CLAUDIA-JEAN SERWALT

Meet C.J.

Her internet inaugeral.



She has a love/hate relationship with me. She still lives at her house of birth, Kamuts house, with two other siblings. I don't have a house yet, but I carry her around to get her used to me. I take her down to the ocean and she shakes like crazy as soon as she sees the waves. I dunk her in and wash her off and she wines a bit and looks at me like she hates me. Then all is forgiven when I give her a plate of tunafish. The next night I take her back to the ocean and sit on the rocks, but she's scared to death and runs off. I think she'll run back towards the bungalow but she goes the other way. I think she's gone forever, but sure enough the next day she's hanging out at her home like nothing ever happened. How did I ever live without a dog.

HAMING IT UP

(This event happened in Mid-August but due to problems loading photos there has been a delay. I think it's my favorite post yet and contains the best photo since the shot of the baby falling off the bed next to his distracted brother listening to my iPod)

We were told, just in passing, that Vanuatu Prime Minister Ham Lini would be making a visit to the White Beach Bungalows – the place where I’ve been living since arriving in Tanna. More specifically it was to be a “cocktail party” (even though I know that they don’t know what a cocktail is. Made me suspicious) On the other hand I did know he was on the island since he had earlier in the week made a speech at a humongous circumcision ceremony sponsored by the Presbyterian church. But I still didn’t think he would actually be coming to the bungalows. I mean… why would he? And the way information travels around in Vanuatu it was more likely that someone was confused or joking.

So I’ve learned that it’s best to ask several different people several different questions from several different angles – you need to cover your bases – and then compare all the answers.

And sure enough the word on the street was that Ham would be having a little party at the bungalows in just two night’s time. No one said we weren’t invited so we just assumed that since I lived there that we would be welcome.

Matt and I were excited – would there be a dress code? What would we wear? What kind of party would this really be? Do you think we can get him to buy us a drink? Does he travel with a big crew or just a few aides? What could a Vanuatu Prime Minister motorcade look like? Would this be a “custom” affair, or a more business-like deal? Most importantly… Would there really be cocktails???

Strangely the staff themselves didn’t seem all that excited. I personally knew the cupboard was bare, the fridge was void of any cocktail ingredients and it sure didn’t have any beer either. What was really going on here? Why weren’t preparations being made, why weren’t people in full Our-country’s-Prime-Minister-is-making-a-special-visit-to-our-little-bungalows party planning mode? Ni-Vans are funny people – you just never know what to expect and they do so much stuff behind the scenes that you’re never really sure what’s going on. I suppose they were on the ball to some degree, but it just never happens the way it would in America. Here they probably talked it all out at custom nakamal over a few shells of kava.

On the morning of his visit (he was due at 6pm) I ran into Chief Nako at the Co-op store. He’s the primary owner/manager of the bungalows. He had been loading cases of beer into his truck, but was now deep in thought over a bottle of vodka. With my own selfish needs in mind I immediately went to his aide and explained exactly how many bottles of wine, vodka and rum to buy, and which mixers he would need for each. This guy is a character – one of those old fellows whose eyes are always red and glassy, several missing front teeth, kind of a frumpy build and a fumbly walk, making him appear perpetually tanked. And maybe he was. Good for him. Just be sure to buy plenty of vodka.

So I’ll just skip ahead to 5:30.

I get home from the coffee factory where we had a big day with the farmers. I was tired and needed a shower. Matt had already headed down to the bungalows an hour before. As I arrived I could see that things were in full swing. A string band was re-hearsing. Some other boys were practicing a custom dance. The kitchen staff was setting up three large banquet tables outside and another guy was hanging a couple lights up in some trees. A sound system was being tested. Food was being cooked. The fridge was being stocked. It seemed like a party was actually going to happen.

So I start taking a shower. Thankfully got my hair washed first, because as soon as I got my body all soaped up the water trickled to a drip. Some bastard had forgot to check the water tank. The entire compound was, I now knew, out of water. This bathroom doesn’t have a sink with a faucet so the staff always puts a tub of water on a shelf where the sink should be. I never use this tub of water and curse them every day for not installing the sink that had been sitting on the floor of the kitchen for over a month. In this case, however, it saved me – I used that water to rinse off. I than quickly ran down to the kitchen to alert them that they didn’t have water. A staffer had to run back and flick on the water pump located behind the coffee factory. The line from the pump fills a water tank that supplies the factory.

So while I’m trying to get ready the PM arrives, everyone else gets seated, and they begin making a ton of speeches always preceded by an opening prayer. I get dressed, grab my camera, and arrive just as the prayer is ending.

There are three rows of white plastic chairs filled with about 40 people, including Jeff and Matt and a few other people that I knew. The surrounding area is a smattering of about 30 Ni-Vans sitting on the ground, walking about, or still working on getting things ready. Most people are silently and patiently sitting and listening.

I’m wandering around the perimeter of the area trying to get some good shots but the lighting is so bad that I can’t get the camera to focus. Plus, I don’t know which guy is the PM. The guests are all dressed like people at a basic middle-class American cocktail party (or maybe a BBQ) – polo shirts, island shirts, khakis, and women in island dresses. Certainly no suits, Certainly no ties. Myself - I put on the best outfit I packed – just a button down long-sleeve shirt, untucked thank you, and green slacks with the brown leather shoes I stole from Andrew. Matt did the same. We were so anxious for a chance to dress “up” for a change, and attend what we thought would be a “normal” function. I guess we half expected something like what you might find in the US. What the hell did we know about the Prime Minister of Vanuatu? I mean… we know Vanuatu is pretty laid back. We know we are just a speck in the south pacific. We know this is a developing country. But still – when you’re attending a party for a “Prime Minister” your mind just assumes there to be a certain level of decorum, a certain gravitas about the affair. Alas, there was none. I mean… None.

Brotha, I said none.

He did have a nice speech though. I can’t remember what he said but he was frank about subjects like bad land deals – watch out for the white man!. And he talked briefly about AIDS – make sure you only have sex with women! And he was excited about a new trade deal with Indonesia (but we’ve nothing to trade so I’m not sure what’s so exciting). In between speeches there was a string band and all I could do was think how absolutely sick to death he must be of string band serenades. Certainly I was sick of them and I’ve been here little more than 4 months (at that point).

