If any of you are thinking about visiting, and want to get directions to my house or Mac’s house, I’ve Googled Mapped all of North Ambae for you:
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
"Christmas Storying with Mac"
My village is SDA, which means they don't celebrate Christmas. One person in my village is Catholic so she and her family were going up Mac's mountain to celebrate in a neighboring village so I followed them up to celebrate with Mac.
A few weeks ago we purchased a few bottles of wine, one at the request of Mac's dad, and the other 3 for Mac and myself. We had put them in our bags, making them very heavy and clunky. As we were coming back in the boat, my Dadi Andrew said, "Wow Nancy this is heavy. I think you have something for Christmas inside".
"Yup. I've got a big heavy book for Christmas inside."
So for the past few weeks he and his wife have been teasing me and Mac about our "Christmas book". The day before I went up, they say to Mac, "So you're going to do a lot of reading tomorrow," and pretend to flip pages in a book.
Keep in mind we haven't had Christmas books in awhile, so we're lightweights now.
On Christmas Eve, Mac and I read three big Christmas books in her hut in the mountains, with crickets and the creek softy talking outside. The first two were shared over really hilarious conversation about various things. We are at the point where we talk to each other in Bislama English. Or saying really ni-Van sentences that don't mean much but you just feel like saying it, like "I like dough".
At the end of the second Christmas book, we both really had to pee. Remember when I told you Mac's toilet is up a hill? Try walking up that hill, in the dark, drunk. I fell once, and then Mac fell coming out of the pit latrine. I became really Asian and pretended to take photos of us in a fallen heap outside the pit. We were laughing so hard, that the rest of the world seemed irrelevant.
The third Christmas book was split over watching "Love Actually", which we storied over until 2:30am.
Oh yea, this is important. Earlier that evening Mac's dad told us we had to be up at 3am to grate (scratch in Bislama) taro and manioc for the laplap for Xmas.
We passed out, and I woke up once in a panic not knowing how I fell asleep antap of my sleeping bag, but not awaking again until 6am. Mac rolls over in her bed, looks at me with a wave of sickness, and says, "we missed the scratching".
"Why didn't anyone wake us??" I ask her.
We stumble out of her hut, terribly hungover. I ran up to the pit and puked, thinking to myself that the third Christmas book was probably not necessary. then we sheepishly made our way to her dadi's house.
"why didn't you sing out?", we ask her mom.
"well you two were storying until half past two last night that we just didn't want to wake you. You two just sounded so excited for Xmas that we wanted to let you sleep", she says, not upset at all.
Word spread fast. The rest of Christmas day, everyone came up to us saying "wow you two storied late last night!". And then her neighbor asks, "hey who fell down last night?" with a shit eating grin on his face. So everyone knew we stories until 2:30am and that someone fell down. Damn you, coconut wireless!
We went to church, and afterward the village had a goodbye ceremony for the priest, but it was ruined when a bunch of youngfala got wasted on yeast and started fighting. It was terrifying, as I've explained before that when niVans get drunk on yeast they go insane.
we went back to mac's brother's hut, where they were drinking beer and having a good time, not fighting like the other boys. But they kept trying to force us to drink, which I did not appreciate. It made me have a strange appreciation for my SDA village, where alcohol and kava are taboo.
The rest of Xmas was spent eating laplap and pig and cake with Mac's family. Mac and I gave each other funny looks throughout our Christmas dinner, laughing inside that this was indeed how we were spending Christmas 2010.
It was one for the books, that's for sure (no pun intended).
Sent from my iPod
A few weeks ago we purchased a few bottles of wine, one at the request of Mac's dad, and the other 3 for Mac and myself. We had put them in our bags, making them very heavy and clunky. As we were coming back in the boat, my Dadi Andrew said, "Wow Nancy this is heavy. I think you have something for Christmas inside".
"Yup. I've got a big heavy book for Christmas inside."
So for the past few weeks he and his wife have been teasing me and Mac about our "Christmas book". The day before I went up, they say to Mac, "So you're going to do a lot of reading tomorrow," and pretend to flip pages in a book.
Keep in mind we haven't had Christmas books in awhile, so we're lightweights now.
On Christmas Eve, Mac and I read three big Christmas books in her hut in the mountains, with crickets and the creek softy talking outside. The first two were shared over really hilarious conversation about various things. We are at the point where we talk to each other in Bislama English. Or saying really ni-Van sentences that don't mean much but you just feel like saying it, like "I like dough".
At the end of the second Christmas book, we both really had to pee. Remember when I told you Mac's toilet is up a hill? Try walking up that hill, in the dark, drunk. I fell once, and then Mac fell coming out of the pit latrine. I became really Asian and pretended to take photos of us in a fallen heap outside the pit. We were laughing so hard, that the rest of the world seemed irrelevant.
The third Christmas book was split over watching "Love Actually", which we storied over until 2:30am.
Oh yea, this is important. Earlier that evening Mac's dad told us we had to be up at 3am to grate (scratch in Bislama) taro and manioc for the laplap for Xmas.
We passed out, and I woke up once in a panic not knowing how I fell asleep antap of my sleeping bag, but not awaking again until 6am. Mac rolls over in her bed, looks at me with a wave of sickness, and says, "we missed the scratching".
"Why didn't anyone wake us??" I ask her.
We stumble out of her hut, terribly hungover. I ran up to the pit and puked, thinking to myself that the third Christmas book was probably not necessary. then we sheepishly made our way to her dadi's house.
"why didn't you sing out?", we ask her mom.
"well you two were storying until half past two last night that we just didn't want to wake you. You two just sounded so excited for Xmas that we wanted to let you sleep", she says, not upset at all.
Word spread fast. The rest of Christmas day, everyone came up to us saying "wow you two storied late last night!". And then her neighbor asks, "hey who fell down last night?" with a shit eating grin on his face. So everyone knew we stories until 2:30am and that someone fell down. Damn you, coconut wireless!
We went to church, and afterward the village had a goodbye ceremony for the priest, but it was ruined when a bunch of youngfala got wasted on yeast and started fighting. It was terrifying, as I've explained before that when niVans get drunk on yeast they go insane.
we went back to mac's brother's hut, where they were drinking beer and having a good time, not fighting like the other boys. But they kept trying to force us to drink, which I did not appreciate. It made me have a strange appreciation for my SDA village, where alcohol and kava are taboo.
The rest of Xmas was spent eating laplap and pig and cake with Mac's family. Mac and I gave each other funny looks throughout our Christmas dinner, laughing inside that this was indeed how we were spending Christmas 2010.
It was one for the books, that's for sure (no pun intended).
Sent from my iPod
Family Picnic
Most days not much happens, but the one day where I actually make plans my village decides to overload me with commitments for that day.
It started with Jimmy and the boys coming over to record a Christmas song that I thought they had forgotten about. He has an AMAZING voice so if you want to see the video just email me. Seizing my opportunity, I asked the boys if they could help me with a side project - writing and recording a few songs about domestic violence which I want to use to raise awareness.
Then, almost immediately after, my crazy but fun aunties told me they were having a family picnic down by the beach and to run down to the salt water to catch up with my uncles who were diving and fishing. I've wanted to go fishing with them for weeks, but they always forget to bring me.
So this time, the one time I had plans, they remembered. I grabbed my trunks, mask, and camera and stumbled down to the beach where close up to 30 kids were swimming. Mind you, I haven't really gone swimming at site because I've been scared of sharks. But on this day, I thought to myself that if I swam when there were a ton of kids in the water it would lessen the chances of me getting bitten. Sharks go after weaker swimming animals, and since I'm oh so graceful when I swim I figured I would be semi safe (Note: when I retold my theory to Mac she reminded me how awful that sounded, but in Vanuatu everyone is just so blunt that it hadn't phased me as it came out of my mouth).
My uncles had sacked the net on the other side of these boulders, which are quite difficult to climb over, so after 15 minutes of climbing I found them and this beautiful reef that I had no idea existed at my site. So I swam around trying to scare the fish into the net while my uncles kept it from tangling in the coral. But the salt water was so incredibly rough that we kept getting sucked toward a rip current, and because we didn't want to die, we gave up after an hour.
I opted to go swim with the kids, who were holding these big wooden boards. Turns out they carve out white wood into boogie boards and ride the waves on them. It totally beats those gross styrofoam boards we use in the States. Now, I've gone boogie boarding many many times, but the kids wanted to teach me so I humored them and played dumb. After riding a bunch of waves, we were all waiting out in the deep for the next set when a huuuuge sea turtle popped it's head up next to us. Everyone is catching on to the fact that I'm obsessed with turtles, and stayed quiet so I could get a good look at it. It was pretty freaking awesome.
