Friday, January 26

GOING BACK TO CALI

er... I mean "Going back to Tanna". And I'm very ready to head back to my home village even though I don't have a home. In fact, I'm not even sure if i'll be living at the bungalows again. Turns out that Kamut has built a custom house for either Jeff or I, but I really don't want to live in this home since it is right in the middle of all his other family homes and there is no private toilet or shower facility, not to mention a kitchen. Plus, there are tons of barking dogs, crying babies and the worst of all - cackling manfowl. Those are absolutely intolerable. At the bungalows I had the soothing sounds of the rolling ocean and nothing else.

I'm flying back with the Country Director, Kevin George, and bigwig visiting from D.C. His name is Reuban Hernandez and he's the Director of Operations for the South Pacific and Inner Americas - so he really is a bigwig. And whenever we have a visitor from the States it's practically written in stone that they will visit Tanna. The volcano is too tempting to pass up. And since I'm close to the airport and the coffee project is something of a dynamic "success-in-the-making" I get to be the local host/guide. I'll be flying with them today, traveling to the south of the island, visiting the volcano, talking about coffee the whole time, then Saturday I'll show off the factory and they fly out that afternoon.

That's when I get to find out if my puppy, C.J., is still alive and start to set up my next temporary home in the factory. The coffee season doesn't begin until May so there won't be any real activity. I guess I can sleep in the conference room or something. And there is an actual toilet, but we will need to build a new water tank to supply the bathroom with running water. Not a problem considering the alternative - sharing a bush toilet with the whole freakin' family village. NO THANKS.

I also want to give a big, fat THANK YOU to all the friends and family that sent cards, cash gifts, and packages over the holiday season. It's difficult to understate the significance of recieving even a card from the States. Getting mail, any mail, is one of the most incredible things to ever happen to a Peace Corps volunteer. I know, it sounds silly, but when you are on a remote, isolated island you feel very disconnected from the outside world. In fact, I'm so disconnected that I don't even think about what season you are experiencing (it's hot and damn humid here in the south pacific) or what holidays are happening or who is having a birthday or what. Our worlds are totally removed from each other so much that just a simple message is an amazing thing.

And then to get a package in the mail is practically mind boggling. So, again, thanks for sending the love!

Once I get on the plane I will be away from computers for at least two weeks.

Monday, January 22

PULLING OUT MY HAIR

A great example of pull-out-my-hair-in-frustration.

When I left Tanna there were still problems with the local electric company. Before I started work they had installed a serparate power box that was supposed to save us money. During the peak season we would use a 25-amp supply which charges us a FAT monthly minimum - something we can ill afford. During the off season we would switch to a basic 5-amp supply that allows us to use pre-paid cards with NO monthly minimums. I would buy these cards only when I needed to use the computer or turn on the lights.

Before the end of the season I checked in the with local Unelco manager and asked him if everything was cool with getting the power supply switched and what I needed to do to make that happen. He clearly said everything was good to go and all I had to do was let him know and it would happen the same day. So on the last day of the season that's exactly what I do. But when he comes to the factory he tells me the factory isn't connected to the new power supply and that I needed to hire an electrician to do the job and that it was my problem not his. Then I tell this story to the head of the agriculture department who insists that it's not our problem and that he'll get Unelco to come out and solve the problem.

At this point we aren't using any power so all I'm thinking about is that we have only 3 more days before the next billing cycle kicks in and we get charged the monthly minimum.

One week later the agriculture guy tells me he was wrong and that we need to hire someone to do the work. So we got screwed for December, and now it's too late to do anything else as I'm in crunch mode preparing to get ready for my trip to Vila. I tell the Unelco guy that we can fiddle with the specifics when I get back, that I don't want the factory to incur any further charges, and for him to just "shut off the power".

Additionally we still had the problem with them adding a past-due amount to every bill.

So when I packed for Vila I just grabbed the Unelco folder with all our bills and reciepts and decided I would just take up the issues with someone at the head office. And that's what I just did today.

And guess what?