And when he was finished we had to listen to several other windbags – a local chief, a regional chief, president of the province, another prayer and blah blah blah.

Where ARE those cocktails?

Finally - the talking was officially over, people started moving around. So I set about lining up some drinks. I was leaning over one of the banquet tables and sort of loudly asking Annie where the hell is the damn vodka!

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

I turn around to face Matt – “What?! I’m trying to get us some damn drinks”

Then I turn further and see whom he’s talking to.

“Well hello Mr. Prime Minister.” (shit, shit, shit)

As soon as the speeches were done he came right over to meet all the white people – Jeff, Matt, a Dutch aide-worker named Renco, and myself. While I was yelling about getting some vodka they had all done introductions and were just looking at me waiting for me to say something. Since I had spoken in English the PM, face all contorted and scrunched up, blasted me:

“Bislama, bislama, bislama!” he said.

“uh… OK, sorry. Um… ah…” (shit! – I just got smacked down by the PM!)

I sheepishly look over at Matt. Jeff and Renco are just looking at me. I’m suddenly speechless – not like me to be flustered by power, money or fame – but I guess I was caught off guard. Matt was no help.

“Go ahead, talk to the Prime Minister” he says. Gee thanks.

I turn back to him and tell him something entirely forgettable. Something stupid and fumbly – I can’t get my bislama to come out right and as soon as I recognize that I’m flustered I decide best to just keep my mouth shut. I shake his hand and introduce myself, explain that I’m with the U.S. Peace Corps and then just leave it at that. Not that it much mattered – by this point he’s looking around for the kava.

And kava he gets.

First the girls bring out all the food. A pretty typical spread. And Matt and I had already snuck off to my bungalow to share a small bottle of vodka a friend had offered us. Now they were pouring some wine. Music was playing. Things were starting to get going.

But you don’t eat before kava – it spoils the effect. And often you don’t want to eat for at least an hour after kava. The PM and his crew wanted kava but didn’t want to pass up all the food. They asked the staff to load up a bunch of food in take-out containers and give it to the local police (the three rent-a-cop looking goofballs whom doubled as our Prime Ministers security force). But the bungalows don’t have any such containers.

“Brett! Brett!” Lucy came running over to me just as I was about to load up my own plate of food ( I wasn’t drinking kava).

“The Prime Minister needs to borrow your plastic storage containers!”

Eh?

Well. THIS was a special privilege (sarcasm). I get to give my Tupperware for the PM’s use, so he can more adequately get tanked on kava, and the odds were quite high that I would never see my stuff again. But I couldn’t say no to Lucy – it would make the bungalows look bad and they were trying so hard and things were going so well.

“Of course. Take whatever you need”. By-by Tupperware.

So I have myself another glass of wine. Or maybe it was two more. Either way some time had passed, alcohol was working its wonders, the party was really starting to roll… and look over there!… It’s the PM sitting all by himself with just one harmless police officer standing behind him. One empty chair on either side of him. OK, here’s my chance to redeem myself. Straighten up my back. Clear my throat. And firmly walk right over to him – wine glass in hand. I give one glance back to Jeff and Matt, who are looking on with amusement and the gleeful hope that I would do something horribly embarrassing. The potential was high.

“Mind if I sit down?” I say to the PM (in Bislama, of course) while giving a furtive, but friendly glance to the cop who may or may not have been paying any attention until just that moment. The PM sort of makes eye contact (but not really) and gives a grunt. I take that as a “yes” and happily sit down. I look across the way and give a beaming smile to Jeff and Matt. They are grinning - waiting and praying that I some how screw this up.

I turn to Ham and start in with some little speech about how I’ve only been here for four months and that I consider myself very lucky to be in Vanuatu because the people here are so wonderful and blah blah blah. He looks straight ahead the whole time. Barely acknowledges my presence. I say some other silly stuff. He ignores me, but I’m undeterred. I glance back at the cop who is looking blankly off into the distance. My Bislama is just flowing – Now I’m feeling pretty damn good. So I decide to force him to engage me. I start asking him questions – Have you ever visited the United States “no”. Which island are you from? “Pentacost”. You enjoying your stint as Prime Minister? “grunt”.

I start feeling like my time is up, so I casually down the rest of my wine and mention that it’s time for a refill. I get up and scurry over to Matt and Jeff who had been making speculative guesses at our conversation. Jeff - “so... you come here often?” We started cracking up laughing and it occurs to me that Ham was looking over at us. In the US if someone you were just talking to then walks over to other people, makes small talk, and then they all burst out laughing, you might assume they were just talking shit about you. I was paranoid that Ham might be thinking that so I broke off from the group and wandered into the diningroom.

Here I saw a jolly, round bellied, good-humored man who was clearly the center of attention for the several people lingering about the room. He was just about to walk out the door when someone whispered to me that he was the Minister of Health. At that I immediately called out to him, and offered my hand for a shake (who did I think I was? Oh wait.. I know… I’m an arrogant American and in my mind these people weren’t really high government officials on any order I was expecting – tonight they were just a bunch of party guys). He stopped and very happily shook my hand and we introduced ourselves. I was sitting on the corner of a table, Matt and a few other friends nearby. After our introductions he loudly called to the bartender, waving his hand in the air, to get us all a round of drinks.

I liked this guy!

I asked him similar questions as I ask Ham, but turns out this guy has traveled to the U.S. on several occasions, gave me informed and interesting answers, asked questions of me, and never once grunted.

Hey, get these boys another round!

He then went on to explain that he planned on being PM some day, and he implied that it wouldn’t be too far in the future. He then showed us a tattoo he had on the inside of his right forearm. It was a word in bold letters “UNBEATABLE” it said.

Another round!!

[PHOTO: Prime Minister Ham Lini on the left wearing the santa beenie, Minister of Health on the right, getting the party going]

I was pleased he was buying us drinks, and as I looked at the cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth I amused myself by thinking that maybe he should change his title to the Minister of Bad Health. Or the Minister of Unbeatable Parties.

Suddenly the music volume just went up. People were starting to dance.

But first I had to check up on something Matt and I had joked about before. We had taken notice that the Prime Minister was traveling with the Minister of Health, and maybe one other Minister I didn’t meet, and their wives. As well as three police officers. But what, exactly, was the extent of the Vanuatu Prime Ministers motorcade? I know a U.S. President will travel with no less than 30 vehicles including press car, Secret Service and even an ambulance, not to mention all the aides and support staff and such. A result of wealth, prestige and power as much as a result of necessity. But what about here? Before they arrived we joked about whether or not his vehicle would have the little flags on the hood of the car. We weren’t being judgmental but I guess we were being arrogant little bastards (our motorcade is bigger than yours!).

