Massive Mumblings from Malaysia

In Transit
44 hours from my KL apartment to Home Sweet Home Iowa

I put my sister to the task of creating a travel scavenger hunt for me. Within minutes, she had sent me a list of things to look for to help me occupy some of my time in airports and planes.

I succeeded in finding these things on my way home:

A masculine flight attendant
Someone speaking Arabic
A bilingual child (must hear them speak in both languages) [Chinese and English]
Woman over 50 wearing hoop or dangly earrings
An unattended bag
Bald man wearing sandals [a Buddhist monk!]
Person with brightly dyed hair (pink, green, etc)
Newspaper from a country/city other than the one you are currently in
Purple bag
Twins (bonus points for triplets) [twins mentioned in my book, a bit of a stretch, I'll admit]

I didn't manage to find/notice:

A woman in a floral dress [Malaysia Airline employees wear flowered skirt and fitted top...but no dresses]
A man in a floral dress ;) [perhaps if I was in Bangkok or Chow Kit]
Green trashcan [all were silver]
A parent speaking harshly to a child (and write down what they say! Sometimes it's so funny to overhear parents scolding children)

Among the five airports I passed through was Narita (Japan). I had been here once before--on my first trip abroad. I was 16 years old and going to Japan for a 6 week host family stay. Landing that day, the airport I remember was dark, dingy, smokey and I immediately went into the bathroom and threw up. It's not the same airport I arrived at this time, though everyone tells me that it hasn't changed...

I've come a long way, baby. Now it's to the point where travel--even international, multiple day travel--doesn't really phase me. I used to ponder the ability of a big hunk of metal to fly, but realized yesterday that thought didn't enter my mind this last time around. Until Sunday afternoon, I thought I was leaving KL on Wednesday night--in reality, my flight was for Tuesday night.

Bad news: my brother can't come back to Iowa while I'm home, so I only got to see him for a few hours in the San Fran airport.


The Little Things
[I'm Spoiled]

My parents and sister were waiting for me at the airport; my mom had brought me all kinds of food (a peanut butter and pickle sandwich, Oreos, grapes, carrots, a thermos of milk) and I got the honor of sitting in the front seat of the car (in years gone by, the front seat was subject of many o fights).

I said hello to my dog, unpacked my dirty clothes for my mom to wash, and decided I couldn't be bothered to shower (though I had been traveling for two days essentially). In the morning, I opened the pantry door and granola was waiting for me, along with some strawberry yogurt. Yum. Then I was treated to a massage by my massage-therapist mother.

Thursday was the last day of the annual 4H fair (pictures coming soon). 4H is like the Boy Scouts for farm kids and I was a member from the age of 9 to 18, showing rabbits and sheep in livestock competitions and entering projects of sewing/cooking/flower arranging/photography/etc. The fair happens the last week of July each year and I used to spend virtually the whole time there. Besides having to feed and water the animals, I had friends there to roam about with. Since graduating high school though, each time I go back, I recognize fewer and fewer faces---and I'm less recognized. There used to be a time where the Schnoebelens were famous in the rabbit barn. Now our cousin Braden has taken up the torch.

I had to smile when I saw an old farmer in striped bib overalls--that's so Iowa. I had to laugh when I went into the pig barn--thinking about what the reaction of many of my Muslim friends might be to the fact that I had once bathed my friend's pigs before the competition. I had to stare when I saw teenagers wearing tube tops and belly shirts to the fair. I shivered from the cold (though everyone else complained of humidity), but still scarfed down an ice cream cone (real ice cream!).

I drove home--one of the things I love about coming home is having access to a car and the corresponding freedom of movement. I crashed at 9 pm, though I had wanted to watch Kerry's acceptance speech, and was up by 7 am.

Things to come: catching up with the few friends from home who are still in Iowa City, a graduation party for my sister on Sunday with lots of family coming to our house to eat lots of food, a trip to St. Louis for a wedding (the last wedding I was in was 20 years ago, as a flower girl).

Magazine Article about Headscarf
I need a real title--help!
 
The following is an article I wrote for Salt, a new online magazine.  It won't be published till the end of September, but I was anxious to share it with you all.  It's about the Islamic headscarf generally (differences between Egypt and Malaysia, new ideas about what it signifies, my own experience wearing it, an experiment about how people treat me when I'm wearing it, etc) and is based on conversations, observations and my own experiences. 
 
