10.27.07
Here it is about three on Saturday afternoon. Have a few things to report. Two about me and one about the host village Mangaliulu. It’s been a fairly lazy day. Although I got up at 6:30 Am and pushed my morning walk another ten minutes to an hour. I wasn’t hard, just the time it took. Really enjoy the start to the morning. I was up fairly late the last two evenings. Thursday night because I made a now famous batch of Kalowia bread. I purchased a half pound of raisin (sultanas from Australia) and another half pound of US walnuts. I chopped the walnuts, cut up and hand squished a dozen bananas, added the raisins and some cinnamon to the second rising of the dough and made a dozen loaves of local bread. It was a big hit among both the Ni-Vans and the PCTs and staff. I raised the price to 120 vatu. Actually the extra went directly to the family. It actually wasn’t enough to pay for the additional ingredients but I figured too much of a price increase might not be well received. I probably could have asked another 20 to 30 vatu as everyone is asking when I’m going to bake some more. Having learned the process I wanted to show Ricky (my host brother) the possibility of diversifying his craft. When we make the next batch I think we will use only local ingredients, bananas and maybe another fruit or a local nut of some sort. The only big difference in the process is that we found that the baking took about twenty minutes longer. I think because the batter was wetter from the bananas.
The baking kept me up until almost eleven. Earlier in the afternoon half of the PCTs got the opportunity to finally do some work. We all felt incredible good to get away from just classes. We used our bush knives and cleared the vines and brush from about 500 square feet of growth. Some went into the brush and came back with long thin poles. We used some to create posts and the longer ones for railing. Then we again went into the bush and came back with another kind of pole (suckers from a tree) from which we peeled the bark to make our lashing. We had just cleared a new garden area and set the fencing for it. Later we will be setting dry coconut leaves in the double rail system to keep, chickens, dogs, goats and pigs from getting into the garden. Although we probably will never taste the results the experience was refreshing.
10.29.07
Friday the village had a big meeting regarding won of the biggest issues affecting all of Vanuatu. Land ownership and the leasing or sale there of. This is a convoluted issue. When Vanuatu gained independence in 1980 their constitution returned land to its indigenous owners or stewards. It also made some stipulations regarding the sale of land. After having read the constitution I can say that while it starts with a beautiful preamble and philosophy of the Ni-Vanuatu’s responsibility to the country (something our US Constitution fails to do) it is fraught with lope holes and there is relatively little checks and balances in the three branches of government. Basically the legislature delivers the chief executive (prime minister). While there is a President, he is basically just a figurehead. And the judiciary has no real overriding of constitutionality of law passed by the parliament. So back to the land problem. There are now foreign investors (primarily Australian) who are throwing quick money at Ni-Vans and by passing the paramount village chief. There was a very big convention in 2006 in which a thousand recommendations were made. Those have been distilled to twenty. But as of yet they have not been enacted into law. So there is a sort of land grab going on. Right now the typical Ni-Van subsists on their land. They can feed their family, live with mortgages, little or no utilities, no property tax and give the land to their children. But if they sell for the quick buck and then they buy the truck and DVD player what will they have left? They are without the awareness of where that may lead them. Its not that there should be no development period, it is just that there isn’t enough critical thinking skills to ask the questions and look down the road.
Here in Mangaliliu the issue is even more complex. This village with the two small islands across from is a major historical site for the whole country. This is the home, death place and burial ground of the great chief from four hundred years ago, Roi Mata. Some land owners have signed agreements to sell or lease land that may endanger the potential World Heritage standing. They have gone around the chief and so there is big toktok (talk) happening. Stand by. I’ll report more down the road.
10.31.07
In Vila now for the day. May not be here next Wednesday. I’m heading to Epi, the island where I will be cited on Saturday morning. It is a medium size island just at the center of the Y in the archipelago. I’ll be there for either three or seven days to meet everyone, explore the layout and ascertain what I should bring back with me when I return three weeks later. I’m very excited to be getting close to the end of training and getting on with my new life. See a lot is happening in the states. World Series sweep, new Attorney General, my daughter got her first full-time job as a social worker. Life goes on everywhere. I’m loving it. Feeling real good. Up early every morning. Walking an hour and starting to feel all my clothes falling off me. My beard is now totally white. No more coloring left.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Night of the Centipede
10.18.07
The wind has been blowing very hard off and on for the last four days. There have even been some small showers. It is a very strange weather pattern. Some have said that there is a tropical depression over near the Solomon Islands. Just a few hundred miles away. I have felt three earthquakes in the last week. I can even tell the approximate magnitude. Comes with fifty-seven years of living in California. Some of the trainees haven’t felt of recognized them. They have never felt one in their lives. Anyway the times are strange. It is the beginning of the cyclone season in this part of the world.
I continue to struggle with speaking Bislama. I understand what is being said and can also understand it when written. But I need to start really trying to think in Bislama. The trainers have split the group into fourths in order to assist those at different levels of competency. I’m in the novice group (lowest level). Also there are the other two olfalas. I know I’m working hard. I’ll get it, but it takes much practice.
I believe I have found out which island I will be going to for my eventual work. It looks like it will be Epi. It is a medium sized island at the apex of the “Y” shape of Vanuatu. The Rural Training Center is on the north end of the island. It is a developed site, but the last volunteer there apparently had some personality problems with the locals. The staff here seems to feel I have basically the opposite personality and my sales and human resources experience should assist me in reestablishing the training center. The key word will be “patience”. Hey that’s the thing I came here to practice. Practice, practice, practice. Seems to be my new mantra.
Last night I asked my host brother, Ricky if I could assist him in making bread. He is the local baker of “local bread”. He was pleased to have me come along. In fact I did most of the work for the batch of ten loafs. He is a very good instructor. I was an enthusiastic student. It is not that difficult, in fact the work doesn’t take more than maybe an hour of labor. It is the time in between that requires “patience”. The dough is given two opportunities to rise and then there is the baking. We had time to go home and eat dinner. Then we listen as sister, Jinnet sang next door and later she came out and we storian (talked, laughed, shared). Later we strain with Eddie (PCV assigned here). He has come up to see if the news on the village coconut wireless that I, Kalowia, am making bread is correct. We determine what the profit margin is. It cost approximately 50 vatu to make a loaf and it is sold for 100 vatu (about $1). So for a batch of ten loafs about $5 will be earned for the labor. This morning Ricky came and told me that he sold all the bread in a matter of a few minutes and so he had to make another batch. Hey that Kalowia bread just flew out the door. Apparently I get noticed a lot. Who me? Go figure. Ha Ha!!
The other big news was my chasing foul and killing it. As a cultural experience the trainees were given the opportunity to capture three chickens. The chickens here run wild. It takes some work to surround one and capture it. We were really all a bunch of goofs. At one point we had a rooster trapped behind a piece of plywood leaning against a building. I reached in and grabbed its tail feather. I came out with just that, tail feather. After the three chickens were caught someone had to kill them. I volunteered for one. I tried wringing its neck but failed and had to beat its head with a heavy piece of wood. Not too easy as I held the rooster by its feet with my left hand and swung at its head. The first two times I swung I raised my left hand. It was like swinging at a piñata as it is pulled up. I got the job done and then plucked all the feathers off it. Another cultural experience. I’m sure I may have to do this again. The chickens were gutted and prepared for the next night’s five day feast to complete the mourning for the fallen PCV.
10.20.07
Getting to know this village is so easy. Anyone is ready to stop and talk anytime you pass by. And of course it seems everyone is related in some form or manner. So everyone here is my adopted family. I have several little ones taken me as their own. Same with Soti the dog.
Last night was a special occasion. The local French school (Ecole Publique de Roau) is less than a one hundred yards from my door. They had a fund raising all evening. Music, performance by the children and a large adult group from Lelepa, the neighboring island village were this community split from in 1983. Here we are in the middle of a storm. Heavy winds and occasional down ours interspersed with drizzle and yet the people. Nothing deterred them from the occasion.
Families showed up with plates and umbrellas. Papas and PCTs headed for the kava. Mamas dispensed the food. Laplap, rice, chicken, local bread. The children danced and frolicked. The band consisted of two keyboards. They usually tune and practice in between each number. Each number also ends abruptly. No crescendo. It just ends. Of course the PCTs and kids danced. Boys and girls don’t dance together here. They dance individually or in groups, but not coed. Adults watch. I asked brother, Ricky about this at breakfast this morning. He said Papas have been drinking kava and Mamas are too tired. One young boy was quite a mover. He danced with me, then on to some of the other fellas. I have a reputation as the dancing man. I’m uninhibited, but I think it also stems from my age and that the people here are fairly amazed at me as a bit of a phenomena. I hope they don’t see as the bow legged Captain Bligh played by Trevor Howard in The Mutiny on the Bounty starring Marlon Bando. Anyway it was an evening of good times outside right in the middle of a storm.
