11/9 All candidates offered a post in Peace Corps receive a booklet describing their potential assigment before they decide whether to go forward, accept the placement. Lots of good info and it ends with short letters from volunteers mid-service. My group has been offered the chance to contribute updates to this portion. Here's what I submitted (no guarantee it'll be used):
My watch alarm goes off at 6am; I shut it up, stretch, lift up the mosquito net, roll from pandanus mat to concrete floor in my one room ply wood and tin roof house. All this I do less begrudgingly than the average school day, because it's graduation today.
I'll be seeing the seniors of Neighboring Islands Central High School, the first students I've ever taught, receive their diplomas, and what's more, shake the hand of their nation's president-- Mr. Manny Mori. There'll also be some tasty food for lunch (char pig, BBQ turtle, pounded sweet taro, cooked bananas), absolutely amazing local dances by the students and a great chance for the crowd to laugh as I bungle through a 'good work, good luck and good-bye' speech to my students, in Woleaian.
It's the end of my first school year, and there have been ups and downs, pleasant surprises and awkward moments, feelings of isolation and of being a legit member in my village community. There were times I'd have like to be almost anywhere other than Falalap, Woleai but as of a few months ago, I've completely fallen in love with my site. The food, in spite of the usual monotony (fish and taro anyone?), has really grown on me; my host family is just family; I hit my stride in the classroom, have some great projects lined up for the summer, and my Woleaian has finally reached 'conversational' status. The physical beauty of the island never fails to give me pause while I take it in. I feel home.
Fast forward two months: I'm on my way to a new site. Woleai has been closed because emergency transportation is just too sketchy. It's heart-break, plain and simple. Then there are all the job aspects being reset: community rapport, language skills, position at school and relationship with co-teachers and supervisor.
It's been three months since I moved from Woleai to Houk, Yap to Chuuk, the three most difficult and challenging months of my service. But I'm still here, and I can see some major positives that have come from the move: better understanding of the differences and similarities between outer islands in the FSM, closer relationships with more of my fellow PCVs, the chance to set a better tone with my counterparts and a real possibility to work with them towards long-lasting improvement at the school. The list goes on, and none of it would have been possible without the transfer.
That's Peace Corps, from my experience: unexpected opportunities. Sometimes they crop up entirely painlessly, sometimes... well, the cost is higher sometimes. An open mind, flexible expectations and an ability to laugh, especially when the joke's on you and not overly funny, are clutch for the rough patches-- which almost certainly, you will hit. Here at the middle of my service, I can already say the experience has been incalculably beneficial, I'm confident it'll keep on in that fashion and I know it can be for you too.
-Eric Porter M76 Woleai, Yap and Houk, Chuuk
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A tidal wave of doubt
11/9 So what did you think of when you applied for Peace Corps or when you were invited? Probably some really mind blowing cultural experiences, language fluency building, relationship forming, doing important works with locals and feeling an overwhelming sense of purpose as you pursued your dreams. Probably not sitting down shortly after one year of service, drinking whiskey and water, looking at yourself in a mirror properly for the first time in over a month, searching the face -- over grown with hair -- like it belongs to someone else, mourning the death of a friend and wondering whether your time in Peace Corps has affected anyone other than you and the people who miss you back home.
You probably thought there would be challenges but that you'd meet them gallantly, with honor, poise and selfless grace. Probably didn't think you'd find out some ugly truths about yourself, like you become incredibly self-centered when you feel stress, incompetence and isolation or that you let your emotions get the better of you and find yourself having petty arguments over issues you know -- solidly know -- aren't at the source of disagreements you're having with your host father or that you'd become accustomed to the 'honored guest' treatment, so much so that you come to expect it and even feel annoyance when you're not served first or specially accommodated beyond others.
You probably didn't think you'd feel like an unappreciative prized asshole half the time. You probably thought you'd give and give and give, show the best of the US and win people over with your positive attitude and indefatigable spirit. Didn't see those days spent lying in bed, full of doubt and disillusionment. Didn't expect to be called out on your disrespectful 'American ways' and feel wrongly abused rather then bashful and apologetic.
Oh the places you'll go and the doubt and frustration that will be sown in your mind and the sorrow and anger in your heart.
You probably thought there would be challenges but that you'd meet them gallantly, with honor, poise and selfless grace. Probably didn't think you'd find out some ugly truths about yourself, like you become incredibly self-centered when you feel stress, incompetence and isolation or that you let your emotions get the better of you and find yourself having petty arguments over issues you know -- solidly know -- aren't at the source of disagreements you're having with your host father or that you'd become accustomed to the 'honored guest' treatment, so much so that you come to expect it and even feel annoyance when you're not served first or specially accommodated beyond others.
You probably didn't think you'd feel like an unappreciative prized asshole half the time. You probably thought you'd give and give and give, show the best of the US and win people over with your positive attitude and indefatigable spirit. Didn't see those days spent lying in bed, full of doubt and disillusionment. Didn't expect to be called out on your disrespectful 'American ways' and feel wrongly abused rather then bashful and apologetic.
Oh the places you'll go and the doubt and frustration that will be sown in your mind and the sorrow and anger in your heart.
Andy Buth
11/1 Andy Buth
In the second week of April, the Caroline Voyager arrived at Woleai. Unusual for two reasons, one being that the Yap State ship, the Hapilmahol, had just been through, the other that it, the Voyager, brought with it a young American man planning to make Falalap his new home.
His name was Andy Buth. My site mate, Gita knew Andy from her home state, Florida. Their families had long been friends, and in the year prior to joining Peace Corps in the Pacific, she and Andy had grown closer.
He had always dreamed of living in the Pacific for a time, and with Gita already there and thriving, the time seemed ripe to take action. Andy arranged things at home, bought a plane ticket, which very fortunately landed him in Yap the day before the Voyager departed, and spent all but his last nine dollars on the fee to Woleai.
They got to Woleai on a Friday evening, and Gita - who was totally shocked by Andy's arrival - told me the news Saturday morning. I first saw Andy coming up from the beach by the church square. Tall and slender, deeply tan with shoulder length blonde hair and a beard twice as burly as mine... and nipple rings. He was wearing a pair of fatigue cargo shorts and had a tattoo on his forearm. I could tell he was thrilled to be there and his eyes shone with excitement and intensity.
