Wednesday, July 26

KAVA REDUX Pt. 2

Just so there is a clear understanding about this whole kava business I wish, for my dear readers, to make a clarification that kava ain't nothin'.

The effects, if I hadn't fully indicated previously, are mild at best, and most times are damn near non-existent. The most commonly indicated effect is a mild sedetive-like state. And I mean mild. After several shells I still usually feel nothing more than a tinglely sensation in my mouth and lips. Before I would get to the point of feeling a little "kava drunk" I would also start feeling a little "kava sick" which means a heavyness in my stomach which makes me want to avoid food or to just lay down for a spell.

And in case anyone had any concerns (I know you're out there), kava addiction is simply not in the cards. The stuff tastes absolutely awful, the effects are minimal, it's not available in the States, and so far, from personal experience, I can report no indications of physical or mental formations of addiction.

What is happening however, for both me and Matt, is that we are enjoying the socializing with the locals. And this includes Kava. It is essential to our mission that we fully integrate with the locals. So when in rome...

And this in no way is to say that we don't actually enjoy it at times.

Or regularly.

In fact, one night while at an intermission between dancing during a marriage ceremony I went nakamal hopping with Kamut and his newphews. We went to few "ready-mades" (see below) and enjoyed a couple shells. This was shortly after I had just arrived back on Tanna and was making a concerted effort to acquire a taste for the local drink which I had up to now totally hated. While jabbering away around the burning ember glow of one small fire I surprised myself by deciding that I was ready and willing to down another shell. Sadly, when I turned around I noticed that the place had cleared out and the bar lanterns had long since been blown out. The place was deserted except for me and Kamut. I guess someone needs to teach them the virtue of the "last call" - or maybe that would be contrary to the culture. In any event, we wandered back to the custom nakamal area where the ceremony was about to re-start. Everyone was in small groups around tiny fires circling an area about the size of a half-acre or more. It was almost completely dark. Damn near no moon light. Plus, we were in the bush where the moon doesn't shine so much anyway.

I found a few of Kamuts nephews, 20 y/o twin brothers, and must have lamented the lack of kava and how I sure could use one more shell. I wasn't even dwelling about it too much - just thinking outloud. Before I knew what was happening the guys ran off into the bush and came back with stumps of kava roots and then sat down next to me and started chomping off chunks of it and chewing it into a pulp. They were making more kava just for me. By chewing it. I've had chewed kava before, but after it had been made and I was able to put it out of my mind. Just like when people eat meat - you don't think about how it was slaughtered. But here these two guys were proudly and enthusiatically chewing up a mouthful of kava root, mixing it around with their saliva until it formed a satisfactory pulpy consistency. Then they would let it fall out of their mouths onto a leaf and repeat the procedure until they had a good baseball sized clump. Then they drop that into a fine mesh bag (like cheesecloth) and pour water into, mix it around real good, and sqeeze it directly into a filthy coconut shell. And then proudly hand it to the white man who couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

The first shell of chewed kava is always much stronger than the ready-mades since they are mixed up in a large bucket and the consistency is always the same.

So like I said, the effects are minor. As your sitting there around the fire you're thinking you're not feeling anything much at all. Then when you decide to stand up and wander about you might just change your mind about the wisdom of taking that last shell.

And then when you decide it's time to go home and you live down a long dark road, followed by another long, but very thin and bushy trail that leads to the dark and deserted bungalows where you live.... and then you realize you didn't bring a flashlight because it wasn't dark when you left earlier in the day... well... things get a bit bumpy. Treacherous comes to mind. Like I said... kava ain't nothin'.

Tannna is fun.

This photo here actually has nothing to do with kava, but I wanted to get another picture on and this one was good enough. It's me holding a leaf with freshly captured, killed, camp-fire grilled and seasoned fish. While still on the training island a bunch of us went snorkeling, a few of us with spear-guns. They brought up a small bounty of colorful fish and cooked them on the fire Katie, Amy and I built in the coral/sandy beach. Yes - I'm still a vegetarian, but I felt I should honor the poor sucker by at least taking a sampling. Plus there was the experience of it all.

And yes, Bruce, that IS an Obelisk Bookstore muscle tee that I'm wearing. Thanks! I've got to represent the home team. For everyone else the SD stands for San Diego - Having a great time, but missing you all dearly.

MATTHEW JACOB DEWIT


Most PCV's are sent off to villages on their own, often separated by long distances from other Americans - even more so in the Pacific islands due to that whole island factor (travel between islands is actually extremely difficult). If I wanted to visit my friend Ryan, from my training group, I would first need to spend about $110 U.S. to fly into Vila, then another $100 or so to fly up to Epi, then get on a boat for a few hours, then a truck for another hour or so and then hike over the hills and through the woods for about two more hours (no joke) - and then do the whole thing back again to get home.

For this reason I'm extremely fortunate to have not only another American, but a friend of mine from our training group, within a 45 minute walk. His name is Matt Dewit and comes from the California hometown of Lodi, somewhere between Stockton and Sacramento - out in wine country. He grew up on his family's dairy farm, which still operates. Like me he started out at community college (Stockton for him, Burlington County for me) before transferring to a state college (San Jose State for him, Richard Stockton College of New Jersey for me) and earned his B.S. in advertising (I got my B.S. in Management).

