A birthday in the land of the undotted i's

To set the stage somewhat: I'm currently in Izmit, Turkey, a town of around a million inhabitants about an hour's fast drive east of Istanbul, a place where you see the lights peppering the mountains across the Sea of Marmara at night and the location of Turkey's devastating 1999 earthquake. My project is Myself My World, a sort of summer camp with the objective of giving Turkish high schools students, all of whom have studied English for around five years but none of whom have opportunities to practice it outside their classroom, exposure to English and a chance to speak it, as well as present diverse world cultures to them.

The first Myself My World camp of the summer is nearly done, and I was blessed with the chance to have my birthday fall during this time - and it turned out to be one of my more memorable birthdays in recent years, and a great confluence of a great variety of interesting activities.

My team of fellow interns met, as usual, at 10am so as to plan the one-and-one-half hour class for the morning, this time about entrepreneurship; also, as usual, everyone seemed to remember what I tended to forget - that it was my birthday. One student, smiling gleefully, informed me that the class had a surprise for me (I loved the irony in her informing me of that), and my fellows corroborated with their observations that the students had been twittering in Turkish the previous day. Only after the opening meeting was the extent of the surprise revealed: while I was preparing for an average, if perhaps dry, lesson about entrepreneurship (I'm no enthusiast for business), they came in with a cake bedecked with sparklers and candles singing Happy Birthday, followed at their heels by a veritable parade of other foods, which we spread out on some desks in the center of the room. There was börek, a baked pastry stuffed with meat and sauce; potato with onions; a pasta salad; stuffed grape leaves; a powdery sweet called irmek helva; and there was a local speciality, pişmaniye, which is closest to cotton candy - but American cotton candy is coarse and sickly compared to the delicious fineness and smoothness that is the traditional sweet of Izmit. All together, there was far, far too much food even for the twenty of us, and we were all oversatiated by the end.

The post-lunch torpor did not prevent us, though, from adapting K'naan's song "Waving Flag" - which you make recognize from its having been the anthem of last year's World Cup - into a declaration of team unity, which we later presented as the camp got together for the afternoon's country presentations (I had done mine about the US two days earlier - coincidentally, July Fourth!). It was good to finally have a cheer to call our own.

After the activities of the camp were through, one student took me to his home, as he had invited me to dinner with his family the day before. While we awaited his parents' arrival, he showed me photos from his family's trip to Mecca when he was twelve - a place that I'll never get to see save through photographs of those who visit. By happy chance, when dinner did roll around, I could speak with everyone in the family except the mother: the two sons knew passable English, and the father, a Qur'an teacher at the mosque and hafidh (person who has memorized the entirety of the Qur'an), spoke Modern Standard Arabic, and actually complimented me on my Arabic skill. After the dinner, a few of the family's relatives came over, and I was witness to a private Muslim prayer service: the first time I had witnessed the entirety of the ritual of Islamic prayer. It was a very interesting experience, and the little bit after that we discussed the unique bits of Islam and Christianity and I explained that, even though I don't drink tea as a part of my faith, they shouldn't feel obliged to not drink it in my presence.

The family then retreated to the top-floor terrace for the mandatory post-meal watermelon. It was there that the student asked me about the song "Cotton-Eye Joe", which was played at camp and to which no one really knew a dance but me. And so it was that I demonstrated the dance I knew to "Cotton-Eye Joe" to a Turkish family.

All in all, it was a great day. I'm glad I had the chance to be here.

Discovering a Hidden Jewel--Sempu Island

I woke up at 3 am in the morning, got dressed in my bikini, then packed an extra pair of clothes, a towel, lots of food and water, mosquito lotion, and some sunscreen. I was about to head to Heaven on Earth in Indonesia—Sempu Island. It was going to be a 3-hour drive to the coast, a 15-min boat ride to the island, and a 2-hour walk to get the lagoon next to the Indian Ocean. The car and boat ride was less than extraordinary, but the 2-hour walk was an adventure of a lifetime—especially given the jewel that I was to discover at the end of the journey.

We got off the boat and crossed some shallow water. On the other side was a muddy jungle that seemed to hold all the secret wonders of the world. Our guide, Hendra, told us that the island was divided into two areas—area A is mostly uninhabited by dangerous animals, while area B is where the jaguars dwell. As much as I wanted to see a jaguar, I was happy to hear we were about to venture into area A. J

Crossing the muddy paths, I can see that there were many visitors in the past. The footprints in the mud were our guides, and their presence gave us just enough knowledge to reach the lagoon. Step by step and slip after slip, we got our muddy selves through the jungle without serious injuries. Along the way, I kept on wondering: perhaps the animals are all spying on us. Their voices were so vivid yet we could never see them—I heard monkeys and birds; even some unidentified croaking sounds that perplexed us all. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were laughing at us clumsy human beings.

As sudden and unexpected as the sun seems to creep up at dawn, we spotted clear, CLEAR, blue water. “We’re here,” said Henra. Each of us were so concentrated on that one step in front of us, that time disappeared, our hungers and thirst vanished. Yet as soon as we saw that water, even that slippery mud in front of us became solid ground. We raced to the lagoon, forgetting all our aches and pains.

There it was—paradise. I have never seen clearer water and whiter sand in my life. How can I have lived for 20 years on Earth and have never even seen this hidden wonder? I kicked off my half-broken muddy shoes, and to my surprise, the sand was one of the most solid kinds I’ve ever set foot upon. My feet didn’t sink in, and the heat of the sun was not trapped in the sand. It was comfortable and cool. I stood there, just for another second, to absorb all that was around me. I looked over at a large opening between the rocks that separated the ocean from this land, and I listened carefully to the Indian Ocean beating ruthlessly against these rocks. The opening allowed the clear sea water to gush into the lagoon. With each oceanic wave, the lagoon came to life with a soft sound of the sea. I wanted to be a part of this all! So I took off my clothes and ran into the lagoon in my bikini. I let the cool, salty water absorb me in. I let the sun shine its rays onto my skin. The girls and I floated, swam, laughed, took pictures, and enjoyed all that was around us. I felt true serenity.

On the way back, we began hearing a distant but familiar sound—the Muslim prayer broadcasted by loudspeaker throughout Indonesia. Together with all praying Muslims, I thanked God (whomever it/He may be) for creating this Earth with all its wonders. I knew that even though my internship about tourism and environmental protection was about to end, I will always be a part of this project for the rest of my life. Our Earth, our home, will be protected; its beauty will be shared. J I just wonder, what other jewels are there for me to discover? I can’t wait to find out.