As the sun started setting, I pulled a few boats to shore because the water was so rough - as my dads boat came in he had to bail ship to avoid a rogue wave - and laid in the sand listening to stories about this whale that had once washed up on the beach with his head cut off. They said sometimes fishing boats show up off shore and slaughter dolphins and whales. They said they think they are Japanese boats that are coming into Vanuatu water. If you've ever seen "the cove" then you'll understand the significance of this story. One day my dadi got so pissed off he reported the ship but I don't think anything ever happened. Hmmm maybe I shouldn't be writing about this. Not sure if it would get me into trouble, or breaking some censor rule. Whatever.
Anyway, it was a very unusually busy day. That's my story.
Sent from my iPod
It started with Jimmy and the boys coming over to record a Christmas song that I thought they had forgotten about. He has an AMAZING voice so if you want to see the video just email me. Seizing my opportunity, I asked the boys if they could help me with a side project - writing and recording a few songs about domestic violence which I want to use to raise awareness.
Then, almost immediately after, my crazy but fun aunties told me they were having a family picnic down by the beach and to run down to the salt water to catch up with my uncles who were diving and fishing. I've wanted to go fishing with them for weeks, but they always forget to bring me.
So this time, the one time I had plans, they remembered. I grabbed my trunks, mask, and camera and stumbled down to the beach where close up to 30 kids were swimming. Mind you, I haven't really gone swimming at site because I've been scared of sharks. But on this day, I thought to myself that if I swam when there were a ton of kids in the water it would lessen the chances of me getting bitten. Sharks go after weaker swimming animals, and since I'm oh so graceful when I swim I figured I would be semi safe (Note: when I retold my theory to Mac she reminded me how awful that sounded, but in Vanuatu everyone is just so blunt that it hadn't phased me as it came out of my mouth).
My uncles had sacked the net on the other side of these boulders, which are quite difficult to climb over, so after 15 minutes of climbing I found them and this beautiful reef that I had no idea existed at my site. So I swam around trying to scare the fish into the net while my uncles kept it from tangling in the coral. But the salt water was so incredibly rough that we kept getting sucked toward a rip current, and because we didn't want to die, we gave up after an hour.
I opted to go swim with the kids, who were holding these big wooden boards. Turns out they carve out white wood into boogie boards and ride the waves on them. It totally beats those gross styrofoam boards we use in the States. Now, I've gone boogie boarding many many times, but the kids wanted to teach me so I humored them and played dumb. After riding a bunch of waves, we were all waiting out in the deep for the next set when a huuuuge sea turtle popped it's head up next to us. Everyone is catching on to the fact that I'm obsessed with turtles, and stayed quiet so I could get a good look at it. It was pretty freaking awesome.
As the sun started setting, I pulled a few boats to shore because the water was so rough - as my dads boat came in he had to bail ship to avoid a rogue wave - and laid in the sand listening to stories about this whale that had once washed up on the beach with his head cut off. They said sometimes fishing boats show up off shore and slaughter dolphins and whales. They said they think they are Japanese boats that are coming into Vanuatu water. If you've ever seen "the cove" then you'll understand the significance of this story. One day my dadi got so pissed off he reported the ship but I don't think anything ever happened. Hmmm maybe I shouldn't be writing about this. Not sure if it would get me into trouble, or breaking some censor rule. Whatever.
Anyway, it was a very unusually busy day. That's my story.
Sent from my iPod
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Just thought I'd let you know...
...that I'm losing track of time.
I thought it was Wednesday today. Turns out it's Friday.
Also I have this book called "where there is no doctor" and has this ridiculous method to test for diabetes. You taste your own urine to see if it's sweet. Then it says to have someone else taste it to be sure, and also have them taste three other people's urine to compare.
When in Rome...
Sent from my iPod
I thought it was Wednesday today. Turns out it's Friday.
Also I have this book called "where there is no doctor" and has this ridiculous method to test for diabetes. You taste your own urine to see if it's sweet. Then it says to have someone else taste it to be sure, and also have them taste three other people's urine to compare.
When in Rome...
Sent from my iPod
Rookie Mistakes
I've been in Vanuatu for over 3 months, and in village for over a month. I've learned a lot about surviving in the bush - I can make a wicked fire, skin scratch and milk a coconut, kill a chicken, test myself for malaria. I can live without running electricity, sustaining power for my electronics with intermittent solar power. But it doesn't mean I'm not prone to mistakes.
As I may have told you before, the "hill" I climb to get cell reception is 45min straight up through mosquito infested jungle. So when you climb it, you usually hang out antap for a bit of time to make the climb worth it. Last time I went I forgot to top up my cell, bring water, a book to read, and pen&paper. So I was broke, thirsty, bored, and forgot everything I was told over the phone.
This time I was determined not to make the same mistake. I put $30 on my phone, brought a full Nalgene and a good book, a banana, and my journal with pen. I got to the spot and collapsed on the edge of the cliff, took a large swig of water, and turned on my phone.
One thing I forgot to do, and it was a ridiculous mistake. I forgot to charge my phone. I had one bar of battery left. One bar. It was enough to make a 10min phone call to my ma in the US, and 3 sec call to Wotan. I was trying to ask her if the solar panel to my sat phone arrived (so if you are sending me messages I haven't gotten them yet), and all I got out was "Wotaan! What's up, can you hear me?" and then my phone died. Rookie mistake.
I also forgot to reapply bug spray, and received over 100 bites within a few hours. I hear dengue calling. Roooookie mistake.
One last one. I forgot to tell y'all before. So the owners of the stori house are back for the holidays with their 4 kids, which makes my living situation less than ideal, but I'm good with kids so whatever.
I get back from the mobile mountain and walk into the kitchen where the wife and husband are eating with their 3 boys. I say, "hello! Hey I only see 3 children! Did we lose number 4?"
They look around a bit confused.
"did we lose the girl?" I say. I realize in English this sounds really awkward and promise in Bislama it's not awkward. However, what came next WAS awkward.
"we only have boys. All four are boys, darien is a boy," the husband says as the fourth kid walks into the kitchen. For the past three weeks I've thought this kid was a girl! It never occurred to me for a moment that she was a he. There's no word for she or he in Bislama, you just say "hem" and the gender is usually implied. Guess I implied wrong. Roooookie mistake.
I was so embarrassed I walked into my room and didn't come out for the rest of the night.
The next day the mom cornered me as I was fanning my fire, and was storying about her kids and what year in school they would be. She made sure to not use "hem" but to say "yes darien is a big boy for 6". "yes my boy is going to school in this village next year".
Annnnd yea! It's still awkward.
Sent from my iPod
As I may have told you before, the "hill" I climb to get cell reception is 45min straight up through mosquito infested jungle. So when you climb it, you usually hang out antap for a bit of time to make the climb worth it. Last time I went I forgot to top up my cell, bring water, a book to read, and pen&paper. So I was broke, thirsty, bored, and forgot everything I was told over the phone.
This time I was determined not to make the same mistake. I put $30 on my phone, brought a full Nalgene and a good book, a banana, and my journal with pen. I got to the spot and collapsed on the edge of the cliff, took a large swig of water, and turned on my phone.
One thing I forgot to do, and it was a ridiculous mistake. I forgot to charge my phone. I had one bar of battery left. One bar. It was enough to make a 10min phone call to my ma in the US, and 3 sec call to Wotan. I was trying to ask her if the solar panel to my sat phone arrived (so if you are sending me messages I haven't gotten them yet), and all I got out was "Wotaan! What's up, can you hear me?" and then my phone died. Rookie mistake.
I also forgot to reapply bug spray, and received over 100 bites within a few hours. I hear dengue calling. Roooookie mistake.
One last one. I forgot to tell y'all before. So the owners of the stori house are back for the holidays with their 4 kids, which makes my living situation less than ideal, but I'm good with kids so whatever.
I get back from the mobile mountain and walk into the kitchen where the wife and husband are eating with their 3 boys. I say, "hello! Hey I only see 3 children! Did we lose number 4?"
They look around a bit confused.
"did we lose the girl?" I say. I realize in English this sounds really awkward and promise in Bislama it's not awkward. However, what came next WAS awkward.
"we only have boys. All four are boys, darien is a boy," the husband says as the fourth kid walks into the kitchen. For the past three weeks I've thought this kid was a girl! It never occurred to me for a moment that she was a he. There's no word for she or he in Bislama, you just say "hem" and the gender is usually implied. Guess I implied wrong. Roooookie mistake.