He's a 23 y/o Scorpio (Nov.17th) and my friends know what that means to me - but it's not as volatile as I would have expected - maybe since he's at the cusp. Not that I really subscribe to all that astrology mumbo-jumbo, it's just that I've had too many "coincidences" with both Leos and Scorpios to deny that there might just be something to it.

Actually we get along quite well - in a place like this we are saviors of sanity, of sorts, for each other. And more than that, I'm sure we would be friends back in the states too - a thought that crosses ones mind when grouped together with a bunch of common cause people that you may or may not actually enjoy, or if you do like them, it's only due to the unique circumstances in which you find yourself lumped together. It would be really easy to dismiss Matt as part of the group that are "cool to hang with, but probably wouldn't be my friend back in the states" - he's a fresh-outta-the-frat 23 y/o who wears t-shirts that blare "FITCH" across the chest. hahaah. But the truth is he and I have more in common than he's willing to admit.

First - He's a self-professed bleeding-heart-liberal. Now that's even more hardcore than me. While in the training village he would get upset when the pikinini's would find some unfortunate sea life, freshly exposed from the receding tide, and pull it apart or play baseball with it - be it a sea slug, tiny squid, or a crab. And when I say he got upset, I mean he was genuinely upset. But the idea of "when in Rome..." Is starting to wear on him and I've caught him stoning cackling chickens once or twice.

Second - he hates mushrooms. Me too!!

Third - We are both determined to maintain a level of decency about our person. A solid sense of hygiene, him even more than me. We've each been shocked, and amused, to see the condition in which we've found some of our other PCV brethren that share this very island. There's nothing necessarily wrong with "going bush" but it's just not for us. When one of the other guys turned up at the market a few weeks back, looking like he'd been in the jungle for years and gleefully (a bit too gleefully) told stories about how he'd eaten his own dog, among other absurdities, we both assumed he'd been in the Peace Corps for years and years. Maybe even forgotten about and just never checked in for his "Close Of Service". Turns out he'd been in country for just 6 months. We each promised the other not to let that happen - and frankly it's just not in our character. Something we have in common. But just to be sure... We aren't a couple of wusses or we wouldn't be here in the first place. Neither of us has a problem getting down and dirty or skipping a shower for several days. Neither of us expects the nice clothes we brought with us to be the clothes we leave with and we both fully expect to let ourselves become more and more comfortable with island life as time goes on - it's just that there is simply no reason to get carried away with such things. We are American's after all!

Fourth - We both have an appreciation and a determination to continue enjoying some of life's finer things - namely good food and alcohol. We are both ridiculously lucky to have access to many, many food items which allow us to create really great dishes. He's a much better cook than I am, but I'm learning that I'm not as bad as I thought. We often make really great dinners together and that's when we most enjoy breaking out the vodka or wine (at my house) or the Campari or Scotch Whiskey (at his house). The whole idea of subsisting on root crops for two years just ain't gonna happen during OUR service.

Fifth - We dress the same - a mix of Old Navy with American Eagle. This is trivial to be sure, but worth noting I suppose. And when we walk down the village road each wearing our cargo shorts and button down slim-cut shirts with backpacks complete with blue rubber water tube coming up over our shoulder... well...

But like I said before - we are a source of sanity for each other. After our first week here we both got worried that we are spending too much time together - basically isolating ourselves from the locals. This was a natural thing, I guess, since we weren't comfortable with the language, didn't know the locals yet, and still needed to find our way around all the different things available to us in the town centers. But then he disappeared up into the bush (my village is coastal, his is 45 minutes inland, up a hill, into rainforest-like environment) for a couple weeks. We were both taking the necessary time to get acquainted with our villages, to get in with the locals, to see and be seen. Or at least I thought we both were. I mean... I was. But one day I made a surprise visit to him (it can only ever be a surprise since we have no way of communicating with each other) expecting to get a good dinner out of him and discovered that he had been working on either his house or his garden for the past two weeks (not visiting the locals) and more importantly he didn't have any freaking food! We ended up hitting the nakamals and drinking copious amounts of kava - including a custom nakamal where Matt had a drinking race of a rather large shell of freshly chewed kava with a local man that kicked his ass. I had a shell of the same, but I was unofficially racing some kranky (crazy) old man. After nakamal hopping we went back to his food-less home to continue drinking... you guessed it - Campari and Scotch Whiskey! And for some reason neither of us slept well that night. The next morning we spent the day together starting with breakfast at my bungalow, food shopping in town, computers in Isangel, back to my house for an amazing Thai dinner (i busted out one of my coveted pre-made sauce packets brought from Vila) followed by three vodka cocktails each and then stumbled our way up to the massive circumcision ceremony that had been going on all day. We planned on arriving just in time for the actual dancing part. Matt spent the night down at my place, breakfast again at the bungalow, and then he headed back up. The end to a much needed "white boy weekend". We plan on doing something similar on a regular basis - at least a couple times a month.

More about Matt:

He says I pronounce his name incorrectly, but then tells me there are three pronunciations:

Dah-Vit (the Dutch version)
Da-Whit (the typical version)
Dew-It (his favorite version)

Now he's also told me he's picked out his children's first names: Willy, Hugo, Ivana, and Kenya - all based on his version of his last name. This is the kind of super stupid silly shit that just kills me about Matt. He can appreciate fine, clever humor, Tom Robbins style, but isn't immune to the complete idiocy of naming his child Ivana Dew-It.

