Faka Awesome Blogging

Canadians Invade Australia

2009-12-10T01:30:00.000-08:00

It’s true that I, along with countless others, have returned to the United States of America…but I took the scenic route. I went to New Zealand and then Australia, and I’m still taking my time because that’s what I do, I take my time, I change my mind, and take my time some more.

I’m in San Jose, CA at the moment visiting a friend from college, and it’s almost midnight and my clock is way off base; I woke up at what I thought must have been early this morning and it turned out to be 2 o’clock this afternoon. So I decided I’d take a moment, collect my thoughts, and take advantage of the free internet while everyone else is sleeping. It’s going to take time to tell you about everything though, and I won’t start from the beginning because I have a one track mind and it doesn’t work chronologically. I’m starting with what’s fresh on the brain:

When I was in Australia I met more Canadians than Australians. I met French Canadians, Canadians from the west, and Canadians from On-terrible (Canadians words, not mine). I was worried that I was going to bear witness to Canada's shining moment of global take-over for a moment. I would pick a warmer place too if I were them. I was having dinner at a hostel with one of my brand new Canadian friends from Alberta, and two guys from Spain…I know, it already sounds like a bad joke but bear with me. One of the Spaniards says, “So you’re both Canadian?”

The Canuck beside of me scoffs at the absurd suggestion and he quickly pointed out that I was not of his kind, and I happily agreed. “Oh, you are from the U.S.? Don’t you hate Canadians?” Our Spanish friend asked. I pointed out that I do not hate Canadians, in fact I don’t really think we ‘hate’ Canadians really at all…we like making fun of them. And here’s my theory:

Let’s start here, think about how old other countries are, if there is “Mother England” and say other countries like France, Germany, and so on, helped to fertilize our great nation, then I would say the United States would be going through the early teen’s right about now. At the very oldest maybe about 16, just got our driver’s license, think we know a lot...and we tend stress out the people around us sometimes. Then we have this slightly younger brother; he's always around, can’t do wrong in the eyes of others, makes straight A’s in school…this kid brother is Canada.

It’s always, “Why can’t you be more like Canada?” and “Canada is so nice, why can’t you be nice?” and of course “Well Canada doesn’t start wars.” And as we continuously get lectured over and over about our wrong doings, there’s Canada sitting up there on his high horse smirking, and all we can think about is how we can’t wait to draw a penis on his face when he falls asleep. So that’s what we do! We love our brother, but we’re certainly too cool show it right now…So we pants him in public, give him wet willies, and make certain to tell him he smells like monkey fart every day.

I really like my Canadian friends, especially their fine sense of humor, and without them wouldn’t have…ummm….curling or whatever it is they do up there I’ll leave you with my favorite joke about Canada, told by a Canadian, so it’s okay:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GphM-FBK3P4

Somethin' More Than Ordinary

2009-11-04T13:58:00.000-08:00

The past week or so leading up to my departure from Vava’u has been a whirlwind of goodbyes, celebrations, and lots and lots of dancing. Halloween is one of my favorite times of the year, I mean it’s like Christmas except you get to dress up as anything you want and not just angels and the Virgin Mary, you still get awesome candy, hang out with those you love (with better drinks than eggnog), and you don’t have to worry about presents because it’s Santa’s day off and he’s dressed like Rambo, and Jesus came as George W. because if the son of god doesn’t have a sense of humor then what is there left in this world?

Halloween…is…awesome, and this year it happened to be the first installment of ‘going away good times.’

Last year I was the worlds’ #1 Mom: Mother Nature, and this year I was…wait for it…a Starving Artist. Yep, pretty great, as you can see from the picture. The sign actually worked too, people were happy to contribute to the cause…I’ll have to remind myself to do this one again. Others had excellent costumes as well, and I’m not talking about the people who go straight to pirate gear, I mean come on guys! You’re on a South Pacific island and you think a billion others haven’t thought to dress as Black Beard or Captain Hook already? Seriously, get your game faces on.

I think we ladies who live out in villages might have a little more time and energy on our hands at times to put into things such as AMAZING Halloween get ups. Saskia was a Cereal Killer, AHHHH! Get it? It’s cool, and should be straight forward enough, but loads of people looked at her like she simply can’t think outside the box, or in this case the cereal box. Well Saskia, if I were Captain Crunch I would have pissed myself if I saw you in a dark ally…Jenny went native going as a legendary Tongan bird goddess, this costume took considerable thought and effort, so we know she’s no bird brain…budumbump.

If I haven’t said it before, let me tell you that Tongan celebrations are anything but ordinary. The teachers, parents, and students from my village put on an epic good-bye celebration for me this week. We gathered at the town hall and I was showered with gifts and food, but most impressive were the songs and dances that the students did. I have been working with class 6 to learn Doe a Deer from the Sound of Music, plus a couple of Christmas songs that we sang for the parents, but then I was surprised when they all came together and sang So Long, Farewell with a coordinated dance and another song that was written especially for me. I was pretty hard not to get emotional with all of that positive energy.

You can actually see a portion of the festivities at the video link I’ve posted. Steve has created short videos for many returning volunteers to share with their friends and family back home, and I asked him to do the same for me. One thing that I’ve wished during my time here as been that my family and friends could see Vava’u, see my school, and just know my life here outside of what I write, so I’m excited to have a little taste to share. Feel free to check it out if you want: http://vimeo.com/7411761

There’s something liberating about packing up your life and moving on. Honestly it’s my favorite part of moving, sorting through everything you’ve collected for years and deciding what goes with you, what goes to someone else, and what simply goes in the trash. At the end of the process I look around me and see how much, or how little, I’m escaping with. Over the years the goal as been to get out with as little as possible too, most especially now!
You know, I remember thinking two years ago “Man, I can’t believe I have two more years” and then it was “Man, I can’t believe I have another year.” In fact, there were times when I was counting the months away, willing them to go by more quickly…while right under my nose days and weeks were going by at the speed of light! Here I am, with less than a handful of weeks away from taking my leave, and I’m writing down departing words. It’s surreal to say the least.

It’s impossible to put into words 2 years worth of reflection and farewells, at least for me, someone who is known for her long-winded voicemails, and explanations that lack clarity most of the time; always orbiting around a point but failing to reach it as quickly as others might. So I won’t try to explain in detail how I’m going to miss life here and the people I’ve gotten to know, because I absolutely am not capable of a clear and concise explanation, but rather just say what comes to mind.

First, I don’t need to say that I will miss Tonga, or my village, or the people in it. I don’t need to say it, because it should be painfully obvious! I’ve explained more than once how this love/hate relationship has ultimately brought satisfaction and growth to my life. I can only hope that my presence has had as much of a positive affect on others. That’s that, now I want to focus on other facets of this experience.

I’m going to miss having endless amount of time, time to read, time write, time to think…I’m going to miss the other volunteers and palangis that I’ve gotten to know here. The friendships that have been developed here are unique in how we have met one another, unique in the problems we’ve shared and faced together, and unique in a way that only they can begin to understand this part of your life.

To those friends, I truly hope I see you all again, but until then…

To the volunteers who I first met over 2 years ago in Los Angeles at something called ‘staging,’ where Group 73 heard more of this place called Tonga that was waiting for us, to all of you I say it was a pleasure to meet you. We don’t have the 33 we started off with, but that doesn’t mean that all 33 didn’t contribute something positive. I know I can give an example for every single person I met in LA two years ago of something positive they did in their time here, and I think that’s saying something without having to go into detail for all 33. Out of Group 73 it is I, Steve and James left in Vava’u.

Steve, your work with business development has been inspiring and you have probably affected more people’s lives as one volunteer as others put together. You have always had an open door, open mind, and offered unfathomable patience when trying to help me with electronics. To say the very least, thanks, and I look forward to surfing tree tops with you in Australia.

James, you provide social stimulation wherever you go. Whether it is through conversation, music, dinners, you have provided us all social escapes from whatever world we live in on our own here. That’s invaluable here.

Amy, oh Amy, probably the youngest friend I have but from the day I met you, you have been the one who has continued to educate and enlighten me in living life. Maybe one day I can catch up to you.

Mikala…I’m not going to write anything because we probably already talked about it on the phone today. Enough said.

Emily, it is absolutely hilarious how opposite we are in so many areas of religion, relationships, and the like, yet I love talking you about it all because you are confident enough in yourself and your beliefs that you don’t need to be defensive or validated when you say you love the chase.

Saskia, I leave you with the responsibility to bake with love for those you bake for, as we learned from Nesi: Love makes it taste better. I can’t put into words what your friendship this past year has meant to me...BUT I can put it into song, and it goes like this:

Do you know the Muffin Van?
the Muffin Van, the Muffin Van.
Do you know the Muffin Van?
It’s driven by me!

Jenny, keep dancing because you are absolutely impressive with your moves from 3008 while the rest of us are 2000 and late…

Chad and Katie, the dynamic duo, you two have continued to amaze me with your commitment to your village and the work you’ve done, have some fun your last year.

Scott…bless it all you need to learn how to cook, you won’t regret it or starve for that matter. But it’s always reassuring to have you around if one wants to test out a new recipe, and it be appreciated.

Group 75, I won’t meet you unfortunately, but as that may seem like devastating news...there is still light at the end of the tunnel. Let me assure you that there will be good, bad, and ugly moments during your time here, but take advantage of having the people I’ve mentioned above around. Take everything in stride, stay away from mayonnaise based foods on hot days, drink lots of water, and good luck.

So that’s it. This is the last note, blog, or whatever you want to call them, that I will write in Tonga. But not fret my friends and readers, I like writing about the goings on in this life…I’m sure I’ll continue to enlighten you on life post Tonga. So what’s going on after this? Well much is still in question, things get pretty blurry after the New Year, but when I fly from Tonga I’ll go the south island of New Zealand, then to Australia, I’ll spend a week in California, and fly back to the Carolinas December 13th.

I’ve applied to graduate school, Peace Corps extension programs, and even a job or two…but it’s still just as likely I don’t do any of them, find myself a corner in the world where I can dance around baking cakes and cookies all day. Whatever’s fine.

All the Cheap and Sugary Philosophies

2009-10-28T16:56:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how you can become so used to the things the way they are, you just presume them to be as they should be. It happens all the time; it could be that you’ve had apple pie one way your entire life. Your beloved mother always used canned apples and frozen pie crust and cool whip to top it off, and that of course is apple pie right? But then one day someone says “Hey, you should try my apple pie,” and you do. Your mind is blown away, they’ve used real granny smith apples, cinnamon, nutmeg, and the crust is buttery and flakey, and you say, “This is apple pie? I thought it was something completely different.” Then you realize that you want your apple pies from now on to be more like this, this is actually how you want apple pie to taste. No one is insulting your mother’s pie; she thinks it’s supposed to be the way she makes it, like you thought too.

I was getting ready to go for a run yesterday and I took a look at my headphones, and they looked rough. I had a spare that I have been saving for an emergency, and wanted to keep them new until it was in fact an emergency. Now that I only have 2 weeks left in Tonga I figure nothing too bad can go wrong. I open the new headphones and off I go. I am absolutely astounded by the difference I hear! The clarity in the sound, the feel of bass, old songs actually sound new again, absolutely amazing; but the fact that I didn’t know what I was missing was unbelievable.

In case you haven’t put it together, I’m not simply writing about apple pies and headphones, I just really like food analogies. I do talk about some silly shit sometimes, but there is rhyme and reason to this. These two examples are on a small scale to what I imagine people feel when they get out of bad relationships and find out that there are better ones, or hating a job only to realize that you like the work just not the place you’re working, and so on. Pretty obvious stuff…but not really, if it were that obvious then it would be obvious at the time…not after the fact, and you wouldn’t have to taste new apple pie in order to realize that the apple pie you were used to had lack luster, you would already know. But we don’t already know, and we have to constantly open ourselves to new persons, places, and things in order to appreciate what we think we know and what we learn.

That’s why a lot of people travel, choose to live abroad, or join programs like Peace Corps, they’re looking for new apple pies, or want to hear their music a little better. Or maybe it’s just me, could be…but I still say that as soon as someone says “This is apple pie, this is absolutely what it’s supposed to taste like, and I’ll never need to taste another apple pie again,” then that is the moment that they are screwed because you’ll either get stuck with a crappy recipe, or never know how awesome someone else’s pie is.

What’s my point? Isn’t it obvious? EAT LOTS OF PIE!

Damn This Traffic Jam

2009-10-17T19:37:00.000-07:00

What will I miss? Well…lots of things. I mean I won’t miss chasing rats out of my house, I won’t miss being the novelty in town, and I certainly won’t being told that I am getting old and should consider getting married soon or resign to jump off the nearest cliff (I’m paraphrasing of course). What will I miss then?

I will miss my dog. I’ve probably mentioned before that I love my dog, but really I forget sometimes until I’m reminded. The other morning I went for a run and on my way back into the village I past a kid from my school who called out to me “Noni, kuli mate a koe,” translation: your dog is dead. Confused by his news because as he told me with a smile on his face, I questioned him and he stuck with the original story that my dog was dead, she was hit by a car.

I sprinted the rest of the way to my house, thinking of all the crappiness about to go down, and water collecting in my eyes. I didn’t see her on the road, and as I came closer to my house I saw her lying next to it in a shaded area, and I thought of how she must have just had the energy to go home one last time. I stopped in front of my fence because I wasn’t prepared to see what happens to a dog when assaulted by a car, but I still called her name and to my surprise…she raised her head. Not only that, she got up and started walking towards me! I ran up to her, and she to me, and I analyzed every inch of her…perfectly fine. I was so relieved and happy that Sini was okay, and I cried and cried…I was that damn happy.

It has really been awkward and confusing to me in the past when people have treated their pets as people. Of course I’ve loved my pets, taken care of them, and not mistreated them, but in Tonga it has been hard to relate to someone who considers themselves the surrogate mother of a collie. But the joke’s one me, I honestly don’t know what I would do if Sini died right now. I know she will die eventually, as everything does, but I want to leave this place knowing she’s alive, healthy, and likely to live a long happy life. One can’t leave a place with such happy thoughts if the dog is hit by a car a month before you go. I don’t know if the kid was mistaken or if he just has a malicious sense of humor, but I do know that there is no doubt in my mind that I will miss this dog.

I will miss having the most sincere appreciation of simple things in life. I set out two years ago with a goal to gain a new sense of gratitude of what life has to offer; though I was not a complete ingrate, I know I was taking a great deal for granted. Example: Having the privilege to enjoy food as not only a means of survival, but in taste, presentation, available in a variety of cuisine, and one can have what you want at any given time if you’d really like it. I feel that many people here eat and eat and eat, but don’t really care about variety in taste or quality of the food.

I ate dinner at Saskia’s house, another volunteer, the other evening. We spent the afternoon preparing whole wheat pita bread, babaganoush, hummus, tabouli, and the star of the show! Falafal. Both of us were filled with so much happiness looking at our full plates, that all we could do was smile and giggle like two kids who just met Mickey Mouse. Saskia was so excited that in her haste she broke her fork in half, but never mind because the fork is an unnecessary middleman anyway and I’m not completely sure why we bothered with them in the first place. Seriously, when was the last time you had tears in your eyes because you were so happy with the food you were eating and the pride you felt that you made it happen.

It’s not only hard to go through the process of making specialty dishes here, considering the lack of resources, but when you do go through the trouble to make a great dinner happen you want to share it with other people who will appreciate it in the same way that you do. There are few things worse to me than spending a great deal of time, money, and energy into making a dish I’ve been homesick for and not having someone to share it with, or even worse sharing it with a Tongan neighbor who turns their nose up at the lack of pig fat and root crop…lame.

The next few weeks I’m sure will be full of reminiscent thoughts and lists of “will and will not miss.” I could tell you about how I’ll miss the simplicity of life here, with the lack of street lights and traffic jams, but I won’t bore you with the obvious. And of course we all know that whenever something ends there is a beginning, then another end, and so on, so I don’t need to advise you on what it means to me to end the Peace Corps experience and move on to life post Tonga. What I write isn’t meant to enlighten you on what you may already know; I just want to tell you about the destruction of irrelevant eating utensils and how awesome my dog is.

Peace Out

2009-09-29T13:55:00.000-07:00

People leave this place. Volunteers leave before the end of their service, I’ve seen it happen more than what I was really expecting. It can be a touchy subject; everyone has different reasons, some that you can relate to and some that you can’t. I’ve heard some pretty critical things said about those that do leave before, but deciding to end your Peace Corps service early isn’t like desertion in the military and honestly anyone should be free to quite if they are truly unhappy doing anything. There’s a lot of emphasis on not ‘being a quitter’ from some people and how it shows character if you don’t quit. True, but seriously, what does it really mean if you quit or not? Afterwards, when it is all said and done, then nothing…it’s not going to matter to anyone else, just you.

A couple of months ago I was in Tongatapu and I was talking to our Medical Officer; she’s a wonderful lady with a sweet and kind disposition and I enjoy any chance to see her. We were chatting about how my group’s service is almost over and how many have left out of 33 people. It was then that she said she was so proud of me for making it this far, and she knows that I’m not going to quit now. But during our pre-service training almost 2 years ago she and many others apparently, had picked me to be one of the ones to leave early. “I was sure you would leave within 6 months of getting to your site” she said, and it still sounds sweet coming from her, as she has that ability. She’s happy she was wrong of course.

I’m not really offended, they’ve been doing this for a long time, and they’ve met hundreds of volunteers, and seen plenty of them leave. Of course they’re going to start picking up on who they think is going to go and who’ll stay, naturally. I guess I didn’t realize I put off those quitter vibes though…not that I didn’t think about it. But I didn’t not quit because I don’t want people to think I’m a quitter…who cares. You shouldn’t not quit for the sake of not quitting, you have to find some sliver of happiness in what you’re doing, otherwise you’re not doing anyone else a favor by ‘sticking it out.’ Because if you’re miserable and act as such, then you’re not known as the quitter, but known as the miserable asshole who everyone wishes would quit. Besides, the worst that can happen as a result of deciding to quit or not quit is that you are wrong…and there’s no harm in being wrong you know, in fact, to me its common ground (that’s from a song, and a good one at that).

No, personally I stayed because looking back on the past two years I realize that I’ve had a relationship with Tonga, one of those rollercoaster ones too, not one of those cute couples that make goo goo eyes at each other and give Eskimo kisses in public. We’re not like that, mine and Tonga’s relationship has been intense, emotional, and extreme.

There were times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it and I’ve said, you know what Tonga…that’s it, we’re done. But it’s hard to stay mad at Tonga. Despite any flaws, Tonga makes me laugh, makes me dance, and even after a tough week Tonga remembers that I love sunny days, crystal waters, pineapples that taste like candy, and juicy mangos that taste like happiness…and Tonga unconditionally provides it all for me, and that’s what love is about.

But even though I’ve grown to appreciate and respect Tonga, it’s almost time to move on. November is just around the corner, and on the 12th day I will fly to New Zealand, then move on to Australia, and on and on. It’s not a vacation I won’t be returning to my faithful island this time.

Tonga, I realize now that I love you, but I’m not in-love with you…it’s not you, it’s me…I’m just not ready to settle down…here. Breaking up is hard sometimes but needed, there comes a time when you just need to see other countries, you understand don’t you Tonga? Who knows, maybe we’ll reunite one day. Maybe I’ll have my love affairs with other places and realize what I’m missing and come back…

And I know Tonga will take me back because that’s just what Tonga does.

How the Grinch Stole Church

2009-09-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

Read by Boris Karloff

It was five o’clock, in the land without time, the cat in the hat was killing a rat,
And it was too early for the sun to shine.

It is now the time that the bells start ringing, drums start beating,
And people will inevitably start their singing.

In a small house, in a small room, and in a small bed,
The Grinch heard all the noise interrupting the dreams inside her head.

Oh, her hair turned green and her eyes turned red, “Not again,” she grumbled, mumbled, and said.

The Grinch kicked, jumped, and stomped from her bed, turned on the light and listened…

She listened to the Wesleyan church bells ringing, the Church of Tonga drums beating, and the people singing, singing, SINGING.

The clatters were clatting, the mothers were chatting. The bugles were bugling, and bangers were banging…the bumpers were bumping, and bangles were bangling!

“Oh how I hate this noise, noise, noise,” The Grinch would seethe as she plugged her ears and grinded her teeth. “If there was only some way to stop all this NOISE, NOISE, NOISE!”

And then the Grinch had a thought…a terrible, wonderfully dreadful thought. “I could make the noise stop,” she said…

And a horrible grin came over her face as she looked down at her loyal dog,
Who always kept a happy smile in the same place.

“I could hide their ringers and dingers…throw away their clangers and bangers…break their thumpers and bumpers…” she said in delight, with a happy thought of sleeping through the night.

But what happened in the midst of all her ponder? Why didn’t she act on her idea you wonder?

Well the Grinch wasn’t always this harsh and filled with exasperation,
Perhaps it just came with sleep deprivation…

As the Grinch stood there thinking…a small light started rising outside her small house
she peeked at the small light outside her small door…a small light rising up and not sinking to the floor.

It became bigger and larger, and as the sun grew…the noise lowered and the Grinch new
that being bitter, sour, and plain nasty all around, would be much worse than any loud noise or sound.

Right then her green hair faded and her eyes were less red,
And she no longer wanted to pilfer holy noise makers, but decided to make breakfast instead.

All's Fair in Love and Brownies

2009-09-10T15:59:00.000-07:00

I’ve mentioned before that when it comes to romance, dating, or simply meeting people of the opposite sex—it’s certainly different here. I have shared the humorous, along with the horrendous stories with you in the past, and have kept some to myself, and today I will share more stories and thoughts…just for shits and giggles. I also think it’s relative to the whole matter of committing to live under these circumstances.

For a few months out of the year here in Vava’u, the days get a little shorter, cooler, and more populated with tourists and non-Tongans, otherwise known as Palangi’s. Whether by cruise ships, planes, or other boats, they make it here to our quiet home and for the most part we volunteers are waiting with open arms and excitement for new faces. We don’t even know how excited we are until we walk into our usual weekend destinations and…BEHOLD! What the sea hast brought to thee!

They have come from all over! They’ve appeared from Australia, moseyed from New Zealand, Guten tag Germany! Hola, Spain! And it wouldn’t be a party without our North American brethren Canada, or as my friend Tom would say, “America’s hat.” Anyway…the point is that this year has proven to be more enjoyable than last season that brought in such memorable characters as Captain Rufi (refer back to ‘Seasoned Single’ if need be) sigh...I still giggle a little out loud at the thought that he could actually be successful with the bedding of someone.

The tide has brought in a great crowd indeed; my senses have been overloaded at times, men from all over the world surround us with their sun weathered, physically fit bodies, and adventurous attitudes that I absolutely love to see. Oh, and I’m not saying I spend my time ogling, chasing, or pursuing any them. When? How? And where could I do that? I can go out on a Friday night and pretend I won’t hear about it later, but it’s difficult. Sometimes I won’t see the random person from my village watching me walking down the street scandalously talking to a…wait for it…a guy…because 26 year old women have no business talking to someone without an escort.

Nope, for the most part, I and the other volunteer ladies behave as if we’re being watched. Ever get that feeling? That you’re being watched? Here, it is absolutely a valid feeling to have; you are getting that feeling because you are, in most cases, absolutely being watched. But I want to stay on a positive path here, let us move away from the bummer factors, and keep going.

Friday nights are exciting, we don’t have school, church, or anything to worry about the next day. It’s our time, it’s our moment, and it’s what anyone might look forward to after a long week. I and a couple of other ladies take this opportunity to de-Tonganize, bring out the clean clothes mo’oni (true), and put on some eye-liner. I’m aware that there’s probably a hole in my dress, maybe a stain of sorts from the previous owner, who also apparently had cantaloupes to my apples considering how loose the dress is top-side. My “town shoes” are the cherry atop this fashion sundae: hot pink slippers with the Japanese version of ‘Bratz’ on the soles. Nevertheless, I’m clean and feel pretty anyway.

Even when we see all the well groomed, new fashion clad women who also came in with the tide to remind us that we might be behind the times, we still rock it. You know why, would you like to know why, why it doesn’t matter that we don’t have the shiny new clothes, and the sleek maintained hair of these other ladies…I’ll tell you…we just don’t care. We’re too tired to care. We’re too excited to care. We’ve spent months and years living here, we don’t have running water, or maybe lack electricity, or may have to crap outside on a daily bases…yes we are awesome, bad-asses, and god bless it…we look great despite it. Let’s hear you say that Prim n’ Proper Polly.

So back to what I was saying, yes you meet great characters here, plus the not so great, but that’s everywhere. New Zealand sends us some really cool people, very warm and fun-loving, and they like to dance…guys, if you dance it’s a plus and you don’t have to be good, it’s fun for everyone whether it’s pretty or not. There was a guy from Spain, named GAS-PAR (I’m not responsible for any misspellings of names), and maybe it’s because I don’t encounter this often, but every now and then, some guys have what I call the putty effect, where you have actually been turned into putty in his hands, and sometimes you don’t even see it coming…okay well let me tell you the story:

So there I was…mindin’ my own…just chatting it up with my new found friends and future crew to Fiji, and here was this moderately handsome Spaniard, small build, doesn’t particularly stand out amongst others…until. As we’re all talking late into the night, he looks over to the only female sitting at this round table of testosterone (yours truly) and says in his heavy accent, “Ah, why are we talking, ah when we could be dancing” and gets up, takes my hand, and we’re dancing, just like that. Well, he was dancing and probably very well, I’m sure I looked unsightly in comparison, but I’d had enough wine to make a solid effort. And there you have it…putty effect…damn you GASPARRRRR…no really it was fun.