Most of the trainees have left for the weekend to another island off north Efate. There may be six of us here. I have read Maarten Troost’s book Getting Stoned with Savages. While it is familiar because over half of it is about Vanuatu I didn’t find it nearly as much fun as The Sex Lives of Cannibals. I macramed a decoration on another trainees hat. A creative outlet. I then pasted together a banner for my mama. She has been away a whole week. Because of the weather she be gone an extra couple of days. She is definitely missed. Of course the dynamics of the household is quite different. Aina, the daughter in law is able to speak and laugh with out mama around. No wonder brides cry at their weddings here in Vanuatu. They are going to have to live with there in laws and that must be pretty tough.
This morning it was raining and blowing hard. I decided to storian for a couple of hours with Papa. I got down on the floor. I am served my meals at the table, sometimes he sits there with me. Sometimes I’m alone and the rest of the family is on the floor. So I climbed down and it created a whole new experience. Suddenly I was even more assessable to the three little girls. They crawled on me, played ball, shared toys. While I was talking with Papa about a multitude of things the little ones felt comfortable with me. This is a very good object lesson. You need to get to someone else’s level in order for them to accept you. Soon I’m going to have to do that in my new home. We have been in country for four weeks. It seems like more. Everything has slowed down. I am eating slower. I’m taking my time with everything I do. While we have classes and they should start at certain times, they inevitably don’t. We get done what needs to be done. I feel very at ease.
I just came from dinner. It was corn bread, buttered local bread, crackers and orange leave tea. I ate the corn bread. Took the crackers for later and drank a cup of the tea. I’ll have an apple in a bit. While I ate Jinnet played with her three year old Joana. They laughed, tickled, played a form of patty cake. It was so easy. I was there watching. They knew it but didn’t take much notice. This was their time together. It is amazing how easy they all are with so many in such close quarters. The house is approximately eight hundred square feet. Six rooms. Four of them bedrooms, with a fairly wide central hall. Almost half of the house is the open living room and half walled kitchen. Although I haven’t seen but glimpses of one bedroom through the curtained doorway, I assume that one room is Mama and Papas, one is Ricky, his wife and the two children’s, on is Jinnet and Joana’s and the other is Willie’s. They have privacy. But can you imagine eight people in that space. Cooperation, respect, love and patience.
10.21.07
I had another great opportunity to observe and experience more cooperation, respect, love and patience this afternoon. The brothers and sister of my papa came here from Vila to discuss the arrangements for an upcoming wedding. There were five siblings (the youngest does live on Efate) and a couple of others from the next generation and then several children ranging from three to maybe fourteen. I had just come back from a nice long walk and I was asked to come meet the family. After introductions I was asked to tell about myself and then I was asked to sit with the family as they discussed the wedding plans. Although I didn’t understand most of what was said it was easy to ascertain the outstanding listening skills that were being used. Everyone got their say. No arguing. They worked towards a complete consensus. During the discussion one younger boy, perhaps twelve controlled the very young ones. Two teenaged girls were working in the kitchen, boiling water for tea and cutting the local bread that Ricky had made. They then served it with the usual butter and peanut butter on it. The discussion started with a pray and ended with one. They discussed the date and why it had to be on a Wednesday. Apparently the will be some sort of holiday that coming weekend and the grooms family has some people from outer islands that need to be accommodated. Accommodating is what they are. They must make it work for everyone. And they did so. The United Nations could surely learn from this example.
10.22.07
It is raining very heavily. It has been for almost 20 hours. Yet life goes on. It just after lunch. Outside my window my sister in law is washing clothes. Right out in the rain. Scrub, scrub goes her brush. Over under the roof of my family’s porch is the chief, Papa, and three other men. They are talking away. Storian. It is a big part of the man’s role.
Everyone is back from the weekend trip. Two third of the group left and it was a pleasure to have so little exposure to Americans. It’s not that I don’t like them but I am tried of them. I know I need more training, especially in Bislama but I so desire to immerse myself in Ni-Van culture.
10.23.07
Boy did I have an experience last night. I had just finished dinner and was leaving the family house. As I went to put my sandals on I grasped the door jam. It felt like I had been poked by a high voltage wire. The pain seared through my thumb. I had just been bitten by a centipede. It was “wan bigfala sor”. My thumb began to swell. I stuck it in some hot orange leaf tea. Wrong thing to do I late found out. I walked up to the Peace Corps office. June there took an onion and rubbed the swollen thumb for about ten minutes. The pain went down considerably. Twenty four hours later my thumb is still a bit swollen and sore to the touch but the onion did the trick. It was actually the second bite by a centipede this week. The previous own was a baby not even a half inch long and I swished it as I bite me. A little white flower oil and It was fine. Last night Ricky found and killed the big culprit. Or so he thought. This morning after I came back from my walk I asked to look at it. It was actually only half dead. By half I mean two inches was hanging from two more inches that still wiggled away. We picked it up with a stick and brought it out where I ground it into the coral.
The wind has been blowing very hard off and on for the last four days. There have even been some small showers. It is a very strange weather pattern. Some have said that there is a tropical depression over near the Solomon Islands. Just a few hundred miles away. I have felt three earthquakes in the last week. I can even tell the approximate magnitude. Comes with fifty-seven years of living in California. Some of the trainees haven’t felt of recognized them. They have never felt one in their lives. Anyway the times are strange. It is the beginning of the cyclone season in this part of the world.
I continue to struggle with speaking Bislama. I understand what is being said and can also understand it when written. But I need to start really trying to think in Bislama. The trainers have split the group into fourths in order to assist those at different levels of competency. I’m in the novice group (lowest level). Also there are the other two olfalas. I know I’m working hard. I’ll get it, but it takes much practice.
I believe I have found out which island I will be going to for my eventual work. It looks like it will be Epi. It is a medium sized island at the apex of the “Y” shape of Vanuatu. The Rural Training Center is on the north end of the island. It is a developed site, but the last volunteer there apparently had some personality problems with the locals. The staff here seems to feel I have basically the opposite personality and my sales and human resources experience should assist me in reestablishing the training center. The key word will be “patience”. Hey that’s the thing I came here to practice. Practice, practice, practice. Seems to be my new mantra.
Last night I asked my host brother, Ricky if I could assist him in making bread. He is the local baker of “local bread”. He was pleased to have me come along. In fact I did most of the work for the batch of ten loafs. He is a very good instructor. I was an enthusiastic student. It is not that difficult, in fact the work doesn’t take more than maybe an hour of labor. It is the time in between that requires “patience”. The dough is given two opportunities to rise and then there is the baking. We had time to go home and eat dinner. Then we listen as sister, Jinnet sang next door and later she came out and we storian (talked, laughed, shared). Later we strain with Eddie (PCV assigned here). He has come up to see if the news on the village coconut wireless that I, Kalowia, am making bread is correct. We determine what the profit margin is. It cost approximately 50 vatu to make a loaf and it is sold for 100 vatu (about $1). So for a batch of ten loafs about $5 will be earned for the labor. This morning Ricky came and told me that he sold all the bread in a matter of a few minutes and so he had to make another batch. Hey that Kalowia bread just flew out the door. Apparently I get noticed a lot. Who me? Go figure. Ha Ha!!
The other big news was my chasing foul and killing it. As a cultural experience the trainees were given the opportunity to capture three chickens. The chickens here run wild. It takes some work to surround one and capture it. We were really all a bunch of goofs. At one point we had a rooster trapped behind a piece of plywood leaning against a building. I reached in and grabbed its tail feather. I came out with just that, tail feather. After the three chickens were caught someone had to kill them. I volunteered for one. I tried wringing its neck but failed and had to beat its head with a heavy piece of wood. Not too easy as I held the rooster by its feet with my left hand and swung at its head. The first two times I swung I raised my left hand. It was like swinging at a piñata as it is pulled up. I got the job done and then plucked all the feathers off it. Another cultural experience. I’m sure I may have to do this again. The chickens were gutted and prepared for the next night’s five day feast to complete the mourning for the fallen PCV.
10.20.07
Getting to know this village is so easy. Anyone is ready to stop and talk anytime you pass by. And of course it seems everyone is related in some form or manner. So everyone here is my adopted family. I have several little ones taken me as their own. Same with Soti the dog.
Last night was a special occasion. The local French school (Ecole Publique de Roau) is less than a one hundred yards from my door. They had a fund raising all evening. Music, performance by the children and a large adult group from Lelepa, the neighboring island village were this community split from in 1983. Here we are in the middle of a storm. Heavy winds and occasional down ours interspersed with drizzle and yet the people. Nothing deterred them from the occasion.
Families showed up with plates and umbrellas. Papas and PCTs headed for the kava. Mamas dispensed the food. Laplap, rice, chicken, local bread. The children danced and frolicked. The band consisted of two keyboards. They usually tune and practice in between each number. Each number also ends abruptly. No crescendo. It just ends. Of course the PCTs and kids danced. Boys and girls don’t dance together here. They dance individually or in groups, but not coed. Adults watch. I asked brother, Ricky about this at breakfast this morning. He said Papas have been drinking kava and Mamas are too tired. One young boy was quite a mover. He danced with me, then on to some of the other fellas. I have a reputation as the dancing man. I’m uninhibited, but I think it also stems from my age and that the people here are fairly amazed at me as a bit of a phenomena. I hope they don’t see as the bow legged Captain Bligh played by Trevor Howard in The Mutiny on the Bounty starring Marlon Bando. Anyway it was an evening of good times outside right in the middle of a storm.