And there's more...

He's fond of words like "Plethora" and "Ascertain" - two of my favorites so long as they aren't overused. But then he also says things like "bad news bears" when something doesn't seem like it will go too well. This one drives me crazy. and he abuses it.

More Quotes:

"I'm getting rather fond of this dusty little outpost of humanity"

"I wouldn't be surprised to see her under a bridge, she looks so much like a damn troll"

And in conclusion... he's a cynical, slightly bitter bastard of the Nth degree. At first I thought... Hmm - not unlike me. But then he gave me the money quote that created a clear difference between the level our our dispositions. It goes like this:

"You could give me a million dollars and I would complain it was in $20's"

But he's a good guy and this post is my little tribute to my new friend and also as a shout out to all Matts friends who have been reading this blog. My little gift to you.

Friday, July 21

KAVA REDUX


Another post about Kava. It needs to be said. Before coming to Tanna I was told all these stories about how "man-tanna" is a huge kava drinker and how if i'm ever get integrated into the community, ever be accepted by the locals, i'll need to become a serious kava drinker - and at that point i really hated the stuff. So I was nervous. But as with most things in life, nothing is as it first seems. Don't believe the hype, in other words.

The photo to the right is a nakamal up near Matt Dewits house. I think this photo appears earlier in the blog but I don't have any current photos. They all basically look the same anyway.

So since arriving in Tanna I've become a regular at the Kava bars, the nakamals. Turns out that nakamal is the term for any meeting place, be it a community center, or a custom dance area, but is most often associated with a kava drinking place.

The tradition is thus...

Every freaking day, at about 4 - 4:30, I join up with Jeff (the PCV i'm replacing) and/or any other random local - usually one of the family members of the family that owns the land the coffee factory sits on. This family is all so incredibly friendly and kind and helpful - they also own the bungalows that I'm currently living in. So we venture out onto the main road and begin looking for an open kava bar. There are two kinds...

Ready-mades:

These kava bars are like little businesses - anyone is welcome, they are plentiful, they charge 100vt for a whole shell (about 8 ounces) or 50vt for a half shell. They are set just off the main road, some have shrubs or makeshift palm frond walls to block the view of the road. They all have a packed mud open area often with little benches along the perimeter. Usually there is a small flameless fire going - just a pile of glowing embers and smoldering logs. They have a little bamboo hut with a small counter top. Behind the counter one or more guys are serving the kava by scooping it out of the 5 gallon bucket it was mixed in. The scoop is almost always an old plastic bottle that they've cut down to a special measurement. The serving shell is usually an old coconut that they've been using forever. After each person uses a shell they sort of half-heartedly swoosh it around in a bucket of water before using it again. It's all pretty disgusting, but you just have to ignore all that since the worst part is yet to come. After you get your shell you walk away from the bar area and it's tradition that you find a lone spot facing away from everyone else. Some places have specific walls that you face, others you just walk over to the perimeter of the grounds. Next you drink down your shell in one continuous motion - no stopping. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Then you start spitting profusely. Some guys make a big deal out of the spitting - i mean, really going overboard with the sound effects. As for me - I find the only way i can down a shell is to hold it away from my face, look out onto the horizon, take a deep breathe of fresh air, then close my eyes and bring the shell to my mouth and hold my nose whil I gulp it all down. Afterwards I imediately rinse my mouth with water, but never swallowing the water - I find that upsets my stomach. Then you return your shell and walk over to your friends and maybe nibble on a little piece of bread.

The other kind of kava bar is the custom nakamal. Every village has it's one special custom nakamal and this is also the place where they hold custom ceremonies and such. Here, women are not permitted and the kava is served free of charge. Often it is chewed kava, meaning they chew up in thier mouths to make the pulp, and then spit it out before adding water to make the drink. Some people think the chewed kava tastes more smooth, but I find that it's just as disgusting.

Kava, as I've indicated before, tastes like dirty cucumber dish water. Or something that might fit a similar discription. This is part of the reason you turn away from people as you drink it so they can't see your pained expression as you try and get it into you. The first shell goes down the easiest, and they get progressively harder and less palatable as you go. I find that if I start with a full shell, and follow that with maybe one or two more half shells over the span of an hour then I'm doing pretty good. It provides a mild sedetive effect, but honestly does not do that much in the way of narcotics. It's mostly a social thing, I guess. But here's the rub... kava bars are VERY subdued environments. They are never lit, except the lantern by the road that indicates they are currently serving, and the lantern behind the bar. Other than that it's just the setting sun and then complete darkness. People mill about here and there making small talk, but it's always in a wisper - and often people don't talk at all. When I asked about this part of the tradition I was told it was because you were supposed to sit back and listen to the kava - it wasn't a time for rowdiness or chatting.

However, when I drink kava and I'm with other friends, I'm in "bar" mode and chatting is exactly what I want to do. And this is OK so long as we all keep it very wispery. I also don't find kava to be that relaxing. In fact, I've lately discovered that I sleep horribly, or not at all, on evenings when I've had more than a couple shells.

