Today is my last day in Indonesia. By the time I land back in the United States, it will have been 45 days since I last happened on American soil. I will have touched ground in five different countries, including my layovers in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Tokyo.  I will have stayed in seven different hotels, visited three regencies on the island of Sulawesi (including the island’s three major municipalities: Makassar, Palopo, and Pare-Pare) and travelled countless hours by car.

This also means it will have been 45 days since I last blew dry my hair with a hair dryer, straightened my hair with a flat iron, or wore an ounce of make-up. There will have been weeks without hot showers and days where I didn’t use a western toilet.  My “office” will have included a desk in the Maryland MSS office, a desk in the Makassar MSS office, a desk in various hotel rooms, the lobbies of hotels, the living room of a farmer’s home, and the soil of a cocoa farm. I will have eaten my first rambutan, langsat, and snake fruit and drank both avocado and eggplant juices. I will return to the States a little tanner, but also red from mosquito and ant bites.

Through it all I was guided by an amazing driver who kept me safe on the dangerous roads of Sulawesi, and a fellow student who not only supported our research with his invaluable translating skills, but who started this experience as a colleague and ended it as a friend.

I have learned so much here in Indonesia. I now know how to identify when I am about to sit in rooster manure, and to look up and identify the tree before I sit under it (because if one sits under a coconut tree they are putting their lives at risk from plummeting coconuts). I can now identify the smell of raw cocoa beans drying in the hot Indonesian sun long before my eyes confirm what my olfactory awareness senses. I know how to side-graft a cocoa tree, how to prune properly, and I know about the various phases of the cocoa value chain that takes the cocoa from being a seed in the pod to the chocolate we eat.

More than my newly acquired cocoa knowledge, I have learned more about developing countries in Asia, Indonesian culture, the Islamic religion, and about cross-cultural business and relationship building. But perhaps most importantly, I learned a lot about myself and what I am capable of.

But now my time here is up. While I have enjoyed every moment here in Indonesia, I can’t say that it hasn’t been difficult at times being half a world away and a 12 hour time difference from everyone I know and love. I am certainly eager to get back home to the U.S. And though my work here in Indonesia is up, it continues for a few more weeks upon my return to the States. I must finalize loose ends on my research, organize all my thoughts and findings, and hopefully pull together stellar deliverables to provide to management at the MSS office in Maryland

As I prepare for my departure to the States, many people have asked me, “What is the first thing you are going to do when you get home?” I know that after two days of flights from Makassar to Durham, as soon as I walk through my front door I will head straight for the shower (yay for consistent hot water!) and will then enthusiastically curl up under the sheets of my very own bed. After what I hope will be hours of uninterrupted sleep, I want to enjoy a home-cooked family dinner with my wonderful roommates on our back porch. Guess I am just a simple girl - with a newfound appreciation for chocolate.

Thanks so much for following my blog as I experienced this journey.

Terima kasih Indonesia!

I had every intention of using this posting to tell you about my failed attempt to find Diet Coke on the island of Sulawesi. If you’ll recall, in one of my very first blogs I set forth two goals for my trip. Sadly, my goals weren’t in search of insightful, educational, or life changing experiences while here in Indonesia, they were relatively simplistic.

1. Witness a legendary Makassar sunset
2. Find a Diet Coke

Just a few days ago I had come to terms with that fact that I would not succeed at goal number two. I actually didn’t think they had Diet Coke on this island. The only thing I can find is Coca-Cola Zero, and it is a luxury in and of itself as it is not commonly available. What follows is the story that led to my surrender.

The other day I went for a two hour walk/run for exercise down the relatively rural road that our hotel lies on. There are no gyms at the hotels here in Palopo, or anywhere in Palopo for that matter. So my workout routine consists of irregular runs, long walks, the exercise band, and jump rope I packed in my suitcase.

The road runs parallel to, and overlooks, the Latuppa River where many of the local children play in the water as it tumbles over large rocks, where the women wash clothes and rugs, and where many people bathe. In the backdrop, are the mountains lush with palm trees and greenery.  The smell of families cooking fried chicken or fried rice and fire pits burning trash fills the air. Motorbikes driven by old men and 8-year-old boys go zipping past. Horns honk to alert of their passing or to call out to the “bule” running down the road, sometimes I am not sure what the symbolism of the honking is.  On Sundays, typically the only non workday of the week, families gather outside their homes to enjoy relaxation and conversation with their children, spouses, and friends.

On this day, after my exceptionally long period of exercise, I decided to treat myself to a soda. Post-exercise, I began what would be a failed, 30-minute quest for a Coke Zero. I knew I had no hopes of finding a Diet Coke, but I thought a Coke Zero was a realistic possibility. Every few meters of my walk meant the passing of another kios (a little shop, often in the form of a small, wooden shanty selling) draped with staple items such as soap, shampoo, flour, sugar, toothpaste, cigarettes, and bensin (gasoline), and of course sodas. But with every kios I passed, I became a little more dispirited. Most kios’ only sold Coca-Cola, Sprite and Fanta.  I probably walked past 10 kios’ without succeeding in my pursuit of what was seemingly becoming the illusive Coke Zero. As I made my way back to the hotel, I realized I had given up. I was not going to find a Coke Zero near my hotel, and I was certainly not going to find a Diet Coke. I decided that one of my next blog posts would inform you of my failed mission.

However, I am happy to announce there is breaking news in the hunt for Diet Coke! Today as I sat eating dinner with some of the Mars management team, I turned to answer a question posed to me by Frank Mars and as I looked down at his place setting, there sat a shiny, silver can of Diet Coke. I might have gasped out loud and asked him with fervor, “Where did you get a Diet Coke?” He told me he had bought them in Makassar and brought them upcountry with him. He pointed to the end of the table and I turned my head to gaze in the direction in which he was pointing. There at the end of table was a stack of glossy Diet Coke cans like manna from the heavens.

As the end of my trip nears, I fear there is less and less for me to blog about. I have officially finished with the “primary” portion of my research involving one-on-one interviews with cocoa farmers, so from here on out it there will be a lot of surfing the internet for secondary research, sending emails, and making phone calls. Not the type of things that one wants to blog about or that you want to read about, I am sure.

Tomorrow night a group of the Mars Symbioscience management team from both the US and Indonesia will begin their brief stay up-country, so it will be nice to have some familiar faces around. Especially familiar faces that speak English!

I am going on Day 36 here in Indonesia, and aside from my first week in-country visiting touristy Bali and the up-country farmlands with some of the Mars management team, there hasn’t been a lot of opportunity for me to use my English. Other than a greeting smile, a shake of the hands, a brief “Apa Kabar” [How are you?] and “Terima kasih Pak” [Thank you sir], I don’t talk much with the farmers. Certainly, it’s not from a lack of wanting to communicate with them directly but a by-product of the fact that I don’t speak Bahasa Indonesia and they don’t speak English.  So I rely heavily on Boe for our communication with farmers, field facilitators, government officials, and every day interactions such as grocery shopping.

And even with an excellent, bilingual colleague by my side, communication is still frustrating. Our research requires us to ask certain questions and get certain answers, and its no where near as simple as having a list of questions in front of us and translating them to the farmer. Not only can there be a cultural barrier in the way I have structured the wording of my questions, but neither Boe nor myself are farmers, nor have we had experience in cocoa before this summer. So it’s not as cut and dry as simply asking the question and documenting the response. Sometimes you have to ask the question two or three times because the person you are interviewing goes off on a tangent when responding. Other times you must re-word the question because its meaning gets lost in translation and the farmer seems to be answering a different question entirely. Or my favorite is when you ask a question, you think the farmer has understood the question and answered it to the best of their ability, only to learn 30 minutes later (as they answer a different question entirely) that now the story seems completely different and you have to go back in clarify what you thought to be true.

At the end of the day, I just want to sit down, chat, and laugh off the frustrations of the day in my own language. And sure, Boe speaks English and we do laugh a lot about the eccentricities of our day, but communicating with a non-native speaker can be a mission in and of it self. When chatting with Boe, I have to ensure I annunciate, avoid slang and euphemisms, and speak at a slow pace in order to give Boe time to process what I am saying. This is a very difficult task for a girl who typically banters at lightening pace with slang words such as prit (pretty), comf (comfy), strugs (struggling), and drive (jerk) [I’d like to thank my fabulous roommates for helping my vernacular to regress to that of a 14-year-old, valley girl].

