Noodle And The Goose

Election Day Bagels

It is election day again in Indonesia Time to elect a new President and take a national holiday.  Perfect time to try out my latest scheme of making bagels. 

But before we get to that, there is this.

Anyone notice anything odd about this? Yes, Noodle is giving some good 7 year old attitude, but that's not the thing. The thing is the shirt. Look closely. Yeah, that's a shirt touting our beloved NGO, but the words are in Spanish. No big deal, really, because of course our NGO works in Spanish speaking countries as well as Chinese speaking, Farsi speaking and so on. But here's the thing. Our girls have had MCC (or CCM, as the case may be) shirts for 2 years. Almost exactly because 2 years ago we were at our orientation to come here and we got them each a shirt. But never in the 2 years since (which were admittedly stressful years) did any of us notice that one of the shirts is in Spanish. Either that or someone (or something) somehow switched out a shirt on us in the last few days and is hence playing a cruel and unusual joke on our aging minds. Seriously. When I first saw it today I thought - momentarily only, since my dementia is not terribly advanced - that someone had put the shirt through Google translator. Only momentarily, I said. Then I realized that was silly. But not noticing for 2 years that a shirt is written in a different language? Lord have mercy. 

Moving right along. 

Bagels. Bagels. Bagels. The food stuff that I miss most from the US and anticipate most for our return (note to sister meeting us at airport: bring bagels and cream cheese).  I've been perusing bagel recipes on-line the last few days thinking, "why not?" (suppressing the memory of bagel making gone very tragically awry back in college [best not to talk about it in a public forum] ). And since the chocolate chip/flour and yeast store happened to be open this morning, today was the day (no, we did not put the chocolate chips into the bagels, the chocolate chips are mentioned here only for purposes of 'local color' as in why yes, there is only one place to buy chocolate chips here and yes, it is a store where they sell chocolate chips, flour, yeast and other baking items exclusively and yes, it is tiny, tiny, tiny). 

Here's step one - Mixing the dough.

And after the first rise, kneading the dough.

The girls got really into kneading the dough. They whacked it, smashed it and pummeled it for a good 15 minutes. Noodle didn't want to stop.

(Maybe it is the conservative Mennonite hiding in my soul, but I am so loving getting Goose's hair up out of her face and off her neck with lots of braids, bands and barettes. Now if I could just do something with little Ms "Its my hair and I'll do what I want with it" and her defiance enabling father) (but I digress).

Shaping the dough.

(There's that shirt again, in all its blatant Spanishness).

Ready for another rise.

And into the boiling pot. 

Then the oven and left to cool on the hot pink cooling towel useful for giving baked goods a greenish cast. 

(embellished with salt and black pepper because we didn't have any sesame or poppy seeds)

To the real test - split, toasted and slathered with (New Zealand) butter. 

The verdict? Well granted that it has been a LONG time since I've had a real bagel and further, I have real cause to doubt the soundness of my mental capacities, including judgement, as of late, I'd say these are some pretty good bagels. We'll be making them again and maybe springing for some ridiculously overpriced cream cheese (also imported from New Zealand, god bless the Kiwis).  Can you say YUMMY (and really, can you say it in Spanish?).

Ugly Vegetables Gone Bad

So we love Grace Lin books around here. Love, love, love them and brought several with us from home. For some time we've been wanting to try out the soup recipe from Ugly Vegetables. 

So today we packed off to the local Chinese owned grocery store that has a fair selection of some pretty ugly looking vegetables. 

First one of these green bumpy things.

And maybe some of these leafy green things.

Or maybe these.

So many green leafy things.

The recipe calls for dried scallops, so off to the fish area we go.

Nope, those scallops are not dried. They're not even dead. Yet.

Maybe something over here would work (does anyone know the Indonesian word for scallop?).

Though it isn't called for, the big jars of dried fungi and the bins and bins of wild shrimp crackers (Krupik) are just so much fun. 

But admittedly stinky, 

and probably carcinogenicly colored. 

But where else would you find such a variety of things to deep-fat fry? Or such a mountain of sparkly, crystalized sugars? 

Enough of playing tourist at the grocery store (sorry, I meant to get a photo of the "Pork Counter" tucked away in the back corner for Christians and other infidels).

To home with those veggies and start the cutting. 

Into the pot for some cooking.

Ready for the table. 

The book describes what happens next like this.

 

" 'This is a special soup, ' Mommy said, and she smiled.

   She gave me a small bowl full of it and I tasted it. It was so good!