Plus, this is an early evening ritual. It usually begins at dusk and is over shortly after the sun sets - meaning they sell out. So often we go nakamal hopping - always looking around for one more lantern hanging out. It's a social thing.

I'm pleased to learn that man-tanna, as we call the locals, is not the kava freak he was made out to be. It's true that these nakamals are going every night and that kava is a major part of their custom life, but I've come across many men that don't drink kava at all, or only in small doses. Turns out the biggest kava drinker I know is Jeff. He can knock back shell after shell after shell and it just amazes me - this stuff tastes AWFUL.

There have been a couple night where I've skipped dinner suffering from a kava drunkeness that upsets my stomach a little bit. But once it wears off in an hour or two I find myself ravenishly hungry - but often that happens after I've crawled into bed.

Before leaving the training village I was really hating kava and was anxious that it would be a problem for me in Tanna after all the stories I'd been told, but not I'm much more comfortable with a couple shells and I enjoy the nakamal environment - VERY different than a white man bar scene.

I'm sure I'll continue to drink kava probably every other night or so - if for no other reason than that's what we do here in Vanuatu.

But I would much prefer a couple beers. Ho humm.

Wednesday, July 19

TRAINING RECAP

a small training recap:

First - lower all expectations, then lower them again - and keep in mind this isn't always a bad thing. Every assumption you make will likely be wrong or twisted around at least a little bit. But you already know this if you've read up on some of the Peace Corps information such as the web site and "Great Adventures" book of essays from returned PCV's.

For all it's faults the one thing they did really well was transition the trainees into the new environment...

Step one, they bring us all together in a really nice Los Angeles hotel. This gives us an opportunity to meet the rest of the training group. There were 23 in mine. We all gather and do some "getting to know you" exercises - the typical kind any corporation might do. It was actually fun and helpful since we were all nervous and anxious to meet each other - and had only just recently left our friends and family. Then they spend the next day and half giving us some generalized basics of being a PCV - rules and regulations, expectations and so forth. It was pretty drab and made us all more anxious to get going. It also served, as the moderator kept pointing out, as one more good opportunity to change your mind. They even told us that up to that point we had cost the PC approximately $25,000 in total expenses - before we even left the country!! This figure included every possible expense that could be contributed to our application process (background checks, medical shit, administrative stuff, and so forth) and travel expenses up to that point. We were all pretty shocked. Didn't seem very efficient to me - but then again this IS the federal government.

During this time we, the training group, had a chance to all go out to dinner together by splitting into two groups. Here I learned that there were two other vegetarians, neither of which had any of the problems that I experienced with the Placement Office. We were all on our best behavior and got a chance to learn a bit more about each other over beer - the social lubrication of choice.

The next day we had a half session with the staging people before gathering all our shit for the airport where we were to endure 3 hours in LAX, a 14 hour flight to New Zealand, 5 hours in the Auckland International Airport, and another 3.5 hour flight into Port Vila - all without the supervision of the Peace Corps. In New Zealand an issue with lost luggage gave us a chance to help and support each other - we were a group of common interest, common goal strangers.

The next stage of the transition was a week in a motel in the most urban area of the country. We still got to be around each other, we had access to an American style supermarket, several restaurants nearby, and just a small walk to the Peace Corps office for our classroom sessions. Still very safe, very sheltered. In the evenings we would mingle with each other in the hotel common area which had a small wading pool. We would gather in small groups to venture out into the new land in search of dinner or kava. This gave us the safety of the group while letting us get accustomed to the sites, sounds and smells of our new country.

The third stage was the big move to the training village which was a small satellite island just off the north coast of the capital island. Here we were each partnered with our own host family. Again, we were still in easy reach of each other, would spend our days together, but got to learn the language and culture with our host families. Plus, they prepared our food for us - which freed us from the burden of cooking, while also getting us used to island food. The training village was choosed for it's close proximity to the main office (45 minutes) but also because most of the locals spoke English. This stage was 9 weeks with stage four in the middle.

Walkabout - stage four - after 6 weeks of language and culture training they send each of us off on our future site, which was chosen just days or weeks before. In my case they pretty much knew they wanted to send me to the coffee factory from day one, but others would be shuffled around as some trainees dropped out during training or different villages weren't prepared yet for a PCV. This was a great opportunity for the trainee to meet some of the key locals, see their house and determine any needs they might have before arriving the following month. It was also hoped that we would be able to ascertain what our villages might need in the way of projects. We could then take these questions and concerns back to our trainers and get things worked out over the course of the next 4 weeks.

The remainder of training was considered technical - we worked in groups based on our fields of either health, business, forestry, or marine protection. This is where the training sort of broke down a bit. While there was more focus on our specific fields, there was also a more laid back attitude towards training on both the part of the trainer and the trainee. Most of us, after getting a taste of our sites, just wanted to get there and get things going. Many of us where getting tired of the day long sessions and would some of us started coming to class late or missing entire sections of the day - I'm guilty of this and I don't feel the least bit bad for it either since there was not a single session that ever started on time in during the entire training course (except the medical officers sessions since she's a ball-buster). Plus, during this technical training time they would bring in current volunteers to lecture us on their experiences and "how things really are". Most of these sessions were helpful, but often the individual would be under prepared and/or not very engaging. Additionally, our language training ended before walkabout. I thought this to be a huge mistake since now our bislama skills were sliding and they weren't that great to begin with.

