TRANSIT 34

MAY

2007-05-04T16:51:00.000+11:00

Faithful readers - I've not been able to post to the blog in so long due to a very busy schedule. This past month we celebrated our one-year anniversary in country (although our halfway point of our contract is not until July) and now the entire Vanuatu Peace Corps is convening for our annual conference in Vila. We will be here for a week in a private island resort located near downtown. This will be a very interesting experience since many of us will be meeting for the first time. We have about 90 PCV's in Vanuatu and I've probably met about half. It will be great to hear stories from all the different islands that I'll likely never get a chance to visit.

After the conference I will be traveling to Sydney for one week - my 36th birthday present to myself. In Sydney I will rendezvous with Robert from San Diego who will then return to Vanuatu with me for an additional 10 days. This will be an incredible experience not just for him, but for me as well - to get to play Tanna tour guide to another American will be very validating. Most volunteers experience frustration after service when they realize that no one back home can ever really truly understand what all the stories mean for that person. There's a lot more going on that can never make it onto a blog or into a photograph. So having even one person that understand even some of this crazy place with first-hand experience will be pretty awesome. At the very least I need one other person to taste Kava, and to eat Tanna soup while sitting on the dirt floor or Dora's kitchen while fighting off a pack of starving dogs.

I have some good stories to share - namely my experiences with the cargo cult named "John Frum". In short, they worship the American military and spend their days awaiting our return when we will shower them with cargo to enrich their lives. As if. I got to watch some of their 50th anniversary ceremony and even presented the chief, I mean.. the "Admiral", with a gift for which I earned myself a commemorative t-shirt and some seriously suspicious glares. Then we ditched out to swim in the hot springs at the base of the volcano.

Then I've got a couple stories from life on the "Field Survey" trail. We've been engrossed in a massive survey from every area of the island. We are examining each coffee farmers plot of trees and compiling a ton of data. guess who does all the compiling? It's been hard work, physically and emotionally, but Matt and I have been having a good time (mostly) seeing all the different villages from all corners of Tanna.

My camera broke which I'm hoping to get repaired in Sydney. But luckily I have photos to share from John Frum and a few from the survey. For now I will leave you with this...

This is a grave in Mele, just outside the main city of Port Vila. When I stayed in Mele during the holidays flew past this grave day after day in a speeding mini-bus and always marveled that it was always covered in fresh vibrant flowers. It wasn't until I had to walk one day that I realized all the flowers were plastic. How did I not guess that before. I've never even seen these kinds of fresh flowers in Vanuatu before. And the shiny, silvery christmas garland is a special touch on many graves.

YIKES!

2007-03-08T13:15:00.000+11:00

It must be the weather.

Just the other day there was a land dispute in Lenekal, the main town in Tanna, and a land-owner destroyed a Rural Taining Center situated on his land, including all the donated computers (he smashed them with a bat). Then there was a fight between two villages up by Matt's house that sent a dozen guys to the hospital with bush knife wounds. It was some silly shit over a girl.

And then I check my email and got this message from our Country Director:

To: Peace Corps Vanuatu Volunteers and Staff
Fr: Kevin George Country Director
Re: Advisory - Exercise Caution in Port Vila Pockets of Civil Disturbance in Port Vila Area Involving People from Ambrym and Tanna Islands
Dt: Sunday, 4:00 pm, 4 Mar 2007

CC: Pacific Desk, Washington
CC: U.S. Embassy, Port Moresby
CC: MCC Office, Port Vila

In the afternoon of Saturday, March 3, Peace Corps Vanuatu received reports of a civil disturbance emanating from the Black Sands Area (between Tusker Brewery and Mele Village). The disturbance, which now appears to have subsided but perhaps not ended, appears to involve only persons from the islands of Tanna and Ambrym. Fighting between groups from these islands involved the use of fists, sticks and knives. There are reports of several houses being burnt [update: 12 homes burned] belonging to either Ambrym or Tanna families at the Ohlen, Malapoa and Black Sands areas. Unconfirmed reports indicate that up to five people have been killed [update: 3 confirmed deaths] with a significant number of injured persons at the hospital. The disturbance appears to have started over an allegation that a woman from Tanna died because of “black magic” performed by others allegedly from Ambrym. Reported violence has been limited to the members of these two groups. It may be further limited to families within these groups, but the general perception is that the dispute has been generalized to any person from these islands. The violence has not been widespread, but in isolated pockets of communities. For example, a home and minibus were burnt in the Ohlen area near the Jungle Juice Nakamal. The home belonged to a well-known family from Ambrym. Nearby businesses remained in operation and people were walking about without any apparent fear for their security.

As of Sunday mid-day the situation appears calm. The Police are guarding the hospital and the Vanuatu Mobile Force has been activated and has a significant presence at the Black Sands Area. The VMF is apparently armed (an order that can only come from the Prime Minister). A large gathering of people from Tanna occurred in the Man Ples area this morning. Reports later confirmed that this was a gathering facilitated by the police for the funeral of one of the young men from Tanna who was killed on Saturday. [update: over 100 arrests have been made and preparations have been expedited to return people to their respective islands if they want] It is very rare in Vanuatu for there to be violent disputes involving people from different islands. It appears as of Sunday that this flare-up is being contained by the police.

There have been no direct threats to Peace Corps Volunteers, the general population or commercial establishments. Supermarkets and other stores remain open on Sunday. Tension though is likely to continue until there is reconciliation among the two groups. Chiefs Day, a national holiday on Monday, will hopefully provide the opportunity for this reconciliation to start. It is believed that a meeting of all the islands chiefs in Port Vila is taking place on Sunday afternoon at the Chiefs Nakamal. This is a very positive sign that the traditional conflict resolution process has started.

Action by Peace Corps Vanuatu:

Notified all Volunteers in Port Vila about the disturbance. Adam Brzezinski and Julie Beierlein, and Volunteers with houses/apartments in higher risk areas were relocated on Saturday to a guest house (Whispering Coral) near the Peace Corps Office and will remain at the guest house until at least Monday. Higher risk areas are likely to be areas where there are concentrations of people from either Tanna or Ambrym. Caution to be exercised by Volunteers and Staff. There has been no indication that the general population or foreigners are being targeted.

The greatest risk to the general population would be to be caught in an area that suddenly becomes violent. There is also the risk that persons predisposed to criminal activity may take advantage of this situation. Therefore, Volunteers and staff are advised to exercise caution over the next twenty four hours when traveling in Port Vila especially in or near the areas of Black Sands, Mele Maat, Ohlen, Agatis, Man Ples-Tabakor, Freswota and Beverly Hills.

Travel by night is not advisable in any part of Port Vila until we can confirm that the risks associated with this civil disturbance have been resolved through conflict resolution and police action. Please report any unusual activity to Kevin at 43057 (backup’s are Relvie and\nJane) and, if necessary, take measures to reduce your risk. A Volunteer believing themselves at risk may contact Kevin at 43057. If telephone contact is not necessary and the Volunteer’s current location is unsafe then please proceed to Kevin’s home near the Peace Corps Office or the Volunteer Resource Center. The following staff should be contacted if you have questions or if you have information that you would like to report.

And then I found this on another news site after I learned the President had actually declared a State of Emergency. Remember, this all started from reports of black magic - a.k.a. local religion. Religion!! (oh, and I love the closing quote)

State Of Emergency Declared After Witchcraft Claims A state of emergency has been declared in the capital of the South Pacific nation of Vanuatu after clashes between islanders over claims of witchcraft killed two men and wounded 10 people, police said on Monday.

Some 200 people from Tanna and Ambrym islands clashed in Port Vila on Saturday after the recent death of a woman, married to a Tanna man, was blamed on witchcraft, police Superintendent Willie Ben told Reuters by telephone from Port Vila.

One man was stabbed to death in the initial fighting on the outskirts of Port Villa and another was killed and houses razed in retaliation later on Saturday night.

“A woman was killed a few weeks ago and some people blamed it on witchcraft,” said Ben. “Ethnic fighting broke out on Saturday … and two people died and another 10 were injured.”

Police said Port Vila had been quiet since the fighting on Saturday and 140 people had been arrested. A state of emergency covering the capital was declared by the president late on Sunday and will continue for two weeks, banning any public assemblies, said police.

“At the moment we do not impose a curfew or road checks but that will depend on the situation,” said Ben.

Vanuatu’s National Council of Chiefs said the government overreacted in declaring a state of emergency. “The State of Emergency is like preparing for a cyclone that has already passed,” the council’s secretary general, Selwyn Garu, told reporters on Monday.

TRIMESTER

2007-02-28T15:02:00.000+11:00

In lieu of any truly interesting stories of adventure or mayhem, I can offer these selections from my Trimester Reports for those of you who might like to know a bit more about my job. These reports are compiled and presented to members of congress who approve our funding. Some of the formating did not cut-and-paste perfectly, and some sections of the report were not included - sorry.

1) In 1961 President John F. Kennedy established the Peace Corps to promote world peace and friendship. Describe your progress (in terms of activities and numbers of participants) over the past trimester at site based on the three goals of Peace Corps:

A. Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their needs for trained men and women.

By September of 2006 it was clear we were experiencing the re-birth of the Tanna coffee industry. I continued working the Coffee Development Program in the following ways:

 I continued to directly assist both farmers and the Purchasing Agent in the coffee buying transaction. This process repeated itself hundreds of times ultimately affecting upwards of 350 farmers (15% female) and their families.

 I began the training of a newly hired factory bookkeeper, a young woman named Ruth, to learn the simplified book-keeping records of the factory.

 I continued the training of Kamut Lao, the Purchasing Agent, in management, organization, farmer relations, as well as in the use of a digital scale which involved the application of rounding decimals. Kamut’s lessons on rounding have not gone well. Despite my best efforts the concept remains abstract to him and he will continue to need supervision when scaling coffee.

 I provided total day-to-day management of the factory during this period, as the local manager was not provided a 2006 contract for the program developers. This included assisting Kamut in acquiring official personal identification (birth certificate) so he can be a co-signer on the COV bank account.

 Continued the collection of data from all coffee farmers to provide DARD and Coffee Development Program participants relevant and accurate information from which to base actions (e.g. training)

 I met formally with the Board of Directors of the Coffee Organization of Vanuatu (COV). For our meeting I prepared a detailed “Technical Assistant Report” that was designed to bring all members up-to-speed on all issues effecting our operation. This report, including financial documents and forcasting was heavily referenced during the meeting.

 Greatly assisted in the organization and implementation of a “Coffee Day” awareness seminar. This involved providing scheduling, information, and talking-points to six different speakers and the coordination of disseminating the information to a room of coffee farmers and enlisting their help in further spreading the information through-out the island.

 Began monthly meetings with the officers of the TAFEA-DARD office to cooridinate projects, troubleshoots problems, and provide organizational and managerial assistance.

 Began meeting with TAFEA–DARD officers to discuss and plan a Peace Corps initiated Coffee-Kava Field Survey to commence the beginning of 2007.

 Closed the factory end of November and traveled to Vila to continue working on behalf of the Coffee Development Program. In December this meant a week with TCDC to map out logistical and financial concerns for the coming year.

 Providing managerial assistance to White Beach Bungalows came to a halt after the Chief abruptly took control of the financials and pushed aside other family members in the daily operations of the business. He has expressed no interest in continuing the dialoge I had established with the official manager nor have I attempted to provide further assistance at this time.

B. Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.

Now very well integrated into my Lowkatai village and the surrounding West Tanna I’ve had hundreds of conversations with Ni-Vans about American life, our culture and our people.

From my first Trimester Report, which can be quoted directly:

There have been countless situations where Ni-Vans will ask questions about the few subjects they know of America – namely the terror attacks of 9/11, World War II, and the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan – none of which they have any clear or full understanding. This provides me an opportunity to talk about American culture as it relates to foreign policy, and to explain about events like 9/11 that ultimately effect hundreds of millions of people around the globe and yet barely register in this remote island nation.

On many occassions I will sit down with Ni-Vans, many of which are illiterate, and go through an issue of Newsweek International, or other magazines, and try to explain, as simply as possible, the stories behind all the different pictures. In this way they learn not only about the United States, but also about the entire outside world.

Some families, such as my new Tanna family, some times have the ability to watch videos, or full-length films. This provides yet another opportunity to explain what they are seeing, to help them differentiate between reality and fantasy, and to give background where history is needed. As with the magazine sessions I often interject information even when not directly asked so as to provoke conversation.

Additionally I’ve cooked American-style meals for Ni-Vans, invited them into my house and explained my different objects, introduced them to my music which I play regularly at the factory, and allow them to observe my behavior when I do things like care for my puppy or wash my own laundry.

C. Helping promote a better understanding of other people on the part of all Americans.

I continue to write letters home providing in-depth details about the life and culture that I’m witnessing here in Vanuatu. In each case the recipients of my letters are asked to share the news and stories with other interested friends and family. Additionally, I’ve been keeping an internet journal, or blog, as a means of mass communication. The tone of the blog is designed for a small, personal collection of friends and family, much like the letters, but particular posts may possibly be read by countless Americans as everything I write on the blog is completely accessible to anyone with internet access. My goal with the letters and blog has always been to portray Vanuatu culture, as well as my experiences as a PCV, accurately if not humorously, and with understanding, curiousity, and humanity.

I have previously connected with, but have NOT continued to have any further contact with my matched Coverdall World Wise School teacher. I emailed as much generalized detail as I thought appropriate, as well as inviting her to read my blog (before sharing with her students) and to then determine a future course of dialog. She was invited to make further contact with me at her convenience but I’ve not heard back from her. At this stage I consider the match to be unsuccessful.

2) Describe the personal and professional challenges you experienced at site and the strategies you used to address them (confidential issues on a separate sheet)

My Peace Corps service began with me basically partnered with an extended PCV working on the same project. At first this was a huge bonus as he was able to more quickly get me integrated and up-to-speed on the project and into my community. In the beginning the project literally needed our combined efforts as the factory was understaffed at a time of high production. However in hindsight I can see how after the first one or two months this overlap actually became a hindrence to my professional progress especially as the project was concerned. Participants on the project continued to prefer to deal directly with the other PCV instead of with me and this put me at a disadvantage when the original PCV finished his contract. Further, our differing styles of management and organization continued to hold me back during the first six months of my service. At the time this was happening my experiences were all so new and different that I wasn’t aware of the effects this overlap was having on my work and life. For this reason I didn’t have any need to implement any strategies to address this issue.

Language has stopped being a professional challenge, although at times I continue to struggle with full comprehension. Some cultural issues have presented new and different challenges, such as the Ni-Van habit of not sharing information. This requires remembering to ask as many questions in as many different ways as possible.

1) Please list your priorities and plans for the next trimester:

I will begin the year stationed in Vila until the end of January when we have a scheduled COV Board meeting.

Ø Meet with the Ministry of Trade to discuss the Integrated Framework Program and how they can utilize the Coffee Development Program as an example for shifting economic policy.
Ø Meet with the Director of Agriculture to discuss the future of the COV Board, integration of Ni-Van ownership on the project, DARD staffing issues, CKPS – field survey, and additional PCV’s in Tanna.

Ø Begin seeking donor funding for a “wish list” of coffee factory needs and wants for the coming harvest.

Ø Upon my return to Tanna to begin meetings with DARD to coordinate the CKPS and then to, as soon as possible, implement the CKPS to be conducted during the months of February, March, April and May.

Ø With a Dept. of Agriculture agent, visit each coffee pulping station located through-out the island to assess maintenance/repair needs and to train the local farmers to conduct the maintenance.

Ø Assign a printed number to each pulping station for coffee tracking purposes. This will also help with future organic certification.

Ø Identify up-and-coming coffee producing villages to determine where to place future pulpers.

Ø Make further improvements to the factory to aide in the organziational flow for what we expect will be a doubling of production for the 2007 season.

Ø Contact and determine the needs of the Lowkatai School for participation in the Cyclone Ivy Re-habilitation fund.

2) Please provide feedback to your APCD and other Staff in terms of support you require:

I need support from APCD in the form of putting pressure on the (national level) Department of Agriculture to provide more thorough support to the COV and the coffee industry in general through the TAFEA-DARD office. The Director, Dorosday Kenneth, does not attend board meetings opting to send an alternate, and has not offered any solid advice or support to making the board more engaged. Additionally we do not have financial support from the Vanuatu government at a critical time when our donor support is being withdrawn. I need PC to pressure the Vanuatu government to lend any and all support to the program to keep it afloat during this tenuous stage of development.

3) Please attach any materials you have developed and wish to share with other PCV’s. Also, please attach your Reef Check surveys if applicable.

No new materials at this time.

4) Narrative: Write a press release about your assignment. This can be a specific project on which you worked, or a general account of the past trimester. In the opening paragraph please frame the press release in terms of who, what, where, why, how, etc. This may be actually used as a press release in Vanuatu, the U.S., or other media. Attach pictures if available.

The Peace Corps helped oversee the close of the 2006 Vanuatu coffee harvest – a season of amazing re-vitalization from a project five years in the making. After years of studies, infrastructure development, farmer training, cyclones, and other ups and downs, the program realized the fruits of its labors with the quadrupling of coffee production from 7 tons in 2005 to nearly 28 tons in 2006.

The development program has had many individuals and program participants lending support over the years with the Peace Corps role evolving and growing from it’s entry in 2004. During the 2006 harvest the Peace Corps, in the absense of a qualified Ni-Van, managed all daily activities of the coffee factory, lent support to the local purchasing agent, and trained a new factory bookkeeper. The Peace Corps continued on-going data collection to provide relevant and timely information to all program participants, in particular the names and addresses of all our registered farmers. We hope the information will be used to further provide training, strengthen the bond between the program and the individual farmers, as well as satisfy the informational needs of current and/or future donar bodies.

The Peace Corps continued to advise and support the Coffee Organization of Vanuatu Board of Directors (COV) – a collection of prominent Ni-Vans charged with overseeing the local industry. The Peace Corps directly assisted the Board with contract negotiations, price structuring, financial planning, forecasting, as well as providing general information to keep all members aware and up to speed on all factory activities especially during this time of renewed and rapid growth.

After the close of the 2006 harvest, with it’s surprising numbers, the Peace Corps travelled to Port Vila to meet at length with Tanna Coffee Development Company. As the sole purchaser of all COV production, it was imperative to discuss and strategize with TCDC all logistics for the coming 2007 harvest in which we anticipate a possible doubling of production from 2006 levels.

