Camp Songs in Bali

(Ralph)

Our villa (Puri Tupai) is located in the village of Lodtundah, outside Ubud.

This is a residential street around the corner from us.  Families live in compounds (Wayan’s family, who live a short walk away, includes 15 people – his father, his wife and children, his brother and nephews).  The compounds are often surrounded by walls, with entry gates opening on the lane.

 

This is a typical entry (Bali may be a relatively poor country, but they take their gates seriously!).  On the wall to each side of the gate you can make out five black and white signs – each family group has a sign, so this entry leads to five houses. 

 

 

I first assumed that these were just address markers.  They may well be that, but the three numbers at the bottom signify the number of men, women, and children who live inside (the numbers are, as you might imagine, painted over many times).  As a Westerner, I found this  striking (can you imagine posting these details on the outside of each house in the US?), but  it goes with what I see as the Balinese sensibility around notions of what is public and what is private (another fundamental cultural value that I haven’t thought about in much depth before).

Anyone you meet in Bali  (shopkeepers, folks on the road, taxi drivers, etc.) is likely to ask lots of questions, and always seems to want your “whole story”, as Janet put it.  (“How long have you been in Bali?  Where are you staying?  When do you leave Bali?  Do you like it?  Where are you from?  Where are you going?” - to this last we’ve been told to reply “jalan jalan”, which means just walking around – seems pretty vague to me, but it appears to satisfy the Balinese.)  It’s not that people are being nosy, more that it seems important to know all these details in order to be able to place you in the scheme of things.

Michael graciously arranged for Wayan to take me to the neighborhood elementary school to visit.  He arrived at 9 a.m. this morning and drove me the three blocks to the school (god forbid any of us Westerners should ever walk a step when Wayan is on duty!).    He accompanied me into the office and introduced me to the staff there (no principal, I don’t think, but several of the teachers were around – one man and one woman in their 40’s, perhaps, and a young woman of 20.)  After introductions we went into a classroom, where I proudly stated the Indonesian sentence I had been practicing all morning:  Sayan guru skole dasa (“I am an elmentary school teacher”).  I was then expecting to take a seat at the rear of the classroom to watch Balinese education in action.  However, Wayan and Ono (his son, acting as my interpreter) soon made it clear that I was expected to TEACH the class, not to observe someone else.  (Steve later mentioned that Wayan had probably introduced me as the Secretary of Education, or its equivalent – at minimum, a very famous and important American teacher).  “Hmm…” A moment of awkward silence while I wrack my brain.

I will have you know that “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” will take you very far with second graders in Indonesia.  Especially the part which goes.. WASH the spider out!  I don’t think they understood much of what I was doing, but everyone was waiting on tenterhooks for that part to come round.  I was such a hit, I marched into “Ram Sam Sam”, an old camp song I learned back in my student teaching days (nonsense words, with wild hand gestures to accompany – perfect for this cross-cultural lesson).  I was relieved to find that some things do go across cultures – the Balinese children thought it was just as hilarious as my students back home when I would try to “trick” them by slowing the song way down, and then speeding through one part as fast as possible.

Thinking my duty was over, I attempted to have Ono explain to the teacher that I wanted to watch the class in action for a time.  After much to and fro, she stood up at the front of the class, and proceeded to lead them through “Ram Sam Sam”, exactly as I had done.  Except she did it in a voice I found stirring, even with such a ridiculous song, exploring melody and key changes in a way that just seemed to come naturally.

Ono then accompanied me to the fifth grade – this time I knew what to expect, of course, but I didn’t think the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” was quite the ticket.  I tried “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, which elicited mostly puzzled looks, and then went back with the winner “Ram Sam Sam” – a hit with the fifth grade, as well.  I was escorted back to the office and given a piece of fluorescent green cake (which was actually quite tasty) and a soda while we (sort of) chatted.

I still haven’t seen Balinese education in action, but from what Michael says, that’s just the way it is, at least for Westerners – if we’re there, we’re in charge.  It made me uncomfortable, actually – I don’t think it’s my place to be in charge in someone else’s country – but that seems to be the way it is.

 

Fifth graders in their classroom.  The teacher is the gentleman at the right.  The second grade teacher with the beautiful voice is in the middle.

 

Ono, my school guide.  He is the son of the house driver, is twelve years old and in seventh grade.  (He was available to show me around since his school day goes from noon until 5:30 p.m.).