Turns out when you tell them "Shut Off The Power" it means they shut off the power, but not the bills. Boy - the FRENCH sure are clever! They told me since I didn't say "Cancel The Contract" that they continued to charge us the monthly minimum. She could clearly see the "what-the-fuck?" expression on my face. I asked if she was kidding.

And then she laughed right at me! She wasn't kidding.

I said "excuse me for not knowing the magic words, but it would seem that a reasonable person would understand that "shut off the power", especially in the time and context it was used, would clearly mean the same thing as "cancel the contract" or whatever other wording you need to hear so that we don't incur any further charges - which was obviously my priority when I made my request to the Tanna Unelco manager".

Sorry, she says.

Then she could see me clench my jaws and tighten my fists, and certainly she could see the smoke coming out of my ears and the red swirls in my eyes. I was incredulous.

Then she laughed nervously and tapped away on her computer when we started to talk about the billing error. Seems they mistakenly double billed us one month. We then mistakenly double payed before noticing the error (this happened before I arrived). Instead of recognizing that they had double billed us they instead took our double payment and applied it to a security deposit which had never been paid. This so called "bond" was never mentioned on any bill and they didn't indicate that we still had an outstanding balance. So then the next month when I realized we double payed I simply deducted the amount from the current bill and submitted that - with their approval. So now, and for every month that followed, it appeared as if we still owed this amount.

Turns out we owed them some huge deposit, plus two months of bills that I tried in vain to avoid, plus the past due amount that I had deducted from a bill in May.

Now get this: When I said the magic words - cancel our contract - she told me I would now be credited the total amount of the deposit that had been paid in 2005 which was never returned to the factory. Astounding! And shocker of all shockers: this was more than enough to cover all the other charges with money to spare. Of course we will need to pay a new deposit in May, but that won't be a problem.


Holy mamma - I hate utilities.

Thursday, January 18

GROWING PAINS

Blogger has updated their software. So I'm updating Transit34 - at least a little bit. Since I can only do this a little bit here and there you may notice some screwyness (more than usual).

This is not intentional.

Wednesday, January 17

THE INFAMOUS TOKA

The MEKOWIAR Ceremony (August 2006)


Legendary as the single most spectacular custom ceremony in Tanna, and possibly Vanuatu…

Mythic in it’s proportions, intensity, scope, and duration…

Fear-inspiring in it’s tales of sexual debauchery and social mayhem…

Rare and exclusive – it happens just once every four or five years, only on Tanna Island, and the exact date is shrouded in mystery and confusion until just days before the massive, multi-day dance is to begin.

This is the famous… and infamous Mekowair Festival.

Commonly known As:

TOKA (thundering drums pounding in the background)

We, the Peace Corps Trainees, had been hearing tales, and warnings about this large custom ceremony since the day we set foot in Vanuatu. By our good fortune 2006 was the year of the Toka – the first time in over four years. And by my good fortune Tanna Island is once again the place to be. Or not be, depending on how brave you think you are.

I wish I had kept a log of all the different things we heard about Toka from all the different sources. Here’s a quick list off the top of my head:

1. Toka is a massive week-long festival involving thousands of islanders
2. It’s all about sexual debauchery. During three special days the men can grab any woman they want, run off into the bush, fuck, and then move on to the next woman and no one is allowed to judge or complain in any way. Married or not. You call it rape, they call it ceremony.
3. Women can grab any man they want (see above) – although I heard this one much less.
4. The women dance on opening night and don’t stop until the sun comes up the next morning. The men do the same two nights later. All sorts of revelry happens in-between.
5. The festival is called The Mekowair, but the men’s dance is called The Toka –hence the common name for the event is simply “Toka”.
6. The whole area surrounding the Toka is dangerous – constant fighting, too much drinking.
7. Tourist women should not attend without several male escorts – they might be expected to have sex in the bushes.
8. Tourist men, including Peace Corps, might be expected to run off to the bush with an admiring Ni-Van woman. Saying no is not accepted.
9. At the end of the festival, when all the dancing and bush sex is finished they slaughter hundreds of pigs and literaly wash themselves in the blood to cleanse themselves of their sins of the past three days.