To help ensure the future growth of the newly revitalized industry the Peace Corps continues to work with and advise the local and national levels of the Department of Agriculture in their role on the coffee development program. The future will see the building of new pulping stations, development of new coffee nurseries, continued farmer training, and the proposed Coffee-Kava Production Survey (CKPS) to commence early 2007.

The Peace Corps-proposed CKPS is designed primarily as an important information gathering endeavor as well as a means to train the local Agriculture Officers in information gathering techniques and the importance and power of information. Our goals are to canvass the entire island of Tanna to learn exactly how much coffee is being farmed, where it’s being farmed, and who is doing the farming. Additionally to conduct a simultaneous introductory survey of kava farming with the goal of identifying motivated kava farmers. We anticipate the information will be greatly beneficial to all program participants in the future growth of the coffee industry as well as provide a foundation of data for the formation of a possible future kava organization.

POST DELAY

2007-02-28T14:05:00.000+11:00

No... I'm not suffering from writers block, but rather Ghiardia-butt. I think I've been working through a minor (major?) case of ghiardia this past week. It's left me feeling more than a bit drained - pun intended. I haven't been in much of a mood to get out and about, to say the least. And yet, here I am.

Because I love you.

February has been a good month. Matt and I have been getting along in a whole new way - he seems to have given up some of his old hang-ups and that's a good thing. Then the Peace Corps decided to relocate to Tanna another volunteer from my training group, a girl who was a close friend of both Matt and I. So how lucky is that? She'll be in Isangel hopefully providing some much needed organizational support to the Department of Agriculture. As with Matt she is close enough that we can all see each other several times each week. I consider myself pretty damn lucky to have not just one, but two good friends so close. I was expecting total isolation, and for most PCV's that's what they get.

The survey has been delayed over and over again waiting for this thing or that person or whatever. At first this was really irritating to me since I was feeling pressured to get it finished before the start of the coffee harvest in May. Now I've decided that it really shouldn't matter that much. This means the past couple weeks have been all about welcoming a few new volunteers to Tanna, settling back into my bungalow, and having stomach issues.

DEAR ELIN

2007-02-20T14:28:00.000+11:00

Dear Elin,

Thanks for your post on the previous entry. My name isn't Jeff, however. That was just a letter to another PCV who served on my project before me.

I'm excited for your impending "dive" into the Peace Corps - you are about to have a truly unique experience. Too soon to say whether it will be good or bad, but it will certainly be unique. hahah. Try and muscle your way onto Tanna Island 'cause we kick ass down here. Of course you will have no say whatsoever about which island you get.

Please send me a list of any questions you may have - I would be very happy to provide you any advice or information you may want or need. Please use my email: bserwalt@gmail.com.

If you are scheduled to begin training in April, as I did just last year, then you will likely get a one-day trip to our annual All-Volunteer conference which happens the second week of May. We will get a chance to meet at that time!

Some Tips: Bring a cheap hammock, lots of zip-lock bags, and if you wear contact lenses you should definitely bring them - the water is clean here!

No need to bring sunscreen, bugspray, or medical supplies such as tylenol - the medical office provides an endless free supply. Oh, and no one wears sunglasses outside of Vila. I know it's dangerous but that's how it is.

And my iPod is the best friend I ever had. Without it I may shrivel up and die. Get one, load it up as much as possible, and bring it along with a solar charger.

Best of luck with the rest of the process!

DEAR JEFF

2007-02-08T14:00:00.000+11:00

Dear Jeff,

Welcome back to Vanuatu!

Frankly I’m surprised that you decided to once again extend your volunteer contract knowing that you will be living in Vila and not Tanna – especially after having gone home to the U.S. for such a long time. I would think that would make coming back either really difficult or really desirable. It was really interesting to hear your feelings about returning home and the dis-connect you felt from your friends and family. Maybe that makes coming back easier?

After having been in Vila for 6 weeks I was really ready to return to Tanna. Vila was a much needed break. After having been on this island for almost 6 months, a very long stretch by any Peace Corps standards, it felt good to see everyone, to reconnect, and to decompress. And yet, after just the first couple weeks I was starting to sour on Vila. I left Tanna feeling absolutely giddy to get back to Vila - you leave with the idea that you’re heading for a nice urban experience... a taste of a more sensible lifestyle: restaurants, nightclubs, resorts, occassional air-conditioning. And then you get there and realize what you already knew -the restaurants are awful and over-priced, the nightclubs are a joke, the population is seperated into Ni-Vans and ex-pats when really I was looking for a mix of both. Even the kava isn’t that great. After just a few weeks, other than the work I was doing, I was ready to come back to Tanna... in fact, you could even say I was a bit giddy about coming back.

So here I am. And guess what… lots of little changes while I was gone. And yet, the more things have changed the more they’ve stayed the same.

But here are some highlights.

Many new houses are being built (but not mine!). I suppose the lifespan of a bamboo house is really only 5-8 years so I guess some of the construction is just replacing old houses – like the one for Chief Charley who promptly moved into the house they were building for you. But now Lucy is getting a new house, as well as Josep and his family. And Dominic was building a large house at the nakamal so we could sit inside and drink kava during a rainstorm. It only got half finished before he became really sick and bed-ridden. In fact, when I first arrived the word was that he was nearly on his deathbed. He couldn’t walk and hadn’t had a bowel movement in over a week. He had been sick for two weeks prior to my return. They took him to the hospital but of course they gave him some panadol and told him to go home. I asked more questions and learned that he never told the doctors about not going to the bathroom. The age old problem of Ni-Vans not sharing information even when it’s in their own best interest. Although now it seems like he’s coming along so I guess he’s going to be OK. He lost all his buff muscle mass and looks like a little kid again.

In other news… they raised the price of eggs and bread in Lenekal. Eggs are 45vt, and bread is now 40vt per loaf. The other night I was talking to Tom, the bread baker in Lowkatai, and asked if he was going to raise his prices as well. He’s still charging 30vt and thinks that if he raises the price then the people in the bush won’t be able to afford the bread. I pointed out that his expenses have gone up and that raising prices is a normal part of doing business. It was a pitch-black evening, and the glow from the brick-oven fire was reflecting off the faces of Yata, and small Jerry who were poking each other and messing around. The nearby “Bread Store” was still open, with it’s one lightbulb lighting the way for kava-drunk late night strollers, and the single exposed lightbulb hanging in the bread kitchen gently lit up the in-progress bread-making. I then suggested that he could raise the price to 35vt and still be selling for less than Lenekal. He shook his head “no”, and repeated his line about the poorer people who need the bread. I admired him for his attitude of good will.

And just then the power went out.

We were in total darkness but for the weakening glow from the brick-oven. Turns out the pre-paid power card had just run out. Becky had to close the “Bread Store” and Tom wouldn’t be baking any bread that night unless he decided to use flashlights. The wood used to get the oven going would be wasted. Before walking away I politely reminded him one more time that maybe raising his prices wouldn’t be such a bad idea afterall.

And then there is Kael. I’m disappointed to say that he decided to close his store and be a lazy bum. He plans to live off his girlfriends future income when she gets a teaching job (as if that was gaurantee). He told me his plan a while back, but I was still surprised that when I got back from Vila it was completely done. This was bad timing for him, I think, since right next to his store the local momma’s have cleared a large section of road front land to create a Lowkatai Momma’s market. Can you believe it? We will have our own produce market in Lowkatai. And if Kael was smart, in my opinion, he would have not only kept his store open but expanded his inventory to complement this new development. Along with the “Bread Store” they could effectively eliminate the need for people to travel into Lenekal. All the people from Matt’s village, for example, could cut their travel time in half. Well.. at least the opportunity is there for someone else. I’m thinking of how I can encourage someone else to grab the store and open a business – maybe a co-op or maybe a crafts market or something.

Speaking of co-ops – the Tafea Co-op has gone through some shit. Our biggest and most well stocked store is caught up in some funny-money scandal. I don’t understand the details, but Yaken was voted off the board and then just the other day there was a mini-riot of sorts in front of the store. Seems some shareholders are also threatening to burn the place down or maybe burn down Yaken's house. Some silly shit like that. Too bad for Matt that he’s currrently living in Yaken’s house! He’s been desperately trying to get proper locks installed. Since Yaken got the boot, his wife closed up her restaurant – the one tried and true restaurant that had actual chairs and chilled water! Now it’s gone. And guess what opened in it’s place? Another freakin’ store that sells exactly the same inventory as all the other stores. It boggles the mind that they just keep opening more and more stores that all sell the same 25 items. How is it possible that they all don’t understand the concept of differentiation. Anyway… none of this bodes well for the co-op. I expect it to completely collapse within a few months unless wiser heads can prevail. Some drunken fool will likely burn the place down ‘cause he thinks he’s getting riped off from his co-op shares and then not realize that all the burned inventory represented his own money.

Oh – and Mary Jack, who moonlights as the Chairwoman of our ineffective COV Board, has been promoted to Secretary General of the TAFEA Province. This means, of course, that we will see her even less than before. I genuinely like Mary and I’m happy that she was promoted. But in my own selfish way I have to just give a big *sigh* and wonder how this coffee project is ever going to get into the hands of the locals.

Speaking of COV Board members - Rex is MIA and has not delivered the wood or the concrete bricks to build my house. Personally, I’m still miffed that Terry handed over the New Zealand High Comm check to Rex for him to supply the materials. I had suggested that maybe it would be wiser if we show him the check, and then withhold handing it over until the materials are actually delivered. Now he’s had the money for close to three months, and nothing has happened. Ho hum. With Kevin’s consent I’ve moved back into White Beach Bungalows. Only this time I’ve decided to make myself more comfortable, moving stuff around, installing a small desk(!), and hanging fabric on the walls. I can see myself here for the duration of my service. I can’t believe Peace Corps is paying for this, but then when Kevin told me our main office phone and internet invoice was THIRTEEN THOUSAND U.S. DOLLARS for just the past two months I decided not to ever feel bad about them paying the equivilent of $200 per month for my housing even though it’s contrary to PC policy to pay for housing.

APCD Mark was just down here the other day scopeing out a couple sites for new volunteers, which includes transferring Jess Porter to work with the Department of Agriculture. She's one of my personal friends from training. Can you believe it? I mean, how lucky am I to have not one but TWO of my friends located within walking distance? Tanna is just getting better and better. Plus, Mark said he is working on developing two additional new sites in addition to the extended services of Tony and Erica. Combine these five new sites with the replacements for Larry and David and that means come July we will have seven new faces for a total of ten Tanna volunteers (with me, Matt and Chris Beale). Jess, Erica and Matt will be within walking distance, but the others are all still pretty remote from Lenekal. Oh sheesh... I forgot Michael Hoffman - that makes eleventeen volunteers! (as the Kamut might say).

It's been hotter than balls down here and surprisingly little rain. I fully expected some hardcore weather happening, but it's getting dryer and dryer. Very worried about the coffee plants. They said it rained only two times while I was in Vila. Hmmm.

Walking around I'm still as likely as ever to have someone sing out your name when they see me. Or sometimes they might actually talk to me for a bit before realizing I'm not you. This doesn't bother me at all - I think it's funny and I understand how hard it is for them to keep straight the three white guys on an all black island. Lord knows I don't know any other their names either!

Well... that should be enough for now. Kamut keeps asking me to get a phone card so he can ring you, but the last time we tried calling you one of Vanuatu's founding fathers died and the news came through the phone we were trying to use. That was something. whew.

Maybe I'll see you at the next COV board meeting? It should be a good one! POPACA is likely going to grant us 4 million vatu instead of the revolving credit fund. This is good news... until you realize that we will most certainly run out of money come August. I did the financial projections and in a perfect word scenario it just won't work. I asked the Director of Agriculture what she thinks we should do and she sorta shrugged her shoulders. I guess that's how these development projects go - you are always just about to drown.

GOING BACK TO CALI

2007-01-26T10:27:00.000+11:00

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.

PULLING OUT MY HAIR

2007-01-22T12:19:00.000+11:00

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.

GROWING PAINS

2007-01-18T18:45:00.000+11:00

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.

THE INFAMOUS TOKA

2007-01-17T15:25:00.000+11:00

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

THESE ARE THE PEOPLE...

2007-01-05T14:37:00.000+11:00

...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

2007-01-05T14:29:00.000+11:00

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

2007-01-05T13:53:00.000+11:00

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

2007-01-05T09:25:00.000+11:00

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.

THE CLEVER

2006-12-30T15:49:00.000+11:00

Our volunteer in South Tanna, David Keppen, had some items stolen from his property a few months ago. This is kind of shocking to me, since the culture and island life don't really leave themselves open to this sort of behavior. Plus, at least for me, it's easy to develop a family-like repoire with your village where they would feel very ashamed if anything, especially a theft, occurred. In fact, it's been my experience that they are very protective of me and my belongings. On the other hand, man will be man. And when you have flashy things like CD players and digital camera's I suppose you open yourself up to any possibilities. And of course people from outside your village are just as capable of theft as anyone.

So David had some items stolen right from inside his house. He talked to the village about it, had some meetings and so forth. No one seemed to know what to do, and David wasn't about to let it go. If someone knew what had happened they weren't sharing any information or they were too ashamed for one reason or another. David needed to appeal to a higher power - higher than the village chief. Turns out his village had a suggestion. They told him to go see "The Clever". "The Clever" - David had never heard of him. What kind of person was this? what sort of special powers does someone that goes by that name possess? But David had little other choices and in any event this all sounded rather intriguing, so why not humor everyone. And so David went to seek out this mystical sounding individual.

As if he had stepped into the Matrix seeking the wisdom of the Oracle, David found himself climbing hills, jumping rivers, and crossing forests of lush green tropical flora in hopes of having a face-to-face with the all knowing, all powerful Clever.

Upon meeting the Clever the interview process began. There was no pomp, no ceremony to the occasion. Just enter the hut, sit down, and wait for your turn to speak. What is your name? where did you come from? what is your business here? and so on. The Clever understood the problem and declared his ability to help David and restore his possessions.

But first he needed to communicate with his underlings.

The Clever reaches to the ground by his side, where David notices for the first time a selection of small stones and random sticks and rocks, and makes the carefully considered selection of a small, plain looking stone. He then nonchalantly places the stone into his ear. Then, while holding a finger to the inserted stone, and looking absently away from David, makes like he is placing a cellphone call. To David's great credit he stood by patiently and politely while waiting for the call to go through. Then when there was an apparent connection The Clever begins speaking out loud providing details of the situation at hand, periodically pausing to get clarification from David.

"Yes, that's correct... a Peace Corps Volunteer", he says to the... stone.

Then quickly turns to David:

"Uhm... What did you say your name was?"

"David Keppen

"Ah yes", then turns his face away, "He says his name is David Keppen". Then to David again:

"And you are from which village?"

"High Hill"

"Ah yes", then looks towards the ceiling while continuing his call, pressing the stone solidly into his ear, "He's from High Hill and he had items stolen from his home..."

This line of behavior continued for some time before The Clever purportedly hung up (pulled the stone out of his ear and carefully returned it to it's special place on the dirt floor) and explained that all was going to work out just fine, he would have his items returned shortly. David thanked The Clever, and took his leave without asking any questions.

Returning home from work the next day he found on his doorstep his CD player and digital camera and the other random items that had been taken. No indication of where they came from or who may have taken them - but there they were back again with nary a scratch.

He later came to learn who the most likely suspects where, as did all the villagers, and he decided to let it go - to not follow up by "pressing charges". The village, however, insisted upon have a "Sorry Ceremony" as a way for healing and moving forward. More about "Sorry Ceremony's" in another post. Couldn't we all use a Clever.

Love the name.

FOUND IMAGE Pt.4

2006-12-22T11:23:00.000+11:00

And a couple more good photos found on the Peace Corps Resource Center computers. If you are the photographer or you know who the photographer is, please email me. I don't know any details about these photos except to say that, yes, the water is that beautiful. These photos have not be re-touched. The guy is holding a coconut crab, a creature that is taboo to eat as they are going extinct (i think?!?), but some restaurants still sell them.

This might be from the coast of Efate or maybe Lelepa:

GIANT BANYAN TREE

2006-12-22T11:07:00.000+11:00

Lonely Planet travel guide refers to it as the world's largst living organism. I'm pretty sure that's not true. It's possible that it's the world's largest tree, and even more likely that it's the largest one in Vanuatu, but that's not a fair description either since it's more like a series of trees. Banyan trees are hard to describe - they grow up and out, then branches come down, vines are all around, it's impossible to see where the tree begins or ends, and it's just all jumbled like that.

This giant banyan is yet one more reason why Tanna Island kicks ass. Located on private property, the locals charge 200vt for tourists, but free for PCV's. The tree is about a 40 minute hike north-east from Matt's house, which is a 45 minute hike east from my house in Lowkatai. If you are using Google Earth to check out the island I'm not sure if you would be able to differentiate which tree is which, but it is located at the beginning of a valley several kilometers east and slightly north of the factory. A discerning eye might be able to detect the canopy - but the real beauty of the banyan tree lies beneath. You can climb through the vines and be totally encased in the tree's network to branches. Climbing the tree is like a jungle-gym paradise - very easy and tons of places to go, every branch is super strong and after you climb up you might be able to find a good vine to slide right back down.

There is no good way to capture the enormity of this tree with the lens I have on my Canon G3. This shot is from in the valley on the west side of the tree. There is a rotting tree trunk laying across the valley, just above a slight stream. I was able to shimmy back several meters to get as much as possible, but it's also important to note that while the tree goes from left to right in this photo, it also goes straight back in five other directions as well. That's Jeff standing in the bottom right corner raising his arms.

FOUND IMAGE Pt.3

2006-12-22T11:02:00.000+11:00

An aerial view of Vanuatu. This image shows the treacherous rocky coral reefs just under the crystal blue water. We have very little sandy beach here. And it sucks. You can't even walk out on the reef without footwear - the rocks are really jagged and painful. Although the Ni-Vans just hop and jump around like it's nothing at all.

FOUND IMAGE Pt.2

2006-12-22T10:23:00.000+11:00

Further snooping around revealed these images of land divers from Pentecost Island. And it just occured to me that since I'm publishing these photos on the internet, likely violating some form of copyright law, I should give serious credit to the photographer. Unfortunately I have no idea who that person might be. On the other hand, they left these images on a public computer. In either event, if the photographer makes him/herself known I will gladly give credit where credit is due.

Now on to the nearly naked men of Pentecost Island.

