I Almost Made a Big Mistake in Papua

What Happened When I Realized I Wasn’t Listening

I came to teach teachers about AI. They ended up teaching me about the difference between expertise and humility.

I was completely confident I understood the problem.

I had data. I had observations. I had months of conversations with people in Jakarta who worked in education. I had read research on teacher burnout and administrative overhead.

I had solutions.

Then I went to Papua and met Bu Siti.

What I Thought I Knew

Let me be specific about what I thought I understood:

Teachers in Papua work extremely long hours. Most of their time outside direct teaching goes to administrative work — lesson plans, assessment rubrics, student records, content creation. This work is repetitive, time-consuming, and could be partially automated.

Additionally, teachers had low awareness of AI tools. I assumed that if I could introduce them to the right tools and provide training, they could reclaim significant time and focus on teaching.

This seemed obvious to me. In fact, I was surprised it hadn’t been done already.

So I designed a curriculum. I created presentations. I identified tools. I was going to come back and help.

I had even named it in my head: “AI for Educators in Remote Indonesia.”

It was going to be my contribution to solving the education gap.

Then I showed it to Bu Siti.

The Moment Everything Changed

Bu Siti had been teaching in her village for twelve years.

She taught 40 students with four textbooks. The school had electricity three days a week. Internet was inconsistent at best. She made less than most entry-level workers in Jakarta.

She was brilliant. And exhausted.

When I finished my presentation on how she could use ChatGPT to write her lesson plans faster, she asked a question that I still think about daily:

“Evan, is this what we asked for, or what you decided we need?”

I didn’t have a good answer.

What I Actually Learned

Here’s what that question made me realize:

I had never asked Bu Siti or her colleagues what they needed.

I had observed. I had analyzed. I had diagnosed. But I had not asked.

There’s a difference, and it’s significant.

Observation can tell you what exists. That teachers work long hours is observable. That they spend time on admin is measurable.

Understanding requires asking why, what they’ve already tried, and what would actually help. That’s not observable. That requires conversation.

I had skipped the conversation.

Why This Mistake Matters

I could frame this as a personal growth moment — and it is. But it’s also bigger than that.

There’s a pattern in how tech approaches problems in underserved communities:

We identify a gap. We assume we know what’s causing it. We build a solution. We deploy it. We measure adoption.

And often, we never actually ask whether what we built solves anything.

The teachers in Papua don’t have a tool awareness problem. They have a choice problem. They could learn about tools, but only if:

• They had time to learn (they don’t)
• They had reliable infrastructure to use them (they don’t)
• They trusted the platforms (legitimate question)
• They saw it as a priority given their other constraints (they might not)

I was building a solution to the wrong problem. Or rather, I was building a solution to a problem I had invented instead of a problem they were actually facing.

What Bu Siti Actually Needed (And I Still Don’t Fully Know)

Here’s what I realize now: I don’t actually know what Bu Siti needs.

She might need better pay. She might need institutional support for professional development. She might need smaller class sizes. She might need technology — but maybe not the kind I was thinking of.

The only way to know is to ask. And to listen without immediately translating her answer into what I can build.

What I’m Doing Differently

This week, I’m going back to Papua. But I’m going differently.

I’m not bringing curriculum. I’m not bringing predetermined solutions. I’m bringing questions and silence — space for teachers to tell me what’s actually happening.

I’m asking:

On their work:

• What is the single biggest challenge you face?
• How are you currently trying to solve it?
• What would actually make a difference?

On what I observed:

• When I look at the administrative work you do, where would help be most valuable?
• Have you ever tried to automate or simplify this? What happened?

On technology:

• Have you used any tools to help with your work?
• Would AI tools interest you? Why or why not?
• What would make you trust using them?

I’m asking these questions because I realize: I don’t know the answers. And I shouldn’t be building anything until I do.

For Teachers Reading This

If you teach in Papua, or know teachers in Papua, I want to hear from you.

This isn’t a survey. It’s not a pitch. It’s genuine curiosity.

DM me on Instagram (@evanrcd_). Comment below. Reply to this.

Tell me:

• What’s the biggest challenge in your teaching work?
• What have you already tried to address it?
• What would actually help?
• Do you think AI could help? Why?

Your answers will shape everything I do next.

The Lesson

Bu Siti didn’t give me a solution. She gave me something more valuable: a question that made me realize I wasn’t ready to help yet.

I was ready to teach. I wasn’t ready to listen.

The two are not the same.

The best thing I did in Papua wasn’t the curriculum I designed. It was the moment I realized I needed to throw it away and ask instead.

If you’re building solutions for problems you haven’t asked about, maybe it’s time to pause and listen too.

Thank you, Bu Siti, for the patience to ask me the right question.

— Evan