10/1 Often we ask questions of another's life, expecting their answers to reflect our own experience. [1/8 An Explanation: This thought occurred to me while I sat at my Yap mainland host family's table contemplating conversations I had had and overheard in Micronesia. Specifically, I was trying to figure out why conversations between Americans and Micronesians seemed so much more difficult, even simple chats with those fluent in English. The basis of dialogue struck my as being largely cultural. Then I thought about the role a person's position within his culture plays and how this one sentence above relates to conversations between cultures and within them. Anyhow, I choose to open up my little computer to record that thought, and thus, my new blog/journal was born – though I didn't realize it for a couple of months. I hope you enjoy following along with my mental process of the final six weeks of training up to the present!]
10/3 It sounded just like being in a backyard in Boise. Kids running, laughing on the lawn. Adults plopped around, chatting about this and that. A faint smell of smoke from the grill, and an intermittent breeze, refreshing the air and calming the group. But, this was a yard on the edge of the jungle in Yap – nestled in a village of outer islanders. The kids play with and on construction materials being used for the family's new house. The adults' chatter is in Woleaian, and the meat on the grill came from a dog.
10/4 We sat on the floor this morning, playing a version of bowling that consisted of seven batteries (six pins and one bowling ball). I'd set up the pins; she'd try to knock them down. After the equivalent of a gutter ball she says, somewhat under her breath, 'shit!'
This was a great day! Slept in (all the way to 8:20am), hung with the family, ate fresh bananas (wiishi mmashe), did my own laundry (with a dryer!), got online, talked with Johnny Selman on facebook, talked with my parents on the PHONE, walked the hour home from Colonia, did my thug workout (as Ap would say), cut my hair, showered, and now I'm writing some blogs. I'm happier than a pig in shit.
Mylani (my little host cousin) just gave me a bracelet made from scrap pillow trim. It rocks.
10/9 I was walking home in the rain from training this afternoon. Well, actually I was walking home from the bar, after training. Eriks and I popped into O'Keefe's for a couple beers to cap the week. Rachel, a current PCV, joined for a round, and I felt my first real connection with a volunteer out-of-training in Micronesia. Anyway, I was quite content in my well-watered stroll homeward when a man parked on the other side of the road called me over. He was sitting in the sort of hybrid pick-up/golf cart vehicle that is strangely popular in Micronesia (looks a bit like a van sized for hobbits with the back taken off and a flatbed laid in its place). He asked where I was headed and told me to jump in.
We started up the road and he offered me a beer. 'Hell yeah', I replied. Being three drinks into the night, I figured, what the hell? Like Tino, my language instructor noted, 'The problem [with beer] is when I have some, I always want more!' Noticing his half finished beer in the cup holder also encouraged me – 'I'm going to feel a whole lot more comfortable with him drinking and driving if I have a few more myself'. His name is Steven and he's a supervisor for a local construction company. His day’s been rough, and his red eyes have the look of a man weighed down equally by expectation and confrontation.
We blew by my turn, and he said 'Going to the store. Need a couple more beers'. He grabbed another six-pack (by my calculations he was at least five deep on the night), and we made our way to end of my road. It dead-ends by a local middle school. We sat drinking and talking, mostly about his difficulties at work and why he needed to have beers on a Friday night. Then something really caught my attention. Steven expressed his belief that 'we need to know each other', and he wasn't just speaking of the two of us drinking in his rig. He was talking about the world. This view of the supreme importance of relationships is the same I'd been expressing for the past year. Even more amazing, he related it to nature, our relationship with it, and the disappearing green. 'If we know each other, then we'll be better, and we'll make things green again'. This was one of those unexpected and amazing experiences being in Peace Corps allows. How else am I going to meet someone from halfway around the world, share a beer with him as well as ideas and find my own thoughts reflected in his? I'm so glad I got in that stranger's car and that I didn't get out when I noticed he was drinking.
10/10 Arthur is a good-looking young boy – about seven – who laughs often. He doesn't need much (a piece of scrap wood, a couple nails and a piece of broken cement are enough), so long as someone else wants it. His eyes show the colors of envy and greed, best demonstrated today by his cries of desperation when one of his cousins lifted an unused wooden wedge from his play site. His cries subsided after it was returned and he could chuck it out of his way, confident that no one would have fun with it, unless it was he.
When I see him, he seems not to even notice me. That is, until the other kids show an interest. Then he eagerly shoves his way to the front of the pack, demanding my undivided attention – checking periodically to ensure others haven't shifted their focus elsewhere. However, I sense a strong undercurrent of genuine desire to be joined in his play – a loneliness I recall from my own childhood, though it's expressed differently.
10/11 Today it felt a though I were living in a fall day, back at my home in Boise. I sat at the kitchen table and, looking out the window, I could see the lawn sprinkled with brown fallen leaves and a dog lounging in the soft rays of morning's light. A slight, warm yellow tint colors the scene. The adults busied themselves with tasks around the house and town – cleaning, yard work, running errands. Amidst this activity, though, the house feels still, yet purposeful – much the same as one in a temperate climate, preparing for the oncoming winter. I'm set to my homework – typing up my dictionary of Woleaian words, writing a mock-introduction speech for my new school – and the youngest kids are goofing around, distracting everyone or at least getting in their way. If not for the jungle scenery, eighty-plus degree heat and complaint-free teen-aged assistance, I might have actually forgotten where I was.
10/11 When I first perused Paul Therioux's Happy Isles of Oceania, I was disappointed not to see Micronesia among his travels. Although I quite enjoy the book, after having read about 350 pages, my thoughts have changed. Looking at my home for the next two years – even briefly – through the often shit-colored glassed he inherited from his divorce, and which he regularly used to view other people, might have left some skid marks on my own spectacles.
11/4 Yesterday, I ran into my host aunt on the way home. We had a brief chat, just a few remarks from each of us. It was entirely in Woleaian. Badass.
11/5-22 Trip from Yap to Woleai and settling into my new home put this document on hold.
11/23 Martin (high school councilor) approached me today and mentioned a program run in the past by a 'LEAP' intern - English Club - intended to promote development of English speaking skills. This actually seems like a great idea. The students here are SO reticent to speak English in class. Maybe having a small group of motivated youth come together might afford me a better opportunity to have a lasting impact with some segment of the student body than the two English classes I'll be helping with. Also, it could turn into a good opportunity for me to broach some topics of health, hygiene, relationships, the environment, etc. with the young shooali Weleya (people of Woleai).
I think I'm eating too much Ramen, and it's dehydrating me. It'll be good when that's all gone, but what will I eat for lunch?
11/25 Had a funny dream last night. Gita, Emily and I were on vacation and went to a resort on a nearby island. Some funny things about that are 1) it was entirely American, 2) it was mostly like an American city, 3) we were driving, 4) as we were leaving, the island was covered in snow, deep snow. Reminds me of another dream I had a couple of nights ago, in its strangeness. In that dream, I was completing my Peace Corps service in some sort of huge mystery mansion, full of Americans and completely removed from any of the things I'm supposed to do as a PCV.
Listening to music I received from friends makes me think of how they listened to it. Hearing 'Black Water Killer' by Blitzen Trapper this afternoon, I was suddenly on I-84 headed to Portland from SLC. I'm riding shotgun, and Nick is driving, singing along to the song. He's using a unique manner, one he always uses when he's singing a song he knows well but others are just being introduced to. I can't explain it perfectly, but you know he likes the song and the artist, and he’s sure you’ll like them too. His head bobs gently, side-to-side; his eyes narrow, and his voice isn’t coming out in full. It’s heavy and contained to barely more than a sung whisper. Just enough so you can hear him. Also, his right hand is held up, fingertips extended in the air stream of the dashboard vent. This doesn’t have much to do with the song. It’s just something he always does on road trips.
I had a disconcerting realization today, or maybe it was more of a discovery. As I walked to the elementary school to see whether or not we'd be having a meeting with the chiefs today, I noticed a startling silence in all the classrooms of the high school. Not a single teacher was lecturing. I'm not the biggest fan of lecturing in the world, but instruction based entirely around quiet task-completion with brief 1-on-1 conferences with the teacher may be liable to fall short of really engaging students. [1/12 Addendum: After more time here, I have seen teachers lecture. However, the instruction is limited and the work not really challenging. We can do better, and I think folks want to.]
11/26 I dream an awful lot about things that aren't here, but there's no need to make too much of it.
On Tuesday, I made my first tangible contribution to the community. I helped get a computer running in the high school lab that hadn't been working -- opening up another station for students to use in computer class. Somebody changed the hard-drives in that computer and another between Tuesday and today (Thursday). So when we go to start class, instead of having an extra computer for a student to use, we're down one. What really sucked is that they didn’t make obvious which were the WORKING drives that had been removed. Anyhow, the reason I'm unhappy with it is that it made me feel like the actions I'd taken to help had actually hurt the students. Can't imagine how that volunteer who ended up with the mosquito swimming pool instead of latrines felt. (In training, we heard a story of an over-eager volunteer in South America, I think, who didn’t feel like his community was ready to work with him quickly enough. So, identifying a project read-to-go in a neighboring community, he started the wheels to turning on installing 15 or so pit-latrines. He got the funds necessary and just needed some concrete and other building supplies to arrive before digging the pits around the community. Well, things picked up in his community, and he stopped making regular trips to the other. The materials showed up while he was gone, and the community, bereft of his direction, decided to dig a single, enormous pit for their latrines. They’d all been using a single field before, so a central location probably made more sense to them. Unfortunately, if the pit is too big, you can’t get the concrete cap on it. The small size is important, and the volunteer wasn’t there to make that clear. So, instead of latrines, the community ended up with a swimming pool sized hole that filled with water and made a fresh breeding ground for mosquitoes. Quality of life declined in the community, needless to say. Oof, that would suck.)
11/28 Everything they do here, they do together... and I'm a bit on the outside.
Whoo! Just showered after getting back from my first run in... I don't know how long. And I was running through the jungle. Ah yeah, it's a good day. Joined the men during their work – replacing a thatched roof – then helped Cypriano do a little work around the house, and went for the run. I'm feeling pretty damn good right now, if sweaty.
Honestly, I've been feeling a bit out of sorts lately. Not really jiving right with the family, school, students, community. But just as I knew before I ever came here, it takes time. Gotta get settled before things can start flowing. Today, I feel like I've gotten closer to that goal. Specifically in one interaction. On my return jog home, I ran into Johanna – freshman English Composition teacher – at her taro patch. She offered me a coconut to drink, and we started shooting the breeze. Before I knew it, we were talking about agriculture, a former ag development project and what she thought of it all. Wow. This thesis might actually work out. (I’m looking at perceptions of agricultural development in the community.)
11/30 Twice today I've been carried back in time to this past fall. Back to Thanksgiving break at home, cranking out my Theory course paper at Mom's office late into the night. Once during first period, while the students took their vocab test (question two 'comparable value' sent me back), and the second when I was talking with Gita after our failed radio conversation with the Peace Corps office in Yap. Can't remember what we were talking about that preceded my mental sojourn, though.