I don't know any details about the history or ceremony of land-diving - except to say that they build a large rickety structure several stories tall, then tie vines to their feet which are cut at a length just long enough so that they just miss hitting the ground. I'm almost positive this is where bungee-jumping originated, although there is little elasticity to these vines. I'm told the scaffolding is constructed in such a way as to break, or collapse a bit to allow some "give" when the diver gets to the end of the dive, but I'm really not sure. I anticipate possibly traveling to this island during my service in Vanuatu, so I might one day be able to share my own photos, and much more detail about the why's, how's, and so forth.

Although it's also possbile that I might never travel to Pentecost, so I'm happy to be able to at least share these photos with you today:

NOTE: Nambas, or penis sheaths, are a custom thing. The nambas, as you can see, only cover the penis, not the testicles, and different islands have different styles. On Tanna we have the small nambas village, and big namba village - it's hard to guess which might be more interesting since it's not clear what the "big" and "small" are referring to - the namba or the person. These are really just worn for custom ceremonies. I think there are very few places left in Vanuatu that actually wear these things on a daily basis. The guys in this first photo seem to be just hanging out, or maybe waiting for their turn at land-diving - and yes, the little kids dive too:

And here are some dudes climbing the scaffolding:

And then getting the nerve to jump...

Check this shit out - maybe that tower is closer to 5 stories high? It kills me that these guys aren't even paying attention to the nut-ball flying through the air right behind them.
Holy jesus...

The only good story I've heard about the land-diving is the one about the Queen of Englands visit back in the 70's. Apparently they had planned to put on an elaborate show for her, but when one of the divers made a jump the vine was the wrong length (or it broke, or the tower didn't break properly) and he cracked his brain open and died - right in full view of the Queen. She didn't like that too much.

FOUND IMAGES Pt.1

2006-12-22T10:12:00.000+11:00

I haven't taken the time to write any decent stories lately, but I have been loading some good photos. And a photos is like a thousand words, right?

Peace Corps Volunteers often load stuff onto the Resource Center computers (photos, reports, files, data, letters, so forth) to be used in the future, to share with other volunteers, or to transfer to other media (memory sticks, CD's).

And then they never delete the files off the computer.

And then I come along and search through all the files looking for good photos. This is what I found today. I think this is an image of the area near the volcano on Ambae Island.

Click the photo to enlarge:

And this one of the same location, different angle:

O' TANNA-BOMB

2006-12-22T09:28:00.000+11:00

Christmas is in a few days.

I guess I should get "Happy Thanksgiving" out of the way first.

I had been working hard during November to get things wrapped up at the coffee factory, compiling data, making graphs and charts and attending meetings and all that happy horseshit. We had advertised a last day that the factory would be buying coffee from farmers so that we can finish up our work and shut down the operation (including the expensive electrical connection), but there is no effective way to adertise anything other than post a sign at the local store and hope that word speads around the island. We decided to tell people that we would close the factory two weeks before the actual last possible minute date to give people a chance to get everything in. Last thing we ever want to do is discourage a coffee farmer by turning them away from the factory. Well.. our "last minute" date has come and gone and farmers keep showing up.

Regardless, it was time for a break.

Matt and I were invited to a Thanksgiving dinner at David Keppen's house, another PCV in South Tanna. We were to be joined by PCV Mike Hoffman (from middlebush, Tanna) and David's girlfriend Laura - an Australian aide worker from the Youth Ambassador program. David's site is south of the volcano and required hiring a truck and traveling for a couple hours. Turns out that on the day we had planned to head south there was a dead body and his mourners arriving by air. The dead man was from the south. Every truck heading south was booked up for the funeral procession. We were S.O.L.

Then a friendly driver told us there may be room but in order to secure ourselves a seat in the truck we had to accompany him to the airport, wait for the dead body to arrive, and then travel with the mourners across the island. So that is what we did. For 2 1/2 hours we were the only white people sitting in the back of one of five pick-ups each packed with people. A motorcade of mourners. The truck in front of us had the body. South of the volcano we came upon a section of the road that was so steep and muddy that we all had to get out of the trucks and groups of guys literally pulled each truck one-by-one up the incline with a thick rope, wheels spinning and shooting mud all over the place. The sky a cloudless pitch black.

To make a long story much shorter, we arrived at David's house and Thanksgiving was the very next day. We hadn't planned very well about what to cook, we didn't bring any food with us, and didn't really know what to expect. Nobody had really bothered to make any good plans. I guess I didn't care too much - just needed to get out of my village for a short bit.

Turns out our Thanksgiving dinner was really to be a custom marriage ceremony for David and Laura. They had previously made arragements with his village to put on a little ceremony - mostly for the fun of it, and partly so the villagers felt more comfortable with Laura spending the night at David's house. I thought I would be a casual observer, but next thing i know Matt and I are called upon to play the role of Laura's parents and to "give her away". And so this required them slapping some black goo on our foreheads and sticking a feather in our hair. We had already been at site for 5 months and were feeling pretty scrubby so this only added to the effect.

It looked like this:

We weren't too happy.

Turns out Peace Corps wasn't too happy either. When they learned of David's custom marriage they apparently threatened him with "administrative separation" for violating Peace Corps policy. I guess the Peace Corps doesn't want volunteers participating in custom ceremonies since they are legally binding in Vanuatu, and I suppose it might also be considered culturally insensitive since we all know that David and Laura aren't really wanting to be married in the U.S. or Australia. So the Peace Corps has asked David to write a statement explaining his actions and so forth. To David's credit he had previously talked to his villagers and they all had an understanding that the marriage ceremony we all witnessed was just a little more than "play-play" and that everyone understood it was only effective until their service contracts were complete - and for Laura that meant just one more month.

Problem now is that Matt and his girlfriend Erin, visiting from Hawaii for the holidays, have already planned a similar custom marriage to take place in his village shortly after Christmas. As I type this Matt is in a meeting with the new Assistant Peace Corps Director, who is also the acting-Director while the real director is on holiday. So naturally she'll be wanting to follow all the rules as she is brand new in her job. Probably not too fair to her to be required to make these kinds of decisions having just arrived in country. Hope Matt can work something out.

Gobble gobble gobble.

We arrived in Vila about one week ago, and Matt was first to get a haircut. Here is a recent photo before I had a chance to get a haircut:

more to come...

SEND MOVIES!

2006-11-28T13:47:00.000+11:00

Dear Friends and Family (Matt's friends and family, too!),

Surprisingly there are a couple people in our village that have small TV's and DVD players.

There are no TV channels, so the set up is only used for watching DVD's.

Sadly no one has any DVD's.

There is a dumpy little shop that rents really bad Chinese bootleg's but they are all crap like Jean Claude VanDam, or Vin Diesel.

so...

If you want to be the hero of our world please send any DVD's you have laying around that you aren't going to miss. Something a few steps up in quality from Rambo, but maybe nothing that is overly complex or dialog heavy (even though matt and i would love it). Many people understand a little bit of English but mostly they understand the movies only from what they are watching. Everyone is bored to death of all the low-brow stuff. I was surprised when one friend told me he really liked "Hotel Rwanda". This is great 'cause then we have an opportunity to teach them about stuff like racial issues, genocide, Africa, Western politics and so forth - this is VERY important. That kind of cultural sharing doesn't happen when you watch Terminator for the tenth time.

- scary movies would be fun. (but not necessarily slasher movies).

- they loved Shrek and we saw The Incredibles, so other pixar stuff would be great.

- edu-tainment or other documentaries would be great.

- dramas or character-driven movies are good.

actually... considering how desperate we are... please just send anything.

If you would like to send something that you want me to return, we can do that as well - but it will be in two years!

Please send your spare DVD's to:

Brett Serwalt, PCV
Peace Corps
PMB 9097
Port Vila
Vanuatu
South Pacific

THE LIFE OF A VOLUNTEER

2006-11-02T15:48:00.000+11:00

It’s still too soon for most volunteers to have got any projects started, but I hope to hear fom other PCV’s from my group. Two of them are currently visiting Tanna, and one from another group recently visited as well, to learn about the coffee industry down here so they can help replicate the success on other islands. And from them I’ve learned just tiny bits of un-verified gossip about life on other islands.

One girl left her site after it became clear the only thing her counterpart wanted her to do was to help him set up some sort of micro-finance scheme.
Another fella had some ideas of starting an ice cream factory (I know!), but is now recovering in Vila from a back injury.
A PCV teacher (from a different group) just told me that his counterpart who is also the head of his school is now M.I.A. leaving him the only guy at the school and leaving the community wondering what he’s gonna do about it.
One woman was medi-vac’d to Sydney for a dental procedure unavailable in Vanuatu.
One girl was banned from our training village reportedly for kissing on all the boys.
A Tanna PCV enjoyed a piece of fish and 30 minutes later, while walking up a road to the provice offices, experienced unannounced and unstoppable anal leakage. An oily substance, he likes to clarify – always telling the story while we are dining of fish.
Another Tanna PCV was virtually attacked by a large group of missionaries who put their hands all over him, told him he was holding an imaginary candle, and loudly prayed for his soul.
Another guy who sold his computer sales business to “do something completely different in the Peace Corps” was planning to work on a fisheries project but is now reportedly teaching computer skills.
Similarly another guy left behind more than a decade in America’s coffee retail industry for a uniquely new experience and yet is now running a coffee factory in Tanna. And has a toothache. And is afraid to eat fish. And is vigilant about his proximity to missionaries.

MUSINGS & MISCELLANY

2006-11-02T13:52:00.000+11:00

At The Bank –
Tanna has one bank (one more than most islands). Both the Peace Corps and the Coffee Factory use this bank so I find myself there at least once a week. We both use a standard savings account that comes with a little passbook that shows our transactions.

Everything is done by hand.
They have to phone Vila for updates on the balance.
The phones work half the time.
Always check their math - mistakes happen regularly. Sometimes withdrawals are deducted multiple times, but never the other way around.
Two people in line can be a surprisingly long wait.
They have signs: “You asked for faster service, You asked for shorter lines, You asked for more accuracy…WE DELIVERED. Apply For Your IsiKad Today!”. The Isikad (EZ Card) is an ATM card.
Tanna has no ATM’s.
We DO have a counter top key-pad that you would find in a retail store.
The key-pad is located at a teller station.
It’s so easy!… First you go into the bank and wait in line for a teller, then the teller stands-by while the machine dials into a maybe working phone connection, verifies the receipt, then counts out your money.
Isikard holders have taken to by-passing the line and now just stand in front of the key-pad until someone walks over.
The only way for a teller to walk over is to ignore the other people that have been standing in line all freakin’ day. Which they do… ‘cause “We DELIVERED!”.
Locals don’t understand bank lines. Sometimes I’ll walk up to an open teller only to have the next person in line follow me and stand right next to me waiting for that same teller instead of waiting for the next opening.

[PHOTO: This is the hub of all retail activity on Tanna. In this L-shaped building we have the bank (yellow sign above door) which also includes the one man post office. There is also a AirVanuatu office that only handles flights to Vila; a large Co-op store; a small restaurant; a boot-leg video rental shop where absolutely none of the videos (mostly Jean Claude Van Dam crap) work completely - but beggers can't be choosers]

If there is a gap between two people in line someone who just walked in may try to fill the gap regardless of how long the line is.
The orginal signers on the COV bank account have long ago left. We've been forging signatures for over year. I tried to transfer money to pay off a loan for the COV and they called me on it.
I typed up a letter pretending to be one of the original signers explaining that Brett Serwalt was the new administrator of the account.
Of course I forged the signatures.
They accepted the letter without question.

At The Main Store –

Individual, packaged, ice cream cone with a chocolate coating!

The ingrediants say “ice cream, milk, sugar, chocolate coating, cone”.

Best to feel around the plastic making sure you don’t get one that melted and then was re-frozen – those suck even worse than a proper one.

If they don’t have exact change they pay you off in pieces of candy. They didn’t ask your permission, they just toss the candy on the counter regardless of whether or not you needed that 20vt to buy an eggpant.

First time this happened I thought they were just giving me some little treat for being a good customer. Yeah, right.

They don’t say “hello” or “thank you” either.

They often slam your change down on the counter.

If you see them on the street they are the nicest people ever.

They sell little packets of a salt-like substance called “Flavor”. Also known as MSG. And all the imported snack foods are loaded with MSG.

At the Restaurant –

Yes, we have a couple restaurants, but it’s not what you think. All but one are nothing more than a shack with a couple benches.

Business hours: around 10am until the food is gone (usually around noon). No one serves dinner.
They all serve ONE item. Always one of three things – chicken curry, beef stew, and on rare occasions they may have fish (why is fish rare on a Pacific Island? Another anamoly).
Each plate is always served with a pile of rice and a three-bite salad.
Rice is NOT a native dish.
If there is a ship at the wharf the town is hoping.
The restaurants never make any accommodation for the predictable increase in business and therefore run out of food twice as fast (read: before I get there).
I’ve intentionally frequented one business since arriving to make it easier on me when requesting eggs be substituted for meat.
I’m one of only a couple white customers, I’m the only one who makes a vegetarian request, I eat there 3 times a week, they only have two employees.
It took three freakin’ months before they stopped looking at me like I was an alien. Each day was as if they had never seen me before. “Same thing as everyone else, just cook eggs instead of meat” “no meat?” “right, just eggs” “you only want eggs?” “well, yeah… and everything else” “eggs and chicken?” “No. no meat… just eggs with rice and vegetables” “so no meat?” “right”… and on and on until I’m about to slit my wrists.
A ceiling fan is hanging by it’s wires. I point and comment to my friends, but the staff takes that to mean I want the fan on. Now it's going full speed and I’m waiting to see someones head chopped off.

At The Electric Company –

The French owned Unelco set up shop in Tanna about three or four years ago. Before that it was all generators and kerosene lanterns. This is a huge leap for Tanna, but so far just on the west coast.
A 5amp power supply can be operated with a pre-paid card just like a telephone calling card. This is ideal for the locals who may just be using a couple lightbulbs – there is no monthly minimum.
The factory uses two systems, a 20amp full-service supply with a large monthly minimum, and the 5amp deal for the off-season.
Some how I became in charge of the electric bill for the factory.
The bill is in French.
Each month our bill includes a back-due amount from the month of May
Each month I walk down to the Unelco office and explain the problem in my Bislama/English and they stare at me blankly.
They talk back to me in Bislama/French and I stare at them blankly.
We start over again from the beginning. This repeats itself several times and often includes visuals such as me pointing at the calculator or slapping my hand on the bill as I hold it up in the air.
She gets on the phone and has a lengthy French conversation with someone in Vila.
She politely tells me that I’m correct and to simply ignore the mistake and just pay the current months balance. “Do you want to make a notation on the bill?” I ask. “No, not necessary”
Next month we do it all over again.
The Unelco manager shows up at the factory threatening to cut off our power.
I gather all the bills, with our receipts, and stomp on down to the office.
After much difficult communication which somehow involves the Director of the Department of Agriculture (just happened to be hanging around) I learn that we are having our power shut off for not paying a deposit.
It is now October, but the deposit was due in January.
Asking why they never brought it up before today is futile.
“How much do we owe”, I ask quite simply.
“We don’t know”, is the quite simple reply.
“So you’re going to shut off our power because we owe you money but you don’t know how much we owe you?, Correct?”
“Yes”
I love the French. Really, I do.
I wave the bills around, jump up and down a bit, toss around the calculator for a while, and next thing you know all is forgiven and magically we no longer owe them anything and it’s all the fault of the Unelco staff in Vila.
I love Ni-Vans. This time I really mean it.

The Bread Store –

One of dozens of tiny stores (smaller than you bedroom) serving a local village.
They all sell mostly the same 2 dozen items – just the staples.
Most don’t have any signage or even an official name.
Our local store is unique in that it has a large, multi-colored hand painted sign that says “The Bread Store”
Guess what they never have?
The storekeeper, like all the stores, doesn’t keep any regular hours and no hours of operation are posted. Maybe they’ll be open, maybe not.
We stand by the street in front of The Bread Store and yell out the name of the young girl who works at the store until she grudgingly comes walking out of her hut about half a block away.
She tells us she tired of always being pestered by customers when she’s not open.
We explain that if she just posted her hours – even if it’s just a 2-3 hours each day, and stuck to them, customers would work around those times

[PHOTO: Jeff standing in front of the Bread Store calling out for Becky]

She doesn’t want to post hours because then she won’t be able to leave whenever she feels like it.
So we stand on the street and scream her name whenever it’s convenient for us. She comes out every time.
I tell her we are renaming the store – The No Gat Bread Store.
She thinks it’s funny but makes no moves to increase the bread supply.
I go to Lenekal twice a week for fresh bread and make a point of waving it around as I walk past her house.

At The Nakamal –

If you want your kava “to-go” you bring a plastic water bottle and they will fill it up and charge you accordingly.
Most all kava nakamals have a water bucket with a small common cup so anyone can rinse their mouth after drinking – which I always like to do.
I always brought my own water bottle to rinse my mouth, but got lazy and started doing as the locals do.
I notice a local man approach with a half-empty (and filthy) water bottle. He stops at the water bucket and oh-so generously pours his personal water into the common bucket so he can fill up the bottle with kava.
I use my own water bottle again.
I enjoy offering to buy my friends shells of kava (a full shell is less than one U.S. dollar, and we often drink half shells), but I’m always conscious of not giving the impression that the white man has plenty of money (‘cause I don’t).
I lie regularly about how much money I have when someone asks me to buy them a shell. I have a firm policy never to buy when I’m asked. This can create a false impression, and will cause problems for every other “white man” down the road.
Ten minutes later I feel bad when I remember that we’re only talking about 50 cents.

[PHOTO: The infamous water bucket at the entrance to the black sand beach nakamal]

The next night I don’t feel bad anymore when two complete strangers ask me to buy them a shell.
The kava bar can be an international experience. Steve is French, Katsut is Japanese, Laura is Australian, Kamut is Ni-Van, and Jeff and I are American.
All but Kamut are on government payrolls.
When Jeff or I buy a round we all sing out “George Bush is paying!”
When Steve buys we sing out “Jacques Chirac is paying!”
When Kamut buys it’s “Ham Lini is paying!”
When Laura buys it’s “John Howard is paying!”
Curiously we haven’t heard “Koizumi is paying!”
Referring to each other by the heads of our respective states has become a “thing” – kind of funny, but also kind of annoying to be referred to as George Bush. The worst was when Jeff decided he was George Bush which made me Dick Cheney. Thankfully this game has faded.
Overheard: Jeff being asked specific questions about World War II in the company of Katsut. Jeff, feeling an international uncomfortableness, declined to answer who started it and who finished it.
Overheard: A kava drunk Ni-Van walks up to Jeff, grabs his forearm and smacks the tender underside with his fingers until it turns red, repeats the action to his own black arm on which you can’t see the redness and then declares (in bislama) “See, skin of white man weak! skin of black man strong! Skin of black man strong!”. We ignore him.