I'd love to hear your comments and also any headline suggestions!

 

Mariam was in the midst of an identity crisis when I first met her in Egypt two years ago. Her four sisters had all worn hijab, the Islamic headscarf, into their twenties. Thirty-something Mariam was the only one who hadn’t taken it off. On vacation, she went “topless” (her phrase for being unveiled) and even wore a bathing suit. Back at home though, it was headscarf as usual.

Egypt is known for being more liberal than its neighboring countries and visiting women often shed their black cloaks and scarves when they arrive on holiday. Between one-third and one-half of Egyptian women wear the scarf, with rural and older women traditionally being more likely to. Over the last decade, in countries around the world, there has been a resurgence in hijab, particularly on university campuses and with the elite. Contributing to this phenomenon is Amr Khaled, “il sheikh il modern.” Asef Bayat writes in Al-Ahram Weekly: “Khaled simultaneously embodies the hipness of popular [Egyptian] singer Amr Diab, the persuasion power of evangelist Billy Graham, and unsubtle therapy of Dr Phil, American popular talk-show host” (May 22-28, 2003 edition). Khaled focuses on everyday life and offers guidelines of behavior. Asserting that the integrity of society depends on the integrity of women, he has influenced women to put the scarf on.

The headscarf has been largely politicized. Governments in France and Turkey have prohibited hijab from public schools while Iran requires women to wear it. Egypt doesn’t remove choice by legislating dress, and yet Mariam struggled with the decision on a personal level. Now, working in a small English town, she’s stopped wearing the scarf altogether. Among her reasons was post-9/11 hostility (being spit at by a bum and pelted with rocks by teenagers). Mainly, though, it just didn’t feel right anymore: “I was still going clubbing and pubbing enough to feel that I was disrespecting the hijab, so I took it off. I have since vowed to become a ‘good girl’ first, then rethink hijab.”

I have known other Muslims that drink alcohol, but Mariam was the first veiled one. I believed the scarf indicated a certain level of piousness and found Mariam’s actions had been at odds with her appearance. Her recent decision that hijab should come after a lifestyle change would indicate that she thinks so, too. Arriving to Malaysia last October, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I would have to continue to reconsider my assumptions about the relationship between appearance, behavior and the headscarf.

Malaysia, famous among tourists for its white sand beaches and delicious cuisine, is 60% Muslim and Islam is the official state religion. Even before exiting the airport I knew that my encounter with Islam here would be different: I was surprised to find women in tight jeans and short sleeves wearing headscarves. This is certainly not true of all women, but a majority of young ones in the capital, Kuala Lumpur. This didn’t mesh with what I had seen in the Middle East, where clothes were long and loose, the scarf drawn tightly around the face; my first encounter with hijab shaped what I thought was the “proper” way to wear it. At a small town restaurant in central Malaysia, I met a woman who wasn’t wearing the headscarf; the next day, she was. The scarf seemed to be functioning as a fashion accessory, akin to a crucifix necklace.

My judgment came down hard: they were doing it wrong.

The scarf is supposed to be about modesty. Simply adding it to an otherwise sexy outfit seemed to be missing the point. Muslim friends I spoke with all echoed this sentiment. There are “good girls” who don’t wear the headscarf and “bad ones” that do. The term “good girl” seems to transcend cultural boundaries: one who is virtuous, pure, and virginal. The general consensus was that it was not possible to determine the character of a person based on her dress—a simple “don’t judge a book by its cover” lesson. It was the same thing I had learned from Mariam.

In two of Malaysia’s east coast states, legislation requires Muslim women to wear hijab at work and prohibits non-Muslims from wearing revealing clothes. The conservative Islamic party PAS previously ruled both states, until it lost one in March elections. The hijab requirement will likely be removed from the books there, but women will still be under societal and parental pressure to continue to cover, as they are throughout Malaysia.

So what does Islam say about the headscarf? The relevant verse in the Qur’an says, “Tell the believing women to lower their gaze and protect their private parts and not to show off their adornment except only that which is apparent and to draw their veils over their bosoms” (An-Nur: 31). Thus, the scarf is usually acknowledged to be a religious obligation. Usually.

According to Sisters in Islam, a Malaysian group advocating for women’s rights within the framework of Islam, Qur’anic interpretations have been left to the politically dominant—men—who have the power to declare all other readings heretical. In a press statement released by Sisters in Islam in March 2000, they insist “the Qur'an does not clearly impose any specific form of dress. The verses on dress and modesty in the Qur'an, examined within the socio-historical context of their revelation, extol moderation and self-restraint, shun wanton display and enjoin respect for women as a sign of God-consciousness.”

