Then my barber worked on the only gray hair in the entire shop.
The cost of a haircut, including a razor trim and a powerful shoulder/back/neck/ temple and skull massage? Just $1.30.
My barber could not speak any English but he sure knew how to cut hair!
I believe this form of dancing would even meet the Baptist rules! The hands are first raised together as if in prayer. The dancing is a form of worship.
At one point Mr. Hutahyan stepped up to demonstrate some differences between Batak dancing and that of other cultures.
We love Mr. Hutahyan. He speaks excellent English and studied at the Univ. of Pittsburgh for his doctorate. He has a great sense of humor. His students love him too.
We are all looking forward to a big big dose of AC when we return!
Tuesday – July 26
These entries will be shorter, because suddenly everything that was so different, challenging, and entertaining is becoming “normal.” The smells, the sounds, the smoky air, the crazy traffic, the Indonesian “time,” the spicy food – normal!
After teaching a workshop at Nommensen, we went to Mar’s wife’s school this morning. Roida teaches senior high school English, and her students understood us very well. They asked questions, we answered questions, it was fun! There were two classes combined for a total of 62 students. They all wore their public school uniforms. The room, like all others we have been in, was totally bare. No book shelves, no technology, no posters on the wall, no colorful signs or paints, no rules posted… nothing. The concrete floor and walls, open doors and windows (to hear the motorbikes), and white board are all these teachers are working with.
We left the school amid cheers, pictures, and songs – and drove to pick up their eldest daughter from the private Catholic school she attends. It was beautiful! A guard met us at the gate as we walked in – the first “security” we’ve met along the way. As we sat in the courtyard, we looked up at three open levels, with walkways, a few plants, and some colorful hanging posters about the importance of education. These junior high students (7th – 9th grade) pay 240,000 rp a month (about $30) to attend this school. That is why the building is nicer, though the rooms are the same. Also, these students must purchase their own textbooks.
Mar, Roida, Christian, and her cousin Friska took us to a “fruit restaurant” along the main drag. You select the fruit you like from the counter by the street, they cut it up, and serve it with spicy (HOT) peanut sauce. The fruit was fresh and tasty!
Wednesday, July 27th
Herman Fu (a student at Nommensen and an English teacher at the Methodist school) and a driver from the Methodist school picked us up at 7:00 am (we were almost ready… we thought he had said 7:30). Jacob quickly threw on a baseball cap, and out the door we ran! The Methodist school is a lovely, private school in Siantar, attended by many Chinese and wealthier Indonesian families. This school, like the Catholic school, had three levels, open to a nice brick-type courtyard. There was no trash or big broken chunks of concrete. They had a library, a room with computers and headphones, and an air conditioned headmasters office. We met the headmaster, Mr. SamsuddinHua, friendly, professional. We shared coffee (Jim said it the best cup he’d had since being in Siantar), tea and some bread. Then, Herman plugged us into different classrooms. We sang, talked, acted-out – put on an amazing English lesson for 60+ minutes, then were whisked back to Nommensen to give a presentation to the English Club about American weddings. We shared all our pictures from David and Sarah’s wedding – which of course was traditional and as beautiful as they come!! Jacob and I did some of the contra-dancing we learned at the wedding – and well, that is a little risqué for this culture. They all gasped, and giggled, and clapped!
We went back to Herman’s school to teach two more classes, using up our last bit of energy, singing, acting, and “entertaining!” Let’s just say, Jacob was a super star. All the kids on the upper balconies came out of their classes and were yelling to Jacob and waving to Jacob. The students in the classes all wanted their picture taken with him. Herman and the headmaster had to act a “security” to escort us back into the van to leave at 1:30. (Jacob is going to be bored when he returns to being a normal person again.) They treated us to lunch at KFC! Jacob was thrilled, of course!
Our evening was spent shopping at the market, stopping by the Internet Café (which was in slow motion), doing laundry, and welcoming many passer-bys into our home to say hello.