Most of the trainees have left for the weekend to another island off north Efate. There may be six of us here. I have read Maarten Troost’s book Getting Stoned with Savages. While it is familiar because over half of it is about Vanuatu I didn’t find it nearly as much fun as The Sex Lives of Cannibals. I macramed a decoration on another trainees hat. A creative outlet. I then pasted together a banner for my mama. She has been away a whole week. Because of the weather she be gone an extra couple of days. She is definitely missed. Of course the dynamics of the household is quite different. Aina, the daughter in law is able to speak and laugh with out mama around. No wonder brides cry at their weddings here in Vanuatu. They are going to have to live with there in laws and that must be pretty tough.
This morning it was raining and blowing hard. I decided to storian for a couple of hours with Papa. I got down on the floor. I am served my meals at the table, sometimes he sits there with me. Sometimes I’m alone and the rest of the family is on the floor. So I climbed down and it created a whole new experience. Suddenly I was even more assessable to the three little girls. They crawled on me, played ball, shared toys. While I was talking with Papa about a multitude of things the little ones felt comfortable with me. This is a very good object lesson. You need to get to someone else’s level in order for them to accept you. Soon I’m going to have to do that in my new home. We have been in country for four weeks. It seems like more. Everything has slowed down. I am eating slower. I’m taking my time with everything I do. While we have classes and they should start at certain times, they inevitably don’t. We get done what needs to be done. I feel very at ease.
I just came from dinner. It was corn bread, buttered local bread, crackers and orange leave tea. I ate the corn bread. Took the crackers for later and drank a cup of the tea. I’ll have an apple in a bit. While I ate Jinnet played with her three year old Joana. They laughed, tickled, played a form of patty cake. It was so easy. I was there watching. They knew it but didn’t take much notice. This was their time together. It is amazing how easy they all are with so many in such close quarters. The house is approximately eight hundred square feet. Six rooms. Four of them bedrooms, with a fairly wide central hall. Almost half of the house is the open living room and half walled kitchen. Although I haven’t seen but glimpses of one bedroom through the curtained doorway, I assume that one room is Mama and Papas, one is Ricky, his wife and the two children’s, on is Jinnet and Joana’s and the other is Willie’s. They have privacy. But can you imagine eight people in that space. Cooperation, respect, love and patience.
10.21.07
I had another great opportunity to observe and experience more cooperation, respect, love and patience this afternoon. The brothers and sister of my papa came here from Vila to discuss the arrangements for an upcoming wedding. There were five siblings (the youngest does live on Efate) and a couple of others from the next generation and then several children ranging from three to maybe fourteen. I had just come back from a nice long walk and I was asked to come meet the family. After introductions I was asked to tell about myself and then I was asked to sit with the family as they discussed the wedding plans. Although I didn’t understand most of what was said it was easy to ascertain the outstanding listening skills that were being used. Everyone got their say. No arguing. They worked towards a complete consensus. During the discussion one younger boy, perhaps twelve controlled the very young ones. Two teenaged girls were working in the kitchen, boiling water for tea and cutting the local bread that Ricky had made. They then served it with the usual butter and peanut butter on it. The discussion started with a pray and ended with one. They discussed the date and why it had to be on a Wednesday. Apparently the will be some sort of holiday that coming weekend and the grooms family has some people from outer islands that need to be accommodated. Accommodating is what they are. They must make it work for everyone. And they did so. The United Nations could surely learn from this example.
10.22.07
It is raining very heavily. It has been for almost 20 hours. Yet life goes on. It just after lunch. Outside my window my sister in law is washing clothes. Right out in the rain. Scrub, scrub goes her brush. Over under the roof of my family’s porch is the chief, Papa, and three other men. They are talking away. Storian. It is a big part of the man’s role.
Everyone is back from the weekend trip. Two third of the group left and it was a pleasure to have so little exposure to Americans. It’s not that I don’t like them but I am tried of them. I know I need more training, especially in Bislama but I so desire to immerse myself in Ni-Van culture.
10.23.07
Boy did I have an experience last night. I had just finished dinner and was leaving the family house. As I went to put my sandals on I grasped the door jam. It felt like I had been poked by a high voltage wire. The pain seared through my thumb. I had just been bitten by a centipede. It was “wan bigfala sor”. My thumb began to swell. I stuck it in some hot orange leaf tea. Wrong thing to do I late found out. I walked up to the Peace Corps office. June there took an onion and rubbed the swollen thumb for about ten minutes. The pain went down considerably. Twenty four hours later my thumb is still a bit swollen and sore to the touch but the onion did the trick. It was actually the second bite by a centipede this week. The previous own was a baby not even a half inch long and I swished it as I bite me. A little white flower oil and It was fine. Last night Ricky found and killed the big culprit. Or so he thought. This morning after I came back from my walk I asked to look at it. It was actually only half dead. By half I mean two inches was hanging from two more inches that still wiggled away. We picked it up with a stick and brought it out where I ground it into the coral.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Peace Corps Mourns
10.14.07
Yesterday was a day to not be forgotten. Early in the morning the entire training group loaded into buses to go to Port Vila to attend the memorial services of John Roberts, a PCV who was accidentally killed on the island of Erromango. We arrived at the hospital and drove around to the back where men from our village (John had trained there two years ago) had stayed with his body since its return from Erromango. It is the custom that the dead not be left alone until they are buried. John was being kept in a refrigerator storage container. On the door was draped the Peace Corps flag. It of course was a somber seating. Cars and buses started to arrive with Peace Corps staff and other PCVs. Then a pickup truck arrives with five mamas from Erromango. They came in a receiving line to our head nurse Jane who had flown by helicopter to retrieve John. The first mama was crying heavily. The women kneeled on the mat in front of the container and began to cry and wail. It was the most heart wrenching sorrow I have ever witnessed. There was a building next door where apparently someone else was lying in state. A group of men had been sitting outside the building. The same wailing started inside there. The mamas in front continued for at least five minutes, and then the three stood up and took a break. Two continued but a bit lessened in intensity. After a few minute they all started again with the mama who must have been his host pounding her fists on the container door. A Peace Corps pickup truck was backed up to the container; the white coffin was carried by eight men, including PCVs from the same group and men from the training village. The pickup lead a procession through Vila, past the Peace Corps offices and to a church. The church was a fairly large A framed building with open sides. There were maybe two hundred people in attendance. Included was the Prime Minster, the President and First Lady of Vanuatu, the entire staff of VRDCTA (the NGO managing the Rural Training Centers), many PCVs, PC staff, Mangaliulu villagers and Erromango village family and their chiefs. There was a great deal of speaking and prayers, some hymns, a slide presentation of John from his group and the obituary by the PC Country Director, Kevin George. John was the only son of a farmer and school teacher in Nebraska. He had graduated Nebraska-Lincoln and joined the Peace Corps in 2005. He was an only child and when Kevin George said his parents had lived their lives through their only son I personally lost it. I couldn’t help but think of my children. How as a parent I want everything in the world to be right with them. How I revel in their smallest achievements. How I feel anguish in their smallest pains. How can one even begin to feel the loss of a child? It is so unnatural to have a child pass on before the parent. Having buried a grandmother, both my parents and a wife I know grief. But that poor couple in Nebraska must be in torture. I can only hope that they have strong family, friends and community support in this time. Certainly they must know that John was successful in his endeavors here in Vanuatu. They had visited him at his site. Well that is a tough way for our group to begin our training. Three weeks in country. Too much.
Today is another day. I am accustomed to awaking sometime around 5 AM now. That probably represents seven or eight hours of sleep. Although it is not undisturbed sleep. I am having dreams. They have moments of violence. This is a side effect of the malaria medication I take. They are not nightmares but they are not pleasant either. I wait to go back to sleep. I do for a bit until the rooster crow and I can see some light coming through the eaves. Then I get up and take my morning walk. It feels good to stretch my body and be alone. But this morning I had an escort. A white dog who has been around a lot (aren’t all the dogs around a lot?) started to walk then run ahead of me. I gave him no attention but he took off on the trail and would get maybe fifty yards in front of me and then stop and look to see if I was still coming. Sometimes he would go off the trail and when I passed he would come back on and run ahead of he again. He there all the way out and all the way back. When I got home I decided to give him a half a peanut butter sandwich which I had in the hut. The other dogs made an appearance but I shooed them away. This was Soti’s reward for his company. My sister in law, Aina told me his name and that he was Norten’s dog. Soti is probably Shorty. Norten is a young man who is always with the family. He is a cousin of some sort. Soti is sniffing around behind me now. I guess I’ve been adopted again. I’ve always said “dogs and little kids love me”. Well some has to. Ha Ha!!!