The attempt is not to rewrite their religion, but reclaim it. Men, they say, are neglecting their own Muslim duty of treating women with respect and decency. Indeed, the preceding Qur’anic verse tells men to “lower their gaze” as well. The focus on modesty and moral self-constraint has been shifted away from men and the burden placed on women. Familiarize yourself with some of the statements released by PAS leader Nik Aziz and you’d agree. One of his most infamous: that perfume and lipstick should be avoided, as they can arouse men who must then rape to satisfy their urges.

Traditionalists would dismiss Sisters in Islam as unIslamic on both a philosophical and a personal level, as most of the staff does not veil and some like to throw back a few beers. Re-examining how women fit into the equation is not sacrilegious, Sisters in Islam would argue, but necessary given the change in status and education of women since the Qur’an was revealed. Islam is, after all, supposed to be a religion for all people, places, and times.

This revisualization of the headscarf is not limited to non-veiled Muslim women. Layla, an Indian Malaysian, wears the scarf. Though her neck is sometimes slightly visible, she doesn’t consider that a problem. When she goes to the beach, she wears a t-shirt and capris—no scarf. She doesn’t veil when she has guests at home; only people she trusts would be visiting her there. She believes that what constitutes modesty varies between cultures and location and that it’s okay to adjust dress based on that standard. Just as you wouldn’t wear your clubbing outfit to the office, there is common sense about what is appropriate. More important than dress, however, is behavior. Not all “improperly” veiled women would use this rationalization—many are quite flirtatious and do not seem to be overly concerned with propriety. For some though, the apparent laxness is not a misunderstanding or dismissal of obligation, but an alternative, progressive interpretation.

My own personal experience has further shaped my understanding of hijab. In Egypt, I only had occasion to wear the headscarf when visiting a mosque. Day-to-day, my shoulders and knees stayed hidden from view, but it was unnecessary to veil. My reaction at seeing tour buses full of half-dressed vacationers varied from mere annoyance to anger at such cultural insensitivity. My greatest culture shock upon returning to the US was what people were wearing (or rather, not wearing), particularly teens. How could their parents let them out of the house like that?! I thought. Unwittingly, I had become prudish.

This phenomenon didn’t just strike me. Other American girls who spent some time in Egypt also feel it: a pang of guilt if we go out in something sexy. A hesitation, wondering if what we have on is somehow inappropriate or scandalous. And that is in America! This worry has faded over time, but occasionally I am seized by that little voice in the back of my mind.

Here in Malaysia, I am affiliated with the International Islamic University of Malaysia (IIUM) and wear the scarf while on campus. This is the first semester that non-Muslims are no longer required to wear the headscarf, though it is “strongly encouraged.”

My favorite scarves were originally purchased as a table runner and a sarong. Like Eastern Europeans, my preference is for colorful scarves (along with my complexion, this may be why I am mistaken for Bosnian, even by Bosnians). I spend a long time in front of the mirror to get the scarf to look right, fiddle with it constantly and am always aware of it.

I had anticipated that putting hijab on would make me act more shy and reserved, but have found that not to be true, though I do feel obligated to be less flirtatious. In the beginning, I would strip the scarf off as soon as the bus left campus, much to the surprise of everyone else, I imagine. I was self-conscious and worried that they thought I was a “bad Muslim” rather than a non-Muslim, so I’ve since learned to wait for the subway bathroom, out of the public eye.

The cultural and religious diversity in Malaysia means that there are locals wearing revealing clothes, which makes me less shy about showing shoulders and knees off campus. But when I ran into two of my IIUM friends at the mall wearing a tank top and short skirt, I was embarrassed. Seeing myself through their eyes, I felt more naked and worried that somehow I had disappointed them.

Hijab is supposed to solve the problem of sexual harassment and unwanted sexual advances, freeing a woman from male scrutiny and lust. Some Muslim women, particularly in the West on college campuses, choose to wear the scarf as a feminist act, a protest against judgments based on appearance and a rejection of a value system that debases women. In an article for Impact Magazine, Mary Walker, production coordinator for the BBC2 series “Living in Islam,” wrote that veiled women she met argued “‘it is not liberation where you say women should go naked.’ Just as to us the veil represents Muslim oppression, to them miniskirts and plunging necklines represent oppression. They said that men are cheating women in the West. They let us believe we're liberated, but enslave us to the male gaze.”

