“Waktre” takes me into a crowded bus terminal on a motorbike, we find the bus we want, he then softly asks for the conductor, to a 17-year-old kid with the face of a rock star, sitting gracefully on a motorbike, handling a microphone. He fulfils the request, smoothly integrating into some sort of a song the call for the driver. Not sure what his official role is..
In one of my many afternoons in Kota Agung, we are heading to the beach. To get there you have to cross rice fields, and then a marshy patch of palm trees. A dozen men are harvesting the rice. They raise their heads to our approaching (as usual preceded by plenty of cheering kids). An old man, without a word, hands me the scythe. I, without a word, take it and cut some handfuls of grass. It is very sharp. The trick is to let the curved ending of the blade do the cut. The effort is appreciated, though not enough, for this large field. I would like to share stories of olive tree harvesting in Italy, and the very different difficulties of a graduate student life. Instead, I leave with a healthy shame and the superficial feeling that I have learned the rudiments of a new activity.
The Way Canguk assistants are deadly serious, and extremely professional. Their eyes are stone, they don’t smile except during breaks, when sharing dinner, making silly jokes, playing guitar and singing Indonesian folk songs. In the forest they know animals and plants, scientific names before English ones. When Rahman leaves the camp with the task of obtaining filmed evidence of the involvement of the Army in the building of the illegal road, he could well be the hero of a romance.
At 6.20, before dinner, they gather on the “office”, the tallest building. They have bathed, they are well dressed, their gaze elsewhere. They lay down carpets, and pray and chant. Then they come back, it feels as if from a long distance, and invite me, “makan!”, “let’s eat”.. I wonder how much of this romantic image is due to the place, the atmosphere, my state of mind.. we’ll see how it changes over time.
At 6.20, before dinner, they gather on the “office”, the tallest building. They have bathed, they are well dressed, their gaze elsewhere. They lay down carpets, and pray and chant. Then they come back, it feels as if from a long distance, and invite me, “makan!”, “let’s eat”.. I wonder how much of this romantic image is due to the place, the atmosphere, my state of mind.. we’ll see how it changes over time.
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