Yesterday was the quietest, calmest day I may have ever seen. The village is in the midst of five day mourning. It will conclude on Tuesday with a feast. Until then no one works. I had my walk, I finished reading The Kite Runner, I read the Newsweek cover to cover, I had a couple of visitors for a bit of conversation, walked to the ocean (four minutes) and had a conversation, played with the little boys, danced to LaBamba and made a few adults laugh, I had a nice lunch. I met of young woman from Minnesota that was coming through the village with a German man and French woman. They were coming from the beach. He asked if he could by some mangos from the tree. Thought the tree was mine. I told him I’d check with my host family. The young woman had seen the Peace Corps truck and asked if I was the PCV. She had just finished her tour in the Ukraine in 2006. We had a nice conversation. I informed her of the recent tragedy and our status here. She was excited to discover the PC presence. She said it made her day. She is here for four months teaching at a French school in Vila. I read some more, put on sunscreen, walked to the ocean (four minutes), had another conversation, and went snorkeling. Saw a turtle and lots of fish, came home and rinsed off and changed clothes. More reading, some writing, downloading photos, and then a walk to see the sunset. The people are just quiet and calm. Most of the other PCVs went to Mangess Beach. So few of them are around. Some conversations. The children play. There were no church services yesterday. The pastor was on the island of Lelepa for this Sunday. There was singing just after sunset in the church. Children running around. I had a conversation with the chief as I walked home. He was in tok tok with papas. It’s all about the mourning and the five days to the feast. I came back to fried bread for dinner. Sorry just not my thing. I ate two small pieces and went to my hut. I turned on the laptop, downloaded those photos. Read the camera manual. I hate manuals but discover a lot out the camera that I didn’t. Amazing!! What did Jack (35 year old Taiwanese-American engineer) say the other day about my power inverter? RTFM. Read the fucking manual. Hate a couple of cookies and an apple. I buy a supple of apples for just such an emergency as tonight’s dinner. I start reading The Best Baseball Stories from Sports Illustrated that Tom Farris gave me. It will be a good in between other books reading. Went to sleep maybe around 9PM. I can’t tell time any more. It really doesn’t matter much anyway. I was awaked by another bad dream. Zombies. Went outside to relieve myself and make sure I wasn’t going back to the same dream. I'm not going to take the Methaquine anymore. I’ll start taking Doxicycine, which is a daily dosage instead. This morning is starting off as quite as yesterday. Thank goodness we get to go to school.
Yesterday was a day to not be forgotten. Early in the morning the entire training group loaded into buses to go to Port Vila to attend the memorial services of John Roberts, a PCV who was accidentally killed on the island of Erromango. We arrived at the hospital and drove around to the back where men from our village (John had trained there two years ago) had stayed with his body since its return from Erromango. It is the custom that the dead not be left alone until they are buried. John was being kept in a refrigerator storage container. On the door was draped the Peace Corps flag. It of course was a somber seating. Cars and buses started to arrive with Peace Corps staff and other PCVs. Then a pickup truck arrives with five mamas from Erromango. They came in a receiving line to our head nurse Jane who had flown by helicopter to retrieve John. The first mama was crying heavily. The women kneeled on the mat in front of the container and began to cry and wail. It was the most heart wrenching sorrow I have ever witnessed. There was a building next door where apparently someone else was lying in state. A group of men had been sitting outside the building. The same wailing started inside there. The mamas in front continued for at least five minutes, and then the three stood up and took a break. Two continued but a bit lessened in intensity. After a few minute they all started again with the mama who must have been his host pounding her fists on the container door. A Peace Corps pickup truck was backed up to the container; the white coffin was carried by eight men, including PCVs from the same group and men from the training village. The pickup lead a procession through Vila, past the Peace Corps offices and to a church. The church was a fairly large A framed building with open sides. There were maybe two hundred people in attendance. Included was the Prime Minster, the President and First Lady of Vanuatu, the entire staff of VRDCTA (the NGO managing the Rural Training Centers), many PCVs, PC staff, Mangaliulu villagers and Erromango village family and their chiefs. There was a great deal of speaking and prayers, some hymns, a slide presentation of John from his group and the obituary by the PC Country Director, Kevin George. John was the only son of a farmer and school teacher in Nebraska. He had graduated Nebraska-Lincoln and joined the Peace Corps in 2005. He was an only child and when Kevin George said his parents had lived their lives through their only son I personally lost it. I couldn’t help but think of my children. How as a parent I want everything in the world to be right with them. How I revel in their smallest achievements. How I feel anguish in their smallest pains. How can one even begin to feel the loss of a child? It is so unnatural to have a child pass on before the parent. Having buried a grandmother, both my parents and a wife I know grief. But that poor couple in Nebraska must be in torture. I can only hope that they have strong family, friends and community support in this time. Certainly they must know that John was successful in his endeavors here in Vanuatu. They had visited him at his site. Well that is a tough way for our group to begin our training. Three weeks in country. Too much.
Today is another day. I am accustomed to awaking sometime around 5 AM now. That probably represents seven or eight hours of sleep. Although it is not undisturbed sleep. I am having dreams. They have moments of violence. This is a side effect of the malaria medication I take. They are not nightmares but they are not pleasant either. I wait to go back to sleep. I do for a bit until the rooster crow and I can see some light coming through the eaves. Then I get up and take my morning walk. It feels good to stretch my body and be alone. But this morning I had an escort. A white dog who has been around a lot (aren’t all the dogs around a lot?) started to walk then run ahead of me. I gave him no attention but he took off on the trail and would get maybe fifty yards in front of me and then stop and look to see if I was still coming. Sometimes he would go off the trail and when I passed he would come back on and run ahead of he again. He there all the way out and all the way back. When I got home I decided to give him a half a peanut butter sandwich which I had in the hut. The other dogs made an appearance but I shooed them away. This was Soti’s reward for his company. My sister in law, Aina told me his name and that he was Norten’s dog. Soti is probably Shorty. Norten is a young man who is always with the family. He is a cousin of some sort. Soti is sniffing around behind me now. I guess I’ve been adopted again. I’ve always said “dogs and little kids love me”. Well some has to. Ha Ha!!!
Yesterday was the quietest, calmest day I may have ever seen. The village is in the midst of five day mourning. It will conclude on Tuesday with a feast. Until then no one works. I had my walk, I finished reading The Kite Runner, I read the Newsweek cover to cover, I had a couple of visitors for a bit of conversation, walked to the ocean (four minutes) and had a conversation, played with the little boys, danced to LaBamba and made a few adults laugh, I had a nice lunch. I met of young woman from Minnesota that was coming through the village with a German man and French woman. They were coming from the beach. He asked if he could by some mangos from the tree. Thought the tree was mine. I told him I’d check with my host family. The young woman had seen the Peace Corps truck and asked if I was the PCV. She had just finished her tour in the Ukraine in 2006. We had a nice conversation. I informed her of the recent tragedy and our status here. She was excited to discover the PC presence. She said it made her day. She is here for four months teaching at a French school in Vila. I read some more, put on sunscreen, walked to the ocean (four minutes), had another conversation, and went snorkeling. Saw a turtle and lots of fish, came home and rinsed off and changed clothes. More reading, some writing, downloading photos, and then a walk to see the sunset. The people are just quiet and calm. Most of the other PCVs went to Mangess Beach. So few of them are around. Some conversations. The children play. There were no church services yesterday. The pastor was on the island of Lelepa for this Sunday. There was singing just after sunset in the church. Children running around. I had a conversation with the chief as I walked home. He was in tok tok with papas. It’s all about the mourning and the five days to the feast. I came back to fried bread for dinner. Sorry just not my thing. I ate two small pieces and went to my hut. I turned on the laptop, downloaded those photos. Read the camera manual. I hate manuals but discover a lot out the camera that I didn’t. Amazing!! What did Jack (35 year old Taiwanese-American engineer) say the other day about my power inverter? RTFM. Read the fucking manual. Hate a couple of cookies and an apple. I buy a supple of apples for just such an emergency as tonight’s dinner. I start reading The Best Baseball Stories from Sports Illustrated that Tom Farris gave me. It will be a good in between other books reading. Went to sleep maybe around 9PM. I can’t tell time any more. It really doesn’t matter much anyway. I was awaked by another bad dream. Zombies. Went outside to relieve myself and make sure I wasn’t going back to the same dream. I'm not going to take the Methaquine anymore. I’ll start taking Doxicycine, which is a daily dosage instead. This morning is starting off as quite as yesterday. Thank goodness we get to go to school.
Friday, October 12, 2007
A different kind of day
10.12.07
It’s Friday morning at the end of week three. I started walking in the morning this week. I get up at 5:30AM. Do I have a choice? Early to bed and when the roosters begin to crow forget about the snooze button. Actually they start crowing a bit earlier but I wait until it’s light out. I get out of bed, open my window, climb into some shorts and T-shirt, open the door and greet the world. Still don’t Mama up. There is little activity as I start walking. At first I did a circuit around the village. Takes about eight minutes and five “malbongs” (good morning). Then I ventured down the jungle road to the beach. I get as far as a pumpkin patch and turn back. This morning I decided to go up the road towards Vila (the city). Did I say up? Ten minutes and was breathing hard. I forgot that we come over a mountain to get here. So it was uphill. I will have to work on my breathing and get smaller and stronger. Anyway I like the morning walk. Saying malbong to everyone I see. Everyone smiles and say “Malbong Kalowia”. I am easily recognized and have a bit of a bigfala reputation already.