Dealing with the male gaze is a big part of being a white woman in a non-white country. The stare is of a different variety than that which we’re accustomed to in the US (where if you’re caught looking, you quickly divert your eyes and pretend you weren’t). No, this staring is blatant. Though the attention is not always sexual, frequently it is.

In Egypt, Western women are bombarded with comments from men on the street—even if not dressed provocatively. It becomes constant background chatter. Many women hate Egypt for this very reason. I, however, will admit that I liked the attention (not always, but in general). I was unaccustomed to declarations of my beauty and the compliments were an ego-boost. Of course, I doubted the sincerity of them, but it was nice nonetheless. I went abroad and had instantly become a babe. In Malaysia, the attention is a bit more muted and the novelty of it has diminished for me.

An article in the Malaysian June edition of Cleo, a popular women’s magazine, claims that men ogle because, as visual creatures, they can’t help it. Some men interviewed said that women should be happy about it and think it a compliment. I suppose that depends on who is doing the looking (if he’s attractive, it’s more flattering) and what type of look it is (curiosity, friendliness, admiration, or a dirty leer).

The focus of my hijab-wearing experience had been mostly internal and limited to campus during my first seven months here. Taking the test to the streets and mall, I shifted my focus to how I was perceived and treated. One Sunday, I set out in a long sleeved shirt, loose skirt and headscarf that I deemed “proper.” I was operating under the assumption that women wearing the scarf received more respect from men—that is to say, were harassed less.

After the first hour and a half, I thought my suspicion that veiled women were not treated as sex objects was correct, merely detecting looks of curiosity. I ended up checking myself out more than men did—catching a glimpse of covered head in a store mirror or window reflection continues to give me pause. I felt a certain sense of fellowship with other non-Malay veiled women and we exchanged smiles. Otherwise, I felt fairly invisible, like a child behind a pair of sunglasses. But my judgment was premature.

On the street, a man I passed said hello and asked where I was going (being fresh, not friendly). I didn’t look back or break stride, but was taken aback. The veil had not made me immune to harassment! I walked a familiar path (a known gauntlet) from an area with nightclubs and shopping malls, past a large bus station and pedestrian mall where street performers convene, to Little India: a few more words, a few more eyes, and even a kissy noise.

Being foreign makes it more difficult to tease out the results—whether my otherness outweighed any prohibitive effect a headscarf would normally have. Layla and veiled others attributed my experience to the fact that I’m a foreigner and said it happens to them only very rarely—less than once a week. Those that remain undeterred by hijab are “hardcore jerks.”

“You know what they say,” Layla joked, “anything in a skirt…or scarf.”

A Trip to Sarawak

I was in Sarawak, one of two Malaysian states on Borneo, from July 5-15th.  See the map below to get an idea of the geography of it all.  I was mostly in Kuching (southwest part along the coast) and the surrounding areas.

   


    
Kuching  was great.  In ten days, two rainbows.  Best sunsets I've seen in a long time (gives the Iowa sunsets a run for the money).  River through town and not far from the coast, mountains, and jungle.  Flowered trees (remember from Laos, automatic bonus).  Also, in flying into the airport, I realized what a warm welcome blue skies and palm trees offer--though I had just left the same, I was reminded of that typical picture of paradise.  So, Kuching seems to have it all!  Friendly locals, too (not sketchy).  A kid doing the call to prayer.  Interesting architecture.  What more is there to ask for?

 
Longhouse

Harith, the British-Malay guy I met in Perhentian Island who will be studying Sufism at Oxford this fall, was in Kuching the same time I was, so we traveled together.  He arrived a few days before me, so I just found my way to the hostel (Borneo B&B, Jalan Green Hill, 15 Rm/dorm bed) where he was and we left the next day for a longhouse tour organized by the hostel owners (their son took us to their parents' house, near a town called Sarikei).  We took a boat for about three hours, then drove an hour to their longhouse.  When we boarded the ferry, crates upon crates of baby chicks were loaded in the rain onto the deck.

Along for the ride were 3 Brits.  Junaidy and Andy were traveling partners (perhaps more than just traveling partners?) and Darrin was on his own.  All three were in their 30s and had quit their jobs to travel the world for about a year (respectively a model agent, a banker, and a chemist).  I’m so glad they were along because, really, the trip could have sucked otherwise. 