   The flavors of the soup seemed to dance in my mouth and laugh all 

    the way to my stomach. I smiled.'

And then the neighbors come on over to beg some soup.

This was not so much our experience. 

Perhaps it is special soup, but the flavors didn't so much dance in my mouth and laugh all the way to my stomach as they did fly from my mouth and trigger my gag reflex. Honestly, I couldn't eat it. Indeed, I'm feeling a bit ill even describing it. It was so bad! 

I totally blame the big green vegetable which I've encountered in inedible dishes in the past. Why I thought it would be different this time is indeed a mystery. Yeah. Chinese cucumbers? Not for me, apparently. The rest of the family ate a bit (Baba), or just ate the chicken (Noodle & the Goose). 

Just when I was contemplating dumping the remaining soup in the back yard there was a knock at the door. What? Have the neighbors come to beg some soup? Nope. Rather an emissary from our cook's village was at the door with a large basket of food for us. Our cook and family are in their village to celebrate the new baby (goat killing tomorrow, first hair cutting on Tuesday, we're invited). Party already started and cook thought we might like some food. Damn, that woman is good to us. 

And the rice and chicken and sambal were exquisite. 

Chalk this one up to 'live and learn'. 

Tidbits

Because inspiration fails me for anything more.....

Linus Penny settles in.

 

Goose prepares lunch.

Baba and Noodle learn Tai Chi.

And become stamp collecting geeks.

This is actually an old geekitivity for Baba. He's been delighted to now share it with Noodle.

And Goose too, who is totally jazzed by getting the 'doubles'.

How far we've come

So I was out shopping yesterday for craft items to placate the summer bored children and realized how far we've come since this time last year. Well, mostly how far I've  come. How normal it feels to be zipping around on my motorbike in treacherous traffic, stopping here for some cardstock, there for some paints and yet another there for some felt. How easily I negotiate 'big' store etiquette, point don't touch, pay first then get. How jazzed I was to find a woman in the Ribbon/Thread/Button store who spoke English (of a sort) and could find me an embroidery needle with minimal hand gestures. How ordinary it all seems. I even thought yesterday that the stores I shop in had suddenly gotten so much more stuff than before - though no place had paper plates that I could find. But I don't think that's true. I think I've just gotten used to what is available here. And learned to adapt. It is all in the perception of things, I think. 

And yup, its time once again to deal with summer vacation - all 8 long and, if you believe Noodle's dramatic whines, endlessly BORING - weeks of it. Truly, the child has spent her time thus far either whining or tormenting her little sister. So evasive action is being taken. I've decreed that she will spend her summer teaching the alphabet and simple reading to that same little sister. We're starting on Thursday with daily activities relating to letters. A is for alligator and apple and B is for Bee and Bear and Banana and such. I'm trying to come up with a craft, a book to be read, an activity, a simple food prep and a required tour of the neighborhood searching for 'A' words and so on.  Further, I've set her to work on a top-secret Christmas gift for the Z's. Baba has challenged her to read several of her harder books. Before bed she's reading Runaway Ralph to me while I knit (resulting in strange dreams where I'm at "extreme knitting camp" working on a lifesized knitted motorcycle. Oy vey.)

Hopefully all this will keep her occupied, though it is a bit of work for us as well. Makes me wonder how I ever filled my childhood summers without a Mama planning activities for me. Well, other than lots and lots of lawn mowing, garden weeding, produce preserving and what-not. I'm guessing if we had complained to Mom that we were bored, she would have handed us a bucket and sent us to the garden to weed. I regret that I can't do the same with my girls. The threat of hot summer labor makes for creative minds. 

Meanwhile we're off to Solo for another go at the Water Park today. Baba is staying behind, as he's suddenly really busy with his summer workshops - when my work slows down, his picks up. Good planning on our part. 

Summer, summer. 

Meanwhile, back on the farm

Noodle found this little guy wandering down our street crying one night.

I - the reputed family 'cat person' - initially said No Way, Too Little, Too Much Work. 

But 'dog-person' Baba brought him in anyway. 

The Vet in our neighborhood (whose dog bit Noodle awhile back) suggested going to the market to get a 'proper cat'. 

We named him (by committee)  Linus Penny S-W.

And yeah, I bought him the bottle. 

We take turns feeding him 'cause he's always hungry.

He's very noisy.

And can't seem to find the litter box - yet. 

Still, it seems that we have a new member of the family.  

How could we not? 