Speaking of reputations. I believe that several of the twenty something volunteers see me as the epitome of what they idealistically see as what’s wrong with America. It is a generation gap. It is not important that I cross it. I’m not here for them but for the Ni-Vans and myself. If I need to work with them I’ll be able to. Although I desire to get smaller and calmer in both size and personality, there are times when my experience and personality take over. When something must get done, I’ll do it.
Night before last the training team made an experiential testing of all the women trainees. There is a local courting phenomenon called “creeping”. A boy or man comes to a girl’s window at night to attract their attention and see if they can begin something. Unfortunately when it is perpetrated towards a white woman it can be disturbing as well as possibly dangerous. So the trainee staff staged a creeping exercise. The women had several reactions. One screamed, another cussed, most ignored it and a few even slept through it. Apparently each host mama was supposed to be there to inform the woman of the exercise soon afterwards. Unfortunately several didn’t. In the morning there was much talk and consternation. When the security director, Relvie arrived to give her talk on the subject she was greeted with less than thrilled women. They came to understand and recognized the importance of their individual reactions but it took a lot of discussion. Again much like military training or scuba diving or really anything it is important to have a taste of the possibility. Pull off the gas mask and experience the gas, have your air cutoff in a pool before you venture into open water.
Last night I cooked dinner for my family. Their first taste of Italian American cuisine. I had an audience as I chopped mushrooms, onions and bell pepper and sautéed them. Boiled the ziti penne pasta, crated cheese and fried hamburger (amazing how little fat in it). With a bottled spaghetti sauce mixed into it all I placed it in the oven. Sliced the bread loafs long, a strisel of oil and some of Rudy’s (Cera Una Volta chef in Alameda) green salt. Into the oven at the last few minutes. Then I served it. I think it was a success. Papa had three helpings.
Well it has been quite a day and it’s only 3 PM. We arrived at the community mango tree for classes at 9 AM. Brenda the Assistant PCMO arrived a few minutes later. She came with disturbing news. A PCV named John had died yesterday on Erromango (one of Vanuatu’s smaller islands in the south). John was 24 and was concluding his serve in just a month. He and a villager were accidentally killed when a large limb of a tree came crashing down on them during a community work project. This is a sad day for the Peace Corps community. John had trained here in Mangaliulu. The village has shut down for the day. No classes, no work. People just sitting around communing. We had a prayer, some questions and everyone started to find ways to deal with the news and the rest of the day. Five of us decided to take a wokabaot up behind the village. We didn’t get to the top of the hill but we did find the water system for the village and later walked through some jungle gardens. After our regular lunch prepared by the mamas I was talking with Jacki (our senior at 72) when two of our trainers came to inform us of the plans for services tomorrow in Vila. We went to let others know. Although none of us ever met John we will all go in for the service.
My host mama, Winnie left for a week trip to Ambryn a short while ago. Winnie is the secretary of the PWMU (Presperterian Women’s Mama’s Union) and trip is a very big event. Papa was taking her into Vila to catch a ship that will take up to twenty hours to get to the destination. It is not a luxury liner. From what I understand it will be very crowded and she will probably have to sleep on deck. She had a bundled mattress, her suitcase and a bundle of coconut straw to sell as brooms. Earlier in the week I had given her a simple book bag and a pen and note paper. After breakfast I also gave her a small flashlight. As the truck arrived to take her, Papa and a few others to Vila and incredible send off occurred. There must have been thirty people, mamas, papas, and children come to see her off. Everyone shaking her hand and wishing her a good journey. Her two granddaughters (3 and 2) were both crying. Totally inconsolable. The last thing she said to me was that I should stray to far down the roads on my morning wokabaot. So sweet.
It’s Friday morning at the end of week three. I started walking in the morning this week. I get up at 5:30AM. Do I have a choice? Early to bed and when the roosters begin to crow forget about the snooze button. Actually they start crowing a bit earlier but I wait until it’s light out. I get out of bed, open my window, climb into some shorts and T-shirt, open the door and greet the world. Still don’t Mama up. There is little activity as I start walking. At first I did a circuit around the village. Takes about eight minutes and five “malbongs” (good morning). Then I ventured down the jungle road to the beach. I get as far as a pumpkin patch and turn back. This morning I decided to go up the road towards Vila (the city). Did I say up? Ten minutes and was breathing hard. I forgot that we come over a mountain to get here. So it was uphill. I will have to work on my breathing and get smaller and stronger. Anyway I like the morning walk. Saying malbong to everyone I see. Everyone smiles and say “Malbong Kalowia”. I am easily recognized and have a bit of a bigfala reputation already.
Speaking of reputations. I believe that several of the twenty something volunteers see me as the epitome of what they idealistically see as what’s wrong with America. It is a generation gap. It is not important that I cross it. I’m not here for them but for the Ni-Vans and myself. If I need to work with them I’ll be able to. Although I desire to get smaller and calmer in both size and personality, there are times when my experience and personality take over. When something must get done, I’ll do it.
Night before last the training team made an experiential testing of all the women trainees. There is a local courting phenomenon called “creeping”. A boy or man comes to a girl’s window at night to attract their attention and see if they can begin something. Unfortunately when it is perpetrated towards a white woman it can be disturbing as well as possibly dangerous. So the trainee staff staged a creeping exercise. The women had several reactions. One screamed, another cussed, most ignored it and a few even slept through it. Apparently each host mama was supposed to be there to inform the woman of the exercise soon afterwards. Unfortunately several didn’t. In the morning there was much talk and consternation. When the security director, Relvie arrived to give her talk on the subject she was greeted with less than thrilled women. They came to understand and recognized the importance of their individual reactions but it took a lot of discussion. Again much like military training or scuba diving or really anything it is important to have a taste of the possibility. Pull off the gas mask and experience the gas, have your air cutoff in a pool before you venture into open water.
Last night I cooked dinner for my family. Their first taste of Italian American cuisine. I had an audience as I chopped mushrooms, onions and bell pepper and sautéed them. Boiled the ziti penne pasta, crated cheese and fried hamburger (amazing how little fat in it). With a bottled spaghetti sauce mixed into it all I placed it in the oven. Sliced the bread loafs long, a strisel of oil and some of Rudy’s (Cera Una Volta chef in Alameda) green salt. Into the oven at the last few minutes. Then I served it. I think it was a success. Papa had three helpings.
Well it has been quite a day and it’s only 3 PM. We arrived at the community mango tree for classes at 9 AM. Brenda the Assistant PCMO arrived a few minutes later. She came with disturbing news. A PCV named John had died yesterday on Erromango (one of Vanuatu’s smaller islands in the south). John was 24 and was concluding his serve in just a month. He and a villager were accidentally killed when a large limb of a tree came crashing down on them during a community work project. This is a sad day for the Peace Corps community. John had trained here in Mangaliulu. The village has shut down for the day. No classes, no work. People just sitting around communing. We had a prayer, some questions and everyone started to find ways to deal with the news and the rest of the day. Five of us decided to take a wokabaot up behind the village. We didn’t get to the top of the hill but we did find the water system for the village and later walked through some jungle gardens. After our regular lunch prepared by the mamas I was talking with Jacki (our senior at 72) when two of our trainers came to inform us of the plans for services tomorrow in Vila. We went to let others know. Although none of us ever met John we will all go in for the service.
My host mama, Winnie left for a week trip to Ambryn a short while ago. Winnie is the secretary of the PWMU (Presperterian Women’s Mama’s Union) and trip is a very big event. Papa was taking her into Vila to catch a ship that will take up to twenty hours to get to the destination. It is not a luxury liner. From what I understand it will be very crowded and she will probably have to sleep on deck. She had a bundled mattress, her suitcase and a bundle of coconut straw to sell as brooms. Earlier in the week I had given her a simple book bag and a pen and note paper. After breakfast I also gave her a small flashlight. As the truck arrived to take her, Papa and a few others to Vila and incredible send off occurred. There must have been thirty people, mamas, papas, and children come to see her off. Everyone shaking her hand and wishing her a good journey. Her two granddaughters (3 and 2) were both crying. Totally inconsolable. The last thing she said to me was that I should stray to far down the roads on my morning wokabaot. So sweet.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Week One and Two--Boot Camp
10.6.07
It’s Saturday morning and I’m two weeks in Vanuatu, six days in Managliliu. Yesterday I came down with some stomach problems so I refrained from dinner and lay down. I lay down for about twelve hours. When I finally ventured from bed and my hut I was comfortable enough to partake of bread and hot water. Totally my choice. I have spent the suing three plus hours doing the following. Reading about sixty pages of The Sex Lives of Savages (boy am I glad Peace Corps shut down Kiribati and I wasn’t sent there) and playing guard duty to the village exit. My hut is about forty feet from said exit. Thus as each truck (three or four), wheel barrow, or walker has passed I have given them a wave of passage. Okay I have also taken a couple pictures of a particular tree and its fruit, pushed Joanna, the three year old niece, in the tree swing, chased an errant wind blown wash basin, transferred pictures from camera to computer and sorted a few papers. Oh yes I had a friendly gecko drop down on me while I was reading. I flicked him or her off and used an expletive deleted.