Thursday, July 28th.
This morning was soooo interesting. The Dean and Reina had been out of town for 5 days and we had not seen nor communicated with them. Meanwhile, Mar invited us to a big regional teacher meeting in Parapet for the whole day. He was picking us up at 8:30 for a full day of meetings and then to enjoy the beautiful area around Lake Toba. We had prepared out presentation and were ready. Then, at 7:30 am he sends a text (called an SMS here) saying the Dean had not approved our trip. Reina and Marnala came over at 8:00 and said we were to stay at Nommensen, Mar did not have authority to take us to Parapet. I quickly began to work on a presentation to give at Nommensen… when Dean Tagor drove up, Reina and Marnala with him to say, well, actually, you may go to the teacher workshop. And while this is being discussed, four people and two vans from the Teacher’s Association show up and they all begin talking, discussing, mobile phones are ringing… we just sat there, ready to do whatever someone decided for us to do.
Eventually, we left with the Teacher Association people, with Reina joining us, being told we would do the meeting and then return by 1:30. (This turned out to be 5:30.)
The school in Parapet was on top of a hill, with a nice view of Lake Toba through the trees. The school itself was like all the other public schools (though we were taken to the headmaster’s toilet rather than being allowed to see the student toilet). We gave a presentation on Leadership in the American School – principals, vice principals, etc. Mar translated. The first question following the presentation was, “how much money do you make?” Jim explained it nicely, but they still were disgusted by how much we make – and it left me feeling rather angry and frustrated. During our presentation, there were two power outages. They ran an extension cord through the open door and to who-knows-where, but it worked again.
Teacher’s Union in Republic of Indonesia PGRI. Each teacher pays 2,000 rp a month to be a member (that’s about 25-cents). There are 13,000 teachers in the region. They work 24 hours a week.
Tumpak is the head of the organization in this region. ZoczonSilalahi is the secretary (he was our driver, we called him Action Jackson), and Marolop (Mar) is the vice secretary.
We stopped by Jackson’s school (he’s a headmaster of a public junior high school) and the highlight was the bell. A rusty, old wheel rim was hanging by a rope from the roof. Someone used a big pole and banged on it to ring the bell for class changes. Very creative!
We ate lunch with the 65+ teachers and headmasters in Parapet (rice, chicken, and some really spicy stuff). During lunch they had an American flag and an Indonesian flag on the screen. Also, a few of the Teacher Union leaders sang karoke – I’m not kidding. Then we sat back down for another 1 hour of meeting stuff – none of which was translated. We smiled and nodded, Jacob worked on his summer reading for West High School.
Did I mention that per Jim’s request to Dean Tagor, the people in the Teacher’s Meeting were told not to smoke during the meeting. I’m sure that made 90% of the participants angry and edgy… but it made it bearable for us (especially Jacob).
As we prepared to leave, thank yous were shared, tons of pictures, and Jim and I were given the traditional SimuluangTobak hat and ulos (check the pictures). The man’s hat is a goton, the woman’s is a bulang.
Driving home, we stopped at the traditional batak hang-out to drink Tuak – a coconut drink that “can make you dizzy” if you drink enough. No chemicals are in it. It sounds like a low-alcohol-content moonshine. They also served oysters. The smell, the cigarette smoke, the drink, the oysters… it was all I could do to sit still and smile politely. All the men sat together, and I sat at a different table and was joined by Raina, Jacob, and Marnala. Reina and Marnala enjoyed several plates of oysters (in the shell and fried) and a glass of Tuak. Jacob had Sprite. I had Minute Made. Jim joined the 10 guys at the next table and politely and bravely knocked back three glasses of Tuak (though they said you need to drink 9 to feel dizzy), ate an oyster, and represented us very well. Thank you Jim.
