Turn right in 500 metres, the British voice sounds. What? Are you kidding? THAT road? We turn anyway, unsure and doubtful, hoping the GPS hasn't lost it's senses. But it has held its own the past 8 hours, so why not?
It's an unmarked single lane road with wild unkept wilderness. We pass wooden stilt houses here and there. Ropes hang in the dusty palm orchards with clothes strewn across to dry. Small children wander, toyless and unmonitored, in the shade. Young men pull 7 foot dried up palm branches into piles. Older men sit on plastic chairs sipping hot tea at makeshift drink stands. Motorbikes squeeze past our car- mothers drive clutching sleeping babies, pre-adolescents laugh zooming by, arthritic aunties slowly ease and assist the leg over the cycle seats to head over to a free wedding lunch, but most just putt by unbothered by time.
We stop and idle for awhile so our little girl can take a peek at a small goat and cow farm. Behind the raised platforms a small boy hoses out basins and the cow just lays in the mud working through its grass. Worried a car might come, we keep on... but there's no one. The road stays quiet. Deeper and deeper we wind through this narrow road into a backwoods interior world that, in a way, felt like something private. Wonder and deep appreciation seep into my breaths. What a privilege to see and briefly step into this world.
The caked on mud on all the homes. The dirt all around the houses. The lack of infrastructure and the obviousness that things were built with what you could get when the need arose. Poverty is my first thought. But no. They are just simple people with simple needs. I've learned that. You ask a man there what he does for work- he laughs and says village work... "Cari makan". Find what you can, do what you can to make enough for that day's food. Buckets hang low on trees collecting rubber sap. That's the cari makan for many.
Still deeper in we venture, finally we slow when our eyes are caught by the glittering tinsel palm branches. We add one more to the line of cars pulled off the road into the weeds. This must be it. I slip off my flip flops and trade up for black pointy toed flats and double checked that I had the envelope- the one that later would have to be conspicuously handed off to someone before departing. Walking down the road to the house I unconsciously went through my normal emotion-prepping pep talk: yes, ok, we will be the only "matsallehs" here... Yes, they are going to stare and stare... Breathe. Smile. Remember why you are here and try not to feel too uncomfortable. The pep talk ended when my eyes spotted the bride and groom just getting out of their car. Relief. We all arrived two hours "late". Perfect timing! Happy for that. We walked into the festivities in tow with the couple's entourage. Awkward. Like presuming you're important or something, but they kept waving us on to follow so we did.
Right away my daughter notices the pile of shoes and an open front door. She jerks my hand for us to go in. Too early, my love. "Makan! Makan! Makan!" We hear it from everyone. We cave and head over to the green and yellow tents in the dirt to the right of us. On blind auto-pilot mode I follow my husband towards the ten gallon container of white rice. I reach into the plastic bag and fish out two plates, trying to avoid the curry that was dripped on the bag. My husband and I look at each other weighing everything getting ready to decide how we want to plan this eating thing with our three year old on hand. It's not easy for two to eat and simultaneously monitor a little one while deboning meat and scooping wet curry laden rice into your mouth with your bare fingertips. The conversation never starts as I am realizing I'm about to serve up food in the men's tent. I rush out holding my girl's hand. Decision made.
My styrofoam plate gets loaded up and I fill up her cup with that rose syrup drink that she only gets at weddings and parties and just makes me cringe that she is drinking. Oh well. I usually love to engage with others at the table, but today I don't want to look up. I just smile at the women instead of offering a greeting. It buys me time. That way they just assume I only speak English. My mission is to eat quickly and get the chili chicken curry off my rice hands as fast as possible. Who knows how long she'll last. She already saw the pile of shoes. She knows kids must be inside. Kids and likely a beautiful white bling studded couch that none of the kids can ever resist playing on. And sweets, of course. I'd engage later once in the room. Ok, I'm done. Apologetically, I tear off toilet tissue with my left hand since my right hand was covered in rice, and blot up the spilled drink and surprise the ladies with my lack of English. We trot off to wash up and head inside.
Then it begins for my girl... The poking, the hair grabbing, the cheek rubbing. "Hey girl... Nak ambil gambar?" Folds her arms and lets out her "stop touching me" grunt. She, like the other kids, get low to roll around on the new soft rugs. Teens too get flat down to the kids' level and squirm, whizzing their phones around squaring up the right angle to steal a selfie with the white kid who already told them no. Old man reaches down squeezing her ribs trying to pick her up to seat her with the bride and groom for a picture. She wiggles away, cross. I stand there weighing which battles to let her fight and which I need to step in for... Or which ones I might need to convince her of something. I follow her around for two hours. In and out. Shoes on. Shoes off. On off. On off. She makes a friend. They squeal and chase each other around the kitchen table then to the outside tiled porch where they swing between the rail's cement beams. Light spreads across their faces. Four or five village men, sweaty from cooking beside four foot wide woks, squat at the muddy backside of the house joking, just under the girls. A chicken boks by and an aunty next to me nods and smiles enjoying it all with me. It all felt good. I took joy in cultures merging and in these amazing experiences that are a part of us now. It's not all comfortable, but the exchanges are really worth it.