Yesterday it rained quite a bit. Sometime drizzle, sometime torrents. It certainly kept down the flies. Not so right this minute. So I’m going to stop typing and start moving around.
So I went for a little walk. I got pikinini-nabbed by five little ones. They wanted me to take them to Survivor Beach. The beach where Survivor: Island of Fire was filmed. Just a little stroll through the bush. Thirty minutes into it we turned towards the beach and took the beach road, so to speak. Along the way we passed a few adults. Some coming from gardening. Bananas, taro leaves, island cabbage, coconuts and firewood. The children, four boys and a girl joyfully pointed out the plants. The jungle was dense as we traveled the road. Two tracks from both car wheels and walking. The children knew the way. When we arrived there were seven or eight other PCVs already there and ten or so other local children. The children immediately hit the water and swam, except on little fellow named Willie. He sat near me. He was afraid of the water. Finally after my borrowed sunscreen had time to take effect I encouraged Willie to go into the sea with me holding him. He clung tight. Eventually I loosened his grip and through encouragement he took to the water. Before the day was over he was swimming under my legs time and time again. I played in the water with five or so children. Splashing and later I became a raft that they pulled and pushed in and out. The children are all so natural and easy to play with. Most children are unless there parents have been sitting on them. Let them be and they find their way. After three hours I rounded my crew up and we began our hour trek home. We talked and made funny noises. The two older boys had caught half dozen small crabs. They gave them to me to take home for cooking. I forgot to eat them tonight.
Day before yesterday I was awaken at 5AM by a taping on the tin wall outside my bed. It went away and then a few minutes later it came back. It went away again and once more returned. I got out of bed and looked out my window. No one in sight. I returned to bed. The tapping returned again. I put on my shorts and went outside, walked around the hut. No one. Had I forgotten to get up for the days event. No other volunteers in sight at the community mango tree. We have been told of a local practice of some men where they creep around a woman’s house. “Creeping”. Was I being creeped. I told trainers I was. I was joking. Finally Richard told me it was a gecko. I have become famous for being creeped by a gecko.
10.9.07
Tuesday night. I’ve just come from my host family’s house. I had dinner and Mama and Papa worked hard with me to talk bislama. I really have little trouble hearing or reading and understanding the language. But I must work very hard to speak it. It is a matter of thinking in bislama. It is like being a three year old. I understand most of what’s said but can’t express myself. Very inhibiting. It’s not easy for someone as loquacious as me to have to struggle to talk.
Yesterday afternoon I went snorkeling with two PCVs and a couple of village boys (maybe 10-12 years old). It was a long swim, perhaps ¾ of a mile. The water was fairly clear, we had a small storm come through the night before and it had stirred the sea a bit. The water is very comfortable. I spotted a couple of interesting fish. A lion fish which looks like it has feathers all around its neck and a small dark blue fish with concentric white rings around its side. Today I asked a PCV who is part of the reef management team about it. She went to the book. It’s a type of angel fish. I stayed fairly close in to the shoreline. I had to swim to catch up with the other fellows. I had an escort in Richie (a boy). Noa, a PCV from Hawaii had a spear and we caught up to Eddie, the village sited PCV (also from Hawaii) who was on his canoe. Noa spotted a fish under some coral and Eddie speared it. It turned out to be a puffer fish. It ballooned up and was wedged in the coral. Eddie couldn’t remove his spear because of its barb. It took a good ten minutes and a number of dives by each of us to finally get the fish out. Then Eddie used his knife to carefully cut the spear from the fish. The puffer is covered with sharp thorns. As he worked at removing the spear the fish began to emit blood from its gills. It died during the process. The boys said it would be good “kakae” (food) so it was keep. The sun was close to setting and the boys were a bit cold so Noa, the boys and I went ashore to walk back to the village. As we walked for a few minutes we turn back to watch the sunset. Eddie in his canoe was on the horizon. It was a classic scene. No camera doggoneit. There will be many other opportunities I’m sure. The fish must have weighed twenty pounds. We took turns carrying it on a metal rod that John (the other village boy) had. We walked maybe five hundred yards along the shore to where the fresh water comes to the ocean. Noa and I rinsed in it, and then we turned inland and walked the rest of the way through the jungle. It is the road to survivor beach. Good workout for the day.
The training program here is excellent. Well most of the time. Today was one of the better ones. We had one of the PCMOs (medical officers) in today and they always do an excellent job. We really will need to our own doctors when we are on site. So there is lots of training in health issues, emotional as well as physical. Of course we have daily language classes. There are cultural classes. Yesterday we had a wokabout to learn island food. Trees and plants that sustain the locals. Island cabbage, papaya, bananas, taro, manioc (cassava-tapioca comes from it), other nuts and fruit. We had demonstrations on cutting down a banana tree, planting island cabbage and pulling the manioc roots out. All this on a path through the jungle. We are also getting training in teaching and development methods and strategies. Today a PCV named Susan, who has been here for three and a half years gave an excellent workshop on workshops. Workshops are the primary way to deliver assistance and training. During the session we had several very good student directed learning experiences. The finally was four different presentations on the use of visual aids. One group created a song, as did mine, did a pantomime and a third a skit. All were excellently creative. These are some very dynamic young people. We are in only our third week on training. At the end of ten weeks we will be ready. I hesitate to say it is like Marine Corps boot camp, but honestly it is, sans the mental and physical torment. We must be prepared to do the job.
It’s Saturday morning and I’m two weeks in Vanuatu, six days in Managliliu. Yesterday I came down with some stomach problems so I refrained from dinner and lay down. I lay down for about twelve hours. When I finally ventured from bed and my hut I was comfortable enough to partake of bread and hot water. Totally my choice. I have spent the suing three plus hours doing the following. Reading about sixty pages of The Sex Lives of Savages (boy am I glad Peace Corps shut down Kiribati and I wasn’t sent there) and playing guard duty to the village exit. My hut is about forty feet from said exit. Thus as each truck (three or four), wheel barrow, or walker has passed I have given them a wave of passage. Okay I have also taken a couple pictures of a particular tree and its fruit, pushed Joanna, the three year old niece, in the tree swing, chased an errant wind blown wash basin, transferred pictures from camera to computer and sorted a few papers. Oh yes I had a friendly gecko drop down on me while I was reading. I flicked him or her off and used an expletive deleted.
Yesterday it rained quite a bit. Sometime drizzle, sometime torrents. It certainly kept down the flies. Not so right this minute. So I’m going to stop typing and start moving around.
So I went for a little walk. I got pikinini-nabbed by five little ones. They wanted me to take them to Survivor Beach. The beach where Survivor: Island of Fire was filmed. Just a little stroll through the bush. Thirty minutes into it we turned towards the beach and took the beach road, so to speak. Along the way we passed a few adults. Some coming from gardening. Bananas, taro leaves, island cabbage, coconuts and firewood. The children, four boys and a girl joyfully pointed out the plants. The jungle was dense as we traveled the road. Two tracks from both car wheels and walking. The children knew the way. When we arrived there were seven or eight other PCVs already there and ten or so other local children. The children immediately hit the water and swam, except on little fellow named Willie. He sat near me. He was afraid of the water. Finally after my borrowed sunscreen had time to take effect I encouraged Willie to go into the sea with me holding him. He clung tight. Eventually I loosened his grip and through encouragement he took to the water. Before the day was over he was swimming under my legs time and time again. I played in the water with five or so children. Splashing and later I became a raft that they pulled and pushed in and out. The children are all so natural and easy to play with. Most children are unless there parents have been sitting on them. Let them be and they find their way. After three hours I rounded my crew up and we began our hour trek home. We talked and made funny noises. The two older boys had caught half dozen small crabs. They gave them to me to take home for cooking. I forgot to eat them tonight.
Day before yesterday I was awaken at 5AM by a taping on the tin wall outside my bed. It went away and then a few minutes later it came back. It went away again and once more returned. I got out of bed and looked out my window. No one in sight. I returned to bed. The tapping returned again. I put on my shorts and went outside, walked around the hut. No one. Had I forgotten to get up for the days event. No other volunteers in sight at the community mango tree. We have been told of a local practice of some men where they creep around a woman’s house. “Creeping”. Was I being creeped. I told trainers I was. I was joking. Finally Richard told me it was a gecko. I have become famous for being creeped by a gecko.
10.9.07
Tuesday night. I’ve just come from my host family’s house. I had dinner and Mama and Papa worked hard with me to talk bislama. I really have little trouble hearing or reading and understanding the language. But I must work very hard to speak it. It is a matter of thinking in bislama. It is like being a three year old. I understand most of what’s said but can’t express myself. Very inhibiting. It’s not easy for someone as loquacious as me to have to struggle to talk.