Friday, July 29th
Workshop at 9 am on culture, with Mr. Hutahyan (the 75 year old, former Dean) presenting information on Batak culture. He is adored by the students – and by us! Great information! The students then had many questions for us about life in America and we all shared for several hours. Once again, we couldn’t leave without many pictures being taken – but these were mostly with the students we really know by this point.
The three of us ventured out to get haircuts for Jim and Jacob. We hopped on the microbus, got off at the market, and walked to the recommended barbershop. Let’s just say, I doubt any white people, foreigners ever go there. These folks didn’t even say “hello.” The six chairs were all filled when we arrived, and when the next person left, they waved at us and I walked in with Jacob. Jim sat on the bench to wait his turn, a narrow, old bench with ripped and faded fabric and a smoker. We had to point at a picture to indicate what Jacob wanted and then we just hoped for the best!
The haircuts were great! They chopped and cut, and then dropped the chairs to a stretched out position and massaged their foreheads and face and trimmed some more. They even massaged Jim’s shoulders (which looked wonderful, but he said was a bit painful). 45 minutes to cutting and massaging, cost per person: 11,000 rp. (about $1.30). And you do not tip here. We felt guilty leaving after paying so little.
Anton picked us up at 4:30 for another session at his English School. Each of us took a class – and of course everyone loved Jacob’s class the best! Three hours later, and many pictures, we hopped into Anton’s van and drove to the Gajah (elephant) restaurant. We shared a wonderful meal with Anton, his mother and father (Mr. and Mrs. Kimhs) and brother Jimmy. We drank Badak (“rhino”) a sasparilla, rootbeer type drink manufactured in Siantar. On the way home, we stopped at a vendor stand to buy Martabak – a thick pancake with cheese (keju) and your choice of strawberry, chocolate, banana… They cook it right there by the street, and boy were they efficient! Not sure what the health department would say, but we took it home in a box and have totally enjoyed it. Yummy! We also visited the “mansion” of Anton and his fiancé Evonne. The first floor is her beautician shop – nails, massage, etc. Then, you walk up to two more floors (plus a top deck) or an amazing home with white tile floors and gorgeous wood paneling on the walls and ceiling, bathrooms with a hot water heater and showers, closets, shelves… we haven’t seen anything like this anywhere in Indonesia. Definitely a very unique and amazing home!
We really enjoy Anton’s family. They are wonderful and hard-working people.
Saturday, July 30
We had a full day planned for traveling to Parapet and Laguboti with Dean Tagor and Marnala and Krystin. As we were preparing to leave at 8:00, first a staff member from the mathematics dept. stops by our home and Tagor has to sign something, then we stop by the main office and Baris runs out with papers for him to sign, then he takes us to the high school (on campus) to talk with the headmaster and the teachers who are working on a powerpoint workshop, and then we pick up Nenti (another English teacher) and then we get on the road. We, including Kristin and Nala, are jammed into the mini van! But everyone is in great spirits for the adventure ahead of us and it is a beautiful day!
We drive to Parapet and today Dean Tagor is driving in a relaxed Javanese style (not the aggressive Batak style)! We stop in a park just on the edge of Parapatfor what we would call a picnic. Nanti brought along take-out Pansit – three variations of noodles (served on a banana leaf, with a broth and bits of meat) and we enjoyed eating as we overlooked Lake Toba. Dean Tagor more or less dared Jim to put some of the chili sauce on his noodles and Jim proved himself by taking not just one spoonful but two. Jim’s secret is to mix the hot stuff thoroughly into the noodles and try to minimize the pain of any one bite.
Jim takes over writing: We took many photos under the towering statue of the Simalungun man and woman, who sport hats similar to the ones we received at the teacher meeting on Thursday. Dr. Tagor pointed out that the man’s hat has a tassel of gold. The tassel on my hat was just made of folded material.
