Monday, May 08, 2006

Indonesia or Bust 6

'English Fun with Mr. Ben'................................

Grab your red flags, don your matching headband and on mass storm the parliament building. Yes it is that time of the month where you get the full on discharge of Ben's antics in South East Asia.
Hold on tight and put pressure on that wound as it is time for Indonesia or Bust number 6.
Aftre a hard days work there nopthing like returning home to see your host father having his arse massaged by a small child. This is I am afraid normal culture here in Indoland. Not content with the little boys hands Pa Agung has invested in some bizarre massage machine. I hough it was best not to ask and retired to my hovel of a room where Miftah my counterpart lay in his camo pants snoring like a trooper on his bed.
So tahts set the sene then. Let me tell you of the lovely adventures which I have embarked on and the tales of intrigue mystery and surreal bollocks.
I will start at the first of the Month May Day. Traditionally people like to protest on that day. Here in Indoland they are no different from any other country. But as I watched the news after a day working for the Red Cross as riot preventative forst aiders. I looked at the cities onthe box and saw that Germany had a few cases of Argy bargy, in Thailand they set thing on fire, in Manilla they went mental and juts smashed things up. But here ......well they protested like a bunch of wantaway schoolkids going their maths work.
No the point of a mass protest is becase ou havnt got the right ears to whisper our political persuasions into. Therefore as you cannot lobby the rite people you protest on mass to bring a city or country to a stand still. Only if you protest with full belief in what you are doing and strong to boot will people watche and most importantly listen to your cries of outrage and demands. So the moral of this is if you have to protest do a big one and bring the city, area, region or province to a standstill. But here in Indonesia they havnt quite gathered that.
I watched the comedy of Indo errors unfold in front of me as some of the marchers decided to block the main 4 lane road into the heart of the city. But the dumb dicks couldnt fathom out that if they blocked more than the one land they were occupying they could bring the traffic to a standstill. But they stood there and shouted at the cars for serving round them. They obviously thought that they were being wronged by this. Then some bright spark must have suggested that they block the lame that the cars were swearving into. So they all moved and the cars swerved into the lane which they had juts vaceted! Good one!
Therefore looking bemused and bafled a group of protestors stood in the middle of the freeway surrounded by cars. Then they all got scared at this ad ran off. I stod next to the police all decked out in riot shileds, helmets and massive batons. But when they saw that the art of the protests was lots on these poor souls, they juts laughed, took off their helmets and went home also. So all i all it was the worst protest I have ever seen. the people in the parliamenst building which they surrounded muts have been pissing themselves with laughter. I must give them credit for turning out in such large numbers, buts thats all the credit I can give. All they did was wave a flag or two, walk around in a trance and wonder what to do next. Occasionaly some tool on a megaphne would start singing to only be met with a few mumbled responses. It was juts plain and simply bloody pathetic. I had nothing to do all day. No first aid to administer, no riots to get involved with and no fun at all. For goodness sake pull your socks up!
So with me doing a lot of sitting around and hoping that the protests will turn into riots I have had some free time on my hands. Mostly this has been spent with the Brits sneeking off for what we like to call the 'cheeky Bintang club'. Basically its a time to unwind with a cool beer and get away from the madness and boredom which Indonesia offers.
This week I also gave a lecture to the students union and Red Cross cadets at the Islamic state university of Mlang. This was an odd thing as the lecture I gave ended with the students asking for me to give them something to remember me by. I though 'oh bugger' as I didnt bring any of my postcards or London nicknacks to give away. But all they wanted in the end was for me to sing to them. Oh what joy. I rattled off a few ditties and quirky numbers with actions and inuendo ridden movements. Oh how I love to get the sexually unaware doing thrusting dances! The funny thing is if any westerner saw this they would laugh their balls off, but the Indonesian's weel they havnt a clue. When I got to the lecture hall there was a board on the wall with the upcoming agendas for the Students union and a few events. What made me really giggle was the fact that on the days date was the title and I quote 'English fun with Mr. Ben W Harris from London'. I giggled at this and even though I explained that actually I am from Essex they all in unison said 'london'! Apparantly England is London and London is England. Its a bit like trying to explain to a Yank that England is part of Britain anf that the George Cross is the English flag and that Scotland is not a city!!
But this week the best thing to happen was the dance spectacular which was the Maduran Islamic festival in the tiny village of Kasin.
