Tales of a Female Nomad: Living at Large in the World
by Rita Golden Gelman
Overview
From the Publisher
"In a small cemetery deep in the jungle of Borneo, two men climb into a freshly dug hole and retrieve the bones of a long-dead grandmother. An American guest joins the procession from the cemetery to the elaborately decorated village square for a traditional ceremony that will properly send Grandma off on her journey to the next world. In years past, a man from a neighboring tribe was sacrificed whenever this ceremony was performed. Today, in a new era, the neighboring tribe has been invited to participate in the festivities, and the only victim is a cow." "A few years earlier the American guest, Rita Golden Gelman, a children's book author and the mother of two grown children, was living in a comfortable suburban home, dining in elegant restaurants, and attending glamorous parties. Rita only dreamed of traveling to exotic places and experiencing other cultures. When her marriage failed, she decided to live her dream. She sold all her possessions and, at the age of forty-eight, took off to see the world. Fifteen years later, she's still without a permanent home."--BOOK JACKET.
My thoughts
I can't remember where I bought this book but I'm so glad I found it!! What a delightful read! The story is typical in many ways -- failing marriage, needs some time away, goes to foreign land, falls in love with everything that isn't the American Way, etc., etc. What isn't typical is where she travels, how she travels and what she finds in her travels. This is a FANTASTIC book and I hope so much you'll pick it up next time you're in a bookshop!
I'm not going to travel to a place where I'm at risk of running into landmines, but I sure enjoyed reading about Rita's adventures when she did! I'm probably not going to walk into a village in a country I've barely heard of and ask to join their community when I don't even speak their language! And I'm certainly not brave enough to trek to remote locations of a foreign country with someone I only met the day before. Rita has a huge sense of adventure, and she tells the stories with a lot of humor and energy. Although this may not be the book that makes me want to drop what I'm doing and become a nomad, it's one of the best travel journals I've read, and trust me, I've read a lot of them! I highly recommend this book. And yeah, a big part of me wishes I had the courage to be Rita Golden Gelman.
Favorite Passage
This is a long passage but I just LOVE it!!! This passage is found in the chapter called: Irian Jaya: The Asmat Lands
...I keep walking to the back, where there is a young woman probably about twenty years old, and a little boy around five. When the child sees me, he begins screaming hysterically and clutching his mother's legs, putting her between us. The mother backs away as I approach.
I can understand his fear. We are different, his mother and I. Her skin is dark; mine is light. Her eyes are deep brown; mine are light blue. She is bare-breasted and there are scars in a pattern, running from each shoulder down to her nipples; I am wearing a T-shirt. Her bottom is covered by a grass skirt; I am wearing long khaki pants.
The mother and child are huddled together, just insde the back opening. I pass by them and go a few feet beyond the house. They watch me as I sit on a tree trunk and take a small bottle of bubble stuff out of my pack. It's the kind that has a little wand inside that you dip in and blow through, making dozens of bubbles with each blow. Wherever I go, I carry that little plastic bottle of bubbles.
The child stops crying; I am far enough away (about twenty feet) and ignoring them. I dip the wand in the liquid and blow. Bubbles float into the air. I sit there, blowing bubbles and smiling as I follow the bubbles with my eyes. Mother and child watch.
Then a bubble floats inside and close to the child. He reaches out and touches it. It pops. He touches another. And another. He looks up at his mother and smiles. She begins popping bubbles too. They come closer to me. I blow bubbles directly at them. They smile and chase them, laughing. I am laughing too.
After a few minutes, I hold the wand toward the mother and she dips and blows. Too hard. We try again. Another failure. I exaggerate the slow steady blowing and give her another chance. YES! The bubbles float out of the wand; and as the child chases them, the mother and I exchange smiles. Soon, we are all giggling and chasing bubbles.
When we are finished, the little boy walks over to me and looks up at my chest. Then he reaches up and cups my breast in his hand. The mother comes over and does the same thing with my other breast. Yes, I am the same, I nod. Look. I pull up my shirt and unhook my bra. My breasts pop out and they both smile.
I think about the Zapotec village in Mexico where I was not accepted until I was wearing their clothes, and the Balinese ceremonies I would never have attended in anything but a kebaya and a sarong. I smile when I realize that if I were to live here, I would walk around topless. If I weren't with three westerners, I would do it right now.
That night, the mother leads me to her cookfire, which is one of many along one side of the longhouse. We are the only ones cooking; most of the people who live here are off hunting and gathering.
The main food in this part of Irian Jaya is sago, a flourlike paste that is collected and filtered with great effort from the pith of the sago palm tree. The mother pats and cooks the yellowish blob in the fire, adding no flavoring to the dough. And then with a look of affection and anticipation, she offers me a taste. It's dry and flavorless.
I smile and indicate that I like it. I take some more. Accepting food is a fundamental part of forming a relationship. She is pleased.
As we sit, legs outstretched and touching, white and dark side by side, I hum a quiet lullaby. She hums with me. And then I put my arm around her and she puts hers around me. The little boy sits between my legs and we sing in the dark. I wish I could stay. If I ever come back to Irian Jaya, this is where I will live.