*In fairness to Katsut, he really isn’t part of our circle, and hasn’t been around when we are buying each other shells of kava.

DEVELOPMENT MUSINGS

2006-11-02T12:43:00.000+11:00

I know it must seem like it’s all fun and games down here, playing with the Prime Minister and checking out volcanoes and such, but the truth is that we spend the majority of our time working on our development projects. And it’s important to note that we spend an inordinate amount of time doing what in the US would take mere seconds. Like trying to contact the board of directors of the COV to call the next meeting – something they are required by law to do each quarter. In a perfect world they would call me up and extend an invitation for me to attend as a guest, since I’m techically just an advisor. But in practice I have to hunt down and hound the chairwoman, constantly pleading with her to pick a date “any date, just pick a date!”, so that a formal meeting can take place and decisions can be made and the project can move forward. Her office has a phone, a computer, and access to vehicles. I don’t have a local working phone, no vehicles (unless I hire the rare taxi), and must walk 90 minutes in the blazing southern sun just to get to her office. This woman is one of the most educated on the island, and purportedly the go-to girl for all affairs concerning the province offices. For this reason she was selected to be on the Board of Directors for the charitable organization that is charged with looking after all the farmers of Tanna (the COV) for which I was brought in to provide technical and managerial assistance.

Really what I’m doing is out-right managing the factory and babysitting the Board of Directors.

I run into M.J., COV Chairwoman, at Lenekal, the hub of Tanna island where we (Jeff, Matt and I) often have lunch. I politely ask when the next board meeting will take place, noting that the previous deadline had long-ago lapsed. She strangely blames Jeff for “not coming around any more” as if that prevented her from her duties, and then says she will defiinitely come to the factory the very next morning. The next morning we put on a fresh pot of coffee and wait. And wait. And wait. Of course she doesn’t show. We go to Lenekal for lunch and learn of a message from another board member asking ME when the next meeting will take place. Ugh.

The following week I trudge up to Isangel. The sun is particularly blazing, and the second half of the walk is uphill. I arrive dripping in sweat (it’s not even summer yet!) and upon reaching the province offices I find M.J. walking around the grass.

Me: M.!

M.J.: Hello Brett – you look hot, why are you so sweaty?

Me: Uh…because M.J., I have to walk everywhere. You see how hard it is for me to come up here and visit you? We really REALLY need the COV board to work hard to get a phone installed at the factory.

M.J.: Yes, it’s true.

Me: So… you didn’t come to the factory last week. No big deal, just tell me the date you picked for the next board meeting.

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: You don’t know? Well… just pick a date.

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Do you want to have a board meeting?

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Aren’t we required by law to have quarterly meetings?

M.J.: I don’t know.

Me: Do you still want to be on the board of directors?

M.J.: I don’t know.

The whole time she is rolling her head back and forth in a slow Stevie Wonder impersonation and my blood is starting to boil.

It is moments like this, later when the white boys talk amongst ourselves, that stimulate us down long and convoluted conversations about development projects, the efficacy and sustainability thereof, and our role in the matters at hand. We have discussed and debated for hours upon hours often only to find ourselves twisted around right back where we started. Usually, and most annoyingly, we find there is no answer to our question. At least no good or acceptable answer.

Sometimes we find there is no question to our answer. If the answer is “a PCV in the field doing development work” - what was the question?

If the question is: “Vanuatu needs development assistance, what do we do?” The answer may be the above. The answer could be the above. But maybe the answer is to ask another question. Like… what would happen if we didn’t help with development? What does development look like when it’s done? Is development culturallly appropriate? Do they want and/or need development? Will development hurt or help?

The questions and answers are mind-boggling and we often find ourselves having moments of inner-clarity which may lead to thinking that the whole affair is useless, that they don’t need us and we may in fact be hurting more than helping. Especially if you look at the big, big picture.

Then tomorrow you talk it over again and you decide that what your doing is important and is, in fact, helping – if only in small baby-step ways.

For business volunteers such as Jeff and I it’s easy for us to say that our goal is to make sure the farmers earn as much money as possible from the coffee industry – that they aren’t being ripped off by the white man, that the factory is running efficiently, that’s it’s all worth their time and energy. With the money they earn we can only hope that they are using it to pay school fees to educate the next generation so that maybe they, the future leaders of Vanuatu, can run the factory themselves instead of relying on outsiders.

This is just a pipe dream, however, as we see everyday the results of the piss-poor education system that exists here in Vanuatu. For all their charm and impressive first-impression abilities, the most educated people often continue to act like 12 year olds.

So then the base of any development conversation, assuming the country has sufficient health needs met, is always going to be education. And if we are just running this coffee industry as a way to get the farmers money to pay for school fees (assuming they have a school nearby, and are actually using the money for school fees) then you may have a “fuck it all” epiphany such as I had the other day.

It doesn’t take a math wizard to realize that it’s much cheaper and more effective to just pay the school fees directly. Forget all this coffee industry crap. This year the combined earnings of over 350 farmers totaled just over 5 million vatu. Exchanged into dollars that’s about $50,000. In this land that’s a lot of money – but at what cost? By the time I had reached the staging event in Los Angeles before departing for Vanuatu they told us the Peace Corps had already invested an average of $25,000 in each of us. That was before we even came to the country. Between our living allowance, re-adjustment allowance, training, travel, and all the myriad expenses involved in all the support infrastruture in Vila and DC I would guess each volunteer is costing the Peace Corps over $35,000 a year. The French have donated tens of thousands to this project and have had salaried advisors on the project for over 5 years. In effect we are donating well over $100,000 a year to a project that is earning the famers only $50,000. And I’m here walking for hours uphill in the blazing sun trying to get an apathetic local person to sign a bank form so I can pay off a loan so the project doesn’t collapse. It makes you wanna say “fuck it all”, just hand them the hundred thousand in the form of school fees – and while were at it lets give them a quality education.

This isn’t the answer either, of course.

In the US we can afford public education and then we make education mandatory which in turn lifts up the entire society making us smart and powerful. Here they can’t afford public education, and even the schools that the people pay for aren’t anything that can be considered good or effective. And it’s certainly not mandatory. The kids can stop going whenever they feel like it.

And if we didn’t help develop sustainable industries then there would be no point in having educated Ni-Vans to run it. Which brings me to the infamous rub.

The rub to just about every single development discussion that we have here in Vanuatu is that they don’t need it. They aren’t poor (in relative terms), and they certainly aren’t hungry.

If the coffee industry (the biggest industry on Tanna) were to collapse entirely this place would be just fine and life would continue with barely a blip of concern registering on the livihoods of the people who formerly profited from coffee. The truth is they don’t need this. They may want this, but they sure don’t need it. That’s the beauty of subsistance living. It’s the reason they won top honors in a “Worlds Happiest Place” study. This particular study was based on environmental impact and a societies relationship with natural resources. The Ni-Van culture is almost entirely subsistance living and while that might sound sad and poor, the truth is that they aren’t poor at all. In fact, they seem quite rich and happy. You just need to tweak your definitions a bit - alter your ideals about what constitutes relative wealth and how that translates to happiness.

It’s difficult but helpful the realized that if the coffee industry was wiped out the only person that would really be screwed is Terry Adlington, the Australian ex-pat that owns the private Tanna Coffee Company. And he can always just start importing from Papua New Gueni or return to Australia.

Where does that leave me?

The next line of thought is that if they are happy living the way they live and we are just forcing the modern world on them, then what would happen if we weren’t here trying to develop them from the grass roots level?

Well – There’s this:

There is a small (tiny) island in North Efate not too far from my training village on Lelepa. This tiny island has been purchased by foreign businessmen who are turning it into a $40,000 per night ultra-luxury resort that will accommodate one person and six of his/her friends. It includes a multi-level, ultra-luxury, treehouse situated in a giant banyan that has, on the tips of it’s highest branches, a six-person hot tub. The staff of maids and butlers, including a private world-class chef, will visit you in advance to determine your tastes, preferences, and styles so that when you arrive you need bring just one small bag of clothes. Everything else will be shipped-in before you arrive and will be exactly to your liking. The spectacular grounds have two full-time garderners to keep up the bogus tropical flora, which doesn’t entirely exist naturally in Vanuatu. While some efforts have been made to employ locals during the construction, the long-term care and staffing of this ten-star business will require highly trained individuals that simply don’t exist in Vanuatu. In other words, very little money will be flowing into local hands as a result of this development.

At low-tide this ultra-luxury resort is accessible simply by walking across knee deep water to the mainland of North Efate. Of course the resident of the island will have a luxury watercraft to ferry him or her across the water. The problem, however, is what to do with the unsightly village that lays just across this water and is in full view of the resort? What to do with all the locals that use the North Efate coastline for bathing, cleaning clothes, fishing and general enjoyment?

Purportedly, the businessmen crudely offered the villagers a lump sum payment of 4 million vatu to move the entire village back into the bush a few kilometers so it would be out of sight for the resort. Remember that 4 million vatu is about $40,000. And the locals NEED regular access to the coast. The village chiefs, thank god!, declined the offer. But this won’t stop the offers, always an embarrassing and offensive low-ball, from coming in all directions.

And this is why I, and others like myself, are here. We need to help them help themselves before others come along and take advantage of them.

If this means Peace Corps needs to run the factory for the next few years so that farmers have a reason to hold onto their land for another generation or two (if nothing else) then so be it.

In the end if the whole world goes to shit, but the Ni-Vans each have a little bit of land, then they’ll be just fine.

[PHOTO: A moonrise above my bungalow - one of my favorite photos]

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

2006-11-02T12:21:00.000+11:00

A press release for the local paper:

TANNA COFFEE’S GROWING SUCCESS
Brett Serwalt – U.S. Peace Corps
Technical Assistant – C.O.V.
1/11/2006

The amazing success of the Vanuatu coffee industry is riding high on the backs of the eager, and highly motivated Tanna farmers, and the combined efforts of several dedicated development agents. In 2006 the farmers have produced over 26 tons of dried, un-processed coffee - more than triple the 2005 production of only 7.6 tons. Local farmers have earned over 5,000,000 vatu which was paid in full at the time of sale. The processing factory at Lowkatai Village has slashed expenses and is operating at maximum efficiency. 73% of all coffee produced is of the highest internationally recognized grade – a remarkable number. The Coffee Organization of Vanuatu (COV), a charity that overseas the livlihood of the coffee industry, will end the year with positive financial results – it’s first ever! The positive effects of this and other local successes can be seen in the changing economy of Tanna as many small businesses of all kinds are expanding. The coffee farmers are excited about our new system and are forecasting a likely doubling of production for the 2007 harvest.

How do we explain such amazing success?

For perspective and transperancy it’s helpful to provide a very brief history:

Coffee has been harvested in Vanuatu for over a hundred years but in only relatively small quantities. After independence in 1980 a concerted effort was launched by the Commonwealth Development Corporation (CDC) to develop the coffee industry. Production peaked in 1992 at 62 tons, but shortly thereafter the CDC collapsed and the assets were later sold to a private company. A combination of mismanagement and limited financial resources drove the company, along with the coffee industry, into a steep decline. Farmers became discouraged and quality plunged. By 2002 Vanuatu’s coffee industry was virtually moribund producing only 9 tons and in terminal decline. 2004’s Cyclone Ivy only hastened the decline and further discouraged the farmers.

The private successor to the CDC was re-organized as the Tanna Coffee Development Company (TCDC) which partnered with the Department of Agriculture and Rural Development (DARD), the Producers Organization Project (POPACA), and later, the U.S. Peace Corps, to act quickly to resurrect the ailing Vanuatu coffee industry. POPACA aims at improving smallholders cash incomes through associative production and marketing activities, providing infrastructure and managerial oversight. Peace Corps utilizes volunteers working at the grassroots level training and motivating, providing technical assistance, and cultivating a sharing of culture and understanding.

In 2002 DARD/POPACA took over all operations of the Lowkatai factory, while TCDC focused on the privately owned roasting facilities located on Efate. A revolving credit fund was established to ensure prompt cash payments to all farmers. Training programs were launched to improve overall quality and assist in the collection of raw coffee cherries. At this time the farmers were paid 25vt per kilo for coffee cherries. The factory did all the processing and sold dried green beans, under exclusive long-term contract, to TCDC.

The results from these actions saw an immediate reversal as the once declining industry jumped to over 13 tons in 2003, quality greatly improved, and farmer motivation was enhanced. At the end of the 2003 harvest, and under the guidance of the DARD/POPACA management team, the charitable COV was formed as an umbrella body representing all stakeholders. The goal of the COV was to establish a sustainable non-profit NGO which would undertake the commercial activities of the DARD/POPACA development program. The COV would oversea the buying, processing, marketing, and management, while also providing assistance and support to the development of a viable coffee industry.

POPACA provided tremendous support to the COV in the distribution of 150,000 seedlings, construction of a hot air dryer, distribution of essential processing equipment such as wheelbarrows and water tanks, as well as a continuation of the revolving credit fund which enables direct cash payments to the farmers at the time of sale.

In 2004 a field survey conducted and analysed by Peace Corps and DARD provided much needed practical data about the status of coffee in Tanna. The results of the report provided the data needed to restructure the entire project in new and exciting ways. The opportunity was to give the farmers themselves as much power and control as possible, and in return they would earn a much higher return on their investment. Knowing exactly where the coffee farms were located allowed DARD/POPACA to build over 25 pulping stations strategically located to minimize farmer travel. Knowing the status of the coffee plots created an opportunity for targeted training sessions. The combination of the pulping stations and field training allowed the project to make the key strategic move of shifting the first four steps of coffee processing (pulping, cleaning, fermenting, and drying) from the factory to the farmers. Decentralizing the work allowed the factory to greatly reduce it’s labor expenses from a full-time team of contract workers to just a handful of “as-needed” labor. The farming communities took ownership of the pulping stations and gained a trememdous amount of control over how and when they harvest and process their coffee. When they bring the dried coffee to the factory they now are paid 200vt per kilo – a much more motivating price than the 25vt for coffee cherries.

Even though production in 2004 and 2005 was disappointing (mainly the results of Cyclone Ivy) the outstanding production in 2006 has validated the efforts of every person working on the project. Renewed energies are focused on the anticipated doubling of tonnage in 2007, and have encouraged an expansion of the project from Aneitum in the south to Efate in the north. Indeed, these two islands have planted out thousands of new trees, pulping stations have been established, and plans have been made to develop additional nurseries to continue the expansion on these islands.

While Tanna Coffee in Efate works hard to distribute Vanuatu’s coffee overseas with an eye towards establishing Tanna Coffee as a reputable world-class brand, the development agents continue to be committed to the future success of the project. POPACA has extended it’s contract and funding commitments until the end of 2007 and will possibly hand over it’s responsibilities to a new European Union project at that time. The U.S. Peace Corps has begun it’s third year on the project and is committed to providing training, technical, and managerial assistance until at least the year 2010.

CLAUDIA-JEAN SERWALT

2006-10-19T17:21:00.000+11:00

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

2006-10-19T16:30:00.000+11:00

(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

2006-10-16T14:31:00.000+11:00

"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

2006-10-10T15:12:00.000+11:00

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

2006-10-03T15:27:00.000+11:00

(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

2006-10-03T14:39:00.000+11:00

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!

5th Anniversary (Part Two)

2006-09-12T11:38:00.000+11:00

So it's the cognitive dissonance that really gets to you, shakes you, and gets your juices going. Going in an effort to relieve yourself of that very dissonance. It's a natural impulse to an unnatural event.

"They're evacuating the White House"

Under what conditions would such an event take place? What are the boundaries that have been established that would trigger the evacuation of the single most important symbol of American executive power? Knowing full well that there is a bunker under the building to protect the President and others it seems strange that people would be running out. Knowing full well that this building houses the epicenter of critical information flow in and out of the executive branch of our government it would seem only a regional evecatastrophictropic proportions would force an evacuation - and that's an unsettling thought. They knew something, or thought they knew something, that the rest of us did not yet know. These are the thoughts that raced through my mind within seconds of Andrew telling me the news.

"They're evacuating the White House"

Those are immortal words to me now. Not unlike the words of the young Jason Hitt telling me "the President has been shot". And still I have to marvel that they were more compelling to me than the first words out of his mouth "the World Trade Center is blowing up". What makes the difference - is it linguistics, or semantics, or did I just need a few seconds to wake up? Either way, they weren't the last words to be immortalized that morning.

I don't remember the rest of the call with Andrew but it was short. I told him that I was going to boot-up my computer and that we should be in touch again soon.

Before I hung up the phone I was already pushing the button and starting to get antsy about how long it takes to boot-up a fucking PC. This computer was several years old at the time, a dinosaur by tech standards. I didn't have DSL, and I didn't leave my computer on at night - too noisy. But I have suspicions that the terminology of "booting-up" will soon be archaic. It will be the part of the story where my children might say "huh? you did what? booted what?". Like cranking the engine of an old car. Or using an abacus.

And still it was not ready. ("The towers are blowing up")

There's the lovely blue cloudy Windows logo. ("the Pentagon's in flames")

Oh here come some icons. ("they're evacuating the goddamn White House!!)

Holy Christ hurry the hell up!!

My country's under attack and me without my CNN. And more specifically - am I in danger? Are we all in danger? No time to think - the phone is ringing again:

My mother in New Jersey. It's now about 7:00am PST - 10am EST.

She said something similar. NYC... Twin Towers... Explosions... Hijackings.

I told her I heard the news, buthadn't no TV plugged-in and the dial-up hadnÂt yet connected.

In her voice I could very clearly hear the tears. I could hear the fear. I could hear the deep, painful compassion and humanity. I was feeling my Space Shuttle Challenger right through her voice three time zones away.

It unnerved me in the truest sense of the word.

I started to lose my composure a bit. I was couldn't around in my room, angry that I couldnÂt fully understand what was happening, frightened that scores of people were already in extreme peril and who knows what might be next.

She called me, but was clearly still very much captivated by the images on her screen. Just holding the phone to her head she kept saying things, very somberly, very shakily, like:

"oh my god"

"all those people... oh all those people"

Finally I cut her off and demanded that she "tell me exactly what you are looking at on your TV".

"The whole top the both buildings are on fire", she said.

