"Cheap" _ _ _ _ _

There’s a Canadian pizza place called Gian on the ground level of our apartment building. It’s convenient, and we figured it’d be at least hot and safe. Dennis decided to order in person hoping to alleviate the language barrier.

“Name?”

“Dennis.”

She writes: “T-E-N-I-S”.

“No, no… Dennis with a ‘D.’”

She crosses out the “T” and writes a “P”. She slowly looks up at Dennis trying to hold back giggles.

“No, NO! ‘D’! ‘D’ as in ‘dog!’”

We were still laughing about it when the delivery boy came. Dennis thanks him and hands him a tip. The delivery boy looks at the note half shaking his head and turns away without saying a word.

“How much did you tip him?”

“A thousand [rupiah].”

“You do realize that you literally just gave him an 8 cent tip?”

“No,” Dennis is mortified. “Are you serious? I just thought it was a thousand—seemed like a lot to me…”

 
I couldn’t stop laughing. “I bet they’re talking about you right now. He probably he expected a fat tip from the American, but all he got was a thousand rupiah. They’re probably calling you ‘CHEAP PENIS!’”

Everything Powdered

Dennis and I both got sick Friday night after going to the Jakarta Expo. We suspect it was the gado gado, but it could have been anything. Let’s just say we needed to get more toilet paper.

That Saturday (02 July 2011), when we finally had a bit of strength and wanted to eat something again, all we could think of was lugaw (Filipino chicken and rice soup). We only needed a few ingredients: cooking oil, ground black pepper, garlic, onion, fish sauce, chicken, chicken bullion since we weren’t using a whole chicken, rice and water. Little did we know how difficult it would be. The easy part was buying a bigger pot and other cooking utensils; it took us over 3 hours at the supermarket for everything else. An Inggris-Bahasa dictionary would have been nice, but we didn’t have one yet.

Ketchup is not necessarily ketchup. Unless the label/packet says “tomato ketchup”, it’s probably not ketchup at all. Ketchup asin is regular soy sauce, and ketchup manis is sweet soy sauce. AND everything is powered. We had no idea how difficult (impossible in our case) to find ground black pepper. I’m sure it’s available somewhere, just not at this Carrefour supermarket. There were lots of different peppers, but it was all powder—even the ones that read “ground” were powdered. In fact everything seemed to come in powder form, coffee and Milo included. We were told that this was to make things conducive to cooking (this is probably why many dishes that do not look spicy at all are actually super spicy and/or peppery). We settled on “ground” white pepper. It was packaged in a box and sealed in foil bag, so we couldn’t tell if it was really grounded or powdered like everything else. We were just hoping that maybe it would be what we needed.

When we got back to our apartment, the “ground” pepper was pretty much powdered though we told ourselves that it was not as fine as all the others. The propane stove didn’t seem to have a low setting. Maybe I just wasn’t used to it, but every time I tried to use the low setting, it would go out. The pot we bought wasn’t much better, and of course with the high heat and the pepper powdered, I burned the pepper before I even added the garlic. It was a mess, and one of the most frustrating cooking experiences I’ve ever had. The lugaw turned out fine—much more peppery than I anticipated—and it was the first sense of normalcy for us. Too bad I haven’t cooked since.

Mr. USA

We haven’t had much time to settle in since we’ve arrived. People from the school have been picking us up for lunches and dinners. It’s nice especially since we don’t really know where it’s safe to eat nor do we have enough rupiahs to really do anything. On the other hand, it would be nice to really unpack and just sit still for a while.

We went to the school for the first time today. Then it was supposed to be dinner and back home, but then there was word about the Jakarta Expo. Apparently it only happens once a year, and we were just in time to catch the tail end of it. We got there so late there wasn’t much time to do much of anything except eat dinner. We had gado gado, a traditional Indonesian dish made up of veggies, etc. in a peanut sauce. It was okay though spicier than I could handle. Dennis surprisingly liked it. I asked if it’s traditionally served cold, but I’m not sure my question was understood completely. I’ve always found it difficult to eat cold or lukewarm food—who knows how long they’ve been sitting out and if it’s really safe to eat. Even Dennis made a comment about the food temperature, and he liked to eat everything lukewarm in the States.