But still… I was curious. And I took my camera.

[PHOTO: The truck in the forefront is THE motorcade. The little flag was attached with brown packing tape. Love it!]

Then it was back to the party. It was time to dance. I looked around the area – momma’s, small kids, youths, Matt, the Minister of Health, and many others were all tearing up the dance floor in a hodge-podge of different styles. I can’t remember the music, but maybe because it too was a hodge-podge of different styles. I looked around some more.

Low and behold who did I spy sitting all by his lonesome?

So again I walked right over to Ham and took a seat. The cop wasn’t standing guard behind him anymore. Not that I ever really cared. These people don’t pull any of that “threaten you with a stare” stuff that the U.S. Secret Service like to employ. I suppose they don’t really have to. Not much threat going on here.

He’s frumped in his white plastic chair. And I mean Frumped - slouched, double chinned. And now he’s wearing a hat that keeps reminding me of a Santa hat. He looked only semi-conscious. The kava was kicking his ass. So I brought out my camera, held it out with one hand and took this photo:



I ask him how he’s doing, if he’s enjoying himself. I think he farts, and then mumbles something. I turn to see all the people dancing and notice his security guard is out on the dance floor shaking his hips like a fool. I laugh and point and Ham actually gives me a smile. I ask him if he’s gonna dance and he says that he’s thinking about it. So then I just chill for a moment to see what happens. After a moment he grunts so I look over at him.

“I’m really drunk on kava, so if you want to dance please don’t wait for me”.

[PHOTO: Taken right before he said the above quote. He wasn't wearing the santa beenie before, or the gray sweatshirt. I heald the camera outstretched with my left arm to take this classic image. He didn't flinch or turn his head when the flash went off]

Of course he says this in Bislama. Again, I take my cue and get up to walk around, maybe snap some more photos. Earlier I caught Matt dancing with the Prime Ministers wife who he had very gentlemanly approached as she sat on a chair, offered his hand, and asked her to the dance floor. She has such a stoic look about her. And she’s a large woman! And holy cow, once she gets going watch out! Jeff later said that she was manhandling him – just swinging him around like he was a rag doll. But it was Matt who got her warmed up. Here they are, Matt and Vanuatu’s First Lady.

[PHOTO: Matt with the usually stoic First Lady, tearing up the dance floor. ]








At some point in the middle of all this we were gathered to pose for an “official” photo with Ham. We were lining up and Ham was trying to tell me where to stand when someone shot this classic photo. A special prize to whomever comes up with the best caption:



The night continued on for hours. We drank, danced, danced and drank. It just got more and more crazy and out-of-control as the night went on. And all the women were just going all-out on the dance floor. Mary Jack, a province official and the Chairwoman of the Coffee Organization of Vanuatu was non-stop action – just tearing a hole in the ground, hootin’ and hollerin’ the whole time. The Minister of Health never let up. At one point the sound system went out and he started yelling that the party wasn’t over yet. He just kept carrying on, thrusting his one arm in the air while his other hand negotiated the bottle to his mouth while his lips tried not to lose his cigarette, always just dangling out the corner of his grinning mouth.

At some point I called it a night, but the party continued on probably until dawn. Not sure what time Ham went to his bungalow – at a pricier establishment closer to the airport. When I got up in the morning I realized that many of the local Ni-Vans had simply slept (crashed) on the beach, or in the bush, or on the grass outside my bungalow. Some of the momma’s had already started cleaning the grounds and one gave me a knowing look as she pulled two bottles out of the bushes near the front of my bungalow (they weren’t mine). The aftermath sure felt like the day after some of the parties that I’ve thrown back in San Diego – certainly not the kind of parties you would have invited a Prime Minister to, but then again this is a funny place.

A place where you can look into the mouth of an active volcano on one day, and the very next day you can be drunken dancing with the Head of State.

This is Vanuatu.

This is Tanna.
[PHOTO: From left, Jeff Robinson, Matt Dewitt, some looney-party-crashing-guy that found his way into no less than 6 of my photos, Prime Minister with drunk security guard protecting him from the looney guy]

[ a few notes: 1. I stole the title to this post from an email Matt sent on the same subject – gotta give credit where credit is due. 2. Vanuatu has a Prime Minister and a President. I’m not exactly sure who is referred to as Head of State, and I don’t really know if either man’s wife is referred to as The First Lady – probably neither. But it makes for better copy. It’s also possible that the President has a bigger and better motorcade than the Prime Minister – again, probably not. I’ve recently been unofficially informed that the President is more of a figurehead position for Vanuatu. It’s also come to my attention that Matt has a different memory about the smoking habits of the Minister of Health, but I’m gonna stick with my version since it’s more fun and since he bought me so many drinks it’s plausible that I was seeing things that weren’t really there. In other words, it’s all the Ministers fault. ]

RANDOM QUOTE

"Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves"

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"Love In The Time Of Cholera"

TRIAGE IN TANNA

WOW - Thanks for all the responses to the "Need Your Help" blog post on my young friends medical problems. Many people recommended international aide organizations which will take me many weeks, or months, to research - which I will do. I hope to find something that will work for with our limited needs.

As it happens, a few days after I made that post an angel sent me a couple doctors.

I had just walked back to the bungalows, tired from a long day at the factory, which included a heated "discussion" with the electric company that keeps trying to over-bill the coffee factory (oh, and the electric company people only speak french and bislama - just imagine the fun i had), and the property manager asked if I wouldn't mind taking a couple tourists to a nakamal so they could get some kava. The night before I had only a little bit of kava and got a stomachache so I was really hesitant to drink again this night, plus I was feeling loathe to play tour guide (even though I love doing it). When I reluctantly asked which tourists, barely concealing the lethargy in my voice, he pointed to two tall, good-looking, college guys.

Uhmm... yeah... Kava sounds great.