And that’s the great thing about being here, you can just have fun, no worries, be happy. I like keeping that tone. But then you come across people who try to throw a wrench in the works. They come in and use this opportunity of being ‘away from it all’ to not only escape the world they left, but actually embellish, or change facts about themselves…I guess the better term would be “lying.” This is crazy to me, why lie? Why come to this island and instead of taking this perfect opportunity to be EXACTLY who you are, you choose to do the opposite. That’s silly. Do I have an example in mind? I always do, don’t I? So there I was…

I meet a guy in a bar, looks normal enough, so I say hi. We get to chatting, seems like we have a few things in common, he’s nice, blah blah blah…we all know how these things go. Fast forward through the rest of the very innocent evening and I am walked back safely to where I sleep when I stay in town. Okay, good-night’s are given, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to see this guy again, who knows when he’s leaving. Next morning I wake up, my lady friends wake up too, and while I bake our traditional Saturday morning muffins we chat about the evening before. Turns out he may have a fiancé…what the f…why do people do this? I know it’s not really my business, but I’m single, I can do what I want, if you’re not single, don’t act single…it’s offensive. So later on when I’m on my way out of town, I actually run into said guy, on his way to see me he says…Go on. He had a good time, blah blah blah. I’m not one to bring up gossip, soooo. He says, “Let’s get lunch next time you come into town.” I think why not, maybe there was a misunderstanding; I’ll get the truth I’m sure. Fast forward…

Lunch, good lunch…fish curry. We chat, for like 2 or 3 hours, and here it comes…wait for it… “Yeah, I have a friend coming in a couple of weeks and she’s flying in from the states” And ladies and gentlemen, there it is. I get you man, this where you say “Yes, indeed I have a girlfriend, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da, it was really nice to meet you.” But when I say, “Sounds like more than a friendship if she’s coming all the way out here to see you.” See, I gave him an out, a chance at redemption…and he didn’t take it. “No, we’re just friends.” Alright, I’m not particularly stupid, there’s something off here. So, I’ll cut to the chase…after one or two more encounters of relentless efforts at hitting on me, but being forced to get to know me and my loathing of dishonesty, he comes clean, professing his undying love even, for this girl who is coming to see him. I let him know that he’s very lucky to have someone willing to be with him, let alone come all the way out here to see a man who’s trying get into the pants of the locals.

Want to know something even better? This makes a jerk, a really special kind of jerk. The next several times we meet, he’s very hurt and perturbed because I apparently have been giving off vibes that I don’t want to be his friend, despite the fact that I do still talk to him and treat him like a person, more than what should be expected of me. I mainly do this because somehow he manages to keep pretty good company despite himself, and I still like those guys. Listen people, and this is directed to guys and ladies alike because both can be equally shitty in this matter, if you want to be cheaters, liars, etc…that of course is your business, but do not expect people to think you’re cool, don’t expect them to still want to be your friend, be prepared to accept that, and move on. One of my biggest irritations in this life has been those people who not only treat people like shit, but then try to turn it around to somehow make it seem as if it’s that other person’s fault or inadequacy. Everybody does stupid things sometimes, but this was premeditated stupidity, and when we do stupid things in life we learn from it, and sometimes the lesson is that people won’t like you or want to be your friend. Sunrise, sunset.

Like I said, this is a happy life here, it’s all about peace, love, and brownies as far as I’m concerned…hang-ups and bull-shit are not welcome.

I’m not going to end on that sour note either, because there are those people who are actually loving life as is, not acting any different than what they are. Those are the people you wish you could get to know better, had a little more time with rather than just a month or so out of a season. They’ll leave this paradise that we call home and go back to their realty. You might even ask, or maybe just quietly ponder the possibility or likelihood of seeing each other again. Most people , regardless of how optimistic they may be, concede to ‘no.’ The romantic in me never wants to say no, I like to say…you never know; ‘improbable’- yes, ‘unlikely’- sure, but ‘impossible’- I don’t think a lot of things are impossible. Yet many people blindly accept that awful word ‘impossible’ as fact, what a silly thing. And what do you do? You put on Lynard Skynard – ‘Free Bird’ or Tom Petty’s- ‘Free Fallin’ to make it seem all better.

Life's Menu

2009-09-09T15:49:00.000-07:00

My friends with often comment on my tendency to take a little more time and consideration when ordering food at a restaurant. Sometimes I like to make a change here and there…ask if I can get a salad in place of fries or something. If you talk to Steve, he’ll often come up with elaborate and exaggerated stories of my indecisiveness, so will Abi, Tom, Janis, you know what…it’s best just to not ask.

Anyway, yes, sometimes I’m known to fluster a little with too many choices on my plate…ha, ‘plate’ get it? With the end of my service around the corner, we have our Close of Service conference next week, and it seems that the possibilities are endless post Peace Corps. Choices are great, awesome even, you always want them, but when they keep piling up…ugh everything looks good…

Life’s Menu

Main Courses Price

Graduate School DEBT
Served with a Masters in Writing and accomplishment

* Peace Corps Response $0
Live in another country and a short term commitment

Modern Day Nomad Market Price
Served with a Caesar Salad

Write a Memoir Wut ya got?
Comes with a side of pretentiousness

**Muffin Van Who knows?
Move to New Zealand, buy a cheap van, install an oven, and
hit the road with mobile baked goods

Peace Corps in America live in U.S.
Get a job you hippie

* may cause indigestion, upset stomach, or malaria hysteria
** spicy

(Please note that all prices and menu items are subject to change. A 15% gratuity charge is added for government and plus 5% for God)

So I’m sitting there looking at the menu, I’m getting anxious because I forgot to look up the menu online before going to the restaurant. All of my friends have ordered already after skipping me…twice. I’ve asked if I can substitute this for that, and have asked everyone else what they’re getting. I finally look at the waitress with my decision, when she casually mentions the Specials Board that I didn’t see on the way in. Everyone looks at me with a “Please don’t, don’t you do it…” plea on their faces. I sigh…and get up from the table.

The Incredible Unavailable Egg

2009-08-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

An omelet would be good, maybe scrambled eggs, or poached…yes with a nice slice of toast. Unfortunately, there has been an egg shortage as of late. No, the hens are not on strike…as far as I know anyway, though one did have a pretty smug self righteous look on her face the other day, as if saying- “yeah, I’m holding out on you, what of it?” Maybe the hens haven’t been watching Norma Rae, but there is a reason for the shortage, a sad and unexpected one as well.

Many of you reading this have probably already heard of the sinking fairy last month. Many people were lost, and I’m grateful that no one I knew was on the ship, and only one person from my village was lost. There’s been a lot of talk about the ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’ behind the sinking ship, investigations are still being held, and people are being blamed. That’s as far as I prefer to go because, a) I wasn’t here when it happened and I’m likely ill-informed at best, b) I’m probably not supposed to talk about it too much because it is becoming so political, and c) weren’t we talking about eggs?

So what’s the connection between the fairy sinking and egg shortage? Sadly, funerals are likely a big part. As mentioned before, putu’s (funerals) can last for days, and there’s at least one feast involved that is meant to feed families from that village, plus anyone else who decides to come from anywhere else. So what’s a good filler item that is also fairly inexpensive? Eggs. You can boil them, fry them, put cheese in them (a.k.a chezdale), serve them with canned corn beef, make mayonnaise salad with them, the options are endless. So what happens if there’s 20 putu’s on a small island? Exactly what has happened, you become hard pressed to find an egg unless you know a guy that knows a guy…

I’m thinking, or hoping at least, that we’ll be getting a hearty shipment in soon. Though there is supposedly an egg farm on the island, I suppose they can’t keep up with the demand. Its times like this I wish the women’s group in my village had followed through with the idea of an egg farm project for the village…would’ve been a good thing, I know a thing or two about chickens, we had them growing up, pretty easy thing; you feed them and they lay eggs. Alas, I’ve heard through the coconut wireless that the volunteer that was here before me back in the 90’s did that with the youth group at the time. When he left it all fizzled out. What happened? People ate the chickens…the key component to acquiring eggs, or so I recall, but what do I know? I wasn’t in the 4 H club in high school, but it does seem that the answer to that age old question of whether the chicken or egg came first, would in fact be the chicken.

I think it just hit me this morning that this would normally be a pretty obscure reason to not have eggs anywhere else…and we’ve all pretty much shrugged our shoulders and said, “Alright.” Could you imagine if you ran out of anything from the grocery if there were lots of funerals? I wonder what would be the first to go in the states. Any thoughts? It’s open forum time…

Fiji Finale

2009-08-30T18:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and it was still dark outside. I got out of bed and washed my face, decided I wanted to stretch/dance around, and as I started I realized people were across the street at church…can they see me? Most likely…once again I began reminiscing of just over a week ago when I would wake up right before the sun would rise, and take it all in for myself, while I stretched, danced, did Pilates, whatever I pleased because no one would be watching.

You might ask, “But Shannon weren’t there 3 other people on the boat?” Good memory guys, I’m glad you’re reading my posts…and yes, I’m absolutely sure that at some point Mark, Andy, and Doug had to witness any early morning, afternoon, or evening show that I would obliviously put on. But the difference is that even when I’m in the comfort of my own home, people can often see what I’m doing and are happy to peep as best they can in order to do so. As for the good crew of Life’s a Dream, I consider them casualties of their own kindness for inviting me on the boat, and giving me the opportunity for this retreat from a somewhat confined life. Besides, they didn’t pay any attention to me anyway, they were asleep, reading, or possibly contemplating the many philosophies of life in the privacies of their own minds. Good people they are.

So this will be the end of my Fiji tales; as far as writing about it goes anyway, because I realize that if I continued to write everything I could, I would eventually become one of those people. I’m dangerously close to becoming one of those people in regards to Tonga; always referencing Tonga, the only stories to tell are from Tonga, comparing everything to Tonga. Do you know how many sentences I’ve probably started with “In Tonga…In my village…or…This one timeee, in Tongaaa…” Sigh. I wonder if that is eventually painful for the person on the receiving end? And I’d like to make it clear that that was 100% a rhetorical question.

I and other volunteers often wonder about other Peace Corps countries, because we truly do tire of hearing and talking about the one we’re in. Unfortunately, whenever we say “Okay, the next thing we talk about cannot have ANYTHING to do with Tonga or Peace Corps,” we awkwardly sit in silence until someone finally says “We’ve been here too long” and we all nod in agreement. That’s how it is here, and I really wanted to know what other volunteers thought, and what they were like in Fiji.

I never did come across any PCVs, that I know of, during my time there. Though there was one afternoon when I was sitting in a café with Doug and Andy, the Canadian brothers from the boat. There was a small group of young men and women in a corner, and Andy said, “Shannon, they have the same shoes as you and they sound American, they’re probably Peace Corps….eh?” (He really didn’t say ‘eh.’ That time.) I looked over, considered Andy’s astute observation, and decided that regardless of how compelling the point was, I was not prepared to approach this group of people and say, “Hi, I noticed that you are wearing Chaco’s, sound American, and look like bucket bathers, are you Peace Corps Volunteers too?” No, I decided against it, though I have few social boundaries left these days, I can refrain from that.

So I left Fiji still in wonder of volunteer life outside of Tonga. But life has a way of bringing about the things we wish for some how…This week a volunteer from Samoa came to Vava’u for her vacation. A wonderful woman, who is a veterinarian, and from what it sounds like, stays pretty busy with her work. She told us about Samoa, we talked about Vava’u, we all compared notes, and concluded…nothing. Anti-climatic, I know; it’s like searching for the fountain of youth and someone telling you it was in a soup bowl.

What I think is that yes, of course being a volunteer is completely different in another country compared to the one you’re in. But just talking about it can only get you so far, for me anyway…I need visuals, I need to see it, touch it, be a part of it, or I just feel like I don’t ‘get it.’ Just like I think when I’m talking about life here, I can’t really explain it or make someone understand if they can’t see it, feel it, and experience it. Very frustrating, it’s like talking to someone on the phone and describing a movie that you’re watching…you should go to Blockbuster and rent the damn thing. So that’s what I think I’d like to do, go to Blockbuster and rent the damn thing. Get it?

Reason Number 129

2009-08-27T12:33:00.001-07:00

“OOOOOUUUUCCCCCHHHHH!!” at approximately 2:43 am, I jump off the floor out the sleeping bag I’m in…Who the f*&#! just stabbed me in the arm with a two prong fork!?!?! Saskia rises up when I turn on the light, dozily, “what happened?”

I’m muttering curses, my arm is throbbing, and I start to slowly realize the situation. “Shit, shit, shit, shit” and start madly shaking the sleeping bag, and nothing is there. I’m dazed and confused, “Ummm, ouch, agh…I was bitten.” I examine my arm and the pain is clearly something I’ve not experienced, I’m on high alert.

Possibly still asleep, Saskia says, “You think it was a malicau (centipede)?” I thought it had to be. I shake the sleeping bag more vigorously, nothing, nothing, nothing….damn it! Where the f… “There it is” dozy tells me and points. BASTARD! He’s crawling away and traps himself against the wall.

I’m not 100% sure why we have ivory colored platform shoes in our office, but that’s what I grabbed... YOU….smack…DON’T…smack…WAKE…smack…PEOPLE…smack…UP…smack…LIKE….one last smack…THAT.
Saskia sleepily applaudes, “nice job dude.”

I’ve made it almost two years without being bitten by one of these beastly bugs. I really don’t understand why they are even on this planet, outside of ruining a good night’s sleep. So that’s what I’m doing at 4:15am….writing about why I’m up right now, and reason number 129 why I should have stayed on the boat in Fiji…Since I’m up, I may as well gather my thoughts to continue telling about my wonderful, centipede free, excursion.

I can say that I easily spent 95% of time in Fiji smiling, and I’m only saying 95% because I can’t be sure if I smiled in my sleep…possible though. How else could I begin this story other than the absolute truth…we sailed through 3 days of beautiful clear skies and calm blue waters, the sun was rising over Savu Savu, our destination, as we rolled in on the 4th morning. Can’t make this stuff up.

Like I said before, I know nothing of boats, nothing of sailing, and I don’t have anything to compare this experience to, but I can’t imagine it could have been any better. So much of it is weather and what the seas give you, I know, but good company surely makes all the difference in the world as well. I still argue that I surely got the better end of the deal here. As the guys kept themselves busy keeping us afloat and moving, I contributed baked goods and tortillas…

Amazing snorkeling, beautiful water, great trekking, but what else makes Fiji great? IT’S SO CHEAP!! I mean, sure there’s the occasional uprising amongst the people and evacuations here and there…but you can get a cold, refreshing beer for 3 Fijian dollars…I mean…come on. This is Disney World as far as I’m concerned; the only thing that could make it better is adding an Epcot. I could easily spout off dozens, no, hundreds of little reasons that this trip was great, but we don’t have that kind of time and I’m certain you don’t want to read about them. So I’ll hit the big ones.

We set out sailing around Savu Savu, to anchorages away from busy places, preferably uninhabited but not a prerequisite. What I’m going to write about is one place in particular, I can’t remember the name of the area, but I won’t soon forget the place itself. When we sailed in and dropped anchor, we noticed houses up the beach. Turns out they were a small village, about 4-6 families, I don’t think any of us thought we’d interact a great deal. I’ll skip around…That evening we go ashore to build a fire and cook the fish we caught earlier, plus have a little happy hour. It wasn’t too long before we had visitors.

I’m going to admit the following about myself…I was not excited for visitors. They were a couple of men, seemingly invading a quiet happy hour, and began to take over the building and nurturing of our fire. Wow, they really got a blaze going…but I was still suspicious. It wasn’t long before more people came, but to my excitement, there were women coming along.

I love men…really, they’re great to get along with in so many ways, but it can be awkward being the only girl in the middle of a ‘man fest.’ So, yea to the ladies coming. We greet each other, but it takes a minute to start chatting really. One girl is easy to talk to, she’s very friendly, and answers all my incoming questions. I was extremely curious about the dynamics of men and women, as it’s been a significant issue during my time in Tonga.

Turns out, one huge difference is that women drink kava in Fiji, and even drink in the same circle as the men. I’m very interested in this, not because I have the desire to drink murky water for the sake of a slight buzz, but because I’d like to imagine what that would be like here…men and women interacting on the same level, shooting the shit, sitting next to each other, and so on. Before I knew it, our dinner was done, and we’d agreed to stay an extra day so that we can go lobster hunting and drink kava with our new friends the next day.

The day 3 of us motor over on a dingy to see about the lobster hunting…I’m nervous about the idea, but want to try it…or at least watch. Alas, it’s too early to go at 2 in the afternoon; the best time is at night. I’m out of that search party. But…that means it’s time to drink kava. We wait while they pound the plant into a thick dust, and it looks hard to do if you don’t happen to be South Pacific superhuman. They use a giant iron…pounder thing…and slam it down over and over to get the preferred results. When all is done, you take said results, put it in a questionable looking sack and strain water through it over and over until you have dirty water which is called kava.

As I’m sure I’ve mentioned in the past, kava is not ordinary dirty water…its super dirty water that’s meant to get you a little…stoned. The word ‘little’ is stressed here, if you go to different islands in the South Pacific you’re likely to find different levels of potency, but in most places in order to get the desired affects, you have to be a seasoned drinker of kava and drink obscene amounts of it. Amounts that my stomach is far from trained to handle.
We were there from roughly 2pm-10pm. I have no idea how many cups of kava I chugged down, but my stomach would guess a high number. I did get a little tingle/numb feeling in and around the mouth area, but hell the dentist has done that much on more than one occasion. But the point wasn’t to get kava stoned, the point was to hang out, relax, and have fun. For the most part that was accomplished. When it was time for the boys to go find lobsters, I stayed behind with Mark the skipper. My friend, the young lady from the night before, was playing guitar and singing—quite well by the way- and asked Mark and I to contribute songs of our own. I bet you think I broke out with my Shakira or Cher impression…well I didn’t, thank you very much, it was neither the time nor the place.

The guys came back victoriously, though I think our boys didn’t get much of a chance to catch lobsters with the Fijians expertly handling the search. They came back with enough lobster for a week…and then it was time to say good night. At this point, everyone was beyond exhausted and though they wouldn’t have asked us to leave, I think even our friends were ready to end the party. The next morning it was time go. Our crew went back ashore to say our last goodbyes, and we were off.

I really can’t express how much this interaction meant to me, I didn’t know how much it meant until after I had time to think. I’ve had positive cultural exchanges in Tonga, but many negative too, and mostly because of my gender…and this was just refreshingly the opposite. I really needed to be ale to sit down with men and women at the same time, with no one diverting their eyes from the opposite sex, everyone smiling and laughing with each other, not just as a result of a dirty joke directed towards or about you. Wow, I didn’t realize how much that meant.
Thank you, random village in Fiji; I think you may have rescued my sanity a little bit.

Fiji Feet

2009-08-26T17:40:00.002-07:00

“FIJI BABY FIJI!” is what I heard echoing in the background every day leading up to…can you guess? YES! Fiji. We will finally reach the peak, the climax of these series of most fortunate events…we’ll probably have to do this in installments though, there’s that much to say…so let’s get started!

First, I realize that on paper what I’m about to tell you may be cause for concern. What do I mean? Well I’ll tell you. So, a couple of months ago I walk into a local ba…hmm, you know the details might just get boring…So I met these guys back in June, they’re on a boat of course, and we get to chatting…Long story short, they find me so entrancing and delightful, that they invite me to sail to Fiji with them. “But guys,” I humbly smile at the invitation, “I know nothing of life at sea, what could I do but get in your way?” The skipper puts his hands up in gentle protest, “Oh, Shannon, you need not know all there is to know of sailing…what you can contribute is your extensive knowledge of life, love, and stimulating conversation…and incidentally you bake fantastically.”

I may have left out bits and pieces here and there, and I don’t remember exactly how the invitation went…but I’m pretty sure that’s close. I am perfectly aware that the whole thing sounds suspicious…single young female hops on a boat with 3 men, bound for Fiji, or possibly some remote island where they took the rest of the kidnapped women they promised would see Fiji, Vanuatu, or some other distant island paradise. “But seriously, it’s fine…” is what I tell my Country Director and Program Manager when they are mulling over the curious details of my travel plans. I’m pretty sure at this point they’re thinking something like…But seriously; if you die we’re not liable.

Fair enough I say. It isn’t every day you get an opportunity to sail to Fiji, certainly not with people you genuinely get along with. That’s the bit I’d like to make clear; I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strangers that offer me a Snickers bar. I’m saying; don’t just hop on boats with people who offer you a ride. Spend some time with them, get to know them, and then evaluate the situation. But ultimately it comes down to putting faith in people, and trusting your instincts, and my instincts were saying…no…my instincts were screaming… “GET ON THE BOAT!” And I said ok, ok, instincts chill out, I’ll go.

And so I did. Absolutely amazing…lots and lots of beautiful water without any pesky islands getting in the way of the view. It was a short three day sail that went as smoothly as could be imagined…without incident…without any out of place occurrence…without me making an ass of myself…well…there was this one thing...space poop.

No matter how wonderful, and swell, a sail is going, people are on watch; basically people taking turns being responsible for making sure we stay on course, make sure we don’t hit another boat or whale or sea cow or something. There were a total of four people on our boat, so we rotated every six hours, and my rotation happened to land on the 2am – 4am slot. It’s my first night at sea, and I’m woken up for my first 2am watch. The skipper shows me what numbers should say what, tells me what I should tell the next guy on watch, and reassures me, “Shannon, if you need anything, if you’re not sure on anything, you just give me a shout and I’ll get up. Don’t hesitate.”

I, I, Capt’n. The first hour goes by, and I’m strangely wired…keyed up…energetic like the battery bunny. I do some crunches, Pilates, stretch, then finally sit in the chair like I’m James T. Kirk, and it’s then that my body realizes it’s after 3am and doesn’t understand why I haven’t been sitting in this chair looking at pretty stars this entire time. So that’s what I do for the rest of my watch; staring at the beautiful clear sky, contemplating life, basking in deep silence, rocking in the wind with the boat, quietly meditating in…HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?? was the interrupting thought when I saw this bright, white, burning light appear in the sky in the distance and fall ominously slow to the black water. I get up. I sit back down. I get up. I sit back down. Umm. Should I wake someone up? What if it was nothing? It was probably nothing. But what if it was a boat? A signal…if I don’t say something, it will surely turn out to be the sinking of another Titanic...and I’m the only one who saw this last beacon of hope that was set off. But of course, if I wake anyone up, it’ll turn out to be nothing…likely something that my mind imagined to play a funny joke on myself…not cool, mind. I get up. I sit back down.

I finally decide to wake up the skipper, attempt it anyway. I get to his door. Call out once, twice, three… “ZZZZZZZ” is the answer I get. Okay. I go back, and sit down. It was probably nothing I decided. Then I imagined the sinking boat again, the man or woman holding on to the last scrap of wood left from the SS Shit Out of Luck, telling themselves “It’s okay, someone will see the signal, and surely have the foresight to investigate.” Damn it…5 minutes until the next watch. I’ll go wake him up, tell him what I saw, and then I’ve at least tried to save the SS SOL.

So I do. We check the radar…ha, radar, cool…and nothing there, of course…I’m perfectly happy that SS SOL doesn’t exist, but I’m left with the feeling of either I made the whole blazing thing up, or I can’t tell the difference between a flare and a falling star. But the next morning, the skipper and I discuss the occurrence and come to the conclusion that it was in fact, falling junk from space…yes, this happens…conclusion…space poop…end chapter.

High on Ha'apai

2009-08-26T17:40:00.000-07:00

Ha’apai was one of the top 5 best experiences during my time in Tonga, easily. Ha’apai is probably the most conservative and smallest if the island groups. There is one bar/restaurant in the small city…I guess you could call it that, named Pangai. A beautiful island, but lacks even the few options of fruits and vegetables that we at least have in Vava’u. The incredible flat, white, sandy beaches are breath-taking to say the least.

I spent a week in a bikini, sun bathing, camping, island exploring, and crab hunting. With my friends Amy and Bria, we successfully conquered the small island ‘ueleiva, spending out days cracking coconuts, cooking over open fires, and endless discussions of the things in life that please us most.

We paid no attention to the time outside of when the sun came up and when it fizzled back out in the evening. Ah, just thinking about it makes me want to go back for another week or two. Just to lose yourself in sunlight and water…the only thing better than having a secluded beach to yourself is having just one other with you.

No wonder people find romance and love here, a private paradise must encourage a desire to have someone to share it with. I would certainly seek this out again one day because I can imagine that the satisfaction and happiness that would result is incomparable with anything else.

What else is there to say about my excursion to Ha’apai, other than…ahh.

To Start...

