When I was on my way back to my village, 3 hours into my bus ride, I realized the key to my house was in my ever-elusive backpack. So the rest of the way I patched up a plan: 1. ask tata for spare key 2.see if i can shove one small child inside the house through gap over my door to open side door from within 3.somehow break lock.
I get to house and tata says the spare key to my house is at the school in a locked box. The key to the locked box is with a man named Suli who is cutting sugarcane somewhere near Rakiraki. I looked around for a small child, and while Sinu was willing and able, the crack above my door seemed to have shrunk, and a small baby would be the only thing that would fit. And it would probably just rock back and forth and cry, not open the door from within. Unhelpful. So up came Sisa with a file, and after about 30 minutes, he sawed that lock right off.
I am still putting the pieces all back together, but things have improved a lot.
Also. Do I dare say I love not having a computer? My God, my life is so simple. I just whittle away the evenings in the hammock reading. No longer frantic when and if the generator comes on, not having the self control not to watch a show (just like how i don't have the self control not to buy ice cream in town -- when will i get the opportunity again? perhaps not for awhile). But electronics and Fiji have always been incongruous. Why follow a path that meets so much resistance.
A few days after going through the motions I went outside with my cane knife and started whacking at weeds. I went to a piece of land i often stare at from my window, thinking to myself, that could make a good gardening plot.
The next day I got out the pitchfork and went at it again. I upturned the soil and threw it around, loosening it bit by bit.
The neighbor boys soon came to help me. God they're so sweet. Sisa, the same brother who chopped my lock off, climbed into the lemon tree and started hacking the branches with a cane knife, so that my new garden would get more direct sunlight. Huge branches came crashing down. Avi and his brother Dile got their pitchforks and knives and helped me turn the soil over better. I had to snap myself out of just watching them work. They are so adept with knives. Maybe there is sense in giving the little kids knives to play with. Little farmers in training. They just sweep the grass away like a leisurely frisbee toss. And then we came to roots. Some roots as thick as a few cans of soda. With one whack they cut the thing clear through, and then would delicately lift it like a piece of spaghetti. Meanwhile, I would be wrestling with it, clutching with both hands and jumping backward trying to elevate it.
Planting starts tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
america a monet?
Today I sat in the Fiji US Embassy waiting for someone to talk to about getting a new passport. I sat in one of many chairs that were spaced as if the office were an airplane. Would someone soon offer me peanuts? In front of me were three framed photographs -- Obama, Hillary, and Biden. Smiley, happy. On the walls were pictures from America. A crowded street, a park, and the beginning construction of the Capitol.
Awww.
Rosy from afar, I know. but i hope i never take America for granted ever again. One thing I love about Peace Corps is that it makes you appreciate things so much. Cheese is a delicacy. Berries, easy transportation, bagels, parks, environmentalists, pizza, political activism, tortilla chips, fast internet, sports, refried beans, hummus. Watching people recreate for the sake of recreation. Libraries, book stores, coffee shops. Even simply sitting in a quiet house reading a book.
Tomorrow, back to the village, and I get to leave big bad Suva behind me.
Awww.
Rosy from afar, I know. but i hope i never take America for granted ever again. One thing I love about Peace Corps is that it makes you appreciate things so much. Cheese is a delicacy. Berries, easy transportation, bagels, parks, environmentalists, pizza, political activism, tortilla chips, fast internet, sports, refried beans, hummus. Watching people recreate for the sake of recreation. Libraries, book stores, coffee shops. Even simply sitting in a quiet house reading a book.
Tomorrow, back to the village, and I get to leave big bad Suva behind me.
Friday, November 5, 2010
yep, It's a wild world.
Today, honesty.
Yesterday my backpack was stolen from beside my chair at an internet café in Suva. I was talking to my sister on Skype, straining to hear her over the loud bustle and even covering my eyes at times to better concentrate on her words, perhaps thinking by shutting out one sense I would amplify another. I sat calm and motionless as someone reached down to my feet and grabbed my bag containing my computer, iPod, wallet, passport, cash, and walked out the back door. They may as well have taken the chair from under me, watching callously as I crashed to the floor.
