Epiphany

I have been trying to distill my two year Peace Corps experience into an elevator speech.  You know, those snappy messages used by politicians and advertisers.  Short enough to express in a quick elevator ride.

I know that when I get home in a few months people will ask “What was it like?”  That could start me on a four month monologue of my views and experiences.  But since they actually have a life and probably won’t care to hear about every mosquito in Samoa, I need to figure out an elevator version. 

The other day I had sort of an epiphany.  You know how your skin peels after a bad sunburn?  And the skin that’s revealed is incredibly sensitive so that every touch, every breeze is painful?  I thought it was kind of like that.  Then I realized that only acknowledges the sensitivity and pain, not the joy that I’ve also experienced. 

Then, blam, I got it.  I remembered when I got the cast off my leg in the 1980’s.  Remember Joe Thiesmann’s career ending injury?  A spiral fracture of the tibia?  I slipped on the ice in Pontiac Michigan and got the same break.  But instead of rolling around on the ground like a ...man, I tried to limp into my apartment building.  As I tried to touch the broken leg to the ground I fell again and broke the other bone in my leg.  Okay, perhaps I was tougher but not as bright.

I spent six and a half months in a cast from ankle to crotch.  When the cast was finally removed, the skin on that leg wasn’t infected or inflamed but it had shed all calluses.  My foot and leg were covered with what looked and felt like baby skin.

I remember putting my foot down on grass for the first time in over six months.  It tickled.  Stepping on sand was almost painful.  My right foot just felt sand.  But my newly born left foot felt every grain.

That’s what my two years has felt like.  As if the calluses on my brain and soul were removed when I got off the plane at the Faleolo Airport.  All the sensations, both good and bad have been intensified.  It has felt like living.

Money and People

It’s been a busy week.  There was a funeral in the village for the mother of one of the school children.  She was in her 30’s and died of breast cancer.  The funeral brought a number of family members from within and outside the country.  Funerals involve fa’alavelave, which means the family of the deceased not only has to deal with their grief but they usually go into debt to pay the mourners.  As a sign of respect, the family of the deceased gives cash, fine mats, and baskets of food, including roasted pigs, and cases of tinned fish and corned beef to mourners.  The amount varies depending upon the relationship.  All mourners are also fed after the funeral.

I saw one crowded van heading home from the funeral as I walked home from school.  The back of the van was open because there were people sitting in the small area behind the seats and the food from the funeral was also there.  Unfortunately, they hit a bump and the food came tumbling out.  Luckily, the people didn’t.  Cans of mackerel were rolling across the road and slabs of mutton flaps and pig flew out of their woven palm baskets and hit the tarmac.  The car stopped in the road and two of the passengers got out tocollect the food, laughing the whole time. 

There was a family reunion at the house one house away from me.   There were about 35-50 people here for that.  They had a matai naming ceremony (when new chiefs are given titles) early Thursday morning.  That is also a fa’alavelave and involves feeding all present as well as giving cash, food and fine mats.  In this case, the new matais gave $100 to each of the existing chiefs in the village.  Each family typically has several chiefs, so that’s a lot of money.  That’s the reason for the lyrics of a song: “fa’alavelave means no more money”.  It’s also part ofthe reason that people who might never have lived in Samoa but have good jobs in other countries are frequently named as matais.  Matai titles are earned through serving and supporting the family.  While the majority are men it is becoming more common for women to receive titles as well.

The big event, though, was a meeting for Seventh Day Adventists.  People came from all over Samoa as well as American Samoa, Australia and New Zealand.  It began last Monday and ends tomorrow, Sunday.  The visitors are staying with families in the village as well as at beach fales.  They don’t call it a fa’alavelave but it’s another way for families to go into debt.

My best Samoan friend opened her home to 40 people from Apia.  She doesn’t go to the church having the meeting but lives near the church.  It would bring shame on the village not to show hospitality.  They did not bring mats or pillows although they easily could have.  They do not provide or pay for food.  They do not help with cooking or cleaning.  Instead, my friend’s family is expected (as a sign of respect and hospitality) to house and feed 40 people for a week.