We’d been told that when we arrived we would be able to see a traditional wooden longhouse, go hunting, fishing, to see a witchdoctor and to a jungle produce/animal market.  None of that happened (we found out later that the guide that had been hired to show us around was in jail, on suspicion of theft…perhaps it’s better, since we also heard that another man who’d been on a previous trip with him said they’d been taken to a national reserve park and were capturing rare birds). 

Instead of doing all we’d been promised, we arrived and basically just sat and ate.  We were given tuak, traditional homebrewed rice wine, as is the custom in Iban culture.  First, the host takes a shot (it’s about 15% alcohol), then each guest must (several rounds).

The longhouse is basically what it sounds like: a very long building.  Off the shared corridor are individual living areas divided by walls and doors.  Almost like an apartment complex, really.  I had been imagining lack of privacy, thin walls, etc., but these were sturdy and made of concrete.  We also visited a brick longhouse.  But no wooden ones, so I’m not sure if my idea of what it would be like in old times would hold or not (doubt it).  The government has built these new longhouses for the tribes (ahem, bribery for votes!?) and the inhabitants seem to be mostly old people.  In 20 years when they all die, I’m not sure there will be anyone living in the longhouses anymore!  During holidays and festivals, families go back to their parents’ homes, but otherwise, ghost-town.  (Also, in more remote areas in other parts of the state, the old ways of living continue.  These areas mostly belong to other tribes, though.  They have similar lifestyles, but differences in architecture, language, etc.) 

The Iban are one of the larger tribes in Sarawak and were among the infamous headhunters of Borneo.  In each longhouse, there are skulls hanging in the hallway.  In the longhouse where we stayed, the skulls were hanging outside our hosts’ door.  The area directly in front of each door is the responsibility of that house (like a porch almost) and ours was apparently the most well-to-do household—there was linoleum, a table, and a fan. 

The headhunting came to a stop maybe a 100 years ago and today most Iban have become Christian (including the witchdoctor we were supposed to see—so he’d sort of shunned his previous practices).  Our longhouse had 19 houses and the community elects a leader every few years to deal with problems and sort of manage the longhouse. 

Since there was really nothing for us to do, in the evening, we resorted to card playing and drinking in the communal hallway (I didn’t really like the taste of it, so wasn’t drinking).  A few people ventured out to converse with us, but for the most part, the longhouse was quiet and felt eerily empty.  We played the game where you have to say famous people’s names based on the first letter of the last name of the preceding person mentioned…Junaidy kept using models names, but in reality I think he was just making stuff up!  Lots of fun.  At one point, we set up our three digital cameras on self-timer at one end of the table and then ran around to the other side to have our pix snapped. 

A lot of Iban work on pepper farms and our host owned one (I think).  Out back there were some animals, including a few pigs.  The pigs were held in wooden pens near a little pond.  To make black pepper white, you have to soak it in water for a few days before drying it.  Well, the family was using this pond to soak the pepper they produced for personal use (not commercial, so they say).  BUT IT WAS RIGHT BELOW WHERE THE PIG STY WAS…so when it rained, all the pig shit would get washed down into the pond.  EWWWW.

We went to visit a few other longhouses, where relatives of our host lived (walkable distance).  There seemed to be more people living in these homes, though mostly I saw old people and kids.  Our host (was who about 78 years old, if I remember correctly) took us to where his elder brother (who was 90ish, but in failing health) lived.  His wife wasn’t really wearing a shirt when we got there and just sort of draped a scarf over her front.  Many of the other women just wore sarongs (tubes of cloth), almost as if they’d just stepped out of a bath and were wrapped in a towel.  The people were in the hallway when we came, but didn’t really seem to interact with us except to look at us.  But I guess that’s sort of all we did as well. 

All in all, we were disappointed that we didn’t get what we were expecting and in the end we got a partial refund (cost was 350 RM and we got 100 RM back).  I don’t regret going, though I wish I could have had a more ‘authentic’ experience.  But really, what does that mean?!  This is how the Iban are living their lives these days, so that makes it authentic.  The alternative would be going to a longhouse geared for tourists, but that would be a fabricated replica mainly for making money.  Is that to be considered more authentic?  And it’s a pretty silly and unfair notion to think that these people should retain their old ways just so us tourists can go have a look at ‘em. 

