Wednesday, December 2, 2009

parents visit!

Parents! They made it here all right, after stopping off in New Zealand for a bit, tramping and shearing and sailing and whatnot. I never told them, but I spent the whole day before their arrival cleaning my bure and making “practice pancakes.” Pancakes are kind of a big deal in my family, and while mine will never compare to my dad’s, I wanted to keep our pancake tradition alive and thus tried my best with what I had. I shared them with my neighbors, who said, “Lisa! You are too smart at pancakes!” (The joke-that-never-gets-old among us PCVs is that Fijians use the word “smart” when they mean “does well.” I have been told I’m also too smart at weeding tavioka, eating Fijian food, and feeding the pig.)

Anyways, so that was Sunday. Monday morning, the morning they were to arrive, I thought I’d give them a tiny laugh and put on my most obnoxious red jiaba-sulu. So I walked out on the road to intercept their taxi in my full-on Fijian apparel. I purposely walked just outside the village because I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to handle seeing them again after so long, and didn’t want to be entirely overwhelmed by having the villagers swarming around to meet them to boot.

I’m not sure I can quite express the happiness I felt seeing the taxi emerge from the sugar cane fields, seeing dad’s face in the front window, rushing to the taxi to give them both hugs. So much comfort after so many months of discomfort! Not so much discomfort, but newness and differences and irregularities. Finally faces that were so familiar that made me remember who the hell I am and where the hell I come from!

They did great. Mom even tried the grog, which is the Fijian ceremonial drink that comes from pounding the roots of the kava plant. Although it did take her quite a lot of sips to down one coconut shell-full, to her credit, it does taste like dirt water. I made them lunch (Chaana masala), someone brought us pineapple, someone brought us cow’s milk, and then we were invited to my Fiji family’s house for special dinner and a meke (dance).

After the dinner, but before the meke, mom remembered the reading glasses she had brought from America. After I told her my “tata” really needed some new reading glasses, asking if she could bring an extra pair when she came, she took it upon herself to solicit more from friends. I keep hearing about them even now, how happy they have made the village. So, thanks mom! (And Denise, and everybody else!)

The next morning I made the pancakes with “Peace Corps Syrup” (sugar, water, vanilla) – I think they were a hit – and then we headed out to Rakiraki, my nearest town. I gave them the grand tour which took about 15 minutes. Then we headed to a hotel.

How interesting (and backwards) to see the country from the side of tourists. My favorite was at one of the hotels, every night at 6 o’clock, a man draped in nothing but coconut leaves ran around yelling “Bula!” (hello!) to every table as he lit the tiki torches. Mom and dad asked me if that happens in the village every night at 6 o’clock too. Of course.

Before I knew it, they were gone, and I found myself at a Peace Corps-sponsored workshop on “project and design management” with all the other Viti Levu rural volunteers on the Coral Coast. Their visit seemed too short – but wouldn’t any length feel too short? But how wonderful to be surrounded by some of my favorite fellow volunteers for an entire week – it made the departure of mom and dad much more manageable. Now the village wonders when "sister chessika" will visit.


Mom and I feeding the pig.


Ladies do a "meke" (dance) for mom and dad.


Crossing the river out of the village to catch the bus.


Some of my village faves with mom and dad.


Dad's not too sure about picking up a box of un-refrigerated Mixed Chicken Pieces at the Rakiraki supermarket.


Dad talking with some of my uncles.


Mom meets Papukeni.


Mom (slowly) sips the kava.


Ok. We're in paradise. Now what?


Right? Right? Come visit.