FOUND IMAGE Pt.4

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

Meet C.J.

Her internet inaugeral.



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

HAMING IT UP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I’ll just skip ahead to 5:30.

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

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

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

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

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

Brotha, I said none.

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

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

Where ARE those cocktails?

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

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

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

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

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

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

“Bislama, bislama, bislama!” he said.

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

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

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

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

And kava he gets.

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

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

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

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

Eh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I liked this guy!

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

Hey, get these boys another round!

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

Another round!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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








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



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

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

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

This is Vanuatu.

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

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

RANDOM QUOTE

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

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

TRIAGE IN TANNA

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It continued to do nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

WORLD'S MOST ACCESSIBLE VOLCANO

(August 2006)

They don’t call it that for nothin’.

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

Like a damn fool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So who wouldn’t want to see it?

“I’m not going,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can, but I’m not”

“No, we’re going together”

“I’m not”

“You ARE”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truk ee go bak! Truk ee go bak!”

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

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

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

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

[insert moon/yasur photo]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait… was this a good idea?

Hell yeah.

Was this a smart idea?

Hell no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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