Love Thy Neighbor Ii: The Rest of the Stories

By Alice Crocker

Love Thy Neighbor II, the sequel to Love Thy Neighbor, will lead you to fall in love with people the media has told you are enemies. The stories show the delight of not taking oneself too seriously, and how that frees friends from your host country to laugh with you, and thus bond your hearts forever.

“They’re mostly Muslims—they’ll hate you!” was the dire warning given to the author before she embarked upon the adventure that would change her life. Time disproved that and many other negative predictions.

In this world of “East versus West” or “Christian versus Muslim” mentalities, the real-life experiences of ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher Alice Crocker disprove much of what many people expect when they become full time residents in a country, culture, or even religious environment that is not their own. With endearing, earthy wit, infinite delight in her experiences—even the embarrassing ones—and most of all deep, abiding love and respect, Alice’s true stories prove that friendship knows no bounds and that of being a fish out of water can be the most humbling, instructional, and meaningful experience of all.

Be encouraged to fully entrust your life to God, because a joyous adventure awaits, and open your heart to people who are “foreign” as individuals, not stereotypes. Because in the scope of creation and journeying through this temporary world with all its joy and promise, struggle and uncertainty, Alice and her beloved Indonesian friends, students and colleagues, prove that we are all in this together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664207868

Alice Crocker

Over the course of 22 years, Alice Crocker taught English as a Second Language from the northern tip to the southern tip of Sumatra, Indonesia. She now resides in the mountains of North Carolina with her beloved mother, Betty Crocker.

Book preview

SECTION 1

The Aceh Years

CHAPTER 1

Greeting Children

and Eating Leaves

T he afternoon I first landed in my beloved province, Aceh, Indonesia, my supervisor was having a get-together for the junior and senior high school English teachers who had participated in his ESL (English as a Second Language) workshops. The teachers brought traditional snacks for us to try because in Asia, hospitality and good food are matters of national pride. I couldn’t believe my good fortune at having arrived in time to meet English-speaking people and try authentic regional cuisine at the same time!

I greeted my supervisor and his wife, and their 2-year-old son, to whom I extended my hand for a formal handshake, being a bit awkward with children as I am. It’s not that I don’t like children. I do. I like to watch the cute things they do. I simply have some fear around being responsible for them in the event of a disaster, like a soiled diaper or a boo boo, or any manner of dismay that would precipitate tears. And what if they’re naughty? No, no, children are best left to professionals. The little blond boy cocked his head and just stared at me blankly. The adults looked on, bemused, probably thinking, Oh dear, maybe she’s still in jet-lag. I just figured the little fellow couldn’t speak English.

I also met the girl who would be my housemate and cohort in many an adventure and mishap, Lisa F. She had moved to our city, six hours south of the provincial capital where our supervisor lived, three months before my arrival, but came up to escort me home. Lisa was the ‘veteran’ who would show me the ropes in the new land. Looking something like Peppermint Patty from Peanuts, Lisa stood out in the Indonesian crowd, but her height was still within the ‘normal’ range. Next to me, she looked downright scrawny. I could tell right away Lisa was a leader, a straight-talker who could be a lot of fun and wouldn’t shy away from a challenge. I had already heard a little bit about her when I was applying for the job, because it was her best friend of many years who had pointed me in her direction. Everyone who knew Lisa would smile broadly at the mention of her name, perhaps remembering her quick wit or penchant for mischief, and I soon came to do the same.

Within an hour, my supervisor’s house was abuzz with treat-bearing English teachers. I was eager to meet them all, and upon hearing that I’d just arrived in town, one teacher brought a platter of treats, and asked if I would like to try one of Aceh’s most famous dishes. Obviously, I’d never seen such treats before, little log-shaped goodies with natural green wrapping. How healthy, I thought. Veggies. No wonder these folks are all thin. Feeling it would be rude to ask a bunch of questions, I assured her I would be delighted to try one. So, I reached right onto the platter, picked one up, and promptly put it in my mouth to take a bite.

I had some difficulty taking a bite, though, because the green wrapper was actually a banana leaf, and not amenable to being torn, not even by the most vigorous efforts of my canine teeth. I wrenched it from side to side, pulled it, even adding my forbidden left hand to aid in the effort, but that banana leaf was not tearing, not even a little. By that time, a small crowd of guests had gathered around me, aghast at my dilemma. Lisa stepped through a seam in the on-lookers, and half-whispered,

You have to peel the banana leaf back first. The snack is inside.