I don’t unleash wrath very often. I’m pretty subdued, calm. I was always that kid on the soccer field that tried to break up fights instead of start them. But I unleashed some wrath in that internet café, some pretty good wrath, I think. So lost and confused, at 24 in a strange country that I had known so well, that I had grown to love and trust, that suddenly turned its back on me. That ripped the rug from under me. And this time, as I cursed through the aisles of the internet café, it was the kind-hearted employee who calmed me down, who spoke to me gently, who directed me to the nearest police post.
I don’t know what to say. It’s just stuff. Yes. But I can’t seem to shake the sad disappointment out of me this time. Will I ever trust this place again?
I’ve been to hell and back in this country so many times. It’s just so intense. Culture shock, burnout, isolation, cyclones, floods, homesickness. Blah blah blah. I have had to learn to cope with bad days alone in a house of sticks using nothing but clumsy, newly invented tools. Hell, I learned the guitar. I’ve made up games. I’ve written 850 pages in my journal. I’ve pretty much memorized a book I was sent about mindfulness, gratitude, and peace. All for what? To keep myself sane, to keep myself here, to fulfill a commitment I made. A commitment that asks us to draw a sunset with 3 crayons, two blue and one green. That asks us to hike with a limp, and eat soup with a fork. But sometimes the stretch is too much, and I break a little bit. Sometimes I imagine it as building muscle as I break and re-form. But sometimes it feels like an irreversible strain as I become impatient and absolutely humorless, someone that I don’t know and don’t particularly like.
And sometimes I wake up feeling guilty I am not doing enough. I don’t have hours. I don’t have a separation between work and home. I just am. I wake up slowly with 3 cups of coffee as I do crossword puzzles or read about politics of faraway lands. As my cat jumps into my lap and purrs, I think, man Lisa, you could do more. You could start your day earlier. You could be taking on another project. Just try harder.
I don’t claim to be doing anything more noble than anyone else in this world. I have kept myself alive on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a long time now, and yes, I’m damn proud of that. And up to this point, I have fallen, but have always managed to pick myself up and dust myself off. I don’t think what I do is anything extraordinary, and anyone else in my position would probably do a better job than me. It is easy to make yourself into a martyr as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Who can invalidate your actions? It is easy to make yourself into a martyr on a blog. Who can invalidate your claim? You are your own judge. And what a dizzyingly terrifying role that becomes. Because who are you, who am I, who are any of us to judge what we do.
But you know, I don’t go around robbing people. I don’t wake up plotting crime. I don’t cause harm to anybody, at least not intentionally. But some do. Some have, some do, some will. As I have entered a sometimes masochistic search for truth and certainty, trying to figure out what in this world I can believe in, what I can trust, all the while messing up myself sometimes but dammit trying to be a good person, trying not to hurt anyone and trying to solidify my moral backbone and build a foundation upon which to live the rest of my life, there are and will always be bad people out there countervailing the good.
Do they balance out to static? Is the world just supposed to be stuck in this equilibrium?
Luckily I know more of Fiji than Suva. I have so many positive impressions of this place. And I know that, though it's hard to picture now in my foggy visions of berries and cereal aisles and national parks, there are bad people in America too.
Eh. I usually try to end on a positive note with this thing. But maybe sometimes it's just not supposed to end on a positive note. Like the world, maybe today I could just fade to static.
Yesterday my backpack was stolen from beside my chair at an internet café in Suva. I was talking to my sister on Skype, straining to hear her over the loud bustle and even covering my eyes at times to better concentrate on her words, perhaps thinking by shutting out one sense I would amplify another. I sat calm and motionless as someone reached down to my feet and grabbed my bag containing my computer, iPod, wallet, passport, cash, and walked out the back door. They may as well have taken the chair from under me, watching callously as I crashed to the floor.
