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Overview
Published in Indonesia in 2005, The Rainbow Troops, Andrea Hirata's closely autobiographical debut novel, sold more than five million copies, shattering records. Now it promises to captivate audiences around the globe.
Ikal is a student at the poorest village school on the Indonesian island of Belitong, where graduating from sixth grade is considered remarkable. His school is under constant threat of closure. Ikal and his friends—a group nicknamed the Rainbow Troops—face threats from every angle: skeptical government officials, greedy corporations, deepening poverty, crumbling infrastructure, and their own low self-confidence.
But the students also have hope, which comes in the form of two extraordinary teachers, and Ikal's education in and out of the classroom is an uplifting one. We root for him as he defies the island's tin mine officials. We meet his first love, the unseen girl who sells chalk from behind a shop screen, whose pretty hands capture Ikal's heart. We cheer for Lintang, the class's barefoot math genius, as he bests the students of the mining corporation's school in an academic challenge. Above all, we gain an intimate acquaintance with the customs and people of the world's largest Muslim society.
This is classic storytelling in the spirit of Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner: an engrossing depiction of a milieu we have never encountered before, bursting with charm and verve.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780374534448 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Farrar, Straus and Giroux |
| Publication date: | 02/11/2014 |
| Edition description: | Reprint |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 987,462 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.20(w) x 7.80(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
1 TEN NEW STUDENTS
That morning, when I was just a boy, I sat on a long bench outside a school. The branch of an old filicium tree shaded me. My father sat beside me, hugging my shoulders as he nodded and smiled to each parent and child sitting 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 doorframe 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 Effendy 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 were smiling.
Yet Bu Mus’s 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 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, 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 at ease this morning, his rough arm hanging around my neck gave away his quick heartbeat. It wasn’t easy for a forty-seven-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 at the 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 for our family that was no easy matter.
My poor father.
I didn’t have the heart to look him in the eye.
My father wasn’t the only one trembling. The faces of the other parents showed that 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 afford only 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.
I knew all of the parents and children sitting in front of me—except for one small dirty boy with curly red hair, trying to wriggle free from his father’s grasp. His father wasn’t wearing shoes and had on cheap cotton pants.
The rest of them were my good friends. Like Trapani sitting on his mother’s lap, or Kucai sitting next to his father, or Sahara, who earlier had gotten very angry at her mother because she wanted to go into the classroom quickly, or Syahdan, who wasn’t accompanied by anyone. We were neighbors, Belitong-Malays from the poorest community on the island. As for this school, Muhammadiyah Elementary, it, too, was the poorest, the poorest village school in Belitong. There were only three reasons why parents enrolled their children here. First, Muhammadiyah Elementary didn’t require any fees, and parents could contribute whatever they could afford whenever they could do so. Second, parents feared that their children had weak character and could easily be led astray by the devil, so they wanted them to have strong Islamic guidance from a young age. Third, their children weren’t accepted at any other school.
Bu Mus, who was growing increasingly fretful, stared at the main road, hoping there would still be another new student. Seeing her empty hope scared us. The South Sumatra Department of Education and Culture had issued a warning: If Muhammadiyah Elementary School had fewer than ten new students, then it, the oldest school in Belitong, would be shut down. Therefore Bu Mus and Pak Harfan were worried about being shut down, the parents were worried about expenses, and we—the nine small children caught in the middle—were worried we may not get to go to school at all.
Last year Muhammadiyah Elementary had only eleven students. Pak Harfan was pessimistic this year. He had secretly prepared a school-closing speech.
“We will wait until eleven o’clock,” Pak Harfan said to Bu Mus and the already hopeless parents. We were silent. Bu Mus’s face was puffy from holding back tears. Today was her first day as a teacher, a moment she had been dreaming of for a very long time. She had just graduated from Sekolah Kepandaian Putri (Vocational Girls’ School), a junior high school in the capital of the regency, Tanjong Pandan. She was only fifteen. She stood like a statue under the bell, staring out at the wide schoolyard and the main road. No one appeared. The sun rose higher to meet the middle of the day. Waiting for one more student was like trying to catch the wind.
The other children and I felt heartbroken. Our heads hung low.
At five till eleven, Bu Mus could no longer hide her dejection. Her big dreams for this poor school were about to fall apart before they could even take off, and thirty-two faithful years of Pak Harfan’s unrewarded service were about to come to a close.
“Just nine people, Pamanda Guru,” Bu Mus said. She wasn’t thinking clearly, repeating the same thing everyone already knew.
Finally, time was up. It was already five after eleven and the total number of students still did not equal ten. I took my father’s arm off of my shoulders. Sahara sobbed in her mother’s embrace. She wore socks and shoes, a jilbab, a blouse, and she also had books, a water bottle, and a backpack—all were new.
Pak Harfan went up to the parents and greeted them one by one. It was devastating. The parents patted him on the back to console him, and Bu Mus’s eyes glistened as they filled with tears. Pak Harfan prepared to give his final speech. When he went to utter his first words, “Assalamu alaikum. Peace be upon you,” Trapani yelled and pointed to the edge of the schoolyard, startling everyone.
“Harun!”
We turned to look. Off in the distance was a tall, skinny boy, clumsily headed our way. His clothes and hairstyle were very neat. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt tucked into his shorts. His knees knocked together when he moved, forming an X as his body wobbled along. A plump middle-aged woman was trying with great difficulty to hold on to him. That boy was Harun, a funny boy and a good friend of ours. He was already fifteen years old, the same age as Bu Mus, but a bit behind mentally. He was extremely happy and half running, as if he couldn’t wait to get to us. His mother stumbled after him, trying to hold on to his hand.