The three of us - Andy, Gita and I - hung out a little that day and I heard a bit of Andy's back story from him. Gita had already talked to me about Andy, as he had expressed interest in visiting (by way of cargo ship ALL the way from the US) and had also sent Gita about a hundred and twenty pounds of school materials, most of which arrived on the Hapilmahol a couple weeks before him.
I gave them some space for the next couple of weeks, after introducing Andy to one of the chiefs (he needed to pay a five dollar landing fee & get clearance to stay on island), so Andy could settle in and they could catch up. After that I became a regular fixture at their families compound - Gita's host family let Andy bunk with the high school boys they sponsored.
I learned somethings about Andy quickly, while others came out over time. He'd lived in Montana and Alaska doing all kinds of different stuff - from working in a mill to managing a chocolate factory - his strongest personal ties were to his immediate family (his tattoo is a geometric design incorporating the first letter of his own and his brother's and sister's names), and he was a great lover of the outdoors, hunting and exploring. He was a believer and not just religiously, though a devote Christian. Andy believed in living life broadly, experiencing as much as one could. He believed learning never stopped and was in no way limited to the classroom setting. He hated limitations, especially his own, which he worked tirelessly to rid himself of. Everywhere he went, he picked up skills. And every skill gathered was one more to share with his family. Andy believed in belief, in the power of the act to change your life.
Having Andy on Falalap was excellent. Finally having another dude to chat and share the experience of being a Western man in the islands with gave a fullness to being there that I couldn't have gotten any other way. Beyond that, it was clear Andy was more than just another white guy. Even though we differed pretty majorly when it came to certain ideological things (like religion) we really connected through our view of the world, the drive to check it out, meet people and bring it/them home. We both loved Woleai. And we just plain enjoyed hanging out together, shooting the breeze, joking around, telling stories from our pasts. It's always a good sign when you can sit around, nothing to do and come up with something simple that gets you laughing. One time, outside the unfinished house where Andy and the high school boys slept, we're lazing about and start to play with some dice. Simple game, predict the total of the five dice before throwing, whoever is closer to their toss' actual total wins. Reminded me of kicking it with the fellas. Comfortable, fun and a little goofy.
Andy's example was inspiring for me. That he came from the States, on his own, to live in Woleai and do pretty much the same stuff as me, the Peace Corps Volunteer, was so cool. He did it totally on his own dollar, and it took all but his last four.
I wouldn't say I was totally dependent on the Peace Corps. I think I would have found a way to get abroad and try to put my education into practice, even if they wouldn't take me. But he really did it, solo. Made me really consider all options when I was transferred. Also made me more than just a little jealous of him, b/c I didn't want to leave Woleai for training, let alone be reassigned to another island.
Before we PCVs left for training, Andy came to the high school one day to give a talk to the freshmen, describing his past several years traveling around the US and how he ended up in Woleai. I wanted to hear more about it and he was keen on having me there to signal when he needed to slow down/ simplify his words for the students, so I sat in on it. Taking notes, I ended up with a bulleted list of five or six years of Andy's life.
Andy's Story:
-Moved from FL to MT (2 years)
-In MT: 1st worked hotel, then assisted guided-tourist hunting trips, mill work (winter), and landscaping (summer)
*He told me about hanging out with the hunting guys, sitting around a campfire, spitting and sharpening knives, which the men's circles in Woleai reminded him of
-Drove a motorcycle XC back to Florida
-Did landscaping for his mom (laying stone)
-Moved to HI, worked on a farm (6 mo.)
-Picked produce, sold @ farmers' market
-Learned about plant varieties
-Took home seeds for his mom
-While back in FL, went to vocational school to be an EMT (wanted to understand paramedic brother better)
-Worked a while & left for Alaska
-Lived on Sitka Island in Alaska
-Stayed in his tent, tons of bears on the island
-Got a job @ chocolate factory (Theobroma)
-Lots of employee theft (Andy called them on it & they quit)
-Andy became manager, bought a boat to live on
-Fishermen very generous w/food & drink
*told me about winter on the boat & icicles forming on the ceiling above where he slept-so cold
-In winter, took second job at local pool
-Lifeguard, chemist & caretaker (1 year+)
*told me about playing water polo w/para-rescue Coast Guard guys
-Sister won 'dream come true' contest - wanted to learn to be a helicopter pilot
-went home, Mom's house wrecked in hurricane
-helped rebuild
-Quit drinking ('hurt' his sister when drunk)
-opened up awareness of his own dreams
-decided to come to Woleai
*told me he'd wanted to come to the Pacific for a long time & hearing about Gita's experience inspired him to try out life on the island
There's not much meat on those bones, and I wish I were a better note taker, b/c there's just the facts here & little of the feeling of his talk. Andy exuded excitement for his travels, work experience, friends made and how he was able to give back to his family through the skills he picked up along the way. Humble but confident about his own abilities and incredibly proud of his siblings and their accomplishments. It was a cool talk, the students really enjoyed it.
When I got back to Woleai in July, after training and on my way to Houk, I got to spend a week and a half there before moving on. Andy and I hung out each morning, having a cup of coffee and a chat (a couple cigarettes for him as well). Topics ranged from funny stories of our past, to faith, to the growth we'd experienced as people and men in recent years, to how special the Pacific Islands and our time among them are. And we even shaved off our beards one morning after agreeing they'd become more of a nuisance than they were worth.
We really solidified the bond between us during that week-plus. Gita not being there (she'd already moved to her new site, Fais) wasn't awesome, of course, but the upside was that Andy & I got to see that our friendship was more than just the 'friend-of-a-friend' variety. Coffee mornings lasted to noon time; many afternoons we joined in the same village activities (fishing, etc.); evenings at the men's circle, and late evenings with a smaller group sneaking extra faluba at my house. [Drinking isn't kosher, strictly speaking, away from the men's house.] We could tell we'd be buddies for years to come, and were already planning for a post-Peace Corps backpacking trip before I left.
My final morning in Woleai was a booze-fest, a traditional send off activity for the island. Andy, my host brother Marty, and our buddies Sammy & Xavier had stayed up most the night brewing yeast to compliment our faluba stores. The main goal was to get me as drunk as possible before leaving. They succeeded.
