The DT Pesantren

DT (Daarut Tauhiid) is unlike any other pesantren I’ve visited. Instead of a conglomerate of buildings enclosed by four walls, with one entry in and out, Aa Gym built his pesantren one building at a time, buying up land when it became available and when it was needed. The result is that DT reaches into the surrounding neighborhood in northern Bandung like a vine stretching outwards, slowly taking hold of new territory and transforming the adjacent community. I’d been to DT once before, but only got a cursory impression of the pesantren. In 2005, I interviewed a nasyid (Islamic contemporary music) singer and director of the DT radio station. Aside from that, everything I knew about DT is what I had read in books about Aa Gym and “the DT phenomenon.” I’ve since been there twice, and am moving there sometimes this week to be a little closer to my work site.

It’s been just over a week since I met Aa Deda, and got formal permission to begin my work. The angkot (bus/van thing) ride was a terror. It took an hour and a half from my current neighborhood, and let me just tell you, that seat was not comfortable. It’s basically a wooden plank with a bit of plastic covering it. For any trips over an hour, I do not recommend you take an angkot. But the driver told me where to get off and there I was, surrounded by people on a busy main road, with a turnoff into a small alley-like street. My directions were to walk down that road, turn left at the mosque and then ask directions to Aa Deda’s house. Somehow I missed the mosque, and had walked so far I had to take an ojek (motorcyle ride) back, but it really only cost around 30 cents, so I willingly paid my fare. I finally met up with Jim (another anthropological researcher working at the pesantren), after several somewhat frantic calls, each of which went something like this.

“I think I’m here. Where are you?”
“I’m outside the house, and don’t see you. Where exactly are you?”
“Umm, in that case, I have no idea…Let me ask.”

Finally, a nice man who actually knew where Aa Deda lived gave me a motorcycle ride, and Jim walked me into the house. It was extremely casual. Basically, we ate a lot of bakso, and Aa Deda’s wife gave me my first, very own, jilbab, and he gave me my nickname, Teh Sinda, which is short for “Older Sister” Sinda. (Side note: I’ve taken to spelling my name with an S rather than a C, because otherwise, it’s pronounced Dorchinda, which is somehow not the same. It’s a little funny how I feel like this is ok to do in Indonesia, but if someone suggested I respell my last name in the United States to Canout, or Kanout, I would of course flatly refuse. I suppose its because there is no standardized spelling in the US like there is here. A “c” always means “ch.” Or maybe I’m just more flexible in a country where I can barely speak the language!)

After the lunch meeting, Jim accompanied me on a tour around the pesantren, where we met a lot of people and even had a momentary housing search, for when I move closer this week. My first impression was that it was much more conservative than I remembered. It could have had something to do with my attire, but the image portrayed in the media is definitely a modern Islamic community. And it’s true; it is that as well. There are shops lined up between the mosque and it is very much a business center for Aa Gym. But just as in the more conservative pesantren I’ve visited, men will not shake a woman’s hand in greeting. Rather, there is a small bow of acknowledgment with hands clasped together. Women are fully covered, from socks to head, only their face exposed. To some extent, it has a similar feeling as some of the fundamentalist Christian movements on college campuses, where there is a face of modernity, but an even more noticeable undercurrent of religious legalism. Surprisingly, I did notice any reporters, and the atmosphere to me seemed subdued and hushed, rather than the ramai (noisy, crowded) atmosphere I expected, given Aa Gym’s latest foray into the realm of two wives.