gentle souls

A few years ago the four villages around some waterfalls decided to start a cooperative in order to insure the education of their children, since many of them did not have enough money to pay beyond the government funded elementary school. So, utilizing their unique area where many spices grow, and the beautiful waterfalls, the men became guides and the women "manned" (?!) souvenir shops. So, when I walked out of the car, a 30 year old man speaking excellent English approached me, with the typical Balinese "special" dress of headband and sarong and a shirt saying he was a tour guide. He asked where I am from. I told him "Israel", and half expected the usual confused clarification; "Venezuela?" "No, Israel", "Switzerland?" and then I just give in and say "America", and they are happy. Things are clear. But he surprised me….he too hesitated a moment, and then he gestured with his thumb and forefinger: "Ah, Israel; very small, but…" and then made a big fist with his hand and forearm "…very strong!". And smiled. He had won me over! "How do you know about Israel?" "from the television and also there are books in bali about it." He explained that the guides ask $6 for explaining about the floral and the area and that the money is for their children's schooling. How can you refuse?

He took us down a winding path that began with a souvenir shop and pointed out all the spices that grow in their area: cinnamon, coffee, cocoa, nutmeg, ginger, vanilla, tea, cardamom, and more. At the first shop it was interesting….but what followed were another 30 shops, all with the same products that are sold all over bali. Kind of like what happens at airports and major cities and malls all over the world, all having the exact same shops. so most of the way down to the waterfall was spent politely smiling and not answering the sales pitches of all the women who were busy crocheting large white tablecloths in addition to the standard coconut, wooden, and painted souvenirs. It became more "human" on our way back up when I suddenly felt a need to ask him if his wife also works. He said yes, and pointed to the woman that was standing in the souvenir shop opposite us at that moment! (synchronicity…) and then he explained that the women just work in the shops, and all the profits also go for the childrens communal education fund.

He was very charismatic and I enjoyed asking him all about his life and his parents life and how he got this job. He himself only finished elementary school! But picked up English from the tourists and hopes to save up enough money so that one day he can pay the owner of a hotel some $500 in order to be hired to work there….that's the way it works here. Since there are so many people that want the job, you have to pay them to hire you! His mother takes care of the children while he and his wife work.

He explained the fundamentals of Balinese Hinduism in such a simple yet deep way, as most of them do when asked. "our heart has 2 sides to it; a good and a bad. When I meet you, I feel both sides. I see the side that hates you. I can pray to rise beyond the hatred and then there is room for the good to enter. When we wake up in the morning, we take a moment to thank god and go to work. The women put an offering in the family temple and in front of the house and by the source of our water, and by the fire for cooking, with a little bit of food to say thank you. At lunch time we say thank you again before we eat, and at dusk, the women place an offering made from a banana leaf cup holding flowers and incense. The incense is the element of fire, which attracts God to us. Just like we cannot see the wind, but we can see the trees moving in the wind, and we cannot see the smell of the flowers that we are offering, but we can smell them, so we cannot see god but we can feel Him, so we use the nature to connect with God, and water is sprinkled on the flowers while thanking god for all of the abundance that we receive from nature every day. It is an expression of the 4 elements."

I often meet this kind of gentle, soft spoken side of the Balinese men. The day before I had been trying to pick some banana leaves in order to make little offering cups and I made such a mess out of it, with tearing and strands hanging and unable to cut it and I was sure there must be an easier way. Made' had just cut off a frayed leaf and I asked if he could show me how to cut it without getting all complicated. He took his scythe and with the most delicate movement he made a small cut and smoothly moved it along the backbone of the leaf. Then he made another small cut and easily lifted the leaf up and it split into a nice straight shape for making cups. It was all done in a minimum amount of movements, and each movement was done in a flow. Then in the quietest voice he explained that this is the way I can do it. I was in shock! Again, the bull in the china shop! I thanked him, and wondered what happens to these gentle souls when they meet us westerners that are so "up front" with everything and are not living and breathing the nature all day and learning its ways.

In the morning I had been watching the sunrise and saw a bow legged figure shying towards the fishing boats on shore, but making his way in my direction, and I knew it must be Arie, the wood carver that had wanted to practice English with me before he goes to work at 6:30. I was happy to see him and we began to speak. He told me that his new carving work was in one of the temples now. I wanted to know which one, so I could come watch. He hesitated. I asked him why he doesn't tell me which one it is? "I am shy. You come. And then you speak with me there. And all the other men will laugh at me. I am shy." I had to promise him that if I come, I will pretend that I don't even know him, and that I am just passing by and want to watch them carving, and I won't speak with him at all. So in my "up front" manner I started to ask him where exactly the temple is. To make sure I understood correctly I used my thigh slapping my hand down for "here is the main road, and here is the lion statue…" I quickly realized I needed a more "neutral" base since he would not have touched my skirt to explain, and I took my notebook and again began an exaggerated imaginary drawing on it and placing a large stone to figure out where exactly it is. He waited until I was done, and then he took a moment or two to look around him at the stony shore we were sitting on and he found a little pebble, a thin straight twig, and gently placed them on the notebook, and slowly pointed out with the aid of the pebble and twig where the temple was. Always something humble and simple about them.

I had also been watching some workmen making a stone mosaic entranceway. I love watching craftsmen at work, so I decided to stand there and see how they do it and which one is the artist. What I found instead was that all three men were making the mural. One was placing the white stones, one the orange, and one the black. They worked quietly together, speaking in low voices with minimum amount of words about how to continue the picture, as they worked alongside each other on the same little part. It amazes me to see this communal approach to everything. The mural could have easily been done by one person having 3 different colors of stones that he places wherever he wants. But instead, there is a togetherness, a joint effort, it is never someone being singled out.

While walking home from the market, I saw two basketfuls of mangos that had been picked and were waiting to be sold. They looked so lovely with the bamboo handle connecting them, that I stopped to photograph it. Just then a man came to his motorbike to lift up the 60 kilos worth onto it and drive them to market. When he saw me standing there photographing them, he immediately took 3 out of the basket and handed them to me, smiling. Surprised but grateful, I thanked him, and he too, shyly kept his big smile and glance to the side as I tried to photograph him driving off. Other than my thank you, no words were spoken.

Earlier I had stopped by one of the little shops to try and find a kilo of rice to bring for the wedding present. Not finding it, bought a paintbrush instead. Some of the villagers were sitting by the shop entrance and giggled as I spoke in my broken Indonesian and we all laughed and I said "terimikasi" (goodbye) and they mimicked me, and I remembered that gede' had just taught me the more polite form of saying goodbye, so as I picked up my two big bags filled with big bamboo boxes I had bought, I loudly called back to them: "suksumah!" happy that I remembered how to say it and had an opportunity to impress them with my "polite" Balinese! They all laughed again, and the old woman owner humbly placed her hands together at her chest, bowed her head, and said quietly,"suksumah". And then I realized that it wasn't enough to know the word, it was the attitude and the intention of respect and honor that were being expressed. Aware of my boorishness, I placed the bags back on the ground, and copied her quiet humble "suksumah" blessing and they smiled with approval for my effort. These interactions with them are very touching for me, revealing a more delicate layer to life that I am usually not in touch with.