Why are the kids of the farflung Indonesia islands full of joy? They are cold water people, most never having touched warm, and know nothing better. They are rice eaters, and know nothing else. The family unit includes relatives, and often the acceptable concubine, crammed into stilted lean-tos in the jungle. They attend three weekly hours of English through high school. It’s irritating to work a lifetime at being content to stumble on children without the facial structure to frown. Over and over, I ask, why are you happy? The younger ones shrug and smile without insight, and the older ones explain, “I know nothing else.”