Ramadan is the Muslim month of the fast. It is a time for everyone to become closer to Allah and their loved ones while starving by day and feasting by night. After Ramadan is Idul-Fitri, the festival of breaking the fast. Idul-Fitri is technically only one day, but Indonesians tend to stretch it out to a holiday week, what they refer to as Lebaran.
Lebaran acts much like Christmas break in the states. Whole families will travel across the country to see other family members. Traffic jams and large family celebrations abound. Our host’s friend invited us to her family’s Lebaran celebration, a gesture akin to making sure no one is by themselves for Christmas (unless they want to be).
Pre-game Pep-Talk
“How are you feeling?” our host’s friend (hereafter named D) asked in perfect, slightly accented English.
“Umm… okay I guess? I am feeling shy because I can’t talk yet, and I don’t want to offend your family…”
“Oh no! I don’t want you to be shy! I want you to feel like one of us!! You will be part of our family today!”
It’s a wonderful sentiment. D was enthused and energetic, imbued with holiday cheer and a mother’s spirit. She is a matriarch in the making. Yet I have no way to linguistically connect with anyone. I tend to shy away from large crowds of strangers. I do not feel her confidence. What was there to say? She knows her family better than I do.
“Terima kasih banyak! (Thank you very much!)”
“O, ya!! ************* (unintelligible) ***************”
“……Maaf?…..” (”Excuse me?”)
She puts a hand on my shoulder and looks at me. “It’s okay, you’ll have fun!”
I was certain that was not all that she said. She was certain I wouldn’t understand it if she repeated herself. At least I tried.
Celebrity Status
The MC called us to the front after opening statements. There was no dodging it. We were taller and several shades lighter than everyone else. We had also missed the memo about the Lebaran tradition of family uniforms, so we were the only people in the room not wearing a family pattern/color. We thus stood at the front of the room inadvertently dressed for attention and shyly waving at the entire family. Everyone clapped and nodded their heads in greeting. Some exclaimed how wonderful it was that, “Americans have come to visit us!”
Indonesian culture treats guests with high honor as a rule. To acknowledge us in this way was almost obligatory. My gratitude for their hospitality co-mingled with my sense of the ridiculous. Dana and I have never liked being the center of attention nor being made much of. We had certainly done nothing other than arrive and be American. We returned to our places in the back with immense relief.
The Ties That Bind
I cannot overstate the cohesiveness of D’s large family. The whole family respectfully listened in silence to their patriarchs and matriarchs. Most joined in to sing a prayer of thanks with the Imam. Many played raucous group games at the front of the room according to their age groups. Lively conversation filled every time and space unoccupied by ritual or recreation. It was easy to enjoy ourselves because their celebratory spirits were so infectious.
D’s confidence in her family was well-founded. We never sat alone. D’s sons and their cousin took care to translate and explain everything. During the in-between times I learned that one loved all things NFL, another loved all things coffee, and the last loved all things WWF. I am extremely grateful that they stayed by my side throughout the entire celebration. They were not obligated to do so.
The family began wrapping-up Lebaran with a family greeting circle, the ins and outs of which I will explain in a later post. Suffice to say that half the family stands while the other half works its way down the line. Then the lines switch so the greeted can become the greeter. The point of the circle was both to greet each other into the new year and introduce new family members to each other. Imagine my surprise when I ended up greeting my wife, my host, and D! D’s sons and I had apparently become so enraptured talking about the state of American football, wrestling, and coffee that we had missed the instructions on where guests should stand. D died of laughter as I met my wife all over again.
Lebaran ended with a large, 100+ person family photo. As promised, they included us foreigners. It would have been impolite to refuse such insistence. I felt silly standing in some other family’s photo. I suspect that many of them will later wonder, “Who is that Chinese couple? Why are they in our family photo?” It’s a fair question. I know I would in their place.
In my head, family and home are related. Family comprises those I have forged intimate ties with through shared life. Conversations happen over coffee, meals, and activities. Stories are told, secrets are confided, grief is shared, accomplishments are celebrated. To be family is to carry a part of another within one’s self. Home is where your family is. It is difficult to feel at home when surrounded by strangeres.
Then again, it did not seem to matter to D’s family that we had never met. Nor did it matter that we still knew nothing of each other afterwards. D’s family treated us like their own without hesitation or reservation. I never absolutely forgot myself, but I certainly felt at home. I still feel a bit ridiculous, but it is a wonderful, beautiful kind of ridiculous. We became part of a family despite ourselves. The photo proves it.