So a few minutes later I'm leading the guys, both Londoners, to my local pub. Now here is where the secret of the Peace Corps comes into action - as opposed to Ni-Van culture and even many other aide organizations - I shared information. Quite simply I talked with the tourists, and then later had a chance to share (use) what I learned with my people (my community). This is an element that is the single greatest barrier to Vanuatu culture - not sharing information. But more on that later. In this case, I quickly learned that Simon and Kumar where both soon-to-be doctors. They had traveled to Vanuatu to volunteer for a few weeks at a hospital in Luganville. Luganville is Vanuatu's second largest urban area after Port Vila, and is on the northern island of Santo. They had come to Tanna for a brief vacation (visiting the volcano, of course) before starting their work.

Well, what do you know? I meet two doctors and I just happen to have two patients. Would I let these two fine young men enjoy their vacation?

Hell no.

As soon as we finished kava I told them about Charlie and Danny and they were very excited and engaged about the prospects of helping out. On our way back to the bungalows we made a small visit to Charlie so the guys could get a look at the situation. They examined him for about 20 minutes and then we headed home. The next morning we ate breakfest together and discussed his prospects. It was clear to all of us that he would definitely need surgery and maybe several, not to mention some serious long-term therapy. After acknowledging that neither of those things was going to happen any time soon we decided that it certainly couldn't hurt to try and construct a brace that might actually improve the situation at least a little bit.

We immediately started brainstorming about how best to build a brace. We drew pictures and discussed the various elements of the problem. Number one - the multiple ways in which the foot was turned. Number two - we can only use available resources. Number three - the parents would likely only participate in the most minimal way, so everything needed to be simple simple simple. Then I started collecting supplies and laying them all out on the large diningroom table. We had bamboo, fabric, duct tape, scraps of wood, metal wire, velcro, hammer, and a few other random things including a coconut shell and a plastic PlayStation game box (like a DVD box, but 2/3rds the size). We wanted to consider every possibility. Then we decided it was time to bring back Charlie and see how we would need to fit our different possibilities.

The docs were able to re-examine his feet, test his flexibility, and test his pain threshold. Unfortunately it quickly became apparent that even our best efforts would be nothing more than a waste of time. His feet were so far twisted that there was simply no sensible way (apparant to us), with what we had on hand, to build a brace. Not that we didn't try. Kumar started cutting into his PlayStation box with the idea of strapping down his feet with velcro. Simon and I looked for ideas to create an angled contraption that would better meet the twist of his feet. His mother, father, aunts and uncles wandered around the periphery and tried to keep Charlie happy and comfortable. The doctors were so determined and so committed - and all of us were so hopeful that surely we could come up with something - that it was kind of hard to let go of the idea. But ultimately that's what we needed to do. Until I can get some further information on the brace idea, I think I'll just have to focus on trying to find some path to surgery.

Then Danny showed up. This kid was on his death bed a couple years ago. Some crazy infection that caused his legs to swell up starting at the knees. They soon broke out in pussy, oozing sores and they took him to the hospital where his condition got much worse. They gave him some meds but the details are sketchy. At one point his entire body swelled up and it scared the family so much that they took him home and started with "custom" medicine, which mostly consists of wrapping the wounds in leaves and drinking herbal concotions. He lost a ton of weight, had trouble with appetite, and most people thought he might not make it, but didn't know what to do about it.

Many months went by and his condition started to improve, but not his legs. Over the past year and a half his health greatly improved and when I met him I found him is great spirits. Unfortunatly he was always just sitting on the ground - often in the same place for hours at a time. Mobility was incredibly difficult and painful for him. He had a makeshift wheelchair but that's tough to use in a land with no sidewalks or any paved areas. His right let seemed healthy, but his left leg was completely swathed in hand-torn fabric wraps at all times.

Eventually I decided on my own that he needed to start physical therapy. I made him walk around a bit with out his crutches, and then eventually took away one crutch forcing him to start using more muscles in his legs. I was hoping to give him the encouragement (tough love) to kick-start long overdue physical therapy.

So I was extremely happy to have Simon and Kumar on hand the first time I asked Danny to remove his bandages. My jaw practically hit the floor. His leg was still very swollen (like he had no ankle) and he still had sores up and down his calf - each one very large, and actively oozing clear and white puss. They were bright red and pink, and some had a white ring of skin around them - I later learned this was scare tissue. Some appeared sunken into the skin as the leg had continued to swell up around them.

Looking at his leg I felt so bad for him and couldn't believe I had taken away this crippled kids crutches. What a bastard I am. The doctors told me that it was actually a very good thing to do, even considering how bad his leg was. The constant sedentariness was very bad for blood circulation, which was very bad for healing. They also said that if Danny was in the US or the UK he would be on intravenous IV's for a couple weeks, doctors might even cut out his sores, and he would be monitored closely. If his infection worsened it could ultimately mean an amputation. As with Charlie they brainstormed the best-case scenario with what we collectively had on hand.

Kumar immediately went back to his bungalow and brought out one of the pre-packed needle kits that he was supposed to take with him to Santo. I busted out my own extensive Peace Corps med kit in case anything could be utilized. They decided that they would give up a coarse of some powerful anti-biotic, Kumar woud clean and drain the sores, and then Danny would need to follow some new health guidelines - keep it un-covered, but with loose mosquito netting, and keep it clean (both more difficult than you can imagine). With these steps the doctors were still not at all optimistic of chances for complete recovery, but they hoped it would give him a chance for great improvement that might bring him more comfort, and allow him to more easily live and play and continue with treatment. Hopefully the huge encouragement boost to Danny will also play a key role in his health - nothing like positive energy and a sense of hope to get you through the tough times.

[the photo shows only some of the sores; Kumar in the forefront, Simon in the top right, Joseph behind Danny prepared to hold back his arms with force]

So we sat Danny on the end of one chair with his leg stretched out on another chair so anything dripping off would go into the coral and sandbeach floor. With Joseph (father of baby Charlie) holding Danny's arms from behind and Annie holding his legs down from the front, and with Lucy holding a notebook over his eyes so he couldn't see the needle that he already knew was there, Kumar started poking around and pushing the puss out of the sores. Poor Danny was squirming and screaming for the next 20 minutes, but I think it was necessary and the least that could be done. I think Kumar and Simon did an excellent job. I'm sure they also felt some satisfaction with having likely made a serious impact in Danny's health after the let down of Charlie. I know I did.

Shortly after Danny hobbled back to his village the tour truck arrived to take the London boys out to the volcano. We had a long, rough day so Lucy, Annie and I decided to join them - my third trip to the volcano.

