Siti Rahayu Hidayati, a chaperone for the Indonesian folk dance group Wahana Cipta, had sat and conversed with me patiently and cheerfully for nearly a half an hour. My complete inability to speak her native tongue and her understandably limited ability to speak conversational English had conspired to make this interview the most challenging of my journalistic career. My hope was to glean a first-person account of the Tsunami disaster that mercilessly struck Indonesia in December. Failing to understand her responses, I pressed on and repeated my questioning, hoping to elicit a concise and quotable verbal response.

“You can not imagine it, Greg. I am telling you with my eyes,” said Hidayati.

Tears had begun to well up around Hidayati’s deep hazel eyes and run down her cheeks as she spoke to me in a wavering voice. My heart sunk and my eyes averted hers as I elected to look at the floor, not wanting to witness for another moment the emotional wound my incessant questioning had opened. Only moments before, Hidayati had greeted me with a warm smile and sincere handshake, indeed, even invited me to visit Indonesia and stay in her home. Now, the smile was gone, replaced with a look of profound anguish that said more about the pain inflicted by the Tsunami than words ever could. I felt like a worm.

However, as she continued to speak, the tears quickly dried and her words revealed a woman and a people of incredible strength and resilience. Hidayati works for the Indonesian government in Jakarta and upon learning of the disaster, knew that she would be crucial to the emergency response.

“It was like the end of the world, but we still had to work. I had to avoid the sadness inside me because I had to use my head,” said Hidayati.

She told of how, even with Jakarta’s close proximity to the disaster, the scope and scale of the Tsunami’s toll was only gradually revealed to her due to widespread destruction of her country’s communication infrastructure. The first death toll she received numbered only 25. It was a number that was to grow exponentially in the days ahead, and now it is thought at about 250,000 Indonesians died in the disaster.

She concluded her response optimistically by explaining how, in six months, Indonesia has transitioned from the initial emergency response to a recovery phase expected to take five years. Much remains to be done, but Hidayati is confident that her countrymen will rebuild their homes and mend their wounds, both physical and emotional.

Not wanting to cause her any further pain, I quickly transitioned my line of questioning. Her warm smile soon returned as she told of her initial impressions on her first visit to Western North Carolina.

“It is very beautiful. It stops my heart. I was surprised by the utmost beauty. I appreciate how you have kept your environment. There are so many big trees and so much green,” said Hidayati.

Our interview concluded with Hidayati asking me several questions about myself; where I was from and what I did for a living.

I told her how I had grown up here in Haywood County and that I continued to struggle to make a living here as a writer despite greater opportunity elsewhere because of my love for my home. Her response was both simple and inspiring.

“If the land makes you happy, why leave? It is not necessary,” said Hidayati.

In the days that have passed since our interview and during the writing of this article, I have reflected on my encounter with Hidayati and have concluded the following: While it is important to remember the hardships inflicted on the Indonesian people by the Tsunami, Hidayati and the other members of Wahana Cipta are not here to grieve or mourn. They are not here to elicit our sympathy or ask for our help. They are here to celebrate and share their rich and diverse culture with us. They are here to learn about other cultures, including our own, and enjoy our fellowship. This is their mission and it exemplifies the ideals that are the very heart of Folkmoot.