Rainforest World Music Festival

Three days of workshops on music and culture, three nights of bands from around the world.  Among my favorites were Fawzy Al-Aiedy (Iraqi oud player) and Sidi Goma (a group of African Sufis who have lived in India for over 700 years).  First, Sidi Goma did sort of a spiritual part, starting with the call to prayer and supposedly ecstatic intoxicated dancing.  Some of it was really weird--like doing the alligator, and acting like chickens pecking each other with kisses--and I wasn't sure if it was traditional or they were hamming it up for the audience.  In the second half of their performance, they came out in tribal warrior gear. 

But my all time favorite: Samba Sunda! 



An Indonesian 17-member percussion, flute, gamelan assemble.  They had so much fun playing that it made it a lot of fun to watch them.  They were all pretty tiny in stature, which made them even cuter.  My favorites are the two on the left in the front row (flutist and drummer.  The drummer reminded me of Animal from the Muppets!).  You can hear some short samples of their music here.

During the festival I hung out with Lusean (friend from KL) and her friends, ran into my housemate who was there and had an actual conversation with her (first time in a long time—we get along, I just never see her!), and some people from the hostel.  It was the first time I’ve hung out with travelers really.  I guess I did a bit in Laos, but otherwise, haven’t.  I talked to two or three Americans—also a bit unusual as you don’t find many around here.  But I tended to break away and wander by myself quite a bit, hoping to meet people.  I was adopted by a Malay-Chinese (inter-racial marriage) family that was seated next to me the first night.

On the last evening, I went with Lusean et al to the nearby Holiday Inn Resort where they were staying to kill some time between the afternoon sessions and the concert.  A group of Malay guys I’d met the day before were playing beach volleyball, so I joined in.  They shrieked each time the ball came at them and really, were quite terrible.  I’m not saying I was doing a grand job.  But they were really amusing.  The next night I also saw them on the boardwalk (scoping out men). 

I went to dinner with Lusean, Stephan, and Lusean’s Chinese family from the area.  We had a private room in a Chinese restaurant and the food was really good—including jungle fern.  (Katrina and I both have the problem of our left eye being closed in digital pictures; here I’m caught blinking). 

I’d had many conversations recently about 9/11 and had heard lots of conspiracy theories (even that SARS had been started by the US to damage a growing Chinese economy).  Lusean’s uncle was one of the first Chinese that I spoke with about it.  He said that though he didn’t think the Jews had been responsible for the attack, the Israeli intelligence agency must have known about it beforehand. 

After dinner, Lusean and Stephan accompanied me on a stalking mission.  I had seen a band perform at Planet Hollywood several months ago (Superfriends) and when I saw they were playing at a hotel in Kuching while we were there, I wanted to go see them.  Mainly because I thought the drummer was hot.  He is, but also determined that he is only as tall as about my shoulder! 

 
Bako National Park

I was scheduled to go back to KL on Monday the 12th, but extended my stay till the 15th so that I could go hiking in a nearby national park.  I’m so glad I did!  To get to the park you have to take an hour long local bus to a small fishing village, then a half hour boat in the South China Sea.  The park is on the coast, so you get jungle, beach and mountains all in one go.  The hostel was very nice, though the canteen didn’t have a great selection of food.  We were lucky that it didn’t rain during our two days there (or during the three days of the music festival).  I was surprised with the great variation of vegetation in the park (mangroves, open areas with rock, deep jungle, etc.)

Harith and I did a short hike together when we arrived, squeezed in before lunch, but after that I did most hikes by myself.  Funny how your imagination can get the best of you when you’re on your own.  Sticks look like snakes, tree roots look like they could come alive and squeeze you to death.  I’m sure that Harry Potter, The Life of Pi, and other movies and books helped to fill my head with such silly notions. 

Mano, the Fulbright actor guy, happened to be there at the same time.  Also the author of the book Malaysian Flavours (went to the book opening several months ago).  Enjoyed the company of a French couple and two park rangers.  They let us watch Fahrenheit 9/11 secretly after the public screening of an educational movie about proboscis monkeys that inhabit the park. 

During my hikes I was lucky enough to get to see some of the proboscis on several occasions; they only live in Borneo, near mangroves, and are endangered. 