I don’t unleash wrath very often. I’m pretty subdued, calm. I was always that kid on the soccer field that tried to break up fights instead of start them. But I unleashed some wrath in that internet café, some pretty good wrath, I think. So lost and confused, at 24 in a strange country that I had known so well, that I had grown to love and trust, that suddenly turned its back on me. That ripped the rug from under me. And this time, as I cursed through the aisles of the internet café, it was the kind-hearted employee who calmed me down, who spoke to me gently, who directed me to the nearest police post.
I don’t know what to say. It’s just stuff. Yes. But I can’t seem to shake the sad disappointment out of me this time. Will I ever trust this place again?
I’ve been to hell and back in this country so many times. It’s just so intense. Culture shock, burnout, isolation, cyclones, floods, homesickness. Blah blah blah. I have had to learn to cope with bad days alone in a house of sticks using nothing but clumsy, newly invented tools. Hell, I learned the guitar. I’ve made up games. I’ve written 850 pages in my journal. I’ve pretty much memorized a book I was sent about mindfulness, gratitude, and peace. All for what? To keep myself sane, to keep myself here, to fulfill a commitment I made. A commitment that asks us to draw a sunset with 3 crayons, two blue and one green. That asks us to hike with a limp, and eat soup with a fork. But sometimes the stretch is too much, and I break a little bit. Sometimes I imagine it as building muscle as I break and re-form. But sometimes it feels like an irreversible strain as I become impatient and absolutely humorless, someone that I don’t know and don’t particularly like.
And sometimes I wake up feeling guilty I am not doing enough. I don’t have hours. I don’t have a separation between work and home. I just am. I wake up slowly with 3 cups of coffee as I do crossword puzzles or read about politics of faraway lands. As my cat jumps into my lap and purrs, I think, man Lisa, you could do more. You could start your day earlier. You could be taking on another project. Just try harder.
I don’t claim to be doing anything more noble than anyone else in this world. I have kept myself alive on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a long time now, and yes, I’m damn proud of that. And up to this point, I have fallen, but have always managed to pick myself up and dust myself off. I don’t think what I do is anything extraordinary, and anyone else in my position would probably do a better job than me. It is easy to make yourself into a martyr as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Who can invalidate your actions? It is easy to make yourself into a martyr on a blog. Who can invalidate your claim? You are your own judge. And what a dizzyingly terrifying role that becomes. Because who are you, who am I, who are any of us to judge what we do.
But you know, I don’t go around robbing people. I don’t wake up plotting crime. I don’t cause harm to anybody, at least not intentionally. But some do. Some have, some do, some will. As I have entered a sometimes masochistic search for truth and certainty, trying to figure out what in this world I can believe in, what I can trust, all the while messing up myself sometimes but dammit trying to be a good person, trying not to hurt anyone and trying to solidify my moral backbone and build a foundation upon which to live the rest of my life, there are and will always be bad people out there countervailing the good.
Do they balance out to static? Is the world just supposed to be stuck in this equilibrium?
Luckily I know more of Fiji than Suva. I have so many positive impressions of this place. And I know that, though it's hard to picture now in my foggy visions of berries and cereal aisles and national parks, there are bad people in America too.
Eh. I usually try to end on a positive note with this thing. But maybe sometimes it's just not supposed to end on a positive note. Like the world, maybe today I could just fade to static.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
a trip to the doctor.
*disclaimer: my English has gotten bad. My sister tells me this in our gchat conversations. That's not English, Lisa, she tells me. Oh yeah, I reply. But the strange thing is that it's not like my Fijian is improving all that much. Mysterious, I know, and perhaps another conversation for another time.
And so it begins. One simple trip to the hospital, and I return x-rayed and fine, but having learned so much more than why my foot hurts.
My feet are flat (thanks DAD), and apparently walking miles upon miles in Chacos aren't good for them. But there are so many rivers to cross! Running shoes are just impractical. So after several months of the same pain in the same place, I decided to get it checked out.
