Thanksgiving

It’s been a challenging week.  Not horrible, just the kind of week we have all at times.  To keep my spirits up I’ve been thinking about the positives of my life here.  Seems appropriate since today is Thanksgiving.  Here’s a partial list, in random order:

·         Watching sheets of rain approaching over the ocean, then the lagoon.  It is stunningly beautiful. I never knew there could be so many shades of blue and gray.

·         A cool breeze on a hot day.

·         The variety of colors and textures.  There are orchids growing wild.  Perfectly landscaped yards with brilliant greens, yellows, reds, purples and every color in between.  Looking out from the bus as I ride to the market is a visual delight.

·         The strong young men who work on the buses and always help me with the junk I’m invariably carrying.

·         The tolerance of my teachers who occasionally forget I don’t speak Samoan but usually are very patient in speaking slowly and repeating words so I can hopefully keep learning the language.

·         The “dejading” I’ve experienced.  I had a very comfortable life in America.  If I wanted to buy something, I did.  If I wanted to go somewhere, I went.  I’m not talking Lamborghini’s and I tend to travel on a shoestring, but I took a lot for granted.  That was one of the many reasons I joined Peace Corps.  This has been a great reminder of how easy middle-class life is in the United States, relatively speaking.

·         Swimming on a beach just a five minute walk away that could be featured on the cover of a travel magazine.  The fact there are never any other people on the beach is a plus.

·         The learning experience I’ve had in the realities of living in a rural village on a South Pacific island.  I clearly see how incredibly naïve I was about what life would be like if I retired here.  

·         I’m in the best shape I’ve been in for years.  Not thinner, but I’ve got muscles where I’d forgotten there should be muscles.

·         The kids.  They are beautiful, sweet, funny, tolerant of the palagi and curious.    It’s been an on-going issue that I won’t beat the kids.  I’ve been told, repeatedly and recently, that no one can teach in Samoa if they are unwilling to use a stick to beat kids when they misbehave or make a mistake.  Or as encouragement.  I confess, I have my days and I dare any other teacher to deny that they don’t have days when they fantasize about wielding a big stick.  Today I reiterated my position to my principal.  “I won’t hit them.  But can I kill them?”  That was after spending an hour alone, at the end of the day, with 250 squirming, chatty Samoan speaking kids who are ready for summer vacation. 

Then the four boys who were the most squirmy and chatty and who I kept after school to clean my room as punishment begged me to let them carry my bags to my house.  The kids are the highpoint of my life in Savaii.

·         My house.  As much as I complained about my four month “temporary” living arrangements when I arrived, I should rave about my current house.  In Western terms, it would not pass occupancy codes.  But for a PCV, it’s a tiny bit of heaven.  I can sit in bed and look at the ocean.  There are a lot of windows so I can enjoy the breeze.  I have electricity and running water.  I have a kitchen and an indoor bathroom.  My family is friendly but treats me like a renter – I can come and go and they are very concerned about giving me privacy.  After a bad day, it’s a place I can retreat to relax and put things in perspective.

·         My 18 year old host brother.  His English is excellent and he stops by for an hour or two every day.  He keeps me up on village gossip and helps me figure out what’s happening when I run head first into fa’a Samoa.  He’s moving to Apia in January to attend the National University of Samoa and I will miss him enormously.

·         I have access to several buses and “the big city” of Salelologa is close enough that I can go after school.  One of the Upolu volunteers complains that she’s jealous of my situation.  I agree that I have an easier time of it.  That said, I point out to her that there’s more there when she gets there, since she’s going to the capital city which has a much larger market and access to things we don’t have on my island.

·         Piglets.  Puppies.  Chicks.  I’ve lived in downtown San Francisco.  I’ve lived in the suburbs.  I’ve never lived on a farm or in a rural environment.  Baby critters are just cute.

·         My Kindle and headlamp.  Along with my laptop, they are my prized possessions.

·         The freedom from a 60 hour work week with budgets, performance reviews and operating plans.  Don’t get me wrong, I work for my keep.  But compared to corporate life as I knew it, this is a walk in the park.

·         Little boys running along the road to race the bus.  Or little boys running to chase piglets.  Or little boys running just because they can.

