on my other trips.
But I know I must leave soon. And of course, there’s a part of me that’s excited about the next stop—the next ride on the ChickyBus. The journey to another part of Sumatra. A place that will have a different vibe, another cultural group, other sights to see and different experiences to have. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself in each of the next destinations I’ll be visiting.
But maybe I’m not ready to leave here just yet. I think it feels too final somehow…
*****
After breakfast, I go for a walk. And I realize that many of the people here in this village–and not just Eti–have, in many ways, become my family. They’ve welcomed me, accepted me and treated me with kindness. And they’ve been protective over me. I know the neighbors now. The children no longer simply just look or stare. They come and play. And people speak to me in basic Indonesian because they know that I know some now. And I love that. And when I go to the local mini market, the owner knows which snacks I want to buy…
Hiking with students and loving it!
***
Walking away from the store, I stroll down the paved road and turn onto one of the dirt roads. And I lose myself in the dreamy beauty of the landscape. The way the rice paddies and banana trees look in the morning, with drops of dew clinging to them. And the mist that surrounds the palm trees at times. And of course, the looming mountains in the distance.
Watery reflection
It still takes my breath away after a few weeks of being here…and I realize that this place, one of the most unique I’ve ever visited—due to the Minangkabau people and their culture—has a certain hold on me. I’ve fallen under the spell of West Sumatra and a small village known as Tiakar in Payakumbuh.
My thoughts return to Eti and I realize that we’ve become close. Like sisters, as she said. In a few weeks, we’ve been through a lot. And most of it really good.
There’s the English teaching side of things. I observed her and understood the challenges of being a non-native speaker teaching English as a Foreign Language to middle school students. And she’s let me take the lead and learned from me, too.
Me and other teachers
And although the main goal of my volunteering here was mostly educational, it’s turned into more of a cultural exchange. Eti has taught me about her people and what they value most…and I’ve shared some things about my culture, too.
****
The sun is now setting. And I’m reflecting on the day. New people I met in a nearby village. The rice paddies. The sticky rice yum yum I had that I can’t quite pronounce. And Eti’s smile and laughter when I got confused about two words that sounded similar in Indonesian. (Instead of saying “good evening,” I said, “hello, my love.” To her husband!) And the local boys on our street, one who’s missing his front teeth and looks ready for mischief, who ran after me when I got home and sat with me just because…
And then I realize that I’ve made a decision. Silently and without much thought. One that just sort of came to me.
I’m staying a few days longer than I planned. It’s not just to ease the pain of leaving, but because I want to be here.
And more importantly, I’m not going to say goodbye.
I’m going to say “Sampai jumpa”….see you later in Bahasa.
Quite simply, I’ve decided that I’m coming back here. I’m not sure when—maybe in a few years—but I’m sure that I will. And that fills my heart with a certain joy that’s beyond words…
Me feeling good after a challenging hike
Your Thoughts/Reactions?
Have you ever gotten close to people in a small town or village while traveling? If so, how hard was it to leave? Did you return at any point?
If you haven’t had this experience, what is your reaction to mine? Would you like to visit a place like Payakumbuh? If so, let me know. I may be starting a volunteer program here!