She told me she is tired and frustrated and is trying to find money for her daughters’ school fees while buying groceries for so many people.  Plus, people are smoking in her home, although she’s asked them to stop.  She caught some teenagers smoking marijuana last night in her kitchen.  While the visitors are at the church praying, my friend is praying they’ll go home soon.

To protect the safety and property of those visiting, the village has imposed a curfew.  After 10:00 p.m. matai’s patrol the streets until midnight to make sure locals stay in their homes.  After that, we’re apparently on the honor system.  They are also enforcing the sunset prayer curfew.  I was caught walking home during prayer time and got a smile when I said I was heading home as quickly as I could.

All of the visitors have been a blessing for my family’s store.  The sale of vodka and beer has gone up exponentially since the arrival of the Seventh Day Adventists.  One brother pointed out that it’s the American Samoans buying the most liquor.  I countered with the fact that it was the Samoans from Apia who were caught smoking weed.

The visitors are really enjoying our lagoon.  Usually it’s just me, kids and fishermen who go swimming.  With the amount of time the visitors are spending in the water, you’d think they’d never seen a beach.  .  I’m looking forward to having the village back to normal on Monday.  I can wait for the bus again at an empty fale and the beach will be empty.  If I find the hustle and bustle of a few hundred extra people disturbing, how will I deal with moving back to the big city in Florida?

Food Update and Hide and Seek

I’m still sharing samples of food with my family.  Fried dill pickles was a loser.  Chips and salsa, ditto.  Yesterday I shared chicken soup with carrots, cabbage and dumplings.  My host mom loved it.  Everyone else absolutely hated it.  I thought they were particularly light and tasty dumplings.  Oh, well.

This morning at school, the teachers called out several children.  Seems they have been playing hide and go seek at night.  It is against village rules.  Mostly because they play it into the wee hours.  Imagine letting your eight year old daughter roam around the jungle and beach until 1:00 a.m.  That’s what was happening here.

When I got home I discovered that one brother hadn’t gone to school again.  According to his older brother, he’d been playing until 1:00 a.m. and was too tired for school.  Plus the older brother wanted him to baby sit, which is his job and he hates. 

Speaking of being absent from school, we've had a lot of teachers absent this term.  Frequently for the many meetings, along with illness and personal business.  On Friday as school started there were two other teachers present.  Luckily a few more drifted in over the next hour. 

The bright news is that after 1 ½ years of me begging, pleading, cajoling and whining, two of the teachers have started showing up at interval (recess) most days to learn how to use the computer.  Small successes keep me going.

This American Life

Written on July 4, 2012

No, the title is not about the fact that today is the fourth of July, American Independence Day.  Happy birthday, America.  It is about the radio show, This American Life.  I love the show and have a huge crush on the host, Ira Glass.

I just listened to a podcast, left by a former volunteer, called “Are You Going to Eat That?”  The whole program is good but the segment that had me laughing out loud was written about one family’s rules, in a biblical way.  “Of the beasts of the field and the fishes of the sea and all food acceptable in my sight, you may eat.  But not in the living room. “  It goes on to talk about what you have to eat to get dessert (6 peas and 2 bites of potatoes, but all peas or all potatoes do not count.)

It could have been written by a sibling.  It was so American and so funny.  I was laughing out loud, snorting, while my dinner was cooking.

It reminded me once again of all the rules we learn as children in our own culture.  Living in a new culture, we have a whole new set of rules to learn.  How close to stand to another person.  Is it ok to stand if someone else is sitting?  Can you drink water while you walk?  There are a million rules we all learn as children in our own cultures.  Moving to a new country means learning new ways.

The fact that I’m sitting, alone, in my fale, laughing out loud while cooking food just for me?  Very not Samoan.  But very right for me, in this moment.