I was so embarrassed I walked into my room and didn't come out for the rest of the night.
The next day the mom cornered me as I was fanning my fire, and was storying about her kids and what year in school they would be. She made sure to not use "hem" but to say "yes darien is a big boy for 6". "yes my boy is going to school in this village next year".
Annnnd yea! It's still awkward.
Sent from my iPod
"Classical" Music
Buying an iPod Touch in Boston before leaving was a brilliant investment on my part. I remember debating with Meg on whether I should get it or an old school iPod with more memory. Ru said I just shouldn't buy anything Apple made. I chose right, because I can write all my emails, blogs, ideas, load up emails to read later, look at photos and movies, and easily take it to Lolowai to check Internet when I get the chance to go in (I still don't have a dry bag for my laptop). Nevermind that sometimes my solar charger won't charge it past 40%. It's handy and I like it.
Another great feature is that it has built in speakers. So people get to enjoy music with me.
I swear this post has a point and is not an Apple ad. I'm not even pro apple!!
The other day I was at the closing ceremony for the school, and was sitting on the floor listening to music while one of the teachers, Jimmy, was preparing certificates. He is an AMAZING singer and should probably get a record deal. He loves music. While we're sitting there he goes, "hey do you have any classical?"
"classical like Mozart?" I ask, already scrolling thru the artists about to pull up some classical music.
"no like classical rock."
"oh yea sure, who's your favorite?" I ask.
"backstreet boys."
Yes everyone, Backstreet Boys is "classical rock". WTF
Sent from my iPod
Another great feature is that it has built in speakers. So people get to enjoy music with me.
I swear this post has a point and is not an Apple ad. I'm not even pro apple!!
The other day I was at the closing ceremony for the school, and was sitting on the floor listening to music while one of the teachers, Jimmy, was preparing certificates. He is an AMAZING singer and should probably get a record deal. He loves music. While we're sitting there he goes, "hey do you have any classical?"
"classical like Mozart?" I ask, already scrolling thru the artists about to pull up some classical music.
"no like classical rock."
"oh yea sure, who's your favorite?" I ask.
"backstreet boys."
Yes everyone, Backstreet Boys is "classical rock". WTF
Sent from my iPod
Isn't it a sin to lie?
I climbed up the wicked mountain for church one Saturday and collapsed in the back of the church with some of the kids so no one would notice me zoning out and napping. Three hours into worship, I was day dreaming about surfing up in the Banks (which BTW I can see from my house. Yea... I can see Torba province from my house), when the preacher yelled "GLOBAL WARMING!"
I snapped to attention, getting a little excited to hear something other than verses from the bible.
"Global warming is happening! This year the water has come up on shore by 17cm!"
Oh hell yea, I think, more intrigued as to where this was going.
"Our island will disappear soon! We are close to the end of the world! Jesus is coming soon!"
My face dropped, weighted down by disappointment. I was not expecting that.
Sent from my iPod
I snapped to attention, getting a little excited to hear something other than verses from the bible.
"Global warming is happening! This year the water has come up on shore by 17cm!"
Oh hell yea, I think, more intrigued as to where this was going.
"Our island will disappear soon! We are close to the end of the world! Jesus is coming soon!"
My face dropped, weighted down by disappointment. I was not expecting that.
Sent from my iPod
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Wedding, A Birthday, and A Funeral
This past week I experienced a custom wedding, a birthday celebration, and a funeral all within two days of each other.
One morning I woke up and made my coffee, and my Mami ame up to my door and said “There’s a wedding today, we’re going”. Okay, I thought. So I filled up my water bottle, grabbed a calico as a wedding gift, and climbed up a mountain to see this custom wedding. And guess who was there?! Mac! It’s funny because our villages in Peace Corps Office eyes are two different communities because they are two hours apart, but in reality they are one.
Anyway, so this custom ceremony was a really cool thing to be privy to. We sat around for a few hours, not really sure what was going on. Everyone was just sitting around storying – it kind of reminded me of a big family picnic. The girl who was to be married was just sitting in the doorway of her hut in a green island dress, like nothing big was happening at all. I think the groom had gone to Nangire that morning to pay for the bride - $800 with a cow and mats. So he wasn’t around. And then around 4:00pm things started happening. This HUGE parcel of lap lap, which required the labor of two full grown men to carry, made its way down the small valley, followed by a parade of people carrying bundles of mats. They placed all the gifts in the bottom of the little valley of houses, and then the bride made her way down and sat in the middle. Then her entire family walked around the pile of gifts, touching everything to show that they accepted the gifts. And then the groom walked around touching everything, showing he accepted the gifts. And then he touched the head of the bridge to show that he accepted her as his bride and then everyone clapped. It was funny though because he just touched her like “Tag, you’re it” and walked away. And that was like their “and now you may kiss the bride”.
And because this is Vanuatu, they tacked on a kid’s birthday to the end of it. Everyone lined up to shake hands with this little baby sitting on his dad’s lap, and people poured baby powder all over the baby. The kid was BAWLING but the powder kept flowing. It was really really really funny but at the same time.. that poor kid. Billy told me the reason they pour baby powder is because it says “Oop! Gotcha!”.
The next day a man died in Waluwumbue. That morning someone had told me that a man was sick and he was put in a boat going to Lolowai. So I walked over to Waluwumbue because I was supposed to meet with the chief, and as I approach the village I hear WAILING.
Some of the villagers were sitting around a dead body covered in mats. I went to see my friend and she was serving cake to her Year 3’s, and she calmly tells me that her grandpa just died, as she licked the food off her fingers. No tears, no nothing. I didn’t know how to react because she didn’t seem upset. And then later that evening she was sitting under the tent with the body, wailing. Death is so weird here. People wail one moment and then are completely fine the next. On and off.
The tradition is the wrap the body in mats, and then family members sleep with the body through the night. The village gathers around and sings hymns until sunrise to keep the devils away. Then the next day they bury him. But the mourning goes for 10 days. Its odd though, because the whole community gets together to make a feast and it’s like a family reunion, but it’s really a funeral. There was something eerily comforting about sitting around baking bread with the Mamas for the funeral. I think maybe they all get together and make a party out of it to dull the pain.
And then one of my small Dadi’s got DRUNK. People in Vanuatu don’t drink too much – kava is the choice substance – and SDA villages prohibit alcohol, but this Dadi doesn’t follow the rules. I’ve heard stories of how scary it is when ni-vans get really drunk, but I didn’t believe it until a roaring, swearing ni-Van was barreling toward me, being constrained by three of his full grown brothers. I’ve never seen ni-vans fight either. But they were literally beating up each other because the drunk Dadi was picking a fight with everyone. This went on for a few more hours and then I went home to nap. I passed by my mom’s kitchen, chatted for a few minutes, and then went to my house for a short nap. I got up and went back to my mom’s kitchen for dinner. We were all sitting around on the ground and my mom says, “Nancy, did you hear one story about this kitchen?”. “No”, I said. She laughed and looked at my sister. In that time span, 40min or 30min idk, the drunk Dadi had walked to my village, went to my mom’s kitchen looking for my dad because he wanted to beat my dad up, and when he couldn’t find my dad he started swearing and throwing my mom’s pots all around. She said to me very calmly, “Yes, I was hoping you would hear and come, but nope. And then one uncle heard and came up here and saved my life.” She was telling me this tale like she was just telling me she went to the garden. It was a really weird week. A really weird day.
Hanging Mangos Look Like Monkey Balls
Today, as I laid under the mango tree next to the school doing my favorite activity – having the Mamas or kids comb through my hair for lice – I couldn’t help but notice that the bundles of mangos hanging above us resembled the testicles of a monkey I once had the displeasure off viewing at the Museum of Science in Boston.
It got me thinking about Boston, and I was suddenly reminded of a particularly pleasant afternoon back in Boston with Ru, lying in the grass of an MIT courtyardlooking up at the clouds and an odd industrial statue, listening to cars, planes, and parents pushing strollers. It was a little chilly that afternoon, but we weren’t in a rush. After an hour, we went to Grendel’s to get beers and food. That was a nice afternoon. It’s funny that lying under the mango tree made me think of that day.
Jungle Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving 2010 was most certainly not a traditional Thanksgiving in any sense, but I think it will be one of the most memorable Thanksgivings I’ve ever had in my life.