I tried to picture this. I knew these buildings. I walked on the rooftop observation deck of one of them. Standing at the base of one tower I put my hand on the steel and looked straight up and got dizzy in the process. I was awed. IÂm still awed just thinking about them - they are MASSIVE structures. On a cloudy day you canÂt see the top of the buildings. And now the top of them, BOTH of them, was on fire?

What could that really mean? Was it a small crop-duster that crashed into the side of the building? Was it a couple offices that were on fire? Did she see actual flames? Or just smoke? My mind was racing and I needed clarification. I still wasnÂt logged onto to internet. I still hadnÂt my first image of anything real yet.

It was now 10:05am in NYC.

My mind was trying to get around the whole thing when she said the next words to be immortalized forever in my mind:

"oh my god"

"What! what?!"

"The top of the building is sliding off", she said.

"what, what the fuck are you talking about?!?"

Tops of buildings don't "slide off". It was a truly unique statement to make and not one that was easily comprehended. I knew she wasn't lying to me, but surely she wasn't understanding something. Surely the top of the building wasn't sliding off. But those words are haunting to me even five years later - because now I understand that that's exactly how it appeared to her in those very first moments. The image was smoke filled and, to be honest, the way in which the building actually did collapse was also surreal - the idea of one of the Twin Towers of New York City actually collapsing in on itself is no more or less unreal than the idea of the top of it sliding off during a raging fire. Either way my brain just couldnÂt compute this. Everything I knew about the Twin Towers, about fires, about architecture, about steel and concrete, about planes, about physics and life and the universe, and above all what I knew about my mother, all combined to tell me that certainly something about this information had to be wrong.

I'm sure I was making panicky statements on my end. But on her end she was ignoring me and just saying over and over:

"all those people... oh dear god.. all those people"

She could barely talk. And I could barely listen.

And so how could I argue with that? The words made no sense but I could hear the truth in her voice. I told her I needed to go and hung up the phone. I abandoned the internet. I needed a television. The single most powerful communications tool known to man and usually woefully underutilized - but not this time. Not this day.

Our TV, sans cable, wasn't really accessible. Everything in our living-room, dining-room, and master-bedroom had all be tossed into the center of the room in a clusterfuck jumble as our apartment was in the final stages of renovation after a flood destroyed the upper rooms of the building. The walls were being painted and tarps covered the piles of furniture. This was the reason I didn't bother to come up here in the first place - but after those two chilling calls...

I ripped back the tarps in a frenzy and dug around for the TV. I surprised myself when I managed to pull it up and over the heap with adrenaline powered strength ("evacuating the White House", "tops of towers sliding off..."). Plopping it down on the one small open space by the front door, plugging it in and then messing with the antennae until I got reception from a major network and..

sweet mother of god.

"Dumbstruck" is a good word. An appropriate word. Although it sounds both dated and, in this case, just not quite as impactful as I'd like. "Struck dumb" sounds a little better.

I swear to god there used to be TWO towers, but here I was looking at my TV and plain as day there was one solitary "twin" tower - and it was in blazes.

"Mindboggling" is another good one. My mind was boggled. But even that doesn't do it as it sounds amost playful.

Then the network started to replay the collapse of the first tower and I could see for the first time what my mother saw just moments before. In the very first second of the collapse it does kind of appear to be sliding a bit. But one nanosecond later you see the full horror of one of the worlds most massive office towers just crumbling down. You fear for all the people in the tower - they are surely all dead within seconds. But then all the people on the ground - holy shit. There would be no way to out-run something like this. I think about myself, standing maybe one block away looking up - would you have enough time to run behind another building. Maybe so. Maybe cognitive dissonance would freeze you place like a deer in headlights. Your brain not being able to fully understand what you were witnessing.

I remember when Challenger exploded someone called out that they thought it was coming back down - a radio announcer, or a person in the seating area, or maybe a NASA person, I'm not sure - but they couldn't, at that very moment, get their brain around the idea that it had exploded. To them it first appeared to be turning around - maybe a more hopeful, but still scary idea.

I watched a bit more video - glued to the screen like every other person in view of a TV. I saw clips of the second plane crashing, then the Pentagon and then the tower collapsing over and over again. I saw clips of Bush speaking in Florida. Then the towers again.

Then I heard my neighbor leaving her apartment and walking down the sidewalk that passed by my house. There was something almost cheerful in her step - I swear I could hear it - that told me she hadn't turned on her TV or radio that morning. I leaned my head out my front door, having to move my TV out of the way first, and called out to her. She ran back inside to wake her husband and turn on her TV. I was tempted to join her knowing they have a big beautiful TV and cable connection, then I thought better of it knowing that he would be in bed. But damn... I needed to not be alone right now. And I remembered my other roommate Shawn, downstairs asleep in his room.

"Shawn!... Shawn wake up!"

(huh.. wha?...)

"The country is being attacked... New York is being attacked... Washington DC is being attacked... the Twin Towers are collasping..."

I listened to myself and immediately questioned my own ability to deliver the news. Why was I speaking in such a panicky voice (for damn good reasons I think!). Knowing what state of mind he was in (far, far away) I was trying to shock him out of his stupor. And it's not like I was exaggerating, right? I mean... how can you exaggerate 9/11/2001. The nerve center of our military was in flames. The White House was evacuated. It was Pearl Harbor in real time. In MY time. And Shawn, despite his stupor, was able to piece it all together in the span of about 30 seconds. He gave me pause when he asked, quite simply:

"so is this the start of WWIII?"

Struck dumb once again. I must have looked like I'd just been smacked upside the head and then someone pushed the pause button. Not that Shawn would have known since his eyes never opened and his head never left the pillow.

I told him that it likely wasn't WWIII (who was I to say), but that it was certainly the start of something.

Certainly something... big.

That was enough to allow him to roll back to sleep. I wonder had I said "YES!! WWIII is starting right fucking now!!" if he would still have rolled back to sleep. Makes no difference I suppose.

I was alone with the TV again. Flight 93 had crashed in the Pennsylvannia field but had not yet been reported. I started making phone calls and was surprised I was able to get through to the east coast.

I called my parents house. Dad answered but I presume Mom went to work? We chatted briefly but I forget the details. I remember him disagreeing with me that it was maybe bigger than Pearl Harbor in terms of deaths.

I called Melanie Long - a lifelong best friend. Can't remember any of the details of this call either but it wasn't a long talk.

I called Fred Shiffman - a close friend in the DC area. Freds wife, Joellen (sp?), at the time worked near the Pentagon. Fred and I talked about whether or not we were safe. He told me they could see the Pentagon from the highway and there was a truly ominous and frightened feeling in the air. They weren't feeling very secure and I could imagine. Our chat was very cursory as he was needing to make calls to other friends and family letting them know DC was still on the map.

I called my boss, David Nahill, at home. We were due to open the small retail store he owned in a couple hours and we talked about whether or not it was a good idea. The word "appropriate" was used often, but at the that point our thoughts weren't anywhere near clearminded. We would later decide to open the store at 10am as usual, but shortly after opening we both felt so uncomfortable that we just closed up again and that's when I took off to my friends Tim and David.

I forget who else I called before leaving the house - maybe I called back Andrew?? (Andrew... I was afraid I may have misquoted you earlier, but I didn't have time to email you for any clarification - please send me your memories of that morning).

When I got to Tim & Davids house it was just TV TV TV until we couldn't take it anymore. We waited for Bush's oval office speech and then, reluctantly, decided we needed to give our souls a break. We needed to get away from the TV. We needed to break away from the mind-numbing imagery. We needed to just be with ourselves for a few moments. Needed to let our nerves calm a bit.

We headed out to the nearest bar for a drink... where they had a TV in every corner playing the news. ugh.

This is the end of my "Where were you on 9/11" tale. I would like to hear your stories as well. Do not post in the comments - much better to email it bserwalt@gmail.com

Some other 9/11 thoughts:

Flight 93 - Two weeks ago I watched a Chinese bootleg copy of this Fox production feature length movie. Not sure if it was in theatres or not? I expected cheesy crap, but it was actually well done, well acted - more of a tribute to the families of the Flight 93 victims. It follows the story of the 5 or 6 passengers who were able to phone family on the ground. It begins from the moment of boarding and ends with the crash.

Watching videos with Ni-Vans is a strange thing. They often laugh at all the wrong moments. My village actually has one DVD player and they watch bootleg movies once or twice a month, or whenever a tourist hooks them up. They laugh at black people in movies especially. And if people are getting shot or blown up or otherwise showing intense emotion - they just laugh or make little comments. And since they don't always understand whats happening, and certainly don't understand most of the language, they have to talk to each other about the images which is very distracting. If the movie is something like Van Damn or Vin Diesel (this is the kind of crap they usually get) then I don't care. But for something related to 9/11 I decided that I needed to watch this one with just Jeff - no Ni-Vans. It's too difficult to explain that this is something real and that it's not appropriate to laugh this time. More on this later.

Newsweek International Edition - I'm pissed that I opened my mail on the 5th anniversary of 9/11 only to look at a front cover promotion for a Oliver Stone movie called "World Trade Center" featuring a large photo of stupid Nicolaus Cages horsehead face in a firemans hat with the burning towers in the background. I was anticipating an anniversary story of 9/11 but this is not what I expected by a long shot. Nothing against making movies, but maybe that should have been a sidebar or something.

Yesterday Is Today - for me 9/11 was yesterday which I'm almost ashamed to say was a very good say for me mostly because I got a ton of mail. Robert I got your two small packs that included the iPod charger and the magazines. You mailed them both on Aug24th and I got them on Sept.11th. But the first box is still M.I.A. On this day we also had a farewell for Steven Lenfant, a frenchman working for POPACA (which helped on the coffee project). This farewell inlcuded putting him on an airplane. When I watched his flight take off I got chills, even though it was a little puddle jumping 20-seater. But now it's 9/12 which is really 9/11 in America.

"Where Were You in Vanuatu?" - the Ni-Vans don't play this game here, or anything like it. They have almost no media (outside Vila) and therefore no connection to each other or the outside world. Annie, a friend and employee at the bungalows, saw me writing in my notebook and so I explained to her about "where were you?" and asked if she had anything in her life that was similar. She just kind of looked at me blankly. Then it occurred to me that lack of media is a key part of understanding this culture. This is a good thing and a bad thing - and it's worth exploring more at a later time. Now... I'm tired.

Next week I hope to make some posts, including pictures, about:

Toka - the single largest custom festival in Vanuatu. Legendary in it's proportions, mythical in it's history. It happens once every 4-5 years and I was there.

Mt.Yasur - They call it the worlds most accessible volcano for a reason. Mother of god! We looked into the mouth of hell and lived to tell about it.

Ham - as in Ham Lini - the Prime Minister of Vanuatu. He and I were tearing it up on the dance floor at a private party. Yeah, that's right - just one day after being exhilerated by the bursting rocks of molten lava flying in our faces, we got down and dirty with the Head Of State (and his stoic wife) - at my house, no less!! And after all the drinks he bought me I think the Minister of Health needs to change his name to the Minister of Decadance.

All true stories.

Posts with photos coming soon!

5th ANNIVERSARY (Part One)

2006-09-07T15:12:00.000+11:00

"Where were you when..."

People have been using this conversation starter for generations. It's a way of experiencing our shared history-marking/sociological-events. Each generation has a least a few worthwhile entries with the most famous of all, the day JFK was assassinated, attributed to the previous generation. Maybe Peal Harbor or V-J day for the generation before that (although I've not once had the thrill of hearing a first person account of either event from someone I knew).

In my own 35 years I've had a few of these moments and as time moves forward my memory combined with newer events push old events downward in importance. Sometimes pushing them right off the chart. But some events, even really old ones, can get sealed in your mind if for no other reason then the uniqueness of the information or maybe even more importantly for the way in which the information comes to you.

I don't remember John Lennon's death in 1980, but I do remember President Reagan being shot in 1981 because I had just arrived at my friends house to watch TV and they told me the news. I was only 10, Jon and Jason Hitt were only 8, and 7 respectively. I remember walking up the front yard only to see them come bounding out of the house and Jason, with only slight dramatics, telling me that while they were watching Tom&Jerry cartoons the screed was interrupted by a diagonal series of scrolling text which read "The President Has Been Shot... The President Has Been Shot...". A delay tactics while the news anchors got prepped to go on the air. Before that happened my friends had simply switched off the set.

At a later date I would be fascinated with the details of the event: watching the video clip over and over; reading books and article about every tiny moment; learning how the White House had a mini-coup (moronic Haig going live on TV telling people he was in charge); how the stock market was closed (at the time I learned this I was awed by the idea that just shooting this one person could shake our financial foundation); how Jodie Foster was involved; how Carter had previously been Hinkley's target; how the Secret Service agent that pushed Reagan into the car, falling on top of him in the process, had originally thought that when Reagan coughed up blood it was a result of a broken rib from the leap into the car (only discovering at the hospital that he was actually shot). All these things are in my memory now, but my only true "live" memory of the event was just one small snippet in time. I have no further memory of what happened next, or later that evening, or the next day - it was just Jason Hitt's somewhat bemused and slightly excited exclamations that are forever embedded in my brain.

It's not surprising that I would later become a news junkie. I spent years as a paperboy, long before 24-hour news networks or the instantaneous world of the internet, taking joy in always reading the front page before anyone else. Sometimes even delaying my delivery as I took my own sweet time. The peak of this was during the Iran-Contra scandal which I didn't fully understand except as my first experience with government overtly lying to the people. I took solace and pleasure in the satire of Berkely Breathed's "Bloom County" comic which lampooned the Reagan administration, and the current events both subtly and not so subtly. I was both young enough and old enough to enjoy and understand the quarks of our system through the comics page.

I remember in my late twenties I started asking people of a similar age what some of their key moments of national or world events might be - fully expecting them to overlap with my own. For many people my age (35) we remember the fall of the Berlin Wall and the start of the first Gulf War. Certainly I had been following the events leading up the war, but at that moment I hadn't been paying super close attention to the news as I was preparing for a new semester of college. I was organizing all my new text books when the DJ of a radio station, not usually one for providing any news, broke into a song and very somberly informed his listeners that the United States had just started bombing Iraq. It caught me by surprise, a key element for these defining moments, and shocked me out of my self-absorbed moment and thrust my mind on to the world stage. I remember running downstairs to tell my father, sitting on the couch reading the paper, and being confused by his nonchalance. I ran back up to my TV, turned on CNN in time to see the video-game-like footage of our bombs falling on Baghdad ad their anti-aircraft missiles lit up the sky giving us a murky-green image on our screen. That was a pretty big moment, but it wasn't a singular event - just the start of an event that lasted 100 days.

The first time for me, the first time a news event shook me and captured my full attention, was Wednesday, January 28th, 1986. I was 14 and sitting at the top of the Shawnee High School gymnasium bleachers killing the time in between my mid-term exams. Another student sitting next to me asked if I had heard about the teacher who exploded in space. He seemed serious, but I didn't have any idea what he was talking about and thought he was setting up some sort of lame joke. I'm not sure if there was a school announcement - some of the students were in the middle of tests and they probably wouldn't want to distract them with such news. I had a half day and was able to leave at lunch time.

At home I turned on my TV and was floored by the repeated looping video footage, every 73 seconds, of the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding; watching the booster engines spiraling off in opposite directions; seeing the confused or horrified looks on the faces of the crowd at Cape Canaveral. I remember feeling very upset and crying a little. I knew, even then, that I wasn't crying just for the seven dead astronauts (including school teacher Christa McCauliffe, the would-be first civilian in space, part of a school tie-in program I knew nothing about. In just 5 short years the shuttle program had somehow become commonplace) but for national pride, and even more than that, as hokey as it may sound, for my first sense of humanity and it's frailties. I was acutely upset that humanity, as expressed in our efforts of technological feats and desires to explore, explore, explore, had suffered a serious and humanising setback. We were humbled. I remember running to the door as my mother came home from work, the first person I would get to share the experience with. I remember later learning that some TV viewers had complained that their soap operas had been interrupted by the constant news coverage and I remember feeling outraged at this insensitivity. I remember snippets of Reagan's speech, a sincere and heartfelt tribute to the astronauts and to man's need to explore - an oratory skill yet unmatched by any of his successors and at least the three previous predecessors. I remember saving all the newspapers. I was still a delivery boy then and I became obsessed in learning every detail, every day, of every story, covering every angle. When I learned that the Courier-Post had printed a morning edition with a different front page I called my boss and begged him to get me a copy, which he did, and which I carefully sealed up in a plastic bad along with copies of other papers I was saving which then went into our attic and which, a decade later, got accidentally thrown away.

So the first was the Challenger in 1986.

These events effect or don't effect each of us differently depending on a short list of factors not the least of which is your maturity, your frame of mind, at the time of the event. Another is the way in which you learn about the event. And of course the proximity to you personally. The assassination of Anwar Sadat is in my peripheral, but is probably quite vivid to a 35 y/0 Egyptian. The Space Shuttle Columbia was saddening for me, but not at all like the emotional effects of the Challenger - although maybe so for a younger person, especially one with an interest in science and technology.

So the game of "Where were you..." (not really a game, I know) is entirely subjective. We like to play it because we learn about individual stories of a shared experience - something we can all talk about from our own point of view. We like to play it because we can define our personal, national, and sometimes international timelines to these events.

V-J Day signaled to the world the end of a long and deadly war and also signaled the beginnings of a hopeful new world order.

JFK signaled the opposite on a national level. The end of Camelot and the beginning of a period of social tumult that would bring, among other tragedies, two more "Where were you..." assassinations (RFK & MLK)

The Challenger, on a personal level, galvanized something in me that combined elements of national pride and loss, my first sense of humanity at large, and the media machine that burned it all into my mind. And that was just newspapers and the 6 o'clock news.

15 years later (not quite a full generation) an event would happen, brought to us live, in Real Time and in media epic proportions that would pique the personal, national, and international community in such an indelible way that it damn near re-defines the "Where were you..." game in the sense that more people than ever before could share in the unfolding horror. High speed internet users could get live video feeds, even dial-up users could get up to the minute information and constantly re-freshed images. News stations had a dozen live helicopter video cameras to choose from. Hundreds if not thousands of amateur and professional video/photographers could transmit their imagery via the internet to the big media for near instantaneous mass audience consumption. Cellphone networks, combined with landlines, allowed us to reach out and communicate with each other in mass quantities (and in the future camera cellphones would make images of the London subway bombing event even more instantaneous). In fact, for this singular event, cellphones users played a critical role in actually shaping the event as it unfolded - actually altering the events in ways contrary to the forces that had created the events. In real time. Live on TV. A result of the combination of the speed of modern reporting mated with cellphone technology - a scourge to some, but on this day a hero-making combination.

