NO NEED TO PANIC

Indonesia is not a nanny state like the countries I spent the last 30 plus years in.  If I buy a hairdryer here there will not be a sticker advising me not to stand in the shower and use it, I must use my own common sense to assess that running water and electrical products don’t go together.  This country will not warn me that I should not drive with my new sun shield in place, that my Windex window cleaner is not fit for human consumption or that my microwave is not to be used for drying pets.   In Indonesia they assume that I can probably work these things out for myself and therefore keep myself safe. Well that is what I thought prior to Sunday.

Safety standards here are very different to those in Australia, New Zealand and generally anywhere in the western world.  I have come to except it as normal that my power points spark during an electrical storm, scared the hell out of me the first time but I am used to it now.   It has taken a year and many destroyed electrical items but I have also grasped the fact that turning something off at the power point does not mean that it is off and that the only way to make sure the hair straightner will not remain on until it over heats and dies is to unplug it at the wall.  Apparently my house is not earthed, there is no automatic blowing of fuses when something goes awry electrically and every time I plug or unplug something I hope for the best. 

Why is the lack of safety warnings and precautions relevant to this blog, well read on.  Sunday afternoon my house caught fire!!!!! Well okay it wasn’t exactly the entire house, just a small part, but it had the potential to burn the whole house down.  Home alone, sitting back relaxing there is a loud bang and suddenly flames appear from the roof fan in my lounge.  After it registered that oh shit that’s not good I managed to jump up off my chair, trip over the golf clubs in the middle of the floor, launch onto the coffee table and beat the flames with ------- a tea towel.   I know - a tea towel - really, what the hell was I thinking.  The tea towel and I did manage to beat the flames out, the only casualties the plastic on the fan and the now burnt and holey piece of fabric that was left in my hand.  With a sense of kick arseness I relaxed with a vodka admiring my quick reflexes and fire fighting skill.  However, the remainder of the evening was spent stressing that my house was going to burn down around me. 

The next day a small army of men descended on my house and replaced every light bulb (hmmm), serviced every air con (not the problem boys), checked every conceivable appliance (including the sink??????)  and were preparing to leave when in my best Bahasa Indonesian I mentioned that I think they were actually meant to be repairing the fan.  This is where it all goes bad and leads me to think that those safety warning tags should perhaps be used in this country also.  One gentleman places a shiny metal ladder under the fan while three others hold it steady.  Without turning off any power he proceeds to stick a screw driver into the mass of electrical stuff.  Hmmmm, I know this cannot end well and encourage Princess Pants to step away from the impending disaster.  After lots of head shaking (by me and them), he pulls out some duct tape,  sticks the melted wires back in place (yep you read that correctly), reattaches the fan to the roof, climbs down the ladder and announces to me with a big smile on his face “bagus Ibu” (good lady).  I think at this point my jaw hit the ground and I had a look of dumb confusion on my face.   I gathered myself and replied that no, not good, not fixed.   My maid has at this stage left for the day so I am left to try to explain in an odd mix of Bahasa, English and hand signals that he didn’t fix the fan and had just stuck it back together with tape.  I thought I was making myself very clear, obviously not as the word  “sudah” (already) was said a lot as this ‘electrician’ pointed at the fan.  He couldn’t see my problem; he had already fixed the fan.  Apparently my lack of knowledge of the local language and my hand signals (or maybe it was the look of WTF on my face) was amusing to all the men working in the house as they all came to investigate the crazy white lady, trying to give instructions.  They eventually gave up on me and packed up their tool boxes, thanked me and left. 

Needless to say instructions have been given that the fan is to remain OFF at all times and there will be an influx of smoke detectors arriving at Batu Putih 4 as soon as I can arrange them. Perhaps safety tags are not such a bad idea and may have come about from somebody actually doing something as stupid as using the hair dryer in the shower.   I now believe that screw drivers in this county should carry a warning tag that states “do not use on live electrical wiring” and that duct tape maybe needs a tag saying “this product is not fire resistant”.   I am hoping my fan stays attached to the roof and that I no longer need my new found fire fighting skills but am not counting on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROUD OF OUR EMERGENCY WORKERS

I am a Kiwi; I call New Zealand my place of birth and my home.   Growing up in New Zealand earthquakes were the norm, we had emergency kits ready and dealt with them if they hit.  Luckily for me I never had to suffer through the aftermath of a large earthquake.  Small tremors were more than enough for me to develop a healthy respect for the power of Mother Nature.  I cried as friends, family and the community I lived in as a Uni student were dealt the devastating earthquake that destroyed the beautiful city of Christchurch and her surrounding towns.  I watched as TV images showed buildings I knew smashed on the sidewalk and those ever so brave men and woman of the emergency services risking everything in the endeavour to help others. 

