Di Antara

That’s the lemur.  He lives in a much too small cage in the parking area of my office.  I don’t know where the lemur originated, but I would speculate after taking a visit to Indonesia’s Pasar Burung (bird market) that the lemur was bought there.  You can buy just about anything at Pasar Burung - little monkeys, jungle cats, dogs that look tormented, and, of course, many birds of all colors, making all kinds of crazy noises. 

We even have some birds here, too.  Here is my favorite, a spirited little fellow.  When you get close to his cage, he gets all excited, and even starts doing backflips sometimes.  Oh, to be a caged bird.

Or a lemur.  Why are there birds and lemurs in cages at the World Bank’s office in the world fourth largest country?  Well, it’s because there are three WB offices in Jakarta, and this one is the most Colonial Administration-style.  The joke told by my Indonesian teacher’s sister is that in Indonesia, the World Bank has its economists, and its socialists.  The economists are all up high in the sky of Tower 2 of the Bursa Efek Jakarta (Jakarta Stock Exchange).  There’s a definite, professional buzz that goes on there, of course. 

Then there are the socialists (that is, "social development").  Some are in the newly remodeled Diponogoro office, the sign in the reception area reads "Multi Donor Center" and "Decentralization Support Facility" and includes representatives from the Bank, the Asian Development Bank, British and Dutch donors, and other folks.  There is sleek glass tables and fancy new doors, and all kinds of dandied-up fixtures. Here’s a group photo of Tim Conflict (Conflict Team) after one of our staff meetings which we hold at Diponegoro just to, you know, remind people we exist.  Nobody told me I was blocking Luthfi’s face.

But over at Cik Ditiro, it is an older place, the original home of the WB Social Development Unit in Jakarta.  No other donor organizations; just us, and our birds, and our lemur.  And Pak Suanda, who owns the birds and lemur.  Pak Suanda’s family is here, too.  We work in a house.  There’s an effort to get a decent piece of it in one photo.  And there’s the high ceilings of the main reception/conference area, taken from the second floor. 

Pak Suanda makes us lunch every day - just Rp. 10,000 and it’s a tasty little spread, better cooked and of nicer quality than anything you buy on the street usually.  I declared I thought the food was great in June, and my boss remarked "Yeah, I felt that way for the first two months, as well."  And I have to admit that there are days where you can tell Pak Suanda had some other things going on, and lunch came in second or third or who knows where in the order of priorities.  This is the semi-outdoor area where we eat.  You can see the big, lonely fish who gets a bit excited and starts swimming around more whenever anybody enters the room - it’s a Pav-pav-pavlovian world.

And, I have to admit that there are days where piled into this little office, I feel a little bit like the lemur in the cage.  He sleeps most of the day - being noctural, and night time rolls around, and he just walks around and around in circles in that cage.  Some days, I feel like that in the office, wanting to stop "analyzing" and getting out and doing something in the world, talking to people, not even helping, since what is "help" anyway?  I want to get the swivel chair out from under my butt, in which I am circling sometimes, just like the lemur.

(actually, I should admit, that office is new.  we just were moved into it today.  the old office, now empty and bare, didn’t have a window, but it was more spacious and had its own bathroom.  which should I prefer - sunlight, Jakarta-style, or elbow room?)

Well, I am getting my wish.  Not going to be much out of me for the first two weeks.  There’s my name up on the big travel board.

I am off to Flores tomorrow morning at 5:30, an island in Eastern Indonesia, where I will meet up with one of the WB’s researchers, and begin wandering about villages talking to leadership and citizenry about the ongoing decentralization process in Indonesia. 

But before I do that, I’m going to Kelimutu.  Start getting jealous….now.

After Flores, a night in Surabaya, and off to Madura, to the north of Java, where I will basically do the same thing in a different place.

So, maybe the lemur gets out of his cage, and after year after year of his life living in one cosmopolitan city after another (Chicago-Iowa City[OK, not so cosmo]-Singapore-DC-NYC-Jakarta), wonders why he ever left it?  That’s what this summer is all about.