For me it started with a simple land line phone call from a friend in New York. I was in California, 3 times zones away, sleeping peacefully in my large rented 3-bedroom townhouse situated amongst the palm trees in the best part of my favorite neighborhood. I was, for all purposes, alone. One roommate on the road, the other in a drug-induced sleep (a friend from whom I had become increasingly alienated to the point I forgot he was even home at the time).

At about 7:30 PST my phone woke me up.

Me: "Hello?"

Andrew Haver: "Brett, it's Andrew Haver. Are you awake?"

"No."

"New York is being attacked! The Twin Towers are blowing up! The Pentagon has been bombed..."

"Eh? Wha..?"

"Brett... They're evacuating the White House!"

For some reason the first couple things seemed silly. Like he was joking or confused. But strangely it was the line about the White House that really got my attention. Something about that didn't seem funny. It didn't seem made up. Like... it didn't seem the kind of thing you could be confused about.

That was how the morning of September 11th, 2001, began for me.

iPOD BLUES

2006-08-16T16:53:00.000+11:00

I've noticed a strange thing about my iPod. No matter how many times I reach for my headphones (the ear buds) I would say that 99 out of a 100 times the right speaker is in my left hand and the left in my right. This is uncanny but happens all the time. I can't think of a single time I've picked up my ear buds to find the correct speaker in the correct hand. Does this happen to anyone else??

The Solio solar charger - it works, but not quite as good as I thought it would. It takes several days of full sunshine to get it charged up to it's maximum -which should equal the battery in the iPod, yet when I play the iPod the charge goes out real fast. I've been charging the iPod here at the computer center by plugging it into the USB ports but that's a slow charge as well. I use the Solio as my back-up when the USB power dies off. Basically I don't listen to music as much as I would like, and I never look at my photos, cause the battery is always dead. The frustrating thing is that i have access to power outlets that I can use for free, but I left my adaptor at home which has since been lost in the mail. UGHHHHH.

I've also noticed that when i rate songs they don't get added into my smart playlist (which are all based on start-rating) until I update the iPod with iTunes. This sucks since I can't ever do an update. This should be a simple fix for iPod and a worthy one.

NOTES FROM WALKABOUT

2006-08-16T16:41:00.000+11:00

Some random notes from other PCV's experiences on walkabout during training:

Jess Porter - Seeing a beaten woman being carried off the boat she was about to get on. She was carried in a "stretcher" made of woven pandanas leaves. It was later learned that she died from her wounds and was the wife of the province President (sort of like a governor) who was last heard to be in hiding. This is also home to a newly released rapist. Malo island, just south of Santo.

Ryan McGee - Who was asked my PC to take up a long stalled water project for two nearby villages on east Epi Island. Upon arrival he learns the two villages hate each other, don't speak to each other, and each lay claim to a local man that "controls" the powers of the Lopevi volcano with black magic so the other village better watch out. On his first night he is led to a swim-house (shower stall) and told to shower while the entire village watched and waited. Later he is lead to another village he will be serving and upon sight of the white man every single native ran and hid from view. He's on east Epi, opposite the Lopevi volcano.

Eddie Ruhland - Enters his village to be greeted by... no one. They don't know who he is and have never heard of Peace Corps. They have no house for him and he is invited to sleep in one of the huge 25-person houses this village uses. They keep men and women completely seperated at all times. There are no toilets of any variety - just shit anywhere in the bush. There are no plates or cutlery of any kind. But when they finally do get him a plate they wash it for him by taking a large mouthful of water and spraying onto the plate before proudly handing it to him.

Katie Tompson - Signed on as a marine conservation volunteer and trained to do "reef check" and was then sent to a coastal village that boasts the single largest shark breeding corridor. They also have numerous reports of people being pulled right out of their canoes while crossing this body of water. Needless to say she is now serving in Lelepa - our beloved training village.

Brett & Matt - ate ice cream in an Aussie resort and got drunk on Vodka while celebrating our good fortune. haahahaha.

GIANT HAIRY SPIDER

2006-08-16T16:36:00.000+11:00

Dear Giant Hairy Spider,

I’m sorry I left you mortally wounded when it probably would have been more humane to have finished you off. I couldn’t let you win, but didn’t see the need to kill you. You were doing battle with an American Liberal.

And what a battle it was!

It’s true I started the fight, but you had to see it coming with at least one of your giant pearly black eyes. You had the opportunity to withdrawal. I will also admit it’s not entirely your fault that I was standing (teetering, actually) on the top of a wobbly coffee table reaching above my head while trying to re-fasten my hanging food basket when I noticed your eerie presence. You see, to an American your sheer enormity alone (easily 10x the allowable limit) represented a singular Weapon of Mass Destruction and gave me quite a fright. In bislama we say “fulap trousers” which is English for “Shit Myself With Fear”.

Which I did. And then fell backwards of the small table.

This was your second opportunity to cease and desist. You should have run away while I gathered my wits and contemplated my regime-change strategy. You may have been here first, but I’m here now and this hut ain’t big enough for the two of us. Certainly not. But don’t call me an imperialist – we Americans hate that. I’m here on a mission of Liberation and the spreading of freedom – as in MY freedom from YOU.

Now I must admit you put up a hell of a battle, what with your intimidating maneuverability and the alarming speed as which you conducted yourself. And later it was particularly clever when you crouched flat to the floor, almost blending in with the brown floor mats, while I looked frantically for a solid 10 minutes.

But I must remind once again that as an American once I start a fight, for better or worse I will be certain to keep the course, to fight on, and to see it through to whatever end may come of it. Plus, we have all the best technology with which to wage our battles. You have little more than fear – which is still pretty good since we are scared of just about everything. And so it was with the unnerving “thud” sound you made as your immense body hit the ground in a spectacular and effective display of your own “shock and awe” that only hardened my resolve to eliminate you. I mean, liberate you. Spiders of allowable limit, I should point out, do not make any sound at all when the fall to the ground.

It was always my intention to peacefully and harmlessly remove you from the premises utilizing my long-handled rake tool, and had you just played along nicely thing would have turned out better for you and your people.

Instead you made the tactical error of forcing my hand. When you erractically scurried across the floor, causing my troops a momentary retreat, you should never have taken refuge in that small hole in the concrete block. While you seemed out of danger, the truth is that I could never allow you to maintain your hiding place knowing full well that in the middle of the night you could re-emerge and walk all over my face while I was sleeping.

Now it was going to get ugly.

First I tried to flush you out with my chemical weapons. Now I’m fully aware of the Geneva Convention and all the particular weapons-banning treaties that I’ve signed over the years, but again – I’m an American. The rules don’t apply to me, just to you. Plus, this particular chemical despite scientific claims of “fast knock-down” could barely kill an ant – believe me, I’ve tried. My biggest hope was to simply flush you out so I could once again implement the rake device. I expected you to evacuate your hiding place and lay down your arms (all eight), but despite my copious fumigation your resolve was solid.

I would have saluted you and your honorable display of battlefield heroics, but I was busy firing up my next weapon – literally.

When I dropped the pile of flaming debris in the hole I thought for sure I had you. Either you would make a hasty exit (again, ready with my rake) or I had, sadly, finished you off. And after waiting for the tiny fire to go out, for the smoke to clear, I was almost satisfied with your certain demise. But my inner military-industrial complex had just discovered a new weapon at our disposal and decided now was as good a time as any to give it a trial run.

And so, for good measure, I stuck the long-necked lighter into the hole, slowly filled the area with butane gas, and then flicked the trigger resulting in a remarkable and startling pyrotechnic display that nearly resulted in a “friendly fire” incident. After waiting a few more minutes I was satisfied with your death and could return to my normal business. And remember, the business of America is business and if you look closely it’s at the root of every move we make. Plus, I had rats to deal with.

And so it went for the next half hour. Me just calmly going about my business.

Here is where I truly give you, Giant Hairy Spider, mad props. Without moving a single leg… by just being you and revealing your mere presence, you once again were able to give me such a fright I nearly pissed myself. I had all but forgotten about your sorry ass, and now here you were on full display just inches from my big toe.

You lived!! and boy did you ever look pissed.

Time for round 3. But first, I needed to re-con your condition. You shocked and awed once again, but you were visibly wounded. Three of your 5-inch long, ferocious, hairy legs were burnt skinny. But upon prodding they appeared to have limited operability. It appeared your general maneuverability and speed skills showed marked deteriation – maybe my chem. bomb had taken effect!

Despite your valiant efforts, when looking at you now, just a shell of your former self, I started feeling pity and a bit remorseful about the entire affair. Unfortunately with was, as with the death penalty, you can’t take it all back. Not even a little bit.

Were all diplomatic efforts fully explored?

Did I need to rush into this war?

Could this have been avoided?

In was there are no winners – everyone loses something.

And now I had clearly lost my humanity and I couldn’t even bring myself to kill you off. As I carefully, sympathetically, and cautiously (I ain’t no fool) extended my rake I silently thanked you for climbing aboard with minimal effort, resting patiently as I took you to what I hope to be a safe distance where you’ll likely endure a swarm of impatient and vulturous ants who will finish the job slowly I was too weak to do quickly.

Sorry.

Here’s to you, Mr. Giant Hairy Spider!

And as I lay my head on my pillow tonight I will pray to god you were one of a kind.

3 1/2 MINUTES or 5,000 YEARS

2006-08-08T12:39:00.000+11:00

I heard it from a reliable source, who heard it from someone, who maybe overheard it said by someone who may have once read it in a book hopefully written by knowledgeable scientist-types who made the claim that Vanuatu is about 5,000 years behind what we would call the modern world. By “behind” we mean to say development of the mind and of the culture.

Five. Thousand. Years.

This sounds about right to me.

It’s also interesting to note that similar scientist-types have estimated Ni-Vans arrival on this little archipelago of islands to be about 4,000 years ago. So doing some quick math we can easily see, assuming all assumptions are reasonable, that these people have not experienced any freaking development since the day they set foot here.

Jeff Robinson, paraphrasing some others, once told me when I asked him his thoughts on Ni-Vans:

“Had you asked me after I had been here for one month I could have written you a book about Ni-Vans. Had you asked me after I had been here for one year I could have written maybe a page. And now you are asking me today and I couldn’t even write one sensible paragraph.”

The quote, as indicated, is not original but is certainly apt. I’ve been in this place for about 4 months and I’m beginning to really see his point of view. I would like to try and explain it to you – explain “Man-Tanna” as I’m coming to understand him – on this blog. Problem is that this whole 5,000 year thing works in BOTH directions. They are so far “behind” and “out-of-the-loop” that it makes it really difficult (and often impossible) for them to understand anything of the outside world and our way of thinking. At the same time, we being so “ahead” and “in-the-loop” makes it equally difficult (and often mind-bogglingly impossible) to understand where they are coming from and how they think and what motivates their actions, or inactions – as the case usually is.

And for the record I hate to use the terminology of “behind” and “ahead”. It’s all relative and only indicative of what WE know of OUR world and our level of development. But I suppose it’s reasonable enough for the point I need to make. They really are, in so many ways, about 5,000 years behind – and it shows up in strange, frustrating and sometimes funny ways. I hope to share some of those stories over the next two years.

None of this is to say that they don’t have things we would consider developed, such as electricity, which arrived in Tanna about 3 years ago and which is only available to select areas and even fewer users since it requires vatu (the currency) to pay for electricity and most of these people have been living off the land and continue to do so. Most only do vatu producing work on an “as needed” basis. As in, the store closest to me is open whenever the owner needs to make some vatu to pay for his kava. This may mean a couple hours Monday morning, but not again until Thursday afternoon or some sillyness like that. That sort of thing happens all over this island nation.

Another note about terminology:

Before coming here I did some checking up on the term “third world country” because I wanted to find out who was on that list. Turns out the origin of that word is from the Cold War and really has nothing directly to do with development. The powers that be in the United States started using the terminology “First World” to define any country that fell under our “sphere of influence” and “Second World” to define any country that fell under the “sphere of influence” of the U.S.S.R. In this way we divided up the planet. Anything not making either list was considered the “Third World” – basically the places neither of the super-powers gave a rats ass about. Most of the places Peace Corps sends volunteers, including Vanuatu, makes that rats ass list.

In any event, we like to call these third world places “Developing Nations” which has more than a hint of optimism in it.

But what we REALLY mean is “Nations We Are Trying To Develop”.

Sometimes we are dragging the people along – for better and sometimes for worse. Some times we are doing all the work. Often the work we do falls apart after we leave, if it’s not cared for by others like us. It’s enough to make you question the whole point of doing development work. Everything has to start with education and bringing people into the knowledge of the world. But this is tricky since education requires money and if you don’t have money well then you don’t get no education.

Of course, it’s the Peace Corps philosophy to work at the grass roots level and to try and only do things that can be sustained by the locals. We train as we go.

In my case my biggest hope is that the work I do, sustaining and expanding the local coffee industry, continues to provide a source of vatu that is then used to pay for the school fees for the next generation of Ni-Vans. If this keeps going in cycles then in a perfect world they will be able to provide their own technical assistance, provide their own teachers, provide their own health workers.

As it is now in Vanuatu damn near everything and anything of ANY substance has been donated, loaned, or granted by a foreign government or aide organization. And most of these “things” are operated or managed or given "over-sight" by outsiders even if they have a full staff of locals. That’s just the reality. In fact, fully half the operating budget of the federal government of Vanuatu is entirely foreign aide.

And now they are getting about $70 million more from the U.S. in the form of the Millenium Challenge. This is a cool program since it “challenges” the governments to earn the money by being clean, transparent, and I suppose democratic. I haven’t read all the fine print, just what I’ve heard from different people around the streets. Apparently they are going to pave the roads on several of the islands. This will be a very good thing since the dirt roads kill the life span of the few vehicles they do own.

Anyway…

Why are they 5,000 years behind us? This is a valid question and I’ve decided that it’s a multi-faceted monster that combines some of what I know of Jared Diamonds ideas, some of what I know of Thomas Friedman’s ideas, and then the almighty X-factor. A preliminary short list might look something like this:

Things they can’t control:

Isolation
Resources

Cultural things they can control:

Curiosity (lack thereof)
Ingenuity (lack thereof)
Leadership/Inspiration (lack thereof)
Sharing of Information (lack thereof)

And then, of course:

The X-Factor

This is a pretty big post and I’m running out of time so before I delve into these different things I’ll share one little story...

At the coffee factory, which was built before electricity and plumbed water, a modern bathroom was added on to the back of the building some years ago. You actually have to go outside and walk around to the back to enter the tiny plywood-walled bathroom. When I say modern I mean it has a wash basin with faucet and flushing toilet with running water that comes from a hose attached to a nearby water tank. The hose, apparently, jutted out from the base of the wall, but about 6 inches above ground level, before disappearing into the soil and re-emerging just 2 yards away at the base of the tank.

Before this bathroom they used a bush toilet – nothing but a hole in the ground surrounded by flimsy thatch walls (usually only on three sides). The hole would be covered by logs criss-crossed on top of each other such that you would place your legs on parallel logs above the hole and hope that the structure didn’t decide to collapse you into the hole while you were taking care of business. And there is certainly no paper. Leaves if you’re lucky. An altogether unpleasant experience.

So as it turns out this “modern” semi-pleasant bathroom has been in-operable since long before I came to Vanuatu. Just sitting there not being used collecting cobwebs and dust. It no longer had running water but no one could explain why. In fact, no one seemed to care.

One day Jeff went out determined to figure out the problem and discovered the original water line hidden behind some weeds. It had been sliced clean in half.

So.

What this means is that at one time, maybe many years ago, someone was using a bush knife to cut the weeds and accidentally sliced the water line to the bathroom. Instead of fixing the problem, which would have required very little work, they simply went back to using the nasty bush toilet.

This is a tiny story, and maybe not even a particularly good one, but it helps begin to illustrate Man-Tanna. They could have had a fully operable, clean and flushable toilet, but simply didn’t bother to patch or replace the water line once it had become broken.

Was it because they didn’t know how to fix the water line? Maybe, but not likely.

Could they not afford to fix it? Possibly, but a little duct tape would’ve worked for the short term.

Could they not decide who was responsible for fixing it? Getting hotter.

Did they not give a shit since they could simply go back to using the bush toilet they’ve used for generations and not be bothered with modern technology which fails them at times and requires maintenance and cleaning and sometimes money and certainly headaches and heartburn and so forth? Hot, hot, hot.

Truth is I don’t know, and I don’t care because now we have a fully operable, flushing toilet once again.

It took us three and a half minutes.

RING OF FIRE

2006-08-08T11:42:00.000+11:00

I know nothing about this. Didn't feel a thing. Tanna is about 300 miles south of Luganville - brett

Strong quake hits near Vanuatu

Monday, August 7, 2006; Posted: 8:11 p.m. EDT (00:11 GMT)

Vanuatu
U.S. Geological Survey
Earthquake

(CNN) -- A 6.7-magnitude earthquake struck in the South Pacific near the island nation of Vanuatu Tuesday morning, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.

The Pacific Tsunami Warning Center said there was no threat of a major, Pacific-wide tsunami associated with the quake, although it could generate local tsunamis along coasts located within about 100 kilometers (60 miles) of the epicenter.

The epicenter of the quake was 80 kilometers (50 miles) east-southeast of Luganville, or about 220 kilometers (135 miles) north-northwest of the country's capital, Port Vila.
The earthquake occurred at 9:18 a.m. local time (10:18 p.m. Monday GMT).
There were no immediate reports of damage or injuries.
Gerard Fryer, a geophysicist at the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center at Ewa Beach, Hawaii, said the earthquake was too deep to pose any local or Pacific-wide tsunami risk, The Associated Press reports.

"Although it was a sizable earthquake ... the epicenter was 150 kilometers (93 miles) deep, which is too deep to deform the sea floor," Fryer said. "We've actually checked the tidal gauge at Port Vila and there's no risk of a tsunami at all."

Job Esau, the director of Vanuatu's National Disaster Management Office, said Port Vila was unaffected by the quake but that he was still awaiting news from the country's outlying islands.
"We haven't got any information on the impact of the earthquake yet," he told The Associated Press by telephone from the capital. "We do expect some form of impact, whether it be a landslide or infrastructure damage so we're just waiting to hear."