Andy gave me a knife he'd received from a good friend during his travels, a badass, burly knife made from a ground down railroad tie and roughly carved chunks from a marble counter top. Marty took me out to the patrol boat that was to take me to Houk, and I spent a good ten minutes screaming out my love for Woleai and my village, Iyeiuriu, before Andy swam out for a final good-bye. I jumped from the bow, seemed the thing to do, we bro hugged (the handclasp and one armed back slap, you know) and looked forward to the next time our paths would cross. Then I swam to the rear of the boat and, with some assistance, dragged myself back on-board, vomited and headed straight to bed.
Looking back, I'm so glad I jumped off that boat. Last Thursday I called my Peace Corps supervisor, Imaou, to talk about when I'll go back to Weno before the next training event. He told me Andy had drowned recently while spear fishing in Fais, where he'd moved to be with Gita. Alternating feelings of hollowness in my chest, the sensation of being punched in the stomach, complete disbelief that he could possibly be dead, and waves of horrible understanding that he's gone - that I'll never see him again - swirl through my days. And above all, my heart aches for his family and for Gita, and I wish I could be there for her as she mourns the loss of her dear friend.
Andy will be, perhaps has already been buried on Fais. His family came out for the funeral, and (I would guess) to collect certain of his possessions. My former supervisor, Regina, told me so when I confirmed the news with her. She also said that Gita would spend the month of November at home, then return for our mid-service training in December.
It's the most trapped and helpless I've felt in Peace Corps. Figuring out what to do to reach out to Gita, how to honor Andy's memory and just to accept what's happened are questions I'm still struggling with. Answers aren't coming quickly. I just know I need to hang in here, do my job, not shut out everyone around me and always be so grateful I was lucky enough to know and be befriended by Andy Buth.
In the second week of April, the Caroline Voyager arrived at Woleai. Unusual for two reasons, one being that the Yap State ship, the Hapilmahol, had just been through, the other that it, the Voyager, brought with it a young American man planning to make Falalap his new home.
His name was Andy Buth. My site mate, Gita knew Andy from her home state, Florida. Their families had long been friends, and in the year prior to joining Peace Corps in the Pacific, she and Andy had grown closer.
He had always dreamed of living in the Pacific for a time, and with Gita already there and thriving, the time seemed ripe to take action. Andy arranged things at home, bought a plane ticket, which very fortunately landed him in Yap the day before the Voyager departed, and spent all but his last nine dollars on the fee to Woleai.
They got to Woleai on a Friday evening, and Gita - who was totally shocked by Andy's arrival - told me the news Saturday morning. I first saw Andy coming up from the beach by the church square. Tall and slender, deeply tan with shoulder length blonde hair and a beard twice as burly as mine... and nipple rings. He was wearing a pair of fatigue cargo shorts and had a tattoo on his forearm. I could tell he was thrilled to be there and his eyes shone with excitement and intensity.
The three of us - Andy, Gita and I - hung out a little that day and I heard a bit of Andy's back story from him. Gita had already talked to me about Andy, as he had expressed interest in visiting (by way of cargo ship ALL the way from the US) and had also sent Gita about a hundred and twenty pounds of school materials, most of which arrived on the Hapilmahol a couple weeks before him.
I gave them some space for the next couple of weeks, after introducing Andy to one of the chiefs (he needed to pay a five dollar landing fee & get clearance to stay on island), so Andy could settle in and they could catch up. After that I became a regular fixture at their families compound - Gita's host family let Andy bunk with the high school boys they sponsored.
I learned somethings about Andy quickly, while others came out over time. He'd lived in Montana and Alaska doing all kinds of different stuff - from working in a mill to managing a chocolate factory - his strongest personal ties were to his immediate family (his tattoo is a geometric design incorporating the first letter of his own and his brother's and sister's names), and he was a great lover of the outdoors, hunting and exploring. He was a believer and not just religiously, though a devote Christian. Andy believed in living life broadly, experiencing as much as one could. He believed learning never stopped and was in no way limited to the classroom setting. He hated limitations, especially his own, which he worked tirelessly to rid himself of. Everywhere he went, he picked up skills. And every skill gathered was one more to share with his family. Andy believed in belief, in the power of the act to change your life.
Having Andy on Falalap was excellent. Finally having another dude to chat and share the experience of being a Western man in the islands with gave a fullness to being there that I couldn't have gotten any other way. Beyond that, it was clear Andy was more than just another white guy. Even though we differed pretty majorly when it came to certain ideological things (like religion) we really connected through our view of the world, the drive to check it out, meet people and bring it/them home. We both loved Woleai. And we just plain enjoyed hanging out together, shooting the breeze, joking around, telling stories from our pasts. It's always a good sign when you can sit around, nothing to do and come up with something simple that gets you laughing. One time, outside the unfinished house where Andy and the high school boys slept, we're lazing about and start to play with some dice. Simple game, predict the total of the five dice before throwing, whoever is closer to their toss' actual total wins. Reminded me of kicking it with the fellas. Comfortable, fun and a little goofy.
Andy's example was inspiring for me. That he came from the States, on his own, to live in Woleai and do pretty much the same stuff as me, the Peace Corps Volunteer, was so cool. He did it totally on his own dollar, and it took all but his last four.
I wouldn't say I was totally dependent on the Peace Corps. I think I would have found a way to get abroad and try to put my education into practice, even if they wouldn't take me. But he really did it, solo. Made me really consider all options when I was transferred. Also made me more than just a little jealous of him, b/c I didn't want to leave Woleai for training, let alone be reassigned to another island.
Before we PCVs left for training, Andy came to the high school one day to give a talk to the freshmen, describing his past several years traveling around the US and how he ended up in Woleai. I wanted to hear more about it and he was keen on having me there to signal when he needed to slow down/ simplify his words for the students, so I sat in on it. Taking notes, I ended up with a bulleted list of five or six years of Andy's life.
Andy's Story:
-Moved from FL to MT (2 years)
-In MT: 1st worked hotel, then assisted guided-tourist hunting trips, mill work (winter), and landscaping (summer)
*He told me about hanging out with the hunting guys, sitting around a campfire, spitting and sharpening knives, which the men's circles in Woleai reminded him of
-Drove a motorcycle XC back to Florida
-Did landscaping for his mom (laying stone)
-Moved to HI, worked on a farm (6 mo.)