  

According to the movie, they have “faces like masks, noses like cucumbers, and voices like trumpets.”  I’ve heard the rumor that these monkeys are unpopular choices for zoos because of their phallic noses.  Besides the monkeys, I saw a brown toad, some normal monkeys (forget what kind, starts with an ‘m’), wild bearded boar, some birds, squirrels, and I think that’s about it. 


I also was hoping that Harith would get possessed, since spirits tend to lurk in jungles, but no such luck (wanted to witness it, but not have it happen to me!).  I asked one of the park rangers about it and he told this story:  their was a woman named Helen from Holland who had worked as a guide at the park for a couple of years.  She was leading a tour, when suddenly she got lost.  Her group tried to look for her, but headed back when they couldn’t find her.  For three days the police, rangers, and boat drivers combed the hills for her and finally found her.  She had seen ‘invisible people,’ meaning spirits.  The spirits sometimes make themselves visible to certain people.  She had seen a typical Malay village in the jungle, with everyone wearing green.  She had been mesmerized it seems, not trying to find her way out and not even having eaten. 

I had been told that when in the jungle, to be careful to ask permission of the spirits if you wanted to pee or pick a flower or something, otherwise you might regret it!  The ranger said that their were some signs of these invisible villages, like when an area in the jungle is really clean and orderly, or when you feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

We’d thought about doing a nighttime hike to try to see some more animals, but I’m glad we didn’t!  I was freaking myself out during the day—I can only imagine what I would have done at night, with all the sounds and creepiness. 

  
NEWSFLASH: Andi, college roommate extraordinaire, will be coming to visit in mid-September for a week!

Alexander’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
Well, not that bad, lah

I went to the Universiti of Malaya this morning…it’s a surprise I’m not bald from pulling my hair out. 

I hate when there are rules (stupid rules) and the only reason that they are complied with (the enforcer recognizes that they are foolish rules) is that well, thems the rules, kid.  Be sensible!  If a rule or law is stupid, civil disobedience is in order!  (Or at least look the other way!)

I suppose the offences aren’t so bad.  The UM library charges per page photocopied, rather than per page printed (ie I can fit two pages of a book on one page of paper, but they still charge me for two!).  I found that annoying because it’s never done that way and makes no sense.  The cost is directly related to the number of pieces of paper being USED…granted, it’s a rather minuscule amount of money in the end.  But it’s the principle of the thing. 

I kind of indicated my disgust/exasperation/annoyance to the staff….basically, I acted American.  I took it out on the poor guy, who had no control over things.  His supervisor was the one who sang the ‘it’s the policy that came down from the main library, not up to us’ song.  After a minute of acting out, I realized I was behaving poorly and apologized to them (blaming it on a tough morning full of frustrations).  Actually, I nearly broke down in tears, but managed to hold it together (frustrated at myself that time).  

Then, someone in this country actually wanted to follow copy right law!?!  (Pirating VCDs, computer software, etc is what half this country makes their living on!)  The book in question is only available on reserve, all photocopying at this library must be done by staff, and since it’s from 1983, there’s no way the bookstore has it so I can buy it.  So, that means I get to come back to the beautiful library on another loverly day.  Joy.  (I had just distributed a survey about business and work ethics to a UM class as a favor to a friend in the UK writing a paper for a conference…and then I was trying to bend the rules and get this woman to do something illegal!  Opps!  Good thing I was just giving the survey, not taking it!)

(I just went to this predeparture orientation program for Malaysian Fulbrighters coming to the US…they noted that sarcasm is a vital part of American humor.  Also, that it was true that people from the NE are colder and more distant than those from the south or Midwest.  Another annoyance: the people at the Fulbright office here seem to have overlooked the fact that I’m from Iowa and a Fulbrighter just left for the U of Iowa a few weeks ago.  Wouldn’t it have made sense to put us in touch with each other?!?!  I’m going to hunt her down when I’m back in IC to offer her my help and family.)

So, reflecting on my funk today, I realized that if I had patience, then I wouldn’t get frustrated.  They’re two sides of the same coin, really.  But, like faith, I don’t know how to get patience.  If only I could go down to the corner store and pick up a bottle.
 
Argh!  And now I just kicked over a glass and broke it!  At least it wasn’t a mirror.
 