2009-08-26T17:38:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that it’s been a pretty long while since I posted any updates for all of you who are interested in the goings on in the land of the lost. I think the reason I haven’t written in 2 months is mostly due to having too much to write about, but it is just as likely that I’ve been lazy. But all is forgiven, yes? My neglect is certainly not due to the lack of material…quite the opposite. Sigh...this is going to be long winded, I hope you’ve had your coffee.
So much has happened in the past couple of months, it feels almost impossible to catch up to it all, and to skip anything would be catastrophic in my opinion. A few things…of course some good; some things that are so awesome, they inspire you to create new words and phrases to describe them, such as ‘superbular’ or ‘faka-absolutely fantastic.’ Then there are bad, even sad, events. They say that you should start with the bad news and make your way through the rest with the better, then best, and so on. I know precisely where to start.
‘Ema’s death. Since the passing of the second half of the once duo of sisters living next door I’ve had trouble just sitting down and writing something to do it justice. You see, I have to write about it because it was a huge deal on so many levels. I couldn’t skip it, or come back to it later, so I’ve just waited and made note of everything else.
If nothing else, I’d just like to acknowledge ‘Ema. Everyone, including myself, always really liked ‘Ema because she was a sweet lady…couldn’t hear very well, but neither can I. The last time I saw her she was sweeping up leaves and trash from her yard, and then within days her sister Lose, and my frequent visitor, came to my door with tears in eyes saying ‘Ema was almost dead. Over the next couple of days people from the village prepared for a putu (funeral) and I stopped asking what was wrong with her, and if the doctors could do anything, because it’s a futile attempt to try to understand this resignation that Tongans have of death.
This happens almost always, someone gets ‘puke’ (sick), and then dies, and we eat a lot. I didn’t realize how much this absolutely disturbed, and aggravated me until ‘Ema. Where I’m from if someone is threatened with death, the next step is to prevent it, and if it can’t be prevented, we are desperate to find out what the hell happened, in order to prevent it next time. Not so much the case here. I don’t think that the Tongans are careless, quite the opposite, I admire their acceptance of death to a degree, but I’m still taken back by our differences in this matter sometimes.
I’ve been to more than one putu, but this one was different, ‘Ema was someone I knew, I saw her every day, she was nice to me, and I wanted to be sure to show my respect by staying at her putu from start to finish. This proved to be difficult. The sun came up the day after she died, and people were outside mine and her house preparing. By 9 o’clock I had my spot picked out on a mat outside her door with other neighbors, ready to sing all the song they would sing that I wouldn’t really understand because there all in Tongan.
Families from Tefisi, and all kinds of villages started filing in. Huge lines formed, each person carrying a mat, piece of Tapa, cloth, or some gift from their families. Each person would go in, set their gift down, walk to the body, and kiss her. This particular tradition I have avoided the entire time I’ve been here, I know it’s respectful her, I know it’s a part of the cultural experience, and I desperately wanted to get over my personal discomfort this one time. But as morning became late afternoon, I was ushered to go eat.
Lose was there, wailing as expected, but I was put off by how people treated her. One man from the village actually nudged her to stop crying when the preacher inside was speaking. I don’t have a sister, but imagine if anyone close to me died I wouldn’t appreciate someone telling when I could or could not express my grief, whether I want to cry or punch a hole in the wall, I’ll damn well do it.
Everyone treats Lose like the crazy lady…and she kinda is, but that doesn’t mean they should treat her like it. People have been saying mean things, like “Lose should have been the one to go and not ‘Ema,” and of course, silly me, I say “No, no, it would be nice if they were both still here.” Those same people are convinced that Lose will follow ‘Ema soon enough.
I feel so bad for Lose, I’ve come to realize I’m one of the few people she does come to see, and now more often because she’s lonely without her sister. I know she’s mean to a lot of other people, because she really is the crazy cat lady you hear tell of, but she’s nice to me for some reason. I went to see her when I got back from my Fiji hiatus (see ‘Fiji Baby Fiji’), and I was overwhelmed by how pleased she was that I was back. Her hug was as tight as a constrictor, tears were welling, and I was surprised when I reciprocated easily. We talked; she showed me some old photos, literally 5 black and white photographs of ‘Ema and people I didn’t know.
I didn’t kiss ‘Ema’s body, and I didn’t stay as long as many others did, and I’m certain that it was talked about a great deal that I didn’t do all the things that I was ‘supposed’ as a ‘Ema’s neighbor. I had thought that maybe I was selfish, maybe I lack something, and maybe I’m emotionally withdrawn, blah blah blah. The fact is, Lose knows I care about her and I cared about ‘Ema, and even if the only person in this village who believes I care is the ‘crazy lady,’ it’s more important than getting approval from the jackasses who tell her to stop crying at her sister’s funeral.

G' mornin' Sunshine

2009-06-16T15:04:00.000-07:00

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

Says the Wesleyan church bell at 5 am every other morning, I thought my body had learned to ignore this intrusiveness to my good night sleep, but lately the relentless sound of metal clanging metal from across the road is too much to ignore. The bell pushes it’s way in, bullying really, ransacking the house, coming into my tiny bedroom to shake me awake screaming, “DING DING DING, get up, get up! You heathen, you should come practice singing about God with us! DING DING DING!”

I lay there and plead, “No, No, I went to church Sunday, please!” and ironically enough I pray to make it stop, and when that doesn’t work I offer my soul for another hour of sleep. Then I realize that the devil is just as likely responsible for this madness, so that’s not going to help either and I just get up.

There are so many things that I just don’t get when it comes to religion sometimes, and that could be due to all the heathenism…I don’t know, but for one, why practice singing? Especially at 5 am. One, God probably doesn’t mind if you’re off-key on Sunday, he made you that way, so be happy with it. Two, it is 5 o’clock in the morning! Shut the hell up! I get it, you’re making sacrifices, and you’re showing your love…personally, I think it’s kind of like turning in extra credit and bringing apples to the teacher. Brown nosers…
If you think I am being unreasonable, silly, crazy, or blasphemous…well, read this next round out loud for fifteen minutes as loud as you can:

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

Yeah, how spiritual do you feel now? Next, try having someone call you at 5 am and do it, then again at 5:30 just in case you happen to fall asleep again, because that’s not allowed either. Tell me then if you can even count how many times you curse this retched sound and its source.

This is all really just a representation of how invasive I feel life can be here. It’s either a bell ringing in your ear for 30 minutes to let you know church singing (or screaming depending on perspectives) is coming, or people sitting outside your house listening to what you’re doing. It feels like they’re right at your window, then someone calls out your name; never mind that its night time and the lights are out. To know that while you stand in your kitchen, people are sitting outside trying to see you through the window, while every now and then yelling out to ask if you’re making cookies.

People always watching to see what you are, or are not, doing that give them something to judge and talk about. Nothing really being private, unless you happen to be sneaky enough to keep it your business; I have yet to meet someone who’s been successful. It’s silly to be worried about what other people think, especially when you’ve spent a great deal of time growing up to not care about what other people think or say about you.

So yes, the church bell is just another pushy, nosey, invasive person in my life here, watching to see if I drink, go to church, or walk down the street with a guy. Yeah, it’s an inanimate object that isn’t ‘out to get me’ but figuratively…sigh

Ding, ding, ding…G’ mornin’ sunshine…is what I would say if the sun were up.

The 3 Things...

2009-06-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

It is said that Peace Corps Volunteers tend to talk about three things the most: Food, Bowel Movements, and Sex. It’s likely that most of us have the best stories to tell, or I guess worst stories depending on which one you’re talking about, and we usually don’t have any qualms about sharing…no matter how painful it could be to hear. So in saying that, I’m going to be talking about these common topics, and that’s a fair warning.
I woke up in pain, a total body ache, and then I realized what it was from. I jumped up and ran to the outhouse just outside Amy’s house. I thought my diarrhea had receded the day before, but was obviously just waiting for a better time make its second advance. Of course when I sat down on the bench with a hole, I looked over to see that there was a giant brown spider on the tin wall next to me. If I didn’t have the headlamp I wouldn’t have seen him because the sun wasn’t out at 5am, and I would have been able to sit in blissful ignorance to his presence. Oh well, the natural force that was happening within me won out over any psychological fear of spiders…just don’t look at him, I thought over and over.
I go back inside and lay down exhausted before I begin my day, listening to the all the roosters and sounds of a dark early morning. At some point I fall back asleep, but soon woke up when the sun came out, and it was time to really start the day. We had plans for an all day trek around the island to pick Moli (little oranges), and I was ready…I think. We set off on our journey; me, Amy, and only one of her dogs, because the others distracted themselves with killing a pig. We traveled approximately 30 minutes before I had to stop in mid-sentence to find a spot in the woods…it would have been in my best interest to pack toilet paper for this adventure, leaves are ok under normal circumstance, but…well you know already that these were not normal circumstances.
You think it can’t get worse, you think it can’t get more disgusting, or foul…well don’t forget that the dog came with us. As I’m finishing up, she (the dog) comes trotting up, sniffing and investigating the scene. Before I have my pants buttoned, she has eaten my poo-poo platter, and now I wanted to vomit on top of my other stomach ailments. I didn’t know dogs could, or would, do this. I cannot look at this dog in the eye anymore…wow.
The day goes on, and we collect and eat all of the little oranges we can find. There are thousands to choose from, it is the season and they are ripe for the picking. We made it to another village on the island and went their beach to rest and stretch. This is where we came across the Town Officer of this village and he cracks open some coconuts for us all to drink and eat. Its circumstances like these that I like to eat and drink coconut; I’m not a fan of the cooler chilled young coconuts that you buy in the market. We try to feed Amy’s dog some coconut, thinking she must obviously be desperate, but the pup wouldn’t have it. Coconut isn’t good enough for her, but what comes out of me is a delicacy…weird. Eventually we make our way back, I recover from my stomach disorder, and the dog…well let’s say that I wouldn’t want to be the one that eats her now that I know her diet.
And speaking of food…a few of us volunteers and other palangi residents all came together for the 3rd annual Lu-Off! Here’s your Tonga 101 lesson for the day. Lu is a common dish made up of taro leaves, with things like chicken, beef, sheep, coconut cream, etc, wrapped inside, and then baked in the ‘umu - underground earth oven. Our Lu-Off is meant to follow the basic rules of a Tongan Lu, but with a new unique twist. Actually, let’s give you the rules…

THE RULES

1. You must make two of whatever Lu you are cooking (It’s a small feast, not the time to think
small portions).

2. You must bring your own Taro leaves for cooking.

3. You have a maximum budget of 30 Pa’anga (being thrifty pays, you get points in judging

for spending less).

4. Your Lu dish must be wrapped in Taro Leaves or Pele.

5. At least one of these must be in your Lu dish; Onions or Coconut Milk and obviously you

can use both.

6. All Lu’s will go into the umu (oven if weather is bad) at exactly 6:30 and will be cooked the

same amount of time. (30 minutes).

7. You must have a name for your Lu dish.

8. Your recipe must be written and turned in to the judge.

9. If you participated last year, you must make something different.

10. Judges decision is final, this is for fun, don’t take it too seriously.

11. Be honest with how much it costs you, since it is a category in judging.

There were lots of awesome dishes, we had Thai-mi Lu (fish and vegetables with a Thai sauce), Lu-mades (after a Turkish dish called dolmades), Stuffed Peppers Lu, and there were two Lu desserts! Apple Crisp Lu, and yours truly made Lemon Lu-stard (a lemon custard), and I was robbed! The winner, who’s name shall be mentioned: STEVE, cheated by breaking one of the most important rules by not using any coconut milk! He will try to cover for himself by saying that he used a drop of milk from a used can (by the way this can of coconut milk was mine, even more of a slap in the face...), but it is quite obvious that he should have relinquished his wrongfully awarded title gracefully, but did not. As far as I’m concerned no one won…but I will say that most enjoyed the Lemon Lu-stard…even you STEVE! Ha, you Pumpkin Eater I know you’re reading this…
You may be thinking I’m a sore loser…but there has to be a real winner for there to be any losers…just sayin’
Oh, and you’re probably thinking ok Shannon you’ve talked about all but 1 of the 3 main topics of PCV conversations, let’s hear it! Well guys and gals I hate to disappoint, but even if I did have anything interesting to say about that third topic, this is a PG blog, if you want to read Lit erotica you need to hit a Barnes and Nobles or Borders. But I did take a nap the other day and had a pretty steamy dream involving David Duchovny, you know the guy from X-Files. Yeah I don’t know why, I guess my sub-conscious can’t properly fantasize anymore…

Guess Who's Coming for Dinner

2009-05-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

In general I think I’m easy to get along with, pretty excepting of most peoples company despite any differences in lifestyle or opinions. I still think this, but something I’ve noticed for the past week or so in my behavior towards a couple of people is a little…off. It’s nothing that I do purposefully, maliciously, or even consciously at the time, but I’m a little concerned. I’ll get to it that in a moment.

I’ll start with some general background information. Peace Corps Volunteers are not the only Americans that come to Tonga for extended periods with a purpose; it’s a slightly different purpose though. Mormon Missionaries are common throughout the islands; they spend two years talking to people about scriptures, explaining where they are coming from and what they do, and lend a hand to communities in different ways. I think a lot of people confuse Peace Corps Volunteers with Missionaries. A huge difference is that Peace Corps has no religious agenda, nor are Volunteers supposed to promote their religious or political views. There’s a fine line between answering questions directed to you about your views and trying to convince people of them, so for me it’s best to avoid the matter.

So, two missionaries from America are staying in my village at the moment and they’ve been here for a little while. Every now and then I get a chance to talk to them, it’s nice talking to people from the Motherland, and they’re nice guys. But something I’m starting to notice bothers me. It’s nothing that they’re doing either…it’s me.

Here’s a story: For months I’ve been trying to find someone from my village to mow my lawn. The grass around my house is not unlike what an abandoned house would look like, and if you park a car there we’re back in rural Mount Airy. Well, last weekend I had just sat down to eat my dinner when I heard a weed eater. It sounded really close, I couldn’t be sure because it had been a while since I heard such a sound around my overgrown rainforest. But just for laughs, I looked outside, and sure enough there was a couple of Tongans cutting my grass, while the two Mormon Missionaries were watching over. I go out to greet my visitors and heroes because somehow they have accomplished something that I haven’t been able to since before I left for America. They were just passing through and noticed how long my grass was and simply told some people that they (the Tongans and themselves) were going to cut it.

Seriously? I’m completely grateful, but can’t help feel a little annoyed or maybe even hurt, from this display of respect for them over me. If not more respect, then certainly more consideration for requests. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I’m being too sensitive. I don’t know, but I’m happy the grass is cut, and true to character I baked brownies for all who were involved in the efforts and had a very long talk with the guys. Now, here’s where we’re getting to the point of the story.

As I’m talking to the guys, I’m trying to avoid subjects pertaining to God, faith, or anything that might lead into it, because I’m in the mindset that that’s the reason that they’re in Tonga and so maybe that’s the reason they’re in my yard. But then I start to think... I’m being stupid, I shouldn’t be evasive, these are fellow Americans, we can actually have discussions in our own language, less chance of misunderstandings, etc. SO, I think it’s polite to say something positive and take interest in what they do and why they’re here and I say something like, “Yeah I don’t really know a lot about missionaries and Mormonism” and then one of them in turn says “Well we’d be happy to come by and talk to you about it.” And awkwardly and quickly I say “Oh, no I’m ok, I have my own faith.” It later occurs to me that I may have jumped the gun, because I actually said something that was an inquiry and he was simply responding to it.

Despite my social awkwardness, they accept my offer to have a Mexican dinner at my house this weekend as thanks for the yard assistance. I even invite them to come and check out the Library while I have it open this week and they were true to their word by actually coming. They worked with some of the kids on puzzles while giving me more time to work with others on the lesson I had planned. After the Primary School kids left, it was Secondary School time, more laid back, and we were able to chat. Again, I find myself needlessly uncomfortable. I feel like I’m avoiding anything that points to their religion, or my own. But when somehow it comes up, in order to show that I’m not anti-Mormon, I say at some point “Yeah, I’ve read all those ‘Twilight’ books. They were written by a Mormon right? They were good…” The ridiculousness of my behavior continues with such comments as “I knew a Mormon family in High School, and they were really nice.”

For whatever reason I can’t stop trying to show them, and maybe myself, that what they do here, the religion that they practice doesn’t make me a little uncomfortable. If we were in America, I wouldn’t act like this, we’d be on neutral ground, but here I know why they are here…that’s why it’s called a Mission. But without other cause, I’m always a little paranoid that they’re going to try and ‘brainwash’ me into believing in modern day profits, gold tablets, and Jesus being American.

I’m being awful, I’m not giving them a chance to just be John and Joe (changing names here), two guys from America who could be friends to me in this crazy place. Instead, I act as if being Mormon were some weird skin disease staring at me in the face, trying not to look at it, but still can’t help acting like it’s contagious. Plus, maybe they don’t even want me in the flock in the first place, maybe I’m a little full of myself by assuming they’d even bother probing my brain if I let them.

Overall, I think I just want to avoid offending them. I don’t agree with why they’re here, I don’t believe in what they believe, but I don’t want to offend them inadvertently because of all that. I also think the problem is that I’m worried about it too much; it’s highly likely that they realize that my views are different from theirs, and I’m probably not the first they’ve met who feel so. I’ll relax at some point I’m sure…but if I see ANYTHING that looks like a brain probe, I’m out like a fat kid in dodge ball.

Love Connections

2009-05-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

During my stay in America I spent some time speaking to high school classes about Peace Corps and living in Tonga. I was asked a lot of questions, many the same in every class, but I tend to remember the ones that weren’t always asked. Now that I’ve thought about it, one question from one young man that only came up once out of all the classes was in regards to relationships. I think the rest of his class realized the vital information that they overlooked and immediately perked up their ears to find out if investing your time in something like the Peace Corps also meant an investment in a brand new chastity belt and a good book collection.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about what my dating life would become once I got to where I was going. Would there be any guys at all? Would they be fun? Would they be nice? Would they be cute? Can I do 2 years of deprivation? But the fact is that no matter where you go, the odds of you running into someone you can connect with are good. In fact, I think you’re more likely to run into someone while you’re pursuing something you really care about rather than staying in one place for fear of missing out. For example, I wanted to join Peace Corps and by doing so I met a lot of other people who I have at least that much in common with right off the bat. You’re more likely to meet people with the same interests as you while you’re participating in the interest; this seems pretty straight forward. If you want to meet a bodybuilder you go to a gym, you don’t sit at home with a Big Mac and fries while you watch The Biggest Loser.

I also prepared myself for the possibility of not meeting anyone that I would be romantically interested in. I decided that I’d be fine either way, because I’m pretty comfortable being single and used to being on my own. If it bothers you to have alone time, or you’re a serial dater, you might not want to put yourself in a situation where it’s a possibility that you’ll be having a lot of ‘you’ time, or maybe you do, what do I know?

As per usual, every volunteer in every country has a different experience and story to tell, so don’t just go by what I have to say on the matter. Personally, I’ve had some enjoyable experiences and less enjoyable ones; I’m sure you all remember the story “Oh Captain My Captain” from last year. I’ve encountered some odd balls, yes, but no more than I did before I came here. You’re faced with all sorts of options really; there are other volunteers, local islanders, or my personal favorite, people from other countries that are on the islands for various reasons. It made sense for me to live abroad at some point, in the past I have had a soft spot for men of the foreign persuasion, and old habits do die hard. So yes, like anywhere else in dating there can be an all you can eat buffet, but then other times you may feel you’ll starve for lack of edible options (is it surprising I used a food metaphor?) In the end you just have to eat what’s in front of you, find another restaurant, or go on a diet, but don’t be afraid to look at the menu. Ok now I’m confused, what were we talking about?

Before I get too off track, I think the moral of the story is that you shouldn’t catch yourself saying something like, “I’d love to do this…but what if I can’t meet anyone? What if I end up alone?” or anything else that prevents yourself from doing the things you want to do because you feel you’re going to be hindering yourself in love. Don’t worry the same dramas that come with the opposite sex are all over the world, you’re probably not going to miss out. Now, I’m not saying that one day you won’t wake up 26 years old, childless, single, and with a Mother who won’t stop asking what the problem is…but nothing is without cost.

Pass the Fish

2009-05-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

Two of the most common remarks that I would get from people in America was “wow, you look great,” and “I thought you were going to be really skinny.” They weren’t saying that I was fat; they were just shocked that I lacked the sunken cheeks and empty eyes of any normal emaciated individual, as they were expecting me to be after a year and a half in the Peace Corps. I’d like to say that I do agree with the first remark, I do look great, for doing the exact opposite of getting skinnier.

The fact is, like I may have mentioned before, Tonga is plentiful when it comes to at least two things: Food and imported religion. They have good healthy foods too…like fruits, fish right out of the deep blue yonder, and some unique leafy greens that you won’t see in many other parts of the world. Unfortunately, there are also a plethora of unhealthy alternatives and cooking styles; I’m assuming both were imported on the same boat as the religion. Add a big helping of sedentary lifestyle and you get a hefty population in the most literal sense that you can mean it.

On the flip side, when I came back to Tonga everyone was shocked that I didn’t gain weight, maybe even came back smaller. One person put it that they thought America had “lots of good food,” so of course why wouldn’t I be bigger from eating my weight in it while I could? Well it’s true, America has more options for my eating preferences, and there were many times that I did want to stock my stomach in preparation for the upcoming deprivation in proper Hot Wings and broccoli. But I’m a big girl now, and know better than to punish my tummy for my minds’ need to hoard. When it comes to food, some people think if something is good then it’s necessary to pack away as much as you can hold. This isn’t so bad if you’re a 900 lb grizzly bear preparing for the hard winter to come, but not a good way to go about maintaining a healthy human body.

Something that does bother me about my dining experiences with Tongans, well there are more than one, has been having to ignore the general adopted eating style; Basically the unabashed shoveling of food. The art of stuffing as much as you possibly can into your pie hole to the point of having to make a full facial and body effort to chew the mass of food, that I can clearly see from the gaping mouth trying the chew and talk to me at the same time. I’ve never been a stickler for impeccable table manners, but I’ve never had to bear witness to the consumption of food right up until the digestion stage either.

This is a place where kids walk around the street eating whole raw fish as naturally as I would an apple. When I saw this the other day, I didn’t think much of it until later when I remembered that in so many other places this would be odd at the very least. Worries of sanitation, manners, and other things that seem trivial to me at the moment didn’t cross my mind. Nope, the thought I had when I saw my student sink his teeth in this raw fish whose eyes were still frozen in that ‘surprised fish look’ was… “That looks good, I wish I had one.”

I can now understand why my friend Abi was concerned that I would have inappropriate manners at her wedding, or at any dinner table for that matter. Considering where I’ve been living it’s clear that she was lucky I used silverware, didn’t have a fish tail hanging from my jaws, and didn’t arm wrestle someone for the last chicken kabob. Self-control was a constant achievement on my part don’t you think?

The Librarian

2009-05-03T17:32:00.000-07:00

I’m incredibly pleased to say that my village’s library stayed open while I was away. I was fairly sure that it would not be used, and now I feel a little guilty for my slightly pessimistic prediction. So, I’m back in action at the Tefisi Library and it seems like a race against time to make the most progress between now and November, when my time will be up.

The enthusiasm of one parent has been inspiring to me. If I didn’t mention before, there is a woman from my village who is responsible for keeping my hope alive that the work I put into the library will not be in vain. She alone kept it open while I was away, and she alone is still coming in order to help make it something the village can be proud of and benefit from.

The kids love it. We have regulars at this point and it’s so different than being at school, for both of us. They are more open and try speaking English more and, with my helper Kave, I’m such a better teacher. We are setting up reading groups, lesson planning, activities, and I wish I could exchange my time that I spend at my school for more time at the Library. Maybe it isn’t too far fetched…

I brought back a couple of puzzles, just 100 pieces, and the other night when the Secondary School kids came, I joined a couple in their attempts to work the puzzle. I slowly realized that they had never seen anything like this before and were completely puzzled by the puzzle (ba-da-bump). They kept trying to put pieces together that to me were obviously incorrect, so it took a couple of tries and examples to show them the process of finding pieces that fit. Eventually they would get one, then another, and another, each success brought a huge smile on their faces and they would say with all sincerity, “WOW! Senoni, Look!” and I would smile broadly in response with the same sincere excitement for them. It was so nice to be a part of that.

After so many disappointments and little success with projects in the Health Promotions area, it’s nice to feel some amount of success and accomplishment. I never would have thought this would come by playing the role of Shannon the Librarian Extraordinaire. Feel so silly for all the frustration and anxiety about trying to find a project that I thought I could do, when doing this was just fine. Now it’s unfortunate that my time is limited, a day will pass and suddenly I’m a week, then a month closer to the end of my service. It’s always possible to stay longer, but I don’t feel like that’s in the cards for me, and I think the people I know best in my village know that too.

I feel good about the next few months; I feel good being back here in this place that I’ve called my home. With all the flaws in life here, that I have in mind even as I praise it right now, I will be sad to leave.

Where are the Ruby Red Shoes?

2009-04-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

My first day back in my village was a relief. My house is in tacked, my dog is too, and after the dramatics of actually getting here I was more than happy to face the mess of dead roaches, dirty laundry, and unpacking. What dramatics you say? Well sit down, grab your bagel and coffee, and put off what you think you have to do, and read on!

So there I was…mindin’ my own, just trying to get back to my simple island life. I walk into Charlotte Douglas Airport, a little sad and happy at the same time, saying quick goodbyes to my Mom and Dad who have to act in hast so not to be reprimanded for parking at the drop-off site for people meant to fly off…like myself…maybe. I went to the appropriate counter to check in with my print off of information that my Travel Agent gave me; the same info I used to check in for flights to come to America (that’s important in the story).

As I approach the counter I think of the blue/green waters, sunshine, my house, my dog, how I’d be seeing it all soon. All of the million things going though my head were interrupted with, “Well I have you listed on the flight, but you don’t have a ticket.” Happy thoughts gone.

My name is there, but I don’t have a ticket…hmm. Keep in mind I called the airport earlier just to double check and the lady on the phone said I was on the flight, but didn’t mention anything else that may result in me staying grounded. So I calmly press on with this concerning matter...at this point I’m upset but not yet crying, but that’s coming. I say to Patricia, “I already paid so how can you have my name on the flight but not have a ticket for me?” We speak about this for probably 15 minutes, and even now I don’t understand how that works. Patricia called Air New Zealand to check their records of my flights. By the way, Charlotte lady’s name is Patricia, we’re on first name bases, and she can’t even find my flight history coming into America, none of the information on my useless piece of paper shines any light on the situation. At this point, maybe she thinks I’m a terrorist from Canada or something, trying to pull one over on the Charlotte airport. I’m starting to think she may detain me, eh?

Air New Zealand lady is now on the phone, Patricia talks to her, nothing is resolved. I then took the phone, Air New Zealand lady has a pleasant New Zealand accent that cheerfully explains to me that there are no records of me having a flight to Tonga on April 21st but on April 28th and if I’d like to change it to the 21st I could pay. Queue the tearing up, but I held them pretty well considering I was full of anger, fear, frustration, and confusion, as bonus I didn’t yell either. After over an hour of discussing and consideration of options…those options being: A) pay more money or B) stay in America, and inform Peace Corps it’s been real. I decided to pay the cost to change my ticket. I’ve left out lots of emotional turmoil from the 2 hours of standing there, but I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer so I’ll skip to the end.