The best part (and really the only thing we had time to explore) was the traditional Indonesian items. There was a lot of batik, jewelry, woodwork, drums, etc. Of course Dennis wanted to buy a drum but settled for a couple of traditional batik shirts instead. I guess Fridays at the school is traditional wear—not exactly casual/jeans day, but it’s a break from the long-sleeve dress shirts and ties. I bought a traditional sarong. It was fun to watch people haggle the way they do in the Philippines.

On the way out of the Expo, we passed the concert grounds, rides and game booths. There was a pull up bar about 9 feet high with rupiahs taped to it. Guys were lined up taking turns hanging on the bar for as long as they could. Rp 15,000 (~$2) bought a container full of candies/chocolates and a turn at the pull up bar. Depending on how long you hang on, you could win Rp 50,000 (3 mins), Rp 100,000 (4 mins) or a 19-inch TV (5 mins). Of course Dennis thought he could hang on for 30 minutes—how hard could it be?

“Ah, Mister… where you come from? Virginia?”

Dennis points at the “Wisconsin” on his Badger shirt. “WISCONSIN!” he says proudly.

The girl with fake eye lashes and gray contacts is confused. “Wisconsin? I don’t know that…” She improvises, “Okay—Mr. USA, you think you can hang 3 minutes?”

Dennis gets cocky, “Yeah, I can—no problem!”

A crowd begins to gather. The girl hams it up, “Okay, okay—we have Mr. USA from Wis-con-sin. He will hang on the bar!”

She takes him to the front of the line. Dennis doesn’t wait for the chair; he can reach the bar on his tip toes. The crowd goes crazy, “Wahhhh!!!”

“Yes, Mr. USA hang on!”

One of the workers sees that Dennis is actually on his tip toes and starts pointing. The crowd roars with laughter.

“Mr. USA! You cannot have feet touch!” I think Dennis lost all of his clocked time.

Not even a minute hanging on the bar with his feet flexed, Dennis’ hands start to slip. The crowd cheers “Mr. USA!” but to no avail. Dennis lets go at one minute shaking his head and his bruised ego.

“Ah, Mr. USA! Thank you for participation!”

Pak Dennis

“Pak Dennis” sounds like “F@#! Dennis” spoken with a thick Filipino accent (and probably most Asian accents), but in Bahasa “pak” translates to “mister/sir” and is a sign of respect (“ibu” for “miss/missus”). It’s quite amusing when you hear people saying “pak, pak” to get a man’s attention. Sometimes I smile and say, “Pak Dennis!” And we laugh remembering how Dad tells stories where he tells someone, “Pak you!”

First Impressions

Walking through the corridors of Jakarta Soekarno Hatta International Airport (CGK) reminded me of the time we went home to the Philippines after 7 years in the U.S. Beyond the air-conditioned walls of the airport was the thick, humid air worsened by exhaust and other pollutants. It will slap you in the face and swallow you whole until you retreat to another air-conditioned haven.

We walked pass a long line for visa on arrival thankful that we got our visas processed at the Chicago Consulate. Immigration wasn’t a problem, and aside for waiting for the last of the baggage to parade around on the carousels to confirm our box was indeed missing, baggage claim was fine as well. They even provided carts for free—I don’t know of many airports that do that these days.

Minus the hajib that some of the women wore and the semi-automatic machine guns that guards in the Philippines carry, Indonesians look very much like Filipinos. They can even match the rowdiness and loud volumes. The two gentlemen who picked us up from the airport could have very well been Filipinos had they spoken Tagalog. I suppose they can say the same for me—everyone assumes I’m Indonesian until they discover I can’t speak Bahasa.

We expected our apartment to be small by Western standards, and we were absolutely correct. At less than 500 square feet, I’d consider the apartment to be a 1½ bedroom rather than 2. The main room just fits a double bed and a small wardrobe that can’t even accommodate all of my clothes while the 2^nd bedroom is more like an office. It can only fit a twin bed—a dresser would probably make it too cramped if there was one provided.