You’ll find out later.  I get back on July 30.  I expect this all to be a little bit silent until then, but I’m still thinking of all ya’ll, and hope yr summers are cool.

My friend Jenna who was recently in Thailand wanted to emphasize in an email how lucky she was to be in a tropical, post-tsunami paradise.  How did she emphasize this?  Well, among other things, she pointed out that although missing everyone back home in NYC, she was enjoying fresh Mangosteen. 

This is the fruit that, when good, is maybe enough to forsake the western world, civilization, power, money, and all sorts of things.  If you had asked me what I was looking forward to this summer, one of the answers was definitely "eating mangosteen again."

Here’s the whole fruit intact.  This is what the "queen of fruit" looks like when you bust it open.

Perhaps it is strange to call something the "queen of fruit."  This doesn’t necessarily mean it is the best fruit in the world, but perhaps does mean that like the queen this fruit is a bit sensitive and has to be handled with care, and you shouldn’t leave it out too long because it might expire and declare "orf with his head!"

Which is to say manggis, as the Indonesians call it, is a bit precious and therefore touchy.  We don’t get these in the western world because once you pick these things from the trees where they grow, they just begin to decompose and fall to pieces.  And this isn’t like bananas where there’s that great period where it just starts to rot a little bit and therefore gets all tasty.

No, there’s some intelligent design going on with this fruit.  You see from the outside that it has a rough, purplish exterior.  Sometimes, that shell is hard as a rock - you have to find the vein where you can carefully break it open to reveal that wonderful white fruit inside.  But be careful - the fruit is sweeter than you can imagine when good, but if you bust into the purplish shell the wrong way, it gets all mashed up with the fruit, and what was once the juicy sweet flavor turns bitter and puckers you up harder than the sourest of lemons. 

And this is the other thing - from the outside, they look perfectly reasonable, almost always.  But you never know when you open it up if it is going to be big chunks of liquidy tasty fruit on the inside, or if there will be shriveled little husks, if it’s going to be the illusion of big fruit but really just big, mostly inedible seeds, or if there will be fruit that looks reasonable until you realize that some sort of yellow fungus has started growing on the inside of the shell.  It’s totally unpredictable, and frequently all of these conditions can exist within one fruit.  And there are no rules - hard or soft, small or big, any of these descriptives may apply.

The flavor of mangosteen here are about the same as what I used to get in Singapore, but the barkish husks around the fruit are a bit less intense.  In Singapore (and these were most certainly not *from* Singapore), the husks had a certain amount of moisture absorbed in them to the extent that if you weren’t careful, it was very easy to stain your clothing with purple drippings when you squeezed them open.  The insides of the shells here are a bit more on the pink side, and much more dry.

When you go away to this part of the world, you be a lot of missing people; but until you come back, you be missing mangosteen.  Sometimes, we have to leave the sweetest things behind.

Well, just one friend.

Carlito Caminha came to town!

(Yeah, this is another post that’s way behind schedule; two weeks ago.  I’m la-zeee)

Another SIPA classmate of mine called me up and sent along the good news - our friend Carlito was in Jakarta.  Great!

First met up with Swati, who is from school, and Nita, her co-worker from YLBHI, a large legal advocacy organization in Indonesia.  Swati is doing a better job of being in the middle of the human rights thing this summer than I…it’s okay.  There will be time.  There we are.

We met up at her office which isn’t too far from mine, but in a much more  hopping part of the Menteng area.  Then we headed off to Pasar Baru, a tourist-trappy (but not too bad) area in North Jakarta, and Swati was intent on finding the vaunted Indian people of the area.  There’s a lot of textile places, some of which sell saris.  It was real funny - we were walking through, pointing out people to Swati and saying "Is he Indian?  Is she Indian?"  All eagerly testing out our South Asian-dar.  Finally, we found this guy who looked like he could have come straight out of central casting for "Indian cloth shop-keeper."  He told Swati where there was a dingy Indian grocery store down an alley, and we went and checked it out, and it made me feel a little bit at home.

After locating the Indian grocery store, we located Carlito.  Carlito comes from East Timor.  He was in the Human Rights Advocates Training Program at the Center for the Study of Human Rights at Columbia during my first semester, one member of a whole interesting group of activists from all over the world.  We were also neighbors at the International House.  He helps run a magazine called Talitakum back in Timor Leste.  Carlito also helped found an orphanage for children left with no families in the aftermath of Indonesia’s spasm of violence as it withdrew from East Timor.  He also snuck a camera into an Indonesian jail to take photos of an East Timorese resistance leader, who is now President of that country.   Sometimes, Carlito makes me wonder what I’ve really accomplished with my life.  Actually, all of the advocates made me feel that way - which was one of the nice things about having them around; you realize how much you can accomplish and what a difference you can make with so few resources. 

There is Carlito at dinner, sitting with a friend of his, Nita, who joined us.  Nita is from East Timor; not to be confused with the Nita who I met up with before, who is from the island of Java in Indonesia.  (I decided that we needd to have a "Nita Timur" (East Nita) and a "NIta Barat" (West Nita) to solve this problem).  The restaurant was Chinese-oriented, but most of the diners were Indonesian Indians, including a pair of old guys who were doing some serious work on a bottle of Walker Black…ah, the good life.

We met Carlito at the Galeri Fotojurnalis Antara, that’s the Antara Gallery of Photojournalism.  It was a pretty cool spot, the kind of place you’d totally miss if some Indonesian didn’t tell you all about it.  Here is the stairway with a big Indonesian independence mural.  They had these almost comic book-like panels up on the wall that I wanted to get pictures of, but the lights were out in the room for the reason we were there (below).  It was sort of a picture-based history of how photojournalists contributed to Indonesia’s independence.  There was also a pretty good display of photos from Aceh of the tsunami zone.  Here is a  picture I took of a picture of life going on, someone drying fish to eat.  It’s from a photojournalist named Rully Kesuma.  Can’t find anymore info on Kesuma.  I was also too dumb to figure out how to switch off my flash.

One reason Carlito was in town was to talk about some photos he took in East Timor.  Here is the website for the project on Timorese photographers.  Carlito’s section of the site is there.  Here’s me and Carlito before he went on - rock and roll!  He showed his pictures and offered some remarks about journalism and photography throughout Southeast Asia, which was all in Indonesian, and unfortunately, I didn’t really manage to understand most of it.  Too bad.

It is a great thing to see people from the other side of the world on the other side of the world.

Hello from Singapore.  Look at this.  Yes sir and/or ma’am – there is indeed graffiti up on the walls in S’pore, just so you don’t think the city-state is too perfect.

I am writing about the First World vacation that I took a couple of weeks back now – back to Singapore where I spent an academic year (1999-2000) studying and getting myself into trouble.  I didn’t take nearly enough photos because the power supply for my camera and I did not succeed in rendezvousing here in Jakarta in time, but a certain aunt and uncle of mine are thanked for making it get here despite the vagaries of the Indonesian postal system. 

Yes, back to Singapore touching down by plane at 12:30 AM, much like my first arrival almost six years ago when I startled my poor roommate in the middle of the night by moving into his room.  But this time, it was dear old Jonathan Yuen, one of my Singaporean debating buddies, who instead was prevented from getting a good night of sleep by my late arrival.

But first, what has changed about Singapore?

Well, you can buy chewing gum now – the Office of the US Trade Representative saw to that.  My talkative taxi driver by means of his chatting with me on the way into town suggested to me that the cabbies are getting angrier and less content with “The Way Things Always Will Be.”  He also saw fit to emphasize to me that the famed “Four Floors of Whores” spot on Orchard Road has become quite the hangout.  You know, just in case I needed the information.  And on Clark Quay and Boat Quay where people of my skin tone are bound to be paying too much for an honest drink at any hour of the day, they are building building building (and I did spend probably 3 of 5 nights in that neighborhood).  Oh yeah, and former "Senior Minister" Lee Kuan Yew is now the “Minister Mentor,”  and allows himself to be called this with a straight face.