Some of the Ambae crew came out to see me at my village. Getting them out to Vandue, however, was quite humorous. The girls took the 2 hour boat ride out, and when I heard the motor of the boat approach the village I ran out to meet it with the rest of my village. This particular morning, though, we were getting the start of leftover swells from a cyclone in Australia or some place, and the waves were huge. The boat had to circle the coast for a good fifteen minutes, during which I laughed my ass off watching the girls anxiously eye the incoming swells, probably wondering if the boat was going to tip over. Finally, a “calm” came, and my Uncle Max zoomed into shore where the girls promptly were instructed to jump off immediately. I think I should have seen this as foreshadowing, but I was so excited to see my friends that the cause of the swells did not come to my mind.
After giving them an hour to rest, we began our walk to get Mac. Mac’s mountain is no joke, and I think even though I warned them it was a biggie, I don’t think they realized what a bitch that mountain is to climb until we arrived at Walariki and I told them we were halfway. I thought one of them was going to cry. But I kept telling them that even though during the climb you want to cry, faint, turn back, once you reach the top you truly feel a sense of great accomplishment. And I think they did once we reached the top – where Mac was mildly surprised to see us, because she thought we weren’t coming. But her Dadi told her to be patient, that we would arrive, and hey look we did!
I’ve discovered climbing barefoot is safer, and I will run the risk of getting hookworm versus falling to my death any day of the week.
For being in the middle of nowhere, we fashioned an amazing Thanksgiving feast, all cooked over a pit fire in my family’s kitchen. There was a moment as I was kneeling over the fire, sweat slipping down my cheek, when I looked up in frustration. But instead of crying because the smoke was killing my eyes, I noticed the amazing view from the kitchen and I had to remind myself that this year, Thanksgiving 2010, I was stirring a pot of kumala while taking in a breathtaking view of the ocean and Maewo over a canopy of banana and coconut trees, with the sleepy village of Vandue resting beneath it.
For those who are curious what a Jungle Thanksgiving consists of, let me tell you:
1. Two chickens, claws and all, which were roasted over a fire – also which have been dismembered by Mac
2. Beans cooked in curry sauce, with island cabbage and onion
3. Mashed kumala with powdered seasoning I had been saving for this special occasion.
4. Bread made in a saucepan
5. Kraft Mac n’ Cheese
6. Pumpkin soup with curry powder and basil
7. Fried yams
8. Banana bread
9. Tootsie rolls and M&Ms sent by Melissa’s mom
10. 5 bottles of really cheap, but surprisingly good red wine
11. Instant gravy
All of this was eaten on the floor of my house, under two solar lights with Wotan’s ipod playing DMB, while it stormed outside (transporting all the food from kitchen to house was entertaining as well). And we just storied for hours about our lives in the US, and then how it contrasts to our lives here, and the crazy shit that we’ve all seen since coming. It seemed at the time we weren’t doing much of anything, but looking back at it the whole experience was really comforting.
Here’s where it got crazy.
Mac and I followed the girls on the boat back to Lolowai to get internet, and then on the way back the two of us looked ahead and saw some very dark clouds. Ok, we’re going to get a bit wet, we thought.
This was an understatement. We got soaked. An hour left to go and it starts pouring. Me with my awesome poncho, Mac with a half destroyed umbrella, a newborn, and guy drunk on Kava, sitting in the dingy while it bucketed down on us. Trying to go into shore, two huge waves come over the boat, soaking the floor of the boat in about 5 inches of water. This is when I realized I still don’t have a dry bag for my laptop. Getting to shore, Mac and I jump out, but the boat doesn’t make it on shore before the next big swell comes in. I’m up to my waist in the water trying to pull the boat in while Mac is hauling all of our bags onto shore. She gets my laptop out just before another huge wave comes into the boat, sending belongings floating off into the ocean. All the kids, dads, moms drag the boat onto shore using a dozen logs, and then Mac and I start to sprint across the beach just as the rain REALLY turns on. The leftover swells from the Australia cyclone were NO joke. At one point, we just started walking because there was no point in trying to dodge the rain – we were already drenched.
Then we get back to my house and my rain tank was so full it was powerfully overflowing out the back. Mac and I in a panic run underneath it with our shampoo in hand, taking advantage of the first pressurized “shower” we’ve had in weeks. As I was standing under the fall of water rubbing the dirt off my ass, Mac violently scrubbing her head with shampoo, both of us just paused for a second, and then started hysterically laughing. I think both of us had just realized how ridiculous we looked standing in the pouring rain washing our hair, and that “yes, this is our life now.” It made a rather frightening day into a very, very funny one. One that I am Thankful to have in my “story book”.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
PHAST Workshop
This entry is for all the international, grassroots development nerds:
So like I said in a previous entry, the day after I came to site Billy put me to work. PC suggests not to try to do any projects for the first three months of service, but the timing worked out that I was coming in just when Billy was doing the workshop, and in retrospect it was really nice to have something to do, and for me to see all the faces of the community, as well as see what project I would be advising on for the next year. And Billy truly did an amazing job.
We held a Participatory based workshop called PHAST, which uses pictures and pile sorting to identify current behaviors, behaviors to encourage, ways to make a plan for achieving changes, etc. It's a way to get community members to discuss amongst themselves what strengths and weaknesses their community has, and how they can change or improve said observations. It beats two white people standing up in front of a room lecturing on proper sanitation practices.
It was a four day workshop spread out over two weeks, so I told Billy I wasn't ready to facilitate a session on the first day, but then we got to the second day and I gave it a whirl. For some crazy reason I decided to facilitate the session on gender tasks, where people had to designate activities under a picture of a man, a woman, or a couple. After they were sorted, I changed the pictures of the man woman and couple around so the activities had a new gender. This caused quite a bit of noise and discussion which was great. Debating, thinking, talking. Billy ensured them that we understood the custom roles of genders and that we weren't trying to change gender roles. We were just trying to get everyone to step outside the box.
Today, the last day of the workshop where all the big decisions were to be made, billy and i were going over the agenda when he said, "Nancy we are doing it. We are doing development."
And we really are. It was grueling and trying of my Bislama, and at times it was difficult for me to see how the activity would lead to any kind of outcome, but it really did. They decided in buying a water tank for the community and the rest of the money to build new toilets for every house. It also helped them to make a water and sanitation committee, which I am to act as a Advisor to two water and sanitation committees of vandue and waleiwumbue.
We are using money from Billy's peace corps partnership, which you can donate to but I do not have a link yet.
So like I said in a previous entry, the day after I came to site Billy put me to work. PC suggests not to try to do any projects for the first three months of service, but the timing worked out that I was coming in just when Billy was doing the workshop, and in retrospect it was really nice to have something to do, and for me to see all the faces of the community, as well as see what project I would be advising on for the next year. And Billy truly did an amazing job.
We held a Participatory based workshop called PHAST, which uses pictures and pile sorting to identify current behaviors, behaviors to encourage, ways to make a plan for achieving changes, etc. It's a way to get community members to discuss amongst themselves what strengths and weaknesses their community has, and how they can change or improve said observations. It beats two white people standing up in front of a room lecturing on proper sanitation practices.
It was a four day workshop spread out over two weeks, so I told Billy I wasn't ready to facilitate a session on the first day, but then we got to the second day and I gave it a whirl. For some crazy reason I decided to facilitate the session on gender tasks, where people had to designate activities under a picture of a man, a woman, or a couple. After they were sorted, I changed the pictures of the man woman and couple around so the activities had a new gender. This caused quite a bit of noise and discussion which was great. Debating, thinking, talking. Billy ensured them that we understood the custom roles of genders and that we weren't trying to change gender roles. We were just trying to get everyone to step outside the box.
Today, the last day of the workshop where all the big decisions were to be made, billy and i were going over the agenda when he said, "Nancy we are doing it. We are doing development."
And we really are. It was grueling and trying of my Bislama, and at times it was difficult for me to see how the activity would lead to any kind of outcome, but it really did. They decided in buying a water tank for the community and the rest of the money to build new toilets for every house. It also helped them to make a water and sanitation committee, which I am to act as a Advisor to two water and sanitation committees of vandue and waleiwumbue.
We are using money from Billy's peace corps partnership, which you can donate to but I do not have a link yet.
Obama vibrator
I can't think of a creative title for this entry. That's how much this blew my mind. It's also terribly inappropriate and I apologize ahead of time for what I'm about to tell you.