Then in response, Boe sometimes struggles with understanding the point I am trying to make and even communicating his own message. Don’t get me wrong, his English is great and he has been a rock star at conducting research, but after awhile I begin to realize how much easier it is to converse with a native English speaker.

In fact, the other day while I was eating dinner at the restaurant on-site at our hotel, the female cook came up and starting chatting to me in the best English I have heard in weeks. She used to work in the tourism industry in Bali so she had plenty of opportunities to practice. She and I must have talked for about an hour because I was so happy to just chit-chat.  Needless to say, I crave English.

The last few days I have spent a lot of time driving in the car and out in the field connecting with farmers, which means there is not much exciting to report. It has just been the typical work day. Well, I guess its not that typical considering I am in Indonesia, sitting on the dirt of cocoa farms surrounded by flies, ants, and mosquitos attempting to communicate with individuals who don’t even speak my language. But this, for me, has become the usual.

Since there are no recent adventures for me to illustrate with words, I thought I would take advantage of this relative un-eventfulness  to give you more insight into my daily interactions with Boe. Given that he is the only person I encounter on a day to day basis who can communicate with me in the same language, but yet he comes from a very different culture, he and I have what I find to be some very amusing interactions. I have highlighted some of them for you in previous blogs, but I have a couple “Boe and Courtney” anecdotes that have become my favorite.

For instance, one day during one of hour many hours of driving, Boe asked me if I had ever heard of Clemson University. Growing up partly in the Southeastern United States, of course I had heard of Clemson. I was surprised he had heard of Clemson. “Yes,” I told him. “Clemson is in South Carolina, which is the state directly South of the state where I live.” He seemed please that I knew the university he was talking about, and then continued, “So what does it mean ‘Go Tigers’?” I think I might have unintentionally giggled out loud at this question. I explained to Boe that most major universities in the United States have a mascot and school colors. I also explained that many of the larger universities have sports teams that compete against one another and in order to “root” for your team and show school spirit, you wear your school colors and cheer for the mascot. Mascots, school colors, and university sports teams were a foreign concept for him.

There was another occasion when Boe and I were out in the field interviewing farmers that I often replay in my head and laugh at. We were approaching a farmer who had just agreed to speak with us, and the farmer sat down on the cement slab in front of his house that served as a porch and as I was about to follow suit, Boe turned to me and said, “No, no. Wait for a chair.” I consider myself a pretty easy going girl who is not afraid to get dirty. I had no qualms about sitting on the dirty ground to talk to this farmer. So I said to Boe, “Boe, I think sometimes we might just have to suck it up and get dirty.” He quietly chuckled and said, “Do you see that?” while pointing to something on the ground I was about to sit on. “Yes,” I replied. “And that?” he pointed to another spot nearby. “Uh huh,” I said. “That is fresh rooster manure,” he explained while giving me a look that clearly said ‘are you sure you still want to sit there?’ “Oh. Perhaps we should wait for some chairs.” Dirt is one thing, rooster manure is another. I laughed on the inside thinking about how “tough” I thought I was by just making do and sitting on the ground. Guess he showed me.

Another one of my favorites was also during a car ride. Boe asked me, “What does it mean ‘bananas’?” I thought that was a weird question. I knew that he knew what a banana was. He had taught me how to say banana in Indonesian so I could go to the market and get some fruit. Again, I laughed, “Boe, it’s a fruit. You know that!” He responded, “No. No. Not the fruit. What does it mean ‘Let’s go bananas’.” So I tried to explain to him that people often say, “I am about to go bananas” as in “I am about to go crazy.” He didn’t get it at first, “So ‘let’s go bananas’ means like ‘let’s hangout’?” he asked. It took a couple iterations of my explanation in order for him to finally get the meaning, but I think he finally got it. 

There are plenty more stories like this. This is what day in and day out are like for Boe and I as we try to work together, get to know one another, and understand each other’s cultures better.

Since I arrived in Sulawesi, the one place I keep hearing about as a “must see” during my time here are the villages of Toraja, up in the mountains about an hour and a half drive from my current location in Palopo. Even last years’ Summer Associates told me I had to visit Toraja during my time here. Toraja is known for its unique architecture, ancient traditions, beautiful landscape, and extravagant burial rituals.  It has been on my to-do list since Day 1 but, for one reason or another, my trip kept getting pushed back.

I was bound and determined to get out to Toraja, and this week will be some of my last few days in Palopo before I head south to Pare-Pare for a short stay. So it was now or never.  I had heard about Toraja’s incredible funeral ceremonies and hoped to be able to witness one myself, so I texted Melly, a good friend of Mars Symbioscience and a native Torajan, to see what day of the week might be the best for a quick visit. On Saturday Melly had informed me that there would be a buffalo fight on Monday at 3pm, but she wasn’t sure about the funeral schedule and would look into and get back to me before the end of the weekend. At end of day Sunday, I had yet to hear back from Melly and therefore made the executive decision to follow through with my plan to head to Toraja on Monday. At least I would know that I would get to see a buffalo fight if nothing else.

Monday morning Boe, Yasin and I left for Toraja at 8am, and after spending an hour driving around looking for gasoline (there is not a consistent supply here like there is in the U.S.), we were finally on our way. I think every time I have posted about one of our journeys I mention how absolutely beautiful the scenery is, but I think the road from Palopo to Toraja takes the cake. Yes, its another road so narrow and snake like that I often had to close my eyes and think happy thoughts in order to prevent a severe case of motion sickness, but when I could keep my eyes open the lushness of the landscape was stunning. It was just a pure spectrum of jungle greens, virtually uninterrupted by the typical homes, kios, and car exhaust that line other roads.

Our first stop upon arrival into the town of Toraja was the market area. I felt bad dragging Boe and Yasin around as I did the typical tourist shopping, but the woodwork here is incredible and integrates (what I would soon learn) were the traditional symbols of Torajan architecture and culture: the sun, the rooster, and the water buffalo. I stopped in a little artisan shop and found the most beautiful wood carvings. I had yet to purchase any souvenirs during my time here in Sulawesi and I found two wood carvings I just had to splurge on. While I am quite excited about my find, my favorite part of the Toraja market experience was when I made a stop over to the mini-market to grab a snack. At the check-out counter there was a sign that said something of the like, “Due to the shortage of currency from the Bank of Indonesia, we have a small supply of coins. In some instances your coins will be replaced with candies.” Ha! What?! Instead of giving me the change for my purchase, you are going to give me candy? That would just not fly in the States.

But any who, I digress.

After the market, Yasin drove us to one of the heritage sites with a mock village consisting of the traditional architecture of Torajan homes and rice barns. The traditional roofing of such structures are arched to resemble the horns of the water buffalo and are detailed with amazing wood working, carvings, buffalo horns, buffalo heads, and symbolisms of the sun, rooster, and buffalo. Behind the mock village is a slippery walkway that leads you to a burial site. The graves range from large, house-like mausoleums decorated with wood carvings and traditional symbolism, to tombs carved into the mountainside, or coffins dangling on a platform from the mountain wall. Skulls and bones line the rocky steps around the mountain and the detailing on some of the coffins is just incredible.

From the village, it was on to find the buffalo fight. Melly had told us the buffalo fight would not start until 3pm, but Yasin seemed eager to get us there much sooner. I didn’t really understand why at the time, and he simply explained that I would want to see the preparation of the buffalo fight. I figured Yasin knew better than I did, so I would just go with the flow. Boy I am so glad I did! It turns out the buffalo fight is a piece of the traditional funeral rite (if the family can afford it) and prior to the fight there is a two hour ceremony. In this particular instance, the person that had passed away was a relatively noble woman, thus meaning her family had (or was at least willing to spend) the money on an extravagant funeral in her honor. In speaking with some of the local gentleman I learned that a funeral like the one I was about to witness could cost a family billions of rupiah [approximately 8505 Rupiah to 1 US Dollar]. It was like nothing I had ever seen before.

At the beginning of the ceremony, there is a procession of water buffalos guided by men leading a rope connected to a ring through the animal’s nostrils.  Some of the buffalo would be used in the fight, some seemed to just be part of the process, and one unfortunate creature would be slaughtered in front of the crowd as an offering. After the buffalos were tied to their posts in the central grounds, up from the bottom of the hill came a substantial amount of men carrying an ornate casket on a platform of large bamboo sticks. As the men climbed the pathway they hollered and chanted, and bounced the casket around in what seemed to me a disrespectful manner. It turns out this seemly discourteous behavior is a symbolic performance representing that this the last opportunity they will have to “play” with the deceased.