Even our medical officer, among other Peace Corps staff, perpetuated these stories – often out of genuine concern.

Naturally the more debased the stories became the higher the number of Peace Corps Volunteers who planned on flying down to Tanna to experience this once-in-a-lifetime event.

So of course I’m feeling a mix of curiosity and concern. I didn’t want to miss this rare event, but nor did I want to put myself in harms way if this “Toka” thing really was all that they were making it up to be – and why would I doubt the stories since I was new in town and had no idea what Ni-Vans were capable of.

Plus, Man-Tanna has this pervasive reputation (at least in Vila and Lelepa) as a "bad boy" town. Seems that whenever there is trouble in Vila it’s often a guy from Tanna, so much so that now Man-Tanna has become the scapegoat for every time some punk causes a ruckus. Since I’ve been here, though, my casual readings of the local papers makes me think that all the ruckus is happening in Luganville – Vanuatu’s second largest urban area on the island of Santo.

Before I even arrived on Tanna the locals had begun training for Toka. Each village that planned on participating would have weekly training sessions at their respective local custom nakamal. I was able to witness several of these sessions and watch them trying to coordinate dance moves, practicing little solo numbers, and then doing it all over and over again – sometimes in everyday clothes (t-shirts and board shorts) but sometimes in various levels of custom dress.

Vanuatu is a land of custom ceremonies, I suppose not unlike the rest of the world - except we don't dance around wearing only a penis sheath when our sister gets married. They have several small ceremonies such as:


Shaving Ceremony - boys aren't allowed to shave their first time until the father says so, at which point they make a party out of it (can you imagine? puberty is hard enough but do we need to celebrate new hair growth?!). There is a similar ceremony for girls when they have thier first period - which they cleverly call "Sick Moon" - but I don't know the name of the ceremony and I haven't seen either of these take place in my village.


Sorry Ceremony - where someone has done something wrong both people get together in front of the whole village and swap pigs and kava and such. Speeches are made and all is forgiven. I got to see one where a wife had told her husband he couldn't drink kava and a fight broke out which included a stick and some broken bottles. In the end she was told she has no right to tell him he can't drink kava and he was told to be nicer. She cried the whole time and he sort of grinned the whole. Then they slaughtered the pig and drank kava and the world kept spinning. These sorry ceremonies are actually a very important part of Vanuatu culture. Even our Country Director has insisted that the very fabric of our national government has been held together through the wonders of the sorry ceremony.


The bigger ceremonies are for Weddings and even bigger is the annual Yam Harvest. But bigger than each of those are the Circumsision ceremonies which takes place several months after the actual procedure which I've not yet witnessed. I've attended several of these parties and the biggest one, up in Matt's village was for about 5-6 boys and was really quite massive.



The thing about each of the above custom ceremony’s is that they each have a purpose. In my opinion, from what I’ve witnessed with my own eyes, they are all very similar – differing mostly only in size and duration. But at least they all have an underlying reason for being. A milestone has been marked, a change has taken place, or a dispute needs to be resolved.

Not so with the TOKA. If I were to take everything I heard about the TOKA and create my own conclusions I would have to say that due to the cultural seperation of the sexes the TOKA was invented as a way to let loose for a few days and experience sexual freedom – a simple, and momentary, lifting of the cultural ties that bind. And just like the Sorry Ceremony, once the TOKA is over you go back to your daily life as if nothing had ever happened.


What happens at TOKA stays at TOKA.

Discovery Channel and National Geographic Channel were in town for the event. We’ve seen them toting around the last couple days getting acclimated and visiting other custom ceremony’s while waiting for the official word on the start of TOKA. Jeff happened to be nearby while the film crew from Discovery was getting a TOKA explanation from one of the local chiefs who was using another Ni-Van to translate into English (even though Jeff knew this particular chief could speak English well enough – the translator was just window dressing). He heard the chief explain, at great length, how the TOKA was an event to honor the chiefs of the villages (well of course it is!). No mention of the sexual debauchery – the chief was keen to the idea that the white man wouldn’t approve of such things and probably didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. The erroneous tale about honoring the chiefs sounded so much nicer and more “Made for TV” than raping women in the bushes for three days.

