B-Town vs. Woleai

Started: 11-28-09, Finished: 12-09-09 Falalap, Woleai
Traffic seemed heavy Thursday morning as the second driver positioned himself to pass me on my walk to school. And that got me thinking about where I am and wondering, 'just what exactly am I doing?' There are simple answers to these curiosities -- for the first: I'm on Falalap Island of the Woleai Atoll of Yap State of the Federated States of Micronesia (okay, that's actually a bit of a mouthful), and for the second: I was headed to my primary assignment as a Peace Corps Volunteer, teaching English at the local high school. More descriptively and meaningfully, though, I'm in an entirely new world. Everything from the geography and climate to the people and culture of which is totally foreign to me.
Those who know me (whom I hope to be the primary readers of this blog) know I am from Boise, Idaho – a sprawling city settled in a desert river valley, nestled against foothills to the north that radiate a warm golden glow when the sunset is right, and with views of mountains in the distance. It counts over 200,000 residents of one of the larger, landlocked western states in the U.S. The topography of the town fluctuates greatly from one end to the other, flowing like the ocean swells I rode to Woleai on. Seasons turn; fall bringing crisp, ever-shortening days of reprieve from summer's long, hot sun. I love how autumn gently but firmly prepares winter's way, allowing us to gradually pull on the layers needed to ward off the coming chill and presenting warm-up (pun intended) gatherings so we'll be ready for the family event of the year in December. [I greatly missed you all on Thanksgiving and can't fully explain how sad it was that the day arrived without me even realizing it had. Fond thoughts of Turkey Bowl, family, friends, drumsticks, pumpkin pie, taking a nap while the Lions drop yet another Thanksgiving Day game, digging back into the feast with my brother later that night, and the turkey sandwiches to be had for the two weeks after have been predominant in my mind since.]
Boise's population is relatively large and varied, filled with people from around the country and sprinkled with people from around the world – people of many ideas, beliefs, diets, customs, lifestyles, family sizes and organizations, incomes, and activities. They are bound together by the place and our cash economy, seeking out their desert living in whichever way suits, or simply is available to, them. They eat out occasionally and watch movies when time and the budget allows. Some like to hike the foothills, raft the river, run – at least in the North End. Some like to have beers at their favorite taverns – let's hear it for Table Rock – and go to BSU games, even the Snaggle Pusses who cheer against the Broncos (oh, and I'm wearing an orange loin cloth today, by the way). They work, go to school, and spend time with their families. Emphasis is strongly placed on taking care of one's life and those depending upon you. Kindness to strangers and animals, responsible spending, openness and honesty in romantic relationships, and affording others ample privacy are highly esteemed if not perfectly and universally practiced. Cows and chickens, along with corn, make up the bulk of the average Boiseian's diet. And freedom of choice is sacred.
Falalap, Woleai is a tropical island, the largest in its coral atoll – ironically so considering it's a minuscule dot (if shown at all) on the global map. The atoll leads me to imagine a creation story where our 'Maker' is more like a chef than a god – gathering ingredients, pouring a filling of water into a spherical mold, mixing the land-batter, and, while placing and shaping the continents, small crumbs break off, cascade from between quickly moving hands, and make their home in a space of filling meant to be empty. When noticed, it's seen that, really, it's better to have them there than not. So they're left.
Falalap is home to 600 Woleaians, who rarely find themselves as far from the Pacific as is daily reality in Idaho. There is little to no elevation change on the whole of Woleai, just a couple hills and the height that's gained by climbing a coconut or betel nut tree. The tides ebb and flow all around, and gentle waves reach the shores to the north, west and south, while stronger surf collides with the eastern side of the island. The water carried by these waves is nothing less than the clear, cool and alluring shades of blue reserved for paradise. At sunset, the sky goes through miraculous and shifting explosions of color, bursting forth with glowing golden hues, vibrant oranges, rich pinks and blood red, all of which shimmer on the lagoon, creating a scene so serene words fail to capture the immense beauty. As time passes, the colors settle into twilight's velvety dark blue and gradually sink to the deepest, darkest black night has to offer. The seasons alternate from rainy to dry and back again, but it's always hot or at least warm enough to sleep with a fan. When the clouds part, equatorial sun pounds down with amazing intensity – might be the source of all this flatness. Sweet, life giving breezes waft through the palm trees, shaking their fronds, briefly relieving the heat and humming the song of island life.
The people of Falalap, Woleai are few and united. Though they come from a few different islands in the area – Eurapik, Satowal, Ifaluk and Lamotrek – they're cultures differ in precious few ways. These are people of a shared ideas, beliefs, customs, religion – Catholicism, believe it or not – lifestyles, information, possessions, FAMILY, practices. Simply put, these are a people of shared identity. They are bound together by much more than place and economy – one beautifully free of cash for the sustenance of life – though, place has a MUCH stronger meaning for an island community than any in the mainland of the United States. Men fish, build and repair homes, brew tuba – a local alcoholic beverage made from the juice of coconut trees – meet in men's circle to drink tuba and plan the following day's activities, and some work at the schools, power plant and health dispensary and a couple have small stores. Women cook, clean, weave palm fronds for mats, plates, thatch for house roofs, food baskets, trash baskets and personal baskets, care for the children, plant, harvest and maintain the taro patches, and some work in the schools and stores. They go to church, watch movies like nobody's business, spend time with family and friends, and chew betel nut till their teeth turn a deep red moving toward black.
What I’m getting at is this, “Things be differ’nt here, y’all!” And yet, in some ways I don’t feel like much has changed for me. I have a job – both connected to education and poorly paying, per usual; learning is a major part of my life – right now it’s centered on language, a new place/terrain, a new job and many new people; the people around me are kind, caring and helping me out tremendously; I’m not calling my mom nearly enough – a bit more legitimate, though it may be; booze flows freely, and I’m drinking my share. Strangely enough, I’m actually keeping my alcohol consumption pretty low, especially in comparison to the average man in Woleai – only drink on weekends and usually just two cups a night.