Ok. Where to start? I’m in Vila for about 10 days for some R & R and a committee meeting on gender and development. So, the hardest part of updating this blog is remembering everything that has happened since the last time and then writing it. I’m doing better at keeping track of things and other than being time-consuming, the stories below were easy to remember. This is pretty long and I’ll post it in several segments.
I got back to Vila after being in the States and took about a week to recover. Lots of kava and sleep and only a small bit of work – which means about 50% of the time. I was a bit afraid of going back to site because I wasn’t sure I could handle the lack of running water, a pit toilet, rats and dirt. Funny thing was all of those things were easy. Every part of going back was easy. This is the first time I’ve been back to Vila in 4 months and before I left everything had gotten very hard. So I’ve learned what every volunteer here learns – take a break every 2 or 3 months. Four months is too long.
Everyone took good care of me when I got back, bringing me food, making new coconut leaf mats for my veranda and kitchen (half of which mysteriously disappeared one day), helping me carry bags and bags of coral from the sand beach to replenish the coral walkway between my house and my toilet. I’ve even found some mamas to drink kava with – all on the sly of course! I made a small garden close to my house after cleaning out all of the batteries, glass, plastic and broken sandals from what used to be a burn pile. My two sisters, Rehab and Wendy built a fence of coconut leaves to keep out the chickens and pigs and I planted butternut squash, zucchini and cantalope. If that darn volcano hadn’t been spitting ashes all over the place for about a week, I’m sure it would have done better. But I can’t complain, there are about 10 butternut squash and a lot of the people in the village are intrigued by this new vegetable as well as how I planted them. One family gave me a part of their garden to plant some other things like beans, tomatoes, peppers, carrots, cabbage and beets. Jacobed spent a couple of hours cutting down all of the grass and trees with her bush knife and the next day the two of us cleared everything down to the ground, turned it over and planted seeds. When I get back I hope to see something has come up and survived. Most seeds sprout in about 2 to 4 days – every kind of seed, but the soil has a lot of volcanic ash and it soaks up the heat of the sun and then proceeds to fry those delicate young shoots when they come up unless there is sufficient shade. Lots hope all of those banana trees in the area provide it.
One morning shortly after I got back, I decided to sleep in which means 6:00 am. I had just heard the first roosters which meant it was around 4:30 and the sky was starting to get light. I put on an eye patch (kindly provided by Quantas Airlines), turned over and was finding my way back into a dream when Pilot, my brother started playing his guitar and singing – loudly. I looked at the clock, 4:53 am (!), and started composing sarcastic comments – in Bislama which is no easy task. I got to the part where I started to say (in my mind) something like “don’t you know people are trying to sleep” and realized the whole politeness, privacy and personal consideration thing that we in the States based so much of our interactions on just doesn’t play here. The whole paradigm for singing and playing guitar is totally different here. Later, I just asked him what he was so happy about.
That same day, I went to the smol house (toilet) and notices a bunch of people hanging around in the trees on the other side of mamas laplap fireplace. Thinking someone was stealing a chicken or something I looked and looked and then heard my brother sing out calling me over. As I found my way through the bush I realized my mama, two sisters, Samson my brother and 2 other youngfala were standing around a dead pig, a big dead pig. It was one of Rehab’s mama pigs and I was afraid they’d found it dead. It turns out they had just killed it and were cutting it up. Samson walks up to me and hands me a big green leaf with an even bigger piece of pig loin laying on top of it. “You go cook, sista” was all he said. After thanking him I asked why they had killed the pig. It seems that the pig had a “strong head” and kept jumping out of it’s fenced in area. Since it wouldn’t stay put and behave itself the only thing to do was kill it. Being a strong head is definitely detrimental to your health, pig OR human.