So I go to the hospital in Suva, which i have never been to before. Actually, I haven't been to a hospital since I was getting the last bits of my medical clearance taken care of back in America for my Peace Corps application. I walk inside, and, my God, it's like I've been transported somewhere else. It is so clean i could make a sandwich on the tiles I am standing upon. The lights! The shiny bins! The organization and order! The absolute lack of chaos! Everything in its right place. And that is just the beginning.
i get really cold in the waiting room. The air conditioning is so uncomfortable and unnecessary. I wait, wait, wait, and then remember, oh yes, I'm still in Fiji, because there is plenty waiting. But I am too distracted looking at people walking in straight lines and making directed, calculated movements that I don't care. There are manicured and meticulous parents wearing logos from Fijian companies sitting next to their groomed and well-behaved children who occasionally cough and flail in their seats. Everyone is wearing shoes, and polished shoes, at that. One Indo-Fijian female doctor keeps walking past with the clickety clack of heels. Heels! I stare, I smile, and I look down at my own calloused brown feet with splatters of white paint from a mural project we are doing at the school. I am slowly learning what stepping away from 16 months of rapid change, so rapid new limbs practically sprout overnight, feels like. In the thick of it, one day blends into the next and life just seems normal, static, ho hum. But when you're removed from it, taken out of your familiar surroundings and plopped into a new place, you get it. I was starting to slowly get it. Finally, my name is called.
I walk into the x-ray room and the whirring of the machine, the faint light emanating from its center, the sheer monstrosity of that piece of science sitting in that dark room, are all so remarkable I want to just stand and gaze. I may as well have been looking at a spaceship. But then I remember I need to walk up to the machine so that I can get my x-ray. I get to step closer! I actually get to sit on the thing!
We take pictures of my foot, and I put back on my Chacos that have caused all this mess in the first place. I go back to sit in my chair, and this time I take a seat next to the television, the moving pictures with sounds. I watch advertisements that I recognize from the radio, but now have faces and movement to go along with them. I didn't realize there was local news in Fiji, but it reminds me of action 7 news or the like from Albuquerque. Local people, talking about sports and weather and happenings. How fun.
I see the doctor, he tells me my foot is not broken (I had an idea that was the case) but that there is a tendon issue there, perhaps. As he pokes and prods my foot I am suddenly embarrassed by how weathered and beaten my feet look. Against the cool white tile, away from the hard village ground and brown woven mats, they look foreign and strange. Are these really my feet?
I get back to the waiting room and wait to reconcile the bill (thanks America!). I want to stay longer, just to observe this new amazing place, but I go, because I am meeting a friend, and I need food, and wow, had 2.5 hours really just gone by? I remember hospitals in America, and I think of my dad, who gets to work inside one every day. How fascinating.
Isa. A sneak peek at how hard readjustment is going to be. Or, how exciting? Like seeing with new eyeballs? We shall see.
And so it begins. One simple trip to the hospital, and I return x-rayed and fine, but having learned so much more than why my foot hurts.
My feet are flat (thanks DAD), and apparently walking miles upon miles in Chacos aren't good for them. But there are so many rivers to cross! Running shoes are just impractical. So after several months of the same pain in the same place, I decided to get it checked out.
So I go to the hospital in Suva, which i have never been to before. Actually, I haven't been to a hospital since I was getting the last bits of my medical clearance taken care of back in America for my Peace Corps application. I walk inside, and, my God, it's like I've been transported somewhere else. It is so clean i could make a sandwich on the tiles I am standing upon. The lights! The shiny bins! The organization and order! The absolute lack of chaos! Everything in its right place. And that is just the beginning.
i get really cold in the waiting room. The air conditioning is so uncomfortable and unnecessary. I wait, wait, wait, and then remember, oh yes, I'm still in Fiji, because there is plenty waiting. But I am too distracted looking at people walking in straight lines and making directed, calculated movements that I don't care. There are manicured and meticulous parents wearing logos from Fijian companies sitting next to their groomed and well-behaved children who occasionally cough and flail in their seats. Everyone is wearing shoes, and polished shoes, at that. One Indo-Fijian female doctor keeps walking past with the clickety clack of heels. Heels! I stare, I smile, and I look down at my own calloused brown feet with splatters of white paint from a mural project we are doing at the school. I am slowly learning what stepping away from 16 months of rapid change, so rapid new limbs practically sprout overnight, feels like. In the thick of it, one day blends into the next and life just seems normal, static, ho hum. But when you're removed from it, taken out of your familiar surroundings and plopped into a new place, you get it. I was starting to slowly get it. Finally, my name is called.
