Massive Mumblings from Malaysia

Kibbles 'n Bits

I forgot to mention that I met a Japanese girl while traveling who had dropped out of high school (I’m sure that is extremely rare in Japan, where studies and education are stressed so much) and her brother had been in the Yakuza (Japanese mafia)! She was really small and cute, puffing on a cigarette and speaking more Malay then English.

I hung out with Asraff, the guy working at the hostel in Kota Bharu, a lot. Watched some movies, played some cards. It really felt like I was just hanging out in someone’s living room. I met his friend Appy (which derives from Happy, because he always is) who has four moms (well, his father has four wives), the youngest only a few years older than his oldest brother. I had dinner with him and some of his friends at the night market, including a girl that seemed to be almost like a girlfriend and was a boarder at the hostel. Later that night, she came out of her room to hang out with us (me and 5 or 6 Malay guys). She had a towel on her head as her scarf, but at one point took it off (well, let it fall off). I was surprised that she was up late in a social setting with so many guys and that she was showing her hair…Related, when I was in Kuala Terennganu yesterday, I saw a girl wearing a scarf as she crossed the street and the next time I looked up, she’d taken it off and was putting it into her pocket. Later, I saw her again, wearing it.

One morning in Perhentian, I was getting out of bed and feel to the ground. My right leg had stopped working. It was just dead. Then it started to tingle. After 10 minutes, I tried it again and it (thankfully) worked! It was kind of scary and I decided to postpone my snorkeling trip, having visions of being drowned because my legs stopped functioning!

From Rumi: “What is Sufism? ‘Tis to find joy in the heart whensoever distress and care assail it.”

When Harith and I were hanging out, he and one of the guys who work there had what I assume was a really interesting conversation. Unfortunately, it was in Malay, so I only caught snippets. Harith later said that this guy was saying some really high-level Sufi stuff. If only I could have understood! I know that he did say that the rich and the poor are both tested by God and that he’d rather stand the test of the poor than the rich…

I saw a middle-aged Malay man in Kuala Terennganu wearing a t-shirt that said “I survived Jesup After-Prom 1998!”

Opps! Just discovered it’s “Terengganu.” Double G, not N…

Only in India

I just read a story in the New Straits Times, "Holy man on a roll." Literally.

Rolling Baba is a 55 year old, 5 ft tall Indian holy man on a mission to bring a message of peace to Pakistan by rolling along highway there. He started in January, has made it 1040 km so far and has about 800 km left to Lahore, Pakistan. Only, he may not make it past the border since he has no passport or visa.

He started rolling in 1983 and has accumulated about 32,000 km. Before that, he stood for 7 years, leaning against a swing to sleep. Holy men in India have a tradition of testing their devotion with physical challenges such as these.

Some days he makes it up to 29 km on hot asphalt. He wraps bandages around his elbows and knees to provide some protection and endless cups of tea and five packs of cigarettes help him get through each day. He even "developed an impressive technique for smoking as he rolls." People come to him to get blessings and some accompany him on the road. One kicks glass out of his way and holds an umbrella over his rolling body.

He's picked a dangerous, busy, fast-paced highway to roll. "Once a truck was about to hit us. Thanks to the Mother Goddess, it overturned at the last minute.'

Now, after 4 meals and 3 posts today, I think I'll head to bed. Sweet dreams!

Note: I'm posting two today, so don't miss the one below!

East-siiiiide

I've been on the East Coast of Malaysia the last week. First, Kota Bharu, then Pulau Perhentian, then Kuala Terennganu. The east is more Malay, thereby more Muslim and conservative (rural, too). Except on the island.

I am currently in a dark internet cafe in Kuala Terennganu, with really loud computer game sounds coming at me from all directions. I had my interview with a guy at the state's Religious Council yesterday and my flight back isn't until tomorrow. I explored most of the town yesterday. So today I cafe hopped. At breakfast, a Malay man (who had just been horseback riding and was still in his boots) paid for my roti canai and lime juice as he was paying for his. I hadn't spoken with him, but had just been reading. Then, at lunch, a Malay developer/construction guy spoke with me as I was eating (fish and rice, with my hand). And HE paid for my lunch. Wow, small town friendliness I guess! And neither was sketchy!

I met an Australian girl who has been here the last few months, studying and doing an internship at an architecture firm. Sounds like quite a trip: a murder in her building, a suicide, another Austrailan girl nearly kidnapped and hit by a car a separate time. Egads!

She's friends with some Chinese guys who are big into taking 4x4 trips around Malaysia, camping and hiking and is going to set me up with them. It'd be a great way to see the country! And she told me about a great resort on Redang Island here. They stayed for 5 days and 4 nights, went on several snorkling trips, hiking and all the food and boat transfer all cost $100. Not bad! I'm thinking about staying on a beach for a week or so in September...maybe try to write my final paper then!

Tripping me out

I met a guy in Kota Bharu who read my future with some cards (my heart is concerned with money now). And my hands (I'll have a long life). When he looked at the soles of my feet (I was worried they were dirty from wearing flipflops all day!), he sort of laughed and said something in Malay. I asked my friend what he'd said: that I'd go to Egypt. But he'd laughed because he thought that was silly, since I'm an American girl. I freaked out--asking my friend if he'd told him that I had gone, but he swore he hadn't. The guy looked at my other foot and said that I'd go twice. My friend didn't know that I HAD been twice. That totally weirded me out.