Ternate Again

We left Tobelo early in the morning for the 3 hour car trip back to Sofifi to catch a boat back to Ternate. We did take time out for a quick breakfast before leaving. Good thing too, so the the girls would have something in their stomachs to throw up on the drive. I think we had a total of 5 upchucks on the drive. The sea crossing was none too calm either, and we were all quite happy to get back to our hotel where we were given a mountain view room.

Next day we secured some motorbikes from hotel employees for a ride around the island. 

Team "Red Racer" ready for action.

We were told we could circle the island in about an hour. It took us considerably longer, since we stopped often. 

Sometimes for the views.

Sometimes for a bit of fish feeding and cold drink drinking.

To check out some lava flows. (Team "Yellow Lightening" missing a driver).

And for a dip at a beach. 

Baba and the girls played in the water while I, still nursing that strange infection on my leg, stayed in the shade and made  friends with these cuties.

Onward ho.

Here we are at "Crocodile Lake", a beautiful deep green inland lake reported to be filled with crocodiles. Goose was very disappointed that we didn't see any, aside from the shoes she and Noodle were wearing. 

Baba negotiated for a few green coconuts.

And thankfully did not chop his hand off opening them with the very sharp machete. 

Nope, no crocodiles in sight. Just a sheer straight down drop to the water - a hundred feet maybe? Too far to be so close don't you know. 

The drive around the island was quite cool. Some day when Baba's computer returns from its holiday in Jakarta, I'll post some of the video that Noodle shot from her perch on the motorbike (complete with running commentary and occasional songs by Noodle and punctuated by exclamations from me trying to drive an unfamiliar motorbike and not harm any wandering livestock). 

Along the way we saw lots of spices set out on the road to dry. Cinnamon, peppers of various sorts, allspice,  something red we couldn't identify and lots and lots of nutmeg. 

This was the view where we stopped for a late lunch. Goose took this particular photo.

Yup. Life. Hard. 

And yup, the girls are eating french fries (with their rice). But you'll note Noodle reaching for the sambal - ubiquitous red hot sauce - to eat with them. She didn't go for the really blow the top of your head off hot sauce that came with my fish (though Baba sucked it down), but baby steps are being taken. 

Tobelo: Odds and Ends

Here's some stuff that didn't fit else where. 

Catching the motorcycle becak by our hotel. This mode of transport is much more efficient than the bicycle becaks in Jogja. Easier to get in and out of. Large enough to hold an American and their children (once Baba and I shared a becak in Jogja and nearly had to employ the jaws of life to get us out). And fancy, fancy, fancy. Kinda reminded me of what some young Amish boys do with their buggies. Of course there is the greenhouse gas and global warming thing to work against these. Still, we enjoyed them.

Baba making friends in the traditional market. Tobelo's main drag (sorry Oma, I don't have any photos, but we do have video) has a grocery/department type store but most of the buying and selling of food still seems to happen at the busy, busy market.

Lunch at the Noodle Shop. Excellent noodles. Most of our meals were at the hotel and consisted of rice, vegetables and fresh fish. The fish was so good. One meal of fresh red snapper fried to a crisp in coconut oil completely took me back to the months I spent living on the beach in Belize during college. I nearly cried, it was so good.  Also, one night we sat down to green beans and a ever present tomato/onion chutney (people in Baba's family can guess where this is going). One bite and wham! we were right there in Oma's dining room eating a favorite holiday meal. And not only Oma's dining room but ours as well. French cut green beans, fried in garlic, served with rice and tomato/onion chutney was a staple in my repertoire too, back when I cooked. Learned it from Oma and she apparently learned it in Tobelo. 

Copra. Dried coconut flesh. To be ground up for coconut oil. The main product and export of Tobelo. All you ever wanted to know about copra you can find here.

Baba, returning from an attempt to climb the volcano. The active volcano. With a large crater on top. Full of ash. They didn't make it to the top of the cone, but clearly did make it to and through the crater. 

Another catching the motorcycle becak photo with bonus photo of the hotel owner. I never saw this man wearing a pair of shoes the entire time we were there. Including when he took us out to a restaurant for lunch one day. This is Baba's kind of place. 

I call these two, "Girls in Braids, Waiting for Baba, Who is Late". 

And that's it from Tobelo. The rest is on video and can, hopefully, be shared via YouTube some day (Baba's computer is still 'being fixed'). 

Tobelo: The Sad

This is a hard blog post to write and I've been putting it off. But today I'm taking a deep breath and plunging forward. For all that Tobelo and North Halmahera was beautiful and charming, it was also sobering and chilling. Here's why.