12/2 Last night I had a dream, well more of an interjected vision into a dream I was having. The main dream had me in the same living situation I’m in now, except it seemed to be in a very nice portion of Eastern Europe and in a very, very nice home. Anyhow, out of nowhere, I see myself from behind. Oh yeah, it's a stereotypical movie dream scene – even a little misty ‘round the edges. I'm at home in Boise, walking down the hallway to my room. As is the case with dreams, I knew more than the actual scene was communicating. Two years have gone by, and I've returned home after completing my service. I'm wearing my gray Icebreaker shirt, jeans, and I have a backpack over one shoulder. When I enter my room, the perspective changes, rotates around so you can see my face. I don't have a beard, but rather the super-scruff of about two weeks without shaving. My head is soaking wet, but not dripping water. My hair is all mussed up. The perspective holds at an angle that lets me see my face and the room, which – although I know it's not really the case – is unchanged from the way I had it organized when living there. And as I see this, I start to set down my bag and a look comes over my face that borders on horror. I'm not sure what the emotion is, but my initial thought is that because things haven't changed while I was gone, and I have; I don't have a place at home anymore.
The ants inexplicably love my once-worn thus. Love 'em. So when I get to re-wearing them, I have to make sure to shake them out like crazy first. Well, I didn't remember that today. It's as though the ants are hundreds of vagabonds, shaken from their boxcars when I put on the thu. They scatter to the far reaches of my body and start their hobo fires wherever they set up camp. Little burning sensations crop up randomly over the course of the day – sometimes in the strictest 'No Burn' zones.
Thought of Blake and Dana this morning – had to smile. I really miss those two.
Gita just told me about something (actually, she's still telling me) her family is doing. It goes back, way back, for the culture here – the process, not the technique. There is a sickly kid in her host family, and they have a belief that chronic sickness can be caused by a 'medicine ghost'. So they're enacting a local remedy. It lasts days and involves collecting many, many coconuts (because the family can't drink anything but coconut water during the process and can't climb either), showering before 6 pm (out of respect to the ghost, you don't do anything outside after dark, save for one thing), and going out at night to gather 'medicine' from trees that look like scary people in the dark (they reach out and grab whatever they can grab – that's the medicine). They also boil bark and wrap a cloth filled with it around the affected area on the sick person. Each family, and even individuals, have their own medicines/remedies. They develop both over time and spontaneously. Whatever the benefits of this system, one can be fairly certain it will not help this particular child. His condition seems well beyond the curative properties of coconuts, their oil and boiled bark. Gita and I can only hope he gets the treatment he needs.
12/6 Things I've learned since coming to Woleai: hand washing a thu is a bitch, there is NO reliable way to communicate with mainland Yap, white clothing of any kind here is a bad idea if you have any attachment to its whiteness, cultural adjustment and language learning will sap your energy constantly and even detract from your personality, mosquitoes love your feet and ankles more than any other part of your body, ants like dirty laundry (or just clothes that have been worn) – which makes re-wearing a thu a frustrating and sometimes painful experience, being understood by another person – not even on a deep personal level but just verbally understood – is an amazing blessing and not one to be taken for granted, I'm a fairly boring person when my brain is overloaded by trying to learn a new language – just sitting around with or without people like a bump on a log, Micronesia is really more like an extremely rural and low income area of the U.S. than it is a developing country, though I know how to use English grammar pretty well – I don't yet know how to explain grammar beyond 'you need a ______ here' or 'you don't need a ______ here', thong wearers have it easy (try having a bed sheet rolled up between your cheeks), I guess I really don't need that much in life to be satisfied (the luxury items I have here are access to computers without internet, a camera and my iPod and I suspect I could lose the computer and camera without much difficulty – music is a different story, but if I could listen to live music – the people here love to sing – I think I could part ways with all my electronics). That's all for now, though I'm sure I've learned more. I'll keep building on this list as the years go by.
12/7 I could not ask for a better friend than Jo. The state ship came today, and I got a letter from her that absolutely touched my heart – felt tears coming to my eyes at one point. She didn’t even swing for the fences or say anything out of the ordinary. She’s just so damn GENUINE – so honest and caring and goofy. She included a bunch of ‘extras’ – cut out fall leaves and a short comic strip of ‘Turkey Bowl 2009’. I am so blessed to be her friend.
Letters came in from Blake, Mollie and Catherine, as well. After mail call, Gita, Emily and I came to the high school, swapped movies and watched Volunteers (an older Tom Hanks comedy in which he escapes gambling debts by joining the Peace Corps) – rather appropriate, I thought. Though radio contact with Regina failed, it is a GREAT DAY! I feel a rich man today, blessed with true wealth.
12/8 The other day, all we had for dinner was rice. So my host mother grabs a bottle of ketchup for me. As she brings it over she pauses for a moment and says, ‘barb-e-que’ in an enthusiastic way, while sort of shaking her hips. I really got a kick out of that and laughed like a bastard.
I’m watching teacher development tapes from what looks like the ‘80s. They’re funny and display the sexism of the time (management = men, elementary teachers = women), but they may still end up being somewhat helpful. We’ll see.
Just used the ‘bathroom’ at school for the first time. Definitely walked out into the jungle and popped a squat – complete with leaves for clean up.
12/10 So here I am, doing a bunch of little things in the computer lab (preparing my lessons for next week, adding to my Woleaian dictionary, listening to tunes, etc.) when I should be teaching. Today, a representative from the FSM Embassy in Washington D.C. showed up and asked to speak with the seniors. He’s taken the entire morning – a.k.a., the only periods I teach on Tuesday/Thursday. Anyhow, I offered to burn a movie I have to a DVD for Ramon, my co-teacher for second period senior computers. It’s too big for one DVD, and I was explaining this to him. Great example of the American figuring he knows it all, I’ve decided there’s no way for him to have this movie on DVD when he says, “So, there’s no way to make it two parts?” Not through iDVD – the box I was thinking in – but it can be done through iMovie and iDVD together. Good thing he spoke up. I hope for many similar educational moments.
Ramon just walked in and handed me a memo from the DOE on mainland Yap. The first update discusses the Consolidation Plan (‘Consultation Plan’ as Stan, the author, put it) to merge the three high schools of Yap into the one on mainland Yap. Yeah… fuck. The English is a bit broken, but I think I gathered the main points. What I’ve got going for me (not to mention what all the teachers at OIHS in Falalap, Ulithi and those here at NICHS have going for them) is that the director of the DOE has apparently not yet approved this plan. Really, that helps me a lot more than them. I heard a lot of talk about this in Yap, and it sounds like it’s going to happen. What we’re dealing with is a timeframe issue. Will this happen within my two years? Not sure, but it might. Honestly, as far as English language learning is concerned, it’ll be the right move for these students. As for all the other impacts on the outer islands, I can’t say what the loss of so many community/family members and able-bodied youth will mean for the communities. I can say the initial thought of losing my position here was not a pleasant experience. I don’t want to leave; I’ve just barely started to make some headway into the community. If I leave now/soon, it’ll pretty much all be lost. That’s assuming Peace Corps would send me to Yap High School. Maybe they’d transfer me to the elementary school here, or maybe they’d give me the choice. I don’t know what they’ll do, and I don’t know what I would want. Stick with my students? Stick with my community? Move to the mainland and possibly improve the chances of being visited by my family and maybe increase the viability of my thesis? Or stay the course on Woleai? I don’t know, but this is big and could have a huge impact on my service and my thesis, let alone the people of the outer islands.
12/12 Tonight I saw an early star. “Star light, star bright, first start I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight. I wish that I can stay here two years. That I can make the most of this time. To continue growing and changing. That I can maintain the path I'm on of acclimation, acculturation, and moderate assimilation. I wish that I can treat the people here with all the gratitude, kindness, generosity and honesty they deserve. That I can truly appreciate the beauty of this place. That I can find some measure of peace here. These are many and BIG wishes, I know. But also, if it's not too much trouble, I wish there would be pancakes again sometime in the near future.
12/13 Consider my wish granted – pancakes! Such a beautiful thing to wake up to.
I realize I'm a much happier person when a couple of things are present in my life: 1) somebody to talk with about the big things, you know like life, beliefs, relationships, hopes for the future, that kind of stuff; 2) exercise. I got both of these things, which had been lacking in my world, yesterday – a good day.
I got up Saturday and went to help with the clean up in Lelipeligi. There was a body that came with the ship and after the funeral festivities, which last four days, there is community tidying that takes place, this time involving felling trees, bringing in fresh coral, digging huge burning pits for trash and plant refuse, and an immense amount of cooking by the women. I didn't get to do a whole hell of a lot, but I did carry a couple bags of coral from the boat to the house, helped clear some branches from one of the felled trees, took some pictures, chatted a good bit with a student of mine (Wilson) and also with a representative from the FSM embassy in D.C. (Dominick). There was a great lunch afterwards – pork soup with leafy greens and rice (also taro and fish, but I stayed away from those). Following lunch, I came home, got some things together and went on towards school with a grab bag of potential activities. I stopped by the elementary to let Gita know where I'd be and ended up kicking it with her there for quite a bit, chatting, eating ramen, and looking at kids’ books.
We both went up to the high school with the intention of watching a movie, but instead talked for about two hours. Swingers was the movie we were going to watch, and I mentioned that it plays especially well for those who have suffered intense break-ups in the past. Well she hadn't but friends of hers have experienced many, and Gita experienced them right along with those gals. She noted that some had been quite intense and difficult. I made the comment, “I wonder which is better: to be the type that takes break-ups too hard or to be the type that just lets the end of serious relationships roll off their back”.
It's because I've been wondering about myself. I've been wondering what kind of person I'm becoming. So, that comment and my following explanation sparked the conversation to come, wherein we had the relationships talk. I confided in her that I was well out of my comfort zone with romance in general, that I'm not pleased with the way I've been handling my love life, that romantic interest directed my way still throws me (especially when bearded), and, simply put, I don't really know what to do with it all, but that maybe it's good I'm on a isolated tropical island for two years.
Gita provided some great insights into both my speed in getting over past relationships and about me as a person. She made the same comments about me that only friends as good as Nick have noted (Nick said, “Porter, you and I aren't guys that attract women with our looks.” Gita said, in different words, 'It's your confidence in yourself and what you're doing that is really attractive. No amount of hair on your face is going to change that.').
We transitioned into other topics: community, counseling, friends, etc. It was a great chat and not at all disappointing that we didn't get to watch that movie. She is an awesome person, and I am VERY lucky to be assigned here with her. I walked her home and saw the marigolds that are blooming near her house. Afterwards, I went home and strapped on for a run. I ran to the end of the airstrip and jogged back home through the jungle (the short way). Felt great to be at least jogging the whole time – with a stretching break in the middle. I cooled down in the ocean, showered up and cruised on down to Lelipeligi for the men's circle. I was late, by their standards, but still had a great night drinking and bullshitting with Tommy and the boys. It was a really good night. Came home, ate a light dinner and watched a movie before hitting the sack. Slept decently well, too. Couldn't sleep the whole night through, but what else is new? (I’ve only slept the full night once or twice since we landed in Yap).
