Indonesia / Malaysia

It was a small back alley coffee shop, a few blocks off the main road where I met Mr Buana. He had been waiting for me for at least the past half hour while I was grabbing some lunch downtown. He was a short man, who from my initial accounts was a respected man of his area, welcomed me at the gate to usher me inside for some coffee.

I had been introduced to Mr Buana through a contact of mine, Mr Is, whose name I have no chance of remembering or to even pronounce correctly. I had met Mr Is in front of Bima's Museum - the house had been the palace of the first Indonesian Prime Minister. Mr Is was a local police officer (locally known as 'polisi') who approached us in a kind and regarded manner as we'd been inquiring with locals for the opportunity of hiring scooters. After he's resolved that there would be no such way in Bima, Mr. Is, along with the crowd that had gathered around us, requested to take photos with us which agreed for some following time.

It was only moments before that Tim and I had stepped back into the grounds of the Museum. We had come with the intent to meet more of the local kids following the missed opportunity from the day before. On arriving, we could see roughly one-hundred kids neatly seated and lined on the Museum steps, awaiting for their group photos to be taken.

As we approached, some kids began to squeal. Smiles and eyes turned to us in what was a spectacle for them seeing us for their first time. It became something of fanfare. We requested to join in their photos, after which we spent the next 20 minutes shaking hands, taking many selfies and answering their questions (translated from the local Bima dialect) as best we could manage.

This became something of a correction of my judgement from the day before - our presence wasn't minor fanfare, but something of a major affair. Kids, but also teachers in charge of them, were something in awe of us being there. Standing beside them, teachers would be just as embarrassed as the kids to have their photos taken with us. Tim and I would have shaken hands with at least seventy of the kids each. What I found special about this was that for these kids, they were forthcoming enough to do so. And those that had their reservations, I could pick out so I could go over to have them shake my hand.

Reading this might make no sense to you at all. Tim and I are just tourists, at most normal people. There is nothing so extraordinary about us. We just came to learn some things and see other things. But what this showed, with the treatment of us that was attunded of highly acclaimed celebrities; was that for these kids - these people - we had taken time out of our lives to visit them, in their local area of cultural appreciation to see them, to meet them, and to learn and appreciate their culture.

It was Mr Is, who then informed us that there was a cultural Rimpu Festival to be held over the following days in Bima. The festival of national significance, is to celebrate the clothing and traditions of Rimpu - customary dress worn local to Bima's region, known to be breathable in hot environments, but warm in cold environments due to the thickness of the material. As brought about by wider Indonesian-Muslim culture, this was later to be replaced with the more common Hijabs.

I'd expressed interest to Mr. Is, we would like to stay for the event, but we would have trouble with the ferry's schedule as we were looking to leave on a ferry which wouldn't arrive for the next week following the festival. Mr. Is, assured me that this would be no issue as he had his contact with Mr Buana, who could get us to Labuan-Bajo through his connections. After exchanging our contacts, I had flicked Mr Buana a message, who replied shortly requesting we should meet over coffee.

Mr Buana, as it turned out, was the head honcho for the Ministry of tourism for Bima, who I found out had a background in adventuring, of which he trekked the local volcanoes, SCUBA diving around the country and solo biking packing missions across multiple other countries. Our conversation, as it seemed to me, reminded him of his times. It was over coffee I would see the glint in his eyes anytime we're able to share expressed philosophies of how such times should be lived.

Mr Buana also had the important task of organising the Rimpu Festival - the cultural event which would last over the following three days. I told him my plans, expressing that Tim and I had decided to stay. He was amused and promised we would be well positioned during the festival for the days we were present. We talked some more, and before long he'd offered to escort me back to my hotel, which provided a grand tour of Bima's central township.

Along the way we dropped in at the festival venue, to which I'd been completely baffled sitting on the back of his scooter. There I was, riding with arguably the most influential man in the area who had been ushering me into the festival of which he was responsible for. Around us, hundreds of women were practising their dance performances ahead of the ceremony. I was privileged to take as many photos as I could from any angle from around the stage. After some five minutes, he dropped me off where had told me, if there was anything that I would need, I should go through him as an official source.

So here's my life update: Tim and I will be attending the Bima's Cultural Rimpu Festival over the next three days. The cultural event is projected to attract around forty thousand people from around the country. There has been nothing more that Tim and I have wanted more than a beer to digest our situation. Instead, we continue to sip our caffe-lattes while we reside in the Muslim state of Simbawa. Enjoy some photos of the locals I had met wandering the city. These people are truly incredible!

Tim and I are very excited for these days ahead.Читать далее