We were invited to the festival in the Malang regency and soon the group of plucky people who wanted to go were on these Yellow angkots heading into the countryside. We passed massive oxons puliing ploughts through amaizingly cultivated and patterned fileds, bamboo planatations that stretched for as long as the eye could see and lush palm infested countryside.
As we drove along, I climbed out of the angkot and hung from the side. This of course was the most radical and risky thing any of the Indos had ever seen ands they almost wet themselves with fear at my antics. I would love to make one of them bungy jump! When the yellow angkots rocked up to the village we were taken to a house. Now this house was somebody's. But the somebody who owned it turned out to be related to someone who was someones uncle who had had an affair with someones nephew who ate the dog of someones Dad and thus this was someones house of the uncle wh ate a kid and owns birds. I dont know who's house it was but who ever it belong to they made us green cake!!
As I sat around waiting for the proceedings to start buying ice cream from a man who also sold pink birds in cages, one of the Indonesians approached me and via the aid of a translator I was asked if I would dress up in traditional maduran attire for the day. Rock on I said and soon I was decked out and looking hot damn sexy in a silky black number. This consisted of some incredibly baggy trousers that had to be rolled up in a certain way so that they didnt fall down. But when I later went to the toilet I undid the specialist knot and couldnt get them to stay up. The top part was an open silky large cuffed jacket. With this you went barechested under neath an on my noggin was a large purple bandana folded and tied juts so. Oh I looked a dapper treat, with my aviators sunglasses combo I took the village by storm. The trouble was that as I was dressed up like some sort of kung fu man I acted like one and chopped around all over the sho. 'I have a blackbelt in cookery' I cried; 'I can kill you with one chop'!!!!!
Suddenly out of nowhere a massive bullock was led into the village and the streets started to fill up with colourful people in costumes galore. This bull wasnt to be scarificed but was to lead the procession. Therefore it was embellished with muslim prayer mats on its back, ribbons and a Arema Malang football scarf. As I was close to the giant testicledbeats the man holding the rope tthat was attached through the beats nose beckoned to me to come over. Before I knew it I was holding the bloody thing by the rope and the painted faced man stood there and laughed. This laughter caused the thing to go mental. The bloody bull started to toss its head back and forth and poor Ben pulled on the rope trying to calm the massive beefburger down. It eventually calmed down and took this opportunity to do some kung fu poses to show how I comntrolled the bullock, all the locals gasped at me. I thought wow I am a hero to them, but then realised that this was because yet again my trousers had fallen down to my ankles and revealed myself to the masses. Then I spooked the beats for the second time by grabbing its horn and declaring that I was horny!!! I am such a child!
Soon the strets were filled withdancers, women in bright yellow dresses twirled and spun aroundin sync with each other while men in wheres wally jumpers beat on drums and wooden hollowed out bamboo canes. A large lorry appeared on the road and the whole back of the truck was covered in massive speakers pumping out danduk music with a random man standing on the cab roof shouting 'oooooooooohhhhhhhh' loudly into the microphone. This was very sexual and made all the Brits wet themselves with laughter, but once again the joke was lost on the Indonesians. Oh coincidently I taught some of the youngst Indonesian volunteers the words 'gimp', 'pimp' and 'backrub' the other day!
Soon a group of curley knife wielding male dancers appeared in the street. At this point I realise why I had been dressed up. I wasnt dressed up to watch the carnial parade and procession. I was to be in the bloody thing. Suddenly a man with painted on sideburns and a stuck on wing commanders moustache grabbed me and shoved me between loads of old women dancing as if they were doing bad breaststoke and hip swings. I had to at first copy them and then have some sort of dance off with a bloke who was the height of fashion combining the wheres wally top with what I was wearing. What a dude! I had to perform low dances, one legged spins, some sort of tai chi on acid manouver and also lots of odd big fish, little fish cardboard box dance manouvers. Oh how I loked like the western fish out of the pond. But I did it with a massive smile on my face and the crowd loved the bizarre dressed up white man. I got a big cheer when I started to make up my own manouvers and did some sort of MC Hammer manouver combined with a moonwalk, riverdance and to top that off the David Brent dance. This caused much hilarity imist the crowd and I have never had my photo taken so much. The dancing bule was in town and people flocked to see him.