Billy and I went to Nangire to a fundraiser for the village aid post and we were talking to my cousin. Not sure how it came up but he was telling us about this article he read in the newspaper about a Obama pleasure toy. "What the ?!@&$!" we both said. So he went and got the article for us. It was in French, but that didn't matter. It was pretty self explanatory. There was a picture of an Obama vibramasseour. Billy and I were too shocked to laugh. Also, considering that on the customs form coming into Vanuatu it actually says that vibrators are illegal, we could not believe it was being advertised in a national newspaper.
Also, who would want to shove a figurine of Obama up their cooter?
Billy and I went to Nangire to a fundraiser for the village aid post and we were talking to my cousin. Not sure how it came up but he was telling us about this article he read in the newspaper about a Obama pleasure toy. "What the ?!@&$!" we both said. So he went and got the article for us. It was in French, but that didn't matter. It was pretty self explanatory. There was a picture of an Obama vibramasseour. Billy and I were too shocked to laugh. Also, considering that on the customs form coming into Vanuatu it actually says that vibrators are illegal, we could not believe it was being advertised in a national newspaper.
Also, who would want to shove a figurine of Obama up their cooter?
Pleasant Surprises
I took a trip out to West ambae to drop off the owners of the stori house because my dadi was driving the boat. I swear every trip I take around this island makes me believe more and more that there is something magical about Ambae. As we rounded the halfway point coming back, my dadi pointed out Fingalato aka the village of pygmies in the high cliffs. The path to them is REALLY dangerous but my family knows how excited I am to go see them so they said they'd take me the long way, which is safer, next year. But for now I'm content sitting at the bow of the boat with an old water bottle and fishing line wrapped around it, just trying my luck at catching a tuna.
I've had a few nostalgic moments here in vandue. One happened when I was looking at my large map of the world - and I mean really looking at it - when I realized how many islands there are in the Pacific and how many are still not independent from the US/France/UK/NZ/Australia. And then I started to look at other oceans and tiny islands when I reached the conclusion that I will never be able to visit every country in the world.... But it won't stop me from trying.
The other moment of nostalgia occurred last night as we fueled up the generator so the community could watch Rudy on a TV. Instead of watching the movie, I kept getting distracted by the moon on top of my head. It seemed so close up and then a cheesy old line from countless movies came to mind. We may be miles, oceans, plane rides, and boat rides apart, but we are looking at the same moon. We are looking at the same moon. Isn't that incredible? Time and space seem so odd to me, because I look at the map and see how far I am from the US, that I'm in a completely different atmosphere than, say, the cold snow in Colorado. But yet we all look at the same moon every night. Seriously, think about it next time you can spare a chance to look at the moon.
In other news, I have a bunch of small, barely noticeable white blotches on my skin which I have diagnosed to be some kind of harmless fungus. It's attractive. I've been treating it with cream. When I went to Billy's house to story with him, he said, "wow, you smell really good. Like how girls smell back in the states."' I said thank you, confused because I don't have any perfume or good smelling soap. Then he said it again and I said, "that's nice, but all that I've put on my skin today was the cream you use for jock itch".
It took a moment for that comment to sink in for the both of us, and then we just shook our heads and laughed. Only in Vanuatu would fungus and jock itch be funny.
I've had a few nostalgic moments here in vandue. One happened when I was looking at my large map of the world - and I mean really looking at it - when I realized how many islands there are in the Pacific and how many are still not independent from the US/France/UK/NZ/Australia. And then I started to look at other oceans and tiny islands when I reached the conclusion that I will never be able to visit every country in the world.... But it won't stop me from trying.
The other moment of nostalgia occurred last night as we fueled up the generator so the community could watch Rudy on a TV. Instead of watching the movie, I kept getting distracted by the moon on top of my head. It seemed so close up and then a cheesy old line from countless movies came to mind. We may be miles, oceans, plane rides, and boat rides apart, but we are looking at the same moon. We are looking at the same moon. Isn't that incredible? Time and space seem so odd to me, because I look at the map and see how far I am from the US, that I'm in a completely different atmosphere than, say, the cold snow in Colorado. But yet we all look at the same moon every night. Seriously, think about it next time you can spare a chance to look at the moon.
In other news, I have a bunch of small, barely noticeable white blotches on my skin which I have diagnosed to be some kind of harmless fungus. It's attractive. I've been treating it with cream. When I went to Billy's house to story with him, he said, "wow, you smell really good. Like how girls smell back in the states."' I said thank you, confused because I don't have any perfume or good smelling soap. Then he said it again and I said, "that's nice, but all that I've put on my skin today was the cream you use for jock itch".
It took a moment for that comment to sink in for the both of us, and then we just shook our heads and laughed. Only in Vanuatu would fungus and jock itch be funny.
Pleasant Surprises
I took a trip out to West ambae to drop off the owners of the stori house because my dadi was driving the boat. I swear every trip I take around this island makes me believe more and more that there is something magical about Ambae. As we rounded the halfway point coming back, my dadi pointed out Fingalato aka the village of pygmies in the high cliffs. The path to them is REALLY dangerous but my family knows how excited I am to go see them so they said they'd take me the long way, which is safer, next year. But for now I'm content sitting at the bow of the boat with an old water bottle and fishing line wrapped around it, just trying my luck at catching a tuna.
I've had a few nostalgic moments here in vandue. One happened when I was looking at my large map of the world - and I mean really looking at it - when I realized how many islands there are in the Pacific and how many are still not independent from the US/France/UK/NZ/Australia. And then I started to look at other oceans and tiny islands when I reached the conclusion that I will never be able to visit every country in the world.... But it won't stop me from trying.
The other moment of nostalgia occurred last night as we fueled up the generator so the community could watch Rudy on a TV. Instead of watching the movie, I kept getting distracted by the moon on top of my head. It seemed so close up and then a cheesy old line from countless movies came to mind. We may be miles, oceans, plane rides, and boat rides apart, but we are looking at the same moon. We are looking at the same moon. Isn't that incredible? Time and space seem so odd to me, because I look at the map and see how far I am from the US, that I'm in a completely different atmosphere than, say, the cold snow in Colorado. But yet we all look at the same moon every night. Seriously, think about it next time you can spare a chance to look at the moon.
In other news, I have a bunch of small, barely noticeable white blotches on my skin which I have diagnosed to be some kind of harmless fungus. It's attractive. I've been treating it with cream. When I went to Billy's house to story with him, he said, "wow, you smell really good. Like how girls smell back in the states."' I said thank you, confused because I don't have any perfume or good smelling soap. Then he said it again and I said, "that's nice, but all that I've put on my skin today was the cream you use for jock itch".
It took a moment for that comment to sink in for the both of us, and then we just shook our heads and laughed. Only in Vanuatu would fungus and jock itch be funny.
I've had a few nostalgic moments here in vandue. One happened when I was looking at my large map of the world - and I mean really looking at it - when I realized how many islands there are in the Pacific and how many are still not independent from the US/France/UK/NZ/Australia. And then I started to look at other oceans and tiny islands when I reached the conclusion that I will never be able to visit every country in the world.... But it won't stop me from trying.
The other moment of nostalgia occurred last night as we fueled up the generator so the community could watch Rudy on a TV. Instead of watching the movie, I kept getting distracted by the moon on top of my head. It seemed so close up and then a cheesy old line from countless movies came to mind. We may be miles, oceans, plane rides, and boat rides apart, but we are looking at the same moon. We are looking at the same moon. Isn't that incredible? Time and space seem so odd to me, because I look at the map and see how far I am from the US, that I'm in a completely different atmosphere than, say, the cold snow in Colorado. But yet we all look at the same moon every night. Seriously, think about it next time you can spare a chance to look at the moon.
In other news, I have a bunch of small, barely noticeable white blotches on my skin which I have diagnosed to be some kind of harmless fungus. It's attractive. I've been treating it with cream. When I went to Billy's house to story with him, he said, "wow, you smell really good. Like how girls smell back in the states."' I said thank you, confused because I don't have any perfume or good smelling soap. Then he said it again and I said, "that's nice, but all that I've put on my skin today was the cream you use for jock itch".
It took a moment for that comment to sink in for the both of us, and then we just shook our heads and laughed. Only in Vanuatu would fungus and jock itch be funny.
Awkward Turtles
Awkward Turtles
Everything in Vanuatu is super awkward, from the lingering hand shakes to odd hugs between men and women. It's all just... awkward.