From there we shoehorned ourselves back into the car for more driving – this time continuing around the region bordering the lake. We stopped at a rural pineapple stand and Nala and Kristin analyzed the goods, selecting four medium sized pineapples by thumping them with their middle finger. Jacob listened closely so he will be able to make good choices when we return home. Just behind the hut, made of bamboo poles and strips, there were several pineapples growing, appearing to be ready for harvest.
We stuck to our route heading south around the tip of the lake and our next step was the last place where Nommensen, the missionary, lived and developed ministry from. We met some church workers, saw a wedding parade go by, and then continued to the grave of Nommensen. It is located in a beautiful setting, with a sweeping view of rice fields with the lake and mountains in the background. The small cemetery was lined in black marble, with the entranceway topped by a Batak style sloping roof house. As we walked through the entry way a comfortable breeze was blowing up from the lake and we all decided it would be a nice spot on hang out for the rest of our lives. In addition to Nommensen and his wife, his daughter and another deaconess are buried there, along with his two dogs. Evidently the dogs played some role in the ministry too.
From there it was on to find a good swimming spot. We drove through Langaboti and Belige and saw the market and retail areas without leaving the car. We drove by Kristin’s home but the word was that we’d stop on the way back. We turned across a narrow bridge, taking us across a small stream, and the road turned into a one laner. Both Nancy and I were reminded of the road to Hanna in Maui. This road went right along the edge of the lake, sometimes literally feet from the edge, and other times turning inland to allow for a rice field or two. When traffic came from the other direction it was a bit of a negotiation for cars to pass, but as in everything in Indonesia, solutions were found without any cross words.
We stopped at a fish restaurant with a great open air dining room which terraced down to the edge of the water. Even though Dean Tagor sent Nanti out to scout out the place, once we all got out of the car and he inspected it, it was decided that this was not an appropriate swimming place – no sandy beach! So we all piled back into the car again. To do this Jacob would have to crawl over the middle seat, which only folded down halfway. Kristin sat in the back with him and had no problem springing in and out, because she is so small. So we drove along another 1000 meters or so, and the sandy beach was found. It had certain idyllic aspects, including four little cabana structures on bamboo stilts, protruding out into the water. Apparently you could rent these, but we didn’t do that.
The view is just stunning. The water is blue, the sky is deep blue, with magnificent clouds, ringed by cliffs and mountains that look like the smile of a jack-o-lantern. There is little noise, no airplanes or boats, and at least for a moment in Indonesia it is peaceful.
Nobody explains anything clearly to us, such as “here we are, this is where we will swim, it’s time to change into your swimsuit!” So we stood around for a few minues and Nala disappeared. Nancy decided we’d go ahead and change when Nala reappeared with cut-up pineapple, ready to eat. Someone from the nearby snackbar brought a cup of coffee for Jim and Dean Tagor. Once we gobbled up the pineapple then it was time to change. The change rooms were also the bathroom / shower rooms (the size of a small gas station restroom, before the ADA rules) so it was difficult to change without putting some part of your clothing down on a wet surface. But we all were successful and we hit the beach. The beach was more or less clean, and the water also looked pretty clean. We’ve seen beaches in other places, like Hurgata, that are totally full of trash and that was not the case here. The concessions folks laid a tecur (sp) on the sand for us, in the shade, and it was swimming time. An honest to goodness black rubber inflated inner tube was also provided for every summer, so we were set! These were genuine inner tubes, sporting many patches from years of use, and featuring big metal valves poking into the middle open part of the tube…where your body goes. Personal floatation devices are important here, as many people do not know how to swim. Swimming pools are few and far in between here, and the rivers and ditches are often not clean enough to promote swimming. Just envision Third Creek as it flows past Tyson Park and on to the Tennessee River and you’ve got a good idea of the water quality around most parts of Indonesia that we have seen. But Lake Toba is the exception. This monumental lake is clean and full of fish.