Behind the men who carry the burden of the extraordinary casket, is a succession of women carrying meter after meter of a red banner tied to the end of the coffer. The women shake the banner over their heads and the sunlight catches its brilliance and makes it seem metallic. When the procession reaches its destination, the casket is laid on a platform underneath a four post wooden canopy in the shape of a traditional Torajan roof.

Once the casket is settled, it is time to move on to the slaughtering of the buffalo. I admit that I did not partake is this portion of the festivities. I did walk to the slaughtering arena with every intention of being fully present in every aspect of this experience, but before the machete sliced open the throat of the bull I just had to walk away. Even Boe, who stayed behind to witness, was nauseous and pale after observing the butchery first hand. Seeing his reaction made me glad I did not stay.

With the casket rested and the buffalo slaughtered, it was time to move to the fighting ring (ring is a lose term as the arena really only had two opposing fences and was open on the ends) to watch the buffalo fight.  The amount of people that had gathered to watch was almost overwhelming. I had to climb on top of a large rock in order to have the chance of catching a glimpse of the fight. The venue was certainly not safe, and I had moments where I thought I might have found myself in a situation where I would be trying to out run a beastly, water buffalo, but it was amazing to have the chance to be a part of such a unique experience.

With that I offer my apologies for the extremely long blog post. I know I have been absent for awhile  so I figured this could make up for the stories I haven’t posted over the last few days. Toraja was so remarkable that I wanted to share all of it with you. Prior to my departure into the mountainous village, all I had expected from my short visit was the opportunity to do some brief sight seeing that included witnessing a Torajan buffalo fight. What I didn’t realize was that the buffalo fight was a small piece of the Torajan burial ritual and I would have the opportunity to be part of  one of the most amazing cultural experiences of my life. I hope that my words have done my experience justice, if not, perhaps some of the pictures below can illustrate better than any of my words can.

Photo: Me and my new boyfriend at one of the burial sites.

Photo: Some women from Flores who wanted to take their picture with me.

Photo: Procession of the bulls

Photo: Procession of the casket

Today was another day of driving down barely passable roads in search of farmers willing to assist me with my primary research. The last couple of days, however, I feel like I have been continuously striking out.

The process of connecting with farmers here in Sulawesi is a unique experience in and of itself. The islands of Indonesia are divided into various political/administrative subdivisions. Just like in the States we have states, counties, and cities, Indonesia has regencies, sub districts, and villages. Upon arriving at a new village (it should be noted that there is typically no clear indication when you have left one village and are entering another, so often times I have no idea when we have entered a new village), I must first seek out the Kepala Desa (the village head). I must meet with the Kepala Desa to not only seek permission to speak with farmers in his village, but to ask for his assistance in identifying farmers to speak with. Over the last two days, however, finding a Kepala Desa has proved to be a daunting task.

Each Kepala Desa has an office in the village (the Kantor Kepala Desa) that is somewhere along the main road, but I have yet to find a Kepala Desa in their office. After determining that the Kepala Desa is not in the office, in fact sometimes no one is in the office, we must search for local villagers who can point us in the direction of the Kepala Desa’s home. Upon stopping to ask for directions, the villager will point us left or right, whichever way they believe the correct direction to be, and we will continue driving until finding some inclination that we are drawing nearer. Often times we have to stop again and ask another villager if we are heading in the right direction. Sometimes they say yes, and sometimes they point us to the direction we have already come from. Just as there is no clear marker dividing villages, there is no clear marker to identify the home of the Kepala Desa. In fact, yesterday I learned that some Kepala Desas have two homes (hence the reason for being pointed in various directions when in search for one Kepala Desa).

When we finally arrive at the Kepala Desa’s home, I have learned to not be surprised when he is not there either.  So then we must search for the Kepala Desa’s secretary or the Kepala Dusun (the political official below the Kepala Desa). Sometimes we have even had to visit the office of the Camat (the head of the sub district; the official higher than the Kepala Desa).

By the time we have finally connected with an appropriate official, the day seems halfway over and I am drained. The only thing that keeps me going is the opportunity to speak with the farmers, experience their warm smiles, traditional hospitality, and listen to their unique stories and experiences.

After writing my last blog entry about Boe’s curiosity about American culture, my friend Lauren was curious to learn what types of questions Boe asks. I was trying to describe to her several of the conversations Boe and I had had during our long car rides. One of them struck her as particularly interesting so I thought I would share.

The other day Boe asked me about what Americans typically eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He had this preconception that Americans didn’t like to eat rice and that we eat bread with every meal. So I began to describe to Boe the fixings of my daily meals. When I mentioned that I often eat baked or grilled chicken for dinner, he turned to me and asked, “Is your chicken male or female?” I looked at him puzzled by this question. I had to ask him to clarify what he meant, and so he rephrased it, “Is the chicken you eat usually a hen or a rooster?” I sat and thought about it for a minute and then replied, “I actually have no idea.” Perhaps this shows how naïve I am about the food I eat when I think that I am relatively educated about what I consume, but I felt it was safe to assume that most Americans probably do not know the answer to this question either. When we walk into the grocery store, head to the poultry section, and pick up a package of chicken breasts, were those chickens male or female? Is a certain percentage of packaged chicken male versus female? I honestly had no idea. I proceeded to tell Boe that I believed that many Americans are disconnected from the food they eat and aren’t overly familiar with how their food gets from farm to fork.

It’s incredible how much the Indonesian and American culture differs in this way. For the most part, Indonesians know exactly where their food comes from. The rice is from the rice paddies that line the road that is farmed by their family, their friends, or their neighbors. Their fish comes from the ocean or the plethora of fish farms throughout the countryside. Their fruit and vegetables come from the trees and plants they grow in their yard, or for city folk it at least comes from the trees and vegetables from nearby villages and sub districts. As we drive down the road, Boe can point out every tree and tell me the type of fruit (or vegetable) that grows on it and what its used for and, as I mentioned in a previous blog, I can’t even identify a mango tree when I grew up around one. When we eat chicken in a restaurant, Boe can tell me if it was a wild chicken that was probably running around the road just days or hours before, or if it was a chicken raised for food.

So this brings me to another one of Lauren’s questions. She asked me what the best part of my experience has been so far, and my answer to her was this: It’s truly an incredible and eye opening experience to feel so connected to the food supply chain. I feel relatively connected to the food I eat here on a daily basis. I am pretty sure that the chili sauce that I ate with my fish tonight for dinner was made in the same kitchen where it was served, and that the chilies were probably purchased from one of the farms down the road. And I could hear the avocado juice (my new favorite thing) being blended by the restaurant staff right after I ordered it.  The rambutans that were gifted to me on a welcome plate when I checked into the room probably came from the rambutan trees on the hotel grounds.

Not only do I feel more connected to Indonesian food, but being here has allowed me to feel more connected to the supply chain of the food that I have consumed around the world. I mean, for starters, I spend every day talking with the farmers who grow the cocoa that ends up in the M&Ms, Snickers, and Milky Ways we Americans grab as a snack from the gas station or pass out to trick or treaters on Halloween. Indonesian rice is not only likely to be what I eat in Sulawesi, but it is probably the source of the rice I have eaten in Hong Kong and Singapore as well. Every day as I am driven down the rural, village roads, I get to witness rice being tilled by bulls and water buffalos, and I see the cocoa beans drying on mats in the Indonesian sun. It’s pretty incredible to feel so close to these processes, and yet slightly shocking to be faced with the reality of how far our food travels to reach us. It makes me yearn for the point in my life where I will own my own house with my own garden so I can be responsible for growing some of my own food and eating seasonally. 

I have spent so much time in my previous posts talking about myself, and my experiences here in Indonesia that I have not really taken the time to introduce you to Boe (pronounced “boy” with a slight “ah” at the end, boy-ah; though most of the time it just sounds like “boy” when people say it). Boe is a 24-year-old, undergraduate Summer Associate working for Mars Symbioscience this summer. He is 4^th year student at the University of Hasanudin in Makassar. His faculty is Cultural Science and his degree is in English Literature. He is originally from the island of Flores but has “island hopped” over the course of the last 10 years (while  his parents stayed in Flores) in order to improve his education.