Slowly, sheepishly, I pulled the limp banana leaf out of my mouth, revealing deep teeth marks in the green wrapper. There I stood, my second inept move in as many hours in the land.

The teacher saved the moment, quickly handing the platter of treats to one of the gawking guests, taking one herself, and demonstrating for me the way we must: tear the skin in the middle of the top edge while we’re holding it vertically, then carefully peel the wrapper back, like a banana, she helpfully pointed out, to expose the scrumptious treat within—the edible part. The tenacious wrapper, we discard as trash.

Oh, like that, I marveled, trying to hide my embarrassment. Inwardly, I was also amused watching Lisa take great lengths to stifle her laughter. Looking to the floor, biting her lip, Lisa’s face was as red as mine, only not from humiliation.

And thus began the refrain I would hear from Lisa dozens of times over the course of the next two years: Oh, I wish I had my camera. This unfortunate incident quickly became legendary amongst English teachers and English students in the capital city, with the surprised listener’s predictable response,

She ate it like a goat? Leaves and all? followed by gales of laughter. This formidable faux pas did not, however, dissuade me from sampling ethnic delicacies offered to me; nor did I veer from my staunch commitment to never ask questions when offered food. I did, however, decide to follow Lisa’s example whenever possible, and watch someone else eat foods first to see the appropriate technique.

Lessons for the Traveler: (1) Two-year-olds don’t do handshakes.

(2) Accept local cuisine with enthusiasm, but best to make a simple request for a demonstration of how to properly eat the treat before shoving it into one’s mouth.

(3) Hide mischievous co-workers’ cameras before attempting any new activity.

CHAPTER 2

The Traffic Circle

Quandary

T he four days spent at my supervisor’s house in the capital city of the province seemed like an eternity. I was chomping at the bit to get to my new location, Lhokseumawe, and begin my life there. Lisa had already been there three months on her own, though, so she was enjoying being in a more comfortable environment for a few days. Every day, I nagged and nagged Lisa about going home so I could start my new adventure. She had hoped our supervisor’s driver would be able to take us on the six-hour trip down the east coast. But since we got permission to have the car at our disposal, Lisa said she would drive us, thereby saving the driver the trip home on public transportation after dropping us off. Always so thoughtful, that Lisa.

We didn’t begin our journey until 2:00 in the afternoon, so we figured we’d be home by 8:00 or 9:00 that night, which suited me fine. Poor Lisa was nervous about driving the whole way herself, having never done it before, and knowing that half the journey would be in the dark. I assured her we would be fine since we were both in our thirties with plenty of driving experience behind us. I thought, How hard could it be?

So, off we went, heading south on the one and only road that would take us from the provincial capital to our new hometown. About an hour later, after passing miles and miles of breathtaking rice fields with gorgeous mountains in the background, Lisa was skillfully handling all the curves heading up the mountain. The views were stunning, and my heart was filled with joy, though I had a smidgen of guilt, too, for having badgered Lisa into taking me home at night rather than waiting to leave the next day.

Lisa was increasingly nervous about having ventured out on our own: two American women with little to no language. What if we had car trouble? Or ran into criminals? Those were pre-cell phone days. We were living on the edge and I was loving it, probably because I wasn’t the one trying to navigate through the towns, avoiding motorcycles, bicycles, and various livestock intermingled on the road. When we came to the first major intersection thirty minutes beyond the mountain, it was a traffic circle with no signs, so we had a decision to make.

See?! We don’t know which way to turn! How are we going to figure this out when neither one of us speaks the language? Lisa half-groaned, half-shouted, with the unmistakable look what you got us into tone.

Determined that it ‘couldn’t be that hard,’ I told her to pull over where there were a couple of men sitting on the side of the road. I would simply point down each road questioning which one led to our town. I would only need to say one word, the location, with an intonation that indicated a question. See? Simple. So, I hopped out, flashed my friendliest smile, and pointed down the road, mentioning our city’s name with my eyebrows raised, nodding a bit, requesting confirmation. Anyone could understand that.

The men seemed surprised, to say the least, to see an American woman (and such a large one at that) jump out of the car and address them. They peered around me to see another woman driving and were really confused then, but they didn’t make any comment. Of course, we wouldn’t have understood them if they had, so it was just as well they simply answered the question at hand. I said the name of the city, pointing, and they pointed to the same road, repeating the name of the city. Clear as a bell.

