In Someone Else's Shoes

Dale, our PC Country Director, took a group on a hike up a hill outside Apia.  This is the view looking back toward the harbor.

I’m as excited today as I was on September 3, when I was preparing to leave for staging in L.A.  This time, though, there isn’t the same sense of being ripped away from home.  I’ve become friendly with some of the staff and will miss them, but not like the friends I cried with that last week  in Florida.

I’ve gotten used to our utilitarian room and know just where everything is.  Chelsea and I have developed a smooth morning and evening routine and I’ll miss that, although it will not be like saying goodbye to the house where I lived for 16 years.

So, the leave taking will be easier and the excitement as great.  I can’t wait to get out of Apia and see the “real” Samoa.  The villages that will be similar to the rural site where I’ll spend the next two years.  I can’t wait to spend more time with Samoans and less time with Americans.  That’s a common comment among all trainees, by the way, from what I’ve read.

As I was showering this morning I was wondering how the woman whose home I’m coming to is feeling.  A staff member let it slip yesterday that I was going to get a “sister”, not a “mother”, meaning I’d be living with a woman about my own age.  I assume she’s hosting a trainee at least in part because of the money.  The Peace Corps pays families to house/feed/protect us.  And, apparently it is a responsibility and honor that’s not taken lightly in the village. 

We’ve heard that the families are very protective – having someone sleep on the floor next to our beds, for example, and not allowing us to go out after dark unless they are with us.  If something would happen to us, even if it is our fault, it would bring great shame on the family and could cause them to be fined by the Village Council, which is made up of the matais or chiefs of all the families in the village.

I’ve been an active couchsurfer for a number of years.  If you’re not familiar with the concept, Google it, it’s a great program.  Each time I’ve hosted someone; I looked forward to it but also had some concerns.  My friends worried the guests might be axe murderers.  I worried that they’d be boring.

So, what do you suppose my new host family is worried about?  That I don’t speak Samoan?  Bingo!  Except, I must say, I’m proud of myself.  I can say hello and ask how you are.  I can tell you how I am (Manuia, fa’afetai!), I know the days of the week and can sorta count to ten, if you’re not overly picky about the sequence of numbers.  I’m beginning to recognize words and last night for homework I completed 20 sentences in which I had to create a complete “command”, such as “Stop making noise.” and “Don’t swear!”  It took me about 10 minutes.  I’m proud. 

Is my host family worried about me being boring?  Heck, we all know I’m one of the most amusing people you could meet.

Are they worried about me being a whiner?  Well, that could be a valid concern, but I’m going to try to limit the whining to my journal and blog.  Brace yourselves!

My new family will be my guide into really learning fa’a Samoa, or the Samoan way/culture, along with helping improve my language.  We’ll be eating every meal together, spending evenings and weekends together and attending church together. 

I hope my new “sister” is as excited to meet me as I am to meet her. 

P.S.  A bit of gratuitous whining.  It’s humid here.  I washed out a tee shirt last night and hung it on the balcony to dry in the breeze.  It was as wet when I woke up as when I went to bed.  During the night, I dreamt I was in a swamp.  I woke up and my sheets and body were damp.  I took a shower and after drying off, I was damp.  It’s an hour later and my hair is still wet and I’m dampish.  I live in Samoa, one of the most beautiful tropical islands on earth.  The key word there is tropical.

Some of the hikers:  Olivia, Robert, Rivka, Katie and Danny