Can’t a girl get a break?
The pungent mildew and fuzzy mold has begun to succumb. I will conquer.
Nevertheless, there’s a new kid on the block. Another adversary trying to run me from my home. First it was the cockroaches and geckos and occasional slugs in the bathroom. Then the mold. And in between (according to third party sources) a ginormous tarantula-esque spider… I reluctantly saw the photos of my familiar home in it’s company. Now. A mouse. I’m hoping he’s merely a mouse and not one of the massive rats I see lurking around the villages and shops in town. I’m not alone in noting the size of the Flores’ rats, The Lonely Planet backs me up. Although I’ve admittedly never seen a harmless mouse on this expansive island, it is indeed. No doubt about it. Yes, a mouse.
A stranger, but I know he’s there. Somewhere.
He plays with my big swissball, knocking it around the room in the dark of night.
He leaves his excrement on my desk and in my cupboard… his droppings fall out. of my fold clothes, out of from under dvds and books.
He ate my brown t-shirt (not just wholes, but without exaggeration half the shirt!).
The hood strings on my sweatshirt are MIA.
He’s nibbled on numerous pairs of underwear.
He pulls out tea-bags from the rubbish.
He snacks on food that is in double plastic ziplocks.
What he doesn’t try is the poisoned food left conveniently around his favorite hangouts. I tried 8 different shops in the market before finding a mouse bait vendor. Forgetting my dictionary, and ‘mousetrap’ not in my list of useful vocabulary, I attempted to ask several of the women. Little animal. In my house. No, not ants. Not cockroaches, although I have those too! Even a mouse face and squeak was not conveying my wishes. Somewhere around mid-mission a woman suggested the sticky traps. It was a tube of glue. Finding a massive rat… mouse… stuck to my desk wasn’t exactly an exciting prospect. What do I do with it then? I’d rather he just leave on his own accord. Please…..
And while I’m on the subject of unwelcomed visitors, I think I have lice.
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Tuesday, February 10, 2009
An Indonesian President (20 January 2009)
With Obama (mania indeed!) occupying some fragment of every conversation point, there’s no fighting the great sense of pleasure in being American. Is it pride?
It’s a near giddiness. Yes. I am from the USA.
Assuredly, that is something that I’ve rarely felt on my globe-trotting expeditions. Perhaps even polar opposite. It’s not uncommon to meet a traveler who hails from Minnesota or North Carolina or Texas or Oregon or some other alcove on American soil, passing as Canadian. Nor is it uncommon to be asked if I myself travel under the guise of our northern neighbors. But I don’t. It’s like the women travelers who sport fake wedding bands and talk of (fake) husbands or fiancés at home. It’s ridiculous.
January 20, 2009. A month. A number. A year. A date. Something so everyday. Yet this combination marks something that transcends ordinary. Something of which January 19 or January 21 are deprived. I don’t have a television. Internet is frustrating. Reading the newspapers takes a lot of effort. Thus, mostly I depend upon a weekly review of email and websites for updated information. And outdated People, Vanity Fair, and Harper’s Bazaar magazines for a dose of pop culture, fashion, and celebrity gossip. Nevertheless, 1 am (January 21 here… kindof funny how a date associated, now and forever (?), with CHANGE occurred on this side of the world on a completely different day) my phone is alive. My friends, my neighbors, my colleagues, my acquaintances. The guy who copied my number when I bought phone credit in the shop. The girl from the bank. And her brother whom I’ve never met. The police office whom monitors international visitors in Bajawa. The village head from a once-visited project area. The excitement reverberated. They all wished to share it with me via text messages within these newest minutes of the day.
Indonesians, also take pride. Obama is made from a part of their fabric. Anyone and everyone (even the most remote villagers) will tell you how he went to school in Jakarta and likes to eat nasi goreng (fried rice) and bakso meatballs. They saw January 20, through different eyes, in different shoes. Obama is the first Indonesian President of the United States of America.
Race is a social construct. Admittedly, when marking a census, I get nervous… what’s the right answer? You can’t tell me that there hasn’t been an occasion when you, yourself, had to ask am I this or am I that? Here it’s much simpler. You are black (Indonesian). You are white (westerners). You are Chinese (Asian). Purely based upon the visual differences. Thus, Obama is… “sama” (same). He is theirs. He is kin, they call him brother or uncle. He is Indonesian.
From the outside looking in, the days leading up to and including the big event were almost circus-esque… when do the ‘Last Living Unicorn’ and ‘Fire-breathing Dragons’ enter? However, I like unicorns and dragons. And why not? I’m envious of those who rose with the chickens and withstood the chill. So, I missed out on the live coverage of the 2009 ‘Presidential Inauguration Spectacular’ ring side. Nevertheless, to have the exposure to the elements of Indonesian pride in their man taking the reins was perhaps just as remarkable in its own right.
It’s a near giddiness. Yes. I am from the USA.
Assuredly, that is something that I’ve rarely felt on my globe-trotting expeditions. Perhaps even polar opposite. It’s not uncommon to meet a traveler who hails from Minnesota or North Carolina or Texas or Oregon or some other alcove on American soil, passing as Canadian. Nor is it uncommon to be asked if I myself travel under the guise of our northern neighbors. But I don’t. It’s like the women travelers who sport fake wedding bands and talk of (fake) husbands or fiancés at home. It’s ridiculous.
January 20, 2009. A month. A number. A year. A date. Something so everyday. Yet this combination marks something that transcends ordinary. Something of which January 19 or January 21 are deprived. I don’t have a television. Internet is frustrating. Reading the newspapers takes a lot of effort. Thus, mostly I depend upon a weekly review of email and websites for updated information. And outdated People, Vanity Fair, and Harper’s Bazaar magazines for a dose of pop culture, fashion, and celebrity gossip. Nevertheless, 1 am (January 21 here… kindof funny how a date associated, now and forever (?), with CHANGE occurred on this side of the world on a completely different day) my phone is alive. My friends, my neighbors, my colleagues, my acquaintances. The guy who copied my number when I bought phone credit in the shop. The girl from the bank. And her brother whom I’ve never met. The police office whom monitors international visitors in Bajawa. The village head from a once-visited project area. The excitement reverberated. They all wished to share it with me via text messages within these newest minutes of the day.
Indonesians, also take pride. Obama is made from a part of their fabric. Anyone and everyone (even the most remote villagers) will tell you how he went to school in Jakarta and likes to eat nasi goreng (fried rice) and bakso meatballs. They saw January 20, through different eyes, in different shoes. Obama is the first Indonesian President of the United States of America.
Race is a social construct. Admittedly, when marking a census, I get nervous… what’s the right answer? You can’t tell me that there hasn’t been an occasion when you, yourself, had to ask am I this or am I that? Here it’s much simpler. You are black (Indonesian). You are white (westerners). You are Chinese (Asian). Purely based upon the visual differences. Thus, Obama is… “sama” (same). He is theirs. He is kin, they call him brother or uncle. He is Indonesian.
From the outside looking in, the days leading up to and including the big event were almost circus-esque… when do the ‘Last Living Unicorn’ and ‘Fire-breathing Dragons’ enter? However, I like unicorns and dragons. And why not? I’m envious of those who rose with the chickens and withstood the chill. So, I missed out on the live coverage of the 2009 ‘Presidential Inauguration Spectacular’ ring side. Nevertheless, to have the exposure to the elements of Indonesian pride in their man taking the reins was perhaps just as remarkable in its own right.
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