The, in Perhentian, I met this guy who said he was there visiting his 19 year old sister who had started a dive shop. I had the strongest sense of dejavu I've ever had. Either someone had told me that he knew someone there that fit that description (in almost exactly those words) or I'd dreamt it. I'm still checking with all possible friends to determine if it was, indeed, a premonition.

This guy, H., is English-Malay and will be starting his Masters at Oxford this fall...to study Sufism!!!!!!! I had a lot of really good conversations with him and his family sounds great. His sister, Sunny, was super nice and cute (and I asked her about her travels around West Africa and Tanzania). There are two younger brothers back in the UK: one talks like Chris Rock and loves hiphop, the other has dreads. He studied at a Taliban school in Pakistan from ages 9-10.5, till his parents got worried at the start of the first Gulf War and took him out.

He'll be in Sarawak (Borneo) the same time I will be, so I think I'll be traveling with him and a Canadian girl he met a few weeks back. Yea!

While talking to him one day, a guy from Oregon joined in. He had converted to Islam after spending sometime in the mountains with lots of different books, trying to find himself/the way. He's living in Saudi Arabia now, married to a Malay woman with 5 kids. He trains the royal family's horses!

Shoeless Jill Jackson

Arriving to the island, most of the accomodation was booked up---well, all the cheap stuff. So I had to hike up and down the beach with my backpack, but finally managed to find a dorm for 25 RM/night ($6.5). Expensive for a dorm, but not for the island, and it was brand new and super clean. Food was expensive, too (10 RM/meal).

The island was nice, but maybe not quite the Paradise that had been described to me. I went snorkling one day but thought that the coral was more brightly colored in Langkawi and the Red Sea. But I did see three sharks and two turtles! (40 RM for the trip). And the guys weren't as sketchy as in Dahab, though there did seem to be some female-tourist/local-guy action going on.

One night it stormed. I love lightning on the beach! And in the middle of the afternoon, it started to rain. It was funny to see all the people scooping up their belongings and rushing to the nearest shelter.

The last night I left my flip flops outside the dorm (they were sandy) and when I went to get them, they were missing! So I have since bought two pairs of flip flops, but both hurt my feet, limiting my exploration of K.Terennganu a bit.

Gotta Love It
In my father's words, on Father's day (though posted late)!

Okay, I've delayed writing about Laos long enough! I was there two months ago! Unacceptable! Sorry, but this posting is going to be a lot of listing, taken from the notes that I jotted during my trip.

I think Laos was my favorite place. The people were friendly (my taxi driver insisted on opening my door for me each time I got in). The salespeople in the market weren't pushy (refreshing after the shrill "mister, you buy this" in Cambodia). They often sleep in their stalls in the afternoon heat--there's only just enough room with their merchandise piled high all around them (also in Cambodia). Flowers bloom everywhere and the cute cobblestone streets are without much traffic. There's just a pleasing slower pace of life. Butterflies at the airport. Hellos, but not harassment. Kids playing in the street and riding their bicycles (and a group who tried to talk to me could speak French, but not English).

And I loved seeing all the bright-orange robed monks. Every morning old women (and a few men) line up on the sidewalk in front of their local Buddhist pagoda at 5:30 am, when the sky is only just beginning to pale. They sit on small stools or kneel on colored straw mats they've brought with them. Each one has a folded sash over their shoulder, like a beauty queen almost. The monks collect a clump of rice from each person, putting it in a silver urn slung over a shoulder. They walk barefoot, single file from youngest to oldest, in groups of about 20. Many young men become a monk for a few years and don't seem to be shy to admit it's largely to get free education. Afterwards, they become teachers, farmers, taxi drivers. I couldn't help but think about it as their version of army service.

Middle-aged women whisper "smoke" to the tourists in the market (and they're not talking about cigarettes). I had hearWesternersots of Westerns go to Laos (Golden Triangle) to do drugs, but didn't see it as visibly as I would have imagined. No opium dens that I saw, but a few tourists I took a boat ride to the waterfall with had smoked some pot the night before. And I saw one guy walking down the street that was obviously not in a sober state of mind, clinging a Pringles can in his hand (must have brought those from outside the country).

A group of soldiers play checkers on a board that is part of the big, stone table, using bottle caps as pieces. Another group of middle-aged men, money exchanging hands. About 50 people taking part in an aerobics class in a park by the Mekong River in Vientiane. Like Malaysia and Indonesia, Laos has lots of rock-star types (i.e. men with long hair).

I saw a lot of double-cab Toyota trucks, Lexus SUVs, Landcrusiers. Aren't those expensive cars for such a poor country?! And I found out that government employees, including teachers, only make $15 US/month.

Actually, I didn't see much overt poverty, perhaps another reason for this to be an easy place to visit. There were a few cots with mosquito netting set up on the street, but hardly any compared to Cambodia.

Pumpkin soup--yum.

What's missing in the US? Street cafes, where you can hang out, read, or people watch for hours, buying only a cheap cup of tea. Life in SE Asia is lived on the streets. We're so separate and private!