-Picked produce, sold @ farmers' market
-Learned about plant varieties
-Took home seeds for his mom
-While back in FL, went to vocational school to be an EMT (wanted to understand paramedic brother better)
-Worked a while & left for Alaska
-Lived on Sitka Island in Alaska
-Stayed in his tent, tons of bears on the island
-Got a job @ chocolate factory (Theobroma)
-Lots of employee theft (Andy called them on it & they quit)
-Andy became manager, bought a boat to live on
-Fishermen very generous w/food & drink
*told me about winter on the boat & icicles forming on the ceiling above where he slept-so cold
-In winter, took second job at local pool
-Lifeguard, chemist & caretaker (1 year+)
*told me about playing water polo w/para-rescue Coast Guard guys
-Sister won 'dream come true' contest - wanted to learn to be a helicopter pilot
-went home, Mom's house wrecked in hurricane
-helped rebuild
-Quit drinking ('hurt' his sister when drunk)
-opened up awareness of his own dreams
-decided to come to Woleai
*told me he'd wanted to come to the Pacific for a long time & hearing about Gita's experience inspired him to try out life on the island
There's not much meat on those bones, and I wish I were a better note taker, b/c there's just the facts here & little of the feeling of his talk. Andy exuded excitement for his travels, work experience, friends made and how he was able to give back to his family through the skills he picked up along the way. Humble but confident about his own abilities and incredibly proud of his siblings and their accomplishments. It was a cool talk, the students really enjoyed it.
When I got back to Woleai in July, after training and on my way to Houk, I got to spend a week and a half there before moving on. Andy and I hung out each morning, having a cup of coffee and a chat (a couple cigarettes for him as well). Topics ranged from funny stories of our past, to faith, to the growth we'd experienced as people and men in recent years, to how special the Pacific Islands and our time among them are. And we even shaved off our beards one morning after agreeing they'd become more of a nuisance than they were worth.
We really solidified the bond between us during that week-plus. Gita not being there (she'd already moved to her new site, Fais) wasn't awesome, of course, but the upside was that Andy & I got to see that our friendship was more than just the 'friend-of-a-friend' variety. Coffee mornings lasted to noon time; many afternoons we joined in the same village activities (fishing, etc.); evenings at the men's circle, and late evenings with a smaller group sneaking extra faluba at my house. [Drinking isn't kosher, strictly speaking, away from the men's house.] We could tell we'd be buddies for years to come, and were already planning for a post-Peace Corps backpacking trip before I left.
My final morning in Woleai was a booze-fest, a traditional send off activity for the island. Andy, my host brother Marty, and our buddies Sammy & Xavier had stayed up most the night brewing yeast to compliment our faluba stores. The main goal was to get me as drunk as possible before leaving. They succeeded.
Andy gave me a knife he'd received from a good friend during his travels, a badass, burly knife made from a ground down railroad tie and roughly carved chunks from a marble counter top. Marty took me out to the patrol boat that was to take me to Houk, and I spent a good ten minutes screaming out my love for Woleai and my village, Iyeiuriu, before Andy swam out for a final good-bye. I jumped from the bow, seemed the thing to do, we bro hugged (the handclasp and one armed back slap, you know) and looked forward to the next time our paths would cross. Then I swam to the rear of the boat and, with some assistance, dragged myself back on-board, vomited and headed straight to bed.
Looking back, I'm so glad I jumped off that boat. Last Thursday I called my Peace Corps supervisor, Imaou, to talk about when I'll go back to Weno before the next training event. He told me Andy had drowned recently while spear fishing in Fais, where he'd moved to be with Gita. Alternating feelings of hollowness in my chest, the sensation of being punched in the stomach, complete disbelief that he could possibly be dead, and waves of horrible understanding that he's gone - that I'll never see him again - swirl through my days. And above all, my heart aches for his family and for Gita, and I wish I could be there for her as she mourns the loss of her dear friend.
Andy will be, perhaps has already been buried on Fais. His family came out for the funeral, and (I would guess) to collect certain of his possessions. My former supervisor, Regina, told me so when I confirmed the news with her. She also said that Gita would spend the month of November at home, then return for our mid-service training in December.
It's the most trapped and helpless I've felt in Peace Corps. Figuring out what to do to reach out to Gita, how to honor Andy's memory and just to accept what's happened are questions I'm still struggling with. Answers aren't coming quickly. I just know I need to hang in here, do my job, not shut out everyone around me and always be so grateful I was lucky enough to know and be befriended by Andy Buth.
A moment of confidence
10/27 Okay, okay, I'm gonna be okay. G-bus, I just sent out a whole batch of these sad sack letters, "I'm lonely; school's frustrating; it's been tough adjusting." Wah, wah, wah... Tonight, I feel great and that those letters must sound something like my little sister's current warrantless bawling. [seriously, ten minutes ago she was giggly, and for NO reason she started whining and now she's giving the water works her all.]
Anyhow, a few things conspired today to perk me up. No school, to accommodate day two of the PTA meeting and thus, no chance of a lingering headache. Two good chats at the meeting, the second including a compliment about my speed in picking up the language. And then there was tonight's pre-dinner coffee and bs-ing with the fam. My auntie K was there, and I've always known I like her, though we've barely talked (language barrier). Well, we broke that streak and had a great back and forth about vegetables, my host dad (Pasiano) and I starting a garden, and her sneaking into it in the dead of night to steal our tomatoes. Man, she got me laughing like I haven't in over a month when she told me she would wait till we were all sleeping and then make off with our crops. They all took note of my uncharacteristic outburst of mirth (at least from their experience of me). Shocked 'em a bit, in a good way.
So how vain does that make me? I feel my best about being here when I'm being praised or feeling especially competent linguistically. Shouldn't I be consistently appreciative of all that's done for me and the amazing gift this experience is? Damn straight, I should!
I can't help thinking I've become a big douche since coming here. Well, maybe I've always been one, but it seems more pointed here. Anger and frustration well up far too easily, along with feelings of being offended or slighted. And I know Micronesian culture too well to give myself a pass; I make mental note of what's happening culturally to rub me the wrong way, acknowledge that the way I'm taking whatever it is (as an American) isn't the way it's meant by the local, and I still let it get to me. What the hell, right?
