The Future of Sari Hati

Sari Hatis DNA

Sari Hati School has gathered a team of privileged expats who, just like us, are fans and supporters of the school, people with love and, above all, plenty of time to help. The goal: a task force to tackle the following problem:

In Gianyar, there are three NGOs with a similar concept and even a public school. But everyone wants to come to Menti, the director of the school.

Why? Quite simple: the school is close to families’ reality. Kids are dropped off and picked up. Mothers can work here. There’s a school-owned restaurant with healthy food, flexible childcare hours. Love.

But: capacity is at its limit. Long waiting list, high rental costs, financial insecurity.

And as if that weren’t enough, the lease will soon expire, and the landlord is demanding sky-high rent.

So, let’s go.

Unfortunately, I’ve been hit: stubborn cough, clogged nose, dull headache. Still, Ente and I take on the long drive to Ubud. Curiosity is too strong, and it feels too much of a privilege to miss this event.

After a rapid hour-long ride, we arrive at the Sari Hati School. I head straight to the big fridge of the school’s restaurant: Jamu time. Ginger, turmeric, lemongrass, pepper, a shot glass full of power. Fiery, not for the faint of heart or the faint of stomach. I grin. Jamu shock. Hopefully, it’ll push me forward.

Sari Hati Warung

A. is already there. Also from Germany, helping wherever she can, a truly kind-hearted person. Her husband, very business-minded, wants to support the financial side. A perfect match for Ente. And exactly what’s needed here.

One by one, more guests arrive. Almost all of them Green School parents. Highly educated, powerful, positive, idealistic.

Ente smokes on the side and makes small talk with Pak Toni, the father of Sari Hati. I sip my Jamu and stay quiet. A nice side effect when a cold forces you to be calmer, not wasting words unnecessarily.

Then the three superwomen, Menti, Ibu Ayu, and Ibu Made come toward me. I hug them, hold them tight. No many words, just connection. Gratitude, almost overwhelming. What have I really done, after all?

We gather in the students’ yoga shala. Normally filled with laughter, voices, shouts, today it’s adults sitting here, talking about the future of Sari Hati.

The workshop leader opens with an unusual question: “What color do you feel today?” I feel grey. Because of my cold, and because after years of helping I don’t see things in bright pink anymore. Grey is elegant, subtle, not black, not white. It fits.

The others feel colorful: red, yellow, even gold. All newbies. I grin inwardly, but yes, fresh wind is needed.

Menti is brilliantly prepared, answering every question with confidence, her English is outstanding. But then one moment cracks her façade: “What will happen to my child if something happens to me?” a question many parents ask her. Menti cannot go on, she falls silent. She cries. It must remind her too much of her own difficult childhood. A trigger releasing all the pressure of today. I feel with her.

There it is again, the ambivalence of helping.

Let’s just leave things as they are, I think once more. Normally I’m the dream big type, but by now I tend to: keep it small. The bigger the project, the more work, expectations, pressure.

I keep listening, taking notes. There’s a bio-break, an unbelievably delicious vegetarian lunch, lots of Jamu, pandan-leaf tea, a pastel-yellow lemon water. Wonderful.

After the break, things get more serious. It’s about the school’s financing.

Ente asks good, important, and honest questions. He shakes the team awake. Because the amount needed to buy land and build a new school is dizzyingly high. This is where it gets real not just touching stories, but numbers, data, facts. That’s how it is.

The room grows quieter. But then Pak Toni speaks, who has been there from day one working physically as gardener, cook, teacher, advisor, father. He stands confidently at the front and sketches on the flipchart what this is really all about.

An emotional talk about the children, who touch you in their very own special way. The mothers who hold it all together, the community and the world around it. Then he asks us how we would catch butterflies. Most say with a net. A few say with flowers. No more words needed.

Pak Toni in action

I think back to the experience with my sister and my niece recently, when we visited the Sari Hati School and joined the salsa class. I arrived exhausted, not really fully present. But then we moved, we danced. Sleeping parts of my brain suddenly woke up. The music lifted the mood and the children swept us along. I couldn’t take my eyes off three of the girls, they danced so beautifully. They feel the music, the rhythm, the vibes. That can’t be taught, it’s in their blood.

I don’t know why, but I had a lump in my throat the whole time and my eyes filled with tears. It’s true what Pak Toni says: these are special children, they are pure. Loud, laughing, roaring. Words often fail me when I try to describe these extraordinary people. Either it sounds too shallow or just wrong. The kids are infectiously playful. Joyful, living fully in their own world.

Sari Hatis Future Task Force

And then it’s goodbye. Sampai Jumpa (Indonesian for “see you soon”).

I could shed light on several perspectives from this workshop, but I chose to focus on the emotional moments.

It was beautiful. It was good. Seeds. We’re doing something meaningful here. Together.

And: worth it.