The living room only has room for a small futon. At least the TV is a decent flat screen—doesn’t come close to Dennis’ Sony 3-D compatible TV, but at least it’s not a 19” old school TV. The dining area consists of the counter that juts out no more than 2 feet between the living room and kitchen. Our refrigerator is a bit bigger than a large dorm-sized fridge, and we have a two‑burner propane cooker. It’s hard to imagine downsizing from our 2 bedroom/2 bath condo in Kenosha, but that’s exactly what this apartment is. It’s efficient, but it would be nice to have a closet or even just cabinets or shelves in the bathroom. At least the décor is contemporary.

An email from the school with an inventory of items in the apartment listed “pan, melamine plate, glass, bowl, spoons & forks.” I didn’t think it was literally one pan, one melamine plate or one glass, and that there would be no knives, cups, etc. It wouldn’t be an issue if the box with the Corelle dishes or Cutco knives didn’t go missing. We bought a few more items but continue to look forward to when our box arrives.

Our balcony looks out to the 2 Olympic-sized pools—we haven’t taken advantage of them yet, but it looks like they’re not more than 5 feet deep, if not shallower. We thought there was a fitness facility, but apparently we were wrong. But there is a convenience store and other shops on the ground level of each building. We’re also across the street from Central Park Mall, and next to it is Taman Anggrek Mall.

 
We thought we we’d be able to rest once we got to our apartment, but people from the school wanted to take us out to dinner. We had steam boat—very much like shabu shabu only the broth is shared by the entire table. We also bought a cell phone and went shopping for essentials like soap, toilet paper and towels with borrowed money since we had not exchanged money yet. By the time we got back, my feet were swollen to a size I didn’t think was possible and looked like giant elephant feet—it took two days before all the swelling went down.

We Hope This Is Not A Sign

If packing was chaos, the journey to Jakarta was pure hell. The travel agency the school used instructed us to go to the International Terminal at O’Hare even though we were flying American Airlines (AA) to LA first. Dad objected but humored us anyway, only to proven correct. That’s not the only thing Dad was right about. The weight of our baggage was checked but not the dimensions—still I did not want to take the chance of having to pay ~$200 fine.

Our flight was delayed over an hour and a half, which caused us to miss our flight to Taipei. We went back and forth between AA and EVA Airways and even the travel agency—none seemed willing to help and only pointed the finger at each other. The worst part was that only 5 out of 6 of our baggage were transferred to EVA. Even after 8 hours of talking to everyone and anyone, we still could not locate our box or get confirmed seats to Taipei or Jakarta. At least we got to spend some time with Ate Malou.

It was 21 hours after our arrival at LAX that we finally got confirmed seats to Taipei. Still, there was no guarantee that we’d be able to get on the flight to from Taipei to Jakarta, and there was no sign of our box. Worst was that the missing box contained the baby essentials: Avent breast pump, baby bottles, pacifiers, sterilizers, etc., in addition to my beloved Cutco Space Saver Knife Set and Corelle dishes (the two things that I knew would make anywhere feel more like home). We thought that maybe the box was already in Jakarta or that it would show up somehow—how could it not?

As soon as we got our boarding passes, we bid farewell to Ate Malou and headed for the security check. Dennis was so eager to get on the plane that he left both of our cell phones at security. We didn’t realize this until we were in route to Taipei. It was a long flight, and Dennis was thankful that we were seated at the emergency exit aisle. He was able to stretch his legs out completely.

The very little of Taipei that we saw reminded me of Japan where the males were made up just as much if not more than the females. They stood just outside of their respective shops dressed in all black—tight, long sleeve shirts and skinny jeans—hair perfectly styled, nonchalant stances, and carefully applied makeup for which I’ve never had the patience to use. I’ve always been amused at how many of them are prettier than their female counterparts.

 
There were no seats for us on the day’s only flight to Jakarta, but when Dennis explained that we were teachers and that EVA personnel at LAX had sent a telex regarding our status, they bumped us up to Business Class. For the first time since we left home, something actually went our way.