I got my ticket just in time for boarding, I was lucky when some nice people in line at the check in gate let me pass them at the X-ray area, and I had just enough time to sprint with my 30 lbs of carry-on. It was just like in a movie, except it wasn’t a comedy, romantic, or entertaining in any way like these scenes usually are in movies. I looked like a jackass. By the time I get to the plane and seat myself, oops wrong seat sorry sir, I just have the energy to put my head in my hands and breathe. Then sleep.

Obviously, all went fine thereafter, I am at least here, in my house writing this, and I’m grateful that I am. But seriously, Dorothy didn’t have this much trouble getting home, and she had an old lady with flying monkeys and bad homicidal intentions after her. I guess my Good Witch was off playing craps and drinking Bloody Mary’s, paid for by those Ruby Red Slippers she cashed in instead of helping a girl out.

But on one last note about my wonderful excursion to America, I would like to leave you with my version of a Cheers and Jeers List. Please enjoy my Top 10 Faka-Awesome and Lame List.

1. Faka-Awesome…Grocery Stores. Lame…going into one for over an hour and walking out with nothing but a bag of chips and 1 bottle of Vitamin Water.

2. Faka-Awesome…Being able to go into a store any time you want to get anything you could possibly want! Lame…that store is Wal-Mart.

3. Faka-Awesome…Mexican food. Lame…the bodily discomfort that follows the consumption of Mexican food. (Totally worth it)

4. Faka-Awesome…Weddings with open bars and dancing. Lame…nothing lame about it, I drank, ate, and danced with Firemen whilst dressed like a princess and feelin’ purrrdy.

5. Faka-Awesome…family and friends. Lame…same family and friends harassing you about when you will stop moving around, marry Tom, and have lots of smart-ass babies.

6. Faka-Awesome…hot wings and miller light. Lame…only having the combination once, after you’ve been talking about it for a year and a half!!

7. Faka-Awesome…T.V. Lame…most T.V. shows, plus commercials.

8. Faka-Awesome…Wine tastings. Lame…only bringing back one bottle.

9. Faka-Awesome…singing Cher’s ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ to a crowd. Lame…no request for an encore.

10. Faka-Awesome…I’m back in Vava’u. Lame…nothing yet, let us end on a high note.

Ready to go back

2009-04-20T22:03:00.000-07:00

For the past year and a half I have built strong relationships, another family you could say, halfway across the world during my Peace Corps experience thus far. I have finally had the opportunity to visit my families that I left behind in order to have this experience, and I was welcomed with open arms and hearts!

I’ve had an extended stay in America, about 3 and a half weeks, and have used every bit of that time to see friends, family, and share as much about Tonga as possible while absorbing as much as I can of their lives that I’ve missed. In case you were wondering there is never enough time… There were dinners, lunches, outings, weddings, hiking, more dinners, more lunches, even more weddings!! But something I’m most grateful for was having the time to spend with my family who, after listening to me prattle on about my life in Tonga, and all the people I share it with, decided to come together and offer their own contribution to that experience.

Everyone came together and not only were generous enough to give me wonderful things that I can use in Tonga, but the children I work with and people I live so close to. They bought, crayons, markers, activity books, you name it, and it was probably there. I have never been more moved and touched by all of the generosity that I have experienced these passed few weeks, and countless others want to contribute in the same way.

The more I shared with people, the more I realized that yes, Tonga is a different place, and what is normal and every day life to me, blows minds here. I don’t see my community, or school, as poor or faka‘ofa (pitiful), but when you actually sit down and list all of the things that they have compared to a child here…I start to see again, and so have others. I see all the good that can come from just sharing yourself, your time, your life; people can be appreciative and even want to do the same as a result.

A huge thank you goes to all of my family and friends, plus the countless students who sat and listened to my ramblings of roasted dogs, Tongan phrases, and epic battles with unholy pests. Who would have thought that this visit to America in the middle of my service would play such an intricate role in the Peace Corps experience? Thank you for that, and pray that everything fits on the plane!

The Fly

2009-04-07T07:16:00.000-07:00

My parents and I have been visiting family non-stop since I came to North Carolina last week. The wedding in Indiana went off without a hitch, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house unless you had some kind of weird dysfunction where you can’t cry or you have no soul. Anyway, I’ve seen family members who I literally haven’t seen since I was 4.

I’ve had some conversations about my life in Tonga, and conversations that make me think about my life in Tonga. For example, my parents and I were visiting with an older Uncle and Aunt on my Dad’s side, great people, real nice always, and they were so interested in what I’ve been doing for the past year and a half. But at some point throughout the visit the topic goes to a fly buzzing around the living room; A devilish thing that seems to pop up every now and then, who has a gift for escaping death by swatting.

My parents, Uncle, and Aunt continued to talk about the allusiveness of the fly and others like him for about 20 minutes. I sit there and think about the ravenous legends of flies that will cover a person in Tonga, especially if there’s a nice open wound to pick at. My old neighbor Lose came by my house the day I left and she had a family living on her toe that had a big open gash on it. That’s what I thought about while they were talking about the lone fly that happens to get into the house, and has mastered the ability to escape death.

It’s like I never left sometimes, and it’s also pretty weird sometimes. Some people immediately reprimand themselves for complaining about anything around me; my friend and I were walking down a street to get some lunch and she was cold, and said so, then immediately said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t complain.” After she did that a few times, I tried to assure her she hadn’t lost the right to express discomforts around me just because I, like so many people throughout the world, have experienced different discomforts. Apples and Oranges, they’re different but both fruits just the same.

I’ve been to lots of stores. I have gone into a store for an hour and came out with nothing but organic chips and a bottle of Vitamin Water. I feel bad for anyone who walks into a Grocery with me. I’ll stand in one spot for 15 minutes and finally become overwhelmed with the plethora of different options and move on to the next section of magical goodies. My first purchase in a grocery was broccoli, I knew it would be, and I ate it as a road trip snack from Indianapolis to NC; my friend Tom thought it odd.

To be continued at a later date…

Homeward Bound

2009-04-02T07:13:00.000-07:00

The day started at 4:30am Tuesday. I guess my body felt I needed to hurry up and wait. So I got up and immediately see a massive brown spider crawl into my bedroom from the window. Oh yeah…this trip needs to happen...I spend the next 30 minutes spraying dark areas around my room with Mortein and leave the light on because he’s a nocturnal beast and I’m not going to make life comfortable for him.
As I do my morning rituals of boiling water to wash my face, make some coffee, and heat up the lemon oatmeal bread I made the night before for breakfast, I think about the next 24 hours. I sit hoping my flights leave despite all the mess with cancellations because of volcanoes and missing plane parts. I tried to forget the day before when the booking agent emailed me a flight itinerary for Shannon Chantry, who was only going to Los Angles and returning to Tonga…on the wrong dates. The domestic flights from island to island, I’ve already explained before, there’s little reason to be concerned with the name on the ticket because they never need to know if it’s really you or not. In fact, I don’t think my name has ever been correct on a domestic flight here, but I’m pretty sure these are details that call for delays in international travel. But I tell myself it’s fine, it’s taken care of, it’s over, it’s sorted, it’s…raining…oh god let the flight go.
I wrote my final journal entry, completing my second journal in Tonga, so I’ve packed my notebook because I can already tell that there are going to be noteworthy events today. I start to think about the differences I’m experiencing leaving my house in Tonga for a trip, compared to leaving my apartment in America for a vacation. In America I might worry that I left a light on, here the electricity is going to be cut off. In America I may hope that the water isn’t running or leaking anywhere…ha yeah, like water ever comes out of my pipes here. In America you might hope that someone doesn’t break into your house, and here…fine, break in, steal the entire stock of nothing that I have, and take all the spiders and rats with you while you’re at it.
And as I think, I realize how little I have to worry about while I’m gone. I really don’t have anything of value that could go missing, no bills to worry about not being paid, the most I’ve thought about in regards to what I might come back to is obscene amounts of rat poop and creepy crawlies. It’s kind of nice actually to be leaving for such a long amount of time and not really have to worry about anything of real importance. It’ll be here when I get back, and if it’s not, it’s someone else’s responsibility to put me somewhere else. Bases covered. These are all the thoughts I’ve had before the sun even rises. Speaking of that…it’s not even 6:30! For the love of Pete and Sue this is going to be the longest day ever…
As the morning drags on, it starts to look like it will be a sunny and clear day. But it’s still hours and hours before I’m meant to go. I’ll call the domestic Airline to make sure the flights are going…yes I feel that this extreme paranoia and caution is most definitely called for at this point. Too many people have put efforts into me having this flight, and damn it, I want to go! Alright, Airline guy says we’re good to go at 4:10, check in at 3pm, this is good. Good. Maybe I should go for a walk or something, it isn’t healthy sitting in anticipation all day, or at least it doesn’t sound great for mental stability. Besides, at this point there’s still over 5 hours before I even go to the airport to check in. Then more waiting…yeah a walk is probably a good idea.
I eventually made it to the airport, then onto Air Zealand, otherwise known as the Disneyland in the sky…there were televisions in the seats, with dozens of movies, shows, games, it was unreal! Plus the free food and booze made the 12 hours go by pretty well. Unfortunately the pampered AirNZ flight made my flights to Phoenix and Indianapolis seem like bamboo shoots under the fingernails.

Noni out...

2009-03-22T15:52:00.001-07:00

I was talking to my friend Amy, another volunteer, about how I was worried about my clothes smelling like mold if I pack them too soon before leaving for my trip. Amy looked at me laughing at my concern and reminded me, “Shannon, you’re going to a place where you can wash, dry, and wear your clothes in an hour! Don’t worry if they smell or not when you get there.” HA! And she’s right!
This will be my last entry before my epic journey back to the homeland. I may or may not write while I’m there, we’ll see, but for now I’d like to share some final thoughts as I prepare to leave. When I first decided to join Peace Corps, and then found out I was actually going somewhere, I pretty much decided I would not come back to America for the 27 months of service. That’s obviously changed, and I’m glad it has for a few reasons.
As days, weeks, and months go by I realize that I miss my family and friends beyond what I ever have before, and I have never been more thrilled to see them than I am at this moment. It’s been a year and a half, and probably the longest amount of time that I’ve spent away from these treasured people. I believe now, that I won’t likely let so much time pass again.
With that being said, I love living abroad, for a long time I thought I would, and I do. I’m not always satisfied with my circumstances in Tonga, but many are outside of my control and I’ve gotten better at accepting that, because while I’m a volunteer that’s how it will be. I wish I had done something like this a long time ago, but better late than never, and maybe I was meant to wait, maybe this would have been harder to do 3 or 4 years ago. So, what after this? What’s happening after Peace Corps? Well I could probably give different thoughts and options, but the end is still a ways away, and those of you who know me best, know that even if I did explain a detailed plan of what I’m going to do when I finish my service, know that it will likely be completely different 7 months from now. Who am I kidding, if I wrote something right now explaining future plans I would likely change my mind before clicking the ‘Post Blog’ option, so I won’t fool myself, or you, by writing one.
So I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I believe this trip is good for a few reasons: 1) I need to see family and friends. 2) I want to know how it feels to be back in familiar places, and then have the luxury of reflection time when I come back to Tonga. 3) I want to do some ‘Shannon’ stuff. I’ll explain…
In Tonga, Noni (me): takes bucket baths. In America, Shannon (again, me): will be taking hot showers every single day, plus submerge herself in bubble baths until properly pruned. Noni: gathers 2-5 buckets of water from her neighbors’ house every day. Shannon: whatever…not likely. Noni: makes her own bread. Shannon: feels that making bread is great, and she likes to do it, but would also like to go to a grocery, pick out one of 30 options of wheat and whole grain already sliced for your convenience bread, and make a sliced turkey sandwich with non-expired cheese, spinach, and bacon for good measure. Noni: loves to dance to Akon and Chris Brown. Shannon: pleads the 5th. Noni: Does not eat at McDonald’s. Shannon: will not eat at McDonald’s…but Subway sounds good.
I’m making note of all the people who have extended their invitations for getting together while I’m visiting, I’ll have my old cell phone that I’ve unfortunately forgotten the number to at this point…I think it’s 336-429…something, something, with an 8, and something else…all are details that can be sorted later. My Mom, Aunt, and Grandmother are taking time off of work, and the generations are going to rock NC, ha. I’m going to my old high school to talk to a couple of classes about Peace Corps and Tonga. I’m used to being in front of large classes now, but not used to the kids being able to fully understand what I’m saying, so the pressure’s on to know my stuff now, ha. I’m pretty much starting my trip with a wedding in Indiana and ending it with one in North Carolina, and many of my Tongan neighbors are convinced that I’m going to get married while I’m away.
My goal is to not have excess idle time; I want to make the most of this trip because you never know the future, never know who you’ll see again, or when, so I say let’s grab a pizza, a beer, a coffee, a movie. I’ve got a month to do whatever I can, and if you’re down with being a part of that experience, then get on board the train. I’m leaving Tonga at 9pm Tuesday the 24th (tomorrow here) and get to Indianapolis at 1am Wednesday morning. Wish me luck, I look forward to seeing all who I’m meant to see, and those of you who I won’t get to see, maybe it’ll work out another time.
Once again, I would like to thank every single person who has helped me make this trip possible, and I hope to thank you in person soon.

Have you read this book?

2009-03-22T15:43:00.000-07:00

It happened today. My neighbors are awesome, they’re a Mormon family that have fed me, invited me to church events, etc. Today at ‘umu (dinner), the Mother of the family gave me a beautiful piece of Tapa (a Tongan craft) to take to America with me, and…The Book of Mormon. It happened today. For over a year, I have expected some attempt to draw me into the Mormon flock, and no real advances have been made, so I haven’t expected it for a while. But it happened today, and I thanked her and she immediately said, “Don’t throw it away.” I guess they have the same recruitment issues here too…
I didn’t throw it away, and I’m not going to, I don’t throw away anything representing a faith. One: if I do, and they’re the ones that end up being right, I really don’t want that kind of strike against me when I meet the maker. Two: it’s just plain disrespectful; just because I don’t agree with a religion doesn’t mean I have to be destructive. Three: I wanted to read through it a bit to make sure I’m not missing something key about Mormonism that I may actually be able to relate to. (I’ve confirmed that there is not)
So I have in my possession now a crisp, clean, brand new Book of Mormon, and have no idea what to do with it. Like I said I’m not going to throw it away, rip it up, burn it, or maim it in any way (so don’t send such suggestions, and you should go pray for yourself for thinking such things.) And I can’t really give it to someone…because I don’t want to technically promote a religion I don’t believe in. What a pickle.
Maybe I should keep it…yes, keep it always, because it may come in handy one day when I have dreadful house guests or something of the like. I can go to the bookshelf and say, “Have you heard of this book?” And said house guests will either leave immediately or choose not to come back, or both. Then it truly would be the “Good Book.” That was a joke of course, I would never do that…one it’s wrong morally, and two, if the same fictional people were to be interested in The Book of Mormon, I’d look like a jackass. No, I probably don’t need to keep the book.
Also, my neighbor will probably be expecting to see it now whenever I go to the Mormon service…nut balls. Well, I’ll just have to keep it and take it to the services I go to and figure out what to do with it later. It’s so hard to talk religion with people from my village. It’s not a good idea to try to explain that I didn’t belong to a church in the states to a community where everyone goes to church, because that’s what you do, and if you don’t…well take my word for it, it’s just easier to go. So far I’ve been able to get by with the vague answer of “a Christian church” when I’m asked where I went to church in the States. Admitting that I don’t have a church, or really belong to a religion at all is something I don’t have the energy to get into here, so I lie, which to me is worse. I wish I could explain, and really convey to everyone who doesn’t know Tonga what it can be like living in a conservative village, where you feel obliged to lie about yourself.
And I’m sorry the Mormons have gotten picked on in this story. But lots of people get picked on in my stories. It’s not that I don’t like Mormons; I’ve known plenty since coming here and knew a couple of families in past, very nice people, nicer than a lot of other people who call themselves ‘religious.’ I appreciate nice people. But also, like many other religions out there, there’s a lot about their story that has a lot of pot holes that I don’t understand and don’t agree with.
I have faith in a higher power, and one day maybe I’ll find a way to celebrate that faith through a church of some kind. But for me, that’s not going to come through someone trying to recruit me or sell me on a church, or even me trying to adopt a religion because I’m afraid of not being a part of something. Faith comes to an individual, it comes in different ways, and that’s probably one reason why there are so many. That’s also why I’m not convinced that there is one out of all that is meant to be the winner of the ultimate ball game.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

2009-03-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

I had an absolutely wonderful weekend, one that can help explain the unique lifestyle that can encourage someone to stay here. This story isn’t always pleasant, there are snags, but Dorothy had to deal with some crap when she followed the yellow brick road too.

From Friday evening to Sunday morning I stayed with another volunteer, I’m sure Amy won’t mind me using her name. Her village is located on an outer island and I have been meaning to do this since we got to our sites over a year ago, so we we’re overdue. With us, was a new volunteer Saskia and the three of us were excited for our weekend; Saskia and I were going to spend some time away from our everyday lives in our villages, and Amy was going to have our company, something that is coveted for some us volunteers.

We did a variety of things: Square dancing with the Mormon youth, which didn’t seem like something to go on the “to do in Tonga” list, but it was fun. We set aside the entire Saturday to explore her island and everything it has to offer, plus observing Amy’s dogs (2 dogs and 2 puppies) in wild pack mode...this is where the yellow brick road gets rough.

The three of us wake up early Saturday morning, have a great breakfast of wheetbix bread we made the night before, smothered with peanut butter and jam, an excellent assortment of teas provided by our stellar hostess, and we were on our way. It takes maybe 5 minutes to walk out of ‘Otea, Amy’s village, and maybe another 5 of walking in the bush for the dogs to detect a pig, and the four of them bolt into the brush. Bush pigs are the pigs that have left the villages for a free life in the unfenced woods. They don’t belong to anyone.

At first we call for the dogs, then realize they aren’t coming back…uh oh, they have successfully hunted down a pig. Like I said, the pig doesn’t belong to anyone, but you still don’t want your dogs to get into the habit of killing pigs in Tonga, they’re valuable, and if a dog is caught killing them they may end up in the ‘umu (as food). So we find them, with fresh kill, and made them leave it. We continue our travels.

We don’t have yellow bricks in Tonga by the way; we can call our road the…muddy stick road, yes that’s more appropriate. So we follow the muddy stick road to one of the other villages, there are two more besides Amy’s and we planned to see them. We walked happily through the thick mud and brush for another 30 or 45 minutes when the dogs made advances on a bird in distress. It was a larger bird about the size of chicken, but not a chicken, and it was stuck in a random fence surrounding a random abandoned house in the middle of the bush. We rush to stop them, succeed, and it’s obvious that the bird has been there for some time. He’s alive, but has ants crawling all over him, likely dying. This is a most horrible way to leave this world but none of us could bring ourselves to put him to a quicker end. So we get him out of the fence, and he miraculously flies off into the deep woods, where we idealistically believe he recovered and lives still today…onward!

Fale Vai is maybe half the size of Amy’s village, with 10 houses give or take. We walked through the village down to a most beautiful beach with the softest sand that I’ve ever felt between my toes since I’ve been in Tonga. We sat and soaked up the sun and scenery of crystal blue water speckled with more tiny islands. We played with a little white crab, and examined his purple under belly…releasing him when our interests were satisfied. Then it was time to go again.

The girls and I, with the dogs, backtracked our way through the same village and this is where the dogs spot a lone piglet…oh, crap. Now, if they manage to kill this pig that obviously belongs to someone in the village, that someone is going to be pissed, and we’re likely to leave with fewer dogs. Amy and I run down to rescue the piglet….whew it’s fine, crisis averted, now let’s get the hell outta dodge before they eat a baby or something. Seriously the day isn’t half over and these dogs lost their cuteness a while back.

It was absolutely a gorgeous day, the sun was shining and we were shaded by trees for most of our trek. We went through brush and mud; we were sweaty, dirty, and happily chatting through it all. When we made it to the final village called Kapa (kah-pah), the smallest of all, it took maybe 5 minutes to walk through. There were few houses and some looked abandoned too. We made our way down to the beach where we made a modest picnic of wheetbix, peanut butter, and peanuts. The three of us were satisfied and tired, so we napped; even the dogs were too exhausted to kill anything. I’m pretty sure Saskia knocked something very creepy from my head such as a spider, but assured me it was just a fly, but I can’t recall a time when fly was ever cause for such an urgent sweep of the hand, but it was nice of her to try to avoid a panic from me.

It was getting later in the afternoon and we needed to start walking back; we took a different route back and needed to ensure daylight. As we walked, we passed dozens of orange and lime trees, picking sour oranges and limes on our way. This weekend I even tried a fruit that I hadn’t had the entire time I’d been here, I don’t even think I had seen it until Amy gave me one. Turns out it’s probably one of the best flavors I’ve ever had in my life. It’s unique to itself, and I’m not sure what to compare it to; the best I can do is to advise any traveler to Tonga to ask for ‘Apele Tonga.

Amy, Saskia, and I make it back to ‘Otea where we bath and begin preparing a well deserved meal….gas runs out. A reminder, we don’t have electric stoves here, and if we did, Amy doesn’t have electricity, so it’s gas all the way. Oh dear, an unfortunate event when you are on an outer island, away from any place that offers tank refills, and even more so on a Saturday night when nothing but bread is sold on a Sunday. But this is where the light shines again at the end of the tunnel…neighbors are a wonderful thing to have sometimes. The people that live behind Amy allowed us to bring our food to their house to cook. They didn’t take our offer to share the food, but I’m sure their kindness will be rewarded with banana bread baked by Amy later. Unfortunately, her dogs did not take any of this into consideration when they kill a kitten the next morning belonging to the same neighbors.

Sunday morning it was time to go back to the main island. The boat ride was short and calm. Saskia went back to her village, while Amy and I went to the Mormon Church conference in Nei’afu. Ha, yeah, random I know, apparently it’s a yearly event. People from her village were going and people from my village were going to be there, and our presence would be appreciated by them; and I needed a ride back to Tefisi. I’m not Mormon, not going to be, but I will say that I’m glad I went to this thing because a man who is very famous among Peace Corps Tonga, who happens to be very famous as Mormon high up guy. Mr. Shumway was here when the first 2 groups of Peace Corps Volunteer groups came to Tonga, worked a great deal with the language here, and even has developed a dictionary. I can appreciate meeting him as I did, talking about where I was from and what I was doing here. Nice guy, this Mormon Rock Star in the Tongan language.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my weekend, because I enjoyed living it a great deal, and where as I am extremely happy that I am going to America in a week, I will miss my home here. This weekend was a reminder of what appeals here; the strange adventures that happen, the random people you can meet, and the muddy paths that take you to places you may never see again.

Old Yeller

2009-03-12T15:13:00.000-07:00

Recently a friend of mine from the States told me that her beloved family dog passed away. It’s very sad, I knew this wonderful guy, and he had a very pleasant disposition. You develop attachments to your pets for so many different reasons, they’re a part of your family, they are friends to you when you are alone, and you’ve put a great deal into their life as well, so there’s an investment of time and money. Attachment to an animal like that doesn’t happen here often, and I’ve tried to follow suit for the most part.

I’m worried about my dog. Sini’s leg has had a nasty open spot on her front leg; I guess it’s her elbow. It’s been there for months and it doesn’t really look infected I guess, but it’s not looking any better either. I’ve tried helping her by taking her to the ocean and cleaning it out with salt water, I even tried wrapping it a couple of times with ointment on it, but she always takes the wrap off…silly Sini. So the ugly open flesh is still exposed to the dirt and flies.

She doesn’t seem to be in pain or favor the leg, I just see her lick it and clean it now and then. I’m at the point that I hope she’ll be fine, but there’s not much I can do beyond that outside of flying her to Tongatapu or something, but I’m afraid my living allowance doesn’t cover those kinds of expenses. I just have to remember she’s a dog; a living being that, like all living beings, will cease to live eventually. She’s had a good life for a dog in Tonga, better than most dogs; I’m sure I’ve explained the normal standard of living for dogs here before.

As hard as I try to not be too attached or too ‘palangi’ over her…I don’t want my dog to be in pain, let alone die. I find her very annoying some days and I forget how great she is, how smart she is, and how much she enriches my life here. Sini is the first dog I’ve ever had that does what she’s told (excluding when she’s told not to chase pigs, cats, and horses), but she sits, stays, fetches, and most importantly she takes her duty of protecting me and my house very seriously. I will never feel unsafe when she is around. Sini is as faithful as Old Yeller, and I only hope things work out better than him and his owner.

I’m especially concerned with leaving her for almost a month while I’m in America. I’m not so much concerned that something will happen because I’m not here; I feel that if something did go wrong with her leg or something it would happen whether I’m here or not. I just don’t want anything to happen and not be here for her, does make sense...sigh, life is life.
Pretty sure there’s another rat in my house again too, butt hole.

Reading Rainbow

2009-03-03T16:14:00.000-08:00

I now work at the Library in my village from 4-8pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays after I finish working with the Primary School. The first 2 hours are for the Primary school kids and last 2 hours for Secondary. I’m excited about the enthusiasm from both children who want to come and the parents who want them to go, but with that excitement I also worry that the interest will only be there as long as I’m around to open the library.

Luckily, I’m getting some help from a few neighbors; actually more than a little, if it wasn’t for them I probably would have quit opening the library after the 1^st week. The kids treat the Library like a McDonald’s Playhouse and saying “Shhh” doesn’t do anything; it’s the presence of the Tongan adults that keep it somewhat in order.

I’m a little irritated that so far about 75% or more of the pencils, crayons, and markers that people have sent me from the States have walked away from the Activities Table I put together. Plus 3 books were thrown away in the bush by some jerk in high school. But I’m not going to get too discouraged, everyone has to learn about libraries and taking care of books, and someone has to do the teaching (raising my hand) and that’s what I’ll try to do. Number one lesson is going to be if one keeps taking all of the pencils, crayons, etc, then they will cease to be provided in the Library.