Nancy and Jacob grabbed an inner tube while I sat on the mat with the others and enjoyed – as much as possible – my coffee. Coffee here is quite different from western style, in that it seems to be made with a French press that has a strainer with very coarse holes. So you end up with a mixture of coffee swirled with a large amount of fine grounds. Then because the taste is so bitter (not in a Starbucks way…) that they mix in a ton and a half of sugar. So it’s like hot water, coffee grounds, and sugar. I look forward to having a cup of American coffee when we get back.
As Nancy and Jacob waded out into the water, everyone in the bar/eating area next to the beach stopped what they are doing and stared at the big white people. We are used to this phenomenon, but I think after hanging out with our Nommensen friends for a while we forget how much we stick out here. I gave them a few minutes head start and then headed out myself. There was just a few feet of rocks to negotiate before the lake bottom turned to pure sand. Nice! The water came up to my thighs and didn’t get deeper for about 30 meter out into the lake. Unfortunately the green seaweedy things started in abundance before the water got sufficiently deep to avoid them, so there were a few tense minutes of wondering if anything scary was lurking down below in the greenry. We all chose to jump on our inner tubes at that point, just so our feet didn’t make any discoveries in places we couldn’t see.
A fishing platform was anchored about 100 meters off shore and made a good target for our water journey. These fishing platforms are made of large bamboo poles, lashed together in a square, which floats on top of the water. The poles support a net which hangs down to the bottom of the lake. Suspended above the poles, in the center of the square, is a powerful light which shines down into the water. The light is turned on all night long. The fisherman come out at 5 in the morning, before dawn. They throw a little bait into the center of the square, which distracts all the fish which have been attracted by the light. Then they turn a wheel which pulls up the net, trapping all the fish. Kristin’s dad, who has three of the traps, says he catches between 60 and 80 kilos of fish in each trap every day. He visits the traps in a canoe and uses a big net to transfer the fish. It must be quite an effort, and he had the upper body of a linebacker.
We paddled around in the water for over an hour. Kristin had not been in deep water before and was a bit hesitant. But she finally got comfortable with it, and after we had all gotten out she and Nala jumped back in and swam around. The temperature was almost a bit cool since we were still wet, with a light breeze blowing.That’s almost a bit cool in a great, most awesome way, after dripping with sweat for over four weeks now!
Everyone eventually changed and we were joined by a husband and wife who attendNala’s church in Langaboti. Once again, nobody explained to us what we doing next, but we all piled into the car and returned back along the narrow road. In a matter of one minute we stopped at the open air fish restaurant and all piled back out of the car. It was like a slapstick comedy, everybody in, everybody out, nobody is allowed to walk more than ten steps. So it was time to eat, which was good because that Pansit we enjoyed in Parapat was just a distant memory. Immediately upon being seated the discussion of which juice to order began. Indonesians can take literally a half hour to make such a decision, partly because there are often over 20 varieties of fruit and veggie juice. Our favorites are mango, orange, watermelon and melon (I believe it’s similar to honeydew). We also share with Jacob a real liking for blenda, which is derived from a fruit introduced by the Dutch many years ago. We all made our decisions, wrote them on the little notepad that serves as the waiter in Indonesia, and waited. It took several minutes for the actual waiter to appear and explain that they did not have watermelon juice, which was selected by many. So the discussion started again, and after about ten minutes the order was straight. This is another example of how time is not important here. In America the waiter would be at your table, he’d tell you what was not available, and you’d place your order within minutes if not seconds. Not the case here.
But of course I was hungry and a juice wasn’t going to do it. Where was the fish menu? Everyone relaxed and chatted and relaxed and chatted. No problem. After about 30 minutes the first juices arrived for half our table. The mangos, my second choice, were nowhere in sight. Another ten minutes passed and no more juices. Those who had juice did not drink it. Then the waiter arrived with a tray full of glass mugs and a plastic pitcher of water. This is the hot water we have become accustomed to, which is for drinking. Imagine what Indonesians would think if they were in America and served a big glass of ice water.