Boe is extremely smart, and his English is some of the best I have encountered in this country outside of the Makassar office of Mars Symbioscience. I knew right away that we were going to hit it off when he wore a “ stop global warming” t-shirt on the day we headed up country (and so far I have seen two other “green” or anti-change shirts in his wardrobe collection).

He has a very curious personality, and is always asking me questions about the English translation of words, their meanings, and American culture. His inquisitive nature is much appreciated as it keeps us conversing during the many hours we spend in the car, which would otherwise be filled with awkward silence. And boy do we spend many hours in the car. From the main city of Palopo, where we are currently staying, it can take up to 3 hours to get to the sub district and villages where we need to conduct interviews with cocoa farmers. Then, once we are in the village, it can take 30 minutes to get from one farmer’s home to the next farmer’s home because we often must drive down extremely narrow, sandy, rocky, dirt roads.

And as much as Boe learns from me, I am learning from Boe as well. Every day I learn new Bahasa Indonesian phrases and explanations of cultural peculiarities. For instance, it seems every man here smokes cigarettes, but I have never seen a woman smoking. Boe has explained that it is not culturally acceptable for women to smoke, it’s more of a macho custom. He has also clarified the reasons for the different colored license plates on cars: yellow is a public vehicle, black is a private vehicle, and red is a government vehicle. He has explained that they don’t say “text” here when referring to text messages, they say “SMS.” He works hard to help me understand Indonesian politics and the organization of the different political/administrative boundaries that divide the island. One time when he started whistling in the car and suddenly stopped, he turned to me and asked if it was rude to whistle. “No not at all,” I responded but then instantly asked, “Is it rude to whistle here?” And he explained that in Sulawesi whistling is not a problem, but in Flores (his native island) it is not acceptable to whistle at night because it is believed that whistling in the nighttime is only done to entice ghosts to materialize.

It has been really great getting to know Boe over the course of the last two weeks. Despite our significant cultural differences, we have a lot in common, apart from our affinity for t-shirts with environmental mottos. For instance, we both have an interest in motivational, non-fiction novels about average people who go on to do great things in life, so we have been able to suggest books for one another to read. We both also love mellow music, so I introduced him to Jack Johnson.

Boe plans to apply for scholarships that will allow his to his extend his studies in the United States for a few months next summer. I hope he follows through on his intention and that those whose job it is to determine his suitability for the scholarship see in him the same potential I see in him. It would be great to one day have the opportunity to host Boe in the United States and show him bits and pieces of my culture as he has done for me here in Indonesia.

Photo: Me and Boe on a recent harvest of cocoa pods

Photo: Some cocoa farmers from the North Luwu regency

I have been away from blogging, yet again, due to my travel to the more rural parts of Indonesia as part of my research. This time I traveled with Boe (my counterpart from Universitas Hasanuddin and trusty translator), Zainuddin from CSI, and our incredibly talented driver Yasin (if it weren’t for such amazing drivers, I don’t think I would survive the roads of Sulawesi, they can prove to be incredibly dangerous).

We ventured East from the urban city of Makassar to the rural villages of Malino and Sinjai so that I could interview farmers that currently strip the bark that is used in MyCocoaPaper. Our first stop was the mountainous region of Malino.  And if I thought the drive from Makassar to Palopo was beautiful, I think the drive to Malino may have been even more stunning.

Our four-wheel SUV, cautiously climbed the narrow, winding roads up the mountains into Malino. Again, I commend Yasin for his efforts. The roads in this region are so narrow that at times it is literally impossible for two cars to pass each other at once. On one side of your car is the rock wall of the mountain side and on the other side of your vehicle is a steep drop-off. One wrong move and the car could go toppling over the side of the mountain. So when you encounter an occasion where two cars need to pass, it is up to one car to move in reverse until they find a piece of road just wide enough to let the cars pass without side swiping one another.

While interviewing farmers I typically spoke with the husbands, whom were the primary farmers, while their wives sat quietly beside them or in the corner of the room. While most of the farmers had children, they all seemed too timid to show their face to the Caucasian, blonde, foreign, female sitting in their living room. The children would sit in a hidden corner of the house, whispering and giggling, but never coming close enough for me to say hello. Or in some case, never showing their faces at all. I only knew they were present from the sound of their nervous laughter in the next room. This was the first time I had encountered children who were not curious enough to approach me.

After interviewing  a handful of farmers in Malino, we set up for the evening in a local hotel. Zainuddin is originally from Malino so he knew just where to take us for some local entertainment: the pine forest. As we pulled into the entrance to the forest, the humming of motorbikes filled the air and I noticed a crowd of people. When I asked Zainuddin what was going on he informed me that this was the location of the motorcross track, and there was currently a race. As we approached the crowd to participate in the on-looking, the pre-teen kids would turn around, stare at me, then tap their friends on the shoulders and point me out. One-by-one people started to stare and point. The more people stared, the more I became uncomfortable so I decided to go explore the forest on my own.

As I walked through the forest I stumbled upon an area where about 75 people dressed in army fatigues seemed to be going through some sort of training. Before I knew it, there was a man dressed in fatigues chasing me down. I thought he was coming to tell me I wasn’t allowed in this area, but the more I tried to communicate with him (neither one of us spoke each other’s language) the more I understood that he just wanted to take a picture with me. Soon, I was posing for pictures with several members of the Indonesian army. When I grew exhausted of posing for photos, I began to move on. No sooner had I thought I found a quiet trail did I turn around to find three young girls following me, taking pictures of me with their camera phone. When I turned to try to talk to them they just ran away.

It was hard for me to understand Indonesians curiosity towards me. Back in the states we are exposed to such a variety of skin color, hair color, eye color, ethnicities, languages, etc that we often don’t know what it is like to encounter someone who appears completely out of the ordinary. Some of these villages in Sulawesi are so remote they rarely experience tourism, so it is thus uncommon for them to encounter Caucasians such as myself. They even have a term for white people: “bule.” In fact, it’s so uncommon for them to encounter English speaking visitors that the only terms they know for addressing me are “sir” and “mister.” I am rarely, if ever, called “miss” but I can’t even keep track of how many times someone calls me “mister.”

After my two day trip to Malino and Sinjai, we made the six hour trek back to Makassar to rest before heading up country to Luwu and North Luwu, which are about an eight hour distance from the main city.  After being in this country for almost three weeks, I have mostly interacted with the naturally dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired Indonesians. It hasn’t seemed weird or foreign, it just “is.” But I didn’t realize until today how accustomed I had become to only encountering Indonesians. This morning as I was sitting in my hotel lobby in Makassar, working from “home,” I saw a white woman with blonde hair staring at the pastry counter, trying to select a sweet dish. I had to hold back the urge to call out to her, ask her name, find out where she came from and what brought her to Makassar. It seemed so foreign to see this blonde, pasty woman in the lobby of my hotel. She seemed so out of place. And then it hit me: this is what the Indonesians feel like when they see me show up in their village. I finally understood.

I have been in Indonesia for almost two weeks now, and today will be my last day working from the Makassar office, at least for the next few weeks while I head up country to the farm lands. Of course my last meal at the MSI cafeteria ends up including one of the more indecipherable dishes I have had during my time here.

Each day at the MSI office, lunch is served around 12:30 p.m. ( I actually don’t really know what time lunch is served because someone usually has to come remind me lunch is ready and prompt me to leave me desk, but it's usually around this time). Lunch always consists of white rice, a vegetable side, protein in the form of chicken or fish (sometimes both), another random side dish,  krupuk (prawn crackers) and dessert.

I have come to realize that dessert in Southeast Asia is traditionally some sort of fruit, which if you know me then you know I firmly believe that fruit and dessert are two very separate categories of food that should never overlap. I don’t do peach cobbler, apple pie, strawberry cheesecake, etc. etc. I want no remnants of anything healthy touching my sugary treat. The desserts of past lunches in the MSI cafeteria have included bananas, nagasari (a banana and coconut cake-like substance wrapped in a banana leaf), and papaya.

Today, however, in the dessert section was a bowl filled with what appeared to be a murky, brown liquid. I politely passed on the dish and made my way to a table filled with fellow co-workers. Of course just as I was finishing my meal, my co-workers looked at my spot at the table and assumed I had forgot to grab dessert. So they kindly brought a bowl to my place setting and then stared waiting for me to take my first bite. Before sipping from the spoon that sat soaking in the murky water, I dared to asked my colleague sitting across from me to explain what it was that I was about to eat. It’s “bubur kacang hijau” she replied. Ha! I couldn’t even repeat back to her what she just said, let alone determine what exactly that meant. So of course I had to ask her to explain and she then translated it to “green bean porridge.” Perhaps I should not have asked. Green bean porridge certainly didn’t sound like dessert to me. She then went on to explain there was also brown sugar, sticky rice, and coconut milk mixed in with the green beans. Hmm…it was sounding more and more enticing by the minute (yes, you note sarcasm here). I didn’t like fruit in my dessert, so I certainly didn’t want a vegetable or legume in it either!