And here's what I'm coming up with now. Whether or not I'm naturally a jerk, another very significant factor of my persona defect is feeling isolated from/unconnected to the people on the island. Just this morning, we were at the cook house, the fam and I, drinking coffee. They were all inside and I was on the outside. Seemed a perfect analogy to me of my whole existence on-island. Tonight I'm inside the cook house, drinking coffee and chatting with the fam, and THAT feels like a perfect analogy too - even complimentary to the morning experience.
My perceived closeness to others in my new family/community (however accurate) fluctuates easily and has more of an effect on how I feel about the whole of this Peace Corps assignment than any other aspect of the experience: language ability, job performance, how manly the other guys on-island consider me, support from PC staff, personal health, having things to do, whatever.
In Woleai, I felt the same, though it was much more narrowly experienced. If I was getting on well with my host mom, Lewechipy, everything rocked, and vice versa. Here it's much broader, and little connections with various folks, like a good chat in English or a shared laugh in any language, help me feel settled and peaceful. Just leeching off the communal feeling of Sunday church services goes a long way for me, and I don't even share their faith.
Point is, today was a good day, and I see that things are generally improving. And I hope the trend continues... And that I find a way to be a higher quality person, but that's gonna be a life long struggle.
Anyhow, a few things conspired today to perk me up. No school, to accommodate day two of the PTA meeting and thus, no chance of a lingering headache. Two good chats at the meeting, the second including a compliment about my speed in picking up the language. And then there was tonight's pre-dinner coffee and bs-ing with the fam. My auntie K was there, and I've always known I like her, though we've barely talked (language barrier). Well, we broke that streak and had a great back and forth about vegetables, my host dad (Pasiano) and I starting a garden, and her sneaking into it in the dead of night to steal our tomatoes. Man, she got me laughing like I haven't in over a month when she told me she would wait till we were all sleeping and then make off with our crops. They all took note of my uncharacteristic outburst of mirth (at least from their experience of me). Shocked 'em a bit, in a good way.
So how vain does that make me? I feel my best about being here when I'm being praised or feeling especially competent linguistically. Shouldn't I be consistently appreciative of all that's done for me and the amazing gift this experience is? Damn straight, I should!
I can't help thinking I've become a big douche since coming here. Well, maybe I've always been one, but it seems more pointed here. Anger and frustration well up far too easily, along with feelings of being offended or slighted. And I know Micronesian culture too well to give myself a pass; I make mental note of what's happening culturally to rub me the wrong way, acknowledge that the way I'm taking whatever it is (as an American) isn't the way it's meant by the local, and I still let it get to me. What the hell, right?
And here's what I'm coming up with now. Whether or not I'm naturally a jerk, another very significant factor of my persona defect is feeling isolated from/unconnected to the people on the island. Just this morning, we were at the cook house, the fam and I, drinking coffee. They were all inside and I was on the outside. Seemed a perfect analogy to me of my whole existence on-island. Tonight I'm inside the cook house, drinking coffee and chatting with the fam, and THAT feels like a perfect analogy too - even complimentary to the morning experience.
My perceived closeness to others in my new family/community (however accurate) fluctuates easily and has more of an effect on how I feel about the whole of this Peace Corps assignment than any other aspect of the experience: language ability, job performance, how manly the other guys on-island consider me, support from PC staff, personal health, having things to do, whatever.
In Woleai, I felt the same, though it was much more narrowly experienced. If I was getting on well with my host mom, Lewechipy, everything rocked, and vice versa. Here it's much broader, and little connections with various folks, like a good chat in English or a shared laugh in any language, help me feel settled and peaceful. Just leeching off the communal feeling of Sunday church services goes a long way for me, and I don't even share their faith.
Point is, today was a good day, and I see that things are generally improving. And I hope the trend continues... And that I find a way to be a higher quality person, but that's gonna be a life long struggle.
Rising to the task
10/26 Here's the challenge: your host family is hosting a big to-do luncheon for a distant relative of your host mom (called 'sisters', in fine Micronesian fashion), your whole family's there, as is the complete campaign crew-- my 'auntie' is running for a seat in the senate, cool huh? Moments before the meal begins, your host father let's you know that you'll be performing the blessing. Here's the kicker, you don't share their faith and you aren't willing to pretend you do. What do you do? What do you say? I'll tell ya, you deliver a damn fine blessing, evoking appreciative nods, without a single mention of a deity. Bam, what's up? That's how we do it in Houk.
These are a few of my weirdest favorite things
10/23 Weirdest thing I've missed from home so far: locking the bathroom door.
Life is pretty different here, from the US, in style. A remote islands in the Pacific, remote even by Islander standards, has changed so much for an Idaho boy, I'm sometimes oblivious to funny aspects of my day-to-day. Stuff I'd expect to notice, as an American. The bathroom door thing is an example. I took care of business either in a Western style bathroom or the jungle while in Woleai - increasingly the latter, as time went by - and in Houk we have an add-on stall I lock with a screwdriver. There's a hole drilled through the door to the frame to stick the screwdriver through.
There's so many of these trivial yet significant differences - only worn a shirt once, for a couple of hours, in the past month; underwear is a rarity; children run naked all over the island up till puberty; I'm the only native English speaker for hundreds of miles; there's no access to news here; I start my shower in the ocean & finish by dumping buckets of well water over my head, but use Old Spice hair & body wash for soap. No streets just The Road; no running cars on Houk; the sound of a motor comes as a shock; cooking takes place exclusively over wood fires; I can barely understand 90 percent of conversations around me; I can hear the ocean breakers, birds and crickets wherever I go; fresh water is all from rain catchments; garbage is all over the island!
While I was in Chuuk lagoon for the first time, some other volunteers (Jesuit Volunteer Corps) poked fun at me for one of the baskets I got in Woleai. To me, it's a basket and basically a Micronesian shoulder bag; to them - and I suspect most Americans - it's a purse. I've bought into the Yapese way of looking at baskets so fully, I was dumbfounded that they didn't see mine as I do.