There was no air conditioning on the flight I took from the capital Vientiane to Luang Prabang. An American woman drove me crazy because she was behaving like a spoiled brat: she was feeling sick and complained in a very mean, rude way about the lack of A/C. She said, "this is a pretty small bag" about the vomit bag in a condescending, sarcastic way. She said that next time she'd take the bus. Since the bus is 12 hours, always crowded, and most likely without A/C, that would hardly be a better choice. It was one of those situation where I felt ashamed of her behavior, even though she was a stranger, because I thought it reflected poorly on all of us.

I had a massage in Luang Prabang (and another in Chiang Mai, Thailand). It cost about $4 for an hour. There were several mattresses on the floor, separated by hanging sheets. It amuses me how they use their whole body (feet, elbows) and one even did a superman flying kind of thing! They provide you with loose fitting clothes, like scrubs almost. But of course not as good as Mom's massages!

Good luck at the Guesthouse

I met Vilay, a Laotian woman, in the airport who owned a guesthouse and decided to follow her to it. It was on a cobblestone street and in an old house that is protected by UNESCO as a heritage site. Only problem is, UNESCO restrictions prevent her from doing some upgrading/repairs.

Her cousin is a teacher and there was a party for his students at the house that night. So I got to be part of the festivities (that was the main reason I decided to go with her!). I'm pretty sure that it was a vocational training school and the students were about 18-20. Some of the teachers I spoke with were only 22 or 23 themselves. The kids prepared and served the food. There were maybe 50 students and I was a bit surprised to see them drinking beer and pink colored wine with their teachers. But I guess it wasn't high school, so maybe not that weird.

Old neighbors came to the house to perform a traditional ceremony. They tie white strings to your wrists, mutter blessings, and rub the place where they tie it on. I got to participate, too! The prayers are for good luck, success, money, etc. and you're supposed to leave the strings on for 3 days. The, the people joined together and touched, so they formed a unit, all connected. The ones in the middle touched the centerpiece, a tower of flowers, rice cakes and sweets. Then they chanted some prayers and ate the sweets.

Vilay is 33 and she has a French boyfriend she met when he came to Laos. I'm always suspect of Western men with their Asian girlfriends, but in the airport I saw a white man with his Laotian wife and he was changing their baby's diaper. Vilay also mentioned other people judging her, but said that she liked Western men because she doesn't like women having to do all the housework, as it is expected in Laos.

Encounters

I met a British woman who was working at a refugee camp just over the Afghan-Pakistan border, doing a lot of psychology work and counseling. The year before she had been in Sri Lanka. She got her MA at the School of Oriental and African Studies, a place I'm considering. It was great to meet someone with similar interests and some work experience. We met up with four other travelers to take a boat down the Mekong to a waterfall, watched a sunset from a hilltop temple (where I bumped into an Iowan guy), wandered the market, and had several meals together. I asked her questions about working in the field, prospect of relationships with this kind of work, and feelings of guilt she might have. She told stories about talking with Afghan men about sex (counseling) and that it was alright because, as a Western woman, she was for some reason viewed as asexual.

We also went to Wat Xeong Thong (that's what my messy handwriting appears to say), where a young monk (who had killed a mosquito while we were talking to him--isn't that against some rule/bad karma?) told us there would be a celebration. There was a very carnival feel to the temple grounds. You could throw darts at balloons, or rings over bottles and win a prize. Bingo and merry-go-rounds. People pouring water over Buddha statues, burning incense and candles and leaving flowers in front of the Buddhas. They'd actually rigged this thing so that you pour water into a container and it runs through some pipes, onto the Buddhas below. Going into one of the temples, monks were selling strings that you tie onto your wrist, also for good luck.

Shelia told me about an informal charity system in Sri Lanka, where people donate money to local businesses (big jars, usually leftover change from a purchase, but also donations), who then give it out to poor people each week. The local shop owners know who is poor, so it eliminates the possibility of non-legit beggars getting money. I thought that it was a bit like local imans of mosques who are used to identify poor people to receive zakat (Islamic wealth tax, the crux of what I'm studying here in Malaysia).

I met an Italian girl who was studying in Penang and was leaving (and forfeiting any credit) after only one semester because she hated it so much. She said that on at least three occassions she saw men masturbating while they looked at her (one from a nearby phone booth, another in his car, not sure about the third).

Back to Thailand

I was in the northern city of Chiang Mai just for a day or so. They have a nice night market, where I bought some stuff. But other than that, it was just a bunch of dark bars with white men and young Thai women hanging on them. I was dying to find a lit cafe where I could just drink tea and read.

I traveled to the western part of Thailand, Mae Sot, which is right on the Burma/Thai border. A friend who had worked at the Refugee Legal Aid Project in Cairo with me was there doing research for the Jesuit Refugee Services about the security and livelihood of the Burmese there. She was living in a house with several Burmese and two other Western researchers. It was very simple living accomodations and it made me realize that I would have to trade in my luxurious condo here for something like that when I go to Africa. I was momentairly worried I wouldn't be able to handle it!

