A Wana boy holds up dinner

A Wana home...

Wana kids playing with cassava flour

To most destinations, I carry a camera in an effort to capture the essence of what I experience there. It may be the pure natural beauty of a place, or the faces that reveal the stories that have unfolded there. In others, it is the exquisite and timeless architecture or temples that speak to me. In some, it is the tragedy of poverty and its innocent victims that I choose to record. Regardless of the content, the general experience is that I have been the “observer” rather than the “observed”. 

During my visit to Morowali Nature Reserve to meet with the Wana people, I had a very different experience to that which I have become so accustomed.  For the Wana, who have had so little contact with the world outside of their forest dwelling, my presence in the village was a big event.  Although greeted with shy glances at first, within an hour I had a crowd gathered around me to observe my every move. Every item pulled out of my backpack was examined and discussed. The way I ate my food, made my way into the river, even the way I walked in the forest - every action was watched with the utmost interest. 

Peeking out of the darkness of a nearby hut, a woman lay sideways on a woven mat,  her face just visible under the jagged alang-alang roofline.  From dawn until dusk she remained there, bundled in a worn blanket, just watching. Children gathered round to see the pictures on the screen of my digital camera, giggling madly to see themselves in my shiny black machine.  As I made my way down to the cool green winding river for a “mandi” (bath), they followed along, delighted to see me donning a local sarong and dip down into the water beside their wooden dugout canoes...

On the morning of my departure, Bede, a woman from the village approached me quietly. She asked me a few questions, and I did the same. No, she had never left the forest and is the mother of twelve. She then bared her missing front teeth declaring that she was now “tua” (elderly). She told me that she is just learning Bahasa Indonesia (language) as she has only, until very recently, ever heard her own language spoken. She then gingerly reached her hand out, eyes slightly averted, and handed me a beautiful woven bracelet made from rotan (rattan) from the forest. As I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, I saw her smile and for one brief moment I felt connected, and accepted, in this very different place. From then on, it was as though Bede and I shared a secret, two woman from very different worlds momentarily looking through one lens. 

What a gift to, even just briefly, become the observed. For in those few days, I had no choice but to become acutely aware of my own body language, my voice, and the way my eyes could speak to people. Anything that forces us to look at ourselves, and the way we interact with others, is an opportunity to grow. The essence of culturally sensitive travel, in places where we are pushed out of our comfort zones, does just that. It allows us to look inside and reflect on who we are, and our potential to be the best we can be. 

As I stepped into the tiny dugout canoe, surrounded by the symphony of the early evening jungle chorus, I looked back at Bede with a smile and a wave, grateful to see her toothless grin reciprocating my feelings. 

Some amazing opportunities await you! May you embrace every experience, whether it feels effortless or challenging, with the understanding that it is a chance to learn and grow!

Until we meet in Bali!

Jamie Woodall

Indonesia Program Director

Ubud, Bali

The desert changed me.

As I was laying on the ground looking up at the stars that surround us in our arm of the galaxy, staring into the galactic core, I realized how small we are.

Not just how were are but one planet of seven, one star of trillions, one galaxy of more than thirty in our galactic cluster, one cluster of at least a hundred in the Virgo Supercluster, one of millions of superclusters in the observable universe.

I realized how small we are in time.  I will eventually die of old age.  Humanity may perish from selfish causes.  And if we don't, our planet will eventually be absorbed by the sun in its death throes as a red giant.  Even if we escape this through some miracle of technology, the galaxy will be absorbed by another and the resulting radiation will destroy most life in the Milky Way.  After that, the Universe will continue expanding and energy continue dispersing until there is nothing left but darkness and a slight warmth above absolute zero.

While this is depressing for most, for me it is empowering.  We have very little time to accomplish all that we can so we must do all that is possible in our tiny lifetimes.  I resolve to make a good change to the world, however small, hopefully grand.

It is all I can do in the time I have.

Picture yourself climbing into a pickup truck, surrounded by 16 of your newest and greatest friends, all packed and ready to head into the next chapter of life in Cambodia, and it's totally student led, so the adventures are now in your hands. Pretty exciting, right? I mean, how pumped are you to go to the south coast, to visit two new provinces that you've never been before but only read and dreamed about? I bet you can't wait. But, don't forget to turn around- there is a whole village of faces behind you, faces of families that have fed you and laughed with you and loved you as their own for the past week. And they're waving goodbye, their standing in their pajamas to see you off, perhaps the last time you will ever see them again. Pretty dang emotional, right? That's how I, and probably most of the group, felt as we left Prek Pedao yesterday. It already feels like more than miles are between me and my host sisters, the ones that took me to school and made me demonstrate how to dance to rap in front of the whole class. (I didn't know you danced to rap...but that wasn't a suffient excuse, and certainly didn't stop me from raising the roof a little.)

