Something Buddhist Related

A friend of mine in Des Moines asked me to write something for his website on Buddhism, the Peace Corps and my experiences. I wrote the following which proved to be too long for his purposes and he suggested putting on my blog instead. If you're not interested in anything Buddhist related, skip this post and read the next one which is just about my last 4 months in Vanuatu. There are stories here too. And my personal practice is just that - personal. I do not share my beliefs with people in my village. But my beliefs inform my work and relationships.

Here you go:

When I first arrived I found many differences that were strange, unfamiliar and sometimes just plain unpleasant. As I moved through the first 10 weeks of training, gaining more understanding of the culture, economics and history of Vanuatu, I gradually began accepting and even enjoying the differences. During training we learned from other PCVs that nothing is at it first seems and not only should we observe intensely for our first 6 months, but we should also ask the same question at least 5 times before assuming we knew the truth of anything. Why? Well, everyone lies. At one point, I considered it impossible for the culture to survive should everyone make an effort to tell the truth instead of lying. Did this make it right, or at least acceptable? Although I don’t have a lot of Buddhists texts lying around my grass house (actually coconut leaf not grass), I was pretty sure lying was a big no-no in the teachings. So I pondered….

I once had 3 chickens (faol in Bislama pronounced fowl). Now, I have one. I received the first one in a sorry ceremony from an oldfala named Toama because he came into my house one night which kastom (rules of conduct embodied in the culture) strictly prohibits. It was a big fluffy boy. The second one I traded for some flour (using kastom economy rather than money to promote the economy) and it was a young girl I named Mary. The third I received from one of the bigfala oldfalas named Philomon and since it too was a boy I gave him Philomon’s name. Life was good. I fed them a little bit of rice, coconut flakes laboriously scraped out of each coconut after it had been husked, old bananas and anything else they could scratch. They came to my call and ate out of my hand. They greeted me in the morning. Ok, you know you’ve been in Vanuatu too long when you become emotionally attached to your chickens. Occasionally, one of them wouldn’t show up but I learned not too worry. They were growing up and the boys were finding girl friends and Mary, well, she was doing a lot of running away. Then, for several days, I didn’t see Mary and began to worry. There are a lot of youngfala boy who grab any faol and eat it when they’re hungry. I asked my family if they had seen her and they said yes, they thought she might be laying eggs. I even caught sight of her briefly one day. Then nothing. Every time I asked my family, they said they had seen her that morning. But I never saw her again. What happened? Was my family lying? Why? Why was it necessary to lie? Knowing that they were lying led me to believe they had killed and ate her, and I was not feeling favorably inclined towards them for awhile. As I prepared to write this, I thought again about this example of lying. I’ve learned more the culture and realize that their lying was a way of protecting me from being sad or angry. It was their way of taking care of me. So, does the flexibility required to deal with this apparent ambiguity of intent versus the teaching against lying mean I can conclude that lying is ok? What do you think?

Recently, the expatriate owners of a bungalow on Tanna left Vanuatu abruptly. I heard the story of their departure from 3 different people and they somewhat agreed upon the following: The kastom land owner had gone to court to expel them from the country because they had come here originally as missionaries and stolen land and were running a business. They were given 24 hours to pack up and leave. Everything in the business was carted off to another bungalow. Then another story surfaced. These owners and the expat owners of a second bungalow were run out because they broke the law that said expat owners of bungalows must have 15 or more bungalows while Ni-Vanuatu businesses only need to have 5. The story told by representatives of the owners told a different story. The first bungalow owner had fought and won 3 court battles with a man who claimed he owned the land. After surviving the burning of several bungalows and continued threats on their lives, they left because their health had deteriorated. And although they had come as missionaries, their village had asked them to make and run the business to employ village members and pay the village royalties which they did. They just won another court battle and their property can now be sold to a Ni-Vanuatu business. The second bungalow owner was thrown out, but it was because he tried to re-sell his leased land to other expats which was explicitly prohibited in his original 75-year lease. So, all of the stories I heard were false in varying degrees. Why? What is the intent or purpose of these lies? What is THE TRUTH? Is there only one?

Lastly, every man here will tell you the story of how he or his family came to hold their position within the power hierarchy of the community which extends over a large geographic area and is governed (so to speak) by nakamals and tribal affiliation. If you talk to enough people you find that no story collaborates any other story. One time I tried to understand the lineage of one family to learn who they were related to. What we call uncles and aunts are sometimes called the same thing on Tanna but they could be called mamas and papas too depending on whether they are brothers of your father or sisters of your mother. It is also important to understand who is married because if someone is your tawi (in-law), you can’t talk to them about things like reproductive health. So, as I explored this one family I heard three different stories. Finally, I asked the head of the family why every story was different. I learned that no one will tell you their true story because if they do it will reveal too much about where they really came from and thus not only give away their power but also compromise the power of others. Basically, if one man tells the truth then the “house of lies” used to structure village activities, communication, relationships rites and respect would fall down. Then where would they be? There is only one time the truth can be told. Ownership of land is determined by family lineage. Land disputes can be settled by kastom law when one of the men involved asks for a meeting in the nakamal. A group of judges listen to each man tell their stories. Since they really do know the true history of each family they know which one is telling more of the truth and then decide in that person’s favor. No one but the judges and the disputing men may be present. So the truth is conditional. And it must remain hidden from everyone except a few people. And, and and and…. Well things are really different here and sometimes thinking too much gets you nowhere. I have decided I must accept things the way they are, not judging nor endorsing, and sometimes being totally confused but living my life according to my beliefs. A lot of people trust me.