·         All the love and support I continue to receive from friends, family and people I’ve never met.  I cannot express what it means to know that half a world away are thinking of me and care.  And truly, a text is just as valued as a big box of goodies.  I really do have everything I need here...and then some.

Work is Play

Literally, today my job was to play.  It was day three of a seminar on the new Health and Physical Education curriculum.  I don’t teach Health and P.E. so why was I there?  Excellent question.  Some battles aren’t worth fighting and which training I attend is one of them.    I think what tipped the scales is that the training was held in our new hall, aka picnic pavilion.  It was a chance to show off the new hall and the palagi Pisi Koa.

The first two days were better than I expected.  In Samoan, but with English materials, so I got the gist of what was being discussed.  One of the two trainers was very enthusiastic and excited to discuss the new curriculum with me.  Because this was for Years 7 & 8, there were an equal number of men and women in the audience.  All good things.

The curriculum is not what I expected.  They’ve taken “physical education” to its broadest meaning – total physical, mental, spiritual and social well-being.  The curriculum addresses current social issues, including self-esteem and physical aggression.   While it looks good on paper, I think it will require a long time to truly be part of the curriculum.

Imagine 1950’s America.  Pregnant women smoking and drinking while pregnant.  Doctors say a drink or two will calm the mother’s nerves.  Smoking calms the nerves and there’s nothing bad about it.  Those views changed, but it took time and a lot of marketing.  Here, it is common for a teacher, parent or pastor to say (in front of the child) “He’s stupid/cheeky/bad.”  Turn that around after one seminar?  I doubt it, but it’s a start.

Today was about what you’d expect P.E. to be:  games!  After prayers, hymns and breakfast, we hit the field.  Well, the playground.  I was dressed in a t-shirt and lava lava (sarong).  I normally don’t dress that way. 

Here’s the deal.  It’s very hot here.  If you wear a lava lava, you need to wear something substantial under it, or you could face a very embarrassing moment.  Wearing a pair of capris is hot enough without wrapping 3 yards of cloth around them.  I’d rather wear a long, full skirt with a pair of men’s boxer shorts underneath.  Ok, I’ve admitted it.  Fruit of the Looms.  They wash and dry like a charm and have lots of room for air.   Sexy?  No.  But have I’m not here for the sex.   And yeast infections suck.

I showed up with my pink t-shirt and my black and pink lava lava, worn over my board shorts.  It got kind of annoying when people kept lifting up my lava lava to see what I was wearing underneath.  I mean really, I’ve been dying to know what Scots wear under their kilts but would never just whip one up to see what was under there.  Unless I’d had a lot of Scotch. 

After doing a review of safety precautions, we hit the field.  I had to chuckle during the safety precautions.  A personal injury attorney would have a field day here.  Because they don’t have a ball, kids use a rock to play rugby.  Bummer if it hits you in the face when your teammate throws it.

We started with warm ups.  Some stretching.  Some bending.   The Samoans were watching me.  I was the oldest there.  I was the whitest there.  I was not the skinniest there.  Our first game was for a line of us to get from one spot to another.  Walking.  Running.  Other ideas?  Skipping! 

Ah, the value of being a native English speaker.   The Samoan teachers assumed skipping was the same as skipping or hopping rope.  Who could do that for 30 yards?  When the teacher asked  “Who can skip this far?”  I raised my hand.  Everyone looked at me as if I’d said I could fly.  The trainer asked me to show the group.  I calmly (and sweatily) skipped 30 yards.  And back.  Then the trainer broke down how to skip.

After that exercise we did a thing that involved numbers, counting and hugging.  Keep in mind that all of the instruction was in Samoan.   I thought I got the directions – women were worth 3 points apiece, men were worth 2 points apiece.  The trainer would call out a number and we had to form that combination with men and women.  All I knew was that the trainer yelled something and the next thing I knew two men were giving me bear hugs from either side.  I’m not good at math, but enjoyed the result. 

Sadly, I was “out” in the last round.  When I pointed out that they were “tagata Samoa leanga” (bad Samoan people) for making the palagi lose, they had a good laugh.  By then we were all dripping sweat.  The lines between Samoan/American seemed to melt along with our deodorant.  It was in the high 80’s and humid.  I kept looking longingly at the beach and praying for swimming class.