 I am also a little bit Australian – my adopted home for 11 years is a beautiful country.  I am lucky to have seen so much of it.  My little brother has also adopted Australia as his home and lives in one of the most beautiful parts, the Blue Mountains.   As I sit and type this I am chatting to my little brother, he lives in a small town which at the moment is situated between two huge bush fires.  Once I got hold of him, discovered he was still there and had not evacuated I set about giving him a lecture to be safe and leave early.  He assures me he is fine, the wind is changing and currently the fires are not heading towards him.  As glad as I am for his current state of safety (which is dependent on the whim of the weather), my concern turns to those men and woman on the front line.  Houses are burning, acre after acre of beautiful country is being destroyed and there can be no doubt that the men and woman of the emergency services and RFS have left their own families to fight these fires.  Don’t even get me started on the idiots who think arson is a fun way to pass the time, standing back and watching as their handy work destroys lives and communities.    There are currently 100 fires burning across NSW which means 100’s of emergency workers are at risk.  The emergency workers will be the last to leave those areas where others are evacuated from they will stay until the fire is out or is beyond all control.  They will see horrific things as communities’ burn, as wild life is decimated, they may suffer injury and the sad reality is that they may pay the ultimate price.

 

I want to thank every emergency worker that is currently ensuring the safety of my little brother and the communities that are suffering through this bushfire season.  I want to acknowledge the workers who without hesitation gear up and race into any situation, regardless of it been an earthquake ruined city, a flooded town or a bushfire disaster.  You are the brave men and woman that we should all be so very proud of.  I take my hat off to you all, be safe.

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WHY IS IT IMPORTANT TO BE BEAUTIFUL?

So Princess Pants hit me with a curly one this week.  I have mulled it over and over in my head and still have no real answer for her.  I have raised my daughter to enjoy life.  She fishes, wrestles with friends and is more than happy to get down and dirty in the mud.  She has been known to dissect the contents of a fish’s stomach and not flinch (much to my horror) and can hit a golf ball with the best of them.  She likes shoes and handbags (think she got that from me), never says no to a bit of pampering and massage and can shop till she drops when we travel.  I thought she was well rounded, not a girly girl but not a tom boy either – somewhere in the middle a nice balance of both.  Well apparently society is starting to dictate how she should be (yep, even here in the jungle social pressure is alive and well). 

We are busy on a math lesson when Princess Pants comes out with “why does everyone say I’m pretty?” I of course respond with “because you are so beautiful inside and out”.  That is when she went in for the kill – “but that’s not what they mean mum, they just mean I am pretty on the outside.” Hmmm where do I go from there?  She is correct, as we travelled through Cambodia the Khmer people were delighted with PP and told her how pretty and beautiful she was.  A young man (thinking PP was older than she was) proceeded to flirt with her telling her how lovely she was and so beautiful (my reaction to PP being flirted with is an entire blog on its own).  Here in Borneo we often hear the word cantik (pretty) said about PP and it has never really bothered me.

So I try to do the correct mummy thing (god knows what that is) and ask her how it makes her feel that people think she is beautiful.  To my horror she said she likes it. Okay, fair enough but wait for it, she likes it “because it’s important to be beautiful”.  WHAT is what I wanted to shout?  Instead I stayed calm, took a deep breath and asked her what she meant.  Apparently in the eyes of my 9 year old the world is pretty simple.  Here is how she explained it to me. 

“Nobody likes ugly things, movie stars are never ugly mum, they can’t be it is their job to be pretty. It is much more important to be pretty if you are a girl though.” My knuckles began to turn white as I gripped the table and tried to not show my devastation.   Why do you think that I asked not sure I really wanted to hear her answer.  “That is what boys want.  If you want a boyfriend or husband then you need to look pretty”.  I respond with oh that isn’t true, boys like girls to be smart, clever and independent.  PP comes back with “maybe that was what it was like when you were a young, but now you have to be pretty.  I can be smart for getting a job but if you are beautiful then you can get an even better job and then boys will like you more.  You will be beautiful and have a good job.” WTF by this stage the bottle of vodka on the bench is looking like an option and I am struggling to maintain my good mummy composure. 

My brain was in overtime trying to find a response but apparently the conversation was over.  PP put her head down, completed her math lesson then ran off to paint her nails.  I sat at the table wondering how this messed up image of life as a girl had entered my baby’s head.  She is correct though, society tells us that beautiful is best, we are blasted with images and advertising on how to make ourselves look more beautiful and sadly that has translated a horrible message to my 9 year old.  I think I still have a chance to change her perception until I needed to get some things from the shop.  I was heading out the door and was reminded by PP that I might want to put some make up on because I look so much prettier with it.  We watched the All Blacks play the Springboks last night. In a room full of men I cheered, cursed and barracked for my boys in black, PP was embarrassed.  She told me that it is not attractive to be so outspoken and loud.     I am clearly losing the battle, I will keep fighting and try to teach in  my daughter that how you look is not the most important thing but sadly I think society has a stronger influence than me at the moment.