Leaving Home

The day we left (25 July 2011) was complete chaos. We didn’t get to see/call all of the people we meant to, and we certainly did not do everything we should have. We really could have used at least two weeks, may be a month, but only had couple of days to pack instead.

My last official day in the office was 21 July 2011, the same day that Dennis returned from chaperoning the 8^th grade class trip to Washington, DC. He came in with me to have lunch to meet my co-workers. Saying goodbye is always bitter-sweet. My co-workers gave us some really generous gifts. Dennis would agree that the highlight were the Packer onesies, socks and footballs from my manager, Val. The NFL Lockout may still be in place, but our twins are already to cheer for the Green and Gold. It totally made Dennis’ day. I didn’t turn in my computer until 23 July 2011. Then there was last minute shopping for the twins, etc. There was just too much to do.

Fortunately for Dennis and me, my family totally came through for us. We can’t say thank you enough. They helped us pack, drove us to the airport and were left with the mess we made at our condo. They’re still doing things for us, especially Mom and Dad who are staying at our condo and looking after our 10‑year‑old Dodge Stratus. We didn’t make it to a quarter of a million miles, but we came close at 249,789—Hunter is a beast! (Yes, we named our car Hunter).

Second Thoughts

I was always certain that Dennis and I would end up abroad. Even when we found out we were pregnant, our decision was still firm—the only thing that would have stopped us was if the school withdrew their offer. Maybe I was completely naïve about the whole pregnancy thing. So many people expressed concerns about the quality of medical care, the baby’s citizenship, how far away we would be from our families, etc. It’s not that we ignored all of these things; it was just that in our heart of hearts, we were so ready to start something new. It just so happened that all of the new things were happening all at once.

Mom and Dad mentioned that they wanted to visit and help with the baby for the first month. I expressed our appreciation but suggested that maybe it would be better for them to come when they went home to the Philippines since the tickets are so expensive.

“Ay sa March pa ‘yon,” Mom said.

“Yes, and the baby will only be 3½ months old…” I reasoned. Mom said Ate Malou would look into tickets, and Ate Marra insisted I’ll need the help. Assuming that the baby arrived around the due date in 16 December 2011, we’d be on Christmas break. I just thought that Dennis and I would be able to handle things on our own. People did everyday—why couldn’t we? And if we needed help, we’d be able to afford a nanny.

As for medical care, there’s bound to be some good facilities in a city of 9.5 million people, not to mention Jakarta is the capital of Indonesia, right? Plus, my mom had all of four of us in the Philippines, and we turned out fine.

All of this calm and reason changed the day we found out we were having twins. Instead of insisting my parents didn’t have to come, I was asking, “Who’s going to come? Can we get a relative from the Philippines to come?”

My confidence in finding an appropriate medical facility faltered and was the main reason for my second thoughts. I finally started reading the book we were given at our first appointment, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. There was a section on multiple births filled with risks and complications for twin pregnancies—that twins are monitored more closely and often come early. Would our twins receive the same attention abroad? What’s the availability and cost of facilities specializing in premature births? Perhaps I should have been asking these same questions when we were expecting a singleton, but to me, it seemed that we’d be able to cope. Having a baby is one thing—having twins is another.

Still, Dennis was right, it was too late. Our tickets were issued, and our visa application was in progress. Plus, Dennis had already requested a one-year leave of absence, and I was already wrapping things up at work. Everything was already in motion, but I have to admit that I wasn’t completely certain or prepared for once anymore.

Surprise, Surprise!!

Ten days before our departure on 15 June 2011, we had our first ultrasound. I was instructed to drink four 8 ounce glasses of water 1½ hours before the appointment—a huge challenge for someone who doesn’t drink water. I can’t say that I drank that much, but by the time we were at the appointment, all I could think about was going to the bathroom.

The technician kept sliding the device back and forth in different angles with one hand while the other worked the keyboard and the mouse. She looked at the screen intently creating lines that I assumed measured the baby’s size. After a few minutes, she said she had to step out to complete some forms. When she came back, she was accompanied by another lady.