Not wanting to offend my new friends, I begrudgingly took a bite of the lukewarm “porridge.” With its soggy, half liquid, half solid texture, my taste buds were pleasantly surprised. The beans and sticky rice added a firm consistency found at the bottom of the brown liquid. It was subtly sweet with a hint of coconut, and I surprisingly finished the whole bowl. Green bean porridge was not a culinary displeasure. In fact, if placed in front of me again, I would eat another bowl in its entirety.  It was with the  last bite of my bubur kacang hijau that I realized I had yet to blog about my gastronomic experiences here in Indonesia. I certainly have a lot to say about Indonesian food so I’ll try hard to write about it more.

Photo: Green bean porridge at its finest.

Don’t let the title of this entry fool you. Today my blog has absolutely nothing to do with M&M’s or anything that remotely relates to their famous marketing slogan. I needed a witty title to draw you into today’s blog entry. So if your reading this, I can make the assumption that it worked!

Today was my second day working from the Makassar office of Mars Symbioscience Indonesia (MSI). I have to say, working in the office has been such a welcome change from working from my hotel room for the past week or so. While I enjoy the opportunity to work “from home.” I have really enjoyed being surrounded by people and experience the cultural environment here.

The MSI office reminds me quite a bit of both the Mars Symbioscience office in Maryland and the Mars, Inc. office in Virginia. It is one large, open space filled with desks, none of which are separated by walls, doors, or cubicle like structures. Everyone’s desk is in this room, even upper management. In fact, I can’t tell who is superior to who or if there even is superiority in this place. And while this means you can see and hear everyone’s activities, it also means that the office is open to collaboration and conversation. When Febri cracks a joke across the room, I benefit from his sense of humor. When Dian, the receptionist, let’s out a contagious burst of laughter, I find myself smiling too. The office is not only colored with images of M&M’s on the walls (okay, so I lied when I said this entry had absolutely nothing to do with M&M’s), but it is decorated with the colorful personalities of the people who staff these desks.

Perhaps this is a result of the language barrier and not being able to understand a majority of the conversation that goes on around me, but everyone here seems happier than most places I have worked. Yesterday morning before the panel discussion, the loud speaker played a remade version of the Black Eyed Peas’ song “I Gotta Feeling (That Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night)” that crooned, “I gotta feeling, that this year’s gonna be a good year.” How can you not start off feeling happy with that lyric purring in your ear? [Sidebar: During the weekly panel discussion, where they discuss factory operations and sample products from the factory as part of quality assurance (I assume), I was invited to taste test cocoa and cocoa butter. Yum!]

When I take a break from staring at my computer and look around the room, there are always people smiling or giggling. I would blame it on a sugar high, but there is no candy to be found around this office (remember you can’t buy Mars candy here in Indonesia). Perhaps it’s the water, but I can’t drink that, so I guess I will never know. Whatever it is, I enjoy the atmosphere here.

Photo: The only Mars candy to be found in this office is behind a display case in the foyer. Looks like it might have been on display for quite sometime, packaging has changed a lot since these pieces of confectionaries went behind closed doors.

Today was a relatively low-key day, in comparison to my other workdays that is. Working from the desk in my hotel room limited the eventfulness of my day, but come dusk I decided to take a break and venture out to the boardwalk-like area across from my hotel to watch these infamous Makassar sunsets I have heard about. Somewhere along my trip I was told that the sunsets of Makassar were recently ranked some of the best in the world.  I am quite skeptic of this proclamation. Perhaps it is because I grew up on an island where I was privileged with colorful sunsets almost every evening, but I decided to make an informed opinion about Makassar sunsets.

The Makassar boardwalk (as I have now coined its name) is still under construction, so in order to sit on the edge with my feet dangling over the water I had to do as the locals do and climb over a short cement wall, balance along a narrow cement slab connecting the wall to the boardwalk, and then find an open place among the Indonesians where I could sit. I pulled out my book and my camera and planned to enjoy the sun’s descent in peace and quiet. However, my fellow Cameroon Crazies won’t be surprised to hear, that no sooner had I sat down was I swarmed by Indonesian children babbling away at me even though I could not speak their language. It’s funny, it always starts with one or two particularly brave children and before I know it I am surrounded by 10 smiling children, none of which I can communicate with but to whom that doesn’t seem to matter. This is something I am known for. While traveling in Cameroon, my friends would joke that I was a magnet for two things: children and mosquitos. Oddly enough, you can find both of those things in Indonesia too!

After the sun set beyond the horizon (I think I will need to experience a few more to determine whether Makassar sunsets deserve to be world renowned), I braved the walk back to my hotel room. Crossing streets in Makassar is like crossing the street in Ho Chi Minh or Hanoi in Vietnam: many cars and even more motorbikes. There is no break in the traffic. You just have to take a deep breath, say a quick prayer, and begin to walk ever so cautiously across the street and hope that the vehicles dodge you because there is no way you can dodge the vehicles.

In retrospect, I think my uneventful day has allowed me to take note of some Indonesian idiosyncrasies that I might not have noticed otherwise. For instance, as I stood in the elevator on my way back to my room I realized there is no 4^th floor. I wonder if 4 is an inauspicious number in Indonesia like 13 is in the United States. Guess I will have to Google that. And, as I stopped in the lounge area to grab a soda I couldn’t find a Diet Coke so I just grabbed a Coke Zero. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a Diet Coke since I have been in Sulawesi only Coke Zeros.  I guess I will set upon two missions while in Sulawesi: 1. Find a Diet Coke and 2. Witness a legendary Makassar sunset.

I haven’t been able to blog much over the last few days because as soon as I arrived at the airport in Makassar, Sulawesi on Thursday morning I was met by Noel, the President Director for Mars Symbioscience Indonesia, and driven approximately 8 hours “up-country,” as they call it, to tour Mars and Mars Symbioscience’s various cocoa sustainability initiatives.

As soon as I hopped in the car, Noel handed me a “survival kit” complete with mosquito repellant, hand sanitizer, toilet paper, an Indonesian phrase book, maps of Sulawesi, pens, notepads, and a “Crops of Sulawesi” guidebook (which had I known I was going to be quizzed on during our drive I probably would have read it more in-depth).

The journey up-country was certainly long, but the scenery was stunning.  Flat rice fields and fishponds hug the main road with a backdrop of palm tree covered mountains (or perhaps they are large hills, but anything above sea level is a mountain to a Florida girl like myself). As we drove the narrow, winding road, trusting our lives with our driver, Noel began to test my knowledge of Sulawesi crops. I fancy myself a tree hugger, but of the 20 or so crops we passed along the road I was able to identify three at most: corn, banana and coconut. I couldn’t even identify a mango tree when my best friend had one in her front yard when we were growing up. I guess I need to work on my plant identification. Perhaps I will be enrolling in Professor Terborgh’s Tropical Ecology course in the spring.

As the day progressed I was able to visit a farmers group in Soppeng, a bark collection site, and a wet cocoa bean processing site that also serves as a Rainforest Alliance certified cocoa bean collection site.

On Friday I awoke bright and early, 4:30 a.m. to be exact, to the sounds of prayer time at the neighboring mosque and roosters crowing.  Our site visits for the day were to include a Mars Cocoa Clinic in Palopo and the Bone Bone School.

The Mars Cocoa Clinic (MCC) offers holistic training programs for cocoa farmers in order to teach them best practices in cocoa management, including soil nutrient management, disease and pest control, pruning techniques, plant rehabilitation and crop diversification. Through the theoretical and practical knowledge acquired via such programs, farmers can apply techniques learned to their own land and ideally see an increase in cocoa tree health and productivity.

The MCC also offers a unique, two-year certification program for “Cocoa Doctors.” I have joked in the past about wanting to have “chocolate” in my job title, and “Cocoa Doctor” might just be my dream job. The cocoa doctor training program teaches a farmer more in-depth knowledge about cocoa farm management so that he can provide farm management and tree health services to other farmers in his region. A cocoa doctor typically has at least two revenue streams, the cocoa from their farm and fees from the services they provide as cocoa doctor. Therefore, Mars is not only encouraging the health and sustainability of cocoa farms in Sulawesi, but they are working to increase the income of cocoa farmers as well.

The final stop of the day was the Bone Bone School. A technical high school that offers a specific concentration in cocoa agriculture in order to teach future generations of Indonesians about proper cocoa tree health and management.

We wrapped up my first visit up-country on Saturday with a visit to another cocoa farm, a Rainforest Alliance sustainable cocoa certified farm, and a Clonal Cocoa Nursery, all before making the long trip back to Makassar. Needless to say, by the end of the three days I was feeling much like you are probably feeling now as you read this and there are two words to describe it: “cocoa overdose.” I spent the three days up-country with more cocoa than I had seen in my entire life, and learning more about cocoa than I ever imagined possible in such a short period of time. I wondered if it was even possible to absorb all of the knowledge I had obtained. It was an incredible experience and I can’t wait to get back up-country to communicate more with the farmers now that my first incident of cocoa overdose has finally subsided.

Photo: Definitely not an unmarked vehicle. Our transport up-country.

Photo: Rambutan. One of the fruits I could not identify along our drive, but after eating it I'll never forget it. It's delicious.

Photo: Planting our first cocoa tree!

The first stop on my trip was Bali where I was scheduled to visit the facility where Mars’ MyCocoaPaper is made. My stop over in Bali began when I arrived at the Denpasar airport but my bag, however, did not. In speaking with Airport Services about tracking down my bag they told me they currently did not know where it was, but if they found it they would have it sent over to my hotel. If after 20 days they couldn’t locate it then we could address compensation for lost baggage. “Twenty days? “ I thought. Twenty days would be almost half way through my trip. I tried to stay optimistic. Fortunately, I had had the foresight to pack 2 extra outfits in my carry on, but all of my toiletries, camera chargers, and the gifts I bought for my hosts in-country were somewhere in limbo.

With a forced smile on my face, I passed my contact information over to Airport Services and took a taxi to my hotel. Until they found my luggage, it looked like I would be doing laundry in the sink or bathtub. No big deal. I have done similar in Haiti and Africa. Besides, I couldn’t let this bring me down. I was in Bali of all places! Beautiful beaches, wonderful people, Hindu temples galore, and so much to explore!

My friends have asked me to describe Bali to them: the sights, the sounds, the smells, and the people.  It has been difficult for me to describe it without comparing it to other places I have been to. From my perspective, Bali is a combination of the best parts of Cambodia, Vietnam, and Miami. If you took the markets, Pub Street and temples of Siem Reap, Cambodia, stirred in the rice paddies and greenery of rural Vietnam, and added a dash of South Beaches bustling beaches and tasty cocktails then you have the recipe for Bali.

As for the smell, I can’t say that Bali has a distinct scent. In some areas the streets smell of the salty ocean, in others they smell of the salty street food, and then there are still other places that just smell of motorbike exhaust. The Balinese people, however, were distinctly wonderful, kind and helpful. To me, they most closely resembled Cambodians with their gentle smiles and respectful bows.

But after three short days in Bali my time here is up. It’s now off to Sulawesi where I will spend the rest of my time. I have heard Sulawesi is extremely different from Bali So I will be interested to experience the nuances for myself.

Oh, and as for my bag? Don’t worry! It was eventually returned. The only thing missing from my luggage was the Mars candy (Starbursts, Snickers, M&M’s) that I had brought as gifts for the Mars Symbioscience team in Makassar (since you can’t buy Mars candy in Indonesia). I guess Mars candy was a hot commodity somewhere along my travel route. Oh well. At least I got my bag back!

Photo: Kuta Beach. Don't let this picture fool you. The beach is busy during the day and particularly packed at night for sunset. I just happened across a piece of uninhabited sand!

As I write this, it’s 5:50 a.m. on a rainy Hong Kong morning and I am already seven days into my adventure as the Mars Symbioscience Summer Associate. I have a five-hour layover here at the Hong Kong International Airport, and given my pre-dawn arrival most of the shops and restaurants have yet to open. So I figure now is the perfect time to type out my first blog entry and introduce myself. 

I am Courtney Lareau, and I have joined the Mars Symbioscience team as part of their Summer Associate Program (SAP). I am now en route to Indonesia where I will spend the next six weeks as part of the SAP.

After graduating from the University of Florida (it should be noted that I am a very proud Florida Gator), I spent the better part of the next three years working for the Make-A-Wish Foundation of Southern Florida (MAW), privileged with the responsibility of making wishes come true. However, during my three years at MAW I discovered that my true calling was environmental preservation through corporate sustainability and social responsibility, and I soon found myself back in school studying for the ability to follow my dream career path. I am currently a dual degree masters candidate at Duke University studying for both a Masters in Environmental Management and an MBA.

An avid traveler, I have spent time studying abroad in Greece, building homes in Africa and Haiti, and recently just came back from Southeast Asia as part of a course at Duke. Now, here I sit, again, at the Hong Kong airport. It’s the third time I have been at this airport in approximately 30 days. I am beyond excited to meet the Mars staff working in Makassar, Sulawesi, Indonesia and be a part of their sustainability efforts. This will also be the longest period of time that I have ever been outside of the United States.

 I hope you will continue to follow this blog and experience Indonesia with me!

*It should be noted that this entry was originally written on June 12, 2011, but due to infrequent internet access it is just getting posted today!

Oftentimes in developing countries, and especially in rural areas where the need for extra hands on the farm is greatest, parents forgo education for their children and instead enlist them to lighten the burden of laborious farm work.  As a result, children never fully realize their true potential or develop the means to help themselves, creating a continuous cycle of dependence.  I strongly believe that education unlocks opportunities for those less fortunate and paves the road to empowerment and self-sufficiency.  Indonesians seem to share the same sentiment and approach towards education, which many feel supports the government’s fifth principle of Pancasila (guiding principles that comprise a philosophical framework intended to govern everyday life), or social justice for all the people of Indonesia.  The result is a strong focus on education as a tool for achieving a higher quality of life.  My inclination is that this emphasis on education may be causally linked to higher than average incomes for these farmers compared to the rest of the developing world.  For example, of the farmers I interviewed, the average daily income was the Rupiah equivalent of approximately US$ 10/day.

On my way to meetings with cocoa farmers upcountry, I would pass large groups of children at 6:30 in the morning on their way to school; it is not uncommon for young children to walk long distances to the nearest school.  This dedication was echoed by their parents, who take pride in financing their children’s education through any means possible, even at exorbitant interest rates from local moneylenders.

It gives me great pleasure to help facilitate farmers’ access to capital through more appropriate channels where financing terms are fair, allowing a larger percentage of the loan to be used for revenue-enhancing farm activities and reducing the stress of repayment that is evident under such harsh loan terms.  With a higher revenue stream from more sustainable farming practices, farmers could then finance their children’s education without reliance on loans. The ultimate goal of my project is therefore to break farmers’ dependence on exploitive sources of funding and provide them with a fighting chance of becoming self-sufficient. 

Pancasila plaque hanging in a classroom

Vocational school in Bone-Bone

Working with vocational students

After a few quick days in Denpassar I’m again flying halfway around the world, but this time I head East instead of West.  Once again I’m adjusting my clock by 12 hours, but backwards, meaning I’m facing 30 hours of travel that begin and end on the same day.  Remarkably, I’ve been upgraded to business class again for my return trip.  Before this trip I had never before flown anything but coach.  Life is good.

All in all, Indonesia was a great learning experience and a much-enjoyed introduction to Asian culture.  From my previous experiences abroad, I was correct on several of my expectations, but there were also many unexpected surprises along the way.  In my first blog I touched on my expectations for Indonesia.   As I return stateside with ample time to reflect, here are my thoughts two months later:    

1. Expectation: Indonesia is a collective, relationship-based culture.  

This one really surprised me.  The Indonesians I met, although very friendly, are actually quite self-motivated and entrepreneurial.  This is one of the few countries where microfinance is primarily focused on individual rather than peer-based loans, and with a low default rate at that.  This reflects a culture where people are self-reliant and often trust their own capabilities over those of others.  The capitalistic mentality of a “self-made man” is prevalent here, and more accurately reflects an American ethos instead to my experience in rural Africa.