I ate so much pig that day I thought I was going to get sick. I’d heard about the meat gorging that some volunteers encounter but thought they were exaggerating. They weren’t. Besides about 1 pound of meat that was still warm, Samson brought be a skewer with ribs on it a little while later. Within 3 hours, the bunya (all kinds of taro, manioc, kumala, leaves of different plants and trees, onions and yes, more meat all cooked inside a giant parcel of banana leaves inside a pile of burning hot volcanic rocks), was done and I got two big plates of food along with more meat. Just when I didn’t think I could eat any more, another plate of meat arrived at my house. And yes, I finished it too. By the time the sun went down and I was headed to the smol house once again I thought there just couldn’t be any more food coming my way. As I got to the toilet, Pilot handed me another plateful. Of course I couldn’t say no and I took it back to the kitchen. However, this one I fed to Tusker, my dog, who hesitated for about half an hour before he could eat any more. It was about 2 weeks before I could face the thought of meat again.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Getting Into Things #2
Speaking of pigs, I think I finally convinced my neighbors that I would kill their pigs of they didn’t pen them up. After giving the 3 warnings obligatory by kastom law and those damn things once again tore up the few remaining plants and dislodged the “nice, white” stones bordering my garden, I slowly, thoughtfully and very quietly retrieved my bush knife from the kitchen and got within 3 feet of one of them before it saw me and ran. I chased it, yelling and swinging my bush knife, over to their compound. It ran right towards their big bigfala (for protection???) and then stood still. There was a group of men sitting close by under a tree just watching. I once again said I’d kill their pig if they didn’t pen it up and they all just looked at me. I walked over to the pig and stuck it with the knife and it squealed. I didn’t actually stick it, more like poked it and it didn’t squeal too loud, but I think I made my point. One of them got up, put a rope around one of its legs and dragged it to the pen, squealing constantly and even louder than before. When I got back to my house, I just sat their laughing. It was about 2 months before the next pig incident. Hemia olsem! That’s the way things are here.
I try to follow the Buddhist idea of causing no harm, so it was with great trepidation that I poked the pig. I didn’t know how sharp my knife was and I really didn’t want to hurt it and it was white and oh wow, would even a small cut show. No worries, pig skin is very thick. But I extend this idea in other ways that are less easy. For awhile I was getting visits every night by hermit crabs pulling their shells along on their back. One even played with my big toe one night, tickling it with its antennae. One of the old women told me the hermit crabs carry stories from the black and white sea snakes (the poisonous ones) and then asked me what kind of dreams I had been having. Just the night before I had woken up from a dream in which whatever was happening made me laugh and my laughing woke me up. So now when the mamas collect hermit crabs to go fishing, I take a few of them out of the can and put them back in the bush. Probably doesn’t make up for the ones I use to fish with though. K And since I went fishing last, the hermit crabs have stopped visiting. However, these huge, I mean huge, land crabs have started visiting at night, usually after I go to bed. Their scrabbling noise wakes me as they crawl between the coconut leaf panels in my roof or dig their way under the walls. Haven’t found out what they portend yet.
I try to follow the Buddhist idea of causing no harm, so it was with great trepidation that I poked the pig. I didn’t know how sharp my knife was and I really didn’t want to hurt it and it was white and oh wow, would even a small cut show. No worries, pig skin is very thick. But I extend this idea in other ways that are less easy. For awhile I was getting visits every night by hermit crabs pulling their shells along on their back. One even played with my big toe one night, tickling it with its antennae. One of the old women told me the hermit crabs carry stories from the black and white sea snakes (the poisonous ones) and then asked me what kind of dreams I had been having. Just the night before I had woken up from a dream in which whatever was happening made me laugh and my laughing woke me up. So now when the mamas collect hermit crabs to go fishing, I take a few of them out of the can and put them back in the bush. Probably doesn’t make up for the ones I use to fish with though. K And since I went fishing last, the hermit crabs have stopped visiting. However, these huge, I mean huge, land crabs have started visiting at night, usually after I go to bed. Their scrabbling noise wakes me as they crawl between the coconut leaf panels in my roof or dig their way under the walls. Haven’t found out what they portend yet.
Getting into Things #3
Fishing in the ocean was interesting. Fishing with a bamboo pole and a piece of hermit crab on my hook and standing in the middle of the reef as the tide was going out. It doesn’t go out very far in 4 hours and those waves can be real killers. I think I spent as much time on my ass trying to get my feet back under me as I did fishing. I did catch 2 fish though and was so excited when I finally figured out how to do it. Just the lightest tug and then I had to pull hard but not too hard. I went fishing with one of the mamas who yelled out to me hold on tight and kill it so I could put it on a string made from the spine of a coconut leaf. (side note: have you noticed yet that coconut leafs are an integral part of every part of life here???). Kill it? How was I supposed to kill it with waves knocking me around and nothing sharp to cut it with? She told me to wait and waded over to me, took the fish firmly in two hands and put it in her mouth and bit down. I think she broke it’s back. There was blood dribbling down her chin and the fish was awash with blood. She took it off the hook and put it on the string and tied it back around her waist. I’m thinking shark or barracuda and she’s walking around the reef with bloody fish hanging from her waist. No gat. At least that what she said. So the second fish I caught she told me again to kill it and I knew what to do. It took everything in me to put that thing in my mouth and bite down. I stood there spitting out scales for 5 minutes! Petoooey, petooey, petooey.