Yesterday afternoon I went snorkeling with two PCVs and a couple of village boys (maybe 10-12 years old). It was a long swim, perhaps ¾ of a mile. The water was fairly clear, we had a small storm come through the night before and it had stirred the sea a bit. The water is very comfortable. I spotted a couple of interesting fish. A lion fish which looks like it has feathers all around its neck and a small dark blue fish with concentric white rings around its side. Today I asked a PCV who is part of the reef management team about it. She went to the book. It’s a type of angel fish. I stayed fairly close in to the shoreline. I had to swim to catch up with the other fellows. I had an escort in Richie (a boy). Noa, a PCV from Hawaii had a spear and we caught up to Eddie, the village sited PCV (also from Hawaii) who was on his canoe. Noa spotted a fish under some coral and Eddie speared it. It turned out to be a puffer fish. It ballooned up and was wedged in the coral. Eddie couldn’t remove his spear because of its barb. It took a good ten minutes and a number of dives by each of us to finally get the fish out. Then Eddie used his knife to carefully cut the spear from the fish. The puffer is covered with sharp thorns. As he worked at removing the spear the fish began to emit blood from its gills. It died during the process. The boys said it would be good “kakae” (food) so it was keep. The sun was close to setting and the boys were a bit cold so Noa, the boys and I went ashore to walk back to the village. As we walked for a few minutes we turn back to watch the sunset. Eddie in his canoe was on the horizon. It was a classic scene. No camera doggoneit. There will be many other opportunities I’m sure. The fish must have weighed twenty pounds. We took turns carrying it on a metal rod that John (the other village boy) had. We walked maybe five hundred yards along the shore to where the fresh water comes to the ocean. Noa and I rinsed in it, and then we turned inland and walked the rest of the way through the jungle. It is the road to survivor beach. Good workout for the day.
The training program here is excellent. Well most of the time. Today was one of the better ones. We had one of the PCMOs (medical officers) in today and they always do an excellent job. We really will need to our own doctors when we are on site. So there is lots of training in health issues, emotional as well as physical. Of course we have daily language classes. There are cultural classes. Yesterday we had a wokabout to learn island food. Trees and plants that sustain the locals. Island cabbage, papaya, bananas, taro, manioc (cassava-tapioca comes from it), other nuts and fruit. We had demonstrations on cutting down a banana tree, planting island cabbage and pulling the manioc roots out. All this on a path through the jungle. We are also getting training in teaching and development methods and strategies. Today a PCV named Susan, who has been here for three and a half years gave an excellent workshop on workshops. Workshops are the primary way to deliver assistance and training. During the session we had several very good student directed learning experiences. The finally was four different presentations on the use of visual aids. One group created a song, as did mine, did a pantomime and a third a skit. All were excellently creative. These are some very dynamic young people. We are in only our third week on training. At the end of ten weeks we will be ready. I hesitate to say it is like Marine Corps boot camp, but honestly it is, sans the mental and physical torment. We must be prepared to do the job.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
First days in training village
10.1.07
Sunday afternoon around 3 a van picked us up and we road for about 30 minutes to the village of Mangalilui. Awaiting us was the rest of our training group. First house we see is pink. It is my new home. I’m the gate guard. Big joke. We lineup to walk into village. A man in custom dress blows a conch shell and suddenly we are attacked by seven or eight villagers in custom dress. The attack is with screams and laughter. They are dressed in leaves and painted and carry clubs. We march into villager to a very big mango tree. It is the community center. There is a reception line of mamas in calico dresses with leis for each of us. They shake each of our hands and say “halo” There is lean-to with long benches and table, out front more benches. The new trainees go under the lean and sit on the bench. The mamas and children (pikinini) sit on the other benchs under the tree. There is a string band playing. There is a ceremony where the exchange of mats by our director Kevin George and the village chief Roi Mata. Then a big man with a bullhorn begins introductions. There are prayers and then each host family is introduced to their respective new pikinini (we are their new children). Eddie the current PCV living here takes a picture of each of the new papa, mama and pikinini. Much laughter and applause. The big man with the bullhorn is my new papa, Kalfou and his wife Winnie is my mama. Papa is my size and there is big laughter when we embrace. Two bigfalas. Then we are offered kava. I drink with my new papa. The PCTs are given something to eat. Mostly pancakes, a laplap (pudding made from manioc/casaba) and popo (papaya). Simple and sweet foods. The music starts again and I can’t help but start to move. I have a new dance partner. My papa. Apparently I am a perfect reflection of him. He is the village funny man and the chairman of the Peace Corps committee. The village enjoys our dancing and laughs big time.
Papa takes my big bag and we walk to my hut. It is 12 feet across and 16 feet deep. The side is of corrugated tin, painted Pepto-Bismol pink, with a purple door. Inside the walls are covered with different calico cloth. The floor is covered with grass mats. There is a raised bed (small twin size) with a pillow and a blanket. There is a window at the back of the house with a prop open shutter and a curtain. It is quite lovely in it simplicity. I also I have a small table and chair.
I am just now greeted by the children coming back from school. Its 7:30 am and they are very happy and excited. We exchange “halos”. The children go to the village school which is French speaking just outside the village. Maybe two minutes walk. I visited it this morning on a wokabout with my brother Ricky (pronounced ree kae). I have two brothers, Ricky 27 has a wife and two small girls. Ricky is very talkative and is my new escort. Later he comes to visit me and we will tok tok tumas. My other brother is Willie. He hasn’t said much yet.
Again last evening, after a brief settling in to my house I go to the front porch of my family. I share pictures on my computer of family, acting and my glass work. I then show papa how to type and enter on the laptop. He types the whole family’s names. I show him I have saved them and then enlarge and bold them. I am invited to coffee/dinner. It’s instant coffee and fried banana chucks rolled in flour. I eat a few as a courtesy. Then Mama and papa and Ricky talk with me. They give papa’s name as my kastom name (Kalfou). Tomorrow I’ll be asked it by my trainers. I say good night and go to sit in my doorway. Ricky comes over a little later. I have Rimsky Korsakov’s Scherezade playing. I explain the story of a thousand and one Arabian nights. I then invite him in and we talk for more than an hour. He has many questions and I tell him stories. I draw some pictures. To explain big eighteen wheel trucks to go the great distances of America. I also draw a map of the US and point out major cities and the distances. There doesn’t seem to be a total understanding of the expanse. When I go to Vila on Wednesday I’ll get on the net and copy pictures and maps for explanation. We say good night and I retire to bed under my mosquito net. It is an absolute requirement, although with weekly medication and Deet (bug repellent). I am reading a story history of Vanuatu. It makes for more understanding of this wondrous and quiet country. I look to slow down to island time.
I biggest challenge is to speak the language Bislama. It is fairly easy to read and understand (unless spoke very quick time). The language is a Pidgin English. But the order of the words is confusing for me to speak. Everyone here wants to help and they will do everything they can to get me to where I need to be.
It was difficult to get to sleep. I should not have had the coffee. I could hear the wind in the trees and against the house. Morning came early. Well before 6am. Roosters crowing. Other birds as well. I finally get out of bed a few minutes before 6 and went outside to the smol haos (bathroom). When I came out mama was at the wash table outside. I asked her if I could walk through the village on the road. She said yes but went inside to have Ricky escort me. He is a superb young man and an excellent guide and teacher. He showed me everyone’s house and told me their relationships. We walked to the salt water (ocean). Pointed out Hat Island and told me of the War Heritage of Chief Roi Mata, the fifty wives and his burial with fifty circular pig’s tusks on his arms. I learned the kastom language greeting for good morning. Malbong. So to everyone I said it. We returned for my breakfast. Bread, peanut butter, jelly and coffee. Papa comes in and informs me my kastom language name has been changed. It is now Kalowia. It means “wan gudfala man”. I am pleased with it.
Our day started with our trainers at the Mango tree community’s center. I assisted papa in taking a big table from outside into the long house. It is the church now and late it will be a school. The new church is started but has been delayed in process because of another project somewhere in Lelepa (the original home of this clan across the water at a different point. We are given the week’s schedule by Christina. Then we head off for Bislama sessions. Four of us are with Judy. She is a very patient teacher. We work outside under a roof on our mats which we bring from our mamas. It comes slow to me. We then go to the Mango tree for a lunch prepared by all the mamas. Many delicious dished. I have a few bites of several. Some meat, some beans, some rice and a fruit salad. Each of our mamas has brought our plates, glasses and a fork. They again take such wonderful care of us. We eat and then can rest. Some go for a nap. I go down to the water and wade in. I remove my shirt. I smell a bit. I soak the shirt, wipe my torso off and then put the wet shirt back on. It feels so good to be cool and not have flies landing on you. Later that proves to be a wise move as we then have a couple of sessions under the roof and I am no longer bothered by the flies. After Eddie the local PCV gives a joint talk with the chief’s wife our training ends for the day. Several of us will go snorkeling with Eddie and some of the young boys. The reef is beautiful. Many types of coral. It’s in fairly good shape once we get away from the shore. Black sea cucumbers with big bumps, large sea clams perhaps a foot across, hermit crabs, many fish of many colors. I have seen much of this both diving. But it is always wonderment below the water.
