meeting with beneficiaries, not always a parade

I have always read about how the Acehnese are an especially proud people. As the first foothold of Islam in Indonesia (it was introduced to maritime communities by Arab and Indian traders who—smartly—married up and down the coast), the Acehnese are prone to self-aggrandizing, nicknaming (in violation of all rules governing nicknaming), for instance, their home ‘the verandah of Mecca.’

International NGOs operating in Aceh cower in fear of so-called ‘social jealousy,’ the term given for the idea that people will get upset when their neighbors have something that they do not have. The first time I heard about this I thought it sounded kind of funny, until I realized the deference and lip service paid to this idea, as it can be wielded by communities to the point of extortion.

Nor does it take a long time on google to be able to dredge up message board posts where Acehnese advocate the expulsion of all foreigners and the sealing of the province’s borders. The most astonishing revelation is that the author then goes on to detail how then utopia will be achieved, social problems will evaporate, and (—the best part) mathematics and science will flourish.

However, in spite of all this, I had yet to internalize how proud these people are until I interviewed some of my organization’s housing beneficiaries.

Perhaps the idea of visiting this village looking for an easy and ‘ready made’ beneficiary story was a bit naïve on my part. Perhaps my colleague’s idea of a ‘funny joke:’ explaining to the beneficiaries that I come from the university where ‘all the wealthiest people send their children,’ did not help me set off on the right foot. Either way, I arrived in this village, about 500 meters from the ocean with a list of questions and a notebook (though I probably could have left the notebook in the truck), brimming with positivity just asking to be squashed.

Spending time in a village is always a trip, whether it is the excitement of the kids, the hilarious supporting cast of livestock, or the utterly troubled looks on the faces of the babies (probably my favorite part). On this particular visit I met with several mothers in the village’s communal pavilion like structure, as particularly mangy chickens ran around my feet (which I tried to discreetly keep off the ground).

Things did not get off to a really good start, as apparently most of the people in the village were unhappy because some people in the next village over had bigger houses, courtesy of another NGO. The people also refused to paint their houses, insisting that they would only pick the colors they wanted while the organization was responsible for the painting. Apparently a disagreement had ensued.

To say a few things about the houses, they are full wood stilted structures, designed with traditional architecture in mind. They have three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a ‘living room’ that runs the length of the house. As a beneficiary, albeit in a different village explained to me, “In my house before, you had to sit this close to the television [indicating a distance of about 1 meter with his hands], but now you can sit much further back [about 3 meters] and its way more optimal.” Though I must admit, I don’t know the Indonesian word for ‘optimal’; sometimes guys can just tell these things. Also, all of the houses have permanent toilets (with running water) out back.

All of my attempts to get the quote generation moving in the right direction summarily failed.

“How do you like your houses?”

“We don’t.”

“Do you have anything to say about the process?”

“It could have been better.”

“What do you like best about your new houses?”

“They need to be better”

“Do you think your children are healthier since they moved in here?”

“I don’t know.”

Finally, asking if anyone planned to make any improvements or personalize their homes in any way after they were handed over to the homeowners, I only seemed to elicit confusion and stares. In fact, I later found out that long after my organization’s houses are handed over (in effect, transferring the titles), people continue to call the construction department saying they have to come fix their fence or change a fuse in the circuit breaker.

An Indonesian colleague, feeling, I imagine, a bit embarrassed, tried to prod one of the most vocal of the group into saying something pleasant: “Maybe you want to say something as we wrap-up [it was pretty apparent that we were leaving] perhaps ‘thank you’ to S_____?”

“No. I will not say ‘thank you.’”

Wow.

In a way, I completely understand that the people of Aceh have been through a great deal of trauma (30 years of conflict, tsunami) and the last thing they should have to stomach is a goofy white kid poking around their village trying to massage quotables for a slick exploitation piece. I also understand that lots of posturing takes place in these sorts of meetings and there is an inherent and flexible power balance between an organization and its beneficiaries.

However, on the other hand, it bears pointing out that before the tsunami families like this one lived in a one room hut and went to the beach to go to the bathroom. Immediately after the tsunami they lived in a shanty of debris they found and went to the beach to go to the bathroom. While I certainly was not expecting anyone to throw themselves at the feet of the organization, I had no idea that they would be so demonstratively ungrateful.