The Rainbow Troops’ Preview

The Rainbow Troops, set on Belitong Island, Indonesia, tells the story of a tight-knit group of students and their teachers fighting for education and dignity, even as they face continual hardship. Fabulously rich in natural resources, Belitong is also home to chronic poverty and educational discrimination. This amazing story tells of a persistent young teacher and her tireless efforts to fight for her ten students’ right to an education. Together, they take the reader on a journey through the beauty of childhood friendship, the inspiration of love, and the power of education. The students’ magnetic personalities and unflagging determination are sure to inspire.

This inspirational novel is the first book in The Rainbow Troops Quartet. Sang Pemimpi (The Dreamer), Edensor, and Maryamah Karpov are the other three books in the series.

The beautiful story of Rainbow Troops was adapted for the big screen in 2008. It has found success not only in Indonesia, but also worldwide, and received awards including:

* A showing at the Berlin International Film Festival (Panorama), 2009
* Golden Butterfly Award, 23rd International Children & Young Adults Film Festival, Iran, 2009
* 3rd Place Audience Award, 11th Udine Far East International Film, 2009
* SIGNIS Award, Hong Kong International Film Festival, 2009
* Best Film, Bandung Film Festival, 2009
* Best Film, Indonesian Film Festival, 2009
* Nomination for Best Film and Best Editor, Asian Film Awards, 2009

Note from The Rainbow Troops Translator – Angie Kilbane

I first heard the name “Laskar Pelangi” in September 2008. All of a sudden it was everywhere: the book, the song, the movie. The first book of Andrea Hirata’s life-inspired quartet, Laskar Pelangi has taken Indonesia by storm since its release in 2005, selling a record number of copies. Its popularity remains unsurpassed. In 2008, it was adapted to film, and in that medium it has earned awards and gained recognition worldwide.

As both a story and a literary work, Laskar Pelangi is priceless — so admired that men have proposed to women using this book in place of a ring. It contains a unique, new way of telling a story. Set on the Indonesian island of Belitong, Laskar Pelangi conveys a sad tale with laughter and lightheartedness. It tells of oppressed people protesting in admirably good humor, without swearing, without violence, without a divisive political movement, and without anyone to take up their cause. The vicissitudes of growing up are depicted brilliantly; the reader will be touched by an absurd yet pure first love, and one can’t help but smile at the innocence of the children as they earnestly plan their futures. Above all, Laskar Pelangi tackles serious issues, such as the right to education and corporate exploitation, while framing them within the tale of a beautiful childhood journey and friendship.

Having been deeply affected by the Belitong I encountered in the book, I had to go there. So my friend Kate and I planned a Christmas trip to Belitong—and by planned, I mean bought tickets and left the rest up to fate. We happened to stay with Andrea Hirata’s brother, Pak Diding, and his family while we were there. We fell in love with Belitong: the people, the landscape, the culture. It felt like a home away from home. A few months later, Andrea asked me to review two drafts of translations for the book. I gave him my opinion, and he eventually asked me if I would translate it. As a student of literature at Universitas Indonesia at the time, I was both delighted and intimidated by this offer. I accepted, and we began the translation at the end of March 2008.

Translating this masterpiece was no easy task. It took seven months. I worked on it at home, in taxis, at cafés, on airplanes, in airports and during lunch at school. I worked on it on Java, Bali, Sumatera and Belitong; in Singapore, America, Malaysia and South Korea. This translation has seen its fair share of places. Some parts were easier than others, and I had a lot of help along the way.

Angie Kilbane – Jakarta, October 4th, 2009

The Rainbow Troops, chapter 1: Ten New Students
THAT morning , when I was just a boy, I sat on a long bench outside of a school. The branch of an old filicium tree shaded me. My father sat beside me, hugging my shoulders with both of his arms as he nodded and smiled to each parent and child sitting side by side on the bench in front of us.

It was an important day: the first day of elementary school. At the end of those long benches was an open door, and inside was an empty classroom. The door frame was crooked. The entire school, in fact, leaned as if it would collapse at any moment. In the doorway stood two teachers, like hosts welcoming guests to a party. There was an old man with a patient face, Bapak K.A. Harfan Efendy Noor, or Pak Harfan—the school principal—and a young woman wearing a jilbab, or headscarf, Ibu N.A. Muslimah Hafsari, or Bu Mus for short. Like my father, they also were smiling.

Yet Bu Mus’ smile was a forced smile: she was apprehensive. Her face was tense and twitching nervously. She kept counting the number of children sitting on the long benches, so worried that she didn’t even care about the sweat pouring down onto her eyelids. The sweat beading around her nose smudged her powder makeup, streaking her face and making her look like the queen’s servant in Dul Muluk, an ancient play in our village.

“Nine people, just nine people, Pamanda Guru, still short one,” she said anxiously to the principal. Pak Harfan stared at her with an empty look in his eyes.

I too felt anxious. Anxious because of the restless Bu Mus, and because of the sensation of my father’s burden spreading over my entire body. Although he seemed friendly and at ease this morning, his rough arm hanging around my neck gave away his quick heartbeat. I knew he was nervous, and I was aware that it wasn’t easy for a 47-year-old miner with a lot of children and a small salary to send his son to school. It would have been much easier to send me to work as a helper for a Chinese grocery stall owner at the morning market, or to the coast to work as a coolie to help ease the family’s financial burdens. Sending a child to school meant tying oneself to years of costs, and that was no easy matter for our family.

My poor father. I didn’t have the heart to look him in the eye. It would probably be better if I just went home, forgot about school, followed in the footsteps of some of my older brothers and cousins, and became a coolie …

My father wasn’t the only one trembling. The face of each parent showed that they weren’t really sitting on those long benches. Their thoughts, like my father’s, were drifting off to the morning market as they imagined their sons better off as workers. These parents weren’t convinced that their children’s education, which they could only afford up to junior high, would brighten their families’ futures. This morning they were forced to be at this school, either to avoid reproach from government officials for not sending their children to school, or to submit to modern demands to free their children from illiteracy.