Speaking of beefing up the Library with supplies and resources, the Primary School in my village has so many alphabet charts, poster materials, books! SOOO many books! That are never, let me make that clear, NEVER used. And when I ask if I can take something to the village library so that it may be used, by the same children mind you, the answers range from…”Sorry, no” or “Not Allowed” WTF? Seriously, god where is the brick wall so that I may strike my head against it?

Lately my best chance at getting these kids to practice speaking and doing activities is at the library where they do not cower for fear of being wrong and being hit…and I don’t have any materials to do it with. The SCHOOL of all places has a plethora that the teachers care nothing about using, and would rather let it all sit there being eaten by bugs, rats, and time slowly demolish them all. This is either hysterically funny or painfully sad, or both, but mostly the latter.

At least more people from the village are starting to recognize of what a waste it is to have resources like libraries and such, just to never use them. Before long I may be writing about how the library is being used every day and how there are computers in the computer lab, and…well I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. A kid reading more is enough for now, and maybe one day it’ll be like Reading Rainbow in Tefisi, minus Lamar Burton unfortunately.

The Passion of the Christ

2009-02-22T17:43:00.000-08:00

I walked into church this morning, and knew there was entertainment afoot…the youth were all wearing matching blue and white shirts, skirts and tupenu’s; a sure sign of some kind of choreographed display prepared. I was right. This morning a lesson was portrayed through the art of song, dance, and…something.
So the music starts, and it’s a recording from a performance from somewhere, who knows where, because you can hear coughing and movement of the person doing the recording. Kind of like back in the day when your Mom and Dad would borrow someone’s oversize portable video camera to tape your 6^th grade graduation. No Tri-pod, so the video keeps jerking sporadically and you hear every movement and clearing of the throat that is made. So that’s what the tape of the music sounded like.
At first there are like six guys and girls on the floor at the front of the church, and I can’t see them so I’m already lost as to where the direction of the performance is going. Then another guy in a white robe walks in slowly making his way to each person on the floor. As he goes to each one, he motions for them to rise and they rise; when the second person he goes to kind of hobbles to him as if his legs were of no use I then realize, Oh it’s JESUS! I get it…
Now that I’m caught up I’m able to follow, he then goes to the blind guy, someone else, and then the prostitute, alright what’s next. I notice two more guys outside coming in with what looks to be…yes it is, a big ol’ cross with nails in it. They come in and hand ‘Jesus’ his burden to bear and then proceed to smack him in the back with their hands and ‘Jesus’ falls to the ground each time until finally they ‘mount’ him on the cross. Luckily this performance wasn’t directed by Mel Gibson, because I don’t think I could have stomached it.
At this point the rest of the matching performance art group file into place and dance in that place, while the ones that were healed by ‘Jesus’ walked through the isles, tapped on shoulders of people, and directed everyone’s attention to the theatrical lesson before them. I was not tapped, therefore I must have been paying attention very well…or they feel it’s a waste to make sure I’m learning something, but I’d rather think that I’m just a good student.
Okay, I know this is not the first time a church has ever reenacted events in holy history; I’m sure I was an angel in the background at the manger at one point in my childhood, but it’s especially fun to watch people my age and older do it today, plus in another language, you get to pick and choose what you think they’re saying…and you know when I went to the Mormon service later in the afternoon I found it a little boring in comparison to the one who’s guest star was Jesus.

Hi, My name is Shannon and I like to drink

2009-02-20T14:21:00.000-08:00

I like to drink. Not Twelve Step drinking, but I like a beer or wine with my meal once in a while or I like to just sit in peace and let the alcohol do the rest. I miss being able to come home, go to the kitchen, and know that there is an ice cold Miller Light not only waiting for me but there’s a frosty mug in the freezer that says “Put Miller in here, he’ll be happier and you will too”

But these days to have alcohol in my home is…well almost more trouble than it’s worth. Let me give you the bullet points:

#1: All alcohol is sold in town, in stores where people I know work or people I know shop, these people I know are not usually people that you want knowing your business if you get the point. But, if discreet and there happens to be no one around that observant and talkative, then it’s a go.

#2: The transportation of the booze goes as follows: if I do not have a backpack that can efficiently conceal the booze then Game Over. Any other plastic or paper bag can obviously be seen into or clearly shows the outline of its contents, and gives your position away to Charlie. Also, the amount of booze effects the efficiency of getting it home, depending on means of transport; for example a six pack can become a heavy burden to bare if you have an hour’s bike ride ahead of you. (We’re not talking about the leisure ride to Broadripple either; I’m sweating from writing about this bike ride).

#3: I bet you’re thinking once you get the booze back to the sanctuary that is your home that all is well and clear. It’s a game of chance, the one night out of a thousand that you decide to bring two beers into your home could be the one night that any neighbor, preacher, or student decides to knock on your door and happens to smell, see, or some how magically feel the presence of ‘drink’ in your home; no one who I can say “Hey sit down and have a snort!”

#4: Finally there’s disposal, probably the easiest but still just as much of an annoyance. I have to burn my garbage, and that doesn’t work with glass or cans really, and if there are remains then I risk the discovery of my boozing. So I can truck it back into town and throw it in a bin somewhere and I’m done.

Those are the steps give or take, and by the time it’s over, then I really do need a drink from the hassle of getting 2 beers to enjoy in the comfort of my own home. I don’t just miss the alcohol luxuries that I once had, I miss what I enjoyed it with…a comfortable couch to stretch out on, Channel surfing, all the ‘down time’ things that can be enjoyed with the end of day drink. Obviously it’s not the same these days, from how I get alcohol to how I enjoy it sitting in a plastic chair with windows covered and lights off.

This isn’t a horrible way to live, women all over the world are accustomed to this, but it certainly makes me grateful that I don’t have to live like this forever. I will have my freedoms of purchasing and consuming alcohol freely again. I will once again have a liquor cabinet in my house, hell I’ll have a liquor room simply because it will please me and likely anyone that happens to stop by…just not here.

The Smack Down

2009-02-20T14:19:00.000-08:00

I was spanked growing up. Not often, in fact I could probably count how many times, and there probably isn’t anyone I know who wasn’t spanked at some point. Everyone has different views how to discipline their own children, but I’m sure most would agree that they’d sooner smack a teacher in the face themselves than let that teacher touch their boy or girl. At least that’s what my Mom said when she was called once asking if I could be paddled at school. I think I had to write an essay instead.
I don’t like corporal punishment, I certainly don’t think there’s a place for it in school, and at my school it seems especially brutal sometimes. 6 year olds have been slapped with sticks for things that would call for reductions of Gold Stars or Time Outs with kids I’ve worked with in the past.
I can’t make it stop. I can remove myself from the situation, I cans ay I don’t like it, or that I don’t agree with it, but I cannot make it stop. It’s not seen as a problem or an issue, and it’s even a Ministry of Education rule somewhere that teachers aren’t supposed to use corporal punishment, but there are no consequences if they do. So in the end, at my school, it bothers me and me alone.
Sometimes I even convince myself that maybe it’s what works here. Then I find myself sitting in another classroom listening to a kid screaming, blood curdling, horrible sounds, and remember that it actually worked they would know their ABCs. Instead, I talk to a Mom about her kid not coming to school for over a week because he was afraid of being hit by the teacher.
There’s a theory that some people have that when kids are spanked it’s fine discipline as long as you show them the same amount of love and affection to create a balance. So you smack your kid, then give them a hug, you pinch their ear, then be sure to give them kisses…something like that. I can buy that with your own kids, like I said, I was spanked and not scarred for life, but I also know there are better ways to discipline. But with the “Balance System,” even if it’s true, you can’t keep the balance if the kid is getting hit at school and no positive reinforcement to balance it.
Much of the time I wish I wasn’t in a school here. I can’t deal with this kind of ignorance to education methods. It’s not ignorance for lack of being informed either; it’s a choice of the culture, society, and school system. Working at this school is like working with a large dysfunctional family, all the adults screaming at kids who just don’t respond to any of it, except the crier here and there. Stuck in house and being the one sane person who can hear everything but has unfortunately lost her voice.
I’m not talking about kids acting up and being wretched, we’re talking about kids who are shy and don’t want to answer questions, or don’t know, and get hit for looking out a window. I literally probably wouldn’t have survived this kind of school when I was a kid.
Then again, did teachers in America stop hitting kids because it was wrong or because they would lose their jobs? Another chicken or egg question I guess.

TMI about MST

2009-02-10T16:33:00.000-08:00

The following may be too much information for some, but for many of you I know it’s very much worth sharing. This is a little delayed, but a few weeks ago all volunteers from my intake Group 73, had to attend our MST (Mid-Service Training). This is where we have a workshop in a useful topic with a Tongan Counterpart we bring. Along with that, this is the time that we all go to Doctors to be checked out and checked off in all kinds of ways necessary to ensure that our health is not compromised (excluding sanity).
First on the list: dentist. My teeth have been more sensitive than usual lately; I think I need more fluoride in my life. Anyway, I go to the dentist and he’s a very nice Tongan gentleman who motions me to the chair and I comply, sit, lay back and he proceeds to explore my mouth. Starting at the top right he starts to count out loud and says, “Oh, this one is missing, they must have taken it out.” He keeps going, and proceeds to inform me of every missing tooth as if it’s his duty to let me know that someone has raided my mouth without my knowledge, possibly drugged in the night, you never know with these things. I almost felt that he expected at any moment I would raise up in shock “Are you shitin’ me?”
But of course, as you can imagine, I was well aware that I do not have the same amount of teeth that was given me for my life’s journey, and couldn’t help to feel that this dentists performance was a little lack luster. When he was finished with role call he said, “Ok you don’t need cleaning, all finished.” I quickly said as politely as I could that my teeth were bothering me and I wanted to make sure I didn’t have a cavity or anything. He said okay and touched the soar spots with the scrapper thingy, then blew air on them with the air blower thingy, and I squealed as if he jabbed a toothpick in my eye. “Well you have sensitivity.”
The man should have his own T.V. show he’s so damn good. “Looks like you’re not brushing correctly; your gums are moving away and exposing the roots.” He took out the giant novelty teeth and toothbrush they used in 1^st grade to teach oral hygiene. So not only does he think I can’t brush my teeth but thinks it best to bring out the pre-school toys as to not move too fast for me. I mean who can blame him; I obviously need help if someone keeps taking my teeth. When he was finished with the demonstration I could see his point, his explanation made sense…at least it will until my teeth drop from my mouth and then I really will start to wonder what the hell happened to my teeth.

Then there’s the physical. We went to a clinic that I went to back in November, so they have a record. They asked for my surname. That’s easy enough; “Gentry.” She can’t find it. “What’s your name again?” Easy question, easy answer, “Shannon Gentry.” She looks and finds nothing. “Surname is Gentry or Shannon?” Sigh…You know what, let me spare you the next five minutes or so of this, she finally found my card when she looked for Shannon, Gentry and yet still asked me if my first name was Gentry. The check up checked out, and I was done! So I thought…

Later that week there was another checkup. The one all the ladies know about. The inevitable yearly exam that doesn’t exactly bring excited anticipation with it. I don’t have to say what it is, you know.
I walk into the same clinic I was just at a week prior. Same lady asked for my surname with my first, and can’t find me again. Of course again the key was looking for someone named Gentry Shannon and not Shannon Gentry. I waited to be called back. “GENTRY” and I go. “Step on the scale Gentry” the nurse says with a smile. I think it’s formal but I do as she says. “Okay come in here Gentry.” Hmm okay. I Correct her “My name is Shannon Gentry.” She smiled and stuck the temperature thing in my ear and wrote on my card. “Okay Gentry…” – “Shannon” I say again. “But it says here: Gentry, Shannon” “That’s my last name and first name.”
She blankly smiled and wrote down my weight…completely wrong! I’m certainly not 170 pounds… “You can wait here for the Doctor, Gentry” and walked out. I wait. Doc comes in with gloves ready to go, and the nurse follows with her cup of tea in hand and familiar instruments in another. Wow…this is different; you’re allowed snacks with the viewing here. I’m done writing about this because I can’t imagine you want to know the rest. Gentry out.

Goin' to the Chapel and We're Gonna Get Married....

2009-01-28T17:50:00.000-08:00

When I was about 11 or 12 I was at a Wal-mart looking at the CDs while my Mom shopped for food in the Grocery section. By the way I don’t miss Wal-mart, if anything my distaste has increased and surely one day this superstore that sustains itself on the consumption of smaller businesses will collapse into itself one day and the villagers may be free once more…wow I really got off track on that one. Anyway, I was looking at the CDs and a boy came over, he was my age, he was cute, and he became my first ‘boyfriend.’ For the next hour, or ever how long it took my mom to finish shopping, we walked around the store holding hands and shared a Mountain Dew, and we were quite happy…at least until we left the store, I mean come on we were like 12, fickle creatures at best. Why would I share this story, a completely random account of childhood history? My friends it is an introductory. I’m going to share with you romantic stories of adults, if they had the same mindset as adolescents playing house.
I have a neighbor, I have many neighbors, but this one has a daughter a couple of years older than I am who moved back here from Alaska where here now ex-husband remains. I may have mentioned before that I helped her with some paperwork, and have had a great deal of time to talk to her about how ‘crazy he is’ and that she ‘really liked him.’ God bless her, she’s a sweet girl…anyway. She left for Tongatapu in November for the holidays and has returned, upon which we talked for a long while about her vacation and the gossip worth sharing. During her hiatus she had not one, but TWO moa’s of whom there were marriage possibilities. Alright so follow me closely here:
Bachelor #1 was someone she was supposed to marry like 6 years ago but it fell through when instead of coming here to our island to meet her parents he went to Samoa…oh young love, but as the Fates would have it they found each other again these many years later. They’re older, smarter, more mature…So Bachelor #1 confesses he still wants to marry her, she says ‘Ok,’ but he must come to Vava’u to properly ask the parents permission, as Mom and Dad do know best. Alas, history again repeats itself and instead of coming to meet the Fockers to ask for her long lost hand, he goes to Samoa again…sunrise, sunset.
The story of Bachelor #2 reminds me a little more of a cluster of 12 year old girls who should not be allowed to have cell phones. The account told to me goes as follows: ‘my friends and I were sitting at a table in a bar and one said she new a guy in Fiji, and I think I know him. So my friend calls the guy and I talk to him on the phone. He tells me that he really like me and that he wants to come here and we can be together. I tell him ok, but he has to come talk with my parents.’ Well of course, if it wasn’t for this requirement she may have had an estranged husband in Samoa by now. I don’t know what has happened with Mr. Fiji, but I’m sure I’ll know if he comes here for nuptials…or will I? That brings me to the next story.
I work with the older sister of the woman just mentioned. She doesn’t live in my village anymore but she still comes to work with the Youth Group. I saw her Thursday to return a movie that I borrowed. The Youth Group Secretary was there, the young guy who lives up the street from me, always very nice. There’s a strange vibe when I walk in, they look at me with one of those, “we know something that you don’t, and we’re not going to tell you what” looks. Don’t you hate that? I didn’t ask what was going on because I’m accustomed to being oblivious; I’m often loitering outside of ‘loops,’ unaware of happenings until well after they are disclosed to everyone else, then are no longer appealing with interest.
2 days later I found out that this loop wasn’t only a loop, but the mother load of gossip! Those two apparently got eloped! Ha, and man are Mom and Dad not fiefia…happy that is. One, they got eloped. Two, who knew they were even together? Three and this one’s not a big deal I guess, but here in this little nook of the world…she’s 10 years his senior and that is scandalous aupito (very). The most insane part of all and you can’t make this stuff up…Dad’s pissed because he’s not sure whether or not he’s related to the grooms Mom. BOMBSHELL!!! Where’s the popcorn and Raisinettes for this show???

So, the next day on a sunny Sunday afternoon there was the official church service that goes on after getting married; that I didn’t know about until I stopped by her parent’s house with cookies; good thing I do this a great deal. She was decked out with white and all the traditional garments and I couldn’t believe I would have to leave the next day for a week for boring old training when this is going on, but wait…the bride is meant to go with me to the training! Yes! I will know all the crazy happenings that have led up to this great scandal of the New Year.
Alas, that same day I asked if she was still going and she said no…yikes there’s a ticket floating around out there with her name on it. Don’t know about you guys, but my experience with plane tickets is that if you find out the day before you can’t go, and can’t at least go another time, you’re pretty much out the cost of a plane ticket. Well here, as long as you can find another body to take the place of the one lost, then everything is fine. You go in, give a name, and if it’s on the list then you go. No IDs required. It’s easier to get on a plane here than a crappy dance club in America where you not only pay ten bucks to get in, but 5 or 6 more for every Bud Light because they’re out of Miller Light, and your chances of being maimed by someone’s cigarette are higher
So, a ridiculously long drawn out story made short for your reading purposes; I found someone else within an hour, and I was very grateful that she didn’t get married before our 7am flight the next morning

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

2009-01-19T10:45:00.000-08:00

It seems like every day someone asks me if I’m married, if I’m going to get married, do I at least have a boyfriend so that maybe the possibility of marriage is in my pathetic single future…the answer is always no. I’m not nearly as concerned with the matter as total strangers seem to be, and their concern is always shown through elaborate facial expressions of pity. But it’s especially tiresome coming from young men fishing for an opportunity to be the ‘moa’ of a palangi gal. Well I have found the perfect defense…lies. Lie, lie, lie, and then lie some more.

Ok, so you might say, “Shannon, lying is wrong and why would you need to lie? Who gives a dead rat whether you’re married or not?” Excellent and very valid point, I know it’s not a big deal, you know this to be true, but it’s a very hard thing to try to reason here. I’ve always explained that ‘no I don’t have a boyfriend,’ ‘no I don’t know when I’ll get married,’ ‘I’m 26,’ ‘no I don’t think that’s too old,’ and you think these questions may end, you think you may be able to give an understandable explanation, but for the most part you can’t. It is complete nonsense that I am 26 years old, with no kids, no husband, no prospect of a husband, and no siblings to boot, so that’s special cause for concern for my poor parents, who are doomed to be grand childless. In Tonga I couldn’t be more pathetic if I was cross-eyed with a tail and no arms.

I got a ride from someone today, a young man who tells me of his aspirations of going to America and maybe he can look me up and we can play tennis together (because tennis was brought up earlier, it’s not an important part of the story though). Then the inevitable ‘do you have a boyfriend?’ question came, and before I knew it, I was speaking of some fictional being that was completely manifested in my noggin. I spoke of a long term, and very serious relationship, and my sweetie is waiting patiently for my return to the U.S. of A.

“You get married with him?” he asked, “Why yes,” I say “we’ve been talking about it ever since he came to Tonga for a visit last year.” And you can see the needle pop this guy’s balloon of hope that my man and I may not be that serious. Oh but we are. “You miss him? You go see him?” he continues, he’s very interested on how things are going with sugar buns. “Yes, I miss him very much. He calls here, I call there, and I can’t wait to see him when I go for a visit in March.” The guy smiles, “Maybe you get married and not come back here.” Haha, we laugh and I say “oh no, we’re waiting until I’m finished working here, and when he’s finished with school he may come here again and we’ll travel around…blah, blah, blah”

This goes on and on, he keeps asking me questions and I keep responding with ease, describing my lover boy and our courtship. I never knew that I could perform so well on the fly; I’ll have to remember this new talent. I mean, I even believe that my fiancé is waiting for my return…boy am I going to be pissed when he’s not at the airport to pick me up…typical.

2009-01-12T16:11:00.000-08:00

I love food, that’s not a secret, I like to eat it, I like to cook it, smell it, shop for it, and…yeah I really enjoy food. Like anyone else I have preferences to some things over others, but not usually picky in the way of “well I’m not eating that” and I’ll try anything once. The reason I’m not picky is because I don’t like extreme pickiness, it irks me. Sometimes I suppose there are valid reasons to be picky, not often but I’ll admit those times can exist. But I’ll tell you the time it’s never, ever, ever cool…when your pet is picky. If you have a dog or cat that ever turns their nose up at food, then it’s in my opinion they don’t deserve to eat that day unless they go catch something like God meant them to, or they can learn to appreciate that we try to take the middle man out for them.

I have seen my dog, Sini, eat anything from decomposing body parts to something else’s fecal matter, yet when I put ramen noodles in front of her she walks away as if I just tried to pass Styrofoam and glass as turkey and gravy. I get why American dogs do this kind of crap, they are spoiled, have options, and their preferences are catered to. Your dog doesn’t like that brand of dog food so you have to buy the one that costs a dollar extra, or the cat only likes tuna and chicken flavored, so don’t forget and buy beef. Well I think its all bunk. But in Tonga, when the neighboring dogs are constantly fighting over scraps and you could play a jingle of your choice on their ribs, Sini better eat the damn chicken flavored noodles I put in front of her. But she doesn’t, instead the greedy little jackass goes around to our neighbors and eats what little food is thrown out to the pigs and dogs that don’t get that courtesy on a regular bases anyway.

My neighbors actually give her food! I tell them not to, especially when they don’t normally do that with other dogs, but since she’s my dog well it’s different. She’s a Palangi dog, she’s pretty, not all ratty and skinny looking…because I feed her, she’s not riddled with vicious battle scars…because I feed her, the only thing she does with other dogs is play, she’s not hungry enough to do anything else like try to rip each other apart. Wow, I mean I don’t treat her like a Palangi dog really, except feeding her, playing with her, petting her…well I guess I do, but I still don’t understand the developed pickiness that I never cater to.

I don’t think it’s good the way many Tongans treat animals, there’s often no compassion given the pathetic starving dogs, cats, or pigs, and personally I think if you’re willing to keep any animal around you need to put efforts into it’s general survival. Then again, in America it’s the extreme opposite where animals have annual physicals and specially formulated food with Calcium, iron, vitamin A, B, C, W, X, Y, Z…are you starting to follow me on this one? You know what I’m going to point out next right? Same thing I have in the past, there are starving animals but no starving or homeless people. I’m not saying one polar opposite is supreme over the other, I’m just pointing out this other realm with its societal function that is so different from another. It’s really weird to have lived in two places that so intensely differ.

Do I sound like a Hippie yet my friends? Liberal mumblings of societal change, and I bet you can visualize my “I ♥ Obama” bumper sticker crookedly stuck on my environmentally friendly hydrogen car, while listening to The Beatles promote yellow submarines and promise that all you need is love. Well I guess I can’t argue, but there are worse things to be…like a picky eater.

Stuck in the Moment

2009-01-12T15:59:00.000-08:00

I go to the library in the mornings. The kids that show up play games and we read a book or two. I think it’s more or less just something to do for us both. When I ask around my village, I’m told that there is a new committee formed that can help with the library, maybe any other projects with me. Ha, it’s funny that I’m the one asking for help, and if you don’t see the irony then you need to put more thought into what I just wrote. Alas, when I ask to meet with this committee it’s always ‘yes we will’ and then we don’t.

The clinic that was supposed to house a nurse for my village by the New Year is still empty, and looks even more forsaken now that the grass and weeds have swallowed the entire area. I’ve tried to contact the ones that promised the nurse, my calls go unanswered, there are no responses to my emails, and pigeon carriers probably wouldn’t produce any more or an outcome. So the waiting game I will play. I’ll wait in the library while the grass grows, with my notion that patience is a virtue.

It’s raining a great deal lately, with angry winds that slam open doors the way I want to some days. I envy the wind that can show anger and frustration the way I wish I could sometimes, but know that it would be fruitless. Who would understand? How will that help? I possess absolutely no control, it alludes me the same way that understanding has. Expectations are meaningless, so I give them away. Accomplishment is a word I learned at some point in life, but I don’t know what it means anymore so I can’t teach it. An 8 year old will parrot English in the form of “it looks sexy” and I can’t laugh at it today, maybe tomorrow.

Right now, for this time in a day, I’m stuck in a moment where no matter how much you sweep, dirt and body parts of insects will remain on the floor. Books will never be cracked unless they are being cleaned or happen to fall over. Mosquitoes will not be stopped by any means of repellant, sweat always follows the shower, and the glass is almost bone dry. Today is a day I feel unwanted, uninvited, disrespected, and simply disliked. But I know this feeling won’t last, it never does, and tomorrow may bring a better day. My concern is that I can’t tell if by enduring this and writing about it, am I being a strong or weak person, am I being self-less or selfish? Am I complaining or simply sharing? I apologize if it seems like the first because it’s not meant to be complaint or a request for sympathy, just an account of the moment.

The library is empty, the air is calm, and when there is nothing else, thoughts and mosquitoes are dependable.

Follow Your Nose

2009-01-11T17:23:00.000-08:00

Started to notice a strange smell the other day, nothing too surprising, there are plenty of strange smells to choose from every day. But this smell…well it wasn’t unfamiliar but not something I’ve smelled around my house before. I thought about the options and immediately didn’t want to believe what came to mind. The smell was the aroma that death carries with it, and I didn’t want to believe that it had carried itself into my house, but I took a look around anyway. I searched everywhere, and to my relief I didn’t find anything, so I came to the only logical conclusion: It must be outside or it’s my imagination… Well first prize for me for denial!

So another day goes by and by the 3^rd day, ok the smell isn’t going anywhere, its home is here in my home, but where??? I follow my nose, I look in every corner and all over the house, and when those 2 minutes were spent, I was stumped again…until I looked up. Tapa.
Okay, Tonga 101 review, Tapa is a local craft that is a made of brown paper-like material to form a thicker mat-like craft with intricate designs all over it in dark browns and black. Often, it’s used as a gift for such events as funerals and weddings, but sometimes as a cover separating the outside roof and the inside of a house whilst allowing any small creature to easily move about above. My house would be the example of the latter. Moving on…

Like Toucan Sam, I followed my nose to a corner spot in the ceiling, but unfortunately Froot Loops were not stashed there for discovery. There was a bubbled out piece of Tapa and like any 9 year old would do, I poked it with my broom just enough for some hair and a couple maggots toppled out…is it too late to say if you have a weak stomach, have eaten, or plan to eat in the near future, that maybe you shouldn’t read this story?