At the end of July we were told TOKA would begin Aug. 10th. I was supposed to call PCHQ and let them know the date so the word could be spread around to all the other PCV’s that wanted to travel down for the spectacle. Travel plans would be difficult and they would need as much time as possible. Before I had a chance to call I learned the date was pushed back to Aug. 15th and maybe that wasn’t even the real date. No one really knew for sure, and there didn’t seem to be anyone really in charge. We started speculating that maybe they didn’t want to reveal the actual date too soon as a way to discourage tourists. Indeed so yachties had been waiting for over two weeks when they finally gave up and sailed home.

When Aug.15th was just a few days away it became the 16th, and then the 17th. It became too difficult for other PCV’s to make travel arrangement when the date kept changing. If they got down here and then learned that it was pushed back another week it would be a wasted trip for them – and a big finanical setback. So no one made any plans to visit.

Nor did any other tourists. We had expected all the bungalows to be packed but they weren’t. One other reason – The largest plane servicing Tanna, a 40-seat turbo-prop of unknown make, was once again on the fritz. This surely had a huge impact on tourism during this week.

So anyway…

TOKA was to begin on a Monday with the womens dance. The weekend before I had a hell of a time trying to get the agenda down as I kept getting different answers. The location was very far away, the festival spanned several days, and if you stayed over night it meant sleeping in the bushes – literally. Other than Matt all the men I knew were going to be actually dancing in TOKA with the Lowkatai village – even Jeff and the Japanese aide-worker named Katsut would be joining in the dance.

Monday rolls around and we find that another PCV has flown down with a friend visiting from the US. Turns out that most of the people from my village aren’t attending the first day, so just the white people hire a truck and drive out to see the women’s dance. We arrived in the afternoon just in time to see the last 30 minutes before a break. This was a huge bummer, but what we saw was pretty cool. They would start back up again after dinner and would continue dancing until dawn. Stop again for food, then start again until late Tuesday night when they would finish so the men’s dance could begin.


We came back that afternoon and descended into our own personal white man party mode. We retreated to the bungalows, which we had exclusively to ourselves (the other PCV’s rented a room for the night) and started drinking rum and beer on the beach. Later that night a big bonfire, and more rum and beer on the beach. Now we were joined by Kamut and a friend of mine named Kael (more on him in a future post). We were getting toasty and happy and feeling the excitement of a festival we weren’t even participating in – let alone witnessing.

The next day the other PCV and her friend had to leave. Matt and I immediately set about making preperations for the big night – we didn't know what to expect on any level. Where would we sleep (the bushes) what would we eat (close to nothing) woud we be warm enough (no) would we be able to endure the whole shabang (no) would we get dragged into debased debauchery (no, sadly). So we packed some snacks, some rum, and some magic pills to keep us awake and happy or alseep and happy depending on the need. As for warm clothing we were shit out of luck, as has been the case since we arrived in Tanna.


It’s important to note at this time that every debased thing that was propagated about this event was proving untrue. In fact, after talking with Kamut about all the stories we learned that while some it was true it hadn’t been so for many years. We no longer had any fear of any dangerous situations and didn’t anticipate any sexual debauchery – and after witnessing the women’s dance we were pretty convinved that the whole affair was about dancing and nothing else. The TOKA as it was billed to us was a bust. In it’s place was more of the same stuff we had been witnessing in every other custom ceremony – with two big differences – the sheer enormity of the event, and all the different villages that were showing off to each other.

And to be honest, the dancing wasn’t even that varied, creative, or intense. Matt is a much harsher critic than I, but I have to admit the biggest concern we had about watching TOKA through the night was how to keep from being bored.

As it happened Matt and I found ourselves traveling up to the festival alone. The entire village had left before us to prepare, since they were all involved in the dance. They needed to go ritualistically clense themselves in some river before putting on their Toka face paint. We, however, didn’t need to arrive until several hours later. They gave us what seemed like simple and straight-forward directions and having been there just the day before we felt confident that finding them wouldn’t be so hard.

