They opened with Om Swasi Astu. A community greeting. Sanskrit. It means, “God is among us.” Or the spirit or however you think of the divine. It involves clasping your hands and bowing down slightly at the neck. Ahhh, the divine. What a lovely … *POW!*
Then it started. Two hours of rapid, professional Indonesian! The room was set up with four long tables, arranged in a square. There was a projector whirling two seats down from me, mostly sending a blank screen onto the wall. The speakers (two women and maybe 12 men) pressed a button on a device in front of them and spoke. Some were loud. Some were quiet, but all were really fast. I had the sensation of being on one of those 0-60mph in 5 seconds roller coasters. Just held on for dear life. It took maybe a ½ hour for it to start sounding like connected phrases instead of just individual words but even after the flow kicked in, I probably missed 1/5 of it. Which may not sound like much. But when you are ____ and you probably need to _____ it can be a real ____. It usually the vital words that are missing.
Most of the important words were so specific to the situation that I’d never heard them before, and even if I had, they certainly weren’t used regularly enough to remember. I tried to jot them down but couldn’t both listen and jot, so gave up learning new things and just tried to look intensely focused. Which I was, burning glucose at record speeds, trying to analyze hand gestures and facial features for additional meaning. But they were all pointing at my host and intense, while smiling politely and it made me all the more confused.
It was a meeting about their UNESCO proposal, asking for the Bali subak, or rice growing system, to be recognized as a World Heritage site. The English language proposal, all 550 whatever pages of it, had been sent back with revision requests, writen in Indonesian. It was a confusing document as it was; I read it twice stateside and still wasn’t quite sure what it meant. How difficult it must be for them, writing so much in English (with the help of English speaking students), and then having to revise in what seemed like minute ways.
Alit, my host at the meeting and also my primary contact here, had given me the revisions and the document about 10 minutes before the meeting and I spent about that long on the first two Indonesian paragraphs, trying to understand what changes were needed. He had asked for my help and showed me the proposal maps. My first response was, “Ooo, pretty colors.” Literally. I believe that’s what I said. My second response was, “Sure! I’ll help with the mapping and using the GPS!” And my third response was internal: “How the f* will I do that?” I’ve held a GPS device in my hands once. Never turned it on. Don’t know how to work it or even what the long numbers of coordinates mean. The sensation crept over me of being like Calvin, wrapping my crappy bat project in a fancy plastic cover, hoping to fool people.
Sitting here in my professional white shirt and white skin, studying for a graduate education and I felt like a complete sham. Come on, Margaret, you have to start understanding this meeting better. Dig in deeper. Make your mind understand them.
About ½ way through, a man directly across from us picked up the thread of conversation and doubled the pace. I understood two words with any purpose, “Tim baru” (sounds like Team Bah-ru) which meant to me, maybe New Team. Maybe). Two minutes through he looked directly at me and said something. Then he said it again, faster. I felt fear and panic wash through me, mostly down my nose. Then I can’t remember if he switched to English or if my brain suddenly caught on: “Can you explain all of this in English?” I was so shocked by the question I said I just understood, “New team.” Then he thrust his hands into the air and spoke louder, all the while smiling that strange polite smile. What is going on here? I got defensive in my head for a second: I understood that the proposal needed to be more complete and the tables needed to match the text. That’s something right? AND I speak English, the language in which the proposal was written. Don’t throw your hands in the air at me! But my fight died quickly as I realized pure determination doesn’t equal comprehension and speaker-to-speaker, I was only able to catch small increments of meaning.
Then, by the end, something revolutionary happened. I thought perhaps they were speaking in English. “We have to do the work now. Let’s make a list of all the places that need coordinates. Temples. Specific subak. Water sources. Then we’ll meet again on Friday and discuss the lists. It will be faster like this.”
I couldn’t believe that I had understood that much. It was as though my brain had undergone a rapid evolution and grew new neurons. Or at least new bridges between them. I confirmed my understanding with Alit at the end and realized my hands were shaking. Ate the veggie part of our boxed lunch to ease my nerves and asked the woman next to me how to the Indonesian fruit (Ma’af, Ibu. Bagaimana makan buah ini?” “Oh, Anda bukanya.”) You open it. She peeled it then pulled off two pieces, kind of like a hard orange and handed it all to me. I tried to continue the process but couldn’t find the fault lines. I felt like a monkey (Saya merasa seperti monyet) and eventually just ripped it apart, removing the seed. It was subtly sweet and a little dry. I asked it’s name (“Apa namanya?”) and forgot it right after she told me. Was it the first time I had eaten it? Yes. My first initiated conversatin in Indonesian that didn't revert to English. Fingers crossed, I hoped for many more.
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