Vanuatu, a nation of about 200,000 people, is about 1,900 kilometers (1,200 miles) northeast of Australia.

It is located in the Pacific's "Ring of Fire" region where earthquakes and volcanic activity are relatively prevalent.

Copyright 2006 CNN. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Associated Press contributed to this report.

A FEW IMPORTANT NOTES

2006-08-03T14:09:00.000+11:00

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS:

Tanna is often referred to as "Black Man Town" by the locals. I'm not really sure why, except that in Vila there are many shops that are owned by Chinese men and various white men, whereas in Tanna all the shops are owned by black men. There are a few resorts that are owned by non-Ni-Vans, but even some of these have Ni-Van management and staff. And basically the entire population is black. The only time you see a non-black person it's a tourist or an aide worker. Or a damn proselytizing missionary (lots of these - why do they think god needs recruiters?!?!).

Here the common vernacular is to say "black man" or "white man" to differentiate between anything that is Ni-Van or not Ni-Van. It's as simple as that. And this includes not just people, but places, ideas, and so on. When we have conversations we talk about "white man thinking" or "that's white man talking" compared to "black man thinking" or "black man culture" and everyone knows this has nothing to do with racism but everything to do with development and training specific to Vanuatu. And nor does "White man" just refer to people with white skin - but any person that isn't a Ni-Van. So when you read this type of wording on my blog please keep this in mind. I've already become completely accustomed to it and I don't think twice about the implications it may have for our overly politically correct country. And I don't plan on going through each post to make sure everything is PC so long as I know that here in Vanuatu it's all good. Which brings me to another note:

SPELLING, GRAMMAR, AND SYNTAX:

Due to the speed of my internet connection I am loathe to open any window or click on any button that take up eons of time. My hair is grey enough. And since I pay by the hour and wish to do as much as possible in my time (I also walk 90 minutes each way to get here) I usually don't proofread or spell check anything. Just type and go... type and go. So please forgive me for any infractions of grammar, spelling or even just basic sentence structure - sometimes I'm multi-tasking (like when i get the special opportunity to chat live with another gmail user) and the thing I'm composing suffers for it. My bad.

MISSIONARY'S:

Yes, we are full of them. Or at least it sure seems that way in Tanna. There is at least one large group of mormons that I often see in Lenekal, but I think they live out in the middle bush. The one guy I've spoke with looks about 14 but is actually 20 - I can't believe they would send him out here. Apparently when you enroll (?) for your Mormon mission they don't tell you where you are going, be it in the US or not. He just got tossed on a plane and sent to Fiji where they passed him off to this place he had never heard of before. He was asking us questions about joining the Peace Corps in the future and Jeff had to explain how Peace Corps is specifically secular and that this should be a serious concern for him as his missionary endeavors would be a serious concern for PC recruiters. I would imagine that the type of person that would fly around the world to "preach his word", whatever it may be, would find it very difficult to then be in a situation where you would specifically NOT be allowed to preach at all even when in a strange land where maybe they practice black magic and you would need to incorporate an understanding of that belief system into your Peace Corps work (such as here in Vanuatu).

Then there is the group of Christian bible-thumpers I had the mis-pleasure of overhearing at a restaurant. The leader, whom I've actually met several times, was discussing strategies for dealing with the misunderstanding between the different types of Christianity and about how best to spread the word. I had indigestion all day.

I guess we can credit the missionaries for ending cannibalism, but there's a slew of things the missionaries have done to mess things up in this country such as getting them all wearing sensible clothing - where's the fun in that?? Damn those missionaries!

But again I say... Why do these people think GOD needs recruiters. Makes not one bit of sense to me. Right up there with giving money to a church. Religion shouldn't cost a dime - no amount of money is gonna get you a better cloud than mine.

Oh... And this brings me another note:

THE FUTURE OF THIS BLOG:

I guess there will be times, such as the above mini-rant, where I stray from the subject of my Peace Corps musings and branch out a bit into other subjects, be they political or personal or whatever the hell I feel like talking about. It's my blog, my prerogative. Plus, just writing about Man-Tanna is gonna get boring for me and anyone who knows me knows I can't keep my mouth shut anyway. So I guess that can be viewed as a warning, or an invitation. Transit34 was always going to be about transitions anyway.

And I might as well take this moment to just go ahead and make it clear to anyone reading this who doesn't know me personally:

I'm a 35 y/o liberal, bush-hating, tree-hugging, travel-bitten, alcohol-drinking, book-reading, sometime -casual-drug-using*, reality-TV-hating, reasonably-educated, very skeptical, and often overly-opinionated, multi-racial-loving, homo (this means I sometimes date black men - yes BLACK MEN!!)... Among other adjectives and slurs which escape me at the moment (go ahead and send your comments!!)

And as such I might use language not suitable for all audiences. Sometimes I might even use unnessary language like "fuck" or "dip-shit" (sorry grandma - yours are the only eyes I worry about, but I still ain't gonna sensor myself).

Or I might say something really outrageous like "we need a national health plan to insure all Americans". I might even say something about the mind-boggling stupidity of the people that voted for Bush the first time and now expect me to pat them on the back for not voting for him the second time (I keep meeting these people). Sorry. I'm not gonna do it. You get points for coming around, but it's still too little too late I'm afraid - you had all the information you needed the first time. My ears bleed every time I hear one of these people say something like "well... I didn't think he would be this bad, or do this thing or that thing...".

Anyway.. Enough of the disclaimer stuff. Now it's back to Vanuatu for at least a few more posts.

phew... You'd think I had one too many "Tuskers - Bea Blo Yumi" (the local beer slogan is "Tusker - Our Beer".

*yes, that's correct - I'm a mature adult who enjoys many of life's vices and don't act like you don't break the law here and there. Everything is relative. Everything.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEO

2006-08-03T13:52:00.000+11:00

Happy Birthday to the many Leo's in my life.

It's really hard for me to even think about anything going on back in the United States - including dates and special occasions (totally forgot about SD Pride). I can't even keep the seasons straight - it's winter down here and who would have thought that the South Pacific even has a winter. So to hear that SD is experiencing a heatwave is strange. And I'm sure I'll be forgetting many, many other Birthdays and special dates for the next two years. Really this is not anything different than when I was back at home, but at least now I have an even better excuse.

And just to be on the safe side...

Special shout-out to next months VIRGO'S.

(RSC, if you happen to be reading this, I realize now that I was off by a month)

THE COFFEE PROJECT Pt.1 (My Job)

2006-08-01T14:36:00.000+11:00

This will finally be the first post on the actual work I'll be doing in Vanuatu for the next two years. In addition to considering myself pretty lucky to have been sent to Vanuatu (pacific island with safe water and almost no dangerous flora/fauna), I'm also lucky to be taking over an existing project that seems to be working fairly successfully. Each time Peace Corps commits to a work site it's a 3-term contract. Meaning 3 two-year PCV's (or 6 years) will work the project at a minimum. For this reason many volunteers are taking over existing work in some form or another. In some cases, if there was no project successfully developed, it's just as if they were the first person there except that the locals are used to having a white person around. In other cases PCV's are the very first person to a village and must start from scratch - which can be a daunting task especially if you spend most of your time just getting people used to the idea of working with a white man. In my case, however, the coffee project is alive and well and my primary goal will be to ensure it's survival, continue to educate the locals on how to run the place on their own, and hopefully further develop the farmers production of coffee as well as try and develop the factory as more of a tourist friendly destination - including getting them to pay a small fee for a tour (which would go to the charity that is helping the farmers). But first...

A BRIEF HISTORY OF COFFEE IN VANUATU:

It is believed that at the turn of the century Vanuatu was producing about 200 tons of coffee per year - until the United States depression triggered a worldwide depression and wiped out the local coffee industry.

1960's - 1980's : Tanna was producing about 2 tons per year from operation run by "white" men.

1980's - The French and the British, which had just granted Vanuatu independence from their joint colonial rule, created the CDC (Commonwealth Development Co.) with the intention of turning Vanuatu ("using" is a better word) into a major coffee and cocoa producing nation. They planted thousands upon thousands of coffee plants, built 5 compounds of living quarters for white land managers, constructed huge processing facilities, storage facilities, and mechanical facilities all out in the middle bush of Tanna island. They had a 10-room office building, a 3 bay auto body shop to repair factory vehicles, generators, and enough production capacity to produce up to about 2000-3000 tons of coffee (by one estimate). Between 1983-85 they were hitting about 5 tons max! By 1986 it peacked at 62 tons and the next year a cyclone hit (Uma - a really bad one) and wiped out most of the crop. By 1989 they were still not producing more than 15 tons per year. The project was a failure of the highest degree. But why?

They had built a factory and support network that far exceeded the possible capacity to make it worth the trouble. The maintenance alone would be a killer. But the staff was massive and expensive as well. Plus, and maybe most importantly, they didn't understand the local culture and never considered whether or not the local famers really wanted to plant and maintain coffee, or if they needed to plant coffee (they sure didn't).

In 1991 the European Community (pre-cursor to the current European Union) built a much smalle, much more sensible factory in Lowkatai village (my home) - while the CDC was about ready to shut down the middle bush fiasco.

By 1995 the CDC basically collapsed and they called in an Australian coffee expert named Terry Adlington to evaluate the situation. By the end of 1997 Terry had been working on the project for almost 3 years and had not ever been paid. A court battle ensued and the CDC just washed it's hands of the mess by giving Terry the new(er) factory, leases on several coffee plantantions and leases on a small bungalow project (no longer existing) as settlement.

In 2000 the CDC became the TCDC (Tanna Coffee Development Company), a for-profit enterprise run by Terry. At this point they are producing about 8 tons on average. Far less than the local demand of Vanuatu. Terry is driving all around Tanna collecting the coffee himself and trying to get the farmers interested and basically working himself into the ground. Overhead is too high, he's too far removed from his primary customer (Efate) and he's just spinning his wheels. It's not a sustainable situation for him and changes are needed. In 2001 Terry moves to Efate and leaves the factory in the hands of the locals.

In 2002 POPACA arrives - the new French/EU team that plans on providing funding/management/ and infrastructure to the coffee and cocoa projects. Some might call it an attempt at redeeming the earlier failure of the CDC. This time they designed the new aide organization with the local department of agriculture and included Ni-Vans - it was more of a development situation, rather than a rape the locals situation like 20 years earlier - some might say.

Terry leases the factory to POPACA for 1 vatu per year. Production reaches 11 tons.

Up until this time each step of the processing of the coffee was conducted at the factory:

1. Buy cherry (the coffee "fruit" picked off the tree for 25 vatu
2. Pulp the cherry off the bean
3. Wash and ferment the bean
4. Dry the bean.
5. Hull the bean
6. Sort the bean by quality.
7. Bag it and ship it up to Efate for roasting and packaging by Terry.

Now it starts to get interesting. Maybe.

In 2003 POPACA begins building pulpers out in the fields, staffed by processing agents, who are provided housing at site. Farmers are paid by the agents at the pulping stations.

POPACA is also giving revolving lines of credit to the factory exclusively to buy coffee cherry, but the accountant doesn't understand what this means and for over two years never makes a single payment on the loans and has been using them to pay for salaries not just for coffee.

POPACA management never questions this, but keeps approving more loans even at times when they know it's not the coffee harvest season.

By 2004 the project is basically declared a disaster. Production is only 5 tons, there are major quality control problems, no managerial oversite, and tons of cash handling irregularities at the individual pulping stations. They decide that the local Ni-Van farmers are simply lazy and are not working the fields properly.

Now they decide to scale back the project and someone has the idea to request the assistance of a Peace Corps Volunteer to oversee the pulping stations and provide technical assistance.

In February the charitable organization C.O.V. (Coffee Organisation of Vanuatu) is formed with a 6 member board of all local Ni-Vans. They take over the lease and operation of the factory and continue to recieve the revolving credit from POPACA who is, at this point, just about ready to toss in the towel.

Enter Peace Corps Volunteer Jeff Robinson, my predecessor. He is placed out in the middle bush, lives with the locals, learns the local way of life, and as is our goal, develops an understanding of the motivations, trials and tribulations, of the Ni-Van culture. He is originally given the task of managing the pulping stations, but is also given instructions to conduct a land survey of coffee.

He spends the next 8 weeks going house to house, village to village, by foot - and collects enough data on coffee plants to makea huge impact on the Department of Agriculture and the COV. Up until this point they had no real data or understanding of where the coffee was, who owned it, or what condition it was in. Jeff was a hero.

But POPACA still thought the Ni-Van was a lazy person and wouldn't be producing much coffee. It's important to note that POPACA, while a wonderful organization, pays their staff a regular salary, provides whiteman houseing with cable TV, and provides a truck. Jeff, living out in the bush, toiling away for free, and using only his feet to get around, understood that the local Ni-Van wasn't lazy - they just didn't need to work all day in the garden, work all day cooking dinner and taking care of the children, work all day cutting firewood, and then work all day picking coffee cherries only to have to walk 2 kilometers up hill both ways (yes - both ways! own and up, down and up) carrying a couple kilograms of coffe on his back only to get paid 25 vatu per kilo. It simply wasn't worth it to them.

So Jeff was able to convince Steven, the new guy, of this observation and the big lights went off. POPACA started building 27 pulpers located strategically in places where Jeffs survery report had identified the most coffee. Then the dismantled the whole processing agent system and let the farmers have the pulpers for themselves. Now they would pulp thier own cherries, dry and ferment their own beans and bring these beans, ready for hulling down to the factory.

and now... the big plus of all - they would be paid 200 vatu per kilogram!! Suddenly it bacame worth it for the farmers to begin producing coffee. At the same time the factory, by giving up the pulpers and training the farers to do the first three steps, was able to drastically cut down on it's overhead. Now it only needed to hull and sort the bean. Then put it on a ship to Efate.

Unfortunately, the friuts of these efforts didn't immediately become apparent and POPACA decided to close it's contract and will be pulling out of Vanautu sometime in the next couple months. Based on Jeffs own survey they had budgeted to pull in over 15 tons and only got 6 tons so this was disappointing - but they weren't seeing the long-term big picture. But at least they've decided to continue offering a revolving line of credit to the COV at only 1% interest. If we used a local bank it would be nearly 25% interest!!.

In the mean time Jeff and Steven continued working with the local farmers - getting them educated and spreading the word on the new system. Getting people excited about planting and growing coffee again. It's easy to see how they would be sceptical - in the last 3 years they worked under 3 different systems (I've been trying to be brief so I've left out many other details)

After two years of effort Jeff, Steven, Kamut, and several others in the Dept. Of Agriculture pulled together a plan that seems finally be paying off. Sensing an opportunity to see the fruits of his labor Jeff decided to extend his PC contract by 6 months. Another lucky move for me since now I get his insights and assistance for the first 6 months of my service.

Today we are about halfway into the harvest season and have already collected over 9 tons of coffee. Things are looking up. Way up. The farmers are excited about getting good money for the coffee. Another co-op has sprung up that serves as a delivery service for the farmers - they drive around and collect from all the small frys and pay them a little less, then bring the coffee down to us in one huge truck load. This benefits us by letting us deal with one customer instead of dozens, encourages farmers to grow more coffee, and benefits the farmers by eliminating the need to pay for transport to the factory. It's really working out amazingly well. And aside from the oversite of the Peace Corps, it's very nearly a Ni-Van operation. The COV is doing well and the farmer are really happy.

And then the hulling machine broke.

It's been broke almost all season. So now the factory has 9 tons (and growning) of un-hulled coffee sitting around. We can't seem to get the machine fixed and we have to keep getting more loans to buy coffee but haven't been able to collect any payments from Terry since we haven't sent him any coffee!

Anyway... i'm sure that will get handled soon enough. I don't think it's a serious situation. We are just waiting for some settings from the manufacturer in England.

So...

My main job will be to make sure this whole thing doesn't fall apart. And without a Peace Corps (or similar) volunteer overseeing the operation it certiainly would fall apart. At this stage it operates like a large lemonade-stand, in terms of complexity, but it's amazing how quickly projects can go right to shit when left solely in the hands of the locals - even though that is exactly are ultimate goal. I know it sounds cynical, but it's just a fact of current Vanuatu life. Things are changing, but verrrrry slooowly.

My main counterpart - the guy who basically runs and best understands the factory - is illiterate. It's painful to watch him try and fill out reciepts and then count out cash to the farmers - and he's our number one guy! We are going to hire a new book-keeper, part-time - someone with a year 10 schooling, and I'll spend the next two years trying to teach literacy to Kamut.

I'll also be trying to turn the factory into more of a "Local success story" tourist destination. More on that later - but I'm hoping that maybe some contacts back in the USofA (CB&TL, and Starbucks) might be willing to assist in that area.

Additionally I'll be working on teaching hospitality to the locals who operate the nearby bungalow project where I've been living. This culture knows NOTHING about hospitality and therefore the only successful operations are run by Australians or other "white" men. But the bungalows are wonderful in the simplicity and custom nature of the grounds and structures - they just need to understand things like hot water showers, clean towels, and sanitary kitchens. And service. And cooking. and... and...

It sounds like Jeff did all the hard work on the coffee project, and he really did. But I've definitely got my plenty on my plate for the next two years.

If there are no photos on this posting, please check back again next week. I've got some good photos of the old CDC project and the current factory, but the connection has been terrible and I can't get photos loaded.

KAVA REDUX Pt. 2

2006-07-26T13:55:00.000+11:00

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

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

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

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

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

Or regularly.

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

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

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

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

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

Tannna is fun.

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

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

MATTHEW JACOB DEWIT

2006-07-26T11:59:00.000+11:00

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

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

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

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

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

Second - he hates mushrooms. Me too!!

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

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

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

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

More about Matt:

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

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

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

And there's more...

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

More Quotes:

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

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

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

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

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

KAVA REDUX

2006-07-21T15:20:00.000+11:00

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

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

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

The tradition is thus...

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

Ready-mades:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRAINING RECAP

2006-07-19T15:17:00.000+11:00

a small training recap:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooo... what happens immediately after training?

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

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

And in my spare time... Kava.

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

NUI HAOS BLO MI...

2006-07-11T14:55:00.000+11:00

... Does not exist - yet.

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh.

WORST. BOAT-RIDE. EVER.

2006-07-05T14:08:00.000+11:00

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

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

But of course!!

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

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

Far too little, far too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LELEPA, HOW I LOVE THEE

2006-07-02T16:59:00.000+11:00

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

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

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

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

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

But I also feel really, really proud.

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

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

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

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

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

You were preparing, building, and waiting.