12/17 Last night I had an AWESOME experience. So I’m hanging out at school way later than usual, making a Welcome to Woleai DVD to send home. It’s after 8 pm when I start walking home in total darkness, through the jungle, without a light. For some strange reason, I decide I want to take the shortcut path instead of the road. I make it about 40 yards into the jungle before I’m completely lost. The only illumination available is the indi-glo on my watch, which is no replacement for a good flashlight. I’m stomping through the muck (it rained, and hard, throughout the day), slipping over downed trees and stumbling into pigpens (definitely heard a startled ‘oink’ after one failed attempt to regain the trail). There are times I’m sure I’m back on track, quickly followed by the ‘haven’t I already gone this way?’ thought. Eventually I do extricate myself from the jungle, back to where I started, and make the decision I should have the first time, heading for the road. Shortly thereafter, my principal comes driving up with some high school kids in the bed of his pick-up. He gets me in the cab, and we head back to the high school – he tells me we’re dropping off the kids. Actually, we were dropping off a keyboard, then picking up copra, then dropping it off at someone’s house. I came to understand all these actualities as the ride went along. Christmas songs are being sung along the ride – partially in English, partially in Woleaian and with some pop songs mixed in (a major favorite is ‘Wari-yambo’ from Papua New Guinea). We go a little ways passed my house, but I figure I can just head back after we stop. Well, Louis (my principal) asks, ‘You’re running away from playing Santa?’ – referencing the dropping off of the copra. I stick around and as we start to unload, everyone breaks out in song and dance. They’re laughing and singing while unloading the copra and, in a local custom for honoring people, rubbing powder on each other’s shoulders and giving overly generous spritsings of cologne and perfume. I’m joining in, and it’s AWESOME – so fun. They ask to put the powder and whatnot on me, to honor me. Of course I say ‘yes’. It’s the most connected I’ve felt to the community since arriving. That’s a special feeling that I’ll hold onto for a long time.
Also last night, I was flipping through the picture book Jo made for me when I left Portland, and – as has happened a few times since I’ve been here – I was struck by how much I miss hanging out and going to bars with JT. There are a few pictures in there that show us drinking together, and gosh, it was just damn fun. I hope that guy still comes out. Need to contact him when I get back to Yap.
12/18 So we canceled classes for today. Fortunately it was arranged well ahead of time during the staff meeting yesterday after classes. I really don’t understand why planning for the future is so lacking here. Maybe because the potential for a devastating accident lies about at all times, threatening to wipe out the best laid plans. I try to be patient, but the shock of their last minute decisions (which seem to be known well ahead of time by all involved but me) and the detrimental impact they have on the classes I’m involved with tends to leave me off-balance and rather obvious with regards to my discontent.
Anyhow, what is really cool about classes being canceled was getting a sneak peak of the students’ Christmas presentations. Each class does a skit and a song performance during the Christmas celebration, and then there’s a full school performance. It’s fun, and they show some impressive confidence in performing in front of their fellow students and community that I’ll definitely hold against them next semester when they have to talk in class. Ha, chumps!
12/24 Something hit me a week ago, just like that proverbial ‘ton of bricks’. I was writing a letter to Jo (typing, actually) & responding to a question she asked. I had told her earlier that I had already experienced personal growth during my time in Pohnpei. She wanted to know if I could describe that better. Well, in thinking about that, I couldn’t actually see any growth. In fact, thinking about where I was at seven days ago, I realized I had actually regressed. Looking at myself, & who I was becoming since arriving in Yap, I was disappointed. All I could see was a person less caring of/interested in others, less engaged with his community, less fun-loving, less intellectually active, less interesting – simply put: less human. That told me, very clearly, ‘you’re depressed’.
So I hashed it out, right there in her letter. Then I visited Gita, not intending to bring it up, but we got onto a topic that brought it forth. I dumped it all out, rehashing it, processing. We decided to start a garden together – not really related but something cool that came of that conversation. Walking home, I was a little bit lighter. Footsteps came a bit easier. That night, I slept a little sounder. Woke up the next day a bit more refreshed. Lived a little more earnestly that day. I finished up letters to folks back home (to Kc and Megan, no less) on Saturday. Gita and I prepared our mail and got it sent off, watched a movie and made our way to the high school Christmas performance. I could tell I was feeling even better, somehow.
By the time I got up on Monday, I felt a real measure of peace. I drank coffee (for the first time ever) with Cypriano, ate doughnuts and thought about the day. I wandered down to the church, coffee in hand, just taking a morning stroll. When I got back home, a flurry of activity began. Full, deep cleaning and organizing of my room, washing dishes, doing my laundry (cool new system that resembles butter churning), collecting assorted ‘trash’ to reuse in gardening and faluba making, and cleaning up the bottles I found. After all that cleaning there was only one thing I wanted to do, strap on for a run. So down to the airstrip and back I went (all on the road, with only thirty seconds of walking on the return trip). Definitely ready to be done running, yet brimming with newfound energy, I made it back home. Stretching and coconut drinking ensued. Gita stops by and is pleasantly surprised by my sudden explosion of energy and enthusiasm.
And here come the bricks again. Bam! I’m reborn. We decide to find out where our plot of land is and have Johanna show us to our space. We’ve spent three days preparing the bed, so far, using techniques described in a book Gita got from Peace Corps Headquarters in Pohnpei. It’s awesome stuff and resonates so strongly with what I studied in Illinois that my brain is booting back up.
I’m connecting better with my host family, with the community (for example, the second day of gardening, I goofed around with some kids who pretended to shoot me while I pretended to be shot by them), and with Gita; physical activity is back in a BIG way in my life (gardening, especially bed prep is hard, rewarding work), I’m getting in touch with the earth, my brain is running a million miles a minute connecting grad school studies with gardening and thinking about the future (like, could I make a go at intensive gardening/mini-agriculture back stateside? Could this be a calling? Kind of feels like it), and my personality is returning (thanks in large part to Gita’s friendship). It boils down to this: I’M BACK BITCHES! Physically, emotionally, mentally, and socially back. Every – single – day, life gets better, life gets more real, I get more settled. It’s like I planted a tiny seed of life in the soil of Woleai when I arrived and then walked away. This past week, I’ve tended that seed and the soil. A life is springing up, with vigor, and I see – more and more – how that life is taking root in this community and finding a place among the other crops. I can do this.
Oh, and merry Christmas Eve!
I’m realizing (turns out today is realizations day) that this ‘Thoughts’ document has really replaced both my journal and my blog. I am still trying to write blogs, but these entries are more what I had envisioned when I started the blog. Those I write intentionally for the blog are more like what I didn’t want to do – long-winded stories and excruciatingly detailed play-by-play of life (a.k.a. Boring Town, population: my readers). Time to make the switch to (hopefully) more interesting entries. It does entail exposing a bit more of my inner-life and struggles, but why not?
So I’m trying to use this laminator at school. It’s a simple contraption – plug it in, turn it on; it heats up, the rollers inside pull your document with the lamination sheet through, and the heat activates the glue. It’s a glorified and highly specialized iron. I know how to use an iron. But the damn thing won’t take the sheets. I hear the motor going – no dice. I unplug it, flip over (after letting it cool down) and start to unscrew it so I can get inside. There is a clearly stated warning: “Electrical shock hazard. Do not open. No user-serviceable parts. Blah-blah-blah”. So I get it open – careful to avoid all chords (would have killed me to be proved wrong by that damn sticker) – and, as I expected, the fix is minor. Just had to scoot over a cog so the motor could engage the rollers. Bam! What’s up, laminator? No ‘user-serviceable parts’, WHAT? Yeah, supposing it works now, I can make an argument for how I’m smarter than this particular laminator. Oh, oh yes – it does feel good.
Shit, still doesn’t work.
Oh ho! But don’t count him out yet, folks. Our hero has returned with renewed spirit! And, what’s this? Lo-and-behold! He is victorious! Snap! You ain’t got nothin’, ya punk-sucka laminator! More like lame-in-ator! Ha, ha!
I’m very grateful that Gita is the other PCV on this island. She is a cool person, goofy at times, reflective, intelligent, fun, crafty, & just a great person to be sharing this experience with. Like I said before, I was having a bit of a tough time for a while that I’m really pulling out of now. The friendship Gita and I are developing has been a big help and a major reason why I’m coming back to me. What’s really amazing is that it’s a genuine friendship, one that could have just as easily developed back stateside. The reason that’s cool is I think the possibility exists for friendship in Peace Corps to be based on a going through the same difficult process together rather than actually connecting on a personal level. Another thing that I appreciate greatly about Gita is her motivation for starting our garden, because her enthusiasm really made it happen. That project is another huge part of why I’m getting back on track as a person and is something that could be the start of a deeper, lifelong relationship with the planet. Plus, we’re going to be rolling in desperately missed vegetables. I can’t wait.
12/28 The Christmas season is winding down here in Woleai. We’ve had ‘Gift Day’ and Christmas Drop on the 19th, high school and elementary Christmas performances on the 20th and 21st (respectively), Christmas Mass on the 24th (10pm-12am), the Christmas Day barbecue with skits and individual village performances on the 25th, and Holy Family Day on the 27th (also my birthday, of course). It’s been busy, real busy and kind of puts our little one-day celebrations back in the states to shame. The whole island gets in on these festivities. They last all day long, always involve a feast and singing and dancing and drinking (at least on the part of the men). It’s really worn me out and, unsurprisingly, combined with the increased sugar intake of coffee/doughnut mornings weakening my immune system, I’ve gotten sick. First time I’ve been sick on my birthday that I can remember. Hit me pretty good yesterday and has been hanging around today as well. I crawled into bed at 3:30pm yesterday and didn’t emerge, begrudgingly, to take on the world till 7:30am today. Gita and I had planned to do some gardening this morning, starting at 7:30am. Well, clearly, I shot a hole in that plan.
Anyhow, all the celebrations have been fun and really interesting. I’ve seen an amazing side of this community through its holiday spirit and cheer. I’m more impressed by most of the activities and joy spread throughout the community than the constant drinking circles by the men. They are getting absolutely hammered, day-after-day. It’s unbelievable. They’re always trying to get me to join in, but being sick and exhausted doesn’t really leave me inclined to do so. I’ve had to duck them a couple of times to get work in on the garden or just some quality, un-inebriated sleep. I think they might be getting a little upset at my lack of participation. Once I’m back to, let’s say 75% health, I’ll rejoin.
One last note for right now, I got some AWESOME news yesterday before passing out. I met this guy, Ken U. – he says he shortened his name to make it easier on folks in college, and the running joke was somebody calling out, ‘Ken U.!’ and him replying, ‘Yes I can!’). He lives next to the church in the one truly Western-style house on Falalap. Anyhow, he wanted to give me a birthday drink. As I had no good excuses, it was already poured, and it consisted mainly of red wine, I obliged him. The first thing I noticed about Ken was his impeccable English. Sounds like he grew up in the States, but apparently he just went to college and grad school in California and Utah for a few years. Anyhow, he works with the Jesuits here in Micronesia and tells me about a JVI volunteer in Pohnpei that’s finishing her service and interested in coming to Woleai to work her last couple of months. Oh really? What’s her name, I ask. Josephine! Oh yeah, Jo might be coming to Falalap for the summer! The wheels are already in motion. It just might be the best birthday gift I’ve ever received – barely edging Pat Williamson’s $1 gift certificate to McDonald’s with the clever ‘Don’t spend it all in one place’ tagline written on it.