Well I had seen enough, and knew that I wouldn’t be able to dispose of this problem myself without causing more of a mess, so I sought out help. Luckily my Moa in waiting, Taufa Si’i, was home. “Moa” has two meanings in Tongan: chicken, as in KFC finger licking good, or…boyfriend/girlfriend. Yeah I don’t really get it either, but it’s never ending talk about having a Tongan Moa with the Tongans. Taufa Si’i sometimes comes over, plays with the dog and chats with me a bit while I do dishes, very innocent behavior. Of course he is not my Moa, but he’s nicer to have a around than the other guys, but I don’t think I’m bringing any souvenir back to show Mom and Dad. I digress again…

Taufa Si’i came to my rescue, my Sir Lancelot if you will, and without losing composure or his cookies, he took the plastic bags I gave him, stood on my one chair in the house and took the rat out, that I can only imagine was riddled with natures most grotesque garbage men. As I continued to throw endless praise and thanks, he walked out the door to dispose of the corpse. Only he didn’t go very far, he went to Lose’s yard next door, dropped it and covered it with some dirt. See, this is why neighbors in general are lame because their dogs poop in your yard, they always come over taking buckets of water, and they dispose their dead rodents next to the mango tree. So I’m certain the universe will rectify this act when the next thing my dog drags up will look painfully familiar.

The smell is gone, and though this act of chivalry hasn’t won my undying love and affection for Taufa Si’i, it certainly has earned him an infinite amount of baked goods for the rest of my service. I mean seriously the guy drug a decomposing rat out of my ceiling, give him a damn cookie.

Oh Come All Ye Faithful

2009-01-06T17:01:00.000-08:00

Church, and the attendance of, seems to be important to the majority of Tongans. Lots of buildings are around that you can take yourself to in order to sing praises of Sisu (Jesus). There’s the Wesleyan church, Free Church of Tonga, Catholic, Assembly of God, and the Mormons with their nice Basketball courts ready to kick it wit’ Christ. Everyone has a place to go on Sundays and Ueike Lotu (Week of Church), which happens to be this week.

Now, for over a year I have been splitting my time between the churches for the sake of seeing everyone that I can rather than going to one church. Another reason I do this is because I do not belong to a church, anywhere, and don’t want people in my village to think that I prefer one church to another. Sounds silly and ridiculous? Yes agreed, but it happens. For many, it’s about where the Volunteer prefers to go, and “ha-ha she likes our church better than yours.” And I actually do prefer some services over others, depending on how long they last, the amount of familiar faces in the crowd, and most importantly how much time they dedicate to converting me and saving my soul. Less is more, that’s my personal opinion.

I’ve never been a big fan of pushiness or bullies when it comes to faith. To each their own and leave it alone…But sometimes no matter where you are people like to know that others agree with them and want as many people to be in their same boat, or ark.

Example, I’ve been to one church in my village twice the entire time I’ve been here because each time it was 2 hours of being yelled at, and I was pretty thankful I didn’t know what was being said for the whole thing, bits and pieces were enough to lower my comfort level. The woman next to me constantly nudged, almost pushed, me to go up with the line of people who needed to be forgiven, saved, and placed lovingly in the hands of God by the mortal man with his book and outreached hands.

Thoughtful, thanks but no thanks; I’m fairly comfortable with the current condition of my soul. I couldn’t relate to that kind of faith when it was presented to me in southern English, so it’s not anymore appealing in another language. At first I thought we were having communication issues when this same woman asked me to come for the same song and dance, and I reminded her that I go to all churches to see people, I don’t go to join the church. Maybe she doesn’t understand, so then I go, but it’s not a misunderstanding, at least not one that I’m willing to work through. Therefore I don’t go anymore. I mean really, even the Mormons don’t try to convert me when I go to their services!

Yesterday I went to a service at another church I haven’t been to in a while, but not for any reason of avoidance, just haven’t been in a while. But it’s church week, this is the time to make an appearance. I was sitting between two women, the one on my right was trying to be helpful by telling me in English what hymn the priest would announce (though I know enough Tongan to keep up with such things, but I didn’t think it a good time to indulge my ego by pointing it out). Before I knew it, the service was over and as we were getting up to leave the same woman asked me if I’d come to tomorrow’s service. I politely declined, saying I planned to go to another church. I didn’t say as much, but I’m not a person who is physically or mentally able to commit themselves to more than one church service in a day, I found that out here when I tried to do it. Wow, the smile dropped from her face faster than a rock to the ground, and she walked away without a word…sigh.

The church I go to most often here is great. For the most part you’re in and out in an hour, there’s minimal yelling, I know more people there (who love to feed me after church), and they post all of their sermons and hymns conveniently at the front of the church. Even though I don’t consider myself a part of any specific church, it is nice to be able to follow along without someone slapping me across the face with the word of God. They read it in Tongan and I follow with an English Bible, I sing along with the help of my Tongan hymn book, and I belt it out too! I could easily sit through these services in a daze, completely oblivious to what is going on, but I feel like if they are going to respect me enough to allow me to be there without insisting that I participate in Communions, or profess my undying love for the church and so on, then I can at least put effort into knowing what the lesson is for the day.

Say It Right

2009-01-04T16:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder why I’m here. That’s a very popular phrase I think. “I wonder why I’m here” well yes, that’s the million dollar question. One can ask themselves that no matter where you are in the world, I’ve asked that question more than I can count over the years. Never once have I had a satisfactory answer, or at least not one that I didn’t have a counter answer to. But here…it’s a strange situation of generally happy, me being happy living abroad, on an island in the pacific, living the childhood dream that I had. But I didn’t join the Peace Corps in order to make myself happy, and there are times when I feel like that’s all that I’m doing.

I wish I knew Peace Corps volunteers from other countries. I feel like it’s really hard to live up to the idea of what a volunteer is…here. When I thought about becoming a volunteer, yes the idea of living abroad not at my own cost was very appealing, but I would be a pathetic person if that were my only motivation. I wanted to help. I had romantic ideals of fighting AIDS in Africa, living without electricity, forget having a laptop. Then you’re offered Paradise Island and the desert, AIDS, and malaria are forgotten, yes you think that there will still be hardships, and there will be, just not the same as you previously thought. The hardships that are hardships aren’t a big deal in comparison to your initial thoughts of what they could be.

I’m torn though these days, from being happy, then guilty for being happy, to content, then frustrated that I can’t seem to help anyone except in ways that I decide on. I have nothing but contradictory feelings about living here as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I think about leaving because I feel like I’m taking advantage of a system that’s placed me somewhere where it’s perfectly acceptable not to do anything, no one will complain, and God I wish they would. But I don’t want to quit, don’t want to be a quitter, then that would be shameful, disappointing. Talk about your proverbial rock and hard place.

I’m not the only volunteer who feels this way, hell people have quit for the reason of not feeling like they are put to use, that there’s no reason for them to be here. And that’s the key! There’s only so much you can do with your own motivation when it comes to helping others. If it were just me being responsible for me, then I wouldn’t care about the effort of others…but how can you help people for 2 entire years when it’s one-sided, when it’s always you the volunteer coming up with projects. How do you continue to justify being somewhere for the purpose of helping when no one seems to want actual help?

Don’t get me wrong, there are people doing great work here, we’re in different situations though, every volunteer is in a different place, different mind-set, different lots of things. That’s why some people stay and some leave, and then the rest of us don’t know what’s best. To stay when you feel it’s wrong, or to leave and feel like you’ve failed. I’m the first one to say ‘just get through it,’ ‘find your niche,’ ‘it doesn’t matter how many people you help or how you help them, help is help’. But it’s starting to feel like I’m expected to make people happy, not help them. And believe it or not, there’s a huge difference. At least I believe there’s a difference.

I came here to help people, not make them happy, happiness is an individuals’ own responsibility. I didn’t come here to make people happy by being the village Palangi, or jester it seems, that you can make fun of with jokes she doesn’t understand, play dress up, or try to have her say things that will be funny because she doesn’t know what stupid, likely dirty, thing she’s saying. Hell, I’ve even heard that vegan volunteers have actually felt obligated to eat meat to make Tongans happy! WHAT? When was this in the description of service? When is it integrating with a culture and when is it just going completely against what you are and things that are truly important to you.

Yes, integration is important, yes, yes, yes, to all, but people need problems and motivation to do something about those problems, in order for someone to actually help them right?? Well all the integration and playing the role that’s expected, doesn’t magically instill motivation inside people to help themselves. It is absolutely mind numbing to think that someone actually requested a volunteer for my village, when the only projects I’ve been involved with have been only by my own insistence.

Now that I think about it, it’s strange that we are trained to help figure out problems for when we get to our communities, shouldn’t someone have an idea already? I mean isn’t that how they got the damn volunteer in the first place? Because there are supposed issues, problems, or at the very least people who think there are, I mean if we’re here that means someone in this place felt that there was a need, right? Well…Where is that guy? WHERE??? I’ve asked, I’ve begged, I don’t know what else to do! So here I am. Constantly I’m typing, writing, reading, listening to songs that are the same as they ever were but now carry different meanings, and having yet another evening of this, whatever this is. This could be a book, yes it could, and I’m definitely writing enough to constitute a damn novel. Is it wrong that I have time to write this best-seller?

Volunteers, former and current, and administration would possibly say that I need to get out into my community more. I’ve been here for a year getting out into my village, I see that option as just a way to piss me off more, when after making even more of an effort to do the things that really make me uncomfortable, there is still no difference in the amount of interest shown as to why I’m here. Besides, I know plenty of volunteers who speak better Tongan, are considered to be better integrated, and have as much or less success than I do when it comes to projects. What’s more, there are volunteers who have gone above and beyond what you could call sufficient efforts in integration, following all the rules, and trying their absolute best to be faka-Tonga, and in return are shown the most disrespect that you can possibly imagine. So don’t tell me if we do this and that, play by these little rules that you review with us before we start to play this game to make them happy, then we can really help them. You can’t help people for extended periods of time, with extended projects especially, if they don’t want to help themselves. Yes, take initiative, yes come up with ideas, yes be motivated, just do it! But we, the volunteers, can’t just do what we feel is best all the time. I didn’t think that was the business we were in anyway.

Am I saying this right? Is this all coming out in a way that I mean? I’ll tell you what I don’t mean. I don’t mean that I don’t enjoy being here; for the most part that is. I spend plenty of time with neighbors and attend as many community functions that I can. I’m alright. I don’t mean that I don’t like the people. There are bad seeds like the rest of the world, hell it’s like 10pm right now and there are guys hanging around outside my house as usual, I can hear them talking…don’t ask me what the hell they’re doing and why the situation isn’t going to change. But I’ve also met people with good hearts, and I’ve learned a lot about what makes a decent person and neighbor in life. I don’t mean that Peace Corps isn’t what I expected, my Peace Corps experience isn’t what I expected, don’t confuse the two. Lots of wonderful things have happened, and I certainly don’t mean that I haven’t done anything worthwhile in my time here; I’m just not entirely sure what worthwhile really means.

The View

2009-01-04T12:34:00.000-08:00

A year ago when I started to noticed the tendency of surprise evening visits from my elderly neighbor who doesn’t speak English at all, I thought it to be a little bothersome. Standing around in my house, saying ‘it’s really hot’ and ‘I’m fine’ a lot was often surrounded by painful silence, during which I could only think about the dinner I was getting ready to cook, the bath I was about to take, or the sleep I was so desperate to have. Sometimes when I can hear her coming up the steps I’ll still let out a loud sigh/pout while I stop whatever I’m doing and readjust my living space for the unexpected company. Yeah I never said I was a hospitable host all the time…

But I don’t know why it is that when I hear her coming up the steps I suddenly have feelings of dread because now, a year later, I find myself enjoying her company more. Less awkward because my Tongan is better, our conversations have gone past the simple ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ and ‘it’s really hot’ to full on gossip about our neighbors! HA! Break through! Last night we talked about the boy next door whose foot looks horrible because he got it run over by a car because he was goofing around. The woman up the street hasn’t been around in a while because she’s taking care of her sick mom, I should take her some cookies…

Lose said I should get the Town Officer to cut down the rain forest that is my lawn. I said that maybe he was busy, and she said no, that he was lazy. Feisty lady that she is, she huffed as she said that. And while we’re talking I think to myself, HA! When did we get this good? Chatting, gossiping, like we’re on The View, though maybe less invigorating topics I imagine.

She is especially funny with my dog, who loves the company of guests. But Tongans in general don’t enjoy dogs, regardless of how absolutely brilliant and awesome they can be, like Sini. Sini tries to lick, nuzzle, and any other trick she knows to tempt Lose to pet her. Lose’s a good sport about it, and instead of kicking her or throwing a rock like one would normally do, she lightly pats her head once or twice before telling Sini the only phrase she knows to tell her, “Go out.” It doesn’t matter if we’re sitting in my house or on a bench outside, it’s always “Go Out, Go Out” in a tone that is far from commanding. HA! I love this woman! And so does Sini.

We also talked about yet another upcoming trip to Tongatapu I must make in 2 weeks for Mid-Service Training. It’s the Neverending Story with this training business…except less entertaining than the movie with the weird dog-dragon or whatever that thing was. But we bring a Tongan counterpart we work with, and the idea is to learn useful info about working on projects, etc, etc. I will be bringing the Youth Group President from my village, nickname ‘Sugar,’ or in faka Tonga ‘Suka.’ Her real name is Sivi (test). I like to call her ‘masima’ (salt) just to mix it up. I told Lose that too and she laughed, she thinks I’m hilarious of course.

I also told Lose that I’d be off visiting the New World in March. She asked me if my parents were alive, and I said more or less. Ha, ha just kidding! I don’t know how to say more or less in Tongan, and not even sure if the expression would make sense here anyway. Funny thing is, almost every time people ask me about my family they immediately ask straight out if my Mom and Dad are alive. Why yes they are, thank you for asking…

Stay tuned next week when Lose and I will be discussing whether we plan to go to town or not, were there a lot of people in town if we do go, and who’s been going to church like they should. With special guest appearances by Barbara Walters and Oprah who will be talking about whatever it is that they talk about.

The 11th Plague

2009-01-02T13:11:00.000-08:00

There are bad movies out there, worse than dogs that bite or 3rd degree burns, except that the damage these movies can do don’t heal nearly as quickly. Movies like “The Nines,” “I Heart Huckabee,” and that one movie that Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman did before they split up…they were a weird married couple that smoked a lot of pot…well I can’t remember, but these are precious hours of life that are lost forever…And sometimes we even pay for it!
And you know what, anyone that knows me, knows that my taste in movies and television isn’t exactly impeccable. I happen to dance to the beat of the classic works of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, any Mel Gibson movie, Star Trek (not Star Wars) and nothing past Captain Pecard is appealing. But even I know when to say…umm really?

People will disagree…you may disagree…plenty of people have said in the past, “But Shannon, I absolutely loved, NO…adored ‘I Heart Huckabee.’” Well, I just have one question for you then…at the time of your viewing of this movie were you under the influence or not? HA and there’s your answer…in my opinion movies are like driving, it’s probably going to work out in your best interest that you be sober when you do it. Or else you are doomed to wander the earth telling people you like movies that shouldn’t get past the point of “should we make this movie?”

There are so many bad movies here, in Tonga, it’s like the worlds dump site for the movies that aren’t even allowed to be stored in the country they were created in. There are good ones, but mostly bad in some way or entirely. I watched this M. Knight Shamyllan movie that I found in one of the stores that sells burned DVDs. See, these copies are hit and miss; you pay 2 or 3 pa’anga for a movie that was either burned from a good copied, video taped in a theatre, etc. Back to the movie…I like M. Knight in general…’Lady in the Water’ was pushing it, but I can look past it. But this movie here, ‘The Happening,’ I hadn’t heard of before and Marki Mark was in it!

It…was…awful. No wonder I’d never heard of it, even in America with the plethora of crap released every year, we don’t allow such atrocities. But it’s here, ready to be viewed by unsuspecting Tongans, who many after watching a movie like this will think we must all walk and talk like we star in 1953 ‘B’ movies and roll ourselves over with lawnmowers. Ugh…you know that show “Mystery Science Theatre 3000”? Well if you don’t then Google it or download an episode and make the knowledge happen for yourself. Anyway, when you do you’ll understand why movies like “The Happening,” “I Heart Huckabee,” “The Nines,” and God help me Dane Cook should not be allowed to make one more movie! Then you’ll know why they all need to be on ‘Mystery Science Theatre 3000.’ Is that show still on?

So what am I doing here these days? How am I volunteering my time? I’m making a list of all the movies people should....EYES WIDE SHUT! that's the name of the really bad Tom and Nichole movie... a list of all the movies that people should be watching here instead of these others, make a copy of them when I’m in the states, bring them back here, and eradicate the sinful hold that the bad movies have on this nation. Once I bring the movies the natural order of things occur. The movie sellers will burn endless copies for supply and, if there is justice in the world, bad movies will start spontaneously combusting. I’m doing my part by spending my church time praying for that day to come…you can too.

By the way, if you guys ever really want to read about Tonga or work in Tonga, I hear Steve’s blog is pretty good for that…

5...4...3...2...

2008-12-28T14:44:00.000-08:00

This week will not only bring the New Year, but in Tonga it’s also euike lotu. A whole week of church, morning and evening, all the worship and singing you could possibly dream of. I’ve been invited to some services of course, but I don’t know if it’s in me to spend as much time as my neighbors do at church.

I’ve thought twice about keeping the library open this week because, like so much here, if there’s something going on with church everything else can wait. Fair enough. I’ll work on other things…for example, if you’re looking for a New Year’s Resolution, then I have a couple of suggestions that you may be interested in:

Find yourself in a place where you can walk for hours singing “Solsbury Hill” with no interruption of an audience aside from the occasional grazing cow or horse. (Note it doesn’t have to be Peter Gabrielle, I just happen to be a fan. Other suggestions of artist include, but are not limited to, “Invisible Touch” Phil Collins, “All you Need is Love” The Beatles, anything Elton John, and for country music fans- Patty Loveless)
Read a Terry Pratchett book, you’ll laugh. I suggest Good Omens (which he co-wrote, but I’m sure he did most of the work)
Want to lose weight, but don’t want to diet? Screw it! Buy a plane ticket to Tonga and be a god amongst men with your sexy body mass index. Grrrr baby yea!
Avoid Austin Powers references like the one above.

And what is my New Year’s Resolution? Well I’ve thought about that, and I think the best I’ve come up with is that this year I’m going to make it a point to call everyone I know for their birthday. Now, if you would like to receive an authentic Birthday Wish Call from Tonga, you may place your order by emailing it to senoni.rae@gmail.com. Remember to provide your birth date and phone number, and you will receive a personalized birthday greeting from the South Pacific!

But wait! There’s more! Order now and you your greeting can come in English and Tongan! It’s the cultural exchange you’ve been waiting for!

(Shannon Gentry is not responsible for any lost or stolen greetings, and is not to be held accountable for late birthday calls that are due to injury, sickness, lack of phone service, natural or man made disasters of any kind)

What Can I Say?

2008-12-25T09:46:00.000-08:00

What do you say to a child when they say they need presents for Christmas? Keeping in mind, the child is not ‘without,’ and I could be wrong but I feel like one of the reasons that it comes up in the first place is because I’m someone who may be able to supply them with sympathy and possibly gifts. Also keep in mind that this may not be the reason it comes up, but it’s one of those situations where there seems to be confusion of need and want, so the perspective (mine) may affect the reaction.

The child says I need presents and awaits my answer…what do I say? I want to explain that you don’t need presents, you want presents. A person can need lots, but more junk to throw around isn’t one. But how can I teach this ‘after school special’ lesson without being condescending or looking down from a pedestal? I feel both even as I write this.

She doesn’t know that she has food and others don’t, that she has shelter and others don’t. She doesn’t know, kids don’t know, I didn’t know. She says this so I’ll think its faka-ofa (pitiful) that she isn’t getting lots of presents like I must be accustomed to getting. And believe me I’m not saying that I haven’t gotten plenty in my life, more than enough, more than someone deserves, but I don’t want someone thinking that that’s the important thing about Christmas or life for that matter, to me or all Americans.

How can I not resent this ignorance on display right now? I have to change it, not resent it, I have to recognize it’s a child’s words based on assumptions and what people have told her. I have to not pull my hair out, or cry, when at this point all I can think about is my family, my friends, what I want, and I have no sympathy or care left to invest in frivolous wants. How do adults do this? How do you try to preserve their right to be a child without punishing them by telling them how wrong they are?

I’m not morally superior, just exhausted and in my own world at the moment trying to make sense of nonsense. Possibly a little selfish today too…

What do I do? What did I do? I gave the ‘after school special’ lesson. We talk about her uncle flying in from Australia for Christmas. We talk about their Christmas Day dinner of fish, horse, and I’m taking a shot in the dark and saying there will be some root crops…(I say it like that because there will always be root crops) And horse is very good, have I mentioned that?

The attention was not on toys, money, or other things that will be important to a degree some day again after Tonga.

Then we made puppets. She named hers Jennifer and asked me if I knew about the “Twins Tower.” I told her I did know about the Twin Towers. She asked me if I knew about Saddam and I said yes. She asked if I knew about Osama. I said yes. She told me they were bad, and I said yes. I asked her how she knew about them and she said, Internet.

Then she started to sing, and asked me if I knew the song “Jesus is True.” I said no.

'Tis Da Season to be Rory, Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra Ra

2008-12-22T17:18:00.000-08:00

Christmas, holidays in general here, is an odd time. At least for me, an American used to lights, crowds, music about bells, harking heralds, deer with high beams on their noses, fat men who are forgiven for trespassing this one time a year (rewarded with cookies no less).
This Christmas, the one that I know, that I’m used to, is not here. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, but what makes being here hard for the holidays is that it’s so easily forgettable that it is in fact Christmas Eve tomorrow. That is a sad thing. It’s good in a way too. What if it felt completely like Christmas and I wasn’t with the family and friends that I wanted to be with?
Christmas isn’t everywhere you turn. It’s not playing on the radio as re-made songs (can’t say that I crave an “N-SYNC” Christmas though). Christmas winter and snow is a mythological legend. And no matter how hard you try, a coconut tree will never take shape of a beautiful green fur, covered with lights of epileptic proportions. No matter how many families invite you to Christmas Day dinner, not one will include turkey, your Mother’s cranberry jello salad, your Grandmother’s pound cake, or your Dad’s endless monologues from ‘A Christmas Story’ and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy or depressed for the holidays, just explaining the differences. I look forward to having a Christmas that I’m familiar with again one day though. To have those weeks of songs and decoration surrounding every turn, serving as a constant reminder of what is coming, gives me happy feelings. What a wonderful thing to look forward to.
Since school ended about 3 weeks ago, I’ve been spending every morning opening the library. Some kids come…We play games, even sing some Christmas songs until I try to teach them ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’ at which point it’s too bothersome, and they want to stop! They know most of the religious Christmas songs, but the Jingle Bell Rock and Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer have been lost in the culture trade.
I’ve also been informed that Christmas Eve isn’t really a part of the celebration here. Maybe it’s a big part of celebration for some people, like me, there was still family stuff going on…And because the night before Christmas was when the big guy came with the presents, therefore an important time. No big guy here, so no pre-game night. Just Christmas Day is celebrated. It’s celebrated that day and then…done. Nothing really leading up to it and pretty anti-climatic after, it seems. Basically like turning the light switch on to check out the basement, and when you’ve found the jar of preserves, then lights out until next year.
I’m not saying I miss the extreme commercialized side of the American holiday season. Chaotic shopping and crazed mothers biting each other for a Pokemon doll is NOT COOL. But I do miss the things that I’m familiar with and love, who wouldn’t?
The kids that come to the library are currently working on calendars. The production rate is slow, but I should have plenty of classic last minute Christmas gifts ready for you guys back home soon. And in case you don’t hear the sarcasm and joking tone in that sentence then, YES, I am breaking child labor laws…
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! And Boxing Day, Hanukah, Kwanza, and if you don’t celebrate anything…well you just have yourself a happy regular old day.

Signs of Life

2008-11-25T17:05:00.001-08:00

It seems that I haven’t made attempts to update the outside world on the goings on here for just over a month now. This might make you come to the conclusion that A) I’m trapped on that LOST island somewhere in the South Pacific, B) nothing is happening here to write about, or C) maybe I’m so busy, that there’s not enough time to compile all the happenings in a neat little blog bundle. Well, on a scale of 1-10, I guess the latter is closer to my situation. See Figure 1.

Figure 1 I’m at about 8

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Not doing jack Too Busy to Blog

But now that I’m writing, let’s just review what’s happened this past month besides my 26th Birthday and possibly more important, a shiny new President for America! Now, I know there are some people not overly excited by the outcome of the recent election, and I can empathize, really I can. I mean if the votes had went the other way…well I wouldn’t be very happy; I imagine the feeling would be similar to standing on the deck of the Titanic while the band played that last tear jerking song. But like Celine Dion…your heart will go on too. As for the rest of us who are happy about Obama, I hope you enjoyed watching the election as we all did here.

Since the beginning of September, school days have slowly been descending the productive latter. This is due to the completion of the end of term tests that have been the focus all year, and once they’ve been taken, then there’s not a lot of effort put into academics. Don’t ask me why they schedule this test 2 months before school is officially out, there’s not an answer for you. But as a result, my schedule has changed and now allows me to spend more time and energy in other projects that I will now provide you in a bulleted point summary:

Health Education in the village (basic nutrition and exercise)
Healthy Cookbook that includes Tonga available foods
Recently approved for grant for HIV/Aids Awareness project
Collecting health education resources for a Resource Kit that future volunteers can use
Assisting neighbors in divorce paperwork (yeah go figure)

Anyway, these are the things that have been popping up to keep me occupied in addition to so much more! The new volunteer group, 74, has been here and has almost completed training. There are about 6 or so coming to our island here, and will be here to spend Thanksgiving with us. I’m actually off to start making some pies for tomorrow, and tomorrow morning the all day cook and gorge fest will begin. All we need is the T.V. marathon of A Christmas Story that TNT usually provides…sigh.