They say that training is a part of the Peace Corps experience that no volunteer would ever wish to repeat, but no once would ever wish to miss it either. I, for one, had an absolutely great time and loved the training experience, the training village, the host-family, the custom house, the local community, and even the training sessions by the sea.

Finally, after a big swearing-in ceremony, they gave us one more week in Vila in one of two hotels. Again we were able to spend time with the friends we made during training without the oversight of any host family. We could, for at least one week, live like Americans again. We bought wine and cheese and cooked dinners together and watched DVD's and soaked up every last bit of each others company before heading off to our different islands. Once gone we wouldn't see each other as a group until May 2007 - the next All-Volunteer conference.

So in retrospect I thought our training was kind of weak in some areas, but as far as making a nice, comfortable and reasonable transition they did a great and smart job. And now that I've had a chance to meet some volunteers from other organizations from around the world, I would have to say Peace Corps is the most comprehensive I've come across. I've met a guy from Japan, a Youth Ambassador from Australia, and I work with a French guy from an E.U./French aide organization called POPACA - none of them got nearly the level of training as a PCV, none of them make as much of a commitment to the community in terms of time or grassroots level as a PCV. This is not in any way to disparage these people or the organizations they work for, indeed they usually have the same goals as Peace Corps, but it does provide me a perspective on the training and integration program afforded to us that the others do not get. The Australian girl, for example, lived with a host family for 2 nights. TWO. We got 9 weeks. The French guy gets a truck to drive around, and lives in a house with a satellite dish, electricity and running water. He also gets paid a salary. Nothing wrong with any of this, but it's a testament to Peace Corps philosophy of integrating into the community, and truly understanding the culture , which you really can't do effectively without the level of training and support that Peace Corps provides along with the standard of living in the community you serve at the level of the community. And this key difference has played itself out very clearly, and very importantly in the coffee project that I'm about to take over. But that's another story for another post.

Sooo... what happens immediately after training?

I guess you could say Stage 5, or are we at Stage 6? either way the rule of thumb, as preached by Peace Corps, is to take an additional 3 months to get settled in, get yourself integrated and comfortable in your community, get your living area settled, identify project areas, indentify key people, and generally just "spell" and get acclimated.

In my case, I don't have a house yet so I still feel like I'm living out of a suitcase and can't get settled in that regard. And since my main project, the coffee factory, is currently operating, I can't really ignore that for 3 months. In fact, I've been getting involved in that organization since the day I arrived.

And in my spare time... Kava.

Here is a photo of the bungalow I'm living in. It's very basic, but the grounds are beautiful and the ocean is just a few yards away. This is similar to the size and style of the house they are preparing to build for me, except I'll have a tin roof with a rain catchment system.

Tuesday, July 11

NUI HAOS BLO MI...

... Does not exist - yet.

It is Peace Corps policy that by the time you are sent to site your village will have built or provided for you a home. Due to several factors that hasn't been the case with me.

The Coffee Organization of Vanuatu (COV), a charitable organization that built and operates the coffee factory, and the primary organization for whom I'll be working, has been working with the owner of Tanna Coffee, the sole contractual customer of the COV, to get funding to build a "factory manager" house from the New Zealand High Commission. If that sounds a little confusing rest assured that it's even more confusing than you can imagine. The short end of the tale is that these things take time and no one got on the ball soon enough. Part of the problem is that too many people are sharing responsibility to the point that for a while no one was really in charge of making things happen. And, or course, a bigger part of the problem is simple bureauracracy.

Normally Ni-Vans can throw together a custom house - like the one I lived in for 10 weeks during training - in less than a week. And this would be fine with me. But Terry is planning for the future and wants the house to be good enough to act as partial compensation for a future factory manager - not a bad idea. Therefore, he wants concrete floors, half-concrete walls (topped with bamboo) , glass windows, a built-in kitchen and flushing toilets, tin roof with water-collection system, electricity and running water. The plans he submitted also included furniture like a desk, 2 beds, gas stove, small fridge and some other stuff that pushed the costs over vt 1 million. Herein lies the big delay. Turns out that if the quote for all the supplies can be kept under vt 500,000 then this will qualify for speedy approval. vt 500,000 is equal to about $5,000. So he's been removing items and re-submitting the quote... which takes more time.

In the mean time Peace Corps policy would be to keep me in Vila until a house gets built - and indeed, it's a testament to the intentions of the village that requested me in the first place to have built a house before my training was complete. Peace Corps' first thought is why haven't they just built a custom house while we wait for the funds to come through? well... if I have a custom house then how do you convince a charity of the need to build another, better house? So somehow Terry was able to convince the Peace Corps director that the funds would be approved and the house would be constructed within the month. With that in mind, Peace Corps went out on a limb and agreed to put me up in a bungalow, at a steeply discounted rate, for ONE month. One week has gone by, the quotes haven't been approved, there is still debate about where exactly to build the house, and the next meeting of the board of the COV isn't for another 2 weeks. Nothing can fully be decided until then. so.... there is no way in hell my house will be built before the end of the month. It simply can't happen.

Last I heard from the Assistant Peace Corps Director was that if the house wasn't built soon they would send me to another site on another island - Ambrym. He seemed pretty serious about it.

Ugh.

Wednesday, July 5

WORST. BOAT-RIDE. EVER.

