It was nearly noon on a hot, sunny day in August, 1997, when Subandi and I went to visit Yani, a thirty-six-year-old Javanese woman who was participating in our study of mental illness in the old city of Yogyakarta in central Java. We had first met her for an interview two months earlier, but now, because another young woman participating in the study had recently phoned to express her concern about how much she had told us in a similar interview, we approached Yani's house with a bit of anxiety. We walked down a narrow alleyway that wanders through one of Yogya's poor kampungs, a crowded neighborhood that spills downward to one of the rivers running through the town, passing women, children, and young people sitting in open doorways and little shops, chatting in the heat of the day. We found Yani and her mother in their small house, which has one doorway opening onto a small sitting room and another doorway onto a room serving as a kiosk from which they sell a handful of everyday food items in an attempt to supplement a small pension the older woman receives. The sitting room was opened for us, and we were relieved to be greeted warmly, to find Yani in apparent good health, and both she and her mother happy to see us. We chatted with the two of them, took out our tape recorder and picked up our interview.