I’ve gotten my hands on some paint, and so I’ve been redecorating my house inside and out. The Yellow Brick Road now resides on my floor, along with a depiction of the world on my wall, and a giant flower on my front door. My neighbors think I’m just getting ready for Christmas by painting all this stuff, because that’s how you get ready for Christmas? There’s still paint left too, just imagine, what if I woke up to a Christmas tree painted on my ceiling, now that would jingle bell Rock! (Well what would you do after a year of gray and white cement? I mean Martha Stuart wouldn’t be too impressed with what I’ve done here I’m sure, but she’s been in jail for eating babies or something, so my interest in her decor advice is less than heightened.)

What else? Well…I’ve read a couple Dan Brown books…not The Da Vinci Code, but I’m gonna! He’s great! Deception Code, Angels and Demons, the conspiracies, interesting characters and plot turns, yes, all good stuff…good stuff. My dog brought me an early Christmas gift of the upper jaw of a horse (teeth included), she’s a sweetheart.

So there you have it, signs of life that you were looking for. Everything is going well, and I hope the same for all of you reading this, hey I even hope all is well for the slackers not reading this, they deserve good times too.

Hairy Situation

2008-10-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

Hair, like in so many other areas around the globe, can be important, vital even, in manners of social acceptance, status, and reflection of a person...more or less. Tonga is not different. Hair, long hair, is what makes or breaks some women and their appeal. The longer the better, Repunzel has nothing on some of the women here and should consider cutting her shame for Locks for Love. Yep, your hair can have streaks of faded gold from failed attempts to highlight, have dead hair at the ends from 12 years ago, but as long as it’s at least reaching your bottom…you are too sexy for yourself.
Hair, for me, has for a long time been a love/hate relationship. I love to do things to my hair and it hates it when I do. For years now one of my favorite things to do is to allow my hair to reach a peak of beauty and then do something that takes it down, not only a notch, but to depths that Great Clips wouldn’t. There was the time I got it cut to try to match the cute short hair of an Ashley Judd or a Meg Ryan…bad. There was also the time I thought a Strawberry red/blonde would just go perfectly with…absolutely none of my features. And then who could forget the ‘Black Out of 2003’ when I accidentally dyed it black with a faulty home kit. Yes that happens. No I did not misread the label. No I had never dyed my own hair before. Yes I know you shouldn’t buy hair color kits marked down to the 2 dollar bin. No I…listen now that’s not the point. The point is I’m just adventurous when it comes to the hair ok?
My hair these past few months has grown, and grown and grown some more, there’s something in the water I guess. WHICH by the way I have access to in my house now, and is another story…that ends with me being able to take a shower in my shower for the first time in a year. It was nice.
So, yes the hair. Very long and pretty hair. Pretty, pretty, pretty and especially pretty by the standards of Tonga. But heavy, ugh and hot, and I get bored…I get bored and sometimes I get silly, but this was the first time a got scissors. After finishing one of my last bucket baths, before the miracle of indoor plumbing, I picked up a pair of scissors then collected a portion of hair in the front, considered for a moment and, without really seeing the happenings, heard the snip. And there it was, in my hand, my commitment to the project I just began, my commitment to the “Home Cut.” I keep going. This isn’t so bad, haha, ok now the other side. Hmm that doesn’t look right, maybe this. Oh. Hmm. No this is bad. Oh God this is bad. This is “Kid on the short bus” bad. This is “I am not going to Picture Day” bad. Bad bad bad, superbad bad.

So it was bad. By the time I was done I had a strange mullet-like cut with a slight rat tail strand that I missed in the back. Someone should be nearby with a rolled up newspaper, ready to say “no” when I do these things. Maybe then the madness would stop. Then I go outside, to be viewed by my neighbors, who I’m thinking won’t say much about it, they won’t want to hurt their resident Palangi’s feelings. “Malo e leile Sivi” I say to the Youth Group President. “Malo e…oh. What happened to your head?” “Oh” haha “I cut it, do you like it?” “NO! It should be long like this.” And she pulls her hair around to provide visual learning. Sigh, even the people who always tell me what I want to hear, regardless of the reality, will not tiptoe around this monstrosity.
It’s less bad now, actually good, another volunteer came to my rescue, or technically I went to her. Either way, not it’s fine, not that it needs to be fine, bad, or beautiful, I am in fact on an island. I was hoping that this obviously disastrous move in the Tongan opinion would at least lighten the attention from the youth men, the silly cat calls, and such. No.

Isn't It Ironic? yeah I really do think

2008-10-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

Irony…Alanis Morissette apparently knew a great deal about the subject back in ’95. Anyone, aside from my beloved, highly regarded parents- yet lacking in pop-culture knowledge, knows the reference I’m referring to. My song goes a little more like this:

Isn’t it ironic…?

It’s like rain, but no water to drink…or shower or flush
It’s like having a bike, but not a pump to inflate… (the tires)
It’s like having 20 new DVDs and not a player in site
It’s meeting the man of my dreams…wait, I’m getting carried away

So I guess you can guess that some things have been going on here that are no less than ironic and just plain annoying. I’ve mentioned the water, and the lack there of, I’m getting used to it…or not…yeah not really, I’ll be honest and say it’s increasingly lame. But I have high hopes, well maybe not high, but hope that the problem will be solved, and the week before my indefinite departure from Tonga there will be water flowing from the faucet in my house. But at the rate things are going, I don’t want to wish too hard for water because I’m likely to receive it in the form of epic flooding in my house…no thanks.
The bike, that I feel I got an excellent deal on while I was on the main island maybe a month ago, hasn’t been ridden because the airport people deflated the tires to get it on the plane. This was bad because I didn’t have a pump…but all is well! It turns out my neighbor has a pump, and I rode my bike to town yesterday for the first time. Took me 1 hour! But I had to walk over the steeper hills, and my “In-Shape” status has definitely taken a plunge since being here. My body hurts and is upset that I would pull such a stunt without proper warning.
I miss having ‘Good Morning America’ or the ‘Today Show’ going on in the background during my morning ritual of getting ready for the day, and while eating my meals when there’s no one else around to share them with. For the past few weeks, or months, who knows, I put in the same DVDs just to have this luxury delusion of having a T.V. and remember what used to be normalcy. I was recently blessed with a plethora of video options, thanks to other volunteers and a wonderful friend named Mel :), I now have 3 different shows to choose from…at least for a season. It’s really like having a T.V. now where I can watch one show, then a different one, and another one, and it’s like prime time! Except that days after these gifts were bestowed my laptop died…yikes. Well, it’s not as bad as it sounds, turns out it’s just the power cord and easily replaced, just not quickly.
I’m not so much bothered by it; entertainment comes in many forms such as reading Terry Pratchett books, listening to the radio, watching the dog chase the wicked pigs from my yard, and whatever. The real problem is me having to come all the way to town when I get the notion to write my emails and interesting blog entries such as the one you are currently enjoying. Most recently though, I’ve found that work requires that I have access to a computer…yes, let me tell you about this update.
Last week, pre-computer death, I found out that the Director of the Ministry of Health was going to be in Vava’u for a few days. I’ve wanted to do something with the Health Clinic facilities next door to my house for a very long time, but have not had access to it, no one is there to open it, and no one has been able to help, me out with this problem. So I went to the Director, who in this case must be The Wizard, about forming some kind of Community based Health Education program that could be offered through the Clinic. Long story short, he like the general idea, he wanted a PowerPoint proposal, I did that…and now a week later, he wants me to come to the main island for a couple of weeks and work with other health promoters that work for the ministry and become familiar with what they are currently using for Community Health Promotion. So, in preparation, I need to work on a clearer project outline, goals, etc, etc, and no way to do it from home now…pain in the pea hole.

So every day this week I’ve come to town, if for nothing else, just to use the computer to get work done. The thing is, if I still had the luxury of a functioning laptop at my house, I probably wouldn’t have come in to town at all. When I pictured Peace Corps, I never pictured the need a computer for work, and I’m guessing you may be having the same thought when you read this. I just started bi-weekly sessions with the teachers at my school in basic computer skills too. Computers seem to end up being the center of work wherever I go, welcome to the age...

Picture Perfect

2008-10-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

When I came back from town the other day I noticed a car parked in the road in my village. As I came closer I realized that there was a Palangi hand reaching out with a camera taking pictures of the surroundings, they're beautiful of course overlooking the ocean. Well that’s nice, I thought to myself, then realized what he was taking a picture of...two pigs grazing. Yes, this older couple who had likely paid thousands of dollars to be in this paradise home away from home in order to “get away from it all,” was taking pictures of the local livestock. To me, this is like driving from New York to Florida to take pictures of Disney World’s parking lot.

I would understand this act more if it were livestock that the rest of the world may be unfamiliar with, sayyy a water buffalo with two heads, but pigs I do not feel are unique in this way. Maybe I’m biased, maybe heartless, maybe sensible…but I’ve developed somewhat of a hate for these creatures that constantly break down my fence, dig muddy trenches around my house, and leave their essence behind as a parting gift for me to find when trying to walk around my yard. The only Kodak moments I want of any of these pigs are of them on the spit as they are transformed from useless foul beings, into tender succulent versions of their former selves that can be enjoyed with BBQ sauce and coleslaw. This, to me now, is their rightful purpose.

The tourists are funny in this very strange way though, and I often wonder if most of us are like this in more “developed” countries all over, and we are, and I am, or have been I know in some way, maybe not the same as the tourists here...

When walking down the main street in town I’ll catch a Palangi tourist trying to feed and coddle one of the hundreds of starving dogs, and will often remark on the “outrageous mistreatment of these creatures.” Never see this scenario when the homeless, starving, misfortunate creature is a person…those people just need to get jobs? Maybe the dog needs to go back to old school instincts and catch its dinner…just saying. So Tonga has some starving dogs, so what? The only people you see on the streets are loiters, not homeless or hungry. The word you are looking for is perspective, say it with me. Believe me, mine has definitely changed because even though everything's not right here, it's not all wrong either.

Do a Little Dance

2008-10-06T13:43:00.000-07:00

Have I explained the “Konseti” yet? Or a “Kai Pola”? I didn’t think so. Well, the first is exactly as it sounds…concert; music is played, people dance around with their necks decorated with flower necklaces, along with any other colorful garment they have, and the idea is to raise money. People go up to dance and onlookers stuff money in the dancers’ shirts and such. (See, in some countries you don’t have to go as far as to take your clothes off)
I’ll give you a hint about the second one, “kai” means “eat”…Yep! Big feast for everyone! Roasted pigs, tons of fried hotdogs, chicken, and everything else you can imagine…well except Caesar Salad with grilled chicken and parmesan, but hey, sacrifices are made in life.
Almost everyone goes to these things, and the cool thing about living in small villages is that if you didn’t get the invitation in the mail (likely because that’s not done here anyway) there is absolutely no way that you could be in the village at any point during the day, and not know about it. Speakers booming with the Tongan radio, people dancing, and speeches being made in between songs, it’s a spectacle alright and fun to be a part of…especially if you haven’t had lunch yet.
So, to avoid feeling like a complete party crasher for the purpose of free food, I did a little dance and some women stuffed some money in my shirt, and I returned the favor before heading to the table that overfloeth with food where my exceptional interpretation of dance was rewarded. Not before I was wrapped with a colorful woven mat called a taovala. There are different taovala’s for different occasions and this particular mat is the type one wears when getting married, so I guess they have high hopes for me here. If only they knew of my recent encounters with sea captains and such, they would understand my hesitation. But it was all in good humor, there was a little more dancing after eating, and I snagged some leftovers for later, pretty faka-sweet.
So these feasts are generally meant for when there’s celebration to be had or money to be raised. There’s actually going be more this week for the class 6 children who are taking their end of term exams. Pretty important exams in English, math, etc. and of course it’s very important to relieve some of the stress with lots and lots of food. See...loads of things in common.

Playground Rules in English

2008-09-22T18:35:00.001-07:00

Teaching has its many rewards, probably more than what I am aware of, considering I’m not a teacher at heart. But one reward when teaching English as a second language is to hear your students speaking more and more confidently with every new day…or is it?
I’ve probably mentioned before that Class 3 is one that I work with the most, and probably enjoy working with the most. They become more receptive and easier to work with every day, but like 3rd graders around the world, they display the annoying trait of tattling on their peers. Until recently, it’s been quite easy to ignore the petty “he said this” and “she did that” by simply saying I didn’t understand them, and they wouldn’t bother approaching me with the silly tattles anymore because their production efforts weren’t getting the desired results. But recently we were sitting in class, they were copying an assignment from the board, and I suddenly heard a perfectly formed sentence in English. Not the most popularly used request to go to the bathroom, no no, it was a tattle! Then another, and another!
I was torn between being ecstatic from this accomplishment, and disappointed that they were beginning to use their new found abilities for playground evil rather than good. Thankfully, it’s nothing more than harmless “Mafi is playing and not working” or “Please stop talking” more things meant to impress their palangi teacher, rather than demanding a reprimand toward their classmates, but still. Now, when it gets serious…I don’t do well with the problems that result in endless tears, because I usually really can’t decipher what happened, and considering experiences in the past, even if I did know what happened I wouldn’t know how to fix the problem. Kids, like much machinery, are fun until something goes wrong in their mechanics of social dynamics, and all I ever know is to let it keep going until it starts running smooth again, especially when the instructions aren’t even in English.
Playground rules are a pretty important aspect of growing up, for us most are rules that are expected to be abided for the rest of our lives, and for the most part without the need of reminder. Some of the big ones of course are: Keep your hands to yourself, If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all (or at least try to sugar-coat it), Share, AND if something isn’t yours ASK before you start rummaging through it like a nosey little monkey!
I stress the latter because it is the most resent of Playground Rules that I’ve encountered being broken. Not by a child, oh no…by a teacher, by the principal in fact. I feel like Playground Rules aren’t an unknown concept here, just followed by different term. Like if someone is older than you, they do what they want, if someone is higher status than you, they do what they want, and if you’re a palangi volunteer working for someone, they can do what they want. I happen to be, for lack of better words, screwed in all of the above. I don’t really know what the deal is of course, but it’s not the first time I’ve had to explain the idea of personal space and property.
Luckily, when I ‘caught’ my principal she hadn’t gotten very far through my stuff and was only looking at my address book at this point. Yes ‘caught’ would imply that she was distressed when I came in to see what she was doing, but of course she just looked at me with childlike ignorance when I told her that some things were personal and continued looking through the pages. She now knows of my friends weddings in March and April, nothing too pertinent that wasn’t going to be shared anyway.
It’s hard enough explaining Playground Rules to children yeah? But explaining them to adults? But then to just have your Rule Book in the English version…even if I could look up precisely where it says “Thou shalt leave my crap alone” how would I say that in Tongan? As far as the incident with the principal, I let it go, I see her more or less as a lost cause, but kids at my school, high school students, youth…well she’s really the only one I see as a lost cause for explanation and change when it comes to this. But maybe there’s a way…I was planning on having some kind Q and A session about America and where I’m from, it wouldn’t be far fetched to have a portion dedicated to personal space and property. This is much better than most Playground Solutions to the breaking of Playground Rules, which usually include more yelling and crying than what I prefer.

The End...Of the Beginning

2008-09-22T18:31:00.000-07:00

I officially made my last entry in my first journal in Tonga, not quite a year’s worth, but I feel that it’s appropriate to reach the end of my first journal as I reach the end of my first year here. Also, I prepare to no longer be a “Beginner Volunteer,” as the new group will be arriving in a couple of weeks. So I feel like I’ve ended a chapter here, a very long drawn out chapter, and I’m ready to start the next. (Was that cliché and lame enough?). Anyway, my first entry in my first journal was made while I was on the plane from LA to Tonga, and my thoughts were full of excitement, apprehension, and exhaustion. My last entry is a recording of a great day in Tonga…full of excitement, apprehension, and of course, exhaustion.
As we prepare for the new Volunteer Training Group, #74, our Country Director has been on our island checking out potential sites for these ‘new comers.’ I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany him, along with a couple of other volunteers, to visit an outer island site today. It rained almost all day but the water was surprisingly calm, we saw whales breaching on our way back in, even a calf. I’m happy to report that spending the day out and about in the rain was shockingly not pleasant. I have not been to a real outer island village before, I mean as in seeing the school and village up close, and before today I had only seen outer island villages in passing from boats. It’s an entirely different experience on so many levels to live in one of these outer island villages.
This village in particular consists of about 28 homes, 130 people, 10 students at the primary school, and 2 teachers. My school has around 115-120 students, 5 teachers, and you can imagine how many households and population that may equal. My village in comparison is a thriving metropolis with its library and several strategically placed fale koloa’s (little stores). It takes a 20 minute car ride to get to the main town from Tefisi, where I buy vegetables, fruit, and meat, what’s available that is. Whoever’s on the island we visited today will have unlimited fish and root crops, but be on a boat 1 ½ - 2 hours to get to the same destination as my car ride, and not likely to come in often. I definitely have respect for the true outer island volunteers, there’s no getting around that many are the proper “bad asses” of Peace Corps South Pacific.
I feel like Peace Corps, and maybe traveling abroad in general, could be like going to a beach. It’s a different experience for everyone, maybe enjoyable, maybe not, but here’s how the theory goes:
Picture the shore being your homeland, in this case America, and the ocean is the new country/culture in question. Many people get to the waters edge, get their feet wet enough to wash the sand off, decide that’s enough or the water’s too cold to swim or something like that, and turn around to chill out on the beach. Others, go on and get into the water waste deep, might dunk their head under once in a while, and are perfectly content wading there until it’s time to get out. The last tend to be, but not limited to, the outer islanders, those who swim out as far as they can and as hard as they can until their exhausted from the current, or they miraculously sprout gills and are swimming with the fish that the rest of us watch through the waters glassy surface. Sometimes, the water’s clear enough to see everything without going under, but if you’re swimming with the fishies there’s never a question if you’re missing anything.
Obviously, there’s no right or wrong way to go to the beach, people prefer different oceans or maybe lakes, or maybe you’re not even a beach person and you like mountains instead, nothing wrong with that. Beach goers don’t need to strive to be the swimmers or gill sprouters, because that’s how people drown. I love the beach…but I’m definitely more of a wader, splashing around in the smaller waves and such, and appreciate that I have a nice warm towel to go back to when I’m ready to dry off.

Save The Ipod!

2008-09-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

Things happen here. Stating the obvious right? There are things that happen here that are of course unique to Tonga, but there are also things that are not at all different from the rest of the world…only reactions to said things.
Many of us like to know about things, events, as soon as possible…before they happen even. For example, weather, we want to know if it’s going to rain, snow, or be beautiful enough to carefully plan a day out. If you ask a Tongan if it’s going to rain, you’re likely to get an odd look and then “If it rains, it rains” What a silly thing to ask when you’ll know as soon as it happens, but many do ask, because there are many things we care about that could be effected by weather, right?
This morning I was on a run, I stopped to walk as I was approaching the end of my desire to exercise, and I look up to see the most ominous cloud carrying buckets of rain being dumped on anything, and anyone, in it’s path. I was concerned because I had my little flash Ipod, nothing to brag about, it’s not like these shiny new things that you can watch movies on and cure cancer with. But it’s the only thing I have for music, unless I want to digress to 1991 and carry a massive radio on my shoulder and rock out to Tongan FM. Anyway, I mustn’t get the Ipod wet that is the clear objective now. So I run…run, run, run, yes! Made it!
Here’s the thing though, being caught in the rain wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if it weren’t for the Ipod. I’m running, sweating, and could probably do with the extra shower anyway because of the lack of water at my house. But I really didn’t want to risk the Ipod dying and having to figure out how to fix or replace it, a reasonable concern. But if I were Tongan, my reaction to the sudden turn of weather would probably be the same regardless of anything I was carrying, wearing, etc. If something breaks, it’s broken, if you get wet, you change, simple. In the end, they don’t care that much about their stuff. When things break, if they don’t know how to fix it, then it’s likely to stay that way for some time, if not forever. What’s my point?
My point is not to say we should care about our stuff, that’s silly, you work hard for stuff to have…most of the time, and we’ve learned to take care of our things, respect them. Because doing these things reflects the ability to be responsible yeah? But this got me thinking about other ways we reflect responsibility and/or priorities…
Ever watch someone go for a swim in the ocean, maybe while out for a whale watching trip? And everyone decides it’d be great to jump in and frolic with the gentle giants . They prepare themselves by making certain to take off anything that might get wet, a watch, wallet, etc, and then neatly tuck it all away so that it will remain dry and safe. Yet this same person will flail themselves into unknown deep waters, to swim with a whale, that may not intend to smack someone in the head with its massive tail, but intentions don’t always control a 3 ton mammal. What about the great pastime of strapping ones self to a big piece of cloth attached to glorified rope, and paying someone else to toss you out of a plane? I’ve done that, and you know what you do before you take this leap of faith? You make sure you don’t have your phone or other object that might get hurt, lost, or that can get loose and hurt you on the way down. What a funny concern to have considering all the possible unpleasantries that could occur that don’t involve loose objects.
I suppose I don’t have a real point…nothing of meaning really, just a thought of comparison, and then wanted to share. Besides, it’s my blog…so there.

I Make Them Drink the Kava

2008-09-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

As I was walking to the library the other afternoon, one of the local pastors of the Wesleyan Church stopped me to ask if I could Tou’a at there Kalapu that evening. I know I just threw around a couple of words that mean as much to you as dead Latin, so I’ll elaborate…
Kava- a plant grown throughout South Pacific islands and used to make a drink, that resembles murky water that you wouldn’t want a beloved pet to drink, and to me tastes as it looks. But like so many substances that are consumed throughout the world, it’s all about the end result, and it’s not something you pick to serve with your anniversary dinner. Nope, what kava lacks in the “yummy” category apparently makes up for in the “stoned” category. I read this book by this guy who lived in Fiji and Vanuatu for a while, and I guess Vanuatu Kava makes Tonga Kava seem like children’s Nyquil, same opinion by Tongans. It’s not like getting drunk, you don’t have hangovers, but apparently there’s a numbing sensation of sorts...but you have to drink half a bucket to get there, at least in Tonga. There are also special Kava bowls made of coconut shells to drink out of, and they can be very nice or as simple as the guy wants.
Anyway, no I don’t drink Kava, it’s gross for one thing, and if I’m going to be inebriated I want to enjoy the process of getting there. Even if I did want to partake in Kava, I am of the lady persuasion, and women don’t drink Kava, they don’t have Kava circles. This, like so many things, is about the boys and their “No Girls Allowed” Club…except they need someone to serve the Kava. “Oh no, whoever will we get to do this?”
Tou’a- This is the young woman who serves the Kava, usually until the wee hours of the morning, or I suppose as long as she’s willing to stay. If you’re willing, Kava can last till the early morning hours sometimes, and you’ll serve it as long as the buckets don’t run out. So why be willing to stay and serve dirty water to stoned men? The one sitting closest to you on your left might be your boyfriend who asked you to Tou’a for him, family men, and friends, because yes! You got it; this is a form of courtship in many cases. The guy you dig, just asked you to stay up all night with all the men he knows, to serve them drinks until they get too tired or stoned to stay, and instead of being subjected to drinking it yourself, they entertain you by making silly dirty jokes all night long. People have gotten married after these kinds of “dates” so I guess don’t knock it till you try it.
Alright, so no, I was not on a date, in fact I made sure that no one was even close to the coveted seat to my left. Like I said, a pastor asked me, and it was for a Kalapu, which is a fundraising Kava circle. There are different Kava circles, the regular old Kava circles where people just want to sit, get Kava stoned and shoot the sh*% with their buddies (you can relate right?) Another, like I said, could be for the reason of making it known you’re interested in a girl, asking her to Tou’a is actually a sweet thing if you leave out the stoned men, dirty jokes, and sitting on the floor for hours and hours. It’s kind of the equivalent of your guy asking you to meet the parents for the first time. So a Kava circle is for the most part a social thing.
But hey, I’m not Wikipidia, if you’d like to know more about this stuff you can Google it, or come here and have some Kava. Because it can be fun, I had fun because I knew I was there to help raise money, and most of the men there were important people to have the opportunity to talk to. They really appreciated it too, because they know I’m not used to doing things like that, they know the last thing I probably want to do is sit and help them get stoned…and that’s what I thought too. But these guys were hilarious! Ever play drinking games in college with your friends? Ever yell at your friend to chug his drink because he lost the last hand of cards? They do that here too! Imagine my surprise when the same pastor who asked me to Tou’a said, “If the boys bother you, you tell them to drink the Kava. As much as you want, and I make them.”
Ohhhh this just got wayyyy more fun…no matter how much you like the drink in your hand, you do not want to drink a liter of it in 20 minutes. Some younger guys from my village were sitting close by and we were joking around, but one kept bugging me about a boyfriend, making jokes in Tongan I didn’t know, so I gave the word…dished out 3 huge cups to this one poor guy, who had to gulp down one after the other over the watchful eye of the pastor. He looked like he was going to toss his cookies, it was great.
This isn’t something I’d prefer to do on regular bases, especially as a date, it’s like taking a girl to a smoky crowded sports bar, tell her she can’t drink cause she’ll have to drive all the guys home and then ask her to get you and your friends drinks all night while they play pool and watch the game…and you don’t even like the team.

The men have their Kava circles, and the women have their weaving circles. This is where women get together; spend all day on the floor with their friends, bent over weaving and chatting. But you don’t see a guy at the end of the room passing around Bloody Marries or Daiquiris, crappy huh? I totally get not wanting to ‘drink the Kava,’ but I couldn’t imagine weaving being the largest portion of my socializing. I’ve stopped by the circles to chat, but always just passing by with cookies or something; my skills have proven not to rest in weaving.
They weave anything they can, using anything they can. They weave mats, kiekies, tauvalas, fans, loads of stuff, and I’ve seen yarn, video tap, and strings of beads, used for these kinds of crafts. Very creative, these women…and at least they’re a little more productive in their social gatherings.
I can’t say Kava circles and all day weava-thons are my idea of making scrapbook memories, but the western world isn’t that much different with poker night and those weird parties where women buy purses, perfumes, and Avon supplies at someone’s house, you know what I’m talking about?