Turns out that ferry/cargo ships are really not even close to a desirable form of human transport - at least not on the open seas. At first, it seemed like a fun idea: take an 8-10 hour boat ride down to our new island home. We would bring our dinner on board and after eating take a valium and read until we fall asleep and then wake the next morning. Perfect plan. The added benefit was that we would be able to supervise the loading and un-loading of all our packages.

So the boat was scheduled to depart Vila at 6pm. We arrived at 3:30 with all our luggage, which included everything we brought from the U.S., plus all the stuff given to us by the Peace Corps (blanket, foam mattress, pillow, bucket, lantern, tons of paperwork...), plus all the things we purchased in Vila to outfit our new homes (pots, pans, dishes, tools, alcohol, and so on). We each (Matt and I) had about 10 large pieces. By 4:30 the wharf, as you might imagine, was just slightly organized chaos. There didn't seem to be anyone in charge, people were milling about all over the place, pick-up trucks kept arriving and dumping more cargo onto the dock - and yet somehow we were able to get our stuff secured onto the boat before anyone else. White man advantage, I suppose. Or maybe the Peace Corps advantage. Same thing either way. But then, with little warning, and with half the cargo still sitting on the dock, the boat pulls away! Turns out they needed to get fuel.

But of course!!

Load half the ship then take off to get fuel on the other side of the harbor. Nevermind that the fuel station is in the same direction we would soon be traveling, nevermind that the ship came in that same morning and could have fueled as it passed the station to the wharf. Imagine the most ridiculous way to do something and often that's the way it happens.

Anyway... the boat eventually came back and we were able to get going around 7:30pm - not too bad for island time, I suppose. I had with me some motion-sickness pills, but never having had a problem with that before I decided not to take any. In any event, the directions say to take them one hour before sailing. So as we pulled away from the dock, cheerily seated in the much smaller, open-air upper deck (main deck seats about 200 with clear plastic tarps covering the window areas), I began to eat my dinner. I had brought a fresh baquette with what would be my last wedge of brie (amazing that i could even get that in Vila, but definitely not available in Tanna), a small container of coleslaw and another of greek salad. Smooth sailing so far. As soon as I finished eating, I flipped open a magazine and tried to read the every-five-years story of how General Motors is once again on the road to success (despite losing $10 billion last year), but before the second paragraph the sea swells started rocking the boat to the point of making reading a bit like reading in a car - you can do it, but after a while it gives you headache or makes you queasy. Then the swells got bigger and I realized I had better pop those pills. I took one dramamine, and one valium.

Far too little, far too late.

I closed the magazine and settled into my seat hoping for the best. About 20 minutes laters, rocking and rolling in just the most ridiculous manner, I decided I should head for a lower, and hopefully more stable, seat. Climbing down the ladder was a chore, and then stumbling amongst the lower deck was even harder - people were laying all over the floor, presumably trying to sleep. Mostly the area was quiet, but it was an uncomfortable quiet - like when an airplane has a bout of turbulance and everyone finds god for the first time since their last flight. As for me, my stomach told me to quickly head to the bathroom - two standard issue port-a-pottys bolted to the floor in the back of the ship. I made it back just in time. As I opened the door the brie I never thought I'd see again came flying out (along with my pills) - and as the ship violently swayed back and forth my arms flung out to the walls struggling to keep me stable and standing. It was tricky to say the least. I briefly marvelled at my output, since I really didn't think I had eaten that much. But it wasn't over yet.

I came flying - yes, flying - out of the bathroom and stumbled full force into the other port-a-potty about 2 yards opposite. I made a feeble attempt at composing myself before my body, and the movement of the ship, decided it best to just collapse exactly where i was standing. Two Ni-vans standing at the back of the ship showed no surprise and payed me little attention.

And so it was for the next 8 hours - me curled up in the fetal position on the floor immediately outside the bathroom door, my head coming to rest next to some greasy propane tanks. Every hour I would stumble back into the bathroom, vomit violently (and at this point it was just bile) and then the next 55 minutes I would pray to god to take my soul or at least make the ship stop for even 15 minutes. Sleep never happened. It was unimaginable to me, during those moments, to consider that we were not even close to our destination and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Going back upstairs was not an option. Getting off the floor was not an option - thank god it was normal for people to just lay wherever. And I wasn't the only one puking. Oh, no... not by a long shot. In fact, in-between my own vomiting I enjoyed the pleasure of hearing many, many others wretching their guts. The difference was that I was the ONLY one using the bathroom. Where did all the other vomit go? I don't know. I don't care.

At 4 am my prayers were answered. The ship stopped offshore Erromango island, just north of Tanna. We weren't at a dock so I guess some boats came out to grab some cargo. During this time (30 minutes or so) I made my way back up top and quickly took a dramamine. I learned that Matt had been sleeping like a baby - only woken occasionally by the sounds of others vomiting off the upper deck. I was able to lay down accross a row of seats, threw a blanket over myself, and held on for the next 6 hours until we came to the Lenekal wharf, built by the Chinnese, in Tanna. I continued to feel crazy nausea for the duration, but managed to keep it together and even got 15 minutes of sleep here and there.