I had no idea at the time that our doctor heros would then do something so moronic that it will provide forever an indelible image in my mind. Two doctors running for their lives from flying firebombs. Running so fast, in fact, that they ran right out their sandals.

To be fair the volcano was very un-active when we arrived. Not ominously quite, like when a big one is brewing, but just un-active. Lots of smoke, but only soft rumbles and only minor eruptions. Very minor. So minor, in fact, that Kumar and Simon got bored and decided to walk around the outer rim. They walked over to a section that dips down low and is very much in the line of fire, but still an equal distance from the opening as where I still stood. Then they sat down on a large rock, facing the volcano. The girls kept imploring me to call them back, that they were in serious danger, that they shouldn't - in the very least - be sitting down. I waved them off, told them to let them be, they were adults and the volcano was doing nothing.

It continued to do nothing.

And without a lick of warning a massive eruption exploded out of the volcano, the ground shook and we all instantly soiled our pants. All of us on top screamed out and stepped back, looking up and out and left and right making sure no bombs were coming our way. The explosions first go straight up and you have to wait a bit to fix on the trajectories before knowing which was to run.

I desperately looked down to Kumar and Simon who I saw frantically scramble from sitting to running. They ran away from the volcano then remembered to stop and look up - always better to dodge than get hit in the back. But bombs were falling all around them so they continued to run and look, run and look. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and then couldn't believe myself when I bursted out laughing. I mean, i was laughing really fucking hard - it was sheer lunacy! bombs were landing in front of them while they were running and I was laughing. I guess it was a nervous thing. They ended up surviving, but just barely. We all had strong pulses for quite a while after that. Very exciting. I reminded them of my favorite Churchill quotes:

"Nothing is more exhilerating than to be shot at without effect". I told them this applied to them - "Nothing more exhilerating than to have a volcano erupt in your face without effect".

When we got home I got a reward for my good deeds of hooking up the doctors with my little friends - Simon offered me his video iPod which included the entire second season of Lost. Rare that a TV show would ever grabbed my attention in the same way as Lost especially since I don't ever watch TV. In fact, I first watched Lost from downloading it on iTunes (love you Apple!). Anyway... I left for Vanuatu with just three episodes left in the season and I got to cozy up in my bungalow later that night and watch all three of them in a row. After 6 months in Vanuatu that truly is a special treat. Sounds silly, but it's true. As Matt would say 'it's like cigarettes in prison'.

Thank you Kumar and Simon - and good luck in Santo!

WORLD'S MOST ACCESSIBLE VOLCANO

(August 2006)

They don’t call it that for nothin’.

It’s also true that I haven’t actually checked up on this claim. I haven’t looked around to see if any other active, fire-breathing, lava-spewing volcano might actually be more accessible, but now that I’ve been to Mt.Yasur I’d have to guess that it’s not likely. Oh sure, first you have to get to Tanna Island. And then you have to take an hour-long ass-bashing, body-rocking truck ride over the word’s worst roads. But once you get to the base of the beast it’s just a simple, unobstructed hike to the outer rim – a precariously positioned viewing area just meters from the glowing hole in the ground. All around you is evidence in the form of scattered lava rocks of the danger in which you’ve just placed yourself.

Like a damn fool.

No guards telling you were to go. No guardrails for that matter. No signage warning you “Do Not Cross This Line” or “Warning: Imminent Danger of Agonizing Death”. You are free to do as you wish – just you and the volcano.

We had been hearing about volcanoes since the day we arrived in Vanuatu – a nation made of volcano-formed islands. Indeed Vanuatu sits smack dab in the most active area of the famed Pacific “Ring of Fire” – the volcano belt of the planet. We have several active volcanoes, several dormant volcanoes, and a history of land altering volcanic explosions. Some years ago (ok - a really long time ago) a large island just north of Efate, in what is now the Shefa Province, erupted with such force that it literally blew the entire island apart, killing all it’s inhabitants, and forming a collection of scattered, smaller islands now known as The Shepard Island Group – many of which remain uninhabited. In more recent history (about 2001?) the volcano on Lopevi Island erupted and entire villages were displaced to neighboring islands. Mt.Yasur, located in southeast Tanna, is not only active, but spews out molten lava rocks on a continuous basis.

In training we had some disaster preparedness training that included volcanoes. The good news is that scientists have learned to read the signs of an impending major eruption so that some warning of catastrophe is usually available. The bad news is that we really don’t have many (or any) scientists here and unless we have several days notice there is no getting off this small island. We’re on the other side of the island, so we likely wouldn’t die from falling rocks or lava, but rather from the un-breathable, poisoned, ash-filled air.

It seemed to the more informed among us that the bigger danger is from tsunamis caused by underground earthquakes, and even more so from serious cyclones which hit on average twice a year. Tsunamis would hit with no warning and as such I often lay awake in my oceanfront bungalow and wonder how quickly I would be able to break through the side window if water came rushing in the front door. And which tree I would climb. You are told to find a middle-aged palm tree (this goes for cyclones as well) – the young and old, as in humans, are the most fragile. The middle-aged ones have the strength and flexibility you would need as you hang on for dear life.

This is the kind of shit that keeps me up some nights – Tsunami’s that rarely happen and cyclone’s that come with plenty of warning - somehow forgetting that I share a small island with an active volcano.

I also had the chance to hear and read some first hand accounts of people visiting Mt.Yasur, including a travel writer named Troost who’s most recent book “Getting Stoned With Savages” detailed his recent adventures in Vanuatu. His descriptions of Ni-Van’s, kava, island life, and custom ceremonies are all right on. So naturally I wouldn’t doubt his descriptions of his visit to Mt.Yasur. He visited the volcano on a particularly active night along with his wife and some local guides. The activity of the volcano fluctuates from week to week – locals will tell you it is seasonal, which for them means it flares up when they put the yams in the ground (this month!) and is less active when they pull them out. Troost’s descriptions of the volcano included literally dodging falling molten lava rocks. You never, he was warned, turn your back on the volcano. If you see lava rocks coming your way it’s much smarter to keep your eye on them so you know which way to dodge – turn your back to run and you increase your chance of getting hit. And while Troost survived to tell his tale, there are plenty of stories of the ones that didn’t make it. If you get hit you’re as good as dead even if you survive the trauma of molten rocks melting through your body. The toxic metals in the rock will immediately enter your bloodstream and poison you to death before you could ever reach any kind of medical attention. Which is exactly what happened to a local guy a few years ago. A rock went through his leg, and he lived long enough to suffer and die from the poisons. And then there is the cliched, but obligatory story of foolish Japanese picture taking tourists. As the story goes they perished when they climbed down into the inner rim of the crater, set up the camera for a timed shoot, and while posing they got showered with bright yellow and orange lava rocks. Must have been an ugly scene. I can’t help but wonder if the camera survived and if it recorded any of the drama.