The Burmese women paint their faces with a white powder, sometimes in swirls or other patterns as a form of makeup. The first time I saw it, it was on a little girl at the house and I thought she'd just been playing. But I saw it all over town on a lot of the women.

I collected some documents and a DVD put out by an assocation of former political prisoners to give to Amnesty International's KL office. Lynn, my friend working there, hasn't had a lot of guidance/supervision, but she's hoping to stay for a few more months. It's amazing how the people from the Legal Aid Project are spread throughout the world (one in Ecuador, Nigeria, Costa Rica, etc).

I was only there for one night, two days (sleeping on the floor without a mosquito netting hurried my departure a bit!). I was in BAngkok for a bit (I forget now how long it was!). I met up with Kirill, a Russian who has some connection to the Legal Aid Project, too, though I don't think he ever worked there. I'd met him once when he was visiting Egypt briefly. I hung out with him, a Polish girl, and a Ukrainian guy. I don't know that much about the politics of the region to get some of their jokes/understand the countries' histories/relationships...

And I went back to the beauty salon where I hung out the last time with the 40 year old beauticians, drinking and throwing water during the water festival. I got a massage from one of them.

Whew! Finally finished this post! Yippee! Free to write about current stuff now!

Busted
Drug offenses in SE Asia

21-year old A. was having a cigarette with his friend outside his house in Penang. Around midnight, a police patrol drove by and quickly returned, seeing a chance to make some money. They accused the two of being marijuana-users, particularly because of A.’s dreadlocks. The options: bribe the cops or go to jail. A. didn’t have any money on him and though he said he could get it to them the next day, they carted him off to jail instead. He took a urine test and was told he’d be freed if the result were negative.

For two weeks he shared a small cell with three other men, with no beds, blankets or windows. There was only a bucket in the back to use as a toilet and he wasn’t allowed to shower during that whole time. Stripped down and left with only his boxers for the duration, he has mosquito bites all over his body. A female officer chopped his dreads off. Breakfast was a small biscuit and some tea; lunch was rice and vegetables; dinner, a small fish and rice. He was released on 2000 RM (about $500 US) bail and told to report to court several days later.

I happened to be in Penang during his court date. After having lunch at his house, his brother-in-law picked us up to take him to the magistrate. A. had said the appointment was for 2pm and his brother-in-law didn’t even come until a few minutes past. I didn’t think that boded well, but fortunately we made it to the court before the proceedings began.

If positive, he would face up to two years in prison (for a first offense and that’s not being caught with marijuana on him, just in his urine…mistakes happen in labs and if someone is bribed, I’m sure labels could be switched) or he could get off with just two years of monthly urine tests. I kept thinking, this may be the last time in a long time that he does X, Y, Z. I was feeling really nervous and actually prayed for the first time in a long time. His mother (an adorable woman) had been crying for the past two weeks and couldn’t bring herself to come to court.

We waited in the hall while others were being judged. Then a woman mopping the floors started to talk to A. and told him he could get his result downstairs in a certain office, so A. rushed downstairs to see. Why the police officers didn’t tell him that, I have no idea. His result was negative, so he got the bail money back and has no record. True be told, he did smoke pot occasionally and said that the last time had been only one week before he was arrested. That worried me because I had been told that it can stay in your system for 3-4 weeks. I hope he’s learned his lesson…

The whole situation points out a few problems with the justice system here: being picked up merely for having dreadlocks, corruption, conditions in prison.

I suppose it’s good that we’re not in Thailand though. Prime Minister Thaksin launched a massive crackdown on drugs in the spring of 2003 that raised concern about human rights abuses.

According to one article:

As of February 22 [that’s less than a month into the campaign, which began on the 1st], the following estimates of the toll of the new drug war were available in various news services:

· Between 800 and 1000 violent deaths
· Over 9000 arrests
· 8.5 million methamphetamine pills have been seized
· $350 million in drug-related cash and assets confiscated
· And an astonishing 70,000 people have walked into police stations and turned
themselves in

CNN reported that 2,274 people died by the end of the 3 months. The government claims that the police only killed 35 and that was out of self-defense. The rest were blamed on drug lords having suspected snitches killed. Amnesty International accused the Thai government of authorizing "a de-facto shoot-to-kill policy" against anyone even suspected of involvement in the drugs trade.

Two annoucements:

1) I got a Fulbright extension, so I'll be staying here in Malaysia till the end of October!

2) I'll be back in the US for a friend's wedding in August. After checking ticket options, I think the best choice is KoreanAir, which means I can have a stopover there on the way back for free! Andi, Ian, and Terri--here I come! Can't wait to see you!


Here's a headline--Thai School Gives Transvestites Own Bathroom--that I noticed.

Yesterday I ran into 5 people that I know while I was out'n about (separately). How is that possible?! I don't know that many people here! This doesn't even happpen to me in Iowa City!

In the US we say that when your nose itches, someone's talking about you. I found out yesterday that in England your ears burn; in Malaysia, you cough; in Austria, you burp.

Now: going to have salad (so hard to get here!) at a friend's restuarant and try to find 'improperly' veiled women to go along with my magazine article. But I'm shy to take pictures--I hate looking like a tourist! And feel awkward because I'll have to be aiming at people. Most likely I'll try to make it appear I'm photographing a street scene or building...

