Avet Vagari: I suppose this is why the call it the rainforest

I guess there’s no denying the rainy season any more. The days are cooler and the nights are freezing – I mean sweatshirt weather – and like clockwork the sky darkens in the early evening and we get a couple of thunderclaps and then the downpour starts. It’s really cool to look out the window where we can usually see the road and the hills behind it, and see only a cloud of grey fog. When the rain is accompanied by a thunderstorm (it generally is) we can almost guarantee a power outage, and even when the power stays on, we turn off all electricity, because the family is afraid of lightning-induced thunder. I don’t know if that’s possible, but I suppose in a house where the rain comes in through the gaps between the bamboo slats that make up the walls it’s a good idea to turn off the outlets. After one storm the other day, one of our three computers stopped working. I can’t be sure it’s related to the rain, but the timing makes it seem likely.

The rain also keeps students out of class, as the walk to the house/school becomes a muddy and slippery mess, and for the students whose walk from the part of the village that sits below ours can take about an hour, demanding attendance in a thunderstorm is simply unreasonable. When the power goes out, too, class must be cancelled. Unfortunately, this has resulted in our holding only half of our classes last week. Fortunately, I am finding things to do. Elma is a teacher in training who spent eight months in the southern state of Johor, actually not too far from Chaah, training with another American teacher. After the classes there graduated, she decided to finish out her contract – another two months – here in Ampangan Woh. Elma is from a village similar to this one, on the island of Borneo, and so she feels right at home here. I am benefitting from her comfort here by tagging along and learning from her. When we can’t have class, Elma and I spend our time building our relationship with the community, another important part of our job. With Elma here to play translator when necessary, I’ve been able to become a lot chattier with the family I am staying with.

We’ve also spent a few mornings walking a short ways into the jungle where we can pick some things for lunch. I am of little to no use in gathering plants to eat – everything just looks green to me – but Elma knows enough about plants from her village to be helpful. We’ll be walking back from a river bath and pass a plant that I wouldn’t have looked twice at and she’ll say “oh we can cook this” and an hour later it will be lunch. Last week we were invited to walk up to a fruit tree to help bring back fruits to eat and sell.

A favorite story in my family that gets told and retold at every appropriate opportunity involves a ski trip we took once when I was maybe eight years old. If that. I have no personal memory of the event, so if the details are off, blame the retellings. The gist of it is that up we went – my cousin and I trusting our parents to get us safely down and suddenly we were not where they thought we were and the only path down was a slope much too advanced for our young ski skills. I made it down only by sitting down in the snow and scooting down, shouting, “it’s impossible! It’s impossible,” until I found myself on even ground.

I don’t have jungle feet. I have city feet. And walking down from that fruit tree felt just like that ski trip – I slipped down the whole way, staying upright only by grabbing onto bamboo and banana trees the whole way. On the bright side, the intervening decade and a half has allowed me to see the humor in the situation and I was able to laugh right along with everyone else as I clung to tree after tree to try (sometimes successfully, sometimes less so) to remain upright. City feet. No one can blame me.

Last night we had a social night in the village. Part of my job includes community development and engagement projects each month, so sadly, that had to involve some kind of party. To build confidence, another important part of the program here, my kids’ class performed four songs they have been practicing in class and, as though the people of Ampangan Woh need any encouragement to work together, we had everyone help to cook. We made fried rice and fried noodles (I cooked solo in a wok for the first time) and although the organization provides a budget of approximately 100 USD monthly for such events, I was amazed at the generosity of the people here, who took it upon themselves to collect money from each household to fill in the gaps on my shopping list. In a place where money is so lacking, I was overwhelmed by the kindness and self-motivation. Although in true Malaysian manner the evening got underway about an hour late, and people continued to arrive four hours later, we had a great time, playing games – which the adults were as excited as (perhaps more than) the kids about – and eating and watching the performances. At some point, someone asked if he could get his guitar and he and his friends could play, to which I answered “of course” and then the social night dissolved into a dance party for the whole village. We danced until around 2 in the morning, when Amek worried that some guests from another village might start a fight and ushered us back to the house. A few friends gathered there and ate more fried noodles, and then we headed to bed. Today we have no obligations, as it is Sunday, so the family is just relaxing and munching on leftover food, with regular brewings of coffee and tea.