We took a break then played a couple more games.  All demonstrated that what I’d been told during training about Samoans not being competitive was a crock.  Samoans, even more than most Americans I know are VERY competitive in games.  They want to win.  There was physicality in the games. This  wasn’t just a “let’s play to learn”.  It was “let’s beat the crap out of each other to win”

Next we played “chain tag”.  One guy was it and as he tagged people, they held hands and went to tag others.  Once 4 were holding hands, they split into 2 groups of 2 and went after more.  I was the first tagged.  And was then dragged around the playground by a very fit, handsome Samoan dude.  Ok, I was the wounded gazelle, easy to tag, but did he not consider that I’d be his anchor for the rest of the game?  Or maybe he was attracted by the beet red complexion and wet hair, dripping with sweat? 

It was a fun day.  Typical in many ways.  Hot, sweaty, with lots of laughs.  I heard that tomorrow is “Jazz Day”.  I’ve been told that means it’s a half day for all government employees.  After work, we’ll do Jazzercize.  Hopefully I won’t be too sore to participate.

Church Lady

Okay, not the most flattering look, but my family said I looked beautiful and I think they really meant it.  I'm standing in the doorway of my home.

I wrapped myself in my new hand-me-down white puletasi, grabbed my church gear and headed out at 8:30 last Sunday, as usual. 

I strolled in the early morning humidity under a partly cloudy sky, enjoying the sea breeze.  The tide was in and I enjoyed the sound of the surf at the reef and the small waves lapping at the shore just a few feet from the road.

I was distracted as I walked.  It takes certain skills, which I don’t have, to pull off wearing a hat in a stiff sea breeze, while trying to keep my wrap-around skirt wrapped-around.  At the same time, I was trying not to drop my purse, fan, bible or umbrella.  Samoan women do it with grace and style. 

I finally gave up, snatched off the hat and let the wind do what it would to my skirt.  If somebody got a glimpse of bare knee, lucky them.  As I focused more on my surroundings I realized that there weren’t a lot of other folks wearing white, walking in the same direction I was.  As I approached the church I saw that it was empty.  Not a soul to be saved.  I climbed into a beach fale and dropped all my church paraphernalia beside me.

A minute later, an attractive young man approached me.  I asked if there was no church today.  He said there was but it was in Sasaai, a village a couple miles or more up the road.  Last year I’d attended a similar service there when all the churches of the district come together.

The charming young man offered to walk with me.  I said it was too far, not really wanting to do the hat/skirt/sweating thing for a few miles.  He assured me it wasn’t that far and since I was young and strong it would be a nice walk.  Actually, since the conversation was in Samoan, I’m doing some loose interpretation here…in my favor.

We had a nice chat as we walked.  It was typical of my conversations here.  A little English, a little Samoan, a few hand gestures (severely limited by my hat/bible/fan/umbrella situation).  As we approached the church there was a group of youth standing outside.  It was not a surprise that as soon as I turned to walk up the steps into the church I heard hooting and hollering.  He was paying the price for walking the old white broad to church.

The service was interesting.  Well, to be honest, after the first two hours I was ready to call it a day and hike home.  I think the woman next to me was also ready, since she kept sighing, squirming and at one point, turned to the women behind us and whispered “I’m hungry – let’s go!”  I don’t believe she knows I speak any Samoan.

The service was to celebrate the money raised by the churches in attendance.  It was over $200,000 tala.  Wonder where the money goes in this poor country?  As in many poor countries – to the church. 

The event was also an opportunity for the choirs to show off.  I attend the EFKS or Congregational church and they’re known for their great singing.  I really like it, although as it stretched into three hours, I was squirming and sighing along with my neighbor.

As I walked home with a woman from  my village, I asked about what the pastor was saying.  “Was he really saying that the choir from >>>> village was bad?” 

“Yes!  He said their voices were terrible and that’s why everyone laughed.  He gave grades to all the choirs.  Our church got the best grade.”

Tourists and visitors are welcome in churches in Samoa.  They actually advertise tours to visit a church and hear the singing.  At this event, each choir did two hymns.  The first was always fairly traditional.  Slow, 4-part harmony, churchy.  The second was always very Samoan.  Very up tempo and foot tappingly good. 

I never realized until I came here that I tend to “chair dance”.  You know, that just moving with the music thing you do while sitting.  Or I do.  The other teachers have commented on it, since there’s frequently music playing.  Strangers on the bus have commented.  They seem to like it since they take it (correctly) that I’m enjoying the music.