I walk into the x-ray room and the whirring of the machine, the faint light emanating from its center, the sheer monstrosity of that piece of science sitting in that dark room, are all so remarkable I want to just stand and gaze. I may as well have been looking at a spaceship. But then I remember I need to walk up to the machine so that I can get my x-ray. I get to step closer! I actually get to sit on the thing!
We take pictures of my foot, and I put back on my Chacos that have caused all this mess in the first place. I go back to sit in my chair, and this time I take a seat next to the television, the moving pictures with sounds. I watch advertisements that I recognize from the radio, but now have faces and movement to go along with them. I didn't realize there was local news in Fiji, but it reminds me of action 7 news or the like from Albuquerque. Local people, talking about sports and weather and happenings. How fun.
I see the doctor, he tells me my foot is not broken (I had an idea that was the case) but that there is a tendon issue there, perhaps. As he pokes and prods my foot I am suddenly embarrassed by how weathered and beaten my feet look. Against the cool white tile, away from the hard village ground and brown woven mats, they look foreign and strange. Are these really my feet?
I get back to the waiting room and wait to reconcile the bill (thanks America!). I want to stay longer, just to observe this new amazing place, but I go, because I am meeting a friend, and I need food, and wow, had 2.5 hours really just gone by? I remember hospitals in America, and I think of my dad, who gets to work inside one every day. How fascinating.
Isa. A sneak peek at how hard readjustment is going to be. Or, how exciting? Like seeing with new eyeballs? We shall see.
Friday, August 13, 2010
vatu-i-ra.
I have to mention this place because it was really extraordinary. Especially because recently I've become so rutted in the same sights and sounds and smells of Fiji -- this place was so different!
Eight of us went. We rode a boat for 2.5 hours to Vatu-i-ra Island -- "the bird island." They did not lie about the birds. I was so overwhelmed with the odor of bird $@&* initially that I ran across to the upwind side, thinking my lord, what was I thinking to come all the way here, this is insanity. But then I looked up and nearly collapsed. Hundreds of birds, all frozen in place by the wind. I laid down for over an hour just staring. There they were, gliding, not moving a muscle; there i was, watching, not moving a muscle. We were both flaunting our mortality as if to say, yes, we are so evolutionarily adept, we have so much time on this earth, that we will spend the next several hours ending up no farther from where started. I felt guilty being the lone observer, thinking of ornithologists around the world that would be mesmerized by what I was looking at. Hell, even non-ornithologists would be mesmerized.
Soon Kara joined me, and we proceeded to name all the different species of birds. There were the "batmans," the "ladybugs," "white stripes," "all blacks," etc etc. We got pooped on, to be sure. But somehow, it was worth it.
We camped on the beach, just us and the birds, and I made sure to wake right before 6 so I could race to the top of the small hill on the island to watch the sunrise.
I want to go back.
(Pictures: top, view of the shore from the top of a large rock. middle, birds at sunrise. bottom, view of entire island at sunrise with our boat on the left)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
this'n'that.
My latest efforts. My wonderful village carpenter and I put together this super cool stove using a wood mold and cement, sawdust, and sand. It's about 1 foot by 1 foot by 1 foot. We used a manual that was put together by another PCV, and I added a little somethin' extra to the top (using extra tiles lying around the village). An attempt at infusing my surroundings with some kind of creative energy and spunk. Or something. The stoves are cool because they require less firewood and emit less smoke. And what I love is that they are relatively cheap (10 USD per stove, more or less) and use locally available materials and carpentry talent. So, we'll see how this goes. I gave the first one to nana and she seems to be pretty happy with it. When nana's happy, I'm happy.
I thought about water fountains the other day for the first time in over a year. Wow, water, cold clean water to boot, at the press of a button, in a convenient place. I mean, I guess there are water fountains here sometimes, like accidental ones, when big cane trucks run over the exposed PVC pipe in the road. That doesn't count!