Water, water everywhere

2008-09-09T19:10:00.000-07:00

As I slipped on my second running shoe this morning, I stopped and realized something…that my time would be better spent taking my water bucket next door to fill it. Let me take a moment to explain this part of daily life. Not all areas in Tonga have running water, at least not from a water system, but most everyone has access to a sima vai (cement water tank) that collects rain water. My house has a plastic tank about a third of a normal sima vai, which has to be filled by hose. I don’t use this water for drinking because the top of the tank doesn’t close and all kinds of nasty can get in, for example mosquito squirmies and rat poo. So, I have my drinking water bucket that I take next door to fill.
At this point you might be asking, “But Shannon, why wouldn’t you just have someone fix the cover of the tank?” Well, I’m glad you asked…In the 9months that I’ve lived in this house, it has occurred to me to ask about these kinds of things before. Like the brand new showerhead in the bathroom that has never worked since moving in, the sink that would look lovely under the faucet in my house that was never put in, and countless other little annoyances; these are things that other people live without, so can I. Not to say I haven’t complained and thought whinny thoughts while carrying a full bucket of water from my neighbors house, but this same neighbor takes baths outside in something the size of a large dog house and uses the bathroom in her brand new outhouse. I use ‘brand new’ in the sense that it wasn’t there before; it was built with scrape wood and metal. I may have to take bucket baths, whilst the showerhead that’s never been used stares me in the face, and go get my drinking water from next door, but obviously it’s less of a concern when I see the 90 year old women next door taking a bath in a box with a bowl of water.
But that brings me back to this morning’s task of getting water. When I returned from New Zealand (maybe 2 weeks or so) I’ve had to get my tank filled twice, and it’s out again. This is strange considering I only need it filled once, maybe twice, a month depending on laundry and toilet flushing. Side note: Toilet flushing is another luxury I have when the tank is full, I have it so easy. I digress. The pipe from the take to my house has a leak, so the water runs out in a matter of maybe 2 days. What this means is that bucket filling trips have increased…a lot. Ever do a mental tally of all the things you use water for in daily life? Yeah, me neither, until I became responsible for dragging every ounce of that water to my house. I mean there’s drinking water, there’s bathing water, toilet flushing water, dish water, laundry water, cooking water, you need a little for coffee, tea, brushing teeth, AHHHHH!
Deep breathe…o.k. So, yes I have let some people know about my need for assistance, and I am perfectly confident that this problem will be fixed before my end of service in 16 months, so no worries. Until then, there are ways to conserve: 1) when taking a bucket bath, stand in plastic tub to catch water to use for flushing, 2) do less laundry and enforce the age old “sniff and wear” method, I trust fellow volunteers will let me know when this isn’t working, 3) drink less coffee, what do I need to be wired for here anyway?
All in all, the water situation’s going to be fine. I have to say though, I hated when things broke in the states; I wanted it fixed usually pronto. Things like the power going out, water pipes freezing…ugh what a pain and aggravation. But when a problem happens and you know that no matter what you do, it isn’t going to be fixed until it’s fixed, then it’s easier to sit back and realize its fine. Because if 90 year old lady next door can make do...

The Town Officer came by to take a look at the pipe, and I asked when the next town committee meeting was. Here’s something about this committee…it’s made up of the men in the town that are older, usually more responsible, and respected by the community. I hate going to these meetings, women are never at these meetings, youth (my age group) are never at these meetings, and certainly not youth females are in attendance. Why go? Because no one else will go representing the groups I’m trying to help, and I understand because it’s more acceptable that I show up because I’m “a Peace Corps.” I certainly don’t feel right about this, that people older than me are too shy to approach this committee, let alone sit down and try to discuss issues with youth organizing and development of their group and projects. But I feel if the town committee becomes more involved and supports the youth group, then more can get done as apposed to everyone working separately never knowing what’s going on with village groups.
Anyway, I go to the meeting at 8pm, of course they’re already there sitting in a circle, finished with the opening prayer and I come in awkwardly and sit down at the end on the floor…ugh why do I feel so intimidated?? I’m I 12? Whatever…about 20 minutes goes by of them talking, in Tongan, about town finances maybe? I really need to improve my vocabulary; it’s like listening to a T.V. show in English only to have every other word in German. Anyway, Sione (John) announces to everyone that the Peace Corps has come to talk about something. So I proceeded to talk about something…
I think it went very well, other than the fact I’ve never felt so out of place and embarrassed to even be present. I’ve been to meetings, I’ve called meetings, created spreadsheets for meetings, meetings are not new to me, but sitting in this circle of these older men is as comfortable as watching a dirty movie with my grandmother. It’s also becoming more apparent that there’s a lack of communication, more accurately put, total absence. I was surprised when they said there should be a committee formed within the youth, and I explained there was one in place, and in fact the president and secretary were the children of two of the men sitting with us now. Guess it was never brought up?

I…love…Tonga…no seriously, I do.

One Job

2008-08-30T19:28:00.002-07:00

I’ve decided that there is a job position here in Tonga, in many establishments like post offices, phone services, and travel agencies, which requires a single ability. This one ability that allows you to have employment is to be able to let you know that the one, and only, person at that establishment that can help you, is out at that moment. This is it…no typing, no sending emails, nothing…ok. It has been amusing…until yesterday when it became faka-heila ‘aupito (very annoying). Sometimes I’m on a time schedule when I go into town, especially if I’m hoping to catch a ride back to Tefisi instead of walking, so it’s very important to hit and run every place on my agenda. I made it to the post office at around 12:30, and should have known better because it’s around lunch time, but someone’s there!! Yes! That rocks, lucky day...
“Ketaki, any packages or parcels for Senoni?” Nice gentlemen hands me, what I call, The Great Lists…for that 2 minute period of your day these lists can contain the greatest feeling of joyful cheer when your name has graced the wondrous pages before you. I look over the first great list…alas…no Senoni. I move to the second great list, my eyes graze over the many names until I see one very familiar…oh yes it is mine! Sweet! With victory in my heart, I turn the great list around to show the nice gentlemen, who works at the post office, that I do in fact have a parcel. He takes it and walks towards the back where all the packages await there departure. When he returns he’s carrying my package, or parcel, whatever and it’s just inches away from my grasp…inches. As I was getting ready to thank him with almost tearful joy, my dreams were dashed… “Our package/parcel guy is at lunch, can you come back?” the man says.

Let me take a moment to explain the complexity of the “Package/parcel Guy” job: He gives you your stuff, you give him 2 pa’anga, he writes your name down, and then you sign. Hell, half the work is done by you! But what I can do? This guy is just doing his job…letting me know that the only guy who can help me is at lunch. I probably would have been less bothered if “Piss on your Parade guy” hadn’t actually gotten the parcel and waived it in front of me before saying that I can’t have it…that’s just mean.

I had other things on my list, and I’ve already lingered here long enough, alright I’ll come back…I have till 4:30 before the post closes…so I thought. I returned at 4:10 to find closed doors, and imagined a sign posted for my enjoyment saying “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, you can’t have it!” I thought to myself “Stupid head Package/parcel guy, and his minion….” Sigh, there are worse things…a coconut could fall on my head…perspective gained.

I just got back to Vava’u from a long hiatus, so this is pretty much what’s happened in the 2 day’s I’ve been back. I’m very happy to be back. I was worried that my house would be taken over by spiders and centipedes, but I sprayed my house with an entire can of heavy duty bug killer before I left. Good decision, probably did some ozone damage...but you would too if you had ever encountered these insects and arachnids that you’ve only ever seen in horror flicks where the plot is death by bug.

The Good, the Bad, and the Funny

2008-08-30T19:28:00.001-07:00

Among my friends, I consider myself ‘the single one’ because I am in fact always the individual in the group who is single. I feel that I am what one could call a Seasoned Single at this point in my life, and think I’m pretty good at it now. I’m very proud indeed. Us singles don’t all resent our friends who have found their beaux or gal pal, to you I say cheers, congrats, and high five. But I also have to say, though it can be exhausting sometimes, being out in the single world has its perks and entertaining moments.
One reason I am establishing my title as a Seasoned Single is because, finally after much practice, at 25 years of age I can successfully separate the good guy from the jackass, pretty early in the game. There are, of course, good and bad sides to this fine tuned ability: Good side- obviously you don’t want to get caught up with a jackass, so you weed them out before you are sucked into a vortex of crappy conversation, association, or even worse…relationship. Bad side- as time goes by you may start to notice that all the weeding has made the optimistic ‘plenty of fish in the sea’ scenario seem more like a drought plagued desert, and the chick next to you cries “Screw this, I’m calling Mr. McCreepy for a drink of water.” Whatever…stand by your guns guys and girls, it’s not that bad. Good side- during the weeding out process you often have entertaining stories to tell your friends at the end of some of your horrendous encounters with the opposite sex. Often times including clever nicknames, list of amusing character flaws, and things you should have said instead of being polite.
In saying that, I am going to share a recent series of horrendous, yet entertaining, encounters that will include nicknames, list of amusing character flaws, and things I should have said instead of being polite. Of course the following has been modified; my memory is not always great, complete conversations are hard to replicate and not interesting to read, and some names have been changed to protect the idiots…I mean innocent.

Oh Captain My Captain

Last week I went to dinner with a friend of mine, let’s call her Alice. We went to a local café before continuing our plans to see the Miss Galaxy pageant; the cultural experience of a life time lay in the talent competition between the Tongan drag queens. Of course we were very excited and needed provisions for the upcoming event.
Literally, in no way am I embellishing, within 60 seconds of the time it takes to walk through the door and getting to the counter, the cute guy with blue eyes at one of the front tables has made his way to his position of attack next to us. I am not going to lie; when I walked in, I made eye contact with those blues and was not disappointed that he acted so quickly…yet.
With his west coast American accent he opened “Hey, how are you guys?” 1 second pause “What are you doing?” 1 second pause “I just got in today with my friends over there” points to table, “Yeah we came on this boat we built, I’m the captain, my name is…” for the sake of this individual, and I like nicknames, his name is Captain Rufi for reasons that come full circle throughout this account. “So what’re your names? What are you doing here?” Captain Rufi asked as if he didn’t ask before when he was rudely interrupted by himself.
Alice and I introduce ourselves along with our current status as volunteers living in country. We can tell Captain Rufi is enthralled by what we are saying as he blatantly looks below the neck line and takes a sip from his bottle of local Tongan beer, a.k.a. rancid cow piss. That last observation isn’t a critique on his judgment in beer, no one knows how bad it is unless you live here, and it’s the cheapest option; I just don’t like it and prefer to pay the extra buck for the beer that wasn’t bottled in Dick Cheney’s butt hole. I digress…
My friend and I have put our orders in, still standing at the counter, and the captain isn’t going anywhere. Out of politeness, and apparent temporary insanity, Alice invites him to sit down with us. We make our way to a table outside, sit down “So what are you guys doing tonight? What’s there to do here? So you guys live here? What do you do?” All questions, mind you at this point, are not allotted appropriate time for responses that might qualify as having a conversation. Alice and I are allowed to give somewhat bulleted responses and then listen to repeated Captain Rufi facts and phrases, such as: “yeah we’ve just been sailing around on this boat we built” and “I’m the Captain” “so what are you doing tonight” and the most excessively used “you should come back to the boat with us, we have loads of food and booze.”
As you might already be able to tell, this is becoming a bad after school special where you learn not to get into the car with the guy holding a bag of candy…In what world is this guy successful enough to build boats?? In what world is this guy ever going to get action?? I haven’t been living on an island that long have I? You would think I’d be the one desperate enough for social interaction with the opposite sex…anything croaked out of a frog would sound like Prince Harry, but give me some credit!
We answer his questions, tell him where he might want to go, what he might want to do, and he removes himself from our table, so that I might enjoy my toasted ham and pineapple sandwich. Alice and I quietly have a few laughs to ourselves about Captain Rufi’s “game” and sympathetically chalk it up to him, like so many yacht guys, just being socially awkward after long periods at sea…sun rise, sun set.
That concludes what I am simply calling, Encounter Number One.

Encounter Number Two is set in a local dance bar the next evening, let’s call it The Billfish. It is a favorite among local volunteers for reasons of preference and few options…it is in fact an island, so the idea of options isn’t much more than a question of whether it’s myth or an actual memory from another life. I am accompanied by another friend, let’s go with Emily, among a small group of people we also know…but their names are less concerning details in this story.
Emily and I had just sat back down at our table after finishing our excellent dance session showing off our impressive, unprofessionally trained, salsa abilities. We’re so cool. So cool in fact, Captain Rufi who was there also noticed and initiated Encounter Number Two. Not only is it almost unbearably annoying to have conversations in loud bars, but Tongan establishments maintain decibels that the rest of the world is yet familiar with. So when a guy wants to talk to you in one of these places, it is not to have ‘get to know you time’ and that’s fine, nothing wrong with it, but I’m not in the business of yelling out my life story when the person asking me isn’t even…damnit he’s looking at my chest again, how old are you??? Okay, maybe I’m full myself, maybe he’s looking at a sauce stain from dinner earlier…wouldn’t be the first time.
Just as I start to give this benefit of the doubt, I decide to be even more kind and break yet another awkward silence…a little side note- not a good idea to approach someone you don’t know, insist on standing in front of them to talk, and allow multiple awkward silences…be prepared to fill it or walk away when the other party is not enthusiastic to help fill it. Okay, he’s not walking away, so I guess I need to ask the obvious question of age, since Captain Rufi can afford to build boats and sail around the world. “I’m 24” says Captain Rufi.
And I bet you’re expecting something else following that statement, for example maybe a question directed to me, or maybe anything…ANYTHING…jeez, just walk away, because I am not losing my seat by getting up…o.k. Finally, Captain Rufi after apparently much needed consideration, he asks “So how old are you?”
Those of you who do not know, “I’m 25” I answer shortly because I’m completely exhausted at this point, but something inside me says that I really need to stick this out because it is going to get good. Now, I mean ‘good’ as in this guy is just about to say or do something that is going to be so unbelievable, so crazy, and so hilarious that I will have something to talk about for years to come. Then it happened…shortly after my own age announcement Captain Rufi threw his cards on the table, maybe thinking it was his ace in the hole, “I’m really 27, I thought you were like 20, so I thought I would say I was a little younger.”
Let me give you a moment, if you are not already laughing or disgusted or both, please take a moment and reread the situation I just told you. This grown man either lied about being younger or older than he actually is, based on his new found knowledge of my own age. And he’s not going anywhere, I had nothing to say!! I had nothing in return…I had this amazing opportunity in my life to tell this idiot how much of an idiot he is, and be completely justified in doing so. I could have said something like “You’re gross, please get a vasectomy, and avoid having any dealings with the creation or the upbringing of children.” Maybe even throw a drink in his face, because I’ve yet to have that pleasure in life either.
But alas, when it comes to a performance, I’m great in rehearsal but when the curtains are raised…I forget my lines. All I can do is clear my throat and say “um oh” and hit my friend Emily, who’s been talking to someone else this entire time and has not had the pleasure of Captain Rufi’s rendition of ‘Ode to Creep’. After the world wide known women’s signal of “Get me the hell out of this situation, I’ll tell you why later” that I gave by the swift slap to Emily’s thigh, she immediately had the urge to dance to her favorite song and I had to be present.
Successfully removed from the situation, we danced until we were ready to leave, and took the walk back to our temporary residence. All the time I was explaining why it was necessary that she received the blow to her leg. Of course she understood.

When encounters three and four occurred, I was walking down the street each time and was blasted with the same…”come out to the boat” “have some drinks” “bring your friends” and the newest and maybe one of the humorous, or scariest, “don’t be scared.” Okay Captain Rufi, that’s it….”I’m not coming to your dingy, I’m not having any part in any drinks that you offer me, I’d rather accept an ice tea from a guy in a white robe who says that it will take me to a more peaceful world…”
Yes, this is what I should have said…but again, when it comes to performance the best I can do is awkwardly smile and just make the decision to avoid Captain Rufi’s apparent hang out street.
This had nothing to do with Peace Corps, nothing to do with Tonga, and certainly not a life changing experience. I just thought it was funny, and if you ever come across a boat called the Pearl Hunter, with a guy who’s blonde and delusional, just say NO and if you have a rolled up newspaper it might be a good idea to smack him on the nose.

A Tale of Two Ships

2008-08-30T19:27:00.001-07:00

I have never been what one would call knowledgeable in aquatic means of transport, operating or just being along for the ride. Since my move to island life I definitely recognize boats to be most essential for transport, export, import, and leisure activities. I had thought that I had really arrived to the world of ‘roughing it’ when I survived the 14 hour boat ride to Vava’u during my volunteer training, and that if that didn’t kill me, surely I can make it through another. I made the decision to take the boat to Tongatapu (main island group) based on the reasoning just mentioned, and the fact that I am a cheap person and wanted to save money on a boat ticket versus the plane ticket price. This is not always a great way to go about making decisions in your life…I now know and whole heartedly accept this fact and will preach it to all who might be in need of my new found knowledge. The reason I say this is because my vague, legally prescribed drug induced sleep filled, memory of a 14 hour boat ride turned into a 26 hour never ending journey on the boat that Columbus actually passed on his way to supposedly discovering a new world. No one could possibly mistake this for a pleasure cruise during any of this boats 9 lives…I say that because it is a boat that has been passed along throughout countries until it is either sunk or bought by Tonga. Another fact, this is not a boat you want to use the bathroom on if you are not fortunate enough to be able to just stand and add your essence to the ocean.

Well I won’t bore you with all the details, just that I chose not to keep myself in the blue pill coma the whole journey this time. This kept me from feeling disoriented and dehydrated thus allowing me full clarity when contemplating jumping off the boat. Instead, I opted to spend the last X amount of hours in a sleeping bag on the deck and this was of course nice…looking at the stars, being rocked to sleep by the boat’s gentle movement to and fro, dreaming of the whales I saw hours before nightfall and all that other idealistic bull crap that, in the end, does not give you back 26 hours of your life that can be saved by buying the stupid ticket for the 45 minute nap on a plane.

Now…I did get to my destination. I am on the main island and was around for the king’s coronation, and it was fun, parades and all. I even took pictures! And I might take the time to resize them eventually so I can send them despite the slow internet here…but I make no promises.

Yes it was very nice being here, because the peace corps volunteers were lucky enough to get an invite to the U.S. navy ship that was here for the king’s coronation. (Australian navy and New Zealand were also here for parade participation as well) So yes, the hippies were invited to the cocktail party hosted by the navy residing on the SS John McCain; it was very interesting and fun. We got to tour the ship a bit, some more slowly than others because it was an open bar.
The food…oh the food…can I just say that eating shrimp surrounding an ice sculpture of the bald eagle has never been more satisfying? Plus just loads of goodies we just don’t get here, good times in general. When talking to the men in uniform and letting them know we were peace corps the immediate, and more than once, response was in reference to the surprisingly clean hygiene we had and lack of dreadlocked hair (well except for the one girl). It wasn’t a shocker that these were the assumptions that are first shot out, but I did find myself in need to excuse myself to get another bacon wrapped scallop, or drink, when it was pointed out that “yeah you work to bring peace and we fight to keep it. Haha”

I met a nice Aussie navy gentleman there, and we talked about the differences in the John McCain and their ship, and of course right off: this ship is much bigger, gets around on so many more gallons of oil, and of course enough weapon power to go ahead and take over Tonga for laughs. Eh…they were also well stocked in bud light and red stripe. But as pointed out earlier, peace must be kept and we certainly need more than flower power right?
Please don’t take my sarcasm as biased comments that are for or against any of our armed forces, I’m more than grateful to people willing to donate their lives for myself and others. My sarcasm is more directed to the notion of how one might be able to “keep peace.”

To ensure you all that life here is not all Love Boat and shrimp cocktails, this is what’s happening…I’m working on grants and surveys with a young lady named Kefi at the Family Health Center, who told me “maybe you can come back next week” when I arrived last week to get started. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell…right now work is not 9-5 and not going to be measured and presented, because it can’t be. I’m fine with that.

Today's Message

2008-08-30T19:26:00.001-07:00

As the sun rose on this 7th day, it shined over a broken mass that wsa the remains of a once loyal and hard working sandal that had met its end earlier in the days before. It’s sole was detached from the straps that once helped transport the right foot of an island girl who trusted in her sandals that had only just met the young tender age of 9 months. (Cue church organ, softly in the background)The young girl almost had lost all hope, fearing she would have to abandon her sandals and lay them to rest in the waste bin of forgotten soles. But refusing to lose faith, she found her sandals salvation in the form of electrical tape, and with that tape her sandal would be healed! With hope, ingenuity, and luck…she will rise ready to put her faith and her foot back in these sandals, and she will walk in this once broken sandal again! Can I get an Amen! Amen!Ironically enough, I skipped church today and came in to write this email…shh don’t tell God.So if you haven’t guessed yet, I was walking the other day and my sandal broke, all three straps on one side completely ripped away from the sole, done, dead, finished.I'd like to thank pisi koa Steve for coming out and meeting me with some flips for me so I wouldn't have to walk all the way back to Tefisi with bare feet...I have no idea how the tongans do it...they must have feet of iron, steel, and any other hard material usually used to metaphorically discribe tough...I thought at first my sandals were gone forever, it was pretty bad. But today I decided that instead of giving up on my sandals right away, I was going to try my best to fix them, and my best was 5 minutes and electrical tape. But I walked in my sandals today. They’re going to break again, probably sooner than later, but my point is that 5 minutes of thought and effort bought me at least one more day of use, and statistically speaking that’s a lot of return on the amount of time I put in. Leads me to think that putting just 5 more minutes, hours, days (you see where that’s going) can be well worth it in the end. So if you’re getting ready to throw out your pair of broken sandals, maybe give them the five minutes…( you get the metaphor right?)This message is brought to you by the letter ‘S’

The Pig

2008-08-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

So I went outside one morning to feed the dog, a pretty pathetic breakfastbecause I was too lazy to go get a can of fish so it was leftover cabbage and rice doctored with soy sauce, and she almost fell for it. Anyway, I go out and I look down from my top step and…AH! A Rat! A rat! Kill it, kill it…Wait…wait, nope…pig…baby…aw cute.
I held little piggle wiggles in my hands, pitiable because of his small stature and obviously he was scared witless if he’s letting me pick him up. I fell in love with Wilbur immediately, and quickly weighed the option of housing him, but decided against keeping the bundle of oink. I don't feel that I would make a very good PigMomma, and it would be inevitable that he would lose his cuteness as he gained weight and flavour value. So I had one of the boys who was waiting for the school truck, to take him next door, maybe he was adopted after, I'm not sure where he came from…but certainly don’t want to know where he is now.
Speaking of pets, having a dog around has not only added safety and extra companionship to my life here, but also classic comic entertainment. Sini is definitely clumsy like her owner, and it's much funnier watching a dog jump head-on into (yes 'into', not 'over') a fence, than it is actually running into something myself. Don't feel sorry for her, when little Wilbur was at my door step she tried to bite his head off. So she deserves a good smack every once in a while.
In addition, she's very playful with rats…yea Sini likes to make friendly with them; she needs to be more on disposal duty, but whatever… A note about a difference in culture…one must cry at everything…every event, every function, usually during the welcome speech, the prayer, speaking in general, and/or the fakamalo (big thanks)…yep a crying competition can break out at any time and place, whomever busts out with the most emotional presentation of what they want to say seems to be doing well in the meeting…yes I mean a meeting of any sorts, business, school, etc. Most recent, I was at a PTA meeting where the parents (and I mean Mothers) gathered with us to discuss raising money for a computer, copier, and printer. I thought I was following along pretty well (because it was in Tongan), but then a woman starts talking…then tears, an obscene amount of tears, the kind that I last saw at a Putu (funeral). Then another starts…same thing…I'm not sure who won, but it's not the first time I've seen crying integrated into a speech. I'm starting to think if you want to be taken seriously, or want people to at least pay attention to what you're saying, you need to cry…wail even…I had like three things I wanted to talk about and was skipped over…I'm going to start crying to get my way…that's it, I'll just pretend I'm 5 yrs old again when my mom wouldn't let me get my preferred bag of chips at the grocery…then the PTA will hear what I have to say about recycling cages and tutoring…it's called adjusting to the culture. Speaking of Putu's (funerals) there was another one a couple of days ago (4th since getting to site), this time it was my neighbour whom I thought was Ema's husband…he was actually Ema and Loce's brother. But I NEVER saw him out, probably saw him 2 times the entire time I've been here and Loce never talked about him and Ema can't really hear, so we definitely don't try to break language barriers…so I don't feel too bad about my ignorance to the details about him. But it was sad and I wore black for a couple of days, because it's faka-tonga (like Tongans) and respectful, and Ema and Loce have been really nice...weird, because they've picked through my trash before… and one of them was standing outside peeing as she was waving and saying goodbye to me…but nice ladies. Being that Tonga is one of the last monarchies, I think it'll be interesting to see the party they throw for the king's coronation in August. I'm going to go to main island for it and stay a couple of weeks to work with the Ministry of Health on developing community health education projects, hopefully getting into diabetes and such…looking at what I just wrote, it sounds a lot more big time than what it really is I'm sure, but I want you folks to think I'm doing awesome stuff with my time here and not just teaching kids how to say 'see you later alligator'... Anyway, after that stint the plan is to go to New Zealand for a week, so I'm pretty excited for that, I've met a Kiwi or two and they've pumped it up to be pretty cool… and hey we've all seen The Lord of the Rings…

Starting...The Blog

2008-08-30T19:19:00.000-07:00

This will be my first blog entry. I've avoided creating a blog for 11 months and I suppose it's time to give in. To begin with I will just post some older stories that I've been emailing to friends and family. As time goes by I'm sure more obscure and interesting things will happen that I can write about for you enjoyment. Until then, enjoy what's been happening so far!