Not everything is distasteful in Port. I met some yachtees from New Caledonia who seemed intent on filling me up with fine wine and food. I was just walking on the road one day when they approached me and invited me to lunch and then dinner… on their yacht. We had wine and fois gras, wine and lobster, wine and cheese, wine and coconut cream dessert and wine and chocolate. They had lots of questions about the people in Port. Although they were French speaking, they knew enough English for it to be an enjoyable evening for the conversation alone.
Another pleasant moment came when my “son” Tom gave his farewell toktok to the Presbyterian congregation. He thanked me for helping him understand English better and told everyone that I might not know why I had come to Port Resolution, but he knew that God sent there for a good reason. After he finished everyone got up and said something good about him and his work as a lay minister. I, too, got up and said some wonderful things but also thanked him for reminding me that when I didn’t know was making a difference I would also remember him and what he said.
Just another day in the life of a volunteer: brushing my teeth in the rain (after all I don’t have a bathroom let alone a bathroom sink), using disinfectant wipes to clean my pandanas toilet seat, sweeping my bed before and after I sleep, opening cans of tinned fish to feed the dog and cat along with some cooked rice – every day, cyclones (look up Cyclone Gene, a category 4 cyclone, and you’ll see just how close it came to making my site non-existent), brushing ants off my book, body and computer. Waking up to the occasional crunch crunching of Target (my cat) eating a rat. I just wish she’d eat the whole thing at one time and not leave parts around for me to find in the morning.
Not everything is distasteful in Port. I met some yachtees from New Caledonia who seemed intent on filling me up with fine wine and food. I was just walking on the road one day when they approached me and invited me to lunch and then dinner… on their yacht. We had wine and fois gras, wine and lobster, wine and cheese, wine and coconut cream dessert and wine and chocolate. They had lots of questions about the people in Port. Although they were French speaking, they knew enough English for it to be an enjoyable evening for the conversation alone.
Another pleasant moment came when my “son” Tom gave his farewell toktok to the Presbyterian congregation. He thanked me for helping him understand English better and told everyone that I might not know why I had come to Port Resolution, but he knew that God sent there for a good reason. After he finished everyone got up and said something good about him and his work as a lay minister. I, too, got up and said some wonderful things but also thanked him for reminding me that when I didn’t know was making a difference I would also remember him and what he said.
Just another day in the life of a volunteer: brushing my teeth in the rain (after all I don’t have a bathroom let alone a bathroom sink), using disinfectant wipes to clean my pandanas toilet seat, sweeping my bed before and after I sleep, opening cans of tinned fish to feed the dog and cat along with some cooked rice – every day, cyclones (look up Cyclone Gene, a category 4 cyclone, and you’ll see just how close it came to making my site non-existent), brushing ants off my book, body and computer. Waking up to the occasional crunch crunching of Target (my cat) eating a rat. I just wish she’d eat the whole thing at one time and not leave parts around for me to find in the morning.
Really Getting Into Things #4
Shortly after I got back in October I was on my way to Lenakel and me a young tourist at one of the bungalows along the way where I had to wait for an hour and a half. I started talking to her and asked her what brought her to Tanna. She had just finished a job in the Antarctic and was doing a little vacationing. Her name was Allison but told me to call her Sandwich. I remembered that my ex-stepson, Matt, had worked there for part of about 3 years and so, on the off chance that she might know him or know of him, I asked her. Not only did she know him, but he was one of her best friends there. Then she just looked at me, and asked me if my name was Sandra. How could she have known? It turns out Matt told her to look me up if she came to Vanuatu and had told her some good things about me. We spent the morning storying on as we rode in the truck. Amazing was all I could think. Amazing stuff does happen here and it is true the world is a very small place.