12/29 Still sick, looking pretty ragged around the edges… except my hair! Definitely just trimmed up my weave. The beard is in full effect, though (four and a half months and counting). It’s an interesting look, not one I’m used to. However, I think it’ll work for the time being.
You know, I’m really missing A Treat. He’s a good dude. Was just thinking about how good he is at making one word out of two, in funny combinations. Can’t think of any examples right now, but it’s a uniquely Aaron skill. I wonder if he’s got a job in Rochester yet, how Lauren is doing in med school (excellently, I’m sure), and how married life is Treating them (get it? ‘Treat’ing them? Classic).
So I got some music from Gita the other day – all her music, to be exact. I’ve been a little desperate for new tunes. Turns out she has a few songs by Hilary Duff, one of which just came on. Made me think of my brother, oddly enough (especially odd to any who know his taste in music). The reason comes from the Porter family reunion we all attended in Michigan during summer ’06. The Idaho Porters pretty much all ended up at a resort outside of Thompson, MI (really tiny town) called Crystal Mountain Resort. We decided the name denotes the fact that you can’t actually see the ‘mountain’ they claim to have there for winter skiing – seriously, it’s the bunniest of bunny hills – the whole ‘mountain’. Anyhow, my family had our own condo – a pretty sweet set up: two bedrooms (the master set up as a loft on the second floor), two baths, full kitchen, and a living room. There were even two televisions, which seemed silly for the size of the place. Well, one evening after the festivities, this unnecessary feature allowed for a good laugh. Jon and I want to watch a movie but not the same movie. I head downstairs and he stays up in the master bedroom/loft where we were sleeping. Each of our movies finished up at about the same time, and instead of going back upstairs, I stay put. We’re both channel surfing aimlessly. Well, I land on this ABC Family movie, starring Hilary Duff as a modern Cinderella. Needless to say, it’s not exactly the pinnacle of cinematic efforts. That said, I decide to stick with it (don’t ask me why, I really have no idea). After about twenty minutes, I notice that sort of echo-like sound, which happens when two TVs are on the same program but in different rooms. Jon notices it too, and practically in unison, we ask, ‘Are you seriously watching that?’ We laughed like bastards, but what’s really great is I grabbed a few beers, went upstairs, and we watched the whole damn thing. Oh yeah, couple badasses right there, unable to shut off a made-for-TV-movie starring Hilary Duff as a 2000s Cinderella. Mothers lock up your daughters!
The volunteer on Falalus, Emily, got some videos on a flash drive in the mail with the last ship. She was kind enough to let me copy them over onto a computer in my high school’s lab. There were a couple movies and a season of this television show, Dead Like Me. I just finished watching a few episodes, which are delightful, and there were a couple of interesting things to note in the third one. At one point, the main character gets a nasty stain on her blouse and has to borrow a shirt from her boss. The shirt is a jersey for the company softball team – named the Heffalumps. This might not register with the majority out there, but members of a particular men’s lacrosse club will certainly see why that caught my attention. Woozles and Heffalumps are the main ‘villains’ that fill Winney the Pooh with fright. ‘The Woozles’ (they come in ones and twoozles) also happens to be the name of a lacrosse team which my buddies and I play for in the summer. Before my time on the squad, The Woozles dominated ‘The Brawl in McCall’ summer tourney. After bringing home several championships, another team changed their name to The Heffalumps in a FUTILE effort to drum up enough team moral to take the championship away from the mighty Woozles. But no one could pull off a tournament victory until The Woozles gracefully bowed out of the Brawl, to head to bigger and better pastures.
The second interesting connection to life back stateside was a conversation that followed the main character mentioning she’d just been dreaming of frogs. A supporting actor then remarks that he’d seen a movie about frogs, titled Frogs, wherein many frogs became quite dangerous and ate the movie’s cast. Well, I just so happened to have watched that very movie with one Kc Fritzsche this past summer in Illinois. So, it’s a nice double bonus to have a very enjoyable show also contain unexpected and interesting reminders of those I miss at home. Hope you’re all doing super well!
12/31 A boy died this morning. It’s New Year’s Eve, and a member – a young member – of this community is lost. To die in Woleai is to be truly lost to the islands. Your name stops being spoken, your possessions are gotten rid of. And this is a boy… was a boy. His name was Culvert, and he had an advanced disease of some sort – possibly autoimmune, lymphatic, cancerous. I talked before about the local medicine being used to ‘cure’ him.
This is tough to take. I didn’t know Culvert well or really ever interact with him, but Gita did. She quite liked him, and his death is affecting her. Through her, I learned some about Culvert and could see her attachment to him. In this way, I got to know him and grew a little attached myself. She also talked frequently about her frustrations over the family’s refusal to try modern medicine. It likely could have helped, and it’s hard not to let doubts about the family’s depth of care for him creep in when thinking about the concerns they expressed over the cost of travel and hospitals. Now it’s even more difficult. Gita is my best friend here – not only because we’re both PCVs/American – and her pain is hard for me. She’s good people. I hope I can be a good friend to her and a source of support.
It’s sad, but Culvert is on to a new journey. We don’t get to know what that is, exactly, and that’s what makes it so sad – uncertainty. We knew, to a degree, what he had here and what we had with him here. Now it’s anyone’s guess, but no matter what the next phase of life is, I think we can be assured there is one. That alone helps me, at least a little.
1/1 Another morning and another death. Hard to know what to make of this. One thing that does seem clear now is what Gita said yesterday, “They deal with a lot of death here”.
This is the third funeral we’ve have been here for. I don’t know the woman who died, don’t think Gita does either. I do know I’m starting to hate it when my host father asks me, “You know what happened this morning?” when I first wake up. Two days in a row, those have been his first words to me. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?! I just woke up, and – as of now – the angel of death isn’t paying me personal visits to tell who’s been taken during the night. I know he just wants to inform me, and it’s not his words but the knowledge following them that upset me, but come on! Well, I’m ready for a nice long stretch without death creeping up into daily life.
On a different note, there was a New Year’s Eve celebration last night, surprisingly, and it was really fun. I don’t feel like getting into it right now, though. Don’t feel I’m in the proper mood to accurately describe the joy of the event.
1/4 Back to school… back to school. Prove to dad that I’m no fool…
Alright, time to get back into the groove of a daily schedule. Sometimes I think I prefer not knowing exactly what to do with a day. Having all that potential staring me in the face makes everyday a story with a surprise ending. Doing something productive leaves me feeling satisfied, knowing I got stuff done. On the other hand, doing nothing can be just as satisfying but more in a ‘take that American standards of productivity’ kind of way. Both put a smile on my face. However, having a daily schedule eases the burden of decision-making, which isn’t my favorite activity. Those who know me know I like to deflect the responsibility of deciding, and that’s actually a helpful trait for my work at the school. Working with my co-teachers, my job is to help them build their own capacity for planning and teaching their classes. I put the burden for selecting class material on them, make them think of what should be covered before I put in my two cents, which is starting to work out. I’m really starting to teach and lesson plan with the co-teachers. English Club is about to kick off, thanks in large part to the other club advisors, Martin and Charles. So, although I like flying by the seat of my pants for daily planning, I am starting to really like being at school. Things are starting to come together in a really good way, confidence is building, student rapport is picking up, and maybe the guys I’m teaching with are starting to pick up something from me – maybe.
I’m really excited to see how something I put in motion today pans out. My beard has been growing for almost five months now, and it’s time to take it off. Something fun needs to be done with it first, though. I made an announcement during assembly this morning; students who are interested can turn in sketches of how they’d like me to shave my beard: mustache, goatee, chops, or something crazy? Who knows? After I have the submissions, I’ll pick a couple/three choices and have the kids vote for the winner on Friday morning. I’m very curious to see what they come up with and stoked to make it reality. Ha! Probably gonna look like an idiot.
Just heard from Emily, who talked with Regina, we’re headed back to Yap in three weeks. Wow. It's the damnedest thing; just yesterday the three of us were talking about how excited we are to get back to the main island – largely for the food. But as soon as I heard about the planned trip, I got a strong sensation that I don't want to leave. I want to stay in my community; I want to stay in my classes. Leaving now (nowish) will be pretty rough on my schedule for class material, student rapport, class consistency, and, more simply, it'll break up my personal flow. There is a lot for me to get done in Yap, though, and I imagine the difference between leaving at the end of January versus the end of February will be fairly slight. I wonder when the next trip to Yap after that will be... maybe not till December.
1/7 I’m feeling ready to describe New Year’s Eve – my keel is evened, deck leveled, mojo back in force, whatever. The pain of back-to-back deaths in the community has ebbed, and I’m feeling good, again. I wrote a little story about it to use for a typing practice game (“Who can type the most in five-minutes without looking at their keyboard?”) in the section of senior computers I teach (actually teaching now, have been since just before the Christmas Break), and I think I’ll go with that for my description.
“New Year’s Eve”
On New Year’s Eve 2009, residents from the northern villages of Falalap, Woleai came together to celebrate with a gift exchange. We call it the Santa Claus Gift Exchange. It happens every year. A couple weeks before the Exchange, those who want to participate put their names on the list and are given a name to prepare a gift for. For gifts, we make local foods, weave baskets, and buy things from the store like candy and school supplies. Then we weave a basket to put our gift in before we go to the Exchange. We usually enjoy ourselves at the Gift Exchange, and this year there was a special surprise that made it even more fun.
The Gift Exchange started after the New Year’s mass ended, and the people participating trickled in slowly, dropping their gifts off at the stage that had been setup. Allentino made the final arrangements for the stage and music with a couple of high school students and started to play songs on his computer. It was fun to sit and listen to the music with our friends while we waited to start. Then came the surprise.
Allentino made the announcement that we were ready to begin, which we expected, but then he asked the new Peace Corps volunteers, Porter and Gita, to come play Santa Claus and hand out the gifts! He asked not only this but also that they dance while giving the gifts.
Gita and Porter hesitated for a moment before agreeing to undertake the great responsibility of being Santa Claus for the night. As we all know, there is not a more important job on Earth than the sacred duty of handing out gifts. The two volunteers steeled their nerve and took the stage. Porter read the tags on the gifts and called out the names using the microphone, and Gita presented the presents. Each time after announcing the names, Gita and Porter danced around the circle in the goofiest way they could manage. We all laughed at how funny these two white people looked when doing their jigs for us. Not only did they dance but they also tried to get everyone receiving a gift to dance as well. Some danced, and some were too embarrassed to dance. It was much better when the person getting a gift danced, even if it was just a little bit.