It is custom to have these really awkward ceremonies for white people, of which I have been a part of many times since I've been here. They first sit you on a chair in front of the ENTIRE community, and just stare at you for a few minutes as they glance awkwardly at one another until someone stands up to make a speech. These speeches usually are a bit repetitive but very welcoming to the newcomers, thank God a lot for sending said newcomers, involve a gift of laplap and an entire cooked chicken, a lei, a fan and then maybe a basket or mat, and then somehow talk about WWII. Every time. And then they surprise you by telling everyone you are going to now make a public address to the community about whatever. It's funny, everyone else always seems to know the agenda of what seems to be a sporadic ceremony but the people who are being presented. Needless to say, I am slowly getting better at winging public speeches.
Sometimes it's really uncomfortable for me and I wonder if they are just doing these because they consider me a white person. The funny thing is in the US I never considered myself white, but here in Vanuatu I am automatically grouped in with them, minus the initial inquisition of "No you don't look like an American" (which is odd that they consider me white AND ask me this question every time). Actually, I find it really funny when I tell them that I'm half Japanese because every time they go "ohhh.... World war two".
The neighboring French Catholic mission village, Nangire, gave Billy and I a nice ceremony and sang us a ballad of interesting French and Bislama choruses, after which I met their village health worker who is really excited to partner with me to do a couple of workshops. In fact, I'm going to go to their fundraiser on Friday and drink kava with my bodyguard aka Dadi.
But yes, I think I fit right in because I am indeed quite an awkward turtle.
Everything in Vanuatu is super awkward, from the lingering hand shakes to odd hugs between men and women. It's all just... awkward.
It is custom to have these really awkward ceremonies for white people, of which I have been a part of many times since I've been here. They first sit you on a chair in front of the ENTIRE community, and just stare at you for a few minutes as they glance awkwardly at one another until someone stands up to make a speech. These speeches usually are a bit repetitive but very welcoming to the newcomers, thank God a lot for sending said newcomers, involve a gift of laplap and an entire cooked chicken, a lei, a fan and then maybe a basket or mat, and then somehow talk about WWII. Every time. And then they surprise you by telling everyone you are going to now make a public address to the community about whatever. It's funny, everyone else always seems to know the agenda of what seems to be a sporadic ceremony but the people who are being presented. Needless to say, I am slowly getting better at winging public speeches.
Sometimes it's really uncomfortable for me and I wonder if they are just doing these because they consider me a white person. The funny thing is in the US I never considered myself white, but here in Vanuatu I am automatically grouped in with them, minus the initial inquisition of "No you don't look like an American" (which is odd that they consider me white AND ask me this question every time). Actually, I find it really funny when I tell them that I'm half Japanese because every time they go "ohhh.... World war two".
The neighboring French Catholic mission village, Nangire, gave Billy and I a nice ceremony and sang us a ballad of interesting French and Bislama choruses, after which I met their village health worker who is really excited to partner with me to do a couple of workshops. In fact, I'm going to go to their fundraiser on Friday and drink kava with my bodyguard aka Dadi.
But yes, I think I fit right in because I am indeed quite an awkward turtle.
Beyond macs mountain
Beyond Mac's Mountain
It's a good thing I don't like climbing hills - I LOVE them! Ambae is the island of cliffs. Over the past days I have walked so many cliffs and valleys that I do believe that by the end of my service here I will have a great ass and fine calves.
My host family here, the Banga's (yes, that's really my new last name), are amazing. My mami Mary is the hardest working woman I've ever seen on my life. For example, when we were clearing jungle away so I could plant my garden, my dadi and sista and I took atleast three breaks, but man she just went to town on that jungle with her bush knife. She's got a great loud laugh that makes mine sound weak. My Dadi is a nice gentle man who gets my sarcasm and humor - thank goodness. He's also my designated body guard, not that I would need one in Vandue, where kava alcohol and smoking are forbidden. My brother Roger is away, but my 19 yr old sister Delmay is home from school til February. She's incredibly smart and beautiful, a tough girl like our mami but has a soft heart like dadi. Delmar is the youngest, 9. She's a little spoiled to be honest. She cries when she doesn't get her way.
Sorry, back to the hills. So I saw Mac a few times over our first week, because there were so many goodbye ceremonies for Blake and Billy, so I climbed what I thought were large cliffs to go to these feasts. And then on Saturday I climbed "Mac's Mountain".
There are 4 SDA churches in North Ambae. three of them are on the beach. The fourth in roughly a two hour hike up a HUGE mountain. Of course, my first week in Vandue and we decided to go to the fourth one. At one point when my mami and I were scaling some rocks, she tells me that one time her mother tripped on these rocks and she fell down the cliff and died. So that comment made me sweat even more than I already was, and by the time we got to church it looked like I had gotten stuck in a monsoon.
Okay, maybe I am making this mountain sound bad. Let me clarify something. I LOVE hiking up mountains. It's great exercise and it is a beautiful hike. But I wouldn't want to do it carrying my midget like backpack. Mad props to Mac and her host family for getting all her stuff up the mountain.
After the second session (out of 4) of worship, my family and I walked another 30 minutes across the mountain to Guatemele, Mac's village. Now her site is BUSH. Up on a mountain with all custom huts, no cell service and no easy way to reach "civilization". If I want to go see her, I've got to make sure I can go up and down the mountain before dark(6pm), or else I need to stay the night.
Blake has done a substantial amount of work in that Guatemele. So much, that it's a little intimidating coming as he is going. And even Billy is deeply loved by the community. I can't speak for Mac, but there are certainly momenta when I have panic attacks - can I live up to these guys? Will I be enough?
It does seems that all my surrounding villages are really excited to have me as a health volunteer, and the mamas are really happy to have a female volunteer so we can talk about women stuff. But Blake said something that really stuck - we get so fixated on our assigned jobs (health, business, teacher) but in reality as Americans we have such a large general knowledge about various things that we could really be any kind of Volunteer. So I am keeping this in mind, that us PCVs can do anything if we stop defining ourselves by our job titles.
It's a good thing I don't like climbing hills - I LOVE them! Ambae is the island of cliffs. Over the past days I have walked so many cliffs and valleys that I do believe that by the end of my service here I will have a great ass and fine calves.
My host family here, the Banga's (yes, that's really my new last name), are amazing. My mami Mary is the hardest working woman I've ever seen on my life. For example, when we were clearing jungle away so I could plant my garden, my dadi and sista and I took atleast three breaks, but man she just went to town on that jungle with her bush knife. She's got a great loud laugh that makes mine sound weak. My Dadi is a nice gentle man who gets my sarcasm and humor - thank goodness. He's also my designated body guard, not that I would need one in Vandue, where kava alcohol and smoking are forbidden. My brother Roger is away, but my 19 yr old sister Delmay is home from school til February. She's incredibly smart and beautiful, a tough girl like our mami but has a soft heart like dadi. Delmar is the youngest, 9. She's a little spoiled to be honest. She cries when she doesn't get her way.
Sorry, back to the hills. So I saw Mac a few times over our first week, because there were so many goodbye ceremonies for Blake and Billy, so I climbed what I thought were large cliffs to go to these feasts. And then on Saturday I climbed "Mac's Mountain".
There are 4 SDA churches in North Ambae. three of them are on the beach. The fourth in roughly a two hour hike up a HUGE mountain. Of course, my first week in Vandue and we decided to go to the fourth one. At one point when my mami and I were scaling some rocks, she tells me that one time her mother tripped on these rocks and she fell down the cliff and died. So that comment made me sweat even more than I already was, and by the time we got to church it looked like I had gotten stuck in a monsoon.
Okay, maybe I am making this mountain sound bad. Let me clarify something. I LOVE hiking up mountains. It's great exercise and it is a beautiful hike. But I wouldn't want to do it carrying my midget like backpack. Mad props to Mac and her host family for getting all her stuff up the mountain.
After the second session (out of 4) of worship, my family and I walked another 30 minutes across the mountain to Guatemele, Mac's village. Now her site is BUSH. Up on a mountain with all custom huts, no cell service and no easy way to reach "civilization". If I want to go see her, I've got to make sure I can go up and down the mountain before dark(6pm), or else I need to stay the night.
Blake has done a substantial amount of work in that Guatemele. So much, that it's a little intimidating coming as he is going. And even Billy is deeply loved by the community. I can't speak for Mac, but there are certainly momenta when I have panic attacks - can I live up to these guys? Will I be enough?
It does seems that all my surrounding villages are really excited to have me as a health volunteer, and the mamas are really happy to have a female volunteer so we can talk about women stuff. But Blake said something that really stuck - we get so fixated on our assigned jobs (health, business, teacher) but in reality as Americans we have such a large general knowledge about various things that we could really be any kind of Volunteer. So I am keeping this in mind, that us PCVs can do anything if we stop defining ourselves by our job titles.