There was already a "true" cargo ship at the single-dock wharf (4 times bigger than the boat we were in), so we pulled alongside that, and unloaded our boat by walking across the deck of the other ship and then onto the dock. The cargo ship, of course, was also in the process of being unloaded. The concrete wharf is wide enough for one pick-up going in one direction, yet everything that came off both boats needed to be picked up by a multitude of trucks. Chaos ensued. Luckily we were met by Jeff, the Peace Corps volunteer who I'm replacing, and Sam (Matts Ni-Van counterpart). They helped coordinate through the mess. Thank god we were able to pull the old white man magic to get our packages off the boat first. I cringe at the idea of preferential treatment in this manner, but goddamn if I wasn't the saddest sack of sorry shit that ever stumbled onto that dock. I needed solid ground. Jeff just laughed at me - he knew what was gonna happen the minute he heard we were taking the boat. I wish someone had warned me. I later learned that Matt had taken not one, but three motion-sickness pills.

We were able to get everything off the dock and to my bungalow with amazing effeciency and then I just crashed. After a short spell we went to lunch, and then I headed back home where I slept from 8pm to 8am. Even now, after all that sleep, when I hold still and close my eyes I still feel like I'm going up and down. Sooooo glad that's over. And you can bet your ass I called the Peace Corps this morning and "thanked" them for the lovely transport.

Today, July 5th in Vanuatu, is actually July 4th - Independence Day - in the U.S.A. Matt and I had planned on celebrating with some cocktails on the beach, but it's been raining all day and we have no way of communicating with each other (he's 45 minutes away by foot). I doubt he will be coming down to visit so you can just picture me alone on the rainy beach, wine glass in hand, toasting America.

Sunday, July 2

LELEPA, HOW I LOVE THEE



It's really hard to understate the emotional effect we've had on the community of Lelepa. Partly because it's hard to imagine the cultural differences, and how that factors, without having lived with them. For the past nine weeks, and from the very first day, they have treated us like we were their own children - in some cases they have treated us LIKE children, and modifications had to be made. Without wanting to sound egotistical I have to admit that we (the Peace Corps training group) were, in many ways, the biggest thing to happen to Lelepa in god knows how long (since WWII, maybe?). I mean, it's a very small island, very tight community, very culturally protected and isolated from the mainland. And then 20 white Americans arrive and mix it all up. The families were all so incredibly excited about hosting us, and participated in every way they could. Not a single thing happened in the past 9 weeks that the entire island didn't know about within one day. This is to say we served as entertainment for them. A huge curiosity. But so much more than that, since we were actually living with them - under their care. They tried so hard to be pleasing and accommodating and they succeeded. Many times the host-family/Trainee dynamic was little more than functional, but in many cases, like mine, the relationship became very personal and even evolved over time as the comfort level grew. We started out strangers, with them instinctively adopting a parental role, but I made it a point to move it more into an adult friendship thing. And that worked with me, but not so much with some others. In any event, parting was very difficult - a hundred times more so for the Ni-vans. Most of us were simply bewildered by the outpouring of affection during the last week on the island, and the tears that flowed on the final day would be enough to float a boat. Sometimes it was embarrassing, but it was always touching. With this context in mind, I want to share the text of the speech I gave at our swearing-in ceremony. The ceremony was attended by all the host families and dozens of other community members, over 50 additional invited guests, the Peace Corps staff and several currently serving volunteers. It was four hours of speeches that included an opening and closing prayer and individual Volunteer commencements - just like graduating college. I didn't know it until the moment it happened, but mine was the final speech and the only English speech (three trainee were asked to volunteer to speak, one in bislama, one in English).

It may sound a bit sappy, but it's from the heart and was written for the incredibly wonderful, generous, warm, and sincere people of Lelepa. I haven't given many public speeches, but never before have I ever done something that was so incredibly well received - it's such a simple thing, but it's the most proud I've felt since the day I arrived here. People I never met before, who happened to be in the audience, were thanking me and congratulating me on a such a nice speech - and more than a few people told me I made them cry. Indeed, I gave a test run to my friend Jess, and was surprised, and pleased, to see her cry. You may not think it much, but here it is...

"I have the distinction and honor of giving not only the last speech of the day, but also the only one in English.

Robert Moler told us to remember this day forever, and I think most of us would find it a hard one to forget. But I want us to try, for just a moment, to remember the first day we were all together like this. It was the first day the trainees arrived in Lelepa, the day we met you in this nakamal.

I remember feeling excited. I remember feeling nervous. I remember feeling incredibly awkward.

But I also feel really, really proud.

Like all other PCT's I went through a lengthy process filled with tons of paperwork, and long periods of waiting.

Like all PCT's I made many sacrifices - giving up my job, my car and home, and my friends and family, to come and see what I could do in Vanuatu.

On that day when we first met each other I was so very happy and proud of myself to finally be sitting in that room.

And then something occurred to me - as each of us was called up to the stage to meet our host families - something occurred to me for the first time.

All the host families, indeed all of Lelepa, had also been working hard for this moment, had also been making sacrifices.

You were preparing, building, and waiting.

You were also excited...

You were also nervous...

You were also awkward.

And I was, for the first time, feeling so proud for an entire room of people. Two completely different cultures coming together with the same goals, to help each other and to learn from each other.

I want to acknowledge and pay tribute to the host families and the Lelepa community for inviting us strange white men and women into your homes and caring for us like we were your own pikinini's.