It’s slightly comforting to think that most of the people killed by Yasur were doing something foolish at the time, AKA going for that perfect photo shot, but the truth is that just standing there is a big risk. The guy that died from the rock hitting his leg was, as they carefully point out, standing in the same place as everyone else.

And yet during training when everyone talked about which islands they may want to visit Tanna was always the first one on everyone’s list – who wouldn’t want to see The World’s Most Accessible Volcano given the chance? How can you pass up this nations greatest claim to fame? Sure we also have the SS Calvin Coolidge, the world’s largest, most divable shipwreck off the coast of Espirito Santo, but Mt. Yasur is a V-O-L-C-A-N-O!

So who wouldn’t want to see it?

“I’m not going,” he says.

“What do you mean you aren’t going?” I say

“I mean… I’m not going to stand on the edge of any active volcano”

“Oh, you mean you will go to the edge of the volcano, but you aren’t going to walk around to the more dangerous side, right?” I clarify; making a reference to the exploits described in “Getting Stoned with Savages” a book that Matt read as well.

“No, I mean I’m not going to the edge of any freakin’ active volcano”, he insists.

This guy was killing me. Everyone in our group would have killed to be placed on Tanna if for no other reason than to have easy access to the volcano, but sure enough the guy I get stuck with was the one wuss of the group. How could anyone pass up such a great opportunity?

“Matt, we are going to stand on the edge of that damn volcano!” I declare.

“You can, but I’m not”

“No, we’re going together”

“I’m not”

“You ARE”

“Listen!.. You can draw a goddamn life-size picture of me and take that with you if you want, but my ass isn’t getting anywhere near that thing”

Sheesh. That was the end of that conversation. We were still in training so I figured maybe once we got to the island he would eventually change his tune. Not that I needed him to join me, but I just couldn’t imagine a fellow PCV, a friend no less, passing up the opportunity to experience such a thing.

Shortly after arriving in Tanna we start hearing some positive stories, particularly from Jeff, the PCV that I’m replacing, who has visited Yasur several times. Sure enough Matt decides he wants to see the volcano and we start talking about when we might want to make the trip. We both decide that it’s a special thing and we should wait a while – wait until we’re really bored and just aching for some entertainment. And so we wait. Months come and go, but no plans have been made.

But as it is in this part of the world things just happen randomly. You can never really predict how a day is going to happen. You may wake up in the morning and think you’ve got a leisurely, boring day ahead of you (maybe laundry and other household chores) and next thing you know you’re in the back of a truck heading out to the middle-bush delivering some coconuts or some silly shit like that. Or maybe you had a full day of meetings and “official” work planned but you end the day having accomplished absolutely nothing because no one showed up for the meeting. Saturdays are no different from Tuesdays. Workdays can turn into play days or just the opposite and you might not realize it until the day is nearly over. That’s island life.

And so it was with my first trip to see Mt. Yasur. The Peace Corps has been working closely with a French/E.U. aide organization called POPACA. Our POPACA counterpart is named Steven, a young French guy that has played a key role with Jeff in getting the coffee project going. Several weeks ago an E.U. representative from Belgium paid him a visit. A large (tall and solid looking) middle-aged, balding, gregarious, friendly, chatty, likable kind of guy. It was the kind of visit where some official comes to make sure all the money they send is being spent wisely. But of course no one comes to Tanna just to look at the coffee factory. So when we saw them at dinnertime we asked what plans they had for the evening thinking they might want to join us for some kava. When they mentioned they were going to the volcano our eyes lit up - this was our first and best opportunity. Matt had come down from his village to use the computers in Isangel and had planned on going back home. He had been spending so much time at my bungalow recently (with the Toka festival and such) that he was concerned his own village was gonna forget who he was – not to mention he needed to feed his puppy at some point. But this was a great opportunity – a free ride with our friends. And we had only an hour to prepare.

We had waited long enough. And the puppy would live until tomorrow, right?

Half the adventure is getting there. The drive is over an hour long (probably half that time if the roads were properly paved) and takes us directly through the center of the island from west to east. Steve and his E.U. inspector guy sat up front in the cab of the compact Toyota pickup truck. Jeff, Matt and I sat on a pair of 2x4’s that made a small bench in the bed of the truck directly behind the cab, and Kamut sat in the bed of the truck, leaning against the tailgate. Kamut is probably about 35 years old, has spent his entire life on Tanna Island, but has visited the volcano only twice – both times in the daylight.

As we were just starting to leave town some other random Ni-Van dude jumped in the back and came along for the ride. So we were seven in total.

We drove off in the evening, as the sun was beginning to set. About a half-hour into our journey, as the truck climbed high up into the hills of the middle bush, we could look back to a fantastic view of half the island. Lush green tropical landscape, with an expansive view of the Pacific Ocean illuminated by a sun hanging just “inches” above the horizon – a scene right out of a movie. All the while the truck was tossing us around as it toughed it out on a rugged, bumpy, water-worn road. I use the term “road” loosely here.

We also had a new perspective on all the surrounding mountains, which weren’t quite so apparent from our sea-level location down near the coffee factory. My home island was being revealed to me in a whole new way!

Now we were about in the middle of the island, driving along a steep and precarious mountain pass that had no guardrail. Steven decided to stop the truck for a Kodak moment – there was an amazing view of a deep valley off to our left. We had stopped the truck just as we rounded a bend so that directly behind the truck was a steep cliff. Everyone jumped out of the truck except Kamut and the other Ni-Van who both just sat in the truck leaning against the tailgate. A small child appeared down the side of the cliff a bit, and I noticed some small huts scattered about the bushes. The kid said hello and as a joke Steven and I started to chase after him. At that very moment Kamut started a panicky yell:

“Truk ee go bak! Truk ee go bak!”