Going to site
Leaving Vila for ambae was both a relief and incredibly depressing all rolled into one. Part of me was ready to get out of that cramped room and into my own place, but the other part of me did not want to leave the other volunteers because the reality is I may not see some of them until the end of our two years. It's an odd thought, thinking how much each of us will change over the next few years, that the guys will all probably have beards and long curly locks, that some may marry a ni-Van, or some may go home early for various reasons.
We first flew to Santo and said Goodbye to michael and gene, and then waited for the ambae plane to come. During this time, I picked thru Kara's hair for lice and the four of us kept an eye out for our next plane. An 8 seater eventually touched ground and we gawked at it, not understanding how all our luggage would fit without bringing the plane down. Then a 16 seater landed and it turned out this was our plane... But as they were loading bags on we noticed they were bringing a cart of bags back to the airport. The plane had reached max capacity and some of our bags didn't make it on. There went my Peace Corps medical kit, Kara's bucket, Wotan's mattress, and almost ALL of Lindsay's stuff. But here is the funny part- they weren't going to tell us our bags weren't making it on. It was only by chance we saw them bringing it off. yes, I am not in America anymore.
The short flight was a little...rocky I guess is the right way to put it. Going into the landing Wotan looked back at me and I think we had the same thought as the plane rocked back and forth- are we going to die? I think I've had that feeling a few times since I arrived in Vanuatu, and each time it feels a little less daunting - whether this is good or bad I don't know.
Billy met us at the airport and Mac and I followed him in a tiny dingy to our new home. That two hour boat ride (with my Peace Corps issued bright orange life jacket) went by fast. I was so nervous about my arrival in vandue that I wanted that boat to just keep going. But along the way we saw a pod of dolphins, which has only happened to Billy twice, so I took it as a good omen. We dropped Mac off at Walariki, who was met by the infamous Blake, and Billy and I continued on. We arrived at sunset, but the "docking" was quite entertaining. Unlike Laman, you can't pull right up to the beach. No, you must time it just right with the waves. If not, the entire boat flips over. So you have to zoom into shore at just the right time and scramble out of the boat before the next wave comes. Billy told me it flipped once and all the Mamas got stuck under the boat and the motor was destroyed. Intense.
I only had my large backpack and two small bags, but my backpack was like an overweight midget on my back and I nearly toppled down the cliff a few times, but then we arrived at "The Stori Haos" which is to be my temporary home for a few months while my hut is being built. The story house is a two story cottage that looks nicer than any house I've seen in Vanuatu. But it's so big that it's creepy and I'm terrified of black magic.
I was given the typical awkward ceremony that I've come to accept as "fashion blong Vanuatu" or the ni-van way, ate some simboro, which is the food of Ambae, and passed out in anticipation of the workshop I was to help Billy run the next day.
There is a lot to look forward to on Ambae. Island life. Mangos, avocados, pineapple, and mandarin seasons. Learning to pull a canoe. Getting slapped with baby powder. Being on an island with four other awesome girls from my group (Melissa, Kara, Wotan, Mac). Meeting the infamous Blake, man Vanuatu or the Volunteer who has been on Ambae for 5 years. Learning how to run a workshop from Billy. I'm super motivated, which worries me because I don't want to burn out early, so I am just working on pacing myself. Here I go.
We first flew to Santo and said Goodbye to michael and gene, and then waited for the ambae plane to come. During this time, I picked thru Kara's hair for lice and the four of us kept an eye out for our next plane. An 8 seater eventually touched ground and we gawked at it, not understanding how all our luggage would fit without bringing the plane down. Then a 16 seater landed and it turned out this was our plane... But as they were loading bags on we noticed they were bringing a cart of bags back to the airport. The plane had reached max capacity and some of our bags didn't make it on. There went my Peace Corps medical kit, Kara's bucket, Wotan's mattress, and almost ALL of Lindsay's stuff. But here is the funny part- they weren't going to tell us our bags weren't making it on. It was only by chance we saw them bringing it off. yes, I am not in America anymore.
The short flight was a little...rocky I guess is the right way to put it. Going into the landing Wotan looked back at me and I think we had the same thought as the plane rocked back and forth- are we going to die? I think I've had that feeling a few times since I arrived in Vanuatu, and each time it feels a little less daunting - whether this is good or bad I don't know.
Billy met us at the airport and Mac and I followed him in a tiny dingy to our new home. That two hour boat ride (with my Peace Corps issued bright orange life jacket) went by fast. I was so nervous about my arrival in vandue that I wanted that boat to just keep going. But along the way we saw a pod of dolphins, which has only happened to Billy twice, so I took it as a good omen. We dropped Mac off at Walariki, who was met by the infamous Blake, and Billy and I continued on. We arrived at sunset, but the "docking" was quite entertaining. Unlike Laman, you can't pull right up to the beach. No, you must time it just right with the waves. If not, the entire boat flips over. So you have to zoom into shore at just the right time and scramble out of the boat before the next wave comes. Billy told me it flipped once and all the Mamas got stuck under the boat and the motor was destroyed. Intense.
I only had my large backpack and two small bags, but my backpack was like an overweight midget on my back and I nearly toppled down the cliff a few times, but then we arrived at "The Stori Haos" which is to be my temporary home for a few months while my hut is being built. The story house is a two story cottage that looks nicer than any house I've seen in Vanuatu. But it's so big that it's creepy and I'm terrified of black magic.
I was given the typical awkward ceremony that I've come to accept as "fashion blong Vanuatu" or the ni-van way, ate some simboro, which is the food of Ambae, and passed out in anticipation of the workshop I was to help Billy run the next day.
There is a lot to look forward to on Ambae. Island life. Mangos, avocados, pineapple, and mandarin seasons. Learning to pull a canoe. Getting slapped with baby powder. Being on an island with four other awesome girls from my group (Melissa, Kara, Wotan, Mac). Meeting the infamous Blake, man Vanuatu or the Volunteer who has been on Ambae for 5 years. Learning how to run a workshop from Billy. I'm super motivated, which worries me because I don't want to burn out early, so I am just working on pacing myself. Here I go.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
My Satellite Phone Number
881641487743
Go to this link http://messaging.iridium.com/ if you want to send me a short message. While I can only receive short messages from you, I can SEND you longer emails. You can also email me from your gmail account but I haven't figured that out yet.
try not to call it unless you really miss me... it's really expensive on your side to call. 99 cents a minute.
Will update more when I conference with Billie at site!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
The Burning Squirts
Peace Corps are notorious for talking about poop or having poop conferences. With some groups, it takes a few months before people are really comfortable talking about it. Not with our group. I'd say three weeks in I knew about half of my friends bowel movements.
However, the other night as I was recovering from explosive diarrhea as in it was literally shooting out of my but and I couldn't go more than 10 feet from the toilet before running back, Carla (she's the one on the right) says to me, "Oh you too?! Yea, I had a case of the burning squirts last night". I think this statement is brilliant because, considering who Carla is... a mom of two grown kids who owned her consulting business, I did not expect this statement to come out of her mouth. But that fact that it did just goes to show... Peace Corp Poop Talks are all the rage.
Signs of this are:
- The fact that I've run to the bathroom 5 times today and no one even thinks thats strange.
- That Whitney was telling me a story about a Volunteer here who took deworming meds and pooped out a wicked long worm, took it out, and brought it to Brenda... and in response to Whitney's story, Nic asks, "what kind of toilet did he have to take it out of his poo?"
- Or the fact that right now as I write this, I am having this conversation with one of my fellow Volunteers:
I also found this song made by a PCV, and even though he's in a country I think it's pretty universal.
This guy actually made a few more...
However, the other night as I was recovering from explosive diarrhea as in it was literally shooting out of my but and I couldn't go more than 10 feet from the toilet before running back, Carla (she's the one on the right) says to me, "Oh you too?! Yea, I had a case of the burning squirts last night". I think this statement is brilliant because, considering who Carla is... a mom of two grown kids who owned her consulting business, I did not expect this statement to come out of her mouth. But that fact that it did just goes to show... Peace Corp Poop Talks are all the rage.
Signs of this are:
- The fact that I've run to the bathroom 5 times today and no one even thinks thats strange.
- That Whitney was telling me a story about a Volunteer here who took deworming meds and pooped out a wicked long worm, took it out, and brought it to Brenda... and in response to Whitney's story, Nic asks, "what kind of toilet did he have to take it out of his poo?"