And that’s how things happened for the first part of the Gift Exchange, which was the time when kids got their gifts. Once the last kid’s gift had been given, we started with the adults’ gifts. This time, Allentino called out the names (Porter was having trouble with pronunciation). Gita and Porter danced around and gave each gift out. Just like before, there was much laughter, a little bit of dancing by those getting gifts (more than the kids), and an all-around good time. By the time we were done, it was after 11 pm and almost 2010! Hopefully next year’s Santa Claus Gift Exchange will be as much fun, maybe even more!
1/8 Just had the BEST class of the year! Best class! And it was a class on GRAMMAR! Can you believe that?! I can't. Wow, that was so awesome. I just gave them a big assignment on Monday – research essay – and started the class by asking if they had started working on the their topics yet (a couple had) and then if they had any questions about the assignment (no one did). I handed back their essays from second quarter and gave them a few minutes to look them over. Once that was done, I again solicited their questions (“Anything confusing?”) and got the old stonewall. I know it's not all clear to them, but that's cool. It's on them to ask. I noticed some common problems in their papers, and there's a great text/workbook here specifically focusing on the most common issues Pacific Islanders have with English. So I used the info and activities in it (Island English) to start covering the rough spots, and the damnedest thing happen – they participated! Without ANY prodding or lecturing from me. I can't explain it, and I DON'T CARE TO! They identified and corrected sentences with improper plurals and/or incorrect usage of 'a' versus 's' ('a car' – right – versus 'a cars' – wrong), spoke ALOUD and sometimes as an INDIVIDUAL! That is HUGE for them, speaking up in front of class. They also read all the correct sentences without delay, as a class and LOUDLY! I swear to god, I almost teared up at one point. Honestly, I had to check myself while I turned to the board to write the next sentence. I haven't felt better than I do right now, at any point during my time in Micronesia.
On top of that, my co-teacher clearly took note, because he just came up to me to ask about the book I was pulling the activities from. He wants to improve his teaching! Holy shit, I don't even know what to do with myself, right now. My head is swimming in a sea of good vibes, and I don't think I can focus on anything. I tell you what, I can see why people teach, how they can put up with poor wages and heaps of bureaucracy. This feeling is the stuff 'loving your job' is made of. I hope third period goes even half as well.
A little sour with the sweet, nobody turned in drawings of how I should shave my beard. I really thought they’d get a kick out of that, but I was clearly wrong. It’s ok, though. I’ll just have to pick my own ridiculous facial hair arrangement. I’m thinking monster-chops; they’re a favorite of mine. You know the kind that almost reach the chin and take up most of the cheeks? Oh yeah, makes you look hardcore, even if you’re really not at all (a.k.a., this guy). Although I do quite enjoy twisting the ends up, oh-so fashionably, I’m really looking forward to getting rid of my mustache. It’s freakin’ annoying when I eat. Anyhow, it’s the students’ loss, but maybe they’ll get another chance later on in my service. The ol’ beard tends to come and go ‘bout as often as the tide.
1/9 I was just thinking about how much I miss hitting the Shell convenience store at Pennsylvania Station (a very regal name for a little strip mall highlighted by a gas station, Great Clips salon and a dry cleaner’s) with Blake and Chris. We’d often stop there to pick up a 12-pack of cheap beer (getting the other two guys to groan at your choice was always a bonus) on our way to the Ann Morrison Park disc golf course for a round of Beer Bag Dolfin’ (disc golf = dolf = dolfin’). Hope you boys have squeezed in some rounds without me – you too, DB. You know what also rocked? Mongolian BBQ after a nice day of dolfin’ and drinkin’. Life was pretty sweet in B-town. I’m excited to see what it’ll be like in late 2011.
1/11 Something I really enjoy about listening to music while running is the way a song can set in motion very interesting trains of thought. They’re usually things that don’t occur to me at other times listening to the same songs. It’s a special quality about running, something in the repetition, exertion and mindfulness of my surroundings that makes way for unexpected ponderings and personal revelations.
I had just such an experience yesterday afternoon. One thought came out of hearing ‘Two Pina Coladas’ by Garth Brooks. It got me thinking about another song I’ve heard – ‘You’re My Jamaica’ – a classic country song. Made me think of Jimmy Buffet and how so many country musicians sing about going to or living on a tropical island. It’s always seemed rather peculiar to me that there should be such a strong focus on places so much different from those country singers claim to be from and to love – Tennessee, Texas and the Breadbasket Plains states. I mean, their songs are aimed at that audience as well: blue collar laborers, farmers, ranchers, cowboys, etc. So, for songs about island life to be consistently cropping up, they must also be well received by country music fans. Then I started thinking, maybe there’s some connection between the two lifestyles, and that this similarity, combined with the starkly contrasting environments, might be what makes thoughts and songs about being somewhere like the Caribbean so appealing. Having something familiar and comforting while being somewhere that, by all appearances, is very different from daily life may be what makes the fantasy of whisking away so fun. And I thought, you know, there really is a shared quality amongst farmers, ranchers and islanders. They’re people who live from, of, by and largely for the land. This life emphasizes the great importance of time as measured by seasons and the movements of the Earth while disregarding the rigid fabrications of hours and minutes. There is a deep, ingrained understanding of the power of nature and the balance of rain and sunshine, sowing and harvesting, man and animal and plant, life and death – an understanding of how fragile it can all be and the need to accept and adapt to the lack of exact predictability in nature. So the most basic understandings that underpin much of life for the ‘authentic’ country music fan can be maintained when ‘escaping’ to the Bahamas while feelings of responsibility and stress may be left behind. Guess it makes a lot of sense that they’d focus so heavily on that possibility. And this is what I’m saying; running draws forth weird ideas from and takes me down mental paths even more curious and fun in than those I find through the jungles of Woleai for my feet.
Yesterday we heard some interesting news about the ship. Turns out there’s some sort of medical or surveying team coming out on the ship, and their work will make the voyage several weeks longer than it would be otherwise. So instead of getting to Yap at the end of January, we’re not scheduled to get there till mid to late February. Seems like this will be a regular occurrence – ever-shifting ship schedules and, with each shift, new information about what the ship or it’s passengers are doing on the voyage, which explain why plans keep shifting. And it seems that folks know the whole story but only met it out over time. What’s hard to understand is why we can’t just get the full story the first time around. Why do people withhold important info from Gita and I? Why is it so difficult to get a complete answer? I know there are cultural differences underlying this, but it still feels like being lied to or intentionally mislead. Well, whatever. Can’t do anything about it. Just have to go with the flow.
Wanted to throw a shout out to my buddy, Tim Falen. Was just thinking of afternoon rounds of disc golf at Ann Morrison and evening rounds of brew at Table Rock. It was awesome to kick it and have a good time getting to know you over the summer, man. Hope school and married life are treating you well. Give my best to Kimberly. Not sure if you know about/read my blog, but maybe Amy can pass along the message, if you don’t.
Speaking of Amy, I wonder how school is going for you? I haven’t heard from you in a while, and I guess that means you’re super busy, as usual. I hope your enthusiasm hasn’t waned (not now, not eva!) and that your upcoming job hunt goes smoothly and quickly. Give Joe a high-five for me!
Clearly I’m in a ‘think about folks back home’ mood right now, and lots of things are reminding me of different people. Like the music I’m listening to. Well, an old favorite country song just popped on. It’s a Tim McGraw song from what I think is his first album. A major part of the chorus is “I had a barbeque stain on my white t-shirt; she was killin’ me in that mini-skirt”. He really twangs it up on those italicized words. When I first heard this song, I was not a big country fan, but my buddy Dave was. He loved the song, kept the radio in his truck tuned to country most the time, and, as he was the main driver between the two of us, I began to hear plenty of music I wouldn’t have otherwise. This particular song was one I liked to rib Dave about, really over-exaggerating the twang. Unwittingly, I began to enjoy it and many other songs till I was a bona fide fan. He and I would sing along loudly as we rumbled around Boise and Gooding, chomping down Fruity Mentos, giving each other a hard time, and talking about girls, Dave’s latest, greatest plan for us to undertake, or what the future would be like for our friendship.
I didn’t get to see much of Dave before I left for Peace Corps, and I’ve started to wonder whether or not he wants to spend time with me. It is really disheartening, because he’s one of my oldest friends and a hugely important part of my life. To lose touch with him and have our friendship fade would be a tragedy. Honestly. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a brother, and I want to keep him in my life. I hope law school is going well, Dave. I hope you and Jacinda are still doing great, that your family is all living well, and that you and I will be in touch before too long.
I’m noticing some significant progress in my language skills here. Mainly, I can hear what’s being said much more clearly than when I arrived. I’m still a long way off from catching what people are saying when they hit that high gear and really pelt me with the rapid fire. However, when they speak casually, I find I can really pick out the words, the flow of their speech – even if I don’t understand all the words they’re saying. It’s a really cool experience – one I’ve never had before. The closest was being able to get the gist, if not every word, of the articles in a Spanish language newsletter in Normal, IL.
Producing my own thoughts in Woleaian is a slow but steady struggle. Unfortunately for my learning but fortunately for my sanity, there’s not a pressing need for me to express myself in Woleaian all the time. I can speak with most folks in English, which is not what one might expect in an island chain as isolated from the outside world as you’re likely to find on the planet.
1/12 No sooner than I lament my inability to speak with the people here in their language, I have a great little chat with my host mother! She and I hung out last night after I got home from school, and there was a stretch were I actually understood everything she said! That’s huge for me. Absolutely huge. We were shooting the breeze about food and what she’d like me to bring back from Yap. I remembered I had been given a cigarette last month that I wanted to give to her. I had been holding on to that one and another, trying to save up enough to make a nice gift to the family, but the island has basically run out of tobacco. So I knew she’d really appreciate that little surprise. She told me about when Regina had visited and asked the family a series of questions: do you smoke, drink alcohol, drink coffee, chew betel nut? The answers were ‘yes, yes, yes, and yes’. Marianna gets a big kick out of this, and I realized I’d understood almost every word and really understood what she’d said without having to fill in gaps. That was really cool. I told her that I’d understood, and that when I first arrived, I didn’t understand much. Fittingly, the next words out of her mouth went completely over my head. I like this alternating confidence boosting and subsequent humbling. Keeps me in check.
1/13 So here’s something I find interesting. My first day in a classroom here on Woleai, I was asked by my co-teacher to answer a student’s question. Both the student and I were a little surprised by this request. He because I was brand new, and brand new people are very rare on this island. I because I had explained to my co-teacher that observing would be the extent of my activities in class for a few weeks. Anyhow, I thought, ‘what the hell?’ and tried to answer the question. The student, Calwin, immediately asked Charles, my co-teacher, something in Woleaian. This presented my first major challenge, get the students to talk with me. I also marked this particular student, who is absurdly fit and muscular and covered with tattoos that would be best described as the ‘Hell’s Angels Biker’ variety, as an ‘opportunity’ student (as they are lovingly referred to in the States, as I understand it). I found him after class and asked, in Woleaian, what he hoped to do after graduating. “Join soldier,” was his response. Oh man, and you should have seen the sidelong look he was giving me out of the corner of his eye, as he refused to face me – sizing me up with great distrust. All this, of course, reinforced my view of him as a tough case and apparent island badass.