All this makes me wonder. If I see these little things so differently than other people from the US (who are living in the FSM, no less), than I saw them when I was in the US, what about the big things? Values, worldview, goals, ideals, appropriate standards of living. Part of why I joined Peace Corps was to broaden my perspective, but 'broaden' isn't the right term, I realize. It's too inclusive, as though I needn't change old perspectives to accommodate the new. That's impossible. Co-existence of how I see things now with how I saw them then can't be. So, will I be able to relate to folks back home when I return? I'm not sure. Makes me worry a bit, about who I will connect with and - more importantly - who I won't.
10/24 addendum: Watched a movie today, and I noticed something else kind of weird I miss from home. You know when you come home from doin' nothing, with nothing to do? What do you do more often than not? Go straight to the fridge, knowing you're not really hungry or thirsty & that even if you were, whatever you want isn't in there. I miss that. I miss opening the door, feeling the wafting chill, looking without seeing & closing the door with that ambiguous feeling, unsatisfied because you're too satisfied to want anything. How American.
10/25 further addendums: clothes piled on a chair/the floor, planned for re-wear. You only pile clothes here if you feel there just aren't nearly enough cockroach nests in your room. I miss fifth graders only being naked in-class in nightmares. Also, I miss people knowing, caring about and practicing proper handling of books.
Life is pretty different here, from the US, in style. A remote islands in the Pacific, remote even by Islander standards, has changed so much for an Idaho boy, I'm sometimes oblivious to funny aspects of my day-to-day. Stuff I'd expect to notice, as an American. The bathroom door thing is an example. I took care of business either in a Western style bathroom or the jungle while in Woleai - increasingly the latter, as time went by - and in Houk we have an add-on stall I lock with a screwdriver. There's a hole drilled through the door to the frame to stick the screwdriver through.
There's so many of these trivial yet significant differences - only worn a shirt once, for a couple of hours, in the past month; underwear is a rarity; children run naked all over the island up till puberty; I'm the only native English speaker for hundreds of miles; there's no access to news here; I start my shower in the ocean & finish by dumping buckets of well water over my head, but use Old Spice hair & body wash for soap. No streets just The Road; no running cars on Houk; the sound of a motor comes as a shock; cooking takes place exclusively over wood fires; I can barely understand 90 percent of conversations around me; I can hear the ocean breakers, birds and crickets wherever I go; fresh water is all from rain catchments; garbage is all over the island!
While I was in Chuuk lagoon for the first time, some other volunteers (Jesuit Volunteer Corps) poked fun at me for one of the baskets I got in Woleai. To me, it's a basket and basically a Micronesian shoulder bag; to them - and I suspect most Americans - it's a purse. I've bought into the Yapese way of looking at baskets so fully, I was dumbfounded that they didn't see mine as I do.
All this makes me wonder. If I see these little things so differently than other people from the US (who are living in the FSM, no less), than I saw them when I was in the US, what about the big things? Values, worldview, goals, ideals, appropriate standards of living. Part of why I joined Peace Corps was to broaden my perspective, but 'broaden' isn't the right term, I realize. It's too inclusive, as though I needn't change old perspectives to accommodate the new. That's impossible. Co-existence of how I see things now with how I saw them then can't be. So, will I be able to relate to folks back home when I return? I'm not sure. Makes me worry a bit, about who I will connect with and - more importantly - who I won't.
10/24 addendum: Watched a movie today, and I noticed something else kind of weird I miss from home. You know when you come home from doin' nothing, with nothing to do? What do you do more often than not? Go straight to the fridge, knowing you're not really hungry or thirsty & that even if you were, whatever you want isn't in there. I miss that. I miss opening the door, feeling the wafting chill, looking without seeing & closing the door with that ambiguous feeling, unsatisfied because you're too satisfied to want anything. How American.
10/25 further addendums: clothes piled on a chair/the floor, planned for re-wear. You only pile clothes here if you feel there just aren't nearly enough cockroach nests in your room. I miss fifth graders only being naked in-class in nightmares. Also, I miss people knowing, caring about and practicing proper handling of books.
A Moment of Doubt
10/15 What am I doing here? Seriously, what is it that I'm doing? Since May, I have painted the back wall of the Yap field office, helped at two sports camps (7 days total), inventoried the IRC in Yap, helped clean the Chuuk office, helped with the Chuuk PC yearly report, studied Chuukese, picked up supplies/resources, made initial intros in Houk, observed classes, assisted in a few classes and setup tutoring with a promising student. Five months of service, maybe one and a half or two months of work. Maybe not SO bad as I thought... but still, so much wasted time.
If Woleai hadn't closed, I still would have spent two months in Yap, still would have spent three weeks in Ma'ap with Mom and Pops, and wouldn't likely have gotten much more done than I did- less boozing, though, I'd bet. It's July 22nd to today that would have been vastly improved. Three months sacrificed to switching sites. Three months of projects and greater competency in both the class and the community lost. It keeps going too. It'll be months yet before I get to where I was in Woleai. MST and travel after further compound the problem. I think I'm setting a better tone with my co-teachers though.
If Woleai hadn't closed, I still would have spent two months in Yap, still would have spent three weeks in Ma'ap with Mom and Pops, and wouldn't likely have gotten much more done than I did- less boozing, though, I'd bet. It's July 22nd to today that would have been vastly improved. Three months sacrificed to switching sites. Three months of projects and greater competency in both the class and the community lost. It keeps going too. It'll be months yet before I get to where I was in Woleai. MST and travel after further compound the problem. I think I'm setting a better tone with my co-teachers though.
Poop Story
10/11 Today I'm a new man--revived by a trip to the can. I shit you not (pun intended), I'd not taken a satisfactory deuce, before this afternoon, since July. July. Did you catch the date on this one? Mid October.
The start of August coincided with the worst diarrhea of my life. Checking my Peace Corps med book, seems I landed myself some E. Coli or Salmonella. Bowel movement quality fluctuated over the next two and a half months, but the average was quite a bit more watery than beef stew. Imagery, nice!
The doc couldn't find any nasties in my sample when I finally made it to the health center. She figured I'd passed whatever had been living in my gut, and so I thought diet must be my problem. I made adjustments based on the doc's suggestions and my own superstitions. This was back in early September. No dice, it just wouldn't resolve, and I started to worry some lasting damage had been done during the initial illness or else occurred over the long haul.