- Or the fact that right now as I write this, I am having this conversation with one of my fellow Volunteers:
I also found this song made by a PCV, and even though he's in a country I think it's pretty universal.
This guy actually made a few more...
Death and Dying.
I've debated on whether or not I was going to blog about this. I've gone back and forth, and finally decided that what this blog is about is my life, straight up. Good and bad. So this event is part of my story. That boy's life is now part of my story. And I'm going to talk about it.
The Tuesday flight from Laman to Efate was booked, so 7 volunteers made it on and 5 of us were put on the Thursday flight. Four of the five of us are community health extensionists. Before boarding the plane, my friend Danielle and I were joking with each other about what food we were going to indulge in that night once we landed in Vila. Pizza. A Burger. A Milkshake. Anything but laplap. As the small person plane took off, I didn't even think to look two seats back, where I would have seen a young boy with an IV bag in his arm. Instead, we were just chatting with the Vanuatu AYAD coordinator who had just done a site check out in Ambrym.
20 minutes into the flight, the boy seated behind us stopped breathing. Myself and two other health volunteers pulled him into the incredibly cramped isle and started CPR. We continued for the rest of the flight, telling the pilot to have an ambulance ready for when we touched ground. We landed and taxied, the ground crew opens the door to the three of us over this boy giving CPR. No ambulance. They just looked at us like we were aliens. We continued CPR until the ambulance got there. Those five minutes felt like forever. The driver and an "EMT" hop out, taking their sweet time and just stare at us. In my head I couldn't believe it. They didn't even try to do anything.
After we realized that the EMT is completely useless, and that they weren't going to move him, we the volunteers had to lift this boy, who was pretty big, out of the tiny isle and put him in the back of the ambulance. The EMT just kind of fiddles with a face mask and an air tank.
"Do you know CPR?" I asked him in Bislama.
"Yes" he replies.
"Well do it!" I tell him.
He clearly had no idea what he was doing, so my friend and I climbed in the back of the truck about to continue. The other two volunteers with us were amazing - they stayed calm and got all our stuff off the plane while we were trying to figure We both knew the kid was going down the tubes after 20+ minutes of CPR on the plane, but he deserved a chance. The EMT kind of pushed us aside, telling us to get the kid's grandpa who was on the flight with us because he wanted to call it. I grab the grandpa who just comes over and says "What do you want to talk to me about" and then they pull a white sheet over the boy right then and there. And then people were laughing. It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever witnessed - the lack of basic emergency care knowledge, the lack of compassion and care, the lack of respect for a child. I am trying to be constructive from this experience in that it shows that so much needs to and can be done in Vanuatu during my service here. But it still doesn't make it any easier. .
Afterward, the AYAD coordinator gave us a ride to Peace Corps headquarters in Vila, where we were met by our PC nurse, our PTO, and our Country Director. They were incredibly supportive, had us stay in Vila so we could try to make sense of things between the five of us, before heading back to the training village. And this past Thursday, several weeks after the death, the PCMO brought in a clinical psychologist to debrief us. It is reassuring to know that we have the full support and respect from Peace Corps officers, and also that we have such excellent doctors that in case of illness we are always well taken care of. What is sad is the rest of Vanuatu does not have nearly as good health care as we Volunteers have.
I asked my host mama about the laughing. I thought maybe it was a cultural thing that I didn't understand. Do people laugh because they are uncomfortable? She said it's not a cultural thing, and they were probably "kranky" which means crazy.
But it did lead me to ask about how death and dying are dealt with in ni-Van society. When someone dies, they wrap the body in the pandanus mats, go in sets by family, and wail. Literally wail. I still am not used to ni-Van wailing. Don't know if I ever will get used to it (they do it in church too). They mourn for 5 days, and after the 5 days it's not talked of again. But there are also those who, by kastom, actually have to stay in their house for a month after a family member's death. They aren't allowed to change their close, or even shower. But for non-family members, immediately when you get home from a funeral you must wash your clothes so the soul of the dead body doesn't follow you home.
And sometimes people say that someone died from "nakaimas" or black magic. It's a real thing here to ni-Vanuatu. Sometimes I wonder if people just give up when someone is sick or dying because they think it's all in the hands of black magic. It's just hard for me to give up on someone....
I think it's expected that this event will set me back. That my anger will prevent me from doing my work. But instead I feel inspired and motivated to stay in Vanuatu and try to change what is clearly a broken system.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Far but Close: HVV on Laman Island
I want to preface this entry by assuring yufala that I loved my HVV (host village visit, like a walkabout) visit with Amy from October 16? to October 21 (so this is a bit out of order). She is an incredible volunteer and the actual visit could not have been better. I wish that was ensued on the flight back did not happen. I wish it was not part of my HVV at all. But it was and that's a reality. So first, I will tell you about the awesome parts:
Every Peace Corps Trainee in Vanuatu has a component of their pre-service training (PST) called HVV. It used to be called "Wokabaot" where you visited the site you were going to be assigned. PC staff found that didn't work well, so they changed it so that Trainees visit a current Volunteer at their site for a few days. I think I really lucked out with Amy, because she's an incredibly serene person that put me at comfort with the idea of being alone at site. Laman Island is off the coast of Epi, and you can walk around it in an hour. Small! But it has fulap white sand beaches, beautiful blue water perfect for snorkeling, and an awesome community.
To get to Laman, you take a little tiny plane and land at the "airport":
And then you take a little boat like this one, we yu stap storian wetem wan nufala man:
There's a ton of sea turtles that like Laman. We saw one poke it's head above water, and I squeaked with excitement because everyone knows how much I love turtles! And then it ducked down underwater, I got sad bakegen. Tip for all creature lovers: even if you're excited to see a creature, don't act like it.
Once we got to Laman, I soon discovered what the life of a Volunteer is.Or at least a health volunteer. Unlike the teacher volunteers, health volunteers don't really work on a schedule, especially the ones paired with a dispensary or an aid post. Community Health (CH) Volunteers working at a hospital like Wotan will be pretty regimented, but most of the time you go in when your counterpart does - and usually that's not often. So instead you sit around, storian (chat) with people, eat, and SLEEP. There's a lot of "spel smol" (nap). And there's a lot of island kakae (food). Amy has convinced herself that laplap is like pizza and curdled coconut milk is like cheese. I hope after one year into my service I can say the same. But we definitely had quite a bit of it. Her community loves her, and brings her free food all the time. I envy her life! Napping on mats, eating popo, and hanging out with Amy's AWESOME Apu man (grandpa). He's pretty funny. We kept trying to convince him to take us out on his canoe and he would just chuckle and say "Na". But it's ok - I wouldn't want to lug 4 girls across the ocean in a tiny canoe. Instead we swam in the reef, where dugons (sea cows) like to hang out, along with a few small reef sharks.
What was comforting about the visit was Amy's acceptance and comfort with boredom. That's the thing about grassroots, in-village, development. You won't be doing stuff every minute of every day. It's not how life works, and it's not function in a society such as that of Vanuatu. Your work will come out gradually, naturally. The more you storian with someone, the real needs of a person and a community come out. And it did indeed happen. A committee member asked Amy one day while we were there to help him fill out an an application for rain collection tanks. That's just how it happens. People ask sometimes, and sometimes they don't. There is no 9 to 5. But there's also no days off.
Amy also has a pretty good garden - it seems most of the volunteers have them. The interesting thing about Laman is that no one has an actual garden ON Laman. A village on the main land gave all Laman residents land to use on the main land for gardens. So most people cross over to the mainland on canoe or dingy, and climb a little mountain to their own gardens:
Laman is a pretty sweet spot, though. Amy said at first, when she saw where she was going on Site Announcement Day, she broke down because she was on a tiny island by herself. But Laman is just a 15min boat ride from the mainland where she can meet up with 4 other Volunteers. She says she sees them every few weeks. So it's isolated enough from the rest of Epi that it becomes it's own little world, but close enough to other Volunteers that if you feel like you're losing your mind, you can find some sanity with your fellow Volunteers. There's also a BEAUTIFUL spot on Epi called Million Dollar View, where you can see the Laman Island perfectly (that's the pic at the very top):
I cannot express how thankful I am that Amy took us for 6 days. We were only supposed to stay until Tuesday, but there wasn't room on the flight, so we just stayed till Thursday. Something inside tells me that happened for a reason - that the universe did not want us on that Tuesday flight and that maybe we needed to be on that Thursday flight....
Right before the flight..
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