With their eyes fixed on the screen, they talked quietly for a minute before asking if the doctor had said anything specific to us. All of this would have probably sent some red flags to other people, but we were clueless. All Dennis could see were blobs that kept changing shapes; I couldn’t see much of the screen and was thinking about how I really needed to go to the bathroom. Nope, everything is normal—there was some blood work, but we didn’t hear anything back which usually meant everything is normal.

“So you’re having one baby?”

We didn’t know that we were supposed to respond that.

“Because there’s another one in there.”

“What?!? Are you serious?!?” Dennis held my hand.

“Yup. Here’s one… and here’s the other.”

Had Dennis’ smile been any bigger, he would have swallowed his head. He was thrilled, and I could already see the stars in his eyes as they envisioned twin boys competing in 2-on-2 basketball and volleyball tournaments. Don’t get me wrong—I was thrilled, too, but that was instantly followed by panic. I thought about the only things we had ready for the move (the baby stuff) and how I have to get more bottles, nipples and pacifiers. How we’re going to need a double stroller and two car seats. How we’re going to need another nanny. How we’re going to have to tell the school. Dennis was completely overwhelmed with joy—I was just completely overwhelmed.

The tech was just as happy asking us if we really didn’t know. “People usually know… I’ve never surprised anyone before.” She said something about how twins are monitored more closely, etc., and how we were now going to take some cute pictures.

After taking pictures of Baby A and Baby B, we were free to go to digest this new development. I finally got to go to the bathroom. When I returned, Dennis was still smiling looking at the twin’s pictures. I could hardly believe what I was going to say, “Do you think we should stay?”

Dennis was surprised, and so was I. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”

Hearing Is Believing

As awful as this is going to sound, I have to say that pregnancy is not my thing. I understand and appreciate that it’s the miracle of life, and have several friends who have always spoken about how awesome it would be to be pregnant. And yes, I know that this is how it goes, but for the record—whether this is truly how I feel or if it’s the hormones talking—pregnancy and me do not go together. If I could have the baby tomorrow (or yesterday), I would—or if the baby magically appeared or an actual stork delivered our bundle of joy, I would be okay with that.

My first trimester was pure exhaustion. I could not stay awake nor could I stay asleep. Those sleepless nights waking up every hour were actually symptoms of pregnancy, not necessarily the stress of contract negotiations. I consider myself very lucky for not having morning sickness or vomiting at all. I was actually pretty good in the mornings and got progressively worse as the day went on. I had couple of embarrassing, uncontrollable emotional moments at work, and Dennis would say magnified mood swings and bouts of irrationality at home.

The nurse at our intake appointment on 04 May 2011 reminded me of Natalie Portman—in looks, stature and mannerisms. She was lovely and approachable. At the end of the appointment, she asked if we had any questions. I expressed concerns about fatigue, etc., all of which were normal. Then merging from his seat at the corner of the room, Dennis asked with caution in his voice, “What about the mood swings?”

I looked at him in disbelief and retorted, “It’s NORMAL!!”—seriously, who asks that?!?

The nurse’s eyes darted back and forth between us before she and I started laughing controllably. Between giggles, she confirmed, “Yes, that’s pretty normal.”

Our next appointment on 07 June 2011 was with our doctor, who was equally nice and approachable. Dennis came along and was disappointed that we were not having an ultrasound. The doctor did, however, recommend we get one before we leave the country. She also asked how sure I was about my last cycle explaining that my uterus is bigger than 12 weeks. Perhaps I was later in my pregnancy and the ultrasound would verify that, she said.

Aside for the exhaustion, mood swings and my clothes being more snug around the middle, the pregnancy seemed unreal to me. Sure it had been confirmed medically several times, but there was a part of me that insisted on not being too excited. Our family knew too well how fragile and risky the first trimester is—that pregnancies do not necessarily equate to babies—and I suppose I was trying to protect myself from heartbreak. I sometimes asked Dennis, “How do I even know the baby is in there?” It’s a silly question, but fear does silly things.

