A Yehudiah in a Muslim School, part 1

This is my long awaited post on my visit to Banjarmasin--the title of the post is ripped off from a course that I shopped several times, but never actually took called "Jews in Muslim Lands." In Bahasa Indonesia, Yehudiah (sp?) means Jew or Jewish.

TV Journalists often talk about going inside a hidden world, or unprecedented access into an unknown society or culture. Most of those programs promoting the revelation of juicy details, however, are fluff--given the nature of the profession, journalists generally have to identify themselves or it is clear that they are journalists, which means that only people who want to talk to them will. This usually results in speaking with some reformed members of whatever society or world that have an axe to grind or a score to settle and speaking with the lawyers or the pr people from that group. You never actually really get to understand what the average person thinks or feels.

Well, I got my own version of insider access into a world rarely visited by most westerners or tourists. My friend taught for a year at a small, all-girls muslim school in a place about 20-30 minutes from the Banjarmasin airport, only accessible via dirt roads in a small suburban community--think a suburb/rural village blend, and you will kind of get the gist of where this place was located. When I asked her for some tips about travelling in Indonesia, I told her my plan, and she said that if I was interested in visiting her school and the all boys school a five minute motorbike away, she would set it up for me.

Because of my limited time, I had to make a decision--it was either going to be Bali or Banjarmasin. For most people, this would be a no-brainer--Bali, of course. I thought about it, and the more I did, the more I realized that by the time I was going to get there (week four), I was probably going to be a little worn out and in need of a break from the tourist track. Besides, at worst it would be an interesting and unique experience, and so I figured, why the hell not? I wrote my friend back and told her that I was indeed interested. Bali was out, going back to Borneo (banjarmasin is in Indonesian Borneo--Kalimantan) was in.

I was in a unique position when I visited--I was technically an outsider, but since I knew one of their coworkers and good friends, I was also an insider. I wasn't a part of their community, but I was trusted like I was a lifelong member. Certain people in that community opened up more to me than they did to their neighbors, a level of openness that I haven't even achieved with some of my close friends. Some told me secrets or asked me questions that they were too afraid to tell their neighbors or friends because of different social stigmas. It is out of respect for the privacy of these people that I am unable to reveal all that was said for fear that it might have a negative consequence for them.

When I arrived in Banjarmasin after my infamous flight from hell on Lionair, I really didn't have any idea of what to expect. My friend told me some things--ie, its a conservative community, bring lots of gifts, dos/don'ts--but not everything. I emailed my host (and airport pickup) my flight information, but I didn't know what the guy looked like, where I would be staying, what I would be doing etc. To let him know what he was looking for at the airport, I sent him a note saying that I was a yellow haired bule with a backpack and with skin reddened by the harsh Indonesian sun.

Still physically shaking from the flight, I picked up my bag and headed out to the arrivals area--after looking around aimlessly cluelessly for a minute, a skinny kid about my height and age, asks me if I was mr. charlie. The skinny kid was Mi'raj, one of my friend's friends--a 23 year old teacher at the school, where he graduated from--and he was going to be my host. Though he continually apologized for his "poor" english, the reality was that he could have gotten along just fine in the U.S. or any english speaking country. Its obvious that he wasn't a native speaker, and had some trouble with slang, but he was functionally fluent.

Sometimes you meet people and you just "click" for whatever reason--and you feel like you have known them for longer than you really have. This was the case with Mi'raj and I--we got our respective senses of humor, and didn't have any problems other than the occasional misunderstanding of slang that I used.

I hopped onto his motorbike, with my bag strapped to my back, and off we went into the Bornean night. I generally have a good sense of direction, but I honestly had no idea how the town was laid out, where everything was relative to each other, etc. We stop for dinner at a roadside shack, much to the relief of my shoulders, and soon we are off on the dirt roads to get to the school. After about 15-20 minutes or so of bouncing around on the motorbike, we finally arrive at the school--separating the two story standard issue student housing/some class rooms from the single story houses where the teachers live were a basketball courts, a fussball court, and a dirt courtyard. Raj shows me to my room, in his house, and I am shocked. I was expecting bare bones, but the place was nicer than some of the hostels and hotels I have stayed at--big bed, desk, chair, tv, and closet, and an ice cold air conditioner. Talk about a pleasant surprise.

His house consisted of two bedrooms--mine and his--a breakfast room, a sitting room, a kitchen, a toilet room, and a mandi room (basically, bucket shower), in a space probably just smaller than the den and the living room of my house.

All things considered, it was a pretty sweet setup.

Part 2 to come.