Do NOT Grab Your Grab Driver

By Samantha Perez ‘21, Gadjah Mada University Fellow 2021-2023

The global pandemic prevented me from making the journey to Yogyakarta in August of last year as planned, and what was meant to be two years in Indonesia became fifteen months. I spent August through April teaching from my childhood bedroom at night, exhausted from my shift as a server at a local restaurant. Most of my friends had moved into the city or across the country, leaving me in the suburbs with my cat as companion and occasional confidant. I would scroll through Instagram stories of friends traveling around Europe, Latin America, sometimes countries in Southeast Asia, and try my hardest to not be bitter about it. Eventually I started to live as if I wasn’t going at all, so as to avoid disappointment. 

So when I got the message that my visa was finally approved, my first thought was I can finally quit my service job. You’d think that in those 9 months of waiting I had done the proper research, made a list of things to bring, mapped out cafes I wanted to visit, or looked online for communities to join ... Unfortunately, procrastination brought on by the disappointment of my delay was something that I could not shake. Two days before my flight, reality hit, and I started to do everything that I’d put off for the last year.

I arrived in Indonesia towards the end of Ramadan, a month when Muslims fast, pray, and reflect. As such, local restaurants were quiet during the day and making friends proved to be somewhat of a challenge. As all foreigners in a new land inevitably experience, I quickly became acquainted with local customs through embarrassing myself in public. In my brief and admittedly lonely first few days in Yogyakarta, I had fulfilled the impetus to explore and get familiar with my new home by walking around and going out to eat. Little did I know that 1) the streets here are not too pedestrian friendly, and 2) eating out during the day during Ramadan is not merely unusual, but considered disrespectful. I had, without uttering a word to reveal my less-than-fluent Bahasa, signaled to everyone that “I am a foreigner.” 

Luckily, the modern world is full of convenient digital solutions to nearly all of our problems, and food is no exception. Here, apps like Grab and Gojek offer promos which allow you to order food for even cheaper than the original price. It remains a remarkable and mysterious system to me, but nonetheless allowed me to survive and rest for a few days following 30+ hours of travel (and grow a bad dependence on it in the months to follow). Similar to Uber and Lyft in the US, Grab and Gojek also allow you to request rides by motorbike. After observing how people ride together on motorbikes, I decided to try it out. Contrary to what you may think — don’t hold your Grab driver around the waist while riding. The handles behind you keep you from falling, you will make your driver uncomfortable, and your friends will make fun of you.

The holiday of Lebaran- a two-day Islamic celebration of Idul Fitri, marking the end of Ramadan – follows. Though the holiday itself is only two days, Indonesians, regardless of religion, have the week off of work or school to spend time with their families. It is not dissimilar to how Americans typically have a Christmas break. As many Indonesians flocked back to their hometowns, the majority of businesses and restaurants closed for the week, and I, a new-arrival, was left to fend for myself… or so I thought. Thankfully, Alva (long-time friend of Shansi, previously mentioned in Julie’s story) invited me to spend the holiday in her village. I was cared for, full of magnificent traditional food, and was slowly but surely, becoming further integrated into Indonesian society. 

These dishes (ayam ingkung, kupat, urap, and jajanan pasar) are served for “mapati,” celebrating and showing gratitude for the fourth month of a pregnancy. In Islam, Allah gives the baby a soul during the fourth month.

From here, things slowly started to pick up. My language skills improved, as did my confidence to utilize them. I made friends both from Indonesia and from all over the world, many of whom, like me, are affiliated with UGM. My sphere grew to include people from Malaysia, Panama, Yemen, Azerbaijan, Pakistan, Myanmar, The Netherlands, Timor Leste, and more. Being a foreigner no longer felt like such a strange thing.

Though I was worried that I would have to make up for lost time, that fear quickly dissipated. Within the first two months of my being here, I have been able to eat meals with my students, gone on trips around the island of Java, been featured in an allegedly humorous youtube video (spoken in mostly Javanese, so I do not understand any of it), drank fermented local fruit wine, and taken innumerable photos with friends that will travel great distances to get the perfect shot. Most recently, we motor biked through the middle of the night to see a waterfall in a gorgeous village about three hours away from Jogja and lived to tell the tale, and more importantly, to post the pictures on Instagram.

Two of many group selfies from hiking Gunung Api Purba & motorbiking to Air Terjun Jumog!

I’m often asked if I eat rice at home. In Indonesia, it is very common to eat rice with most meals; my friend Indy once told me a bit of folk-wisdom, saying “Tidak makan nasi, belum makan,” meaning “If you didn’t eat rice, you haven’t eaten.” I thought it was a funny question because I was raised in a Korean-Cuban home that always has rice on hand. White rice, yellow rice, bibimbap, black beans and rice… rice is a staple in both of my cultures. Yet, I still get asked this question more often than not. I wondered, what do others think Americans eat? 

The answer: burgers, french fries, hot dogs… Americans are associated, somewhat justifiably, with the gluttonous fast-food that fills our cities, strip malls, and highway service stops. Kind of embarrassing, no? Though I consider the foods of immigrants from all over the world a better representation of American food, I too began to think of fast food as quintessentially American — a greasy pastime of sorts — and it became symbolic of my homesickness. To my surprise, I began to miss these foods which I had never had any notable affection for. Thus far, my adventures in burger eating while in Indonesia have been admittedly underwhelming. There is, it appears, a craft to our oft-maligned American cuisine. I just had to go halfway around the world to realize it. 

This is, after all, what this fellowship is all about. It makes us aware of the everyday comforts of home which we fail to appreciate, presented blatantly and often painfully clear to us. At the same time, we are forced to reckon with the realities, traditions, and everyday comforts of others. Eventually, those differences which once felt so jarring and new may become familiar, further challenging and enriching ourselves, and informing our perspectives. If the price for that enrichment is merely the occasional craving for an American burger and all that it entails, it will surely have been worth it.