And sure enough the truck, with the two Ni-Vans inside, had started rolling backwards towards the cliff. Thankfully it was rolling slowly, the emergency break holding to some degree, giving Steven enough time to jump back in and re-set the brake. Had we another second to chase after that damn kid…

So we chased after him anyway, assured that the brake was gonna hold this time (brake or no brake, the Ni-Vans had now decided to wait outside of the truck). But the kid was clever and evaded us instantly. We looked around for just a few minutes as the Belgian was snapping pictures of the countryside before giving up. As soon as we jumped back into the truck the kid magically reappeared, jumping right out of the bushes by the edge of the road, and cheerfully waved us on.

Another half-hour and we had crested the center of the island and were heading down the east side. When the road faced the right angle, and if you looked closely, you could see some other islands off in the distance – Fortuna and Aniwa, each much, much smaller than Tanna. I could kind of see what Steven and Jeff were trying to point out, but damn it there was all this brown smoke in the way. And sure enough, as I looked over to the south, I had a clear view of the famed Mt.Yasur volcano in the near distance. From here you couldn’t see any glow or shooting rocks, but the billowing thick smoke indicated that she was putting on a good show tonight. I got a wave of “holy shit” excitement, combined with a nice solid wave of “HOLY SHIT” fear. Even though it seemed we were only minutes away as the crow fly’s, the access roads would take at least another half-hour – and this would be the most ass-bashing-est part of the trip. A Hummer H1 would be the only sensible production vehicle to take on these roads, but that little Toyota pick-up truck was a real trooper.

In between sections of the worlds worst roads we had to cross an apocalyptic-looking landscape as we neared the base of the volcano. It seems that the winds primarily blow to the north, which has created a large, duned, ash plain where nothing grows. Grey, smooth and ashy. It’s easy to imagine yourself on the moon. Steven speeds up the truck, and swerves around having a bit of fun. In the middle of the ash plain we stop, exit the truck and take a look around. I snap some photos. There was still some slight sunlight – enough to add a dusky glow to the scene. I noticed for the first time that tonight was a full moon. Once a minute or so Yasur would burp out a large cloud of dark brown smoke that the wind would slowly carry off to the north. If you listened closely you could hear a faint rumbling.

[insert moon/yasur photo]

Then it was back into the truck that had to cross a former lakebed before heading back into the bush. What happened to the lake I’m not sure, but the map we have at the factory (dated 1995) clearly shows a large body of water right where our truck was now driving. Curious. Should this be cause for concern? Or is it normal for lakes to just disappear? Did it run out to the ocean, or did it drain into a crack in the Earth?

The road circled around another 15 minutes or so, taking us to the east side where a couple guys where collecting the $23 fee to access the access road. And what a rip-off – the “road”, which led us up to within a 5 minute walk of the outer rim was barely a road at all. It was like the kind of road you see in SUV commercials where a new Jeep is traversing some impassable boulder situation or a Chevy Tahoe is climbing a steep grade that you just know was faked. Absolutely the worst driving conditions EVER. A testament to the value of a Toyota that we made it up alive, but my whole body was paying the price.

Within minutes of paying we are parking the truck halfway up the side of Mt. Yasur.

It’s not even worth mentioning, but here goes anyway… the Vanuatu Post Office has this thing about placing postal boxes in “unique” places. Back in Vila there is a small island just off the mainland – Hideaway Island. You can ferry out in 10 minutes and then kick back with a beer from the small bar/restaurant and maybe do some snorkeling. Here they have the world’s only underwater post office! We actually learned about this on the plane ride in from Auckland when they subjected us to a tourist video. So I snorkeled out and dove down the ten feet to check it out. Silly really. Just a sunken cubicle sized box where you can insert a special laminated postcard that you would write on with a wax pen all of which cost you far too much and probably gets the black wax all over everyone else’s normal mail when it gets sent out. The box looked mossy, rusty and rarely used, but they sure played it up in the tourist information guides. Along with…

The World’s Only Volcano Postal Box! And now that I’ve seen the volcano box, just a rusty unused mailbox next to where we parked our truck halfway up the side of the volcano, I’d have to say the underwater post is about ten times more clever. And I never thought I’d hear myself saying such a thing.

As soon as we jump out of the back of the truck we hear a large rumbling. It sounded exactly like how you might imagine a T-Rex might sound if it were sitting on the other side of the hill and was bleching after having just ate a large meal.

It’ll sound like a cliché but Kamut and I both immediately had to piss. It wasn’t cause we were scared – I swear! – but rather a long, bumpy truck ride. So we walked over to the side of a cliff area to relieve ourselves. It was dark so it took a moment, but as my eyes adjusted I realized steam was coming off the side of the rocks all around us. I bent down and felt the ground – it was warm. In some places it was hot. Again, the loud rumbling. And then an excited chill runs through my body.

Now I was on the verge of un-contained excitement. Kamut and I ran back to the group and we all bounded up the mountain. The Belgian guy, having not read or heard any stories about Yasur, previously didn’t believe us when we gave him instructions not to turn your back on flying molten lava rocks. He really thought we were pulling his leg when we calmly explained that it was smarter to stay in place and just dodge the rocks if they were coming your way. He didn’t think that would ever be a possibility. But now that we were climbing up the side of the hill he was making excited exclamations and all his doubts were immediately put aside. As were mine. A bit of fear was starting to set in. Huge rumbling again. Large plume of smoke ejected above our head.

Wait… was this a good idea?

Hell yeah.

Was this a smart idea?

Hell no.

I looked all around and noticed that the landscape had changed from Lunar-like to Mars-like. Lava rocks of all different sizes (several feet in diameter to just a few inches in diameter) were scattered all about – each one had blown out of the volcano and landed right were I saw them. Not a few here and there, but thousands such that a small path had been cleared away so the tourist could more easily navigate in the dark.

We were able to walk around wherever we pleased, but we all followed a path that led to a wide ledge on the outer rim. As soon as I crested the path I felt a pulse in the air pressure, heard a low rumble, saw a quick orange flash, and then witnessed the volcano erupt. The roar was thunderous now. Thousands of bright yellow-orange rocks shot straight up into the air – high enough to top the highest part of the outer rim. They arced up and out into all different directions and I stopped right in my tracks.

“Don’t turn your back, don’t turn your back” I kept chanting to myself.