At the end of the day, I have started writing down both something i'm grateful for and also the cutest part of the day. I'm really liking it. Yesterday I couldn't choose, so I wrote down all 5. And without consciously thinking about them, I would've never thought to put them in my journal, and would've likely forgotten about them quickly. Things like nana and I running around the yard together, hollering, collecting my ibes and clothes off the line when it started raining. Or when the new 6 puppies from next door came and visited me while I was making a new cover for my compost, so I stopped to pet them. Or when the fish truck came into the village to sell fish, and I told nana I didn't want fish today, and she said ok, and then she bought me a fish anyway for my lunch. Or when tata came over and asked if I could get a new "globe" because my "globe" seemed to be weighing down the generator. Little things, yes. But it's good to remember these little things.
The finality of this experience is starting to sink in!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
one letter.
To my dearest village,
I am writing today not only because it is clear to me, after a year, that you love letters. In fact, I think you have asked me to write close to a dozen letters on your behalf, asking for this or that or the other thing. And I have written some, but I also have not written others. You will probably still ask me to write some when I get back to you this afternoon. But that is not the point today. Today, I am writing a letter not on your behalf, but to you.
I am sure you think I am very strange. Just yesterday I was walking away from you at 5 o'clock, heading for my friend Kara's village to help celebrate her birthday. I was walking, because I love to walk. The bus went by, and I did not get on. How strange! I kept walking stubbornly along the road, as the sun was setting, away from you. Why was I not preparing the kerosene lantern, taking my bath, and starting to prepare dinner? I know how this must seem, this aimless walking I sometimes do, to either nowhere in particular, or to some far-off destination at an odd hour! I am not sure I will ever be able to explain it, but I want you to know, that I know to you it is very odd.
Remember when I threw my cat into my hamper and rode the carrier to meet two other Peace Corps Volunteers to go to the other side of the island to get our cats spayed? That was a long ways to go in one day to cut open a cat and remove the part of it that makes babies. Why would I spend time and energy and money doing such a thing? When I came back, Papukeni was very groggy and was sleeping on my floormat. She had a bright purple splotch surrounding a big scar on her bum, and your children gathered at my doorstep to stare at her. Just this morning she was running around and playing! Why is she now so sad! And so purple! You see, I didn't want her to have babies because I wanted her to stay healthy and also, when her babies have babies, and those babies have babies, you will be squirming with cats! That would be too many cats. You know, like how you have too many dogs right now, and the female dogs look droopy and tired all the time because they have been having too many babies. I wanted to save Papukeni from this same fate.
You also must know how very much I respect your ways, traditions, and culture. I feel lucky to be able to live within your limits, even though sometimes I appear to not want anything to do with you. I need some space sometimes, some privacy. This is very different, and I know how odd this must seem to you! But I love being completely immersed in your events during the day, only to be able to sit down and retreat in the evenings, sitting in my chair by the window, reading a book or writing or playing the guitar.
Reading, in fact, is one thing I do most of the time you think I am sleeping. I have read so many books in my house, accounts of Sudanese diaspora, of a time-travelling man, of a murder mystery taking place in New Mexico, of a family in America trying to grow their own food for a whole year (which you do, and have done, for quite a long time). You see, sometimes I like to read to take me to another place. Not out of disrespect to you, but as some sort of respite. Entertainment. To see how another person sees the world. Out of curiosity. Out of a desire to know and learn more.
I know this may be hard to believe, but I'm not used to wearing skirts! This is hilarious, I know, because have you seen me in nothing but skirts! Believe it or not, most people I know in America have never seen me in a skirt. How odd! And when you sometimes see me running (again, aimlessly! Where am I going to so rapidly?) along the road in the early mornings, in a skirt, it feels very strange to me! In America, I only ran in shorts. I never walked, let alone ran and trained, in skirts.
I hope that you like having me, because i very much like being a part of you. I am sorry I am not Fijian, and will never be, and that I behave oddly sometimes. But I have enjoyed learning about Fiji, and have also enjoyed teaching you about America through my sometimes eccentric behavior and baked goods and music. I am sorry I am not as good a teacher to you as you have been to me, and know that I am trying, and that I want only good things for you and your future.