Next came the small plates with the chili pepper paste, a slice of lime, delivered on top of a bowl of water. This is the water for dipping your fingers into before you eat your rice and fish with your fingers. We are usually supplied with spoons as we unfortunately have good memories of everything unsanitary we have touched in the last 24 hours, and eating with our fingers would ruin our appetite. Nothing ruins the appetites around here. People love to eat, and will eat several large starchy meals a day, and then some. The metabolism of folks here must be incredible, as we don’t see much exercising but we do see a great deal of eating, and nobody is fat.
Finally the grilled fish arrived. There were three or four, then a few more, then a couple of small fried catfish that were curled up like the squirrel in Ice Age. That may be a stretch but I though the resemblance was strong! Finally the rice arrived and that is the signal that the eating is to start. Everyone grabs for the fish of their choice, rips off a big chunk with their fingers, and lays the plate back down in the center of the table. I was glad when the waiter arrived with a plate of veggies for Nancy. I think everyone has a hard time understanding that Nancy is a vegetarian, meaning she won’t eat meat. I believe they think she means that she prefers vegetables….but of course since she’s in Indonesia she’ll be flexible. We’ve had otherwise sophisticated people tell her that it won’t hurt her to eat a little meat one time, and similar comments. There have been great discussions of why she doesn’t eat meat, but at the end of the day I don’t think anyone here grasps the meaning of “vegetarian”. Terry, if you are reading this, mark Indonesia off your travel list, unless you are content eating only rice.
We all snarfed down the fish and soon there were just plates of bones all over the table. While we eat four or five big spoonfuls of rice and consider it a big quantity, the Indonesians put us to shame. We are often delivered a huge portion of rice, eat about half of it and stop for fear of bursting, and then have someone come over the say “you didn’t like the rice?” “If you like it then why didn’t you eat it?” I’m glad we’re not sensitive about our eating because you could definitely develop a complex here.
After the meal everyone sat and reflected on life for another half an hour. Jacob finally got up and walked to the edge of the water. Kristin accompanied him and took some pictures. She takes them all with her camera / phone, which must have an incredible memory. She takes more pictures than I do, most of them multiples of groups and subgroups of people in typical Indonesian style. “One more photo!” are the famous words that are shouted 100 times when a group of more than two are gathered together.
Finally it was determined that we could leave, so we loaded into the car, everyone full and happy. Next stop: Kristin’s house. We were excited to meet her family because she has been such a good friend and guide to us. Earlier in the morning there had been a mention of having “Batak spaghetti” at Kristin’s house, plans that I assumed had fallen through, since we had all gorged ourselves on the fish dinner. We arrived at Kristin’s, located directly on the main road of Longaboti. The family greeted us warmly and we sat in the living room, doing the best to make small talk and brag on Kristin. Kristin is the best English speaker in the family, followed by her brother, who is a senior in high school, and can answer a limited number of basic questions in English when prodded by Kristen. Kristin’s father had almost as many sentences of English mastered as we do in Bahasa Indonesia. And I don’t believe the mother spoke any English. So we depended on Kristin and Dean Tagor to translate, and with Dean Tagor you always wonder if he’s translating or just ignoring your comment and launching into his own monologue.
To be continued…
Our traveling group shares one of many laughs during the day.
A highlight of the day was visiting Kristin's home and meeting her family.
We arrived at Pizza House after stumbling along through the dark and puddles. The sidewalks are hard enough to navigate in the light so it was a bit of a challenge to complete the trek. We decided to play it safe with our pizza ordering and got an "American original" and a "plain cheese"...not really an inspiring marketing title!
Our pizzas arrived, making Nancy very happy!
Jacob and I approved of the taste. We decided the locals would not like it because it was just spicy enough to be pizza, not blazing spicy hot, plus the crust is too much like bread, which is foreign to many.
