Saturday, July 9, 2011
Students go to school on Saturday here. Teachers work Saturdays. Even though this is pre-exams week, the students and faculty were on campus, hanging out, meeting with professors, signing up for their “micro teaching” or PPL or pre-student teaching for the next semester. And, they were attending our workshops – required by the Dean. The University is working on some level of accreditation and we are filling some of those requirements. Plus, we think the faculty members get some sort of “in-service credit” for attending… we haven’t quite figured it out. And seeing as how the students want to become English language teachers, they want to be around native – speakers: that’s us!
First class, 9:00 am – Communication Skills! 9:10, no students. 9:30, no students. 9:35 – 40 students, and by 9:45 – almost 100. “Indonesian time” is so different than American time. Great class! The Sunday School class was to start at 10:00, so of course we went until 10:45, and took at 10 minute break and then started the Sunday School class. This is our favorite. We sing, we practiced praying out loud… it’s a wonderful, smiling, beautiful group of probably 60. Very joyful! Jacob was playing his ukulele, singing, praying, participating, telling what it’s like to be a teenager in Sunday School in America. We completed class at 12:30, thanked them, and wished them good luck on their exams next week. Bye. And they all just sat there staring at us, at their seats, as though ready for more. Marnala later explained that they were waiting for Reina (head of Teacher Training) to dismiss them. Got it! We talked with a few more students and were invited out for Chinese Noodles at 7:00 pm with the former Dean of the University, Dean Hutahyan, a retired gentleman who still teaches 6 days a week, and has a warm smile and plenty of energy.
We headed home, had a quick bowl of rice and veggies (thank you Jacob), and read quietly for a few moments before I met up with Sun to review her paper for her English Writing class. Marnala stopped by the house to deliver the “oven,” and then we all met at Mensa and headed to the Passah Horus, traditional market. The five of us hopped on the bus – a mini van with the back seats turned into benches, the door taken off so you can hop in and out “easily.” He honked, and swerved, and drove us through thick motorbike traffic to safely deliver us to the Horus Market. Marnala and Sun led us across the street, holding out their hands to help slow the crazy traffic, and we were immediately surrounded by the shops, vendors, smells, sights and sounds of the traditional, outdoor market. It was huge! Three levels, a huge blue tarp/metal sheets over the open air part. On the first level were the vegetables, fish, and meats. The vegetables were piled high in big baskets, the vendor would squat behind them, often with a cigarette in their mouth, swatting flies, and waiting for a customer. They wouldn’t shout at people – and since this is not a tourist market, no one was yelling at us or harassing us. Marnala led the way – she’s great! – and pointed things out, Sun translated and very patiently explained things along the way. The aisles were made of broken concrete, wide enough for two people, a step up, a step down, a puddle of water, a puddle of… something… more rocks, steps… people stop to shop and you try to walk past them. It was an incredible glimpse of Indonesian life. We walked through the fish area – catfish in a shallow tray, still wiggling, grab what you want! Big fat goldfish (like you’d see in a koi pond) swimming in a shallow tank, pick the one you want, the vendor grabs it, bags it in water, and you take it home live. Marnala selected one to take home for dinner. We walked past the meat station (I seriously could not even look), and though most of the butchering was done for the day, large carcasses of meat hung from the rafters, big blocks of raw meat were on the counter with people walking by, flies buzzing around; the chicken lady had all sorts of cuts of chickens – with and without all body parts – available for her to grab and put in a plastic bag for you. We walked through the Banana Section, and there were thousands of bananas, still on their stalk. We told Marnala we wanted 6-8 bananas, which is apparently a small number, and she talked to the lady working there. The lady pulled out a rusty old machete and used it to point at a few options. We selected and she whacked them off from the stalk hanging from the rafters. When she was down, she thrust the machete into another stalk for safe keeping. Would not want to meet this lady in a dark alley… The aisles in the Banana Section were wide enough for one person, and the rafters were just above our tall heads, filled with cobwebs, spiders, supplies… it’s dark, deep inside the market, the floor is rugged and cracked. What an adventure!
We walked past vendors with beautiful baskets of spices, long sticks of cinnamon (which Jacob bought for 30-cents), lots of interesting shaped roots, things we have never seen before… but probably heard of. We just buy them ground and in nice little jars at the Kroger.
We walked up narrow concrete steps to the top levels where the clothing is located. The aisles here are more narrow (is that possible?) People are trying things on, vendors are sewing, mothers are helping their children find back-to-school clothes (school starts tomorrow), people are eating, people are smoking, everyone is staring at us! We were afraid we would lose Marnala or Sun in the crowd, but it was impossible to lose Jacob, Jim, or me in the crowd – seeing as we were 14” above the crowd. We went back downstairs to make our vegetable purchases: cucumbers were 6,000 rp for a kilo (or 80-cents for 2.2 lbs); beautiful red tomatoes, the same, onions and green beans – even cheaper.
We left the market, bumping and banging our bags into other peoples’ bags, and were back on the street. Marnala and Sun insisted we try a Chendal – a favorite drink of the Sumatrans. It was made of ice (Nala assured us it was “safe” ice), fresh coconut milk, palm sugar, and the rice noodle – which was narrow, bright green, and slimy. A glass was handed to us with a straw and spoon, and we sat on plastic stools five feet from the micro buses parked and driving by. We stirred our drinks and Jim took our first sip, and practically gagged when a slimy green rice noodle came through the straw and down his throat. He turned and spit it out… and Marnala and Sun just looked at him, “what’s wrong?” They explained your eat and enjoy the slimy green rice noodles. Even with that assurance, it was tough to do.
We rode in the micro bus back through the crazy traffic, honking, swerving – such fun! Then, because it was slightly raining, Marnala told the driver to drive into the Nommensen University campus and drop us off. We love shopping with Marnala – she’s a pro!
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