The population of North Halmahera is slightly majority Muslim and large Christian minority. Traditionally it has been a place of great tolerance and peaceful co-existence between Muslims and Christians, most connected by ties of kinship and family that seemed to transcend religious difference. When Barak Obama talks about the good things about Indonesian religious pluralism, he could be talking about this region. At least before 1998. That's when it all fell apart. 

You may, or may not, recall that in 1998 Asia suffered from a huge and crippling economic crash - much worse than the one the US is going through right now. Indonesia was hit particularly hard. The value of the Rupiah (Indonesian currency) bottomed out. Inflation was rampant. Things got so bad that President Suharto, who had ruled the country for over 30 years (think "iron-fist dictator") was forced to resign and free democratic elections were held for the first time in Indonesian history. 

For some, these events were liberating - I have a Javanese friend who talks eloquently about 'tasting freedom' for the first time in his life in 1998. For others it was scary and disruptive. Tensions between Muslims and Christians, especially Chinese Christians increased across Indonesia. Riots broke out and many people were killed, raped and left homeless. Things got increasingly unbearable when the end of Ramadan (the big Muslim holiday) fell at same time as Christmas (the big Christian holiday). It was right after Christmas that North Halmahera exploded. 

From what I understand* there were several small skirmishes between individual Christians and Muslims that lead to retaliations and rumors of retaliations and more and more clashes until the region was basically engaged in civil war. Christians and Muslims who lived together in villages did not attack each other, indeed rather helped to protect each other. But had no qualms about attacking folks in neighboring villages. Attacking meaning burning houses, mosques and churches, beating, raping and killing people. The stories I've heard are absolutely horrifying. Thousands of people were killed. Entire villages burned to the ground. Christians fled to Tobelo. Muslims fled to Ternate. In the wake of all this violence a radical Islamist group from Java sent what was basically an army to the region to stir up more trouble and inflict even more violence. To their credit, however, Muslims still in the region reportedly refused to allow the Javanese to confiscate Christian property and eventually the Javanese radicals left - the last not until late 2001. People cautiously moved back to their homes, began to repair structures and trust and to heal slowly. 

One day we borrowed a car and drove to Duma, a village on the very Northern tip of Halmahera. Duma was the first village to be Christianized back in the mid 19th century, was a 100% Christian village and was the last Christian village to fall during the worst of the violence in January 1999.  On the way we passed through beautiful coconut groves and along gorgeous stretches of beach. We also passed many still burned out churches, mosques and houses and many more in the process of rebuilding. 

The church at Duma itself is huge and still being rebuilt.

In its shadow is a "Peace Park" memorial to those who lost their lives in the violence. Part of the story of Duma is that members of the community fled, via boat to Tobelo and then to Manado. The boat carrying several hundred people had made one run, had returned for another and was on its way to Tobelo when it disappeared under unclear circumstances. Upwards to 400 people were gone, most likely drowned in the sea, though I've been told that some relatives of those lost believe they were kidnapped by Muslims and will someday be returned. (The woman who told me this story lost 5 members of her family on the boat and is sure they are dead). The villagers have constructed a replica of the boat.  All around the walls of the memorial are plaques with the names of the missing. It is sobering to read the names of entire families, children, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, gone. 

Beside this memorial is a graveyard for the other folks killed. I didn't look at all the markers, but most that I saw were killed within a week long period. There were people of all ages. Noodle and I found several who were 7, just like her.

This is only one village of the hundreds, both Christian and Muslim,  in North Halmahera that suffered such losses. 

There is a plaque that says the people of Duma - and the near-by mixed village - vow never again to kill each other. And one certainly hopes this is so - the region has been peaceful for several years though violence still continues in other parts of Maluka, particularly on the island of Ambon where the Peace Center that Baba works with just sent out mediators a week before our visit. I have several students who were sent away from their family homes in 1999 and haven't yet returned for fear of more violence. 

In Duma, however deep the scars, there are signs of life continuing. The young man who guided us around reports that there are 2000 people living in the village again. 1000 of them are children. Noisy, boisterous and very alive children running pell-mell through the graveyard and splashing each other with algae growing in the water around the memorial boat. 

This felt so hopeful to me. 

A crowd of people gathered in the 'Village House' next to the church and a group of children broke out in a traditional dance for us. 

Accompanied by these guys on the drums and most of the adults singing along. It was pretty darn cool. 