Of course we had to have our picture taken with the staff. There were as many workers in this place as at Big Ed's. There were also motorbikes parked outside, so there were similarities.
They packed up our leftovers and put a nice ribbon around the box to use as a carrying handle.
The next day we woke up bright and early to go to church with Hanna. We met outside the Nommensen main gate to catch the right bus.
Hanna and Nancy looked over her Sunday School teacher book during the trip.
We passed by the traditional market, the one that sounds like "Passagoula" but that's not quite right. This is the one that is not quite as nice as the Passah Horus.
Things got cozy in the micro-bus, but it was a friendly largely church going crowd.
We reached our stop and walked through a little village. These children we eating their breakfast and watching the world go by.
Nancy was attracted to this message board because of her name at the bottom. It turned out to be a condolence card for someone who died.
This is Hanna's church of the GKPS protestant denomination.
Once we arrived it became clear to us that we were joining Hanna for the Sunday School class she teaches. She enlisted Jacob to help here carry a humongous white board into the sanctuary.
This is a banner hung prominently at the front of the church. It talks about the theme for the church year.
Jacob and Hanna went to work writing out the words to "This is the Day" in English, Bahasa Indonesia, and Batak. This is a very popular song here.
Here are the words in Bahasa Indonesia. We will be practicing it at St. Johns soon so get ready!
Hanna did a great job leading her SS class, which started out with 20 children of all ages, and ended up with at least 50 by the end of the hour. Like most other events, Indonesians don't generally arrive on time to SS.
Jacob led the class in the English language singing.
Of course we had to do "Love, Love, Love".
Here we are with all the SS children before the church service began. You can see us in our usual back row position.
I love this wider angle shot because it includes the elderly church member walking in on the left. I wanted to take his picture but I couldn't leave the group. The church was a family church with many members related to Hanna.
This is the hymn board. It also lists the Bible readings.
We hit the jackpot as it was a Baptism Day for two babies.
We had asked at other churches after not being able to find their baptismal fount, so we knew that the water was simply scooped out of a bowl, held by the church elder.
The mothers wore beautiful cobia dresses and the fathers were dressed in suits and ties.
The main pastor asked me to read the Gospel lesson as part of his sermon. I felt a bit underdressed for this, but I would have completely melted in a suit and tie. Of course the church was open air with no fans or AC.
Even with the microphone pointing straight up I still had to squat down a little to speak near it.
After I read the Gospel then the pastor let loose with his 30+ minute sermon. We always have to pay attention because they tend to throw in an English phrase every 10 minutes and then everyone looks at us. There is a comfortable sitting area just beyond the pulpit. I hoped they would let me sit there but no such luck.
One of the baptismal families wanted to have their picture taken with us afterwards. We will be stars in their photo album forever!
I wanted to get a full photo of the mother's cobia, as it is beautifully embroidered with a colorful sash adding a nice touch.
Afterwards we went back to the bus stop to go to Hanna's home. We waited quite some time and looked up to realize we were standing under a cocoa tree.
Right next to where we were waiting for the bus, there was the home of a poor family with many children. They were staring at Jacob until he tried to take their photo, and then they all retreated to the other side of the porch. A mother hen and her chicks pecked around on the ground near the children.
We finally crammed onto a micro-bus after walking a short distance, then got off and walked a bit more to reach Hanna's home. The home was beautifully decorated, with contrasting color arched doorways, nice columns and light pink floral tile on the floor. Hanna's family was there to greet us, including her mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Sitio, her sister Evi and brother Friando.
It turns out we are all school teachers, so another photo was required.
After returning home we made a quick trip to the Passah Horus for pineapple shopping. Nala did her usual great job in picking out the best ones.
A few cut pineapples were on display, covered with little bees. Nobody here is afraid of them and just brushes them away, so I wonder if they can actually sting you. I was not going to investigate myself.
Group photo at the watermelon stand. Ezra and Kristin accompanied us.
