Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Asia (02/26/09)
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TITLE: I wanted a coconut | Previous Challenge Entry
By Amanda Gray
03/04/09 -
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And then I had a set-back.
I set out one morning on my bicycle. I had abandoned the use of local becaks (pronounced beh-chuck, a small peddle-powered, two seater taxi) as I had never quite been able to get used to the necessary bartering about the price. And the knowledge that more often than not I was charged, and often paid, at least twice as much as the locals rankled.
I also had always been a little embarrassed about being peddled around by a man usually much smaller than myself. Though I had lost quite a bit of weight due to a combination of excessive sweating in the tropical heat, the diet of rice and vegetables, and the lifestyle that incorporated walking and cycling as an essential mode of transport.
So I set out on my bike, beginning as I always did with an uncoordinated wobble. If, in Australia, I had been told that I would be riding a bike as my main mode of transport I would have suggested that the speaker was mad. Physical exercise had never been one of my interests, balance or coordination had never been one of my strengths.
During the ride to the local markets, my heart would continually leap into my mouth or sink to the very base of my stomach as I negotiated the hectic, bumpy and mostly dirt roads of the town. However, I managed to arrive at the local markets largely unscathed.
I was also sweating profusely. A condition I could only address when home again. And it would only be addressed by what passed as a shower here – the throwing of a small bucket full of breathlessly cold water over my body.
At the markets, the air was ripe with the smell of sun-warmed tropical fruit. The most pungent of these was durian.
As well as being pungent, the air was full of noise. The markets were a series of labyrinth-like alleys full of tiny stalls hung with all manner of goods. The unfamiliar sight of a westerner entering this labyrinth always brought cries of, “Hello, lady!” as locals practiced their very limited English.
The other thing that I felt I would never get used to was being called fat. To the locals it was a compliment, a sign that I was “healthy”. But I had the westerner’s abhorrence and fear of the flab.
Eventually I had waded through the sea of sound and people, finding my way to the object of my visit. I was here to buy my groceries.
With my developing Indonesian and a few explanatory gestures, I managed to get everything I needed – though I suspected I had paid an exorbitant price despite my weak attempts at bartering. But I was just relieved that it was over.
And then I remembered. I needed to buy a coconut because I wanted to have a go at making lulun, a delicious delicacy made of sticky rice and sweetened coconut.
And that’s where things came unstuck. I said, “Saya mau satu kepala.”
I wasn’t prepared for the dull, uncomprehending stare that dissolved into uproarious laughter that resulted from this request. It seemed that the request was so hilarious that the stall owner had to share it with his neighbour.
After a short time, there was an uncomfortably large crowd gathered. I was becoming claustrophobic and humiliated by being the object of laughter while not being able to follow the comments around me as they were made so fast I couldn’t keep up.
I left, defeated and close to tears, minus the coconut - which fact assumed disproportionate significance in my overwhelmed mind.
A period of reflection and prayer was required to put things in perspective again. A couple of days later I was finally ready to find out exactly what had happened.
I swallowed my pride and retailed the incident to the local girl with whom I was sharing a hut. When I repeated what I had said to the stall owner, to my dismay she also began laughing.
I demanded an explanation.
She explained.
There are two Indonesian words that are very similar – kelapa and kepala. Kelapa is a coconut. Kepala is the word for head.
And, yes, I had asked the stall owner for a head.
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