When the doctor placed the fetal doppler on my lower abdomen, my entire world changed. “It is there,” I heard myself say. The doctor had warned that it may take a while to find the baby’s heartbeat since it was still early, but she found it instantly—strong, steady and incredibly reassuring. We listened for several seconds until the baby moved away. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but the doctor said something about how a very high percentage of pregnancies (85%-95%???) are successfully carried to full term if the heartbeat could be heard at 12 weeks.

Full Disclosure

Deciding that we should still go was just the beginning. We weren’t sure if we should disclose the pregnancy to the school, but after some advice from other teachers in Indonesia, we decided to tell the school. As pointed out by some veteran international teachers, the school’s reaction could provide insight as to whether or not it’s a school where we’d want to work. Fortunately for us, we received a really positive response. They will cover the visa, medical insurance and flights for the baby, which is great, but as we anticipated, we have to pay for medical costs related to the pregnancy and I'd have to take unpaid leave.

This was all fine with us and we were super happy that everything would work out, but then there were more complications. The school had difficulty finding someone to cover the period for my leave, so they wanted to find someone who can be in attendance on a more consistent level. I was offered to take a half-time position (of course at half the salary) that would make the unpaid leave feasible with the option to revert back to a full-time teaching position the following school year.

We were lucky that the school was willing to work with us, but this new development came with more complications. We had to re-evaluate the financial aspect of the whole situation. We wanted to make sure that we'll be able to cover the medical expenses out of pocket with me only earning half of what we planned minus the income from the unpaid leave. We also had to consider the financial responsibilities we have here at home as the school’s proposal would be more than a 75% pay cut in my income.

We understood that the school was scrambling to find last minute replacements because of the change in our situation, so we didn’t want to pull out of the contracts. We wanted to keep the commitment we made to them and who knows when we'll have another opportunity to find positions abroad or if we’d even want to after having the baby and settling down even more. However, we really need to think about how prepared we are to take such a financial hit especially when everything seems to be easier if we stayed to have our baby here (reliable covered medical care, and our family and support system in the US). On the other hand, the school has been so flexible and willing to accommodate us. Also, this is our first baby, so maybe I'd want a position with less pressure and more time to spend with the baby. As a new teacher, it may also be a good opportunity to do more observations of veteran teachers in an international setting. For the 2^nd time, we again decided to move forward and move to Indonesia.

“Should I stay—Or should I go?”

I suppose the pregnancy wasn’t a complete surprise—It’s not like we were trying or not trying for the past 3 years. I honestly just did not want to think about it. After all that Ate Marra went through, I wasn’t ready (and probably wouldn’t have ever been ready) to find out if I could get/stay pregnant or not. I did know that we were not getting any younger and that Dennis has been ready to be a father for quite some time even though he never pressured me to start a family.

We went over to Mark and Christina’s for dinner one night after our failed job search at UNI in early February. I jokingly said, “Screw it! If we’re not going abroad this year, we might as well have a baby.”

Mark seemed unfazed—being his calm, cool self—but it was one of those double-take moments for Dennis. His head did one of those mini-shakes, eyes wide and mouth open. “Are you serious?!?” He asked almost frantically. He didn’t even allow me to respond—“You can’t take it back!”

I think it was one of the happiest moments for Dennis, and even though part of me rationalized the statement with the fact that the likelihood of us going abroad was slim-to-none and the fact that at 37 and 32, Dennis and I probably couldn’t wait much longer, I knew how happy Dennis (and everyone) would be. I have to admit that I didn’t know how seriously Dennis would take it. From keeping track of my cycle to asking female colleagues about the best way to conceive a baby (boy), Dennis was all over the pregnancy thing.

He actually suspected that I was pregnant—I was a bit oblivious since we were in the middle of interviews and contract negotiations. Regardless of who thought what or when, one thing was certain: the whole going abroad to teach became much more complicated.