Lots of stories, lots of work too. I’ve learned how to make an island dress and have been teaching the mamas how to sew on hand crank sewing machines. To think that I remember some of that stuff from the Home Economics class I took in junior high school! I had lots of help from one mama, Juliet who has been sewing for many years. I made one skirt in a different way than the other mamas and she wanted to take it with her to Vila but a tourist bought it before I could give it to her. I’ve also taught some cooking workshops and that has been a lot of fun. I’ve learned how to make pizza with a manioc crust and ketsup for the sauce! One day I even spent 6 hours teaching mamas some new recipes, packed my bag and walked 2 hours to the volcano to catch a truck to Lenakel and spent the weekend there just to share time with a volunteer who was having his 23rd birthday. Sitting at the volcano, too tired to climb to the rim, I watched the lava missles come over the edge while the eruption popped my ears. I would have napped but for the company of 3 young ni-Van girls who just wanted to storian (story on).
I recently taught a workshop for managing family money and spend a lot of time just talking with people about their projects or doing one-on-one training in running their existing business. I’ve been working with one young man who was taking some upper level classes in preparation for becoming an accountant. Not only did he pass them but he did well enough to get admitted to Teachers College which takes less time and money to finish. Makes sense though since he was teaching classes 1 and 2 and the local primary school and this year is teaching classes 3 and 4.
I’m learning that I need help and all I need to do is ask because everyone is waiting for me to do that. If I want any kind of food, I just need to ask. I now go and talk with people just because I want to storian and not because I have some kind of work that needs to be done with them. When things aren’t working it isn’t because I haven’t done enough, it is because I can’t do it for them. It is hard being a facilitator when you’ve been a doer and yet I know if I do everything for them, when I leave nothing will last. So, I’ve learned to let go too. Let go of not getting a truck back to site, let go of the toilet caving in, let go of air conditioning and refrigeration and exquisite food. For lunch today I had 2 beef nems (kind of like an eggroll but much much greasier) and french fries. It was fast, it was hot and it was cheap. However, I did get a massage while I was here…. So I haven’t let go of everything or maybe it is just that I’m taking more care of me than before. I just know that I really don’t know anything any more.
Lots of stories, lots of work too. I’ve learned how to make an island dress and have been teaching the mamas how to sew on hand crank sewing machines. To think that I remember some of that stuff from the Home Economics class I took in junior high school! I had lots of help from one mama, Juliet who has been sewing for many years. I made one skirt in a different way than the other mamas and she wanted to take it with her to Vila but a tourist bought it before I could give it to her. I’ve also taught some cooking workshops and that has been a lot of fun. I’ve learned how to make pizza with a manioc crust and ketsup for the sauce! One day I even spent 6 hours teaching mamas some new recipes, packed my bag and walked 2 hours to the volcano to catch a truck to Lenakel and spent the weekend there just to share time with a volunteer who was having his 23rd birthday. Sitting at the volcano, too tired to climb to the rim, I watched the lava missles come over the edge while the eruption popped my ears. I would have napped but for the company of 3 young ni-Van girls who just wanted to storian (story on).
I recently taught a workshop for managing family money and spend a lot of time just talking with people about their projects or doing one-on-one training in running their existing business. I’ve been working with one young man who was taking some upper level classes in preparation for becoming an accountant. Not only did he pass them but he did well enough to get admitted to Teachers College which takes less time and money to finish. Makes sense though since he was teaching classes 1 and 2 and the local primary school and this year is teaching classes 3 and 4.
I’m learning that I need help and all I need to do is ask because everyone is waiting for me to do that. If I want any kind of food, I just need to ask. I now go and talk with people just because I want to storian and not because I have some kind of work that needs to be done with them. When things aren’t working it isn’t because I haven’t done enough, it is because I can’t do it for them. It is hard being a facilitator when you’ve been a doer and yet I know if I do everything for them, when I leave nothing will last. So, I’ve learned to let go too. Let go of not getting a truck back to site, let go of the toilet caving in, let go of air conditioning and refrigeration and exquisite food. For lunch today I had 2 beef nems (kind of like an eggroll but much much greasier) and french fries. It was fast, it was hot and it was cheap. However, I did get a massage while I was here…. So I haven’t let go of everything or maybe it is just that I’m taking more care of me than before. I just know that I really don’t know anything any more.
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