As it turns out, I see him more clearly now – as one of my most engaged, capable and friendly students. Cal has shown ever-growing enthusiasm in class and a real aptitude with English grammar, and he always acknowledges me around the island, sharing a smile as we pass. He’s also one of the few students in my class that has taken the initiative to talk to me outside of class about an assignment. So clearly, I’m very to have had my expectations go unfulfilled in this instance.
Violated expectations actually are quite the norm in the FSM, from my experience. Seems like anytime I’ve made an assumption, taken something for granted, I’ve been presented with a situation that does not meet that expectation. For instance, in mainland Yap, we ate at this pleasant little restaurant, Oasis. They have fare mostly aimed at the tourists coming on off cruise ships or visiting Yap for its world-renowned scuba diving. So it’s pretty American friendly, with entrées like grilled cheese sandwiches, ham/cheeseburgers, veggie burgers, and chicken sandwiches.
The burgers were pretty standard with just the slightest oddity of flavor that I had difficulty putting my finger on. This oddity was revealed through the grilled cheese sandwich, of all things. Feeling particularly frugal one day (as Peace Corps mysteriously did not provide our living allowance for a month during our time in Yap – something to do with an auditor in Pohnpei?) and wanting something comforting from home, Gita and I ordered a couple grilled cheeses. Found out that Yapese folks like to add AMPLE amounts of sugar to their bread when they bake it – a feature that is just barely perceptible with a cheeseburger but quite obvious with a grilled cheese. The veggie burger was actually a pile of pan-fried salad mix (iceberg and red lettuce and carrot shavings, mainly), and all this left me unwilling to spring the $6.50 for the chicken sandwich, especially considering my growing comfort with the $3.50 hamburger (with fries, small salad and piece of fruit) – a full meal and one of the cheapest items on the menu. I could scarcely get a cheaper lunch at the convenience stores around town. Well actually, the YCA (Yap Cooperative Association) grocery store sells an ‘Asian noodle’ dish for $1.60 that was my primary lunch choice once money got really tight.
Hmmm… I had other examples that I jotted down when I was first thinking up this list, but I waited so long to write this that now it’s tough to remember what many of my expectations were when I first got to Micronesia. I see the words ‘clothes, work, home life, and condition of community’ on my violated expectations list and don’t remember what I had to say about most of them. I do remember that I didn’t expect to end up in such a high functioning, tight-knit community. I mean, they have the market cornered on a strong sense of community and undertaking cooperative projects. Damn near everything they do here is either an island-wide or village-wide or full-family effort (the distinction between the first two and the third is almost negligible). It’s impressive. Welp, whatever, that’s all I’ve got for now.
1/14 There is a bell at the high school in Woleai Atoll. Just like its American counterparts and inspiration, Neighboring Island Central High School rings its bell at the start of the day, before/after classes, and to signify the start of breaks. Unlike schools stateside, the NICHS bell isn’t connected to a clock that schedules the periods and length of activity, though this appears to have once been the case. The housing for the indoor control box of the bell clearly has a clock built into it, but as an access panel stands ajar and presumably important internal mechanisms and wiring spill forth, it’s clear to see whatever function it originally served has since been retired. Some of the wires have been spliced to a light switch that, when flicked on by whoever is nearest at the appropriate times, starts the bell to a furious, high-pitched and more than loud-enough ringing. This situation has a couple of consequences: 1) the time at which the bell is rung varies significantly – by American standards – day-to-day and even within the day, because it depends on someone noticing that it’s time to ring it and caring to either do so or tell someone else to, and 2) the length of time for which the bell is rung can also vary greatly, depending on who is ringing it. And this second consequence is what inspired me to write about the bell today. Some of the folks here will ring that damn bell for almost a full freakin’ minute! I get so sick of hearing it, and every additional second is that much more annoying than the one before. Oh man, but that’s nothing compared to getting caught walking by the bell as it goes off – sweet sassy.
I’ve been thinking about Billy D, Big Bill Dillon, the Dillionaire recently. He was married this past summer – to a wonderful woman, Cali – just after I left for the Peace Corps. Earlier in the summer, he bought a house. He’s held a steady job for years now, working in state then county corrections facilities. Bill has really built up a life, and it’s inspiring.
I feel like Bill always had a clearer vision of the future than myself, and I know he’s always had a better idea of what he wants in life than me. He’s known that marriage was on his horizon for years, just needed to find the right woman (so awesome that he has!). I, on the other hand, have tended to waffle back and forth, questioning my ability to even start a romantic relationship, let alone sustain one for the rest of my life – especially during the years following my first major break-up when romance was all but non-existent in my life. Bill felt his calling to public service in law enforcement before he graduated high school, and I’ve hoped for some sort of epiphany during my time in grad school and Peace Corps (a scant seven and a half years after graduation). So far I know I want to do some gardening/mini-agriculture – a start.
Anyhow, what I’m getting at is that the difference between having a friend like Bill and not is like the difference between having a flashlight when lost in the jungle at night and not. His example illuminates the dark and helps me find the path that will lead to the life I want. Now, I haven’t been lost with a flashlight in the jungle here yet, but certainly have without one. I can imagine the difference. Hell, with a flashlight, I’d be hard pressed to get lost at night here. Maybe I am already on the path, thanks in large part to the light Bill and others have shared with me, but mine is just a bit longer. Maybe it’s not longer at all, and I’m just not letting myself see that I’m already living the life I want. Maybe the life I want is the path, not the destination. (insert smooth transition from jungle to mountain path analogy here) Maybe we’re all on a perpetual hike up the chain of mountain lakes that comprise our life’s distinct phases – each different and beautiful in its own way, not better or worse than another, but with unique lessons to teach us and joys to share. Maybe I don’t know shit, and I’m just a guy in an extended adolescence/young adulthood trying to figure himself and his life out while attempting to sound profound.
1/15 A barrier of sorts dropped with my host family a little while ago. When I first arrived, I only received things, never gave. It wasn’t allowed. Over time though, some comforts motivated my host mom to change her mind, and she started to ask for mosquito coils. I excitedly gave her a box, and it was gone in about three-quarters the time it takes me to go through one coil. Ok, so rationing such things is an important thing for me to help the family with. I accordingly started only giving only one coil at a time. As with betel nut, which they chew whole for a time after a fresh shipment arrives and gradually work down to quarter shells as the coveted nuts run out, each mosquito coil goes much further when getting the next is in doubt.
Another item for which the barrier has completely disappeared is coffee. Starting to drink that particular beverage has been clutch for gaining position in the family as more of a member and less of a guest, by the way. Sipping a cup of joe with Letchipy or Cypriano creates precious common ground for us to come to from our metaphorical islands. Of course, though, there’s a rub. The jar of Maxwell House instant that I picked up from Blue Lagoon ran $14.95, and along with the last thu I was able to add to my collection, it cleaned me out. I have a buck-six left in my money zip-lock. Clearly another jar is out of the question till I get to Yap, and I have become quickly accustomed to a morning cup. A big part of what I love about the morning cup is Letchipy joining me, having little chats surrounding our morning ritual. When the family has their own coffee, this doesn’t happen with the same frequency. However, I haven’t been able to help but be concerned some days by the heaping scoops she takes to make enormous cups of coffee. My host mother drinks out of empty jars of instant coffee (we talking damn near a quart) and forearm length, baseball diameter plastic containers. Needless to say, the single cup I drink a day is dwarfed by the one to two jars she’ll throw back, not to mention the double batches she’ll make some days for other members of the family. A jar that would have taken me months to finish will be gone in less than three weeks, and I don’t know of any way I can help ration our coffee. That’s another thing that touches my heart; she called it ‘iliumeshe’ today, which means ‘our drink’. I get upset at myself for worrying about how much she drinks, but then I look at a jar that should still be three-fourths full having the bottom scraped and can’t stop myself from wondering how my money can possibly keep pace. Well, I set a little stash aside a few days ago that will hopefully carry me through till the ship comes to take us back to Yap. That’s the best I can think to do – share the big jar with my family, accept it when that runs dry and keep a reserve for myself. But will the coffee be as enjoyable if I don’t share it? Probably not, and I can’t imagine having a conversation about the virtue of exercising self-restraint with portion sizes. Anyhow, it’s kind of fun to watch her mix up a mini-barrel of coffee, add heaps of sugar, take a few tentative sips out of the screw-top lid that doubles as a cup, and then add more sugar.
I find that my comprehension of Woleaian depends on who’s talking. Some speakers’ voices and cadences seem to bubble like a boiling pot of water, rapid-fire words interrupting words upon words interrupting words. The bubbles of their speech break the surface and pop out in words and phrases mumbled through lips twisted out of shape by cheeks stuffed with betel nut. They come out from mouths covered by hands, papers, baskets or food, and finally are directed toward walls or the distance from heads turned away from me. Many seem put out by my need to have them face me, speak slowly and clearly. Others have a smooth, rolling speech pattern. Their words come out quickly but paced and steady. I think of trying to read in a car. Speakers like the latter make me think of a vehicle with sturdy shocks on a paved highway. I can pretty much understand, but it’s kind of tiring and eventually I need to put down the book. The former, well, they’re more like an old beater pick-up with worn out shocks cruising down a rocky dirt road. I can see the text and briefly make out some words, but mostly it’s just impossible and I promptly give up.
How many American teachers get to eat bananas right off the bunch, in the sunshine, during their breaks from work while watching the ocean and solely wearing the equivalent of a half bed sheet wrapped ‘round their waist?
1/18 Two months in Woleai, four-months-two-weeks in Micronesia, and I guess I’m getting acclimated to this new life. It really is a whole new life in many ways. New people, new ‘family’, new friends, new co-workers, new places, new part of the world, new geography, new topography, new climate and weather, new community, new village, new house, new culture and customs, new activities, new responsibilities, new job, new ways of relaxing, new hobbies, new clothes, new food.
I have many reminders of the people, places and qualities of my past life, but I live very little of it. Still do some reading, listen to music, sleep on a thermarest, use a computer to type documents and watch movies, sit on chairs when possible, walk places… Seems like pretty much everything else has changed. About a month ago, when dealing with a little bout of depression, I think I was grieving my ‘lost’ life, which is silly because it’s not lost at all – just less proximate than I’m used to. I read and reread letters from home, spent my nights flipping through pictures of family and friends, wrote letters in mass, got very engrossed in making a video to send home (couldn’t stop thinking about my parents watching it), and watched many American movies.
Now though, I feel like I’m embracing more and more every day this new life. My body has adjusted to the weather (a.k.a. I’m not a sweaty mess 24/7, but actually feel comfortable most of the time). I’ve connected and continue to connect on deeper levels with my host family. I’m finding my place within this community more precisely each day. Wearing a thu has lost its novelty and seems normal. I’m really starting to feel effective and capable at work – both at school and with the first steps in community development project planning/managing. I think less about wanting to be home and more about what I want to be doing here. And that’s the big thing – being here is taking evermore primacy in my mind, and being where I’m not is fading into the background. Not to say I’m forgetting about the people and places dearest to my heart or dismissing them. They flood my thoughts regularly but not so overwhelmingly as to keep me from being present to the people and places nearest to my person.