The Nitty Gritty

A friend told me recently that she wasn’t reading my blog.  She apologized but said it seemed too sanitized.  She understood why but was really interested in the nitty gritty of my life in Samoa.  I don’t know if she was talking about my physical (bugs, heat, etc.) or emotional (culture,  language, village) lives.  I do try to focus on the positive.  I do try to depict a balanced view of Samoan culture, rather than allowing myself to focus on the stuff I find troublesome or don’t understand, because I see Samoa through the lens of a palagi. 

But you want nitty gritty?  Let me tell you about my physical life.  Peace Corps documents said that we would get over things like cold showers and bugs very quickly.  The cultural issues would be tougher.  That’s very true.  However, even after 19 months, I still have issues with some of the physical stuff.

It’s gotten much easier, that’s true.  Some volunteers heat water to start off their other-wise cold shower.  I’m too lazy.  I just stand under the pipe (there is no shower head) and let ‘er rip.  On really hot days, sometimes it’s really hot, for a few seconds.  Then very cold.  To my friend who said “How cold could it really be?  You live in the tropics.” let me say that my water comes from springs in the mountains.  It is refreshingly chilly.

I still hate bugs, spiders and all things that crawl.  As I type this, a swarm of termites has been drawn to the light of my computer screen.  They don’t bite but they are crawling all over me.  They have kept me from reading before I sleep, which really is annoying.  They also leave massive amounts of debris on the floor, in my cabinet, on my bed…everywhere. 

When I’m either sleeping or out of the house for a few hours, the spiders demonstrate that they are work-aholics by spinning webs at head height throughout the main room and bathroom of the house.  I have become accustomed to walking through the house flailing my arms in front of me to try to catch the webs on my arms rather than my face.  That’s the kind of thing that’s hard about being a PCV.  I represent my country here.  And, thanks to me, people in my village think all Americans enter their homes acting like a young Patty Duke, playing Helen Keller on speed. 

The large spiders in my shower don’t really bother me anymore.  They tend to go completely still when they realize I’m there.  I often wonder if they close their eyes to make them really invisible.  Sometimes I splash water on them just to see how fast they can climb.    After I shower I try to remember to squirt them with bug spray.  Otherwise, I get a face full of web the next time I shower.

I complained recently to someone about being bitten by mosquitoes and other flying terrors.  They suggested that I do a better job of tucking in my mosquito net.  I refrained from saying “Bite me.” but my reaction was like having a ten year old IT nerd in the help department ask if your computer is plugged in when you call for help.

I’m not an idiot.  I know how a mosquito net works.  But most of my bites come during daylight hours and I’ve found it both hot and inconvenient to swaddle myself 24/7 with mosquito net.  I also don’t think bathing in bug spray is good for my health.  I do chuckle when I meet people (both here and at home) who will talk forever about eating only “pure”, organic food while dousing themselves liberally with insect repellent.  Not aware that skin is porous, perhaps?

One thing I’m way better at coping with is crowded buses.  Saturday I went to the market.  The bus was moderately crowded.  On the way home it was almost empty and the day stretched emptily ahead so I stayed on as we passed my house, heading toward Puapua and a drive with a beautiful view.

Coming back toward my village, the bus quickly started to fill.  First were several families, clearly heading toward the ferry, based on the luggage.  Then the rugby team.  We were now full.  There was no room left.  But the driver didn’t hesitate to stop for everyone waiting by the road.  As we got into my village, we stopped to pick up a family headed to the ferry.  Mom, dad and two kids.  The older girl is in Year 1.  Her little brother is, perhaps, three.  As he got onto the amazingly crowded bus, he spotted me.  And started yelling my name, at the top of his lungs.  Repeatedly.  When I saw more people waiting to get in, I opted to get off and carry my market purchases the ½ mile home to make room for more people going to Salelologa.  People were laughing and yelling to me.  I wonder what the two palagi tourists on the bus thought.

Bottom line, when I see a 350 pound Samoan heading toward me on the bus I no longer panic.  I just plan to meld into her as we squeeze onto the small seat together.