Burmese refugees in the Malaysian jungle

I wrote a story for the annual Suaram (NGO) human rights report about the situation for Christian Burmese who have fled persecution, only to be exploited and vulnerable once they arrive to Malaysia. Many have resorted to living in the jungle to avoid harassment.

I just discovered that Malaysiakini (an alternative online newspaper here that cannot be censored since it is only online) has a story about my story.

Read it here. Username: jilljolene
Password: password

An Average Day: Observations from a Jewish American in Palestine
I wish I were so brave

The following are excerpts from a mass email written by Hannah Mermelstein, who has returned to Palestine a second time to do solidarity work, namely to stop The Wall and assist farmers with the olive harvest.

"The Israeli army began uprooting Palestinian trees in the village of Azzawiya about a week ago to make way for the Wall. The village will lose 90% of its land.

We have been spending our time in Azzawiya these past few days. Every day the men, women, and children go out to demonstrate nonviolently. Yesterday, the day I was there, was apparently typical. About 300 of us began marching up the road towards the land that the bulldozers were destroying...the army immediately fired several canisters of tear gas at us, which split up the crowd.

Some went forward, some went backwards, we went into the olive groves below. About 20 of us – Palestinian women, internationals, and Israelis – wandered through the groves trying to make our way up to where the bulldozers were working. The soldiers could obviously see us, because they kept firing gas directly at us, but we couldn’t see them. I’ll spare you the hot journey through the groves, but we did manage to find our way back up the hill.

Soldiers began running at us and we put our hands up and said as loudly as we could who we were and what we were doing there. As they got closer, I started to relax a bit. I am more familiar with face-to-face confrontation with soldiers, and I still have some faith that they are less likely to injure people when they can see people’s faces.

This is also perhaps the most difficult moment for me, though – the moment at which I myself remember that the soldiers are human. How frustrating to ask an 18-year-old kid, “Do you think what you’re doing is right?” and hear him respond, “It doesn’t matter.” “Of course it matters!” we said. “It’s my job,” he responded, “I’m following orders.” “Do you know who that argument didn’t work for?” asked another Jewish international. “Don’t compare,” said the soldier, but without much conviction.

This is completely insane. I want to believe that nonviolence will prevail, that the army will get tired before the Palestinians do, that Americans will wake up and see where their money (over $13 million a day) is going. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I can confidently say that right now.

I can say that Israeli journalists have been responding to our press releases and showing up more than usual, and also that an overwhelming majority of the internationals I’ve seen so far are Jewish. I just heard that an Israeli lawyer will take this case to the Supreme Court tomorrow to try to change the route of the Wall. I implore you to do something to stop this atrocity. Call someone (a friend, a family member, an army, a Congressperson). Organize an action. Say a prayer. Come to Palestine. Do something.

If you don’t, what’s happening here is likely to become another of our many moments in history that future generations will look back upon and say, “Why did people not act to stop this? What were they thinking?”"

PENGON (Palestinian Environmental NGO Network) has good maps of the projected path of the Wall at www.stopthewall.org.

Hannah is volunteering with International Womens' Peace Service.

To subscribe to her e-mail list, send an e-mail to:
hannahreports-subscribe@lists.riseup.net.

Destined

No wonder I travel about so much; this Halloween gypsy costume must have been a cosmic foreshadowing. And that's Zorro; Tyler DID fence in college. And that's Old Mother Hubbard (did you know it went past the first verse?). The relevance could be that Katrina did Teacher Prep...or it could be that she'll be dirt-poor in the future (let's hope not).

Too bad there isn't a picture of Tyler when he was a big yellow schoolbus.



And in honor of this picture (posted on Tyler's website after finding it in a 'time capsule' box left with his friend five years ago), I'm on the move.

To Penang tomorrow. You might remember that as the place where Erika and I peed on Kin after he was stung by a jellyfish, where Erika and I injured ourselves on rocks attempting to sneak into a resort pool, where my digital camera and handphone were laid to rest, and where Erika got her hair washed by a lady boy.

I've no doubt this trip will be just as adventureful.

Hijabed
"Anything in a skirt...or scarf..."

I wore the Islamic headscarf on Sunday as part of an experiment for a magazine article I'm currently working on. I wanted to see if I would be treated differently when I wore it (accompanied by a long sleeved shirt and loose skirt) than when I did not. I was operating under the assumption that women wearing the headscarf received more respect from men—that is to say, were harassed less.

At first I limited my wanderings to the mall, since I’d already begun to sweat in my tank top on the way there, before I had even donned full gear in a empty restroom. After an hour and a half, I was getting restless. (Malaysian malls are the worst, especially on weekends because people flock there to windowshop, see and be seen. The problem is, they don’t walk, they crawl. Soooo slow! I practically trip over them, especially getting off the escalator.) Up till that point, I thought that my suspicions were correct—that covered women didn’t have men treating them as sex objects or saying hello (but meaning oh-so-much-more) to them in the street. I thought that because of their dress and apparent religiousness, they’d be deemed off limits and unapproachable. So far, my theory had been confirmed—and that was a bit boring.