It’s been an amazing two months in Woleai and four-plus in the FSM. Ups and downs, strikes and gutters have woven through my time here like the fronds of palm tree leaves, skillfully arranged, folded and braided by the women of Woleai into anything and everything from plates to sleeping mats to the roofs and walls of a home. This time, it’s me, my life, and my future being crafted. Though I’m excited to see the finished product, I’m in no rush. Ok, time for class!
1/20 A request of parents. Hello all you moms and dads out there. I'm curious, curious about parenthood. I'm nowhere near it (breathe a sigh of relieve Mom and Pops), but nevertheless, it's something I think about, something I wonder about. A man once told me that when he'd go to lift his son out of the boy's crib in the mornings, the kid would smile with his whole body. This man thought to himself, 'how do I make sure he keeps this?' Years passed, the crib was retired, and the boy grew up. His father lamented to me that he hadn't been able to preserve his son's full-bodied smile; he'd failed. I think about this story, and I think about the hopes parents hold for their children. I think about when those children reach adolescence and eventual adulthood. I think about when a person reflects back on their life as a parent. What do they think about? What do they celebrate? What are the success stories, past and present, that make them smile (full-bodied or otherwise)? What are their regrets? Would they change anything in the past, if they could? Are there things they didn't see, or wouldn't let themselves see that they wish they'd done something about or saw but weren't really there that they wish they'd left alone? What does being a parent mean to people? What is the role? What is the purpose? What are the joys and sorrows? What does it mean for your life? How much of that is inherent in being a parent and how much is imposed by societal norms and pressures? Like I said, I want to know what people think about being parents, generally. Whatever pops into your head, I'd like to hear. You can comment here, send me an email at stuffmansofstuff@hotmail.com, or write me a letter and send it to the address in the upper left-hand corner of this blog. Please do write.
1/21 I feel I'm living outside the U.S. reality.
The ship should be leaving today! At least by tomorrow, it should be setting forth, and then it’ll stop in Woleai sometime next week (Wednesday or Thursday, hopefully) and deliver packages! This is seriously like being a kid at Christmas – all the excitement and wonder. ‘How many letters and packages will we get? What’ll be in them? What delicious foods?!’ I guess the main difference between now and my childhood (aside from the obvious location, weather, etc.) is that the letter, which equate to Christmas cards, are just as exciting as packages (guess what they equate to).
Mail was cool back in the States and always put a smile on my face, whether out of happiness or just surprise. Here, though, it takes on a whole new dimension of cool. Try to think about living in a situation where you are literally separated from everyone and everything you’ve known in your life – family, friends, co-workers, classmates, and the places and routines of your life. Mail becomes your only connection to the life you’ve established. That’s a powerful thing.
Now, I’ve had it slightly less intense than that. I have had two brief and very difficult conversations with my mom via what is called a ‘radio-phone patch’ – one on Christmas Day (stateside) and one last weekend. They were difficult because the process of a radio-phone patch involves having a phone call over the radio. I make radio contact with an amazingly generous man at the University of Guam, who then calls the number I provide, explains what’s happening to the person who picks up and then works the radio on his end during the ensuing conversation. Remember walkie-talkies? How you have to push the button to talk and then release it to listen? That’s how it works. More important than the stunted flow of the chat, you have intense static interference that leads to you saying ‘can you hear me?’ more than anything else. The chats last about five minutes or so and boil down to an opportunity to say, ‘I love you. I miss you. Things are good here. Great to talk with you! Bye.’ Hot damn, it’s worth it.
Anyhow, the point is, right now feels like the week before Christmas. The little mouse in my old felt advent calendar is running out of real estate and chocolate treats (oh man, one of those would be so nice right now). I can sense the approaching celebration with growing anticipation and excitement. The difference is that it’s late January, my family is on the other side of the planet and a day behind me, I’m on a tropical island, and Santa won’t be riding a sleigh but rather a cargo ship.
The rub about this particular ship is it’s bringing death back to the island. One of my students, Stacy (a guy), his father died in Yap recently. He’d just taken the ship into the mainland, I think to visit the hospital, and the day after he arrived both in Yap and at the hospital, he died there. With the way emotions are expressed here, it’s hard for me to tell how Stacy is being affected by the death of his father. Outwardly, he seems the same as before. He didn’t show any feelings when I explained that I’d heard and was willing to extend the due dates for his class work. Seems death is always going to be stalking this island, and I’m just going to have to learn to live with it, ironically.
Just heard about this novel (both meanings of the word) update to Pride and Prejudice, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I remember hearing about this back in the States, but now it sounds especially interesting. If anyone out there has said revision, I’d love to read it. Just saying.
The ships been delayed… indefinitely. Christmas will have to be postponed, and planning for my classes is getting more and more challenging. Add in the fact that all my co-teachers are intending to take off the four days for the upcoming funeral, shake well and you have a recipe that leads to me being too harsh with my best resource at school. Martin is the counselor here, and I just got uppity about ‘needing’ to be informed when schedules change for the school or classes.
It was one of those shitty interactions. I know what’s happening; I know what the other person is doing (justifying and deflecting responsibility on Martin’s part, and I know what I’m letting myself do (being self-righteous and assholish). He also seemed to imply, at one point, that my host family might not be taking good enough care of me, specifically my host mother Lewichipy (my favorite family member), “She’s a cousin of mine, and you know, she sometime is with kids and people she know well [he mimicked her high energy and semi-gruff speech pattern here]”. If they weren’t taking care of business, he wanted me to let the school know, and they’ll take care of me. I’d started talking to him because I felt like I wasn’t well enough informed about something I caught the gist of during morning assembly (had to do with scheduling stuff). So the people who aren’t always towing the line are offering to put straight things with the people who are doing better by me than anyone else. Got under my skin, but it’s still no excuse to go burning bridges and getting all huffy with someone who has helped me a lot here. Time to rebuild and learn from the mistake.
1/22 One of my favorite things about the kids here is how hilariously they decorate themselves – with lipstick, with paint, with electrical tape and athletic tape, with white-out, and with pen/marker. They smear/paint/stick/draw on all kinds of designs, from war paint looking stuff, to random designs, to mock facial hair. Now, it’s one thing to adorn yourself with ridiculous patterns, to do that to yourself – the gothic or emo or whatever-it-is-the-kids-are-doing-these-days in the States could be considered a parallel cultural phenomenon. What’s amazing about the kids here, though, is that they walk around as though they haven’t. From what I’ve seen back home, the kids who express themselves through face painting, tend to have a self-consciousness that is noticeable in how they attempt to it with anger or aloofness. Woleaian youth, on the other hand, adorn their persons for the fun of it and go about their business without any insecurity.
1/23 I’ve been thinking about my family frequently this week. I keep wondering what they’re up to, where they are, and – mostly – how I wish we were hanging out. Memories from back-in-the-day keep popping up from my subconscious, like Mom picking me up from college after freshman year. We drove the seven hours home to Boise and talked the entire time. It’s the longest conversation we’ve had with just the two of us (hard to top). Looking back on it, at nineteen years old, I was sort of salvaging my teen years within which I’d generally failed (miserably) to connect with my parents and really let them in on my inner life. I told my mother about everything I could think of from the past year, especially the areas I think most new college students keep hidden – or just pretend to keep hidden – from their parents: drinking, dating, bad decisions. The bottom line is, we connected on that ride. I told her about my transition into drinking, which was funny in that I didn’t have a drop at college, but only drank in Boise on breaks, getting drunk on Keystone Light in the hot tub with Dave being my true initiation. [Remember calling Snaggle Puss and me chasing you around your dad’s workshop, even after you’d stop running around it, Dave? And when I finally got the phone from you, I rolled my ankle in the driveway while you chased me, because I was wearing Linda’s gardening shoes (about four sizes too small for me) and happened to be a bit inebriated?] Anyhow, she told me about her first experiences with booze and some poor choices she made in her younger years. There was no judgment, no chastising. We talked like peers, like friends, and it marked the beginning of a new stage in life wherein my parents and I finally started to get to know one another. It might be the most important personal growth I’ve ever experienced, probably is.
One of the best outcomes of that conversation has been realizing I can really open up to my mom and go to her for support. She’s seen me through troubled and failing and failed romantic relationships as a major source of support and tremendous advice. I can’t wait to talk with her more about this time in Peace Corps, get more of her insight into what I’m doing and feeling. But I don’t want it to be in a phone call, I want face-to-face. It’s just different. I want to sit with my mom on our patio in Boise and just hash it out, shoot the breeze and watch the sunset.
Pops and I ended up covering many of the topics from Mom and I’s ride home from college, and we started tipping back brewskies together. I still absolutely love having a beer with him when at home, but those first times hold special significance. Like Thanksgiving Break sophomore year. I came home and immediately grabbed a couple beers for us. We just shot the shit for a couple hours, and before I knew it, I was seven beers deep on the night. I had to call Blake for a ride, as my buddies had planned to get together for a movie that night (American Wedding, I was too buzzed to really follow the opening half hour or so). That happened a few times sophomore year, and for the rest of college, when I’d call Blake before or at the start of a break, he’d always say, “You better not get/be getting drunk with your dad, ‘cause I’m not picking your ass up!” I can’t wait to have a beer with Pops.
Today, I was walking to school in the morning (it’s a Saturday, but we have to make up lost days from last quarter, lame) and I was listening to my iPod. I happened to look at it while turning it off and putting it away when I got to my desk. It’s not really necessary to look at it, but, as I did, the Apple logo on the back flashed me back to this past summer. I went to Salt Lake City for my brother’s college graduation (with honors and ranked as one of the top journalism students in the nation, whaddup?!) and stayed there with him for about a week before heading to Portland to visit friends there. He was preparing to head to D.C. for a fellowship. So interspersed with hanging out, we were getting things checked off his list, starting by renting a storage unit and finishing by packing his things and putting them in storage. One of the tasks in the middle was getting his computer fixed up. The Apple Store in SLC is in a mall just a short jaunt from Jon’s old apartment. The free internet there and visiting the Verizon Store in the same mall to charge my phone (I forgot my charger in a bag I gave to our parents to take back to Boise) drew me back several days during my stay. I’d check email, read some articles and drop-off/pick-up my phone.
We were back in SLC later in the summer, after our family's trip down the Snake River. Jon had moved out of his apartment. So I stayed with Nick, and he stayed with his lovely girlfriend, Courtney. We'd spend the days kicking it around, having beers, going to cheap movies, meeting friends of his for meals. In the evenings, we had dinners, drank beers, went to free concerts (including Iron + Wine), and basically had a kick ass time.