There were a lot of reasons for us to stay. I had a job that compensated well, a supportive manager and a pretty stable work environment even as a contractor. Dennis was well-liked and respected at Starbuck Middle School and had the luxury of having wonderful colleagues. We lived a comfortable lifestyle and could have easily upgraded our 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom condo to a larger home. We were also well-equipped to help my family with unforeseen challenges. We would have loved to be around all the kids in the family (Micailla, Paolo, Paulene, Acelle and Kobe—not to mention all of the other kids from extended family and friends). Most importantly, we would love to have our family around our baby.

Aside for missing family and friends, all of our reasons to stay played a role in our reasons to go. Had I been a permanent full-time employee instead of a contractor, or had it been possible for me to start teaching in the near future (not very likely with the deep cuts in education), maybe it would have been different. We’d be lying if we said that there were more reasons for us to go than for us to stay, or to imply that our reasons for going abroad were more compelling than our reasons to stay. Perhaps it was more selfish on our part, but we just felt that it was time and we didn’t know if this time would come again.

Unexpected News

As excited as we were with the offers, I wanted negotiate some parts of the contracts. The standard benefits for international teachers were included (accommodations, annual flights home and medical insurance); however, retirement contributions and shipping allowance were not included. I had never negotiated salaries or any other benefits in my life, and I was determined to at least give it a try. Dennis was not pleased. He wanted to sign the contracts the moment we received them. I, on the other hand, wanted to make sure that we negotiated the best contracts possible—all they could say was “no”, right?

I have to admit that the two weeks between my email attempting to negotiate the contract and the school’s response was awful. Most nights I couldn’t even sleep. When I did, I’d wake up every hour. It was torture, and the worst part was the contracts they offered far exceeded what we were prepared to accept. I was afraid that they would think I was being greedy for asking about retirement and shipping allowance, but in hind-sight considering everything else, I probably was being greedy. In my defense retirement and shipping allowance are standard for larger international schools; it just so happens that this was a small school that is fairly new. There was a part me that rationalized that I just wanted to try to negotiate, but there was a bigger part of me that was kicking myself in butt for insisting on negotiating. I’m pretty sure Dennis was mad at me—I was mad at myself—for potentially ruining our chances of finally going abroad.

I cannot express how relieved I was when the school responded. Granted, they basically said no to everything, but at least they didn’t withdraw their offer and I can’t say I didn’t try. Plus, we did get a one-time, shipping allowance for excess baggage. It was nothing spectacular, but it was better than nothing. We signed and sent the contracts on a Thursday. The following Tuesday we found we were pregnant.

First Stop: Jakarta, Indonesia

Why Jakarta, Indonesia?

This is probably the easiest question to answer: Because we were offered teaching jobs here. Had we been offered jobs in Dubai, Kosovo, China, Honduras or Bahrain, we probably would be in one of those countries instead. We interviewed with a school(s) in each of these countries at the 2011 UNI Overseas Recruiting Fair in February and came out empty-handed. This was our 2^nd time at UNI, and 2 years earlier in 2009 when Dennis had less teaching experience and I was not even certified, we had more interviews and almost landed jobs in Cairo, Egypt. It’s not to say that we were complete failures (some organizations were ready to hire us but couldn’t find positions in the same school or country), but we won’t deny that it was a bitter disappointment.

The optimist in us (or perhaps out of sheer desperation) applied to practically every school with opened positions in History/Social Studies and English/Language Arts. We found that there were limited schools that had openings for both. Maybe it was just wrong timing, the fact that more teachers are becoming aware of the opportunities abroad, or the deep cuts in education which left many qualified and experienced teachers seeking jobs abroad—whatever it was, we almost lost all hope that 2011 was the year for us.

Long story short, we got lucky—and by that we mean VERY lucky. We found a small school in Indonesia that offered us contracts that were more attractive than some of the contracts we were willing to sign back at UNI in February. On top of that, the school’s mission of holistic education matched our education philosophies, and our interactions will the school were very positive. It seemed like a perfect fit.

Dreaming

Dennis and I knew and always dreamed that we’d live abroad someday—not Jakarta, Indonesia specifically, but somewhere, (almost) anywhere they’ll take us. We’ve been preparing for over 5 years, but regardless of how much planning or money we managed to save, life seems to have something else in store for us.