I told myself I had to make it at least two hours. I stopped at a café on the top floor that was fairly crowded (mostly young Malays). I detected a few looks, but they seemed to be more out of curiosity and many of them were from women (mostly unveiled). I’m sure they were wondering where this white veiled girl was from (on campus I tend to be mistaken for a Bosnia, as most white Muslims there are from Eastern Europe—I even fooled a Bosnian. I met only one other American, but both of her parents are Malay).

After I gauged responses under the guise of getting a drink, I continued to wander the mall. I think I ended up checking myself out more than men did—catching a glimpse of myself in a store mirror or the reflection of a window continues to give me pause. Twice I made eye contact with a guy and then noticed him looking back at me, though it wasn’t decisively a sexual look. Plus, perhaps I had encouraged it by establishing eye contact (also, looking back to see if someone else is looking back…you don’t really know who started it). Nobody tried to chat me up. Rather than the typical up-and-down-the-body look from men, I felt fairly invisible, just as I had been expecting. But, that judgment was still premature; I hadn’t given it enough time.

I took my test to the streets and ended up in an Indian Muslim restaurant to get another drink (it was hot, I was thirsty and needed to take another break). It was fairly empty and I noticed one of the workers speaking with the veiled waitress who had taken my order, motioning with his hands and touching his head, with a glance my way. I can’t be sure, but I suspect he was asking her where she thought I was from and using the way I tied my scarf as a possible clue. Eventually, the Indonesian waitress did ask me where I was from and wanted my phone number so that we could be friends (and she mentioned wanting to go to America). The guy at the cash register also asked me where I was from (guessing I was Arab). So again, I got attention, but it was directed at my nationality rather than my sexuality.

Two 'punks' sat down near me and when a waitress at an open air cafe nearby picked up a dead bird from the sidewalk (and took it INTO the restaurant area, ew), I said something to them (like, Ew! why'd she take that in there?!). So that sort of started a limited conversation. After a bit they left, but their friends who had been nearby-ish came and started talking to me; I think they assumed I near their friends. The headscarf on me was a subject of curiosity for them.

Later, I ended up speaking with a family from the UAE, who thought that I was British. Being Arab, they didn’t make the same mistake as the Asians. I felt a certain sense of community/fellowship with other non-Malay women I saw in hijab, often exchanging smiles or nods.

I had made it past my time goal now, but decided that it wasn’t long enough and to stick it out some more. Actually, the longer I wore it, the easier it got. And the results got more interesting.

Back on the street, I was surprised to have a man say to me, just as I’d passed him (they always wait till you’re by them), “Hello, where are you going?” and follow me for a bit. Aha! I had been wrong! I was not immune to harassment just because I had covered. But it’s still difficult to know if it was because I was obviously not Malay Muslim. I suppose it’s possible that it was an attempt to be friendly, rather than fresh, but I didn’t get that vibe.

I seated myself on a bench near a crosswalk where I had once waited for a friend and been the object of many a stares and a few attempts at conversation. This time I got another, “Hello, how are you?” as the man passed by me. Two young Chinese women stood nearby and a sketchy old man blatantly looked at one, dressed in a tank top and short skirt. She noticed him noticing and looked uncomfortable. I felt disgusted, but also unnoticed. It wasn’t until they had moved on and there were no other women nearby that he focused on me and only then for a moment.

I decided to walk a path I was familiar with, (a known gauntlet) from Bukit Bintang to Puduraya and then Masjid Jamek (along the way, I ignored a sudden craving I had for sweet and sour pork—that just wouldn’t do). A few more eyes looking me up and down, a few more words directed at me. Even a kissy noise. It wasn’t nearly as much as if I had been unveiled, but I was surprised there was any obviously sexual attention at all. A group of co-ed teens sitting in front of Burger King greeted me.

My experiment had several drawbacks. One, being white in a non-white country complicates things. It makes it more difficult to tease out the cause for the attention—whether it’s my foreignness more than the way I dress. Covering up my blondeness with a scarf would automatically make me less conspicuous. Perhaps my own theory was clouding my perception, particularly at the beginning. I wasn’t seeing what might have been there because I thought that women in headscarves should/would (?) be treated differently. My perception/interpretation may not have been accurate because I couldn’t be an impartial judge. Ideally, I would have had a friend (preferably Malay, to blend in) observe people’s reactions to me. This would eliminate my need to be looking around, which may have resulted in more looks (psychology studies have indicated that people can sense being looked at—even subconsciously—and are even able to detect which direction the look is coming from).

I often notice one person notice me and then whisper to his friend, who then looks over at me. I think that is a function of my foreignness, though not always. I didn’t detect any of that while I was hijabed.

The day before, I made a point of wearing a tank top and skirt that came to just above my knees, so that I could have a recent basis with which to compare. I happened to run into two of my friends from UIA that day at the mall (a different mall). I had only ever seen them on campus before, when I was fully covered. Seeing myself through their eyes, I felt more naked. And worried that somehow, perhaps, I had disappointed them.

Why doesn’t my phone ring!?
It must be broken….