Looking at the logo on my iPod today took me right back to the summer, and I thought, ‘Man, I have a great time in SLC with Jon. I’d really like to visit him again.’ Talking with my mom recently on our second phone patch (exciting stuff), I heard he’s back there with Courtney. So maybe, in a year and a half or so, I can drop by and visit them. Possibly catch a concert, such as Lucero, perhaps? Potentially do a handstand and gracefully roll out of it on the walk home? You know I’m great at that, Jon. Stop spreading vicious rumors about me ‘falling on my face.’ I’m pretty sure that bump the next day was from something else.
1/25 We had classes this past Saturday. Last quarter we missed several days for funerals and other community events. So we’ve been ‘making them up’ with half days on every other Saturday since classes resumed after Christmas Break. Like most folks, I’m not a huge fan of working an extra day in the week and shortening my weekend. However, it’s not really the planning and teaching that bother me. The weekend is where I slow down. My weekdays absolutely fly by. Monday melts so quickly into Friday that I hardly feel like I’ve gotten a full workweek in. So Saturday and Sunday are very important for me to feel like I have time to wander around, chat with people, and be a little more present to just living here, rather than working here. When we have classes on Saturday, it makes the week speed by even faster. Bam! Before I know what’s happened, two weeks have passed and felt almost the same as a single week. Two years start to look frightfully short.
Well, it’s Monday following a short weekend, and I’m going to start a new weekly activity today – American Mondays. We’re going to discuss different aspects of American culture (specifically that of the U.S.) in my senior English classes each Monday. I think this’ll be a good way to fulfill the second of Peace Corps’ three expressed goals, to share our culture with other peoples (goal one is to provide trained workers to interested nations and goal three is to share the culture of host nations with the people of the U.S. – apparently these were very important things that most my fellow volunteers paid attention to before coming to Micronesia, but I didn’t even remember ever reading them, whoops).
I recently picked up about twenty episodes each of This American Life and Wait, Wait… Don’t Tell Me from one of my fellow Woleaian PCVs, Emily. Listening to them has been damn delightful this past week. There’s a whole portion of my brain that just doesn’t seem to get used out here. You might call it the ‘humorous political outrage’ lobe. Wait, Wait helps for that, and This American Life is so sad, nostalgic, and interesting that it fills the same role for me as it did back stateside. I’m not sure what that is exactly, but it makes me think, which is always a good thing.
I’m really wondering what I should be focusing on in class for my senior English Composition students. What am I trying to accomplish? I think that’s the major question that should guide my efforts. So can somebody tell me the answer? It’d be ever so helpful. Should I focus on college prep? What about the students who aren’t interested in college? How applicable are essay-writing skills to them? Can the basics of researching and writing still be useful if your not pursuing a college degree of some sort? How about those students that are going to just look for work on another island in Micronesia? Should I emphasize spoken English? How am I supposed to focus my efforts in the class? It takes so long to just establish understanding of a lesson/activity that I’m feeling like maybe I need to just pick a single task and really drive it home. I really don’t know what that thing should be or whom I should strive to cater my message to primarily.
1/27 We got some pretty wild news today. I stopped by Gita’s school in the morning to have a cup of coffee with her and shoot the breeze. She got some special instant coffee from back home, which is apparently very fine by comparison to traditional instant, almost tasting like coffee from grounds. I’m certainly not the one to judge that, but I can say that it was tastier than the stuff I’d purchased on island. I’m not sure if the cost difference would be justified back stateside, though. Anyhow, there we are having our cup and chat when her principal comes in and tells some interesting news about the ship.
We had heard the Voyager would make a run west from Pohnpei at about the same time the Yap state ship was planned to head east toward the outer islands of Yap – fating them to pass one another somewhere in the briny blue. However, the Voyager was only planned to go to Ifaluk (an inhabited island nearby Woleai) and then return to Pohnpei, not to come to Woleai or on to Yap. No big deal, right? We just need to wait for the state ship and more or less forget about Voyager. Six factorss have applied pressure that has shaken things up. First and foremost, the state ship is tightly moored in Yap, making it unlikely that the ship will take its run (from some news I got today, even the late February run is in doubt). Second, Peace Corps wants us back in Yap for training by early February. Third, a man from Woleai died in Yap, and his family wants to bury his remains – preferably in Woleai. Fourth, a woman from Woleai died in Yap with similar family desires. Fifth, there’s some rock sulfate the people of Fais want to get to mainland Yap.
Morgue costs have been hitting the bereaved pretty hard and cannot be coped with much longer. So the continued delaying of the state ship’s run has necessitated the families to head to Yap to bury their loved ones. I feel for them, not being able to put a mother or father to rest in the soil of your home. Pretty shitty, but it’s a reality sometimes when you live on an island in a developing nation. Those families petitioned the Voyager to change their itinerary. Then the DOE made a similar request, on Peace Corps behalf, for bringing the PCVs in to training sessions. Likely, the people of Fais also submitted a request. ‘So what’s the sixth thing?’ you might ask. Woleai is out of tobacco. Non-smokers in nations other than the FSM might not understand the gravity of this statement and situation. Even longtime smokers may have difficulty grasping the depth of desperation people feel for their smokes here. Addiction to cigarettes takes on new meaning in Yap, including the outer islands. I can’t imagine a place on Earth where such an immense proportion of the population is so hopelessly addicted to nicotine. After over two months on Falalap, I haven’t met one person who does not either smoke or chew cigarettes with their betel nut. When cigarettes run out, they smoke local tobacco. When that runs out, they turn to potato leaves or whatever else looks like it might fill in somehow. Somebody even went so far as to take the immature lima bean plants out of Gita’s and my garden, most likely to dry and smoke.
1/29 My heart is swelling and my cheeks aching. On my walk to school, I ran into Wilson – one of my senior English students. He’s part of the English Club and apparently organized a meeting yesterday during break. They came together to make a gift of coconuts and mwaramwars for me last night. It seems I’ll have twenty or so coconuts waiting for me on the desk in my beranta at home to go with the six mwaramwars I’m currently wearing. I look like I have huge flower cakes on my neck and head. The sudden outpouring of affection and appreciation for me is almost overwhelming. I really feel like I’m cared for, which I realize is an amazing thing I can’t take for granted. My students and fellow faculty members, in addition to the guys at my two men’s circles and my host family – especially Lewichipy – have shown me tremendous kindness these past few days, and it grows in intensity with the approach of the ship. Lewichipy has been ensuring with bulldog like tenacity that I have good food everyday. The men’s circles in Iyeiuriu and Lelipeligi have become my favorite social events for the camaraderie I feel during them. The faculty at NICHS has become increasingly personal with me, not just business-like and formal. And the English Club thanked me for my “tireless efforts” that have helped them “with [their] English and to learn other things as well.” Tireless? I don’t know about that, but it really touched me that they would say that. What’s more, it was a freshman girl that announced that, in English, at the morning assembly! That’s huge! Girls rarely speak during assembly, and even then it’s almost only the few confident senior girls, not mousy freshmen. I am super impressed and grateful.
Damn it, I don’t want to leave! I’m really starting to figure things out and make serious headway into the community. I feel like my life has just started to bloom here, nearly ready to start fruiting and now I have to leave it untended for a month?! Crap. I can’t wait to get back.
1/30 Woke up this morning on the ship, if you can call sitting up from a sleepless night 'waking'. Made my way to the bathroom for the morning ritual. Standing, as most men tend to for such business, I realize I'm swaying a bit more than normal. So I think 'maybe I should sit down'. Flipping the seat to the bowl and taking in the scene it created, I think 'maybe I should stand'.
The ship has a mess hall where crew and passengers can get breakfast and dinner. This morning we partook of the eggs, fried rice and 'sausages' (hot dogs). The hall is two small dining rooms with a kitchen in between. Each room has two picnic style tables complete with those sweet plastic coated table cloths. The crew takes up most the spaces, as they should, but Gita and I swung a couple seats at the back of one of the rooms. There are drapes over the portholes, a small cabinet in the back corner, ship bulletins on the wall about schedules and procedures, and assorted condiments on the table. The food was a welcome treat, especially as dinner last night consisted only of a few handfuls of peanuts. I had a cup of coffee with breakfast and started my second cup after Gita had gone to lie down (little sea sick). I began thinking about how my buddy Nick would have just loved it, and how I wished he was here to share this experience. It was easy to imagine us sitting and sipping, listening to the crew mates BSing over coffee and vitamin orange mix. We talked about him doing a medical trip out to where I was placed. Maybe that might still work out. That'd be boss.
1/31 I can in no way express fully my gratitude to the Wright family in this moment. It is a truly beautiful thing you have done, to show such kindness to what amounts to a stranger. Knowing your daughter though, makes your gift more appropriate and less shocking but no less unexpected and utterly pleasant. Thank you, truly and immensely for taking time to think of me out in Woleai and send along an awesome care package. The cards, pens and – of course – the funny will serve me well and be a source of joy and amusement over the coming years. Oh man, and the red pens, especially great as I sometimes fear my corrections get lost on the pages of my students' essays and classwork. You are marvelous people – not only for sending me presents, though they certainly added some bonus points to your tally.
Peace Corps is a roller coaster of emotions (more clich̩ expressions well worn and tired out in service of PCVs sure to follow). I have trouble keeping up even when giving it my best effort. Highs and lows of emotion combined with the pitch and rolls of the ship over the past forty some hours. The pitches and rolls tend to linger for a couple days after my feet return to solid ground and make themselves known at moments that reach amazing levels of literal meaning for the phrase 'waves of exhaustion.' Anyhow, getting to the point, a tiny war has been having it out in my psyche in recent days. We knew training was approaching and therefore that we were Yapward bound. However, the ship that was meant to bring us back to the main island got delayed indefinitely due to the need of spare parts (as I chronicled above). Then the Voyager was tapped and bam! I'm in Yap. I didn't want to leave and found myself day-dreaming that when the ship made shore, somehow, we'd be in Woleai again. Well, obviously that wasn't the case. I'm in Yap, and though it feels incredibly surreal, I know I'll be here for the foreseeable future. It pains me to know I'll likely be gone so long from my new home. Yet there have already be several small and large joys of returning to Yap Рseeing my host family and talking with them more competently in Woleaian, reading about my family in my mom's awesome letter, starting the battle of catching up on emails and seeing how I really am gone but not forgotten from the States, and opening packages filled with snacks, gifts and love. I'm exhausted after the boat ride (can you tell from how incoherent this entry is?) and the competing feelings of joy and regret are having their way with me. Hopefully, a good night's rest will clear my head, and help me to live what I know to be true: whatever my desires and feelings, I'm here now Рmake the most of it, chump.
2/1 Warning signs: they crop up here and there, alluding to the potential difficulties I may face upon return to the U.S. After two months of life in Woleai, the noise of morning traffic shocks me as I wake up today. And it's Colonia, Yap traffic -- not exactly a New York-esque hub of activity. It reminds me of how much watching a taped basketball game (the '09 NCAA men's basketball championship) took me aback. The commercials, the chatter, the over-stimulating graphics, music and sweeping camera angles. Man, if shoali weleya (the people of Woleai) weren't so in to movies, I'd be in danger of not being able to handle television by the time my service is complete. And this is just after two months. My next stint in Woleai looks to be more like nine months and will likely have a much larger effect on what my perceptual norms are.
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