August 20th – 23rd: First days in Gresik or repressed mermaid sexuality.

Arrived in Gresik around dinner time, ate at a small cafe with two English teachers from my school, one of them is my counterpart which basically means my go-to person at my school and i had met her in Bandung before leaving where she gave me many gifts and was quite silly. So she took a later flight to Surabaya the huge city just an hour away from Gresik and we came together and met up with another English teacher who is a laughing teddy bear of a man around whose tummy my arms were clasped as we then sped off on his motorbike to the school. This was a surprise because i was running on maybe the least sleep ever other than thesis week and was not exactly prepared to meet 20 of my students! Drove up to see a HUGE banner across the school that read WELCOME MISS MIKAELA RODRIGUEZ! Just the beginning.

Luckily was then taken to my house where met my lovely wonderful family and was greeted by a sign reading WELCOME MAKELA and crepe paper streamers, snacks aplenty, rainbows dripping paper cranes, and best of all, a new blue bicycle!


Drifted into deep sleep to be awaken at 4 am by call to prayer blasted into my bedroom as it turns out my house is just across a narrow street from a mosque and there are at least 5 more in the near vicinity, and 20 nearby. love it though, just incredible. Although since i am writing this belatedly and Ramahdan has begun, besides the usual 5 times a day call to prayer there is also a rhythmic reading of the Koran, a native american tribal-like chanting and other such sounds from about 5:30 until midnight every night that can be so loud that in order to talk on the phone from anywhere in my house i have to retreat into the bathroom and request shouting from the other end.

Thursday the next day was my first day of officially visiting my school. Madness. Chaos. Was draped in candy and flower necklaces at entrance pulsing with the student body. Given the same gifts over and over again so that the act could be documented by the very short in stature student photographer who accompanied me throughout the day. I was given a tour of the whole school (about 40 classrooms?) during which several student tour guides would leading me into a classroom, proudly and nervously introduce me and then I would introduce myself and answering the questions “what do you think our school?” “what do you think about indonesia?” “are you married?” and no matter what i said the response was the same, an eruption of smiles and laughter to challenge krakatau and blinding flickering flashes of cell phone cameras. Every few classrooms my student guides were swapped for eager new ones, though the diminutive paparazzi stuck with me, rushing down the stairs ahead so he could take pictures of my sweaty overwhelmed descent and up the stairs for my ascent and so forth. After a dizzying tour, i was ushered into a large air conditioned room with a stage and microphones and was seated with the headmaster, another english teacher, and some other person of importance.



Speeches were delivered, including one about me which included a verbatim reading of my resume submitted with my application which began with the header: “ahem, mikaela lea rodriguez, 113 5th street douglas, alaska, 99824, home 907...” then the english teacher led them in a cheer to the tune of We Will We Will Rock Them with “We Love, We Love, Lea (lay-ah)” i gave a speech that few understood , a teacher serenaded me with what i believe was a tim mcgraw song on his guitar, and we ate. all the while i had to contain my great amusement at the fact that my very formal, conservatively dressed, elderly headmaster, was in fact unknowingly wearing a belt with a shining gold playboy bunny buckle.

Friday morning students picked me up from my house to take me to school as it took me about a week to be able to successfully make my way to school and home without any confusion. At school was greeted by the sight of an sea of shoes into which i happily tossed mine and then dove into beaming hiljab currents, all the teachers were in the front of the huge crowd, shyly fighting for my seat adjacent. Amazing religious singing by students after which i was called on stage to say before the hundreds what i thought of the singing. Then student punk rock band performs and lead singer grips mic as forcefully and casually as only a rock star can and dedicated the song to me which led to the millionth giggle eruption.

Muslim Chinese woman is main event, motivational speaker of sorts from what i can gather. Went on for about an hour, everyone laughing/singing/nodding in unison except me and a 2 yr old girl sitting just in front of me. We play with our toes and glance about with the same small sighs, our ponderings lost to the world around us- like why must we both be wriggling, squirming, in overheated, multilayered, oppressive, skin gasping for breathe discomfort. I, however, am well aware of that the reason behind my physical misery is derived from cultural respect and assimilation but what could this feeling mean to a naturally selfish and indulgent child who continuously seeks out pleasure, who is not yet as socially conditioned to deprive oneself voluntarily of a cool breeze across ones bare skin on an oppressively hot day. The battle played out before me, she pulling up on her dress and her mother pulling it back down to her ankles. Wonder about this struggle for balance in raising own child someday- balance between being modest and unsexual enough to supposedly “successfully” socialize in school and public and their consequent repressed sexuality and shame towards their body. Difficult to imagine raising a child to never even KISS before marriage like they do here!

Later went to market with host sister and bought maybe many mumu’s? Its so freaking hot here every single day! So i now dress often in large batik dresses that are apparently only appropriate for 60 year old sagging grandmothers but could really care less because so much more comfortable!

Then went to Kindergarten Carnaval, which consisted of maybe 80 becaks (bicycle driven little carts that carry people all around town) filled with little kids dressed up so elaborately- mostly in traditional garments of various regions in indonesia but also militia with plastic guns pointed (always disturbing, still want to make giant statue of all childrens' toy guns traded for less violent playthings in form of dove or something – just exactly as typed that fiona apple sang “but then the dove of hope began its downward slope” into my ear—) mermaids, fairies, etc... and they all looked absolutely bored out of their minds. Their parents couldn't get the most of them to even attempt a smile for a picture, and oh the pictures! Not used to having the instant celebrity status suddenly thrust upon me with no validation, no accomplishment, no great good or even scintillating scandal to my name, just the privilege inherent in my nationality and spoken language.