After a bit we wandered down through the village to meet with the woman in a previous post and to see the beautiful fresh water lake that the village sits next to. Story is that when the first Christian missionary showed up here the locals (all animists) were uninterested in his stories and sent him to set up shop beside this lake where there were some bad spirits living and the locals were afraid to live. Turned out that the soil there was among the best in the area and the Christian's gardens did very well, attracting the attention of the locals. They eventually decided that he had banished the bad spirits and many joined him, eventually became Christians and Duma was born. 

The lake is quite beautiful and is a favorite recreation site with picnic tables and various warrungs. We were told that it gets packed out on weekends. 

Our guide took us down to a fish house and I nearly caused a riot of people laughing and falling over each other in glee when I refused to walk across those skinny little planks with the rest of my family. I'm all for trying out new things, but I know my limits and had no desire to become the legendary "Wanita Bule Besar" (big foreign woman) who fell in the lake. 

After some more visiting, exchanging of business cards and invitations to visit us in Jogja, we piled back into the car for the drive back to Tobelo.

Passing through the beautiful coconut groves, with much to think about and many, many, many wishes for peace and healing to continue in this beautiful place. 

*My understanding of the events recounted here is pieced together from talking with people in Tobelo, friends in Jogja and a bit of reading. I do have some more academic resources sitting on my desk, but haven't read them yet. It still feels too close, especially as I have several students who lived through these events. I'm glad to pass on book titles for anyone interested. 

Tobelo: Next, the beaches and the sea

(First a small apology for the slowness of these posts. I was consumed by a 'joint theological consultation on freedom and responsibility for Christians and Muslims' this week - all week, all day long. Very good stuff but very tiring. Plus our internet has been iffy. And Baba's computer, with the videos downloaded on it is on hiatus - hopefully nothing more serious than a burned out LED light. So no videos on these posts. Maybe sometime later.....)

Much of our time in Tobelo was spent on a beach or on the sea. 

To get to the off-shore islands, one first heads to the port to catch a water taxi.

Looking back at Tobelo. The large white boat is a ferry. Ferries in Indonesia are notorious for being always overloaded, always in need of repairs and, consequently, always sinking. Best to avoid them.

The water is crystal clear and in the right light, so incredibly blue. 

Goose does not let the sights of fish and coral deter her from her in-transit snack of a 'pupcake' secured at the market on our way to the port.

Our first stop on this day, our own private beach for snorkeling.

Baba and I snorkeled. Noodle, certain there were water snakes and eels lurking in the depths, and Goose, unable to hold her breath under water, hung out on the shore.

They eventually did take off the life jackets, and we eventually moved to another island for more and better snorkeling under the watchful eye of some locals.

This is the exact view we had while calling home to say "hey" to Oma and my sister. 

Life is so hard. 

Lunching on bread and chocolate.

 

This particular day on the islands ended in a terrific rainstorm. Which we sailed back to Tobelo in, effectively drenching us all. In an attempt to keep my camera from further harm, I stopped taking it on our boat trips and let Baba capture it all on those elusive videos. Suffice it say we did this sort of thing often.

We also spent a few days on the black (volcanic) sand beaches on Halmahera itself. We found this beach off the main road and through a village. It is very much a local beach with water buffaloes munching on grass, dogs playing in the surf and people bathing. 

Black sand is great for construction and excavation projects. 

Should have worn the swim suits, of course, but didn't.

Word must have gone out among the village children of our presence. Soon after arriving we experienced first contact.

And before long, full on contact. 

The local girls taught Noodle and Goose to construct perfectly spherical balls of sand and to play a "who has the stronger ball" game.

The kids played together for a very long time this day and begged for an other play date. We did return on another day, played with some other kids. Apparently these girls were in school at the time of our second visit. 

 

No matter. The sand ball game has become part of our beach lexicon. 

Tobelo: First, the Memories

Because I know Oma and Opa are anxiously awaiting these pictures, we'll dive right into a trip down memory lane in Tobelo. 

Tobelo is a pleasant, small city (maybe 10000 people) on the Northeast coast of Halmahera. It is the largest city in Northern Halmahera and is surrounded by seemingly endless groves of tall, graceful coconut palms waving in the breeze. The coconut trees provide Tobelo with its major industry- copra or dried coconut meat - and a distinctive, not entirely pleasant, smell of drying coconut. The land is very fertile, fed by several active volcanoes. The port at Tobelo is important for shipping and you can catch, albeit very intermitent, ferries from here to other parts of Indonesia and Southeast Asia. The waters around Tobelo are peppered with small tropical islands (think Gilligan's Island), some inhabited, some not. There is good snorkeling and fishing and general beach hanging out. However, there is almost no tourist infrastructure and foreigners are a novelty to be yelled at ("Hey mister"), giggled at and chatted up in whatever bit of English one might know. The week we visited there were two groups of bule (white folks) there as well. One group of American dentists and nurses staying at the same small and very basic hotel we did and heading out to an outlying village for clinics every day and a group of Dutch Christians celebrating the 60th anniversary of having turned over the Christian mission to Indonesians. Baba fortuitously met up with the latter group on our first day and trailed after them on an island trip and a hospital visit. 