And what has not changed seems to be given the option, just about anyone who can leave Singapore probably will.

Jon Yuen is in business for himself now.  His godmother/biz partner and he and his girlfriend are all sharing a gorgeous apartment – which I was supposed to stay at until scheduled power outages reared their ugly heads.  Jon left for the US the next night, where he still is staying, so I was fortunate to catch up with from 1:15 – 3:30 AM and a couple of hours in the next morning.

The next day, straight to the Indonesian embassy to get another visa – whoops, didn’t know my visa was not multiple entry – that’ll be S$70, please (jangan lupa!  You can’t wear shorts into the embassy’s visa office – they won’t let you in, and you’ll have to hope someone else is nice enough to collect your passport for you). 

Speaking of visas, I met up for coffee with Sidney Jones.  Yes, that Sidney Jones.  It’s good to know that people in the world who are doing such important work are so accessible and kind – it makes you think you don’t have to be a ruthless asshole to get results.  The first quote of the day, describing an audience with aforementioned Minister Mentor, and he asks her “but didn’t you compromise Indonesia’s intelligence service?”  (To which I responded “I think your answer should have been ‘Well, haven’t you?’”)

Thursday evening I meet up with the great and kindly Harveen Narulla Singh.  He takes me to see Batman Begins, for free, with complimentary popcorn and soda, all on his law firm’s tab.  You’re a great date Harveen.  Harveen will be my ever-tolerant host for the next few days, as he juggles his sweet baby girl, soon-to-be-returning-from-vacation wife, and a big deal injunction that needs to be filed in court on Monday morning.  Harveen gets the second quote of the day:  “Hey, look, you can ask the maid to do your laundry or make you breakfast.  I was going to say pretend like this is your house, but you probably wouldn’t have a maid in your house.  So just pretend like this is my house.”

Friday morning.  Um, it takes a lot longer to get to the National University of Singapore campus from the eastern end of the island than I thought.  Whoops – 20 minutes late for my meeting with Dr. Leo, by far the kindest of professors I’ve ever had who gave me all kinds of great advice five years ago (and fresh fruit) that still guides me forward.  That was the first lunch, the second with Mike Montesano. We had a funny conversation about why Singapore’s national politics is or is not just like city politics in Chicago.  Lee family.  Da-ley family.  Mike is not convinced.  Sometimes, Michael is.

Friday night, and it is time to catch up with Abhishek Jaiswal, one of my greatest friends made back in that great year.  The nightclub we end up at plays bad hip-hop, and the people on the dancefloor all look like they are 17-year old expat children.  There are girls who dance Club MTV-style on platforms (wubba wubba wubba!), then get down and try to sell you a bottle of Hennessy for way more money than it’s worth anywhere in the world.  The drinks here are more expensive than most places in New York.  None of this motivates us to do the hokey pokey or the chicken dance.  Fortunately, Siddartha Karri Rao shows and we tie the evening up.  And Abhishek declares “When you are waiting for things to move to the next level, just remember:  there is no next level.”  Abhishek will hopefully be in Boston or Philadelphia next fall, and maybe we will finally move in for that road trip through northern India we have always been talking about.

Oh, but the night isn’t totally over.  I get the taxi back to Harveen’s – wifey is back from vacation…and they are locked out of the house.  Whoops.  I find them nodding off on their front stoop, and they have been trying trying trying to wake up the maid, but she’s got her bedroom door closed and she is out like a light.  They have been throwing shoes at her door through their security gate and missing…and I manage to save the day, er, the night.

Saturday is great – I finally take some photos – hanging out all day with Amy Lim and her now husband Vernon.  This is a picture I took of Amy with her uncle.  Okay, that’s not her uncle, it’s a really silly way too life-like statue of Admiral Zheng He, the Chinese naval whiz who explored all kinds of parts of the globe back in the 1400s.  Here is Vernon with his uncle.  No, sorry man, that’s just Vernon with a giraffe, which Zheng He supposedly brought back to China from Africa (what do you do with a giraffe that dies on your boat?).  Here is a photo of me standing in front of something or other about eunuchs.  A eunuch is not my uncle (even you, Carl).  This display is all about this controversial claim by Gavin Menzies that China got to the American continent way before Christopher Columbus did it.  And so his book is for sale when you get to the last room in the exhibit.  And this leads Amy to simply declare in what is definitely the quote of the day “This is the cheese at the end of the maze.” 

Yo, congratulations to you two on getting married.  That is a helluva thing.

Saturday night it is a bit of a reunion of former residents of King Edward VII Hall.  Here are four of us – me with Sean, Rebecca, Alex.  Reshma showed up later, and for some reason in all the pictures she is in from Sean’s camera, I look completely psychotic…so, I ain’t gonna give you the link for those.  Alex’s eyes are closed – he was one of my travel companions on my first trip to Indonesia way back when.  And he reminded me of some misbehavior with a durian-flavored donut early one Jakarta morning after we had slept in the park.  Anyway, they all seem to be doing really great, and this was great to see.

I followed on much later into this evening with super-firecracker Maureen, who wouldn’t talk to me for about two years when she was working for the foreign ministry, deeming me to be too much of a trouble-maker and therefore a danger to her career, especially after I sent her a banned book for her birthday shortly after leaving Singapore (which she totally loved at the time).  We wandered the darkened, quickly quieting streets until it was way too late, talking and catching up, ranging way farther on foot than either of us had the energy to accomplish.  She is one of the unique mischief-makers that you find when you look carefully in a place that everyone expects to be completely predictable, and thank goodness for that.

Fortunately Harveen was not locked out this time, although he did beat me home by about 10 minutes when I got in at 3:30 AM.  They know how to kill those young legal associates, don’t they?

Sunday afternoon, it was time to catch up with Ben Wong, who administered what is now the second hardest exam I have ever taken, on Confucian political thought (Peter Danchin gets the privilege of the hardest these days).  Ben isn’t teaching Confucius anymore, but we had a fun coffee break with a friend of his from a Singaporean intelligence service that will not be named, lest I compromise Singapore’s intelligence system.  After that, more coffee with Ngoei Wen-qing, All-Asians debating champion from back in my day, and also just recently married.  Dang, why everybody gotta be growing up so quick?  Wen-qing is now the winningest junior college debating coach in Singapore, and I promised to come through and learn his students about international hokum at a date to be named later.  We hop on subway trains that are filled beyond capacity because “The Great Singapore Sale” is going down on Orchard Road, and there is some major blood in the shark tank.

Sunday night, it was father’s day dinner at Harveen’s in-laws’ place, and it was a grand time - you go to Indian people’s house, and you know they gonna serve up some Indian food like you don’t get when you go out.  Maureen dropped by Harveen’s place afterwards with a bottle of cachaça, and I stirred up some half-assed caipirinhas for the household’s enjoyment. 

Monday morning…dang, is it really almost over?  Cannot spend as much quality time with all the people you want to see, lah!  A quick buzz by Little India to pick up oleh-oleh for friends and co-workers back in Jakarta.  And then for lunch with Harveen and Karen Teo who is also going into biz for herself.  When I grouse about how they keep picking up the checks, Karen reminds me “don’t worry – you can pay us back when we come to New York!” 

Before long, it is time to rampage toward the airport.  Time to go back to snarled-up traffic, bathing in cold water, and rats appearing in the kitchen because my landlady thinks it is okay to leave out food underneath a basket on the table (and dismisses my worries with “ada banyak tikus di Setiabudi!”).  Time to stop speaking Singlish (“No, lah!”  “Roti prata good here, what?”), and re-setting your expectations for the developing world. 

But the last text message from Harveen says it all – “you’ll always be one of us.”  It is remarkable and wonderful that five years pass and the people that made your stay so enjoyable in a place that turns off so many can do it again for you in five days.  Thank you to my Singaporean peoples – you remind me why it is all worthwhile.