Canada Day, Medan style
Trip Start
Jun 02, 2007
1
18
47
Trip End
Ongoing
Medan, North Sumatra,
Indonesia
Monday, July 9, 2007
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do.
It was a few days before Canada Day when I got the message that would change the course of my life from carefree Toba tourist to teacher of English in the concrete jungle.
I was savouring avocados picked fresh off the tree (mm, buttery but juicy), and talking to Blume, the manager of Samosir Cottage, when he received an sms on his handphone. It was from Jeannie, a teacher at the Australia Centre, an English-language school in Medan. They were looking for new teachers and she had asked him to put the word out.
I don't know what possessed me, but in my usual impulsive way when I get a fresh whiff of adventure, I told Blume I was interested. He gave me Jeannie's number, and when I called found a friendly, relaxed voice on the other end, with a Canadian accent, no less. It even had that chill West Coast vibe to it. I agreed to come to her house in Medan on July 1.
Since this would be my first experience as an English teacher, I went to AJ, a tall blonde university teacher from Thailand and veteran in the English teaching game, for advice. AJ and I had spent hours perched at Duan's bar, talking about everything under the sun, from music to languages to the politics of southeast Asia. On his list of required questions:
Is accommodation provided? How far is the school from the accommodation? Are transportation expenses provided? How much time would I get for lunch? Where is it available? (In developing countries sometimes there's no food for miles.) How many days a week would I work? How much overall time is required per week? What is the procedure for producing curriculum? Are teaching resources available (if so, what are they)? What age groups would I be teaching? White boards or chalk boards in the classroom? (Old-school chalk irritates the skin and gets everywhere, AJ said. I recalled my cantankerous old ninth-grade math teacher who was always rubbing chalk on the seat of his pants.) And last, but definitely not least: Do the classrooms have air conditioning?
AJ bid me good luck as I set off on the next leg of my Indonesian adventure. I had one last iced cappuccino at Popy's, and told him and his family we would meet again one day. Sampai jumpa lagi. Then Duan saw me off at the dock, and I gave him my biggest Canadian flag sticker from the dollar store in Capilano Mall. As my ferry pulled away and chugged off to Parapat, car horn blaring, he waved it at me and smiled. With a pang (maybe a heartstring in B-flat), I realized I would miss him.
The five-hour bus ride from Parapat to Medan was hair-raising, uncomfortable and hot, with eight passengers, including four restless children, crammed into one minivan. The bus driver was a chain-smoking maniac, and the old grandmother next to me kept crushing me against the door as she slept, her head jerking violently against my shoulder every time the driver swerved to overtake a vehicle on another hairpin turn.
It seemed fortuitous that the day of my arrival was Canada Day. I arrived in Medan in one piece, though I felt like I was going to pieces, especially in the infernal heat of this dusty, traffic-fouled city--it was almost 45 degrees. When the bus driver finished trundling the other passengers around to various points (it took two hours), he then proceeded to get hopelessly lost in the maze of streets in the TASBI compound, a gated community for the more privileged classes. I had to take deep breaths to keep from losing it. When we finally pulled up to the gate of block JJ, I couldn't have been more relieved to see a Canadian flag hanging limp in the breezeless tropical heat. Sanctuary at last!
A tall Amazon of a woman with long long hair and strikingly high cheekbones emerged in the soft light of the setting sun. "Happy Canada Day!" Jeannie said. "Welcome to Medan."
Her house was filled with works of art. Long Batak weavings and bug-eyed masks of tribal kings and queens hung on the walls. Coconut bowls carved with orangutan faces and flowers adorned the shelves, along with one of Jeannie's own carved emu eggs, from when she was an emu farmer on Vancouver Island, with a gecko climbing up it.
Lounging on the plush tan leather sofas were a mix of Indonesians and westerners-Immanuel, a guide I met in Bukit, tall and slender as a jungle vine; Karyn, a bubbly blonde teacher from Australia; Mahmud, a local teacher with the looks of a male model and a devilish sense of humour; Allistaire, a distinguished old Brit, retired from teaching but still a forestry consultant in North Sumatra; Willem, a young Bob Marley look-alike from Nias Island who is like Jeannie's younger brother; and Jeannie herself, presiding over the party from her special chair, queen of the castle.
As cans of the ubiquitous Bintang chilled on their Canadian flag coasters, we "talked to Bob" and sang Indonesian songs to the strum of guitars. Jeannie's been in Medan six years and knows all the songs. She even broke out her special 12-string for the occasion, and sang songs by Iwan Fals, the Bob Dylan of Indonesia. The son of a military family, he rebelled against his father's corrupt politics during the 70s, even going to jail for his beliefs, and has had the respect of Indonesian people ever since. As Jeannie told me about Iwan, I couldn't help but notice she had the looks of Canadian singer Joni Mitchell and the voice and political leanings of Joan Baez-Jeannie must have been some flower child, all that long hair flowing past her guitar.
I was just getting in the groove of it all when it came to an abrupt halt: suddenly all the lights went out and the fans, a constant necessity to stave off the heat, ticked to a standstill. Without hesitation, beads of perspiration sprang from my forehead and I began to wilt. Amid the flurry of Indonesian that ensued, I detected the words "mati lampu."
"What's mati lampu?" I asked the darkened room.
"It's when all the electricity shuts off," explained Jeannie. "Typical of government corruption in Medan. They do it to sections of the city, usually for four hours at a time, but you never know where or when."
Not to be deterred by this minor setback, Karyn, Mahmud and I amused ourselves by going outside and picking hairy red rambutans off Jeannie's tree, splitting them open and eating their sweet white fruits. Inside, Immanuel lit the candles, casting a warm glow that made our gathering more intimate than artificial light ever could. He and Willem played guitar as we sang Three Little Birds, our shadows jumping and flickering on the walls, the Batak carvings, the wall hangings, the emu-gecko egg. Then Jeannie picked up her 12-string.
O Canada, our home and native land
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
My first Canada Day, Medan style. By far it was the most memorable yet-a chord in C major, perfect for a wild, developing spirit like me who has just settled in a wild, developing world. Now that I'm in a country so utterly different from my own, I feel more deeply Canadian....an island of Canadian-ness in a tropical stream, an ambassador for friendliness, racial tolerance, rainforests, and snow. Now if I can just stand the heat!
