Socializing

Fatime stuffing me with sweets.

Depending on the country you live in, you get one day or two days or three days holiday after Ramadan to celebrate the Eid (or Idul Fitri, the bastardized Bahasa version of the Arabic). This holiday was one I dreaded as a child because it meant I had to dress up in fluffy clothes and pinchy shoes with my hair twisted into painful curls to go house-to-house visiting my parents’ friends. We would sit awkwardly on their couches, eating Idul Fitri snacks, greeting hundreds of thousands of people (Java is one of the most densely populated islands on earth, and there are always hundreds of thousands of people everywhere, all the time) with hands pressed together, in the traditional way. I actually really liked the garlic peanuts and the little cheese cookies. I didn’t mind the orange powder juice we were served either. Also, as children without a TV, it was always kind of entertaining to watch other people’s TVs. But one never knew how long these visits were going to last or how many visits my out-going mother and her slightly more introverted husband would try to cram into one day, and I never liked being forced to wear a dress.

I think my parents realized the futility of trying to photograph
us all dressed up for the visits, so here is a recreation from memory.
Though I got bored drawing ruffles so imagine that Joanna and Marian's
dresses are appropriately bedazzled. Our hair is not naturally curly--
it was a result of maternal abuse.

A nice sample of some good Indonesian Idul Fitri treats.
I miss it a lot.

Since those days, I’ve lived in many other Muslim countries and forced myself to dress up and visit and eat cookies. It’s amazing how long the influence of your parents stays with you. (It’s also interesting to note things that didn’t stick, despite their best efforts, but that’s a topic for another day.)

I tried on Fatime's hair. How do I look? (FYI: I'm the one
in the grey shirt, in case you couldn't tell.)
Also, Fatime told me yesterday that she is going to get me
a "hat" like hers. I'm afraid she means a wig like this one,
in which case I might have to wear it in public for her sake.
Please understand that I'll only be culturally appropriating
African-style hair to make an African happy.

This year I only had one Eid visit, as opposed to the billions of visits I used to have in days of yore (thanks, Mom).  I wore a skirt, but as I buy my own shoes now, I do not currently own any pinchy ones. (If I have to wear shoes that cover my toes for an extended period of time, I will make you suffer with me as I whine incessantly about it.)

I actually had several Chadian visits over the holiday weekend, which is not normal for me, as my all-day job makes it hard for me to carve out time to build relationships outside of work, and also Introvert Amanda often resists most efforts to engage in social activities during time off. But these visits were nice because they were with people I like and they didn’t last long.

The last visit was to a colleague’s house. It was his birthday and I’ve started making cakes for everyone in the office to celebrate. People like it, and then I get to eat cake. Since his birthday was on a holiday, I just went over to his house. I also wanted an excuse to see his family because he has very cute kids, though the last time I went there, his oldest daughter looked at me and burst into tears. She didn’t stop crying until after I left (I mean, I hope she stopped then—as long as I was in the vicinity, she was greatly disturbed in spirit). This time we had fun hanging out and the littlest one came and sat in my lap and squeezed my pasty cheeks and poked my large nose, and I kissed her all over her little face. I also discussed borrowing one of Hervé’s puppies once it is born in a few months. One of his dogs is pregnant, and I want a puppy soooo much. I think if I borrow it and return it when I’m traveling, it should be ok, right? This is a good idea, right? Yes, it is. Shut up. I’m doing it. Anyway…

With Hervé and his two youngest girls who don't hate me.

Hervé's beautiful wife who was in a motorcycle accident after this
and broke her leg. Prayers for her quick recovery, please!

My Eid visit was fairly typical. I went to my friend’s house, greeted all her neighbors and friends, then went into her little room to chat and be stuffed with Chadian holiday sweets. My friend’s holiday sweets included lightly sweetened cookies with the appearance and texture of small roof tiles, some sweeter ones rolled in powdered sugar, and various fried crunchy pancake things. I ate some while I was there and then she stuffed a bucket full of more cookies and filled a plastic bag with the crunchy pancakes and handfuls of candies and two strawberry sodas. I had given her a small bag with some Hershey’s chocolate and some re-gifted jewelry. Not an even trade. In true Amanda-fashion, I ate significant amounts of these sweets, but I didn’t even make a dent. I gave the rest to another friend who has children and isn’t a Muslim, so probably hasn’t made her own stuff at her house.

Bucket of cookies after I'd eaten a few.
I returned it full of peanut butter cookies I made.
(I learned about returning containers with more food
from my mother. When I tried this with my neighbors in India,
I lost so hard. I could not keep up with all the great food they made me.)

But this is true hospitality that I’ve experienced in many countries around the world—being out-given by people who have less than I do. This level of generosity is humbling and inspiring. One of my other friends who visited me over the holiday weekend with two of her children came just to say ‘hi.’ I was sure she was coming to ask for money to fix the giant crack in her house that I’d seen the last time I was hanging out there. In fact, I wanted her to ask me for the money because I wanted to give it to her. Every rainy season there are people here who die when their mud houses collapse on them. My beautiful friend’s landlord is refusing to pay to fix this crack because he is planning to destroy the house and rebuild after the rainy season. In the meantime, he is leaving a family of women and children (her husband is in the military and is currently deployed to some middle of nowhere post) at risk. I ended up just giving her money even though she didn’t ask and she didn’t come for that. In fact, she just came to visit because I’d visited her and brought little presents from America, as I do because I grew up in Indonesia (oleh-olehku di mana, ya?) and also this is another one of those things my parents did that stuck. I brought little bubble toys for her kids, and I told them I’d make more bubbles for them if they ran out of the soap. (When I was a kid, I used to climb up on our roof and blow bubbles down on the heads of people walking by until they laughed or yelled at the weird little white girl to cut it out. So I have lots of bubble experience.) So the kids came over ready for more bubbles (which I provided) and Antani brought me a bucket full of peanut butter (homemade) and a bucket of freshly roasted peanuts (white and black ones from her hometown) and two mangos (ripe but not squishy, exactly the perfect way that mangos should be). And then SHE said to ME, “I can never out-give you.” And I laughed. And I ate half of the peanuts 5 minutes after she left (but she wouldn’t leave without washing the dishes while I was making bubbles).

The black peanuts are really good.
I think she added sugar to this peanut butter, so it is basically candy,
and I eat it with a spoon.

There isn't much of a point to this post. I just have some really nice friends. And I think that it's important to note that there are kind, generous people all over the world.

Someone gave me a bunch of these processed meats.
I gave a bunch away to this family already and they told me how much
they liked them. (Hey-to each his own, right? They could have some Hawaiian blood in them.)
I had one more and when I gave it to Abram, he was soooo excited. How cute is his face?
If you were concerned, he is not from a Muslim family, so the pork issue isn't a problem for him.
I did tell his mother so that she wouldn't let their Muslim neighbor kids accidentally eat it.

When you have a lovely friend who works at the Hilton,
she and the head chef let you try several ice cream flavors,
and promise to make coconut ice cream for you next.
This isn't related. I just wanted to brag a little.