2. Expectation: The food will be exciting and new, but nothing will be better than hot wings and Mexican food once I return.

Ok, the food was exciting, but the majority of meals were served goreng, or fried in oil.  After eating fried noodles and rice breakfast, noon, and night I’m ready to give it a break.  Now that I’ve returned, Mexican food and hot wings are not on the top of my list either.  I crave eating something healthy for a change, like cereal for breakfast instead of greasy fried chicken pieces.

3. Expectation: I will make a few cultural blunders, but learn as I go.  It will be apparent I’m not a local and folks will generally understand it’s not intentional.

This one certainly held true.  For instance, both pointing at people and pointing the sole of you shoe in the direction of others is considered offensive, and I caught myself several times.  However, the people I met were remarkably friendly and understood that I was not accustomed to the local culture.   

4. Expectation: Things will get lost in translation.  I will learn at least one new word or phrase daily, but I will certainly wish I could better communicate in the local language.

While my vocabulary improved every day I was abroad, again this expectation held true.  Many of my meetings were twice as long as a result of language barriers, and while Ririn and Melly did an excellent job translating I feel I missed quite a bit due to the lack of common language.  This experience made me appreciate my Peace Corps experience even more, where my two years in Kenya provided ample time to learn the native language.

5) Expectation: Indonesians will be welcoming and friendly.  I will make lifelong friends and walk away with a better understanding of the world around me.  

 Even with this expectation I was not prepared for how genuinely kind and hospitable the people were.  I leave Indonesia with respect and appreciation for the way I was treated, and I hope that someday I will have an opportunity to see how other Asian counties compare.  While the distance may hinder lifelong friendships, the world is much smaller with Facebook, Skype, and e-mail, and I certainly intend to stay in touch with several of the great people I met and worked with during my time in Indonesia.

6) Expectation: I will see and experience things that surprise me daily.

I’ll say this was half true.  I did encounter surprises in my travels, many of which I have written about in this blog.  Regardless, another surprise was how routine and normal things became after my first month on the ground.  I didn’t realize this until now, but my previous travels abroad went a long way towards preparing me for other developing countries. 

7) Expectation: I will contribute towards a project that will make a profound and lasting positive impact.

I am confident this will be the case. Mars has affirmed my belief in the value of private sector sustainability initiatives, and I believe the work Mars is involved with to improve the water quality of Indonesians will be hugely successful.  Although my project was primarily focused on gathering information and laying a framework, I am excited to see where things go moving forward.

8) Expectation: My summer will fly by, and I’ll be on my return flight before I know it.  Indonesia will be missed.

As my previous blog attests, I will miss this experience.  As for time flying by, it’s amazing how long individual days could feel at times, yet how it feels like just yesterday I left for Indonesia.

9) Expectation: It will be great to be home again with family and friends, and I’ll have lived an experience that will better prepare me for whatever life has in store next.

With a stopover in Washington, DC I’m still a few days away from returning home, but I’m certain this will be the case.  

It’s hard to believe I’m on my first leg home.  I’m currently flying to Denpassar, and in a few short days I’ll return to the U.S.  I’m on the same plane that brought me to Sulawesi, and its surreal that time has gone by so quickly.  While my six weeks in Sulawesi went by quickly, I’ve learned much.  I’m more convinced than ever of a need for sustainable, low cost solutions to household drinking water, and my understanding of emerging market distribution models has increased substantially.

I initially found Makassar overcrowded and chaotic, but the city grew on me.  With help from Ririn, Rizky, and Melly, I learned my way around and found several hidden gems.  Mie Titi and Konro Karebosi – two enormously popular local favorites – became my top choices for lunch, and for a quick snack Mama Gintu was always available to serve Pisang Epe, or grilled bananas in palm sugar.  Although served from a rickety streetside cart, I never got sick from this or any other Sulawesi meals.  This was a pleasant surprise; perhaps my years in Africa sufficiently equipped me to handle street food in exotic countries. 

Among other things that surprised me was routine things can feel in just six week’s time.  On my final trip to the airport, I took the same crowded road that provided my first impression of Sulawesi, but it now seems familiar instead of overwhelming.  Even the strangely flavored pastries in my on-flight snackbox have a familiar flavor. 

Overall I’m really excited to head home, as I miss my wife, family and friends greatly. Regardless, I find my departure bittersweet. I’ve never enjoyed goodbyes and Sulawesi is no exception. It is unlikely I will return to Makassar, at least not in the foreseeable future, yet I’ve become friends with many of my colleagues here.  Also, in my time on the ground I developed a comfortable routine, from where to eat to my favorite hotel to a regular sunset run on the beach.  From the mountains of exotic Toraja to the beauty of rural Palopo to the urban madness of downtown Makassar, Sulawesi has been an incredible experience, and it will be missed.

My Final Sulawesi Sunset

With a population of 238 million, Indonesia is the world’s fourth most populous country (after China, India and the US), of which 86% identifies with Islam, making it the world’s most populous Muslim country.  This stands in stark contrast to the 76% of Americans who practice Christianity versus just 0.6% for Islam, making it easy to see how an American could feel like an outsider in Indonesia despite the superb friendliness and acceptance from locals.  It doesn’t help the fact that Islam is generally misunderstood by Westerners.  We tend to think of our “War on Terror” as a war on Islam, forgetting that only a small minority poses a threat and that the general Muslim population vehemently opposes the use of violence.  

In an attempt to better understand the religion, its tenets and the context in which I was working, I engaged in an interesting philosophical conversation with Rizky, a devout Muslim who strictly adheres to its teachings.  It began when I enquired about the green-and-white mosques that are ubiquitous throughout the region.  Much like Starbucks in the US, the first thing you notice here is that there is a Masjid (or mosque) on virtually every street corner, each equipped with a tower that is fully wired with megaphones to pipe prayers across town.  Rizky informed me that green and white are the colors of Islam, green standing for peace and white for holiness, and that most followers strongly advocate the call for peace that is imparted in the Qur’an. 

Even business takes a back seat to scheduled prayer times, which occur five times daily and can last for an hour or more.  Business meetings are adjourned, everyone scrambles to the nearest mosque, and only after prayer obligations have been satisfied can a business meeting be reconvened as if it were never interrupted, almost as if time stands still momentarily.  I was perplexed the first time this occurred (before it was explained to me) because I thought I was being asked to leave in the middle of the meeting due to something I said that was lost in translation. 

I found this recurring situation frustrating at first, but soon came to accept and work around it.  After spending enough time in Indonesia I, too, began planning my day around prayer times, which begin at 4:15am with the first call to prayer over the mosque loudspeakers, a startlingly effective wake-up call.  However, I have cherished this opportunity to immerse myself in the culture and live amongst the locals because it has given me a better understanding of their values and the everyday challenges they face.  You learn to adapt, as I did, but to truly understand the extent to which religion permeates every aspect of life you must experience it firsthand.

Masjid Agung in Palopo (note the green and white pattern)

Prayer dissemination tower

Mosque tower in Makassar (with megaphones visible)

Mosque tower in Jakarta

Along this week, there were many meetings we had. The first meeting was with BAKTI, a big NGO in Makassar that acts as an umbrella organization for other NGO’s.  Although we only met in short time, we can get many contacts there. This NGO was like a Yellow Pages for us :-). The second meeting was with a civil servant from one of the external institutions of government to serve society. For me, this was the best meeting that we had, because what we want to know is how to find the right “partner” and the right way to educate the woman in rural area.  I think this was a good place to come to because they have a perfect way on how to educate the villager, though it must take a long time.   Also, we had a meeting with one of women cooperatives in Makassar. All their staff are women, and mostly it is older women.  I like to see them working, even though they are older they are still productive. I hope I could be like them. The last meeting that we had is with a big distribution company. We held in a nice café, where we could see a swimming pool.  I love this week, because not only Joe and I did everything, but Melly also worked with us. She is a hard worker. Everything seems easy to do with her :-) We always laughing and teasing each other - both Joe and Melly are funny!

And this my bonus “trip” in this week... on Saturday, Joe invited us, Me, Melly and Rizky to have lunch. We went to “Konro Karebosi”.. this is a famous place in Makassar. Konro is one of traditional food in South Sulawesi. We ordered “Konro bakar” (Grill Beef)  and “Sop konro” (Beef Soup) ... all of this food was made by beef. Very delicious and a little bit expensive. :-)  Then we made a plan to go to Malino.. Malino is one of famous mountainous in South Sulawesi, there are many people choose this place for holiday. But i was sorry because i couldn’t go there with Joe, Melly and Rizky, because my parents came to visit.  I hope I get a chance to go to Malino again.