Sincerely,
Lisa
I am writing today not only because it is clear to me, after a year, that you love letters. In fact, I think you have asked me to write close to a dozen letters on your behalf, asking for this or that or the other thing. And I have written some, but I also have not written others. You will probably still ask me to write some when I get back to you this afternoon. But that is not the point today. Today, I am writing a letter not on your behalf, but to you.
I am sure you think I am very strange. Just yesterday I was walking away from you at 5 o'clock, heading for my friend Kara's village to help celebrate her birthday. I was walking, because I love to walk. The bus went by, and I did not get on. How strange! I kept walking stubbornly along the road, as the sun was setting, away from you. Why was I not preparing the kerosene lantern, taking my bath, and starting to prepare dinner? I know how this must seem, this aimless walking I sometimes do, to either nowhere in particular, or to some far-off destination at an odd hour! I am not sure I will ever be able to explain it, but I want you to know, that I know to you it is very odd.
Remember when I threw my cat into my hamper and rode the carrier to meet two other Peace Corps Volunteers to go to the other side of the island to get our cats spayed? That was a long ways to go in one day to cut open a cat and remove the part of it that makes babies. Why would I spend time and energy and money doing such a thing? When I came back, Papukeni was very groggy and was sleeping on my floormat. She had a bright purple splotch surrounding a big scar on her bum, and your children gathered at my doorstep to stare at her. Just this morning she was running around and playing! Why is she now so sad! And so purple! You see, I didn't want her to have babies because I wanted her to stay healthy and also, when her babies have babies, and those babies have babies, you will be squirming with cats! That would be too many cats. You know, like how you have too many dogs right now, and the female dogs look droopy and tired all the time because they have been having too many babies. I wanted to save Papukeni from this same fate.
You also must know how very much I respect your ways, traditions, and culture. I feel lucky to be able to live within your limits, even though sometimes I appear to not want anything to do with you. I need some space sometimes, some privacy. This is very different, and I know how odd this must seem to you! But I love being completely immersed in your events during the day, only to be able to sit down and retreat in the evenings, sitting in my chair by the window, reading a book or writing or playing the guitar.
Reading, in fact, is one thing I do most of the time you think I am sleeping. I have read so many books in my house, accounts of Sudanese diaspora, of a time-travelling man, of a murder mystery taking place in New Mexico, of a family in America trying to grow their own food for a whole year (which you do, and have done, for quite a long time). You see, sometimes I like to read to take me to another place. Not out of disrespect to you, but as some sort of respite. Entertainment. To see how another person sees the world. Out of curiosity. Out of a desire to know and learn more.
I know this may be hard to believe, but I'm not used to wearing skirts! This is hilarious, I know, because have you seen me in nothing but skirts! Believe it or not, most people I know in America have never seen me in a skirt. How odd! And when you sometimes see me running (again, aimlessly! Where am I going to so rapidly?) along the road in the early mornings, in a skirt, it feels very strange to me! In America, I only ran in shorts. I never walked, let alone ran and trained, in skirts.
I hope that you like having me, because i very much like being a part of you. I am sorry I am not Fijian, and will never be, and that I behave oddly sometimes. But I have enjoyed learning about Fiji, and have also enjoyed teaching you about America through my sometimes eccentric behavior and baked goods and music. I am sorry I am not as good a teacher to you as you have been to me, and know that I am trying, and that I want only good things for you and your future.
Sincerely,
Lisa
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A mouse finds my coffee.
Oh hell no. Luckily, I keep most of it in a sealed glass jar. But I had reserves in a flimsy plastic pouch, which it devoured (?). It also chewed through the top of my oil and I found it spilling over onto my bamboo floor. So, it's on. Papukeni is on mouse patrol. I guess that's what I get for leaving the village for a couple weeks, the longest I've yet been away from the village at one time.