Oma and Opa came to Tobelo over 40 years ago when Baba was just a wee mite (6 months old). Opa worked as a physician at the hospital. Uncle Dagy (as the Indonesians called him!) was born here. The family returned to the United States when little Baba was 5 years old. His earliest memories, most still buried deep in the recesses of his brain, are of this place. For the past 15 years I've been hearing stories of Tobelo, seeing Christmas slideshows of Tobelo and eating food that Oma learned to cook in Tobelo. Actually visiting and seeing the house where Baba lived, the beaches he played on and the singular beauty of the place and meeting people who knew him as a child was a privilege. 

On our first afternoon in the city, while the girls and I napped, Baba went exploring to find his old house. With the help of a Pastor who he met wandering the neighborhood, he found it. Later he took us there too. I had a gasp of recognition when seeing the place. It looks just like those Christmas slides and the prints of Baba's family standing in front of the house, of Baba and Dagy playing with a wagon on the wide, wide porches and of Baba holding a dead rat by the tail that hung on the walls of our house in North Carolina. 

Anyone else recognize this place?

 

 

The house is currently owned by a doctor who conducts clinics there. 

 

When he was here alone, Baba accidently wandered into the house (and got some video footage of that). We stayed outside!

  

The kamar kecil - bathroom - where Baba reports learning to take a Mandi (an Indonesian bath) from Opa.

The kitchen.

The back porches.

I was quite taken by the weathering on the buildings. 

 

The girls were quite taken by the swing.

There is some sweet symmetry in seeing our girls playing on the porches of Baba's childhood.

Under the watchful eye of a parrot. Not a dead one either!

On Sunday morning we visited the church that Baba thinks he attended as a child - Oma? The church has over 500 members and several services. The one we attended was short - totally unlike any other Indonesian service I've been to. I was just settling down with my fan and mentos (to placate the Goose) when they were benedicting us out the door!

The best part of the memory-lane was meeting up with people who knew Baba and his family back when. We took along prints of many slides showing people for reference. Many, many people helped us to identify who was who and to help us locate folks who were still living (many had passed on) or still living in the area. 

We met up with this woman in a small village north of Tobelo, finding her way back in the jungle behind the local school. Her eyesight was gone, so she couldn't look at the photos but yes, remembered working for Baba's family when she was young. She apparently helped out in the kitchen. 

 

  

Here's some folks pouring over the photos with Baba. The old guy on the left wasn't in any of the photos, but remembered the family. He kept insisting "Saya kenal Dr. Opa! Kami taman-taman, ja! Saya kenal Dr. Opa!!" - "I knew Dr. Opa,  we were friends, Yes sir! I knew Dr. Opa". We have some great video of that!!!

Our favorite meeting was with this delightful woman who was Baba and Uncle Dagy's nanny. She showed up at our hotel on the day Baba was off climbing the volcano. She had with her a photo of Baba's family from the 1960's , kept, I was told, in her Bible. I talked with her, and the woman with her (the daughter of a man that Oma taught with) for several hours waiting for Baba to return. Finally they had to leave, but invited us to visit them the next day - our last. 

I learned many things from Ibu about Little Baba, including a new story of how he set a pile of coconut husks on fire while everyone else was sleeping and danced gleefully around shouting about his accomplishment. Ibu also recalled that Baba was "sedekit nakal, tapi Dagy was manis sekali" - Baba was a bit naughty, but Dagy was very sweet. This seemed to be the reigning sentiment in Tobelo regarding these two boys!

Ibu H

Baba meeting Ibu H again. 

Ibu won the hearts of our girls by hosting us so graciously at the guest house she manages at the local (small) college. It was a beautiful location and we had a lovely visit. 

The girls got completely filthy playing in the wide open yard, a real treat to have green space to run and tumble in.

Ibu sent us away with bags and bags of treats, well wishes to Oma and Opa and entreaties for us to visit again, and next time to stay at the guest house with Ibu so she could properly take care of us.  We are- very seriously - trying to figure out how to make that happen. And soon!!!!