Satisfied, I got back in the car, and we rode silently for a long time. I felt sure Lisa was quiet because she was ashamed of having doubted me. She would find me to be a brave and helpful partner, after all. As the night fell, I noticed that we began climbing again.

I thought you said there was only one mountain between the capital and our city, I said, confused.

That’s right, answered Lisa flatly.

Then why are we climbing?

Oh, shame on those men, pulling a prank like that on guests in their country! Note to self about asking for directions—ask women. I won’t repeat the subsequent conversation Lisa and I had in the car that night, but it involved her informing me that I would need to understand that the world did not revolve around me. She was right. I had been out of line. That was an important lesson for me to learn right off the bat, and one I had to be reminded of along the way. We made it to our new home, close to 10:00 that night, safe and sound, but it was a good day to have behind us.

Lessons for the Traveler: (1) The world, indeed, does not revolve around you. Insisting on your will can be bad for new relationships.

(2) People with experience usually DO know more than you do; best to defer to them in questionable situations.

(3) Some men (not all men) think it’s funny to trick women. If you are a woman, whenever possible, ask women for help.

CHAPTER 3

Say What?

I t’s funny how some people strike you the right way when you first meet them. Almost from the first word, you can tell the person will become a good friend. I’ve always been drawn to unpretentious people, the what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. I can take the bad with the good as long as there’s no posturing and preening to be endured.

I met such a new friend at my first work meeting in Bali. I had been in the country for less than a month, so everything was new to me. For instance, at hotels, the tables were often large and circular, so you might end up sitting with people you didn’t know at breakfast. It’s an intentional mingling device, I’m sure. The first morning of the meeting, I saw a woman sitting by herself, and since she was Caucasian, I figured she was probably there for the same meeting I was. Lisa and I joined her and we began the usual small talk, get-to-know-you kind of conversation. I sat across from the woman, and sitting at the table behind me, Lisa pointed out, were the big bosses from corporate headquarters. Lisa always knew important information and was eager to share it.

As we continued to chat, our conversation naturally turned to culture shock issues like language learning and dealing with children in the neighborhood who would do various things to get our attention. Our new friend described, in a somewhat animated way, that the children in her neighborhood would yell out curse words. She was concerned that it would have a negative effect on her small children. We were listening intently when she gave an explicit example.

"They yell bad language phrases!’" Only she didn’t use a euphemism. She just said the words right out, at quite an elevated volume, I felt, given our venue.

Lisa and I were so surprised by her unfiltered language that we were startled, our mouths gaping, eyes wide open. Seeing our shocked expressions, the woman surmised that our surprise was that the neighborhood children knew such foul language.

Yes! They do! she said, emphasizing that it was true. They yell out…’ Oh, have mercy, she said it again, even louder that time, with the big boss not ten feet in front of her. I couldn’t help but begin to laugh, a nervous kind of laugh. Yeah, she chuckled herself, I know, it’s hard to believe. Indeed, it was.

Lisa and I did not mention the incident with this woman all day, I suppose, because we knew the context of her words, and felt that it would be impolite to speak of such matters again. Later that night, however, when Lisa and I were in our respective beds and the lights were off, the giggling started.

Lisa, I led in, speaking in a low voice so as not to be heard by anyone passing by. "I don’t know about you, but I was very surprised by what that woman at the breakfast table said."

Yeah, me, too, Lisa agreed, trying not to burst out laughing by keeping her voice low, too. And you know, the way those words just rolled off her tongue like that, I don’t think that’s the first time she’s ever said those words.

Muffling a laugh, I couldn’t resist adding, And the way she said it with such enthusiasm, I think she’s been wanting to say that for some time. She seemed to experience relief and satisfaction from it.

Yeah, and she didn’t just say it once, Lisa noted, "but twice, and loud, right in the direction of the big boss!" We howled at that, unable to add any further commentary for laughing so hard.

Finally, after settling down to a mere chortle again, I asked, Did you catch her name?

No, Lisa answered, but I think we should make a point to spend time with her. I bet she’s a lot of fun.

And so we did, and indeed, she was. To this day, this lovely woman I count as a dear friend, as does Lisa. It wasn’t until almost a decade later that I confessed to her the first impression she had made on us. She was mortified, but confessed that perhaps that had been a stressful time for her. Yeah, everyone agrees that culture shock can bring out some shocking behaviors in the best of folks.

Lessons for the Traveler: (1) Stress and culture shock can make us say