We arrived when the sun was still up, but we were still wandering around lost when the sky went to pitch black. There were thousands of people milling about – no dancing was happening at this time even though we were told that the women would be dancing through the night. The main dance area was a massive nakamal, but it was deserted as people were wandering around all the smaller nakamals in the surrounding kilometer radius. We kept asking for directions, but no one knew anyone from our village or they didn’t understand our words, or they erroneously sent us off in wrong directions. It was only by chance that we happened upon Steven (French aide-worker) walking with Kamut. It was absolutely pitch dark, hundreds of people were walking up and down this path, but Kamut was able to pick out the two white guys. To him we stood out. But I didn’t even see him standing next to me when Steven was saying hello to us. I ignored him for a long time not realizing who he was – but he was only two feet away!


And so, joined with our people, the revelry began in earnest.

We were led to a nakamal where we were united with a few others from our group standing around a small fire. They were all chilly wearing only custom skirts with no shirts. And the fire was, as usual, little more than smoldering embers. I drank some rum punch. And then more.

When I wasn’t paying attentiong the energy level shifted. Suddenly people were on the move, including my people. Not sure what happened to Matt, but I was noticing that the nakamal was clearing out. Thank god for my buddy Josep (who I had been slipping some of my booze even though they are not allowed to drink during the TOKA – another phallacy brought to light) who realized I was too drunk to walk straight before I even realized it myself. He took me by the arm and we started what I would later realize was an epic hike back to the main staging area.

Funny thing was that I didn’t realize at the time that almost the entire trip was on an uphill incline. I just thought I couldn’t walk ‘cause I was drunk. If only someone told me the road inclined up I might have been able to compensate! Instead I kept falling backwards and Josep had to struggle to keep me upright. What the hell was wrong with me? 30 minutes ago I felt sober and now all the sudden I was drunker than I’d been in ages. And this was the infamous TOKA!

When we got to the staging area – the places where all the separate villages waited before queing up for the dance – they made a bunch of small fires and started putting on face and body paint. It was late and I was suddenly dead tired and layed down in the dewy grass for a nap.

I woke up many hours later (1 or 2am), but amazingly right as they were about to que for the dance. I had impeccable timing! And more importantly – I felt great!

As the group was led out to the opening of the nakamal, lit by only a handful of lights stuck up in trees, Matt and I wandered around the perimeter to view the action.

The dancing begun and we watched from the sidelines. I was surprised when I watched the sunrise come up over the festival – had we really been watching that long? And we continued watching – only now we could actually see people’s outfits.


I’m told that I actually did miss one of the best parts – the women’s dance that immediately preceded the men’s dance. Apparently this was quite a show of force, and although I missed it I had a taste of it the day before and my own personal highlight was about to happen.

At one point, without warning, all the men and women of all the villages formed one large mass of people and then started galloping in one direction while chanting tribally. A large cloud of dust wafted into the air and the ground started to thud. And then they stopped, reversed direction, and came galloping back in full force. This went on for over half an hour and was really quite dramatic and impressive. I made a short video but haven't been able to upload it.

A few hours after sunrise Matt and I were pretty exhausted and took the opportunity to jump on a truck that was heading to our area. Turns out we missed the slaughtering of the pigs, but there was no washing-in-the-pigs-blood-to-absolve-us-of-our-sins going on. They swap pigs, kava, fowl, handcrafts and vegetables with other villages, then weeks later they swap it all back, then weeks after that there is more swapping. I still don't understand it and after the first couple explanations I stopped asking questions.

So that was TOKA. And even though they say it only happens once every 4-5 years we weren't surprised to hear them talking about

Friday, January 5

THESE ARE THE PEOPLE...

...IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.