A little background on Buffalo Fighting:  Tana Turaja is the only place in Sulawesi that does this, and it's not a person fighting a buffalo as you might expect.  Instead, it’s buffalo vs. buffalo in a head-butting contest of superiority.  Although pampered, lethargic, and docile, male water buffalo apparently have a mean streak when it comes to the company of other males; when two of these buffalo meet a territorial contest begins, and one buffalo emerges a winner while the other runs far way.  

There is also a symbolic significance to the event.  Buffalo fighting is held during funeral ceremonies because Torajans traditionally believe these buffalo are needed to assist the deceased to reach the afterlife.  The strongest, most clever buffalo will win the fight, and when slaughtered, this is one that will assist the carry the deceased and fight for them.

This is the premise of a Torajan buffalo fight, and the entertainment factor of such an event is enough to draw in the entire town.  The fights take place in the wet rice paddies and people line up by the thousands to watch.  Most spectators stay on the boundaries, but a few wade through the paddies themselves, placing bets and collecting money from spectators.  The paddies are only an acre or two in size and divided by raised paths where the crowd congregates to watch.  Nobody knows in exactly which paddies the fight will take place, but once the fight begins hundreds rush over.  Against the surge of the crowd, it was all I could do to keep my balance on the narrow raised path and not fall into the wet and muddy paddy once the fighting began.

It all happens fairly quickly:  At first the two buffalo feign disinterest in each other, but eventually one buffalo makes his move and the other braces for impact.  The two animals dig into the ground and butt heads, pushing each other back and forth until one of the animals gives up.  This is where a problem emerges, as the buffalo are hemmed in by people.  The retreating animal has nowhere to run but through the crowd, and these buffalo, easily weighting a ton, are not going to slow down for mere people.  The buffalo charges straight for the crowd, and people scurry to avoid being trampled.  Luckily, I avoided any buffalo collisions nobody was hurt.  However, I am told it is commonplace for buffalo-related injuries to occur.

I could go on, but here is where  a few photos are better:

A small part of the thousands lined up to watch the fights.

Two Water Buffalo Face Off

A few things to note about this event: the funeral would last a full 10 days, a time span fit for royalty.  The event had been planned for months in advance, as bodies are preserved and stored until sufficient time and money is raised for a proper send-off.  The ceremony would cost five billion Indonesian rupiah, or over half a million dollars, and tens of thousands of people would be in attendance.  Much of the cost would go into elaborate feasts, including the slaughter of 30 water buffalo and hundreds of pigs to honor the dead and feed the crowds.  The event would be accompanied by processions through the town, music and dancing, and buffalo fighting (more on this later).

We visited the event on day one, which turned out to be an excellent time to enjoy the festivities.  I say festivities because the event was completely different from the formal, solemn character of a typical American service.  To the Torajans, death is a celebration and a transition that is complete only after the funeral ceremony.  Torajans are deeply spiritual and confident that the ceremony marks the beginning of a new journey for the deceased.  

We arrived in time for lunch – pork, water buffalo, and Torajan goldenfish (which sounds exotic but is actually...goldfish.)  Following the meal the procession began, a grandiose parade unlike anything I have seen.  Easily a half mile in length, the parade began with prize buffalo leading the way, children carrying decorative flags, and a truck playing music and carrying the immediate family of the deceased.  The surviving king was the only direct family not in the truck, and was instead carried overhead in a specially designed carriage.  Behind this was a group of men carrying a large decorative emblem, and another group carrying the tau tau, or a wood carved effigy of the queen.  Behind the tau tau was a procession of hundreds of women, all dressed in black, with a long red tarp overhead.  The tarp connected to the casket itself, a beautifully carved piece of art carried by dozens of men.  Anyone is welcome to lend a hand, and I even spent a few minutes acting as pallbearer to the queen.  The procession concluded with another truck carrying a smaller replica of a Torajan style home.  When the funeral ends, this monument will be placed with the casket as a memorial.    

Throughout the procession there was singing, dancing, and festivities.  The casket was recklessly bounced back and forth to shouts and hollers, and water was thrown from the sidelines on procession members.  Hundreds walked alongside, and thousands lined the streets taking photographs and videos of the event.  As the procession wandered for miles down the main road, buses, cars, and motorbikes trailed behind, delayed for hours.   

The procession ended at a large and elaborately decorated ceremonial site, where buffalo and pigs were slaughtered in memory of the dead and speeches were broadcast over loudspeakers for hours.  Musicians were in attendance as well, drumming or playing gospel music on an array of instruments all made from bamboo.  The centerpoint of the ceremonial site was a Torajan-designed platform set high above the surrounding area, and the casket was hoisted up the stairs and kept on the platform for the following day.  

Following the procession and speeches, the buffalo fighting began.  However, I've written enough for one day and will save that for another post.  Let me conclude by saying the funeral procession was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I will never forget, and I was truly fortunate to be part of it.

A Tau Tau, or wooden effigy of the deceased, to be carried in the procession

The procession is lead by prized buffalo from the village and their handlers

The procession continues

The queen's Casket is carried by many...

...and eventually hoisted up to this decorative platform

Standing room only at the ceremonial site

A full ensemble of all bamboo instruments

On Tuesday I felt sick and rested the most of the day to get my health back.  The next day, I felt better. I went to the office for meeting and went to my school. In my school, I met with the director of my English course. I was lucky to meet him. I told him that I needed some information about PKK, and he gave me village chief’s phone number. Then I called the village chief, and he allowed me to meet him. I was so happy. :-)

On Thursday, I went to office again, and was able to get in touch with one of distribution companies in Makassar. On this day, I met with Jesse and Risky too.  We translated a cocoa farmers video into English, not really difficult job, because Jesse helped us to correct it. Thanks Jesse!

The next day, I went to village chief’s office with Rizky. This was a long trip because this was the first time for me to go to that street. I was almost lost with Rizky, but finally we found the office and met with the village chief. I liked him, he was very friendly. I don’t certainly know how old he is, but I was surprised because I thought he was too young to be a village chief.   I got much information about PKK there. They are open to us. 

At the end of this week, I was searching for the contact from the health department and another NGO.   I was lucky again.. I got the contact person in health department from my lecturer at school, and arranged meetings with them. Because of this work, my connections are increasing rapidly.  I love this job.

After finding the information he requested, I sent him data via email. Hopefully this data can be useful to make it easier to interact with these organizations.

Well, it was such an honour working with Jesse. There’s a lot of experiences I got from him. He taught me that if you really-really try hard, all things definitely can be achieved. Nothing is impossible to reach if you work hard to achieve it.

It’s not every day you get to witness a Torajan funeral.  Unlike the somber, mournful occasions I have experienced in the US, here they are joyous celebrations that mark the beginning of the afterlife, involving parades, buffalo fights, ritual pig and buffalo slaughtering, and grand feasts.  They are spectacles that last up to 10 days (for nobility) and are meant to be enjoyed by the entire city.

It’s even less likely that you will be involved in the funeral party itself as a guest of the deceased’s family, but it gets even better.  This was no ordinary funeral, but one for a Torajan queen.  We were welcomed by the king, prince and princesses, and before long found ourselves featured prominently in the funeral procession: as pallbearers carrying the coffin through the city during parts of the 3-hour funeral march!  The rest of the time I spent weaving through a not-so-choreographed convoy of ornately decorated (and ornery) buffaloes.

At the city center we witnessed the slaughter of three massive water buffaloes, standing close enough to get nearly sprayed by the carnage; the sight was a complete sensory overload.  It conjured up images of ancient Roman gladiator battles and ancient Mayan ritual sacrifices, but, more importantly, made me think about and respect the fact that an animal has to give its life every time we eat meat, something that is easy to forget in this modern era where global distribution networks have distanced the consumer from the farm. 

After a raucous buffalo sparring match we slipped into the sunset and the surreal experience ended just as quickly as it began.  It was only fitting that that evening we enjoyed a traditional Torajan dinner consisting of stewed water buffalo and local vegetables: the same meal we sampled the previous night, but this time with a newfound appreciation. 

Traditional Torajan-style architecture

Effigy of the Queen (called a Tau Tau)

Queen's casket

Decorated water buffalo

The casket makes its final journey up the ceremonial platform

 Winner!