My phone has been entirely too quiet since I've come back to Malaysia. It's making me wonder it was an illusion that I have a lot of friends here...But I think it's this: because of all the travel I was doing in the last two months, whenever I was back in KL I'd try to squeeze everyone into a very limited time. Now I'm back and there's not the same rush to see everyone. And there's the fact that everyone else may be busy with their own lives.

Also, I haven't reached the point where I make plans and invite people along--I tend to get invited. So when the invitations don't come, I'm alone or bored. I'm handling that better than back in December though, having realized that alone and bored don't always go hand-in-hand and recognizing the value of being on my own--all decisions left to me, without having to consult anyone else. Plus, I've been doing my own work (this week so far: I visited a skills training school funded by zakat money, had another interview with the agency collecting and distributing zakat, and I did an experiment for a magazine article I'm writing--more on that soon!...I find it interesting that everyone I interview asks me 1) if I am Muslim, 2) how old I am, and 3) if I'm married).

I've joined a gym again; it's not as nice as Gold's, but it is within walking distance to my house and cheaper.

And I'm getting antsy. I have to travel to Penang (5 hours by bus) for research next week, but I'm thinking maybe I'll squeeze another research/then beach visit in for the week after...if I can get ahold of the proper people (ones who speak English, especially) and schedule the meetings...That really is the most frustrating part of my work!

Punk'd…or is it Goth?

I'm bad at knowing what music belongs in what music category; likewise, I'm not sure about the followers either. I saw about six teenaged boys the other day in all black, tight jeans, lace-up boots, t-shirts with what I imagine are metal bands…but what really struck me was their makeup. Several of them were wearing black lipstick and others had eyeliner one. One had what looked like a teardrop/line drawn under the middle of each eye. They didn’t seem like they were misbehaving, but I’m sure their appearance makes other people think they’re bad kids. I happened to make eye contact with one and we exchanged smiles (and I was wearing a headscarf at the time even!).

I think Malaysia's getting to feel more like home (no offense, Mom! I don't really mean, home home--that'll always be Iowa!) because I'm finding fewer and fewer noteworthy things. I think that means I've settled in and things are fairly familiar, so they don't strike me as unusual. I hit a similar point when I was in Egypt and basically stopped journaling. I'll try not to let that happen here!

A lethal mix

I read a newspaper article about a Thai man who died because he ate a lot of durian and was a known alcoholic. I asked around and I guess it's common knowledge not to mix the two. Something about the gaseous durian and fermentation of alcohol in the stomach can cause it to burst? I'm not sure of the exact science of it all, but just another reason to avoid the durian. (And now that I'm thinking about it, I don't know if durian is one of those words that is both singular and plural, or if I should have pluralized it as durians...)

When?

Questions that touch on any aspect of the temporal often get the same answer here in Malaysia: last time.

As in, "Do you go there a lot?" "Last time."
Or, "He's rich, isn't he?" "He was last time."

It simply denotes sometime in the past, but is sooooo unspecific! It always makes me laugh. It usually means at least several years and in the second example above, before business dropped.

Frustrations running high

So, I've been doing well on my resolution of being productive, but today I hit a wall. I actually attempted to do those things on my list of to-dos that involved other people...specifically people I wanted to interview for my Fulbright research. I called one place and after the receptionist spoke Malay to me, I thought I was put on hold and waited a good while, only to discuss that she had actually hung up. Then I called a shelter that I wanted to visit---had been told by a previous interviewee that I ought to---and was told first to write a letter, but after I explained more, she said I had to call her director to get permission. So I called the director, but he was on vacation, so I had to talk to someone else, but he wasn't there right now and might not be later, so I was told to try after lunch.

ARGH!

No wonder I haven't gotten more done.

I've found some good materials at another university that I'm not affiliated with, but I'm circumventing university library BS by borrowing a friend's ID.

Update: I got in touch with one of the people I wanted to meet, who then told me to contact his personal assistant to set a time for our appointment---only she didn’t speak English. After getting passed around to several people, I got the man back who I had wanted to meet. And I also managed to schedule a second meeting for next week, too!

Forgot

One of the movies I watched on the flight here was "The Perfect Score," a movie about six high school students stealing the SAT exam with a very "Breakfast Club" feel to it. In any case, I found myself identifying with the characters, having been a recent victim of the LSAT. The final words of the movie, "That's right, baby! Standardize this!" I couldn't agree more.

Cut

So you might remember that I have two long-haired bassist friends. One cut his hair off after having dreads for three days because his head itched. I just discovered yesterday that the other one cut his hair out of boredom with his life a few days ago. Reminds me of a certain procrastinating sophomore several years ago...

Punctured

I hadn't mentioned it before, so that I could surprise the people in the US I would be seeing soon, but I got my nose pierced about six weeks ago. Peer pressure--everyone here has one!

Jetlagged but in the company of beautiful women

I got back to KL around noon yesterday, but made the mistake of thinking I just HAD to nap at 6 pm. Four hours later, I awoke and I haven't been able to sleep since! It is now 9:30 am, but I had a productive night, making a list of things to do and then starting to cross off those that I could in the middle of the night.

Miss Universe is currently serving as my background noise. Who to cheer for--USA, Malaysia, or Egypt?! (I think this may be one of the first time Egypt has had a representative, other than that, I only saw Turkey and Israel from the region). Ohp, now that they’ve narrowed the playing field, looks like it’s the USA versus about 10 Hispanic women, Angola, Australia, India and Switzerland.

Home

My time in the US (the 15th-30th) went by too quickly. During that time, I traveled 35 hours back, 36 hours roundtrip in the car from Iowa to Connecticut and back, and then 37 hours back to KL. Whew. I don’t really advise that! What did I do during those 108 hours (which breaks down to 4.5 days of travel)? I don’t really know. Usually I just stare off into space, people watch, or doze.

The US felt very, very cold compared to Malaysia. Fortunately, the weather gods took it easy on me and made yesterday one of the most pleasant days I remember in Malaysia—no instant-o-matic sweat when I stepped outside, but a cool breeze instead.

A few people noticed that I add the word “yeah” to the end of sentences, something I’ve picked up here. I was aware that I was doing it so much. My sister said it was making me sound ditzy; I think it was just making me sound Malaysian.

During my brief time in Iowa, I met with a professor at the University of Iowa about law school and only became more confused about my future…I figured that instate tuition would be a lot cheaper than it is—the average student graduating from Iowa Law has $55,000 worth of debt and any other school would be a whole lot more. Considering that I want to do public interest/human rights work, I won’t be making diddily squat, making that sum all the more painful.

Law school versus masters in international law and human rights?! Gimme your two cents.

Breaking news: USA contestant actually says that women want peace, in their lives, in their family, in their work. O-my-god.

On my way to Malaysia in the fall, on my Chicago-LA segment, I sat next to a cute young man who turned out to be Somali-American. His father is John Miskell, one of the leading humanitarian specialists (and avid bird watchers) in Somalia, who stayed throughout even the most violent periods when most other people left. John’s wife is a Somali woman, who now lives in the US. The family only sees John every once in awhile, as he is based in Africa and they live in the US. I thought that this encounter was good luck, an omen of some kind.

Well, on my flight from Chicago-LA this time, the occupation of my neighbor is even more coincidental. He noticed the book I was reading (The Selfish Alturist, about relief work in times of war and famine) and struck up a conversation. Turns out he worked for ADRA (an independent branch of the Seventh Day Adventists Church) in Naxcivan, an independent enclave near Azerbaijan and Armenia, for 10 years doing relief work. He was on his way back to CA to graduate with his PhD. His field of study: missionary work and relief work/development…basically, the Christian equivalent of my own research here in Malaysia. I mentioned to him my confusion over my future and when outlining the possible things I could do in Africa next year, he stressed that it is important to be strong (both physically and mentally) and prepared to work in a refugee camp and that perhaps I should ease myself into that, saying it could burn me out if I’m not properly ready. I realize that such work would be draining, perhaps disheartening, and that I have a lifetime to do such work, since that is the field I am most interested in…He preached to me a little, name-dropping a certain someone upstairs, telling me that I would receive lots of rewards for this kind of work—and he was talking money.

Miss Universe: you’re a shoo-in for the finals if you’re from the host country, India, or the US. It’s the same every year!

A blog entry I started before I left Malaysia:

Keys
My first night back in KL from my last trip (Laos, that is) I went to Hard Rock Café for an evening of dancing. At one point, the DJ held up some lost keys found and I made a mental note to check my bag for my keys once I went back to the table where my friend was. But, I forgot. And, they were my keys. It wasn’t till I got home after 4 am that I discovered it, but luckily my roommate was awake.

Fast forward two days and I’m out dancing again. My friend loses his keys.

Fast forward three days and I’m on the train. Two girls next to me get off, doors close, guy across from me asks if those keys I hadn’t noticed beside me were mine. Nope, the key-swallowing black hole surrounding me was still in full force.

Tricked
A., a dreaded Malay I met through L. (see archives), invited me to go to see a gig his friend was playing in.

“What kind of music?”
“He’s in a reggae band.”

Okay, that I can handle. I go with him, only to discover, that although his friend was indeed in a reggae band, for this particular gig he was playing in a metal band. I don’t think he tricked me intentionally, but I only lasted 20 minutes before high-tailing it out of there. It was a mostly young crowd, maybe late teens to early 20s. The performing bands each played a few numbers in a big hall at the edge of a park. I was surprised to see a number of people with dreads—surprised because I don’t normally associate metal with dreads. Is that just a Malaysian thing or also in the US? I feel like I know the majority of the Malaysian population with dreads. No girls who were there were wearing veils.

I met a new dreaded friend of A.’s and was telling him how I’d been tricked to going to this gig and how I hated metal, especially the vocals. 10 minutes later, a friend of his (who hadn’t heard me say that) let it be known that this guy was the vocalist in a metal band. Ah, that foot in my mouth certainly tasted good.

And one of my closest friends, I., is a bassist in a metal band, but he knows I hate his music.

Sheep

Clipped from the Cambodia Daily: “Watch Out Pamplona—Sheep Run Too."

“A small New Zealand town reached for some the glamour and danger of the Spanish bull-run city of Pamplona on Saturday—by running 2,000 sheep through the middle of town.”

Only…sheep don’t chase people, people have to chase sheep. It’s called herding. A lack of forethought on part of the planners.