Chief Charley
aka The Crypt Keeper. I've never NOT seen Charley in the act of either rolling or smoking tobacco. And for the first 5 months I only ever found him sitting in his spot wherever he was, always with a bush knife in hand, and always randomly hacking at the ground. It was a shock to me to one day seem him walking down the road - I didn't know he could. And then there was the time he decided to wear coke-bottle glasses. Presumably he needs them to see so it calls naturally calls into question every time he's not wearing them, while randomly swinging his knife. I rarely talk to him, since it's mostly unintelligible grunts and such. He can often been seen using hand language to simulate masturbation as a way of being smug - exactly the way some punk teenager might use the same hand language to say "fuck off". Yet when Charley does it I get a strange uncomfortableness. But I was sparred the true horror that poor Matt had to endure one day when he was standing in front of Charley while Charley, sitting on the ground wearing only a skirt of fabric, rolled backwards and totally exposed himself. Matt, feeling traumatized and a bit nauseous, ran to the factory office to share the experience so we could both feel sick together. The best part is that Charley looked at Matt and just laughed at him as he ran off.

Vanessa
A sweet little girl, the daughter of a good friend and staff member of the bungalows where I'm staying. I don't have much to say about her, except that I really like this photo for it's deception. You can practically hear her crying: "for just the price of a cup of coffee you can feed me for one week". This photo looks so sad, pathetic and hopeless. All completely the opposite of what is actually going on. Her face is dirty, it's true, but it's from the joyous feasting on fresh and abundant mangoes. There is just no way to eat a mango without making a mess. And for me the worst part is the pulp getting all stuck in my bottom teeth. Behind her, on the ground, are palm fronds waiting to be crafted into the roof of a new house. The village mamma's had all been on hand to help in the construction of the new home and had just recently taken a mango break when I appeared to take the picture. She ran over to me hoping to get a peak at the camera, but when I pulled back in order to get her in the frame she was disappointed and quickly put her hands behind her back as if I had just reprimanded her. In the very next instant she was all smiles and rubbing her messy little hands all over my camera when I tried to show her the picture that you now see. In the background, behind her right ear, you can see a woman laying down on a matt. I think that's her grandmother taking a break, just chilling in the afternoon sun. It wasn't too hot that day.


Nimisa & Josep
The twins. In fact, Lowkatai is filled with twin boys. The village isn't really a big place, and yet there are no less than 6 sets of male twins in a quarter mile radius... that I know of so far. Did I mention that Nimisa & Josep have twin brothers? Danny & Abel. They also have three other siblings for a total of seven. Danny has been raised since birth by Kamut, my counterpart. So Nimisa (on the left) is the silly, goofy, moronic one with the soft, likable face. Josep got the darker, harsher features which is fitting since he's the "stronghead", fighter-type who is always getting into trouble. Not unsurprisingly I found Josep to be a bit threatening when I first came to site. I seriously thought he was going to be a problem for me. Turns out he's really just a pussy like the rest of them and he was just testing me. Before he even knew anything about me he was making really strange sexual come-ons. Clearly he didn't know who he was dealing with. Once I finally got sick of his inappropriately-timed bullshit I sent the test right back at him. One day when he was repeatedly making innuendos towards me (in a tough-guy kind of way) I cornered him against a wall and put my nose right up next to his nose and told him to kiss me if he wanted to kiss me (for the record I have zero attraction to him). He didn't flinch, but didn't know what to do or say. I finally stepped back and laughed at him, called him some degrading names, and then walked away. The next day he came to my bungalow and talked to me about how we were such good friends and didn't I want to be his friend? and blah blah blah. He never made any more sex jokes after that. I think I confused him real good. So we had a rocky start. In fact, I started out liking Nimisa much more. He seemed like the kinder-gentler Josep. As time went on, though, I decided that Nimisa was far too dumb for words and Josep was actually a really good guy in need of some direction. They are 20 or 21 and only went to year 4 in school (which means basically kindergarten). Since that first month there have been many times when Josep proved himself to be a good friend not the least of which was the night of the famed Toka dance (a post for another time) when he had to steady my drunk and wobbly ass up a long dirt hill in the dark. When we both stopped for a piss I rolled backwards down the hill with my pants at my knees. Oh those where the times! Thank god for Josep's good nature and discretion when he helped me get my shit together when everyone else took off - including Matt and Kamut! Those bastards!. So Josep sometimes works as a cook at the bungalows, but mostly is a bundle of un-tapped energy - the sad story of most Ni-Van youth. He's far too smart for his own good (idle hands are the devils plaything) where Nimisa is just the opposite (ignorance is bliss). Nimisa, as indicated, is good for almost nothing - however he did participate in the Provincial Games (a mini-olympics between all the islands of Vanuatu) as a runner. And they both will do anything for me. Fetch mangoes for example. If I put in a request in the morning a bucket-full will arrive before lunch.