The pared/procession started to move off. The massive bullock led the way and at one pint went beserk again and caused some kids to jump a fence. Then a man holding a large stick with money pinned to it walked behind the bullock, following him were the female dancers, then me. Behind me boomed the music lorry and ,many times it had to stop so someone could prop up the over head cables over the road with a long bamboo stick so the lorry didnt collide with them. The procession seemed to go on for ages with no sign of ending. I had to dance myway down country tracks and winding roads lined by palm tress and bamboo fileds. I still danced and danced and every now and then a chubby four chin possessing lady would grab me and make me dance correctly. My goodness for a big and old lass she could move. Then more dance offs with the random guy followed. Everytime we pased a large section of crowd he made me do some silly ornamental dance thing.
By this time it was raining and the parade had gone for a mile and seemed never to end. I was then dragged away by the other volunteers so we could go back to an area where a main stage had been erected and a large canopy. The moment we got there a massive torrential down pour ovvurred, one of the likes that we never see in Britain. It took an hour of us sheltering under a dripping canvas before the parade returned and did the final leg. All the dancers still swayed with the beat but they were soaked to the skin and the instrments when struck sent off a shower of water at each beat. The woemn still pulled off very gracious dance routines which they must have taken an age to learn but their make up ran and the speakers on the lorry were now covered by sheets which made the sound muffled. But to top ot off the man was still shouting 'oooooohhhh' down the microhone in now a violently sexual manner!
But the parade had somehow on its journey into the unkown picked up loads of taggers on. The taggers on were in the form of two more massive speaker acrrying lorries with yet more two 'oooooohhhhhing' men and loads more dancers. There were loads of new recruits and suddenly as they all in file went down the road past the main stage a large commotion erupted around ,e. Oh what have I done this time I thought, but as it transpired I was being summoned to danced on the stage. I ran to the stage through the rain. It was onyl twenty yards but by the time I got there I was soaked to the skin. I jumped up and stage and alomst went through the floor. The stage was so rickety that you had to treat gingerly. But soon I was made to dance and some bloke wileding a broken umbrella danced with me and waved it angrily at kids who tried to get on the stage to get out of the rain. As the procession filed past a few rep[resnetatives from each band, group of dancers joined the jolly fat man and I on the microphone. Suddenly a entire brass band appeared and played a marching tune aith an electro organ accompanyment. This was most odd and I giggled at the women on stage trying to dance electro!
The stage was filling up now and the floor boarsd under foot creeked and moved with every new body that came up the steps of destiny. Why I was still on stage I caouldnt image, it really was like I had hijacked their festival. Soon mots of the other Brits were up there two and it was like a look what we have found show and tell session. I brought some Brits to day to school miss!
Then as the rain still pelted down a group of extra scraggy woemn apperade dancing on the stage. But oh no, wait a minute. They are no woemn. Bring on the lady boys. Yes the mangina, pant package, are they boobs or padded out bra brigade danced in the rain. Their make up ran and they hair was all over the place. But you could tell instantly that they were of the he-she type. The stubble and the big hands gave it away. Oh how funny I though and then they all invaded the stage, started groping the jolly microphone wielding fat man and danced and sang out loud. Then the man who had made me do the spontaneous dance combustions with him in the procession joined us and made me dance with the lady boys. They loved it. The ladyboys faces lit up and soon I was being fondled and rubbed up by man things. Soon all the Brits were dancing on a stage with a group of soaking wet lady boys. These are the things that win awards for surrealness. But even though I pinched mysefl and closed my eyes, when I opened them there they still were. Ladyboys dancing and moving in a way that onoly ladyboys can. I know some people have ambitions but mine was never to dance on stage in a lady boy show, but I have done it now and have a phot to prove it. My goodness you could see their stubble and some had even fogotten to shave their legs. But the man things shone through. The prominent adams apples, the big hands the bulges and the hairy legs. But they all had boob lumps. I tried to see if they were mearely transvestites with padded out bras, or were they actualy he she it thing jobbies with all the bits? But I was dancing so wildly and uncontraollable that I counldnt see.
So there you have it. An Indonesian dancing legend is born. I only made one kid cry with my moves and am now folklore in those parts. When the yung children who saw me grow up and have kids they will say, 'I remember when the dancing white phenomena came'.
Alas time is running out and I muts leave you all. Tomorrow is back to work and then a trip to the tea plantation beckons. Followed by a weekdne trip away to an active volcano where I will make model castles out of magma!
For now I must fly my pretties. Take care and have fun.
Pecae and love
Ben the dancing sensation (available for all good weddings, funerals, bahmitzvas and birthdays)


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