Holding on to the memories and the bonds made in Prek Pedao will be a challenge, just as forming them in the first place was. But one of the most useful revelations I gleaned from my time in Mara's village was that sometimes, there have to be multiple stages of settling before finding that inner-peace. And it does exist- it is possible to find yourself sleeping above chortling pigs and waking to what feels like all the monks in Cambodia chanting at 5 am, and totally adjusting to that lifestyle. It may feel foreign at first, just the like bum gun did when you had only used toilet paper before. Just like eating white rice every single day, just like having your first conversation in a new language, just like making a new friend from the opposite side of the country, the opposite side of the world. There are degrees of change in every new place you visit, every new experience. This past week, I was surprised to learn that most of those degrees have to take place within my own self. Adjusting to life in Prek Pedao was subtle for me- I didn't understand where I was until I stopped trying to find the answer. I think it took me three days to arrive in my house- three days to let down my guard and stop trying to be culturally appropriate or gracious or polite, and to relax enough to let those things happen naturally. But in the middle of the week, I remember looking at my host mom, and seeing her for the very first time. Her eyes told me that she understood where I was internally, and she wanted to meet me there. We found a way to communicate through simple ways, a hug or a piece of fruit or sometimes just a smile.

There are different stages of settling into a new place. "Settled" doesn't necessarily have to be perfect language skills or complete understanding of your surroundings. I learned how to be settled with just a smile, and waving goodbye was just as difficult, and all the more meaningful.

To my Beloved, and long neglected, YakYak

I find it hard to talk to you now, it seems we have grown apart. When was the last time we talked? Twenty days ago? When was the last time I hugged my mother and told her I love her? Things here have been busy, and its especialy hard to type with tears in my eyes; I hope no one else in the cyber notices, as I already stand out with my T-rex french braids and toubab complexion. Why am I crying? This is not a question of a physical phenomenon, but a question of heart. Actually, to be more specific, of change of heart.

Today we left Manchankani (there is no way I spelled that correctly), the village where we had been staying for entire week. I will try to describe my family in ten minutes: Boubacar Seydi, father. Quiet, serene, wiry, shy. I gave him my running shoes, but I dont know if they fit him. Was he offended? Do I give gifts or help to actually benefit others, or is it to gratify my own selfish desires? Someone once told me there is no such thing as altruism; I fervently hope he is wrong. Fatoumata Balde, Boubacars second wife. Probably the most beautiful woman in the village, she is an amazon. Tall, serious, strong, intimidating. When I first met her I was terified, but now I think we became friends because we eat almost every meal alone together. Speaking of food, my go-to word this week was `rice'. Like the village idiot I will gleefully shout out words like "goat!", "house", "breast!". People usually laugh, which is all I ever really want. Speaking of laughter and lack of communication, I was speaking with a very wise somebody today whilst lying facedown on my bed drearily pining for my nene. We were wondering why it is sometimes easier to make connections with people who you cant even talk to. Any thoughts, dear YakYak? It is because the silence is more comfortable? Do we idealize people because we dont actually know them? I definitely idealized village life. In fact, I almost felt guilty for enjoying myself in the village. "Oh how fun, I get to pound millet for twenty seconds". Thats someones entire life. Who am I? A condescending runt of a traveller. 

Oh right, back to the family. The one last person I want to mention is Nene Balde. The kindest, most graceful person I have ever encountered. And what had I done to deserve her uninhibited affection and care? I brought some bouncy balls for her malnourished grandchildren. Great. One day, she literally washed my hands for me. She tucked me in at night (or, my mosquito net). Today, she stuck her hand through the bus window as we were driving away. I wanted to give her eternal happiness and endless sugar for her tea, but all I had was a sad look and a weepy hug goodbye. I didnt even know how to say I would miss her in Pulaar...

Well, YakYak my love, enough sentimentality for one day. I am off to eat fried dough balls and mangos and I am already starting to cheer up. Typical.

Love to all my family!