The Lao Family



L to R we have Felina (1.5), Dora, Danny (12), Selina (5), and Kamut. Dora and Kamut have been married for about 14 years, but none of the children are theirs. After trying unsuccessfully for a child for about 2 years one of Kamuts brothers, upon the arrival of his second set of twins, gave Danny to Kamut and Dora for them to raise as thier own. I'm sketchy about the origins of Selina, but Felina, the youngest, came as part of a marriage swap. Dora has an adult child, named Nora, from a previous husband (again, sketchy details). When another man wanted to marry Nora they agreed that the wife price would be their first born. Normally there would be a large swapping of pigs, fowls, kava, mats, and food, as well as maybe some money, but in this case Kamut wanted and needed another child. This worked out well for everyone since they all end up helping each other anyway. It truly does take a village in this place. Now Nora and her husband Poita (a good friend of both Matt and I) have just had a second child and were troubled about what to name the child. Poita, wanting to be everyone's best friend, claimed the child would be named Brett. But at different times he was also to be named Matt, Jeff, or Danny depending on who he was wanting to impress that day. In the end the child is Danny Kaltoro - Kaltoro being my custom name. But I digress. Danny is the boy with the massive sores on his leg. The Peace Corps doctor thinks it's a form of elephantitius (sp?) and that he will have to live with this condition (open, oozing sores) for the rest of his life. Felina use to cry each time I walked towards her (scary white man!) but now will fall asleep in my arms if I bounce around just right. Selina pays me little attention except when I have candy. Dora cooks me Tanna soup nearly every night - she makes a special vegetarian pot just for me and it's always far FAR more than I can ever hope to eat in one sitting. I bring her vegetables and buy them things like salt and spices that they might not normally use. And Kamut is the guy I spend the most of my time with. He works at the factory with me. In the background is a half-built custom house they were constructing in the hopes that Jeff would be extending his contract again. Turns out he is extending but will be stationed in Vila. This means that this will probably be my house when I return to Tanna - NOT what I want since it's super close to all the other houses in his station. My official house still has not yet been started. ho hum.

SOME DUDES


Just some dudes hanging out showing off their custom stuff. This is another photo I found on the Peace Corps computers. Not sure what island these guys are from, but I really like the composition of this picture. Thanks to whomever left it for me to find.

TANNA COFFEE IN MELE

This is the house I've been staying at while in Efate. The village is called Mele, and the Ni-Van section is across the street and is quite massive. The ocean is a stones through off the left side of the photo. Now before you go thinking I'm living it up in some luxurious plantation-style home I would have to correct you a bit. First of all, there are three large dogs that I'm caring for, one of which is most definitely retarded (in a lovable, but dangerous-to-herself kind of way) and she's a puppy to boot. As for the house, it was built in 1901 and according to Terry it's the first "house" in Vanuatu (all the other Ni-Van abodes apparently not qualifying for that title). The original upper floor is just one large living area - very open and breezy with two large sliding glass doors and full of hand-painted wall tapestries. Only two bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs. The previous owner built a massive addition to the back of the house, but it's unfinished except for the upper level which has been made into a kitchen.

Terry, as owner of Tanna Coffee - the roasting, packaging and wholesaling business - is by no means a wealthy man as some might have expected. In fact, he and his lovely little wife live a very modest life. While the house is large and roomy and the front balcony is amazing, the amenities are basic at best. Hot water is hard to come by except in the shower where it works in spurts. The TV gets 20 channels, but only 3 of which are worth watching - although I use the word "worth" VERY generously here. I'm not complaining, but asian (australian?) satellite TV is pretty bad. Thank god they have BBC and National Geographic channel. The thing I was most looking forward to - unfettered and "high"speed internet access - is not happening here. Apparently Terry only has a 5-hour per month dial-up connection and his monitor has a habit of going green after several minutes. This means traveling to the PC office to use our computers. Not a terrible thing, just not what I was looking forward to. And since the house is outside of town I have to be careful how long I stick around in the evening so that I don't miss the last bus home.

