Sleeping Around

Literally, of course... let's not assume any untoward euphemisms.

The house where I teach, and where I've been living for the past several months, is very old. Pieces of the bamboo floor have been breaking all year, and in the more recent past, huge rainstorms have caused the family who owns the house to usher everyone out and into a neighboring house for fear that the wind might make it collapse. I've been pretty lax about the whole thing, but upon completion of the small house they've been building since my arrival, the girls and their 10-year-old twin brothers, who I stay with, have moved in there. With Amek, Apak, and their older sons now more or less permanently located at the farm house, I've moved back into the small wooden house attached to the school, where I lived for the first two months in Ampangan Woh (until I was told to stay with the family in the main house).

Once my adult students (specifically the women) found out that I was, once again, staying on my own, they took it upon themselves to open their homes to me (often against my wishes and despite my protests that I am used to living on my own). Therefore, my last couple of weeks in Ampangan Woh have been characterized by staying in various neighbors', friends', and students' houses. While I certainly don't mind staying in my own little wooden house - and have, to be honest, enjoyed the privacy, of late - it has been fun to spend more and more time with other people in the village. It has also been a chance to have lots of fun discussions about Semai culture and beliefs, and share things about life in the Western world.

One night, we were talking about burial customs. My friend told me that Semai people are buried right away - within 24 hours of death - so that they can return to the Earth as soon as possible. Once their bodies are separate from their souls, they want to give the body back to where it came from immediately. She then went on to explain the mourning customs: no one can laugh or smile for one week, lest the spirit of the dead see them and feel that no one really cared for them at all. Much better to let them know that they are missed. Friends and family of the deceased also can't brush their hair or change their clothes for that week-long period of mourning, and they are not supposed to work. My friend asked me whether "white people" are buried or burned when they die. I said that people in my country can choose for themselves: some people are buried, and others decide to be cremated. She asked me why people would want to be cremated, and I told her that there were a lot of reasons, but that sometimes, if people are organ donors, they decide to be cremated afterwards. That opened up a whole new can of worms. As the only organ word I know in Bahasa is "heart," I explained that if one person is sick, and another person dies, the doctors can take out the heart of the dead person and give it to the sick person. My friends' eyes nearly popped out of their heads. So if I die and doctors take my heart out, then I can live again? I said, "no, no, only the sick person who gets the heart can live. So if I die and you are sick, the doctors give you my heart, and you become healthy and I am still dead." "And if I have your heart, then I can speak English? And I love what you love?" It was a very complicated discussion, that lasted several hours, but it was fun to exchange ideas about something as meaningful as all that - I feel like I so rarely discuss things like that anymore, as approximately 90% of my conversations center around food. (Teacher, have you already eaten? Teacher, what did you eat? Teacher, who did you eat with? Teacher, are you already full? Teacher, have some tea.)

Only a few days after that, I was invited to stay at another friends' house. It was the day before the Chinese New Year holiday, and nearly everyone in the village had gone back to their farms. With so few of us left, two of my friends, their husbands, and their daughters (ages 6 and 11) pooled our resources and had a nice dinner together (fish, vegetables, rice, chilies) that culminated in a late night chat around the fire with cups of tea. My friend was explaining Semai superstitions to me. She told me that if someone invites a friend to come somewhere or do something, and plans are made and confirmed, but on the appointed day the friend backs out, the first person runs the risk of getting hurt, unless he or she brings along a piece of clothing belonging to the friend. She lifted up her skirt and showed me a long scar on her calf. "That's how I got this. My mother and sister were supposed to come with me into the jungle to take firewood, but they didn't come." Just a few days ago I heard a similar story, and saw a similar scar, and last week, as I was settling down to eat with another friend, a neighbor came by with fish to share. We already had quite a meal in front of us, but my friend said that if we didn't eat the fish, both we and the neighbor who brought it to us would be in danger. We ate the fish.