I return home. As I walk past the Peace Corps office I see papa and several other men building out back. I stop by and say Halo. Our trainers Solomon and Richard ask me about my swim in bislama. I make efforts to tell them who was with and what I saw. I say Ale and ahead to home. Mama tells me to put my dirty clothes in the bucket in my room and she will wash them. Wonderful. I head to the smol haos for a shower and to rinse my dive gear. It feels good to be clean. When I come out mama is at the back outdoor cook shed. I visit her and she is shaving coconut. I tell I have had a lesson in it. There are six small puppies lying around. I tell her of my mother’s and our family’s kinship to dogs and cats. There are no cats here. Perhaps few on the island. She is cooking coconut crab. I’m excited.
I am sitting in my doorway. Mama offers a chair but I like sitting on the stoop. I relax. I’m tired now. I try lighting my storm lantern. Mama comes over to help but it is out of kerosene. She fills it up and lights it. Now I go in to eat the crab, rice and bananas with coconut cream on them. It is very good and I enjoy it. I am just washing my hands when papa comes in with a bath towel wrapped around him. Earlier I had asked why women and children eat dinner separately from the men. He confirms “its kava time”. We leave together and he shows me to always be careful exiting my house as the corrugated tin protrudes for the wood. They all are so helpful. Its only 7:30 but I’m going to close now and read. Mi hadem wan bigfala gud dei.
FUTURE BLOGS WILL BE POSTED ON NEXT 5 WEDNESDAY'S
Sunday afternoon around 3 a van picked us up and we road for about 30 minutes to the village of Mangalilui. Awaiting us was the rest of our training group. First house we see is pink. It is my new home. I’m the gate guard. Big joke. We lineup to walk into village. A man in custom dress blows a conch shell and suddenly we are attacked by seven or eight villagers in custom dress. The attack is with screams and laughter. They are dressed in leaves and painted and carry clubs. We march into villager to a very big mango tree. It is the community center. There is a reception line of mamas in calico dresses with leis for each of us. They shake each of our hands and say “halo” There is lean-to with long benches and table, out front more benches. The new trainees go under the lean and sit on the bench. The mamas and children (pikinini) sit on the other benchs under the tree. There is a string band playing. There is a ceremony where the exchange of mats by our director Kevin George and the village chief Roi Mata. Then a big man with a bullhorn begins introductions. There are prayers and then each host family is introduced to their respective new pikinini (we are their new children). Eddie the current PCV living here takes a picture of each of the new papa, mama and pikinini. Much laughter and applause. The big man with the bullhorn is my new papa, Kalfou and his wife Winnie is my mama. Papa is my size and there is big laughter when we embrace. Two bigfalas. Then we are offered kava. I drink with my new papa. The PCTs are given something to eat. Mostly pancakes, a laplap (pudding made from manioc/casaba) and popo (papaya). Simple and sweet foods. The music starts again and I can’t help but start to move. I have a new dance partner. My papa. Apparently I am a perfect reflection of him. He is the village funny man and the chairman of the Peace Corps committee. The village enjoys our dancing and laughs big time.
Papa takes my big bag and we walk to my hut. It is 12 feet across and 16 feet deep. The side is of corrugated tin, painted Pepto-Bismol pink, with a purple door. Inside the walls are covered with different calico cloth. The floor is covered with grass mats. There is a raised bed (small twin size) with a pillow and a blanket. There is a window at the back of the house with a prop open shutter and a curtain. It is quite lovely in it simplicity. I also I have a small table and chair.
I am just now greeted by the children coming back from school. Its 7:30 am and they are very happy and excited. We exchange “halos”. The children go to the village school which is French speaking just outside the village. Maybe two minutes walk. I visited it this morning on a wokabout with my brother Ricky (pronounced ree kae). I have two brothers, Ricky 27 has a wife and two small girls. Ricky is very talkative and is my new escort. Later he comes to visit me and we will tok tok tumas. My other brother is Willie. He hasn’t said much yet.
Again last evening, after a brief settling in to my house I go to the front porch of my family. I share pictures on my computer of family, acting and my glass work. I then show papa how to type and enter on the laptop. He types the whole family’s names. I show him I have saved them and then enlarge and bold them. I am invited to coffee/dinner. It’s instant coffee and fried banana chucks rolled in flour. I eat a few as a courtesy. Then Mama and papa and Ricky talk with me. They give papa’s name as my kastom name (Kalfou). Tomorrow I’ll be asked it by my trainers. I say good night and go to sit in my doorway. Ricky comes over a little later. I have Rimsky Korsakov’s Scherezade playing. I explain the story of a thousand and one Arabian nights. I then invite him in and we talk for more than an hour. He has many questions and I tell him stories. I draw some pictures. To explain big eighteen wheel trucks to go the great distances of America. I also draw a map of the US and point out major cities and the distances. There doesn’t seem to be a total understanding of the expanse. When I go to Vila on Wednesday I’ll get on the net and copy pictures and maps for explanation. We say good night and I retire to bed under my mosquito net. It is an absolute requirement, although with weekly medication and Deet (bug repellent). I am reading a story history of Vanuatu. It makes for more understanding of this wondrous and quiet country. I look to slow down to island time.
I biggest challenge is to speak the language Bislama. It is fairly easy to read and understand (unless spoke very quick time). The language is a Pidgin English. But the order of the words is confusing for me to speak. Everyone here wants to help and they will do everything they can to get me to where I need to be.
It was difficult to get to sleep. I should not have had the coffee. I could hear the wind in the trees and against the house. Morning came early. Well before 6am. Roosters crowing. Other birds as well. I finally get out of bed a few minutes before 6 and went outside to the smol haos (bathroom). When I came out mama was at the wash table outside. I asked her if I could walk through the village on the road. She said yes but went inside to have Ricky escort me. He is a superb young man and an excellent guide and teacher. He showed me everyone’s house and told me their relationships. We walked to the salt water (ocean). Pointed out Hat Island and told me of the War Heritage of Chief Roi Mata, the fifty wives and his burial with fifty circular pig’s tusks on his arms. I learned the kastom language greeting for good morning. Malbong. So to everyone I said it. We returned for my breakfast. Bread, peanut butter, jelly and coffee. Papa comes in and informs me my kastom language name has been changed. It is now Kalowia. It means “wan gudfala man”. I am pleased with it.
Our day started with our trainers at the Mango tree community’s center. I assisted papa in taking a big table from outside into the long house. It is the church now and late it will be a school. The new church is started but has been delayed in process because of another project somewhere in Lelepa (the original home of this clan across the water at a different point. We are given the week’s schedule by Christina. Then we head off for Bislama sessions. Four of us are with Judy. She is a very patient teacher. We work outside under a roof on our mats which we bring from our mamas. It comes slow to me. We then go to the Mango tree for a lunch prepared by all the mamas. Many delicious dished. I have a few bites of several. Some meat, some beans, some rice and a fruit salad. Each of our mamas has brought our plates, glasses and a fork. They again take such wonderful care of us. We eat and then can rest. Some go for a nap. I go down to the water and wade in. I remove my shirt. I smell a bit. I soak the shirt, wipe my torso off and then put the wet shirt back on. It feels so good to be cool and not have flies landing on you. Later that proves to be a wise move as we then have a couple of sessions under the roof and I am no longer bothered by the flies. After Eddie the local PCV gives a joint talk with the chief’s wife our training ends for the day. Several of us will go snorkeling with Eddie and some of the young boys. The reef is beautiful. Many types of coral. It’s in fairly good shape once we get away from the shore. Black sea cucumbers with big bumps, large sea clams perhaps a foot across, hermit crabs, many fish of many colors. I have seen much of this both diving. But it is always wonderment below the water.
I return home. As I walk past the Peace Corps office I see papa and several other men building out back. I stop by and say Halo. Our trainers Solomon and Richard ask me about my swim in bislama. I make efforts to tell them who was with and what I saw. I say Ale and ahead to home. Mama tells me to put my dirty clothes in the bucket in my room and she will wash them. Wonderful. I head to the smol haos for a shower and to rinse my dive gear. It feels good to be clean. When I come out mama is at the back outdoor cook shed. I visit her and she is shaving coconut. I tell I have had a lesson in it. There are six small puppies lying around. I tell her of my mother’s and our family’s kinship to dogs and cats. There are no cats here. Perhaps few on the island. She is cooking coconut crab. I’m excited.
I am sitting in my doorway. Mama offers a chair but I like sitting on the stoop. I relax. I’m tired now. I try lighting my storm lantern. Mama comes over to help but it is out of kerosene. She fills it up and lights it. Now I go in to eat the crab, rice and bananas with coconut cream on them. It is very good and I enjoy it. I am just washing my hands when papa comes in with a bath towel wrapped around him. Earlier I had asked why women and children eat dinner separately from the men. He confirms “its kava time”. We leave together and he shows me to always be careful exiting my house as the corrugated tin protrudes for the wood. They all are so helpful. Its only 7:30 but I’m going to close now and read. Mi hadem wan bigfala gud dei.
FUTURE BLOGS WILL BE POSTED ON NEXT 5 WEDNESDAY'S
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)