I realized I was doing a little “pew dancing” along with the hymns, when the lady behind me leaned forward and asked “Mania le pesi?” (Nice song?)  “Ioi. O te fia fia tele.”  (Yes, I like it a lot).  She and the other ladies in our pews just chuckled.  They were doing some pew dancing of their own.

Integration

Nope, not talking about 1960’s in America.  Talking about Peace Corps integration.  It’s a word we’ve heard constantly.  We are expected to integrate into our communities.  We do that by dressing in and behaving in a culturally appropriate ways and living in the same fashion as locals.  It keeps us safer and makes us more effective.

Cultural integration is tough.  Language is a barrier.  My Samoan has improved, at a snail’s pace, but still stinks.  I can casually pass the time of day, I’m a whiz at the market and I have no problems telling the kids at school what to do, in Samoan.  Beyond that…not so much.

Dressing and behaving in culturally appropriate ways is also a challenge.  Easier for this geezerette, I suspect, than for the younger volunteers.  I haven’t worn a bikini since the 70’s, so wearing a t-shirt and shorts over my swimsuit isn’t a huge deal.  Not wearing shorts, short skirts and tank tops is also not a big deal for me. Wearing the floor length polyester sausage suit called a puletasi to work in the tropical heat is definitely a sacrifice.

Behavioral norms here are significantly different than in the USA.  I really miss being able to be out alone at night.  I miss hopping in my convertible, cranking up the tunes and hitting the road, alone, at 3 a.m., if I choose. 

I still find it irksome that in this male dominated culture, I’m expected to fetch and carry for the men.  Or, when riding in a car with two men, I’m given the backseat.  Been there, done that, back in the 70’s and never wanted to go back there.

Even the simple things, I miss.  There’s a very nice resort a short walk (and a million light years) from my house.  They make a great pizza, in a stone oven.  I could afford to dine there once a week, enjoying the palagi luxury of a pizza and a couple of beers.  I don’t because my neighbors can’t afford the same luxury and it sets me apart.  Both the price and the fact that a woman is drinking- in public!  Don’t get me wrong…I have eaten there a few times.  Most times, I’ve been the guest of visitors to the village.   I get a free dinner and I talk up the great places to visit and stay in Savaii.  The resort gets more business.  Everybody’s happy.   

I do eat out, having pizza, Chinese and Indian, when I’m in Apia.  I just think giving up hanging at my local resort on a regular basis is a way of saying “I’m trying to live the Samoan way, not the palagi way.”

So, why the diatribe about integration?  I had an integration breakthrough last Saturday on my way to the market in Salelologa.  The bus was really crowded.  And every time the driver stopped to let another few passengers on there were groans.  Each bus seat barely holds two adults, especially if they’re Samoan (or my) size.  The rule is that young men sit in the back and they’re stacked like cordwood, literally to the ceiling and with body parts sticking out windows.  Young women sit on older women’s laps.  Kids perch anywhere there’s some lap space available.

As a palagi, I’m exempt from the lap sitting protocol.  When we were in training in Upolu, I frequently had a lap sitter, but it was always another PCV.  Here, even though I’ve offered (in Samoan) and tried to grab a random kid, people were horrified.  It would be disrespectful to me, as a teacher, a palagi and a lo’omatua (old broad).

Saturday was different.  Mine was one of the few laps not taken and the other empty laps belonged to elderly matais (chiefs).  People were crouched in the aisles, because it is considered rude to stand when others are sitting.  I was in a seat next to a young woman.  She had two young children on her lap.  She didn’t want to share.  Instead, a woman of about 20 plopped down.  Everybody looked, but after the first glance, just shrugged.  The attitude seemed to be “Hey palagi, you’ve gotten a free ride for over a year.  Cowboy up.”  Worked for me.

The young woman got off before I did and a Year 6 boy took her place for the rest of the hour-long ride.  I know he’s in Year 6 because he’s one of my students.

Do you remember being a kid and seeing a teacher outside of school?  Or finding out they had a first name?  Can you imagine sitting on your teachers lap?  When he got off the bus, I saw him race over to one of his buddies, talking a mile a minute and pointing at the bus.  I just waved.