My heart was beating out of my chest. I could feel my pulse pumping in my neck and wrists. Mother of god. Everyone in our group was hootin’ and hollerin’ now – all sorts of expletives. Matt, the Belgian and myself all yelling out in excited joy and fear.

Within a second or two I could clearly see that the eruption was spewing away and to the sides of where we were standing. Thank god. The wind was blowing in that direction as well therefore the ash and smoke were never a problem as we had been told they might.

I continued walking along the outer rim to a higher, closer, and more optimum viewing area where several other tourists had gathered.

The volcano kept erupting more than once a minute – sometimes straight up, other times a much wider but lower spray. Every five minutes there would be an ominous calm where nothing happened. You could always see a glow down in the hole, but the nothingness was unnerving. And then there would be a flash of light, a pulse in the air pressure, and BLAM!! A huge fireworks display. Then several minutes of smaller bursts before another huge blast.

Jeff and Steven, both veteran’s of the volcano, each said that this was the most active they’ve ever seen it. In fact Kamut, seeing it for the first time at night, was absolutely terrified and ran back to the truck. Jeff, nervous for Kamut, but also scared himself, also ran back to the truck, but not before trying to get us to abort the trip. But Matt, the Belgian, and myself were all ecstatic – this was certainly the best thing we’ve seen in Vanuatu by far – and one of the best things we’ve ever seen in our lives.

While I never really felt truly in danger - although you can never really be sure – there were a few times when we all took several steps back and just sort of kept our eyes on all the falling rocks. We never had to dodge anything (thank god) and there were only a few occasions where the rocks came within a few meters of us. Close enough to cause alarm, but more than anything it just added to the excitement. If your life wasn’t in mortal danger what fun would it really be?

After a short while Kamut, Jeff and the other guy all were ready to leave – but the rest of us were just mesmerized by the volcano and didn’t want to leave. The Belgian guy was maybe the most excited of us all and he was getting some good digital video. I was trying to get some still images but couldn’t really capture the true feeling of the moment. You’re just gonna have to come see for yourself.

Oh – and the volcano is relatively small. At least, that was my impression. Mt. Yasur itself is only 300 meters high. The outer rim of the crater has an opening about 1500 feet by 1000 feet. Maybe smaller. The inner opening – the actual mouth of the volcano, is about a third of that. When it shoots up on an average eruption the lava rocks don’t clear the top of the outer rim – but when it shoots really high I would guess it clears 100 meters from the opening of the mouth. Someone told me that there are actually four different openings, visible only from the opposite side of the outer rim, but the only way your getting me over there is if you “take a goddamn life-size drawing of me”

More links:
http://www.rambocam.com/archive/yasur.html
http://www.shunya.net/Usha/Vanuatu/Vanuatu.htm
http://www.vanuatu.net.vu/tourism/intro/infocolumns/Yasur-Snow-Boarding.shtml

[special notes: 1. Big thanks to Mark Hernandez for giving me the book “Getting Stoned with Savages” – very entertaining. I’ve shared it with several other PCV’s in my group. 2. I don’t know much about other volcanoes on Vanuatu, but since this is the only one they ever talk about I figure it’s the only one that is still actively spewing out lava rocks. 3. I don’t know the exact dates of the Sheperd Island volcano eruption or the Lopevi eruption – if you do please email me and I will be grateful and I will edit my post. 4. Matt resents that I refer to him as a “wuss”. He’s not, but he was. 5. I’ve since visited Yasur a second time and was only mildly disappointed that it wasn’t as good a show – you just can’t predict when it will be really going off. But even when it’s small eruptions it’s still a volcano. 6. It might sound like all fun and games here in Vanuatu, but we really are doing work too. I swear!]

NEED YOUR HELP

This is a photo of a little friend of mine. His name is Charlie. I've known Charlie for a couple months, but he's always been swaddled up in blankets - it's only just recently come to my attention that he has CLUBBED FEET. I read about this condition in our medical book, "Where There Is No Doctor", and it says this can be cured at birth by the doctor. The longer it goes untreated the more difficult the repair. The bones are getting stronger and harder every day. I think he's currently about 6-7 months old. There is no way he is getting treatment here in Tanna. His father, a 21 y/o friend of mine, was told by the local hospital that a doctor would be on hand that could help him, but then the guy never showed up. It's not clear, or relevant, why the birthing doctor (if there was one) didn't take care of the problem at birth.

I'm thinking that there must be a way that we can fix the problem ourselves - build a brace or daily therapy or combination, but maybe I'm kidding myself and the really he needs a professional to break and re-set the bones.

I'm hoping that someone out there - maybe you - can provide sound advice or forward this post to someone who may have some guidance.

If there is the possibility that we can treat him here, with no medical help, using only makeshift tools and such, then I would need some ideas on how to do the therapy or how best to construct a brace.

If there is no helping the baby without breaking and re-setting the bones then that information would be helpful as well.

ANY information could potentially be helpful.

In related news:

It seems I'm turning into a one man Red Cross down here since I'm also helping the above baby's 12 y/o uncle. Danny was on his death bed just one year ago, suffering from some crazy infection in his legs. The details aren't clear to me (happened before i got here) but taking him to the hopistal only made it worse - he contracted some other infections while being treated. Now he is doing much better, and his right leg has healed, his weight is back to normal, his spirits are up - but he is still crippled in his left leg. He mostly sits around, sometimes staying in one place for hours at a time while all the other kids are running around him. Lately he's been using some makeshift crutches, but I'm convinced he would be doing much better if he had regular physical therapy. You know... just got up and walked around a couple hours each day. Of course they (Ni-Vans) don't know anything about that kind of stuff and really all they need is someone to show them how to do it, and to give them some motivation. So that's what I started doing. Two weeks ago I lifted him up and made him walk with me for a few yards without his crutches. His parents saw me do this and now they've started doing it as well - but not very often. But I did hear his mother yelling at him to start using only one crutch - the muscles in both his legs have atrophied since he sits around so much. The other night I took away one of his crutches and hid it at my house. At first he was alarmed and I felt bad for taking away a crippled kids crutches, but after a few minutes of talking in local language with his parents he actually thanked me and recognized that I was helping him and that he wanted to walk again. So that made me feel good - I'm confidant that I can get him walking again - but I'm more concerned about the baby. If he doesn't get proper treatment he'll be crippled for life.

And you thought I was just playing with coffee and dancing with Heads of State!