They were both nearly out of breath when they arrived in front of Pak Harfan.
“Bapak Guru,” said his mother, gasping for breath. “Please accept Harun. The special-needs school is all the way on Bangka Island. We don’t have the money to send him there. And more importantly, it’s better that he’s here at this school rather than at home, where he just chases my chicks around.”
Harun smiled widely, showing his long yellow teeth.
Pak Harfan was smiling, too. He looked over to Bu Mus and shrugged. “It makes ten,” he said.
Harun had saved us! We clapped and cheered. Sahara, who couldn’t sit any longer, stood up straight to fix the folds on her jilbab and firmly threw on her backpack. Bu Mus blushed. Her tears subsided, and she wiped the sweat from her powder-smudged face.
Copyright © 2005 by Andrea Hirata
Translation copyright © 2009 by Andrea Hirata
Reading Group Guide
An acclaimed, captivating storyteller, Andrea Hirata launched his literary career with The Rainbow Troops, an autobiographical novel that sold a record-breaking five million copies in his native Indonesia. Now in translation in twenty-three countries and counting, the book is captivating readers worldwide. It is the story of an extraordinary group of students at Muhammadiyah Elementary, on the Indonesian island of Belitong, where graduating from sixth grade is considered a pinnacle achievement. As the narrator, Ikal, reflects on his boyhood, he brings to life a band of heroic children—nicknamed the Rainbow Troops—who defy all odds.
In their one-room schoolhouse, the holes in the roof are so big that students can see planes flying overhead. Chalk is carefully rationed. Goats sometimes have to be ushered out. There are no multiplication tables or calendars hanging on the walls. Corrupt government officials and greedy tin mine operators pose constant threats. Yet Ikal and his classmates love learning and will stop at nothing to keep their little school afloat. Along the way, they will have you rooting for Lintang, the class's barefoot genius, as he defeats the students of the mining company's school in an academic challenge. You'll swoon with Ikal as he meets his first love. And you'll escape to the lush imaginary worlds that sustain the members of the Rainbow Troops in the face of uncertain futures.
The questions and discussion topics that follow are designed to enhance your reading of The Rainbow Troops. We hope they will enrich your experience of this inspiring tale.
1. How does Muhammadiyah Elementary compare to your childhood school? What can we learn from Bu Mus and Pak Harfan about delivering a transformative education?
2. Although the book was inspired by Andrea Hirata's teachers and childhood friends, The Rainbow Troops is a novel. What can fiction teach us about humanity that a memoir cannot?
3. Just fifteen years old, Bu Mus declined a marriage proposal from a business owner and a job offer in a warehouse. She was determined to fulfill her dream of teaching. What accounts for her devotion to Ikal and his classmates?
4. Bu Mus continually cites Indonesia's constitutional promise of education for all, but Superintendent Samadikun and the tin mine operators continually try to keep impoverished children out of school. How do these powerbrokers justify their actions? What does the novel illustrate about economics and education? Is it possible to create an education system that leaves no child behind?
5. How are the children affected by the presence of Harun, who saves the day in the first chapter? What does his story say about the benefits and limitations of mainstreaming special-needs children?
6. In chapter six, Ikal says, "One of the extraordinary qualities of Malays is that no matter how bad their circumstances, they always consider themselves fortunate. That is the use of religion." How do Bu Mus and Pak Harfan use Islam to help their students develop a moral compass and cope with the economic inequalities of their island?
7. The leaky classroom is decorated with a Rain of Money poster featuring the singer Rhoma Irama. Yet in chapter thirty-five, the class politician Kucai and bodybuilder Samson are described as "poisoned by money" because they quit school to become laborers. What does Bu Mus try to teach the students about the value of money versus the value of an education? Growing up on Belitong—one of the richest islands in Indonesia—why must Ikal and his classmates choose between a living wage and an education? Why can't they have both?
8. What should a society do to nurture its gifted students, such as Lintang? How would he have fared in the United States?
9. Like most children, Flo, Mahar, and other members of the Limpai Group immerse themselves in an imaginary, supernatural world. What special significance does the legend of the Limpai, drawn from their culture's mythology, have for them?
10. Sahara and Flo are the only female students. How do girls and young woman (including Bu Mus) fare in Ikal's community?
11. Why does Flo reject her affluent father's world?
12. In chapter thirteen, the title of the book is explained when Ikal recalls climbing trees with his friends in search of rainbows. What gives them the impulse to seek magical panoramas? How does the incredible beauty of the island shape their hearts and minds?
13. How is Ikal transformed by his love for A Ling? For him, what is the significance of her extraordinarily beautiful fingernails?
14. What aspects of Indonesian culture and history were most surprising to you as you read The Rainbow Troops? As the world's largest Muslim-majority country, how does Indonesia defy stereotypes?
15. How are parents portrayed in the novel? What is their role in guiding the next generation? How do their children feel about authority?
16. How did you react to the novel's final portion, set twelve years later, in which Ikal supports his niece Eryn's education, while power is ironically shifted to the poor on Belitong? What do these pages say about the relationships between government, business, citizens, and family?
Reading group guide written by Amy Clements / The Wordshop, Inc.