You were also excited...

You were also nervous...

You were also awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We've explored your hills and caves.

Swam in your saltwater.

We've played in your volleyball and futbol games.

climb your trees, and killed your chickens.

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

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

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

Home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Proud for all of us.

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

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

I also want to extend good wishes for your future.

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

And I wish you good luck with group 19B

Thank you!

THE ONE(s) I'M BRINGING BACK

2006-07-02T16:09:00.000+11:00

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

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

*except stewart

MUSINGS AND MISCELLANY

2006-06-29T00:00:00.000+11:00

Top Photo: This is how half the homes in Lelepa look. This structure is actually the kitchen. On the other side of the ripped white-ish fabric is a dining table, with the house on the other side of the table. The shelf area in the left half of the photo is the dish-washing area. there is a 2x4 raised just off the ground to stand on. Not sure why, but they are all have this. Then there is a wash and a rinse basin. Look closely and you will notice two or three chickens walking around all the clean and dirty dishes. Definitely getting thier dirty little feet on the clean dishes. Maybe pooping too.

Middle Photo: This is a Tanna nakamal (kava bar) near Matt's house in the bush. They usually choose a site between a 2 or 3 large banyan trees. Women are not allowed in nakamals and usually don't ever drink kava. When we want to drink kava with PC girls we have to fill up a water bottle and take it to another site. At our nakamal in Lelepa they would often run out too soon, so we got them in the habit of taking pre-orders with advance payment. This photo shows a particularly large and beautiful banyan. Tanna is known for it's chewed kava. Usually it's prepared in a meat grinder - but the traditional way is to have young boys chew it up and spit it out. They aren't allowed to drink the actual kava until they get older, but they let them chew the roots 'cause they think the purity of youth adds sweetness to the flavor. Whatever. It still tastes like dirty cucumber water.

Bottom Photo: This photo was taken directly across the path from the nakamal in the above photo. These boys are all wearing towels since they've all recently been circumsised in one of Tanna's famed circumscision ceremonies that were happening when we were on walkabout. Each weekend for about a month a small group of boys are cut with a special piece of bamboo and then hidden away in a special house in the bush where women are forbidden to see them for a certain period of time. When the time is up a huge festival occurs. Some men were telling us about this whole process one night at the nakamal. At the same time a bunch of little kids were running around the area. I asked the guy which kids were next on the list and he pointed out a kid here and a kid there. When I looked at the smiling, happy kids I turned to the man and said "gee... he sure doesn't seem too nervous about what's gonna happen to him in a couple days". The man said they had no idea and that it was a well kept secret until the moment it was to happen. I still can't imagine how, when other boys who were just cut are running around the same area, that it can be kept a secret. Just another Vanuatu mystery. We've already been invited to attend a circumscision ceremony. I'm not sure how i feel about it - one of those things that would haunt me forever (4 guys hold the boy down as he screams bloody murder while being cut with a sharpened piece of bamboo - holy christ i get queasy just typing this). On the other hand it's one of those things you might just kick yourself for not seeing when you had the chance.

Sharing a little culture:

Tawi - married men can't look at his wife's mother. Women can't look at the husbands father. Suppose one of these pairs is walking towards each other down a narrow path?? The women must defer in either case and literally will jump off the path and into the bush to avoid the situation - although it's just as likely the man will do the same. It's works in different ways on different islands, but this is how it is on Lelepa and I've seen it in action.

Uhmmm - they have a terrible habit of always saying "yes" despite occasions when they really want to say "no". We've all learned this one the hard way and now find ourselves asking a Ni-Van the same question in several different ways (very difficult with the limitations of bislama) and often you still don't know the straight answer. This happens ALL THE TIME and makes things very difficult. I guess it's in their culture to be pleasing and positive. They simply never want to say no, even if it's bad for them - like when Survivor TV film crews want to damage an ancient and humongous banyan tree just to make the shot a bit more TV friendly (those damn french).

Uhmmm pt.2 - along the same lines as above, they will regularly claim to understand something you've just told them, even though they really don't. Or they won't reveal to you important pieces of imformation for absolutely no good reason. We've heard countless stories of PCV's that asked their village if they'd like to have a co-operative store (for example) and they will always say yes (see above) but they won't voluntarily inform you that maybe they've already had several co-ops but they all failed because nobody would pay the accounts, or the village chief kept taking the money for himself, or no one wanted to staff the store. They no all the reasons it did't work, they just aren't gonna tell you this unless you ask the right questions. Or maybe you'll plan a workshop, and everyone will tell you they are interested, but on that day no one shows up. later you find out that was the day they all go into the gardens - why didn't they just tell you that so you could have picked another date? no one knows. it's just how it is here. You have to learn to work around that kind of stuff. Election results in Tanna so pissed off the locals, for unknown reasons, that they burnt down the provincial offices. New ones have since been built, but the charred remains of the old building linger on as a habitate for weeds and such.

Creeping - they have a very strong seperation of the genders. The men hang with the men, the women with the women. Rarely do they mix. We see the youth play volleyball together, but you never see them alone as couples unless they are married. There doesn't seem to be any sexual energy on this island at all, and you certainly don't see any flirting or dating/courting. Many marriages are arranged. As for everyone else, there's creeping. This is when a man (or very rarey a women) goes to the outside of a house and scratches on the door or screen or window of the person he likes. This only happens in the cloak of darkness, is very subtle and secretive, and has the intention of getting the other person to come out of the house and join you for a romp in the bush. There is no "hanging out" together. Just run off into the bush. Do that a couple times and marriage is right around the corner, usually 'cause she's pregnant. We've all been warned about creeping and how to handle the unwanted situation should it occur. Funny stuff.

$$ - The role, and power, of a Peace Corps volunteer is often misunderstood by the local community. Sometimes they think we are a money ticket and can get the village large items it might need - like a boat or a truck, or a solar-power system. The disappointment that comes from explaining the truth can be very awkward and difficult. I doubt this will be a problem for me, but I've already heard stories from others in my group who were met by extremely high expectations by the locals.

Black Magic - Rarely have I met a person that will admit they still believe in black magic but then they turn around and tell you a ludicrous story like the one about the guy on Epi who caused the last bad tsunami when, in jealous rage, tied a large leaf to a string and tossed it into the ocean. He pulled back on the string so fast and hard that the leaf pulled all the tsunami waters onto the land. And while you laugh at the this crazy little story they stare at you with all seriousness. And then when you say something like "gee, that's a funny story, but you don't really believe that's how it happened... do you...?" and they continue to just stare at you like you're the crazy one. More often than not, Ni-vans are quick to laugh at other islands and claim that other islands are the crazy black magic islands. They never want to admit that they still believe in that, at least not to the white man. Every time someone dies, though, doesn't matter if they were 86 years old, it must have been black magic.

THEY REALLY AREN'T KIDDING

2006-06-28T21:57:00.000+11:00

Your tax dollars at work. Get a load of this flow chart - click the image to enlarge and then guess how long it took for us to realise that it really wasn't a spoof of government bureacracy bullshit. Needless to say, it took a long time. Especially since we had just spent 10 weeks isolated on a remote south pacific third world island. And then they hand us this.

This chart tracks the progress of a submitted trimester report from the time we, the PCV's in the field, submit them, until the time they get reviewed by members of congress holding our purse strings. It hurts my eyes just to look at it. Gives me the heebie-jeebies. I mean, what the harry-hell were they thinking when they put this thing together? First of all, there is no earthly reason for them to give US this information. Look at some of these boxes: "PA photocopies report", "PA sends photocopy to APCD", "APCD carefully reads report" . "carefully"?

And look in the bottom right corner. The box that's completely underlined. What's the name of that newsletter? who's idea was that? I can't wait to read all the pupu in that newsletter.

In fairness, though, I think the idea was to let us know how important the field reports are and how they come to end up in the halls of congress where rich, white men will maybe read the report and decide whether or not all this hippie, feel good stuff is a still a good idea or if they could better spend the money on a mega-million dollar Alaskan bridge that will benefit about 68 people.

Ohhh, but now I sound cynical. The truth is that the US Congress has always held the Peace Corps in high esteem - on both sides of the aisle - and recently voted to increase the budget at the presidents request. Yes, it's true. George Bush actually did ONE good thing. ONE. Never mind the fact that the entire budget is still, after 45 years, only about $300 million - less than the price of one failed Star Wars Anti-Ballistic Missle test.

We have people from our group, including me and Matt, that will not have acceptable (by Peace Corps standards) communication access to PC HQ in Vila. In a country prone to natural disasters at a rate higher than most others, it's imperative that people in HQ can quickly communicate information to us when needed. Not to mention emergency messages from the States. Not to mention us communicating with them should an emergency happen on our end - like... help me lord I've gouged myself with a bush knife and the locals want to stuff my leg with leaves and do a sacred dance to heal my wound please send a goddamn plane quickly. Why don't we all have satellite phones or radios? 'cause they cost a couple thousand each and they only have a handful so they go to the poeple, deservedely so, that are the most remote. Matt and I, assuming it's not the bush knife scenario or the erupting volcano, can walk 90 minutes to the nearest working phone if need be. I also just found out that as a cost-saving measure we are all getting dumped onto the rusty, archaic cargo ships that will haul our luggage to our respective islands. Previous groups took planes (1 hour to Tanna) and then greeted the cargo ships at a future date (10 hours to Tanna assuming a direct trip, but one should never make such silly assumptions in this land).

But no matter - this is all just part of the fun.

(ps - I may eat these words, but i'm really not too worried about the phone situation. My site has several cyclone worthy structures I can run to in under 5 minutes, and we have, ahem, a hospital within an hours walk. although we've been forewarned that just 'cause they call it a hospital doesn't mean that it will have doctors!! - and if the doctor is in, we are told to only see the australians)

PEANUT BUTTER-GATE

2006-06-28T21:07:00.000+11:00

How do you insult an entire village of people? Simple, just tell them their food sucks in a public speech!

In what was the first of three public speeches I had to give during my training, we were asked to prepare a short and simple speech that taught the audience something about America, and present it in Bislama. The idea was to present our language skills and get us used to giving oral bislama speeches, the subject matter was really not that important. As such, I choose peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as my topic. Seemed like a good idea - the ni-vans make a pb+j with super thick bread and just the thinnest application of peanut butter and jelly. Basically you get no flavor and tons of carbs. As a vegetarian i need more protein. I would show them how I would make the sandwich in America. I would show them how, if you slice the bread thinner and add copious amounts of goodness then the sandwich would actually have flavor and would, in fact, be good. I told them, in my best bislama, that in America we like things big - bigfala house, bigfala trucks, bigfala airplanes, and bigfala flavor. I actually made two sandwiches on stage. I sliced the bread and spead on the stuff. One sandwich I made like theirs, one like mine. I built in quite a bit of humor and the speech sure seemed well recieved at the time, but as you can plainly see, I had made a serious faux pas. Even though I was only trying to demonstrate how I prefer my sandwiches, I did it at the expense of how they prefer theirs. Now, the controversy I caused by all this was somehow completely lost on me. Several of the Momma's were mildly upset by this and expressed as much to other trainee's and my own momma - who had helped me translate the speech and only seemed upset that I didn't tell her sooner how i like my sandwiches. But all the hubbub managed to escape me for over a month until that time when we were ask if two of us would volunteer to give speeches at our swearing-in ceremony. I volunteered for the english speech (the other was to be given in bislama) and more than a couple people in our group surprised me with their distress that I might somehow repeat the trauma of the peanut butter speech. arrrgh. After giving it some reflection I was embarrassed that I would have been so naive to let something like that happen - especially when we've all be on pins and needles hyper-aware of cultural sensitivity. How could i have been so stupid? It doesn't matter that if you read the speech, or watched the speech, you would have completely understood that i was in no way intending to insult thier cooking. It' s a whole different culture and they are affectd by things in different ways that we can't always predict. And in my own defense my very own Momma helped me translate the speech and didn't indicate any problems - but of course she never would since that would be out of character for a Ni-Van. Really it wasn't a big deal, but I felt really bad that some Momma's were personally hurt and I didn't have a chance to apologise at the right moment.

Luckily I more than won-over the village with my dancing antics at our beach party the evening of our site assignment announcements. They're a very prudish bunch (thank the missionaries) and only a couple momma's had the courage to get up and dance. Me and some other volunteers, however, had been away from nightclubs for too long and sort of broke it all down - let it all out. carried on like dancing fools. In fact, I was laying it on pretty thick just 'cause they were having so much fun watching me be a fool. So much so that for every day that followed I was able to garner squeals and giggles with just the slightest little hip wiggle when any momma happened to be looking at me. I gained something of a reputation - only to be enhanced and solidified by my crowd pleasing Swearing-In speech. details coming soon.

GROUP 19A AND TRAINERS

2006-06-27T13:13:00.000+11:00

Back Row - Standing L to R:
Jasmine and Troy (married), Nancy, Bill (w/eyes closed), Amy, Aaron (w/sunglasses), Aileen, Thad, Jess, Eddie

Middle Row Starting in Front of Jasmine:
Noelle, Matt, Ryan, Matthew (Trainer), Teresa, Charlie (married to Nancy), Leonel, Solo (Trainer), Kevin

Front Row Starting Far Left:
Judy (Trainer), Christina (Head of Training), Katie (purple skirt), Ale, ME.

These are the 20 people that managed to get through the training program and were all sworn-in yesterday, Monday, June 26th. They are all excellent people - I'm very fortunate to have had such a great crew to train with. Everyone got along great and each person was friendly and helpful.

The trainers, the only Ni-Vans in the photo, were all super nice and helpful, easy-going and friendly. Language training was the hardest, and Solo, thanks to his take-no-prisoners-you're-going-to-speak-bislama approach proved to be the most effective and sought-after. We only got to work with each trainer for one week in groups of 5-6 and then we would rotate to the next trainer. Matthew, the young, single, sexpot of the group, was brand new to the Peace Corps (he's the guy nearly centered in the photo). Super smiley and charming, he was also a push-over as a teacher and therefore not the best language instructor. By the end of training he was getting a clue, though - I'm sure he'll make a great PC trainer for the next group. Judy, far left in the photo, and 8 months pregnant, is sweet and soft-voiced. Next to her is Christina - the training director and the sorry soul who got the brunt of all our frustrations. Despite all the flaws of training, and considering how rough it is to do any kind of sensible logistics in a country known for it's lacksidasical approach to schedules, she did a great job and kept a very positive attitude through-out.

TIME STAMP

2006-06-09T18:27:00.000+11:00

I have a brief, unexpected moment in Vila so I thought I'd take the time to update the TIME ZONE on these postings. So I did. Although I didn't expect it to change the time and date on all previous postings so the time is incorrect on anything posted prior to arrival in Vanuatu. Small matter. The important thing is that when you look at the time and date on my posts it is actually accurate. Should you care about such things. Peace.

TANNA SUNSET

2006-06-03T16:04:00.000+11:00

My Tanna island "walkabout" was awesome but I don't have the computer time today to blog about the experience - so instead I'll leave this image, one of my parting shots of Tanna. This was after 3 small bottles of vodka and a couple shells of Kava. Matt and I, along with Jeff (the guy i'm replacing) and Kamut (my counterpart - more on that later) all enjoyed my iPod on the beach, drunk and happy from a wonderful week. As soon as the sun disappeared the large flying foxes (bats) came out and circled overhead making halloween looking moon shadows in the sand - creepy and beautiful at the same time - only in Vanuatu!!

MAIL UPDATE - wanted to let you know that I got mail today. I haven't read it yet, but like to let you know how long it takes for things to arrive. Today is 6/3/2006.

Rossell - mailed 5/10 - letter
Harney - mailed 5/9 - card
Serwalt - mailed 5-19 - large letter

I'll look at them when I get back to Lelepa - right now i'm in transit back from Tanna island - making a computer pit stop at the Peace Corps office in Vila. Next bus leaves in 30 minutes and I still need to stock up on snack food. If i miss the bus, then I miss the boat!

BUNYA BUNYA BABY

2006-06-03T15:50:00.000+11:00

This is an earthoven - a bunya meal. More details to follow - I just want to get the pictures up. A hole is dug about 3-4 feet down and a fire built inside. The fire is covered with rocks, and as the first burns out you are left with hot rocks at which point you cover them with palm leaves (or something) and then your food. You cover that with more hot rocks, more leaves and more dirt and more random stuff (like a trap and a piece of corrogated tin?!?) then you let it cook most of the day. In this photo we are loading the food into the oven. Back row left to right: Kevin, Matt, random Momma, Eddie, and Ryan in the navy blue. The food in the oven at the moment looks like Taro root, or maybe Kumala - either way it wasn't good. The structure in the background is a nakamal where kava is served. And this is on the Peace Corps office/house property.

PELE ISLAND

2006-06-03T15:27:00.000+11:00

This is the view from Pele island, just off the northern coast of Efate (and just off the eastern coast of Nguna island). We took a field trip out here one Saturday a few weeks ago just for the hell of it. We had a guide leading us around the island and by the time we got more than half way around our group had splintered into several smaller groups - some, like me, without guides. We saw some others duck into the woods to take a short-cut through the bush, but by the time me and one other girl got to the entrance of the bush they were out of sight. We followed the path for a while before realising we were lost and had to back-track. Luckily we joined up with another guided group that led us out to the proper trails. Wheew! It was fun, and no matter how lost you feel you only ever need to walk in one direction for about an hour to hit water. Small islands are cool like that. I included this photo to provide some sense of environment on volcanic islands. These huge rocks where presumably blown here during the creation of the island or the destruction of some other island. The jagged islands in the background are not inhabited and don't show on the maps. I forget the names. I

LOVE THOSE INTERNETS

2006-06-03T15:01:00.000+11:00

This is me chatting with no less than three friends on Gmail while sitting in one of the most remote internet outposts on the planet - the TAFEA computer resource center on Tanna island. It is located near the provincial offices of the TAFEA group of islands and was donated by the EU. It includes about 10 computers with painfully show satellite connections - and yet amazingly i was able to chat live with three people - Shawn, Robert, and Maggie for about an hour!! and then a fourth person - April - very briefly (sorry april). This computer center is about a 2 hour walk from my permanent site so I'll definitely be able to get online regularly. I can walk or take a $1 truck ride and the cost for the internet is only $1.50 per hour - I'm pretty excited about this. If the phones are working I should be able to call ahead to give notice that I'll be online so we can chat if you've got Googles Gmail. Like mentioned - the connection is satellite so it's sketchy. But thanks EU - love ya!!