It's true that you cooked us food, made us some clothes, did our wash.

It's also true that you taught us your culture, your language, and your way of life.

But the fears and anxieties we ALL felt on that first day quickly faded thanks to the warmth and hospitality or the momma's and the pappa's.

All PCT's are very much aware of the impact our presence has had on Lelepa.

We've explored your hills and caves.

Swam in your saltwater.

We've played in your volleyball and futbol games.

climb your trees, and killed your chickens.

During all this we've tried our best to be culturally sensitive and to make as little impact on your community as possible.

For all the times we might have failed, on behalf of group 19A, I'd like to offer my apologies and ask for your forgiveness and ask that you extend the same warmth and forgiveness to group 19B, arriving in October, who will certainly make the same mistakes as we did.

Four weeks ago all PCT's left Lelepa for 1 week to visit our future islands. I remember when we first came back many trainees, including me, said it felt good to be home again. That we missed our home in Lelepa.

Home?

How did Lelepa, in only 6 weeks, become our home?

In America we have a saying - Home is where the heart is.

Thanks to the host families, thanks to this beautiful island, thanks to the community here, my heart has been in Lelepa.

While I, and all trainees, will need to make new homes beginning next week, Lelepa, for the rest of our lives, will always be our first impression, our first experience, or real Vanuatu.

And therefore, Lelepa, and the Ni-vans here, will always have a place in my heart and each time I visit - and I WILL visit - I'm sure I will always feel at home here.

Now 9 weeks after first meeting you I feel proud all over again.

Proud for all of us.

On behalf of 19A I wish to thank the PC trainers, the community of Lelepa, and especially the host families for participating in our training.

My biggest hope is that we've given you a positive impression of a United States citizen.

I also want to extend good wishes for your future.

I hope your experiences with tourism projects are positive. I wish you well in completing your new church and your schoolhouse improvements.

And I wish you good luck with group 19B

Thank you!

THE ONE(s) I'M BRINGING BACK


Dear Friends and Family - In two years I'll be in need of small clothing, playpen, a stroller and other such necessary entrapments of child rearing - I've found the one I'm bringing home! This little guy, Stewart, was my next door neighbor in Lelepa and while he often woke me up or kept me up with his teething cries, we didn't become friends until my final two weeks. We hit it off pretty quickly since he was already fond of white men having just come back from New Zealand where he spent the first 7 of his 9 months of life (unlike Willie, my host brother, and other Vanuatu infants who usually cry at the site of white people - no joke. Some even scream bloody murder if you get too close). He's got a great disposition, is one of the cutest kids I've seen, and his parents had a generator I could use to charge my camera and iPod - a hot commodity in this part of the world. The first time I played with him I tossed him around like he was an airplane and that made him pretty happy. After that, every time I would see him, even if he was in the middle of a crying fit, he would smile and shake his legs around, and as I walked away he would get frustrated and cry again - somehow I found that amusingly validating. Their house was a stones toss from my home, and was closer to the ocean. One day when I came back from Vila with a vomitous stomachache his momma made me an oceanfront, sea-breezy bed under the shade of pandana's trees for me to rest on for the day. Anyway... we enjoyed each others company for a short while. On the day I packed up and moved out his family came over and presented me with a parting gift - a handmade pandana's bag - plus hugs and kisses all around. I barely knew them but they were adamant that if I'm ever in Vila I absolutely must make a visit to Lelepa and see everyone. Which, of course, I will. There have been many occasions where Ni-vans have offerred children to Americans with the idea of giving thier child better opportunities - but when I told Stewart's poppa that when my two years was up I was gonna take him back to the U.S. with me, he just laughed nervously - not sure if I really would or not, and probably not sure what he would do if I did try and take him. Funny stuff.


And this is Steven, Stewarts 4 year old brother. Also achingly cute and incredibly sweet - but not real responsive to the needs of his younger brother, seen here free-falling off my bed. Don't worry though - no children where harmed in the making of this blog*. Paternal instincts can take you by surprise sometimes. I was so apprehensive about moving into a family with 4 young boys - ages 12, 11, 9, and 2. I knew I was far out-numbered, completely out of touch with young kids, and of course had a huge language and cultural barrier. Turns out those barriers made it easier, I think, although I can't articulate precisely how just at the moment. In the case of my little neighbor here, he's a shy guy to begin with. I won him over with the old iPod trick. He liked Bob Marley because he recognized it (Vanuatu loves Marley, as you could imagine), but he really responded to Madonna's newest stuff. I thought it was pretty great when he started bobbing his head along with the music. We also had a couple sessions of Frisbee lessons. One day I suddenly and accidentaly found myself with both Stewart and Steven in my care (i think momma took the chance to run off and hide for a breather) - but I was cool with this. I was able to lay the baby out on one arm, facing down so he could feel like he was flying around, and then played frisbee with the other hand. After getting tired I had to put Stewart in his stroller and position him so he could watch the game action. He wasn't too happy about it, but if I made funny faces at him every couple minutes he'd be pacified. Problem was that I had to keep an eye on Steven who likes to climb up on the concrete water tank and try to toss and catch the frisbee from up there - but sometimes doesn't remember that he can't run for the frisbee without plummeting off the tank. ahh, children.

*except stewart