I'm only mortified to admit I seriously worried I would graduate to Depends several decades too early, as the frequency and urgency of my bathroom trips only intensified upon return to Houk. Dark days in the Pacific, dear readers. And so it was with a light heart today that I heard a heavy, but singular, splash while doing my business.
In closing, to my lovely grandparents, I'm so sorry if you read this. To my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brother and friends, I give no apology. Bowel movements are a primary topic of conversation in Peace Corps, and I can't think of a one of you who is truly above bathroom humor. No offense, Mom. Love you all!
The start of August coincided with the worst diarrhea of my life. Checking my Peace Corps med book, seems I landed myself some E. Coli or Salmonella. Bowel movement quality fluctuated over the next two and a half months, but the average was quite a bit more watery than beef stew. Imagery, nice!
The doc couldn't find any nasties in my sample when I finally made it to the health center. She figured I'd passed whatever had been living in my gut, and so I thought diet must be my problem. I made adjustments based on the doc's suggestions and my own superstitions. This was back in early September. No dice, it just wouldn't resolve, and I started to worry some lasting damage had been done during the initial illness or else occurred over the long haul.
I'm only mortified to admit I seriously worried I would graduate to Depends several decades too early, as the frequency and urgency of my bathroom trips only intensified upon return to Houk. Dark days in the Pacific, dear readers. And so it was with a light heart today that I heard a heavy, but singular, splash while doing my business.
In closing, to my lovely grandparents, I'm so sorry if you read this. To my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brother and friends, I give no apology. Bowel movements are a primary topic of conversation in Peace Corps, and I can't think of a one of you who is truly above bathroom humor. No offense, Mom. Love you all!
Warning Rain
10/6 Rain fell hard on Houk this morning. The drum of our roof beat out a warning I couldn't hear, or maybe I just didn't understand it--might have been in Chuukese. Munching my ramen and sipping coffee, I awaited the sounding of our bell to signal the start of the school day (the bell is an old CO2 container smacked w/a heavy metal plumbob). Clanging through the jungle it came, and I made my way to work.
Yup, should have listened more closely to the rain. My co-teacher stayed home to look after her sick daughter. So on my second day, with no lesson plan, I took up the role of teacher.
I'm supposed to be observing, getting a feel for the students and class dynamics as well as the level of the kids' English ability. Then I'll move into a helper role, find my place in the classroom, and then start to take more of a leading role at times. But when has anything gone according to plan while I've been in Peacs Corps? Rarely. It was a hypothetical, but still, let's just say it: rare is the day that follows my plan, especially where school and travel are concerned.
First period: English with the 7th & 8th graders. Only two of the sixteen spoke during the 45 minutes of class. It was rough. Second & third periods were both with the 5th & 6th graders--math followed by English. I had no idea what they were doing in math, so we just went with an introduction on my part that strayed into the vaguely social studyish waters of what the FSM and USA stand for and what states are. The kids participated, we built some rapport and laughed. Nothing makes me feel like a worthwhile teacher as much as laughing students. Maybe that's not the best maxim for a teacher to operate under, but I like to think they're learning when they're laughing. Well, at least they're listening (not to mention understanding) and there's half the battle taken care of.
We finished with a brief chat about what we like to do, the last student contribution being 'drawing', which segwayed nicely into the drawing I had planned for third period. See how I put those two things together? Crafty, I know. I'd scrounged some colored pencils and oversized newsprint sheets from the office that the kids dove into with gusto--seriously, they dove, pouncing on first the pencils and then the paper. I supervised, contemplated what I'll do next time I'm put in this position (probably tomorrow) and read a bit until recess.
At recess the students all disperse about the island, making fourth period (the last before lunch) more of a nice idea than practical reality. The problem of not knowing the math plan was again an issue. Not wishing to repeat first period's pain, I set the 7th/8th grade to cleaning a particularly messy classroom, and I planned for the next lesson I'd give should the solo teacher mantle soon be placed on me again.
Also during the morning classes, I noticed one of the other teacher's instructional technique: alternate b/w napping, being massaged by the kids and reading quietly while the students sit chatting. This was right on par with yesterday when said teacher showed up late, napped while being fanned by students and then dismissed them early for recess: approximately three minutes into third period.
Such are the challenges confronting outer island schools in the FSM. And that's just a small selection, a teaser preview as it were, of what confronts education out here. The question is: what do I do? The answer is: what I can. It's not unlike playing on a sports team or working on a group project. You focus on what you can control. Don't fly off he handle about someone else's effort/lack there of or try to take on more than you can reasonably handle. It'll only burn you out and ruin your days. As I'm in no notion to ruin my brief Micronesian stay, keeping my cool is the name of the game. Considering I've just spent about four months chilling out on a variety of islands while waiting to reach my new site and then for school to start, it should be an easy game to win.
I'm encouraged by the principal's attitude and think it may be possible to turn him onto some more American-style administrative habits. And he seems pretty open to my ideas about reforming English teaching, moving into all English instruction in English class for the 1st/2nd graders--a plan backed enthusiastically by another teacher at the school. Also, my counter part teacher is motivated, plans ahead for classes and genuinely wants my assistance and advice. This is more than many PCVs can hope for in Micronesia.
So let's call it a glass half full, eh? Plus, it's badass to be wearing a thu and swimming in the ocean again.
"This, class, is what we called 'livin the goddamn dream'. So repeat after me, 'I'm livin the goddamn dream!' Again! And again with gusto, like I just dropped colored pencils and paper in front of you. If you're lying, kindly see to that. You'll be glad you did."
Yup, should have listened more closely to the rain. My co-teacher stayed home to look after her sick daughter. So on my second day, with no lesson plan, I took up the role of teacher.
I'm supposed to be observing, getting a feel for the students and class dynamics as well as the level of the kids' English ability. Then I'll move into a helper role, find my place in the classroom, and then start to take more of a leading role at times. But when has anything gone according to plan while I've been in Peacs Corps? Rarely. It was a hypothetical, but still, let's just say it: rare is the day that follows my plan, especially where school and travel are concerned.