Cult
This concludes my presentation

I went to a Toastmaster’s meeting last night.  I didn’t know anything about it before going, other than it was a speech club type dealio.  My Chinese Businessman Friend invited me along (and I confirmed with another friend who had gone before that I should brave it and not just make up an excuse why I couldn’t go…she’s the one who said it was like a cult).  A lot of people turned up—a record number, in fact.  There was impromptu speaking and two assigned speeches: a mix of high school debate and good old 4H presentations.  It seemed like a lot of fun and I’d better be careful what else I say as some of the people in charge of running it may be reading this!  They go through various tasks in their speech giving—working on gestures, volume, eye contact, persuasiveness, etc.  They have clubs all over the world and next time I find myself in a new country, I’ll be sure to check it out so that I have a way to meet people!  (Ghana doesn’t have, but Kenya and Egypt do.  Iowa City has three.)

 
Now, back to the regularly scheduled programming…
 

My cheeks and knees hurt today, but that's a good thing: it means I was smiling and dancing too much last night!

The last few days have been full of interesting things. I'll give you the rundown, before I set off for Sarawak tomorrow. Sarawak is in Borneo, the non-penisular part of Malaysia, and has lots of indigenious people and jungle. Just heard that the world's biggest corcodiles live there. Hope I don't run into them.

I'll be attending the Rainforest Music Festival on the 9-11th. Performaces from around the world and workshops in the afternoons. I know a few other people who will be in Sarawak the same time and it'll be easy to meet a lot of new people, I'm sure.

SEEN

Hindu temple, Friday evening, the big night to go. Wash your feet when you come in. Touch the ground as you enter. Put hands in prayer-mode and front of nose and then lift up above your head. Some men in sarongs in charge of taking care of statues (gods), who live at the temple, for weeks or months at a time. A statue in the back wearing at least 10 necklaces of strung-together limes and also some of jasmine. A couple passing out drinks of some rice thing, in fulfillment of their promise to do so if they were granted a baby. I thought it tasted like corn kind of. Lots of people waiting in line to pray and just hanging out on steps around the temple, too. Some flirting going on, but it seemed pretty limited.

Saturday. Chow Kit, the sketchy area where lady-boys prostitute themselves late at night and you should hold your handbag a little bit tighter. At least 25 men (some with their motorbikes) standing on the sidewalk in front of an electronics store, watching WWF wrestling on the TV screens out front on a Saturday, early evening.

Bukit Bintang, the sheeshee area with lots of malls and clubs. A lady boy in the woman's bathroom, fixing her hair and makeup. Outside, punks congregating early Saturday evening. Tight jeans that are a bit too short and hiked way up high, old-man style. Spiked belts. Jean jackets with graffiti (one labeled 'punk' on the back). A girl in a short plaid skirt, fishnets and Buddy Holly glasses.

Hard Rock Cafe. Harley Davidson bikers galore, reminded me of Beach Week senior year at Mrtyle, SC, which was having a bikers convention the same time we were all there. Some veiled women in the club--the first time I've seen that. One of the biker chicks was even wearing the headscarf AND leather pants! A middle-aged short Chinese man with no shirt, just a leather Harley jacket, grooving on the dance floor before anyone else got the nerve. Non-bikers, but a drunk Indian couple, the man kept lifting the woman, who was bigger than him up in the air and I was sure they were going to fall over. A British guy air-guitaring and headbanging. An African I met several months ago was there and man, can he move. With A., who is one of my all-time favorite people to go dancing with because he's got energy and you can just tell how much fun he's having (another was a guy working in Dahab, Egypt).

The Blue Bar. A gay club (the roommate of one of the guys I was out with is a bartender there). Lady boy show--but the Iowa City Alley Cat trannie show I saw to shame. These Asian men sure can pull off being a woman! And I was silly enough to wonder how the first woman's voice was so high--then I realized they were lip sync-ing (I was behind them and couldn't see!). I was one of maybe 3 real girls there. On my way through the crowd, someone grabbed my butt! (Actually, it happened at Hard Rock, too!) I don't know if he thought I was a lady boy or what...Later, one lady boy told me I was very pretty--also not sure if she thought I was really a man...A crew of friends all wearing red, doing pre-planned dance moves (thought I could almost be in a Bollywood movie! If only!). They tell me they come every week and always wear matching colors.

HEARD

A Hindu girl I met once or twice invited me to join her at the temple and we hung out most of the day before that. She told me that she has some female friends (mostly Malay and Chinese) who are essentially dating each other, because they have romantic and sexual desires, but the risk is too great with a guy before marriage, so better to fulfill urges with a female friend.