On the other hand I have a kitchen with no tourists, a ping-pong table where I kick Kael's ass every day, a large proper mattress, a full-size shower, and I can watch TV (regardless of the quality) sitting on a fluffy sofa while eating my dinner. And best of all - no cackling chickens or crying babies, although I still do have barking dogs.

So I'll be here until the 20th and then I'll be back in a guesthouse (traveler's motel) until the last week of January. Then it's back to Tanna where I'll most definitely miss living in Terry's house.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Here is me sipping a weak cocktail at "Shooter's" - one of the three bars in downtown Vila, and the only one that seems to get any Ni-Van clientele. The others bars are mostly just ex-pats and yachties - bleeech!


Happy New Year!

I think I look sort of strange in this photo, but it's appropriate for the occasion. I'm still sporting some pretty sun burnt cheeks so that adds to the strangeness i suppose.

There was hardly any other PCV's in town for New Years Eve. Kael, my friend from Tanna who was on holiday with me, and a PCV from my training group named Teresa decided to make a night on the town. Just the three of us. It soon became apparent that we were a little triangle of sexual frustrations. She wanted me, I wanted him, he wanted her. But I didn't want her, she didn't want him, and he didn't want me. It was a classic impasse. Nothing left to do but make the situation worse. We grabbed a bottle of wine from Terry's liquor cabinet and started drinking in the bus ride into town. You can do that here. In fact, you can walk around with open bottles if you like. And just because we can, we do. There's a tremendous novelty feature in public drinking. But don't worry Grandma - I'm not a lush. Then we got ourselves some pizza. Actually kind of tasty. Oh the joy of delicious foods!




It was AFTER pizza that we headed to Shooter's. After a couple drinks and hanging around for a bit we headed to the water front to watch the midnight fireworks display over the harbor. I was told they were being put on by the Iririki Island resort so I made the mistake of having higher than reasonable expectations. When they went off, which was intermittent, they looked a little bit like this...


Actually, some of them were pretty good. But there was long pauses in-between fireworks - like they were looking around for more matches or something. At the same time there was a cacophony of noise coming from the main street drag. Cars were driving around honking horns and pick-ups over-flowing with screaming people were given police escorts, sirens and lights blaring, as they drove around and around the loop. Then we headed back to Shooter's for another drink and some dancing. My knee has been absolutely killing me lately so I was well supplied with Vicodin. Thank god for effective pain killers. We danced like fools for about 2 hours before deciding we should try and find transport which we knew was going to be a problem since our house is almost 10 minutes outside of Vila and tonight is a dangerous night to be driving around. Ni-Vans are known to not be able to handle their drink.
So it took a while, including a series of unsuccessful negotiations (screeching tires, flipping of the bird, angry face-making and so forth) but finally we got ourselves a little old man in a tired and beat-up micro bus to take us out to Mele for double the usual price - still a bargain at 2am on New Years Eve.
Halfway to our house some asshole jumps up from behind some bushes and hurles a rock into our windshield. The rock makes a hole the size of a large foot, but miraculously bounces off instead of coming in. Glass hits me, sitting in the back of the bus, and the windshield completely shatters so the driver can barely see out. Kael was in the front passenger seat, covered with glass, but so lucky that he didn't get hurt at all. The driver didn't stop, which was probably a very smart move, but once we got the house he was too scared to drive back. We phoned the police and left him by the road to wait.
Now I hate to disappoint my 10 loyal readers by not finishing the part about the love triangle, especially since this is the part where the story gets interesting, but some peeps here are pressuring me to hurry up and get off the damn internet. Time for lunch. Time for the next persons chance to use the computer. The story about love in a developing country will just have to wait until next time.