First period: English with the 7th & 8th graders. Only two of the sixteen spoke during the 45 minutes of class. It was rough. Second & third periods were both with the 5th & 6th graders--math followed by English. I had no idea what they were doing in math, so we just went with an introduction on my part that strayed into the vaguely social studyish waters of what the FSM and USA stand for and what states are. The kids participated, we built some rapport and laughed. Nothing makes me feel like a worthwhile teacher as much as laughing students. Maybe that's not the best maxim for a teacher to operate under, but I like to think they're learning when they're laughing. Well, at least they're listening (not to mention understanding) and there's half the battle taken care of.
We finished with a brief chat about what we like to do, the last student contribution being 'drawing', which segwayed nicely into the drawing I had planned for third period. See how I put those two things together? Crafty, I know. I'd scrounged some colored pencils and oversized newsprint sheets from the office that the kids dove into with gusto--seriously, they dove, pouncing on first the pencils and then the paper. I supervised, contemplated what I'll do next time I'm put in this position (probably tomorrow) and read a bit until recess.
At recess the students all disperse about the island, making fourth period (the last before lunch) more of a nice idea than practical reality. The problem of not knowing the math plan was again an issue. Not wishing to repeat first period's pain, I set the 7th/8th grade to cleaning a particularly messy classroom, and I planned for the next lesson I'd give should the solo teacher mantle soon be placed on me again.
Also during the morning classes, I noticed one of the other teacher's instructional technique: alternate b/w napping, being massaged by the kids and reading quietly while the students sit chatting. This was right on par with yesterday when said teacher showed up late, napped while being fanned by students and then dismissed them early for recess: approximately three minutes into third period.
Such are the challenges confronting outer island schools in the FSM. And that's just a small selection, a teaser preview as it were, of what confronts education out here. The question is: what do I do? The answer is: what I can. It's not unlike playing on a sports team or working on a group project. You focus on what you can control. Don't fly off he handle about someone else's effort/lack there of or try to take on more than you can reasonably handle. It'll only burn you out and ruin your days. As I'm in no notion to ruin my brief Micronesian stay, keeping my cool is the name of the game. Considering I've just spent about four months chilling out on a variety of islands while waiting to reach my new site and then for school to start, it should be an easy game to win.
I'm encouraged by the principal's attitude and think it may be possible to turn him onto some more American-style administrative habits. And he seems pretty open to my ideas about reforming English teaching, moving into all English instruction in English class for the 1st/2nd graders--a plan backed enthusiastically by another teacher at the school. Also, my counter part teacher is motivated, plans ahead for classes and genuinely wants my assistance and advice. This is more than many PCVs can hope for in Micronesia.
So let's call it a glass half full, eh? Plus, it's badass to be wearing a thu and swimming in the ocean again.
"This, class, is what we called 'livin the goddamn dream'. So repeat after me, 'I'm livin the goddamn dream!' Again! And again with gusto, like I just dropped colored pencils and paper in front of you. If you're lying, kindly see to that. You'll be glad you did."
Coloring Culture
10/6 Colored pencil on newsprint. Awareness of cultural differences can come from the most unlikely of places. Reviewing drawings from class today, I'm struck by something I doubt you'd find in an American classroom. Repeats. And I mean total, complete, absolute repeat drawings. I can't remember searching my nearby classmates' desks for what to draw. More likely the window, class pet, or my own mind. Yet here are my students, tentative to sketch freely, opting to copy entirely their neighbor. And in the most prominent case, they were even copying a copy.
Weird, huh? Or did I view a difference in cultural values? In the U.S. we like the new, creation, originality, innovation. "Out with the old and in with the new," right? Not so in Micronesia--nor the Pacific in general, I'd wager.
The old, tradition, custom, time-tested, time-weathered, proven ways of life. Repetition made perfection. Shit! you should see them wield knives here! They know b/c their parents know, b/c their ancestors knew. They pay heed to the path that's brought them here, that allowed them to survive on scraps of land that entranced and terrified early Euro-American explorers.
Straying outside the bounds isn't associated with increased market share, here. Just try and do your own thing building a local sailing canoe. Sure you'll make it back from outside the reef? Go ahead, tamper with the way you brew faluba. Sure it won't make you blind? 'Cause fishing's gonna be a bitch if it does. Wanna throw some new ingredients into the soup? Better hope it doesn't kill your grandma or the baby.
I'm not saying it's definitely better this way than in The States. It bites back, as in he case of just tossing trash wherever you finish with the good. Coconut shells don't mess the island ecology up, but discarded batteries'll sure give you trouble over time. It's just different, and with reason behind it.
And that's what I saw today when I held up those copycat pictures. Culture comes into the classroom. Can we hope to inspire creativity in drawings, the written word, in thought, without undermining the cultural foundation of cooperation and community on the island? I like to think so, but this brainwave tells me to relax when students don't show the originality my Western mindset expects.
Weird, huh? Or did I view a difference in cultural values? In the U.S. we like the new, creation, originality, innovation. "Out with the old and in with the new," right? Not so in Micronesia--nor the Pacific in general, I'd wager.
The old, tradition, custom, time-tested, time-weathered, proven ways of life. Repetition made perfection. Shit! you should see them wield knives here! They know b/c their parents know, b/c their ancestors knew. They pay heed to the path that's brought them here, that allowed them to survive on scraps of land that entranced and terrified early Euro-American explorers.
Straying outside the bounds isn't associated with increased market share, here. Just try and do your own thing building a local sailing canoe. Sure you'll make it back from outside the reef? Go ahead, tamper with the way you brew faluba. Sure it won't make you blind? 'Cause fishing's gonna be a bitch if it does. Wanna throw some new ingredients into the soup? Better hope it doesn't kill your grandma or the baby.
I'm not saying it's definitely better this way than in The States. It bites back, as in he case of just tossing trash wherever you finish with the good. Coconut shells don't mess the island ecology up, but discarded batteries'll sure give you trouble over time. It's just different, and with reason behind it.
And that's what I saw today when I held up those copycat pictures. Culture comes into the classroom. Can we hope to inspire creativity in drawings, the written word, in thought, without undermining the cultural foundation of cooperation and community on the island? I like to think so, but this brainwave tells me to relax when students don't show the originality my Western mindset expects.
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