But my sister was here! How wonderful to see her. We spent a week in the village -- talked in a meadow, floated down the river, picked fruit, hiked to a waterfall, ate freshly-caught prawns at the top of a mountain, drank plenty grog. Then we spent a week going around elsewhere, ending up at a cute resort in the Yasawas, meeting some very nice people from Israel, England, Australia, NZ, etc. We are such desert people coming from New Mexico and all. But we tried scuba diving! First in the swimming pool, to see if we could hack it, then the actual ocean. What a trip. I had been fearing it for some reason, but really, if you like breathing, you will like scuba diving. So, let's see if I can be somewhat responsible with my money and save up enough to get certified.
Then we had a week-long conference in Suva called MST - "Mid service training." By some curious misfortune, the hotel bookings got messed up such that most of us had our own room in a ridiculously nice renovated hotel for 3 nights until they consolidated us into 3's onto the other not-yet-renovated side of the hotel (that's more like it). What a nice treat those 3 nights were, though. What especially impeccable timing to be able to watch world cup games on a flat screen TV. Sorry taxpayers.
The new group of volunteers has arrived, which is awesome, but that means the old group is leaving. They stagger their departure, so a few leave every week or so. Which basically means this month has been going by in rolling waves of depression. Isa! But they are all eager to be leaving and starting their new adventures, going on with their lives, blah blah. I will still miss them a bunch.
Fourth of July! My goodness, what a day. We Ra volunteers met at John C.'s house and cooked delicious food, took a boat to an island to snorkel, then ate the delicious food, pretty much continuously, over the entire rest of the day. Hamburgers, veggie burgers, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw, chips'n'salsa, other various dips, other various chips, nacho cheese fritos, pecan pie, chocolate cake, cheesecake, ice cream. Best day ever?
Also, it's cold now. I always remember July as the month my mother swore off New Mexico, the yard exploding with weeds, the heat melting our souls, inserting limeade intravenously. Planning an escape north, somewhere, anywhere. But here, in July, I wake up chilly. Like, wool-socks-flannel-shirt-fleece-pants kind of chilly. Soon, maybe August, I'll be able to see my breath in the mornings! How exciting. And yes, I know I have a mouse, but silver lining, the ants cannot maneuver in the cold!
But my sister was here! How wonderful to see her. We spent a week in the village -- talked in a meadow, floated down the river, picked fruit, hiked to a waterfall, ate freshly-caught prawns at the top of a mountain, drank plenty grog. Then we spent a week going around elsewhere, ending up at a cute resort in the Yasawas, meeting some very nice people from Israel, England, Australia, NZ, etc. We are such desert people coming from New Mexico and all. But we tried scuba diving! First in the swimming pool, to see if we could hack it, then the actual ocean. What a trip. I had been fearing it for some reason, but really, if you like breathing, you will like scuba diving. So, let's see if I can be somewhat responsible with my money and save up enough to get certified.
Then we had a week-long conference in Suva called MST - "Mid service training." By some curious misfortune, the hotel bookings got messed up such that most of us had our own room in a ridiculously nice renovated hotel for 3 nights until they consolidated us into 3's onto the other not-yet-renovated side of the hotel (that's more like it). What a nice treat those 3 nights were, though. What especially impeccable timing to be able to watch world cup games on a flat screen TV. Sorry taxpayers.
The new group of volunteers has arrived, which is awesome, but that means the old group is leaving. They stagger their departure, so a few leave every week or so. Which basically means this month has been going by in rolling waves of depression. Isa! But they are all eager to be leaving and starting their new adventures, going on with their lives, blah blah. I will still miss them a bunch.
Fourth of July! My goodness, what a day. We Ra volunteers met at John C.'s house and cooked delicious food, took a boat to an island to snorkel, then ate the delicious food, pretty much continuously, over the entire rest of the day. Hamburgers, veggie burgers, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw, chips'n'salsa, other various dips, other various chips, nacho cheese fritos, pecan pie, chocolate cake, cheesecake, ice cream. Best day ever?
Also, it's cold now. I always remember July as the month my mother swore off New Mexico, the yard exploding with weeds, the heat melting our souls, inserting limeade intravenously. Planning an escape north, somewