I am confused. You see, I am going home. Or at least I think I am going home. However, I also just left home, or at least what I also consider to be home.
Being an international aid worker, I’m not really sure where my home is anymore. Yes, I have a “home” in London, Ontario, and there’s no doubt about it, I love it. But I also have a “home” in Banda Aceh, Indonesia. I have spent more time there over the past year than I have at my Canadian home.
It sounds so cliché to say the world is now my home, but I guess in a way it’s true, especially in this day and age, when modern travel means I can pretty much get where I want to go within a couple of days.
While home on my R&R, I found myself referring to Indonesia as home. When in Indonesia, I refer to Canada as home. While I really enjoy living overseas, Canada has something that no other place in this world has: my family and really good friends.
It’s because of my mom, dad, brother, sister and gaggle of nieces and nephews that I had a stellar vacation. My brother Paul says he misses me more than he thought he would. It’s the kind of comment you’d expect from a younger brother. But I know what he means by it, and am extremely touched. Frankly, I think it’s one of those comments that I think I will remember for a long, long time.
My friends were also huge supporters of me being home; very enthusiastic to have me back. I don’t think I’ve ever been so popular. And it’s a reminder to me that when I do feel homesick, or lonely, that I am never really alone. I have all these wonderful people back home, ready to wrap me in their arms and give me the many hugs I have missed while away.
I write this as I sit in the Singapore airport, waiting for my connecting flight that will take me back home to Indonesia. It feels strange in a way but it also feels comfortable, kind of like pulling on an old sock. I know this is the place I am meant to be at this time in my life. I am looking forward to seeing the friends I have made here. And maybe that’s how you define where home really is… wherever it is you feel loved and cared about.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Aunt Kathy visits Keude Unga
I don't know about you guys, but this story just thrills me. I don't see myself ever having kids, but I love who I am when I am around them. I become a big kid myself, acting all goofy, not caring what others think.
To a group of young children in a small Acehenese village in Indonesia, I am now known as Tante Kathy (Aunt Kathy). I visited Keude Unga this past week, a village of 109 homes, to oversee the official handover of houses to the residents. The day before the ceremony, during the set-up, I ended up spending quite a lot of time with a group of girls, all about 8-12 years old. A few boys ended up joining us. We had the best time. They first honoured me, one by one, by grabbing my right hand with theirs, and touching it to their forehead. It's a respectful gesture for elders. Then we got into the fun stuff.
They wanted to know things like if we have strawberries in Canada, and could I please bring some the next time I visit. They wanted to know if I was married, and almost fell off their chairs when they heard I was 42 years old! I asked if they had boyfriends (knowing full well what theire reaction would be), and they didn't disappoint. Cries of "ewwww" echoed all around, both from the girls and the boys!
They would all start talking at once, all of them trying to get my attention. Now, you have to remember they're talking to me in Bahasa, so, for the most part, I have no idea what they are saying. Thank god for my coworker Dewi who acted as translator! I taught them how to sing If You're Happy and You Know It. They all burst into singing Happy Birthday, even though it was no one's birthday.
We got our pictures taken together, then the children had to go on stage to practice a traditional dance they were going to perform. I'd catch their eye and they'd break into large smiles. They seemed so proud. And then, before leaving for the day, they asked if they could call me Tante Kathy. I tell ya, my heart just about burst. I am an aunt to 5 nieces and nephews back home and I love them to death.
But having these little ones wanting to be my friend, well, it reconfirmed for me that I made the right decision in coming here. There will always be office issues, regardless of what office you work in. The bottom line is, it's the people who count. The people we are here helping. And although I won't know these little souls very well, perhaps years down the road they will remember me and smile. I hope that I can have as good an impact on them as they are having on me. And the next time I visit Keude Unga, I will try to remember to bring some strawberries!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Homesick
Well, it took awhile but it's finally hit with a vengeance. I am feeling really out of sorts this week. Very very homesick, missing my friends and family back home. Sometimes a really good hug is the best therapy, and there is no one here I can turn to for one.
But, on the bright side, I have been approved to come home in the summer for about 5 weeks! Yeah!! I can't wait. Maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling homesick. It will be soooo crazy busy, running around seeing everyone in so many different cities. But that's okay, the 2 day trip back here will give me lots of time to catch up on my sleep!
So, 45 days and counting!!
But, on the bright side, I have been approved to come home in the summer for about 5 weeks! Yeah!! I can't wait. Maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling homesick. It will be soooo crazy busy, running around seeing everyone in so many different cities. But that's okay, the 2 day trip back here will give me lots of time to catch up on my sleep!
So, 45 days and counting!!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
MY DATE WITH A CHICKEN
I had been here a couple of weeks and desperately needed to eat some meat, so off I went, hunting for some chicken parts. I passed several markets where the chickens hung, ready for purchase, but just couldn’t bring myself to go that route. Growing up in Toronto, I know nothing about how to defeather and gut a bird, never mind trying to behead it.
I found what I thought were chicken pieces at a store that caters to Westerners, only to find that when I got it home, it was a whole chicken. No big deal. I buy them back at home. Except that unbeknownst to me, this chicken still had its head hanging on by a thread, its feet nicely bound and tucked up inside.
“I can handle this,” I thought. I’ll just ignore the head area, and work on cutting off a leg to at least salvage something from the purchase. Trouble is we didn’t have anything resembling a cleaver, so there I was, sawing away at this bird, trying to detach one of its feet. Needless to say, there was no severing to be had this night. Instead, I bagged up the chicken and gave it to my cleaning lady for her family. It was probably the right outcome, as I was told the next day that chances are if I had managed to get past the head and the attached feet, the organs would have likely still been inside.
So, what am I surviving on? I have to admit I’m staying away from a lot of the local food, not because it doesn’t taste good. It’s SPICY! One bite and I turn red and start sweating. Even when they tell you it’s not spicy, it is!
I have experimented with some deep fried squid and deep fried crab. That may not sound exotic to you, but as a kid, my only exposure to fish was canned tuna or fish sticks, so yes, deep fried squid, to me, is a little outside my comfort zone. But I have to say, I enjoyed the squid in particular and would order it again. Or perhaps it’s just that old saying that everything tastes better when it’s deep fried!
There’s certainly no shortage of deep fried goods here. The roadside stalls, warungs, thrive on selling greasy goods. There are deep fried bananas, deep fried tofu and, my favourite, deep fried tempe or soya beans. We can fool ourselves into thinking we’re eating healthy because the food underneath all that batter is actually good for us. And if we do want to eat well, there are plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables to be had. In fact, close to 80% of all waste here is organic. And it’s not just your run of the mill oranges and apples. You can come home laden with guava, papaya, mango, and if you’re brave enough, the dreaded durian. It kind of looks like a pointy cantaloupe, but stinks to the high heavens. I haven’t worked up the courage yet to try it. I think my first challenge will be to get into a real meat market and try for another date with a chicken.
I found what I thought were chicken pieces at a store that caters to Westerners, only to find that when I got it home, it was a whole chicken. No big deal. I buy them back at home. Except that unbeknownst to me, this chicken still had its head hanging on by a thread, its feet nicely bound and tucked up inside.
“I can handle this,” I thought. I’ll just ignore the head area, and work on cutting off a leg to at least salvage something from the purchase. Trouble is we didn’t have anything resembling a cleaver, so there I was, sawing away at this bird, trying to detach one of its feet. Needless to say, there was no severing to be had this night. Instead, I bagged up the chicken and gave it to my cleaning lady for her family. It was probably the right outcome, as I was told the next day that chances are if I had managed to get past the head and the attached feet, the organs would have likely still been inside.
So, what am I surviving on? I have to admit I’m staying away from a lot of the local food, not because it doesn’t taste good. It’s SPICY! One bite and I turn red and start sweating. Even when they tell you it’s not spicy, it is!
I have experimented with some deep fried squid and deep fried crab. That may not sound exotic to you, but as a kid, my only exposure to fish was canned tuna or fish sticks, so yes, deep fried squid, to me, is a little outside my comfort zone. But I have to say, I enjoyed the squid in particular and would order it again. Or perhaps it’s just that old saying that everything tastes better when it’s deep fried!
There’s certainly no shortage of deep fried goods here. The roadside stalls, warungs, thrive on selling greasy goods. There are deep fried bananas, deep fried tofu and, my favourite, deep fried tempe or soya beans. We can fool ourselves into thinking we’re eating healthy because the food underneath all that batter is actually good for us. And if we do want to eat well, there are plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables to be had. In fact, close to 80% of all waste here is organic. And it’s not just your run of the mill oranges and apples. You can come home laden with guava, papaya, mango, and if you’re brave enough, the dreaded durian. It kind of looks like a pointy cantaloupe, but stinks to the high heavens. I haven’t worked up the courage yet to try it. I think my first challenge will be to get into a real meat market and try for another date with a chicken.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Ever wonder what dog tastes like?
Betcha that got your attention!
I can't say that I have ever been even remotely curious about wanting to to know what dog meat tastes like. However, some people in this part of the world are, and in fact, eat dog kind of like others eat chicken.
I'm not kidding. I had dinner the other night with some of the national staff I work with. They come from other parts of Indonesia. For some reason we got talking about eating dog. This one friend's uncle and his family eat dog. Apparently black ones taste the best.
I was told they're not allowed to have dogs as pets. They can have them as guards for the house. But they're not allowed to pet them, or touch them, unless, I guess it's time to kill them and throw them on the barbeque!
When I asked what it tastes like? I was told---chicken. Why does everything always taste like chicken?
Maybe if I didn't know it was dog I was trying, I could eat it. Although I'm sure I would immediately gag upon hearing that I was eating someone's favourite pooch.
Makes me think twice about the rat I caught in my kitchen last night. Perhaps I should find a skewer?
I can't say that I have ever been even remotely curious about wanting to to know what dog meat tastes like. However, some people in this part of the world are, and in fact, eat dog kind of like others eat chicken.
I'm not kidding. I had dinner the other night with some of the national staff I work with. They come from other parts of Indonesia. For some reason we got talking about eating dog. This one friend's uncle and his family eat dog. Apparently black ones taste the best.
I was told they're not allowed to have dogs as pets. They can have them as guards for the house. But they're not allowed to pet them, or touch them, unless, I guess it's time to kill them and throw them on the barbeque!
When I asked what it tastes like? I was told---chicken. Why does everything always taste like chicken?
Maybe if I didn't know it was dog I was trying, I could eat it. Although I'm sure I would immediately gag upon hearing that I was eating someone's favourite pooch.
Makes me think twice about the rat I caught in my kitchen last night. Perhaps I should find a skewer?
Monday, March 9, 2009
What to do? What to do?
Okay, so here's the dilemma.
I was sitting out front reading this afternoon, and I saw this little hand reach through my gate, unlock it and then the young boy attached to the hand walked into the yard. He did not speak English. My Bahasa is not good. I could tell him I didn't understand what he was saying but he kept chattering away. Then he gestured towards his mouth, like he was hungry, and then held out his hand and said money. My heart went out to him. We have stickers on the outside posts that surround our houses, indicating which organization we work for, so I imagined him seeing those signs and thinking that he was in trouble and could seek refuge here.
I listened for awhile but then sent him on his way without anything. My concern was that if I helped him, gave him food or money, that word would spread, and the next thing I would know, I would have kids at my front door every day. But in the meantime, I didn't help this little fella. He had the biggest, softest brown eyes. He didn't look like he was starving. He had clean clothes on. His hair was washed. But I feel bad for doing nothing. At the same time, I can't open me or my organization up to beggers on the street. I feel like it was one of those moments when I had a chance to step up, to take a stance, and I failed.
I was sitting out front reading this afternoon, and I saw this little hand reach through my gate, unlock it and then the young boy attached to the hand walked into the yard. He did not speak English. My Bahasa is not good. I could tell him I didn't understand what he was saying but he kept chattering away. Then he gestured towards his mouth, like he was hungry, and then held out his hand and said money. My heart went out to him. We have stickers on the outside posts that surround our houses, indicating which organization we work for, so I imagined him seeing those signs and thinking that he was in trouble and could seek refuge here.
I listened for awhile but then sent him on his way without anything. My concern was that if I helped him, gave him food or money, that word would spread, and the next thing I would know, I would have kids at my front door every day. But in the meantime, I didn't help this little fella. He had the biggest, softest brown eyes. He didn't look like he was starving. He had clean clothes on. His hair was washed. But I feel bad for doing nothing. At the same time, I can't open me or my organization up to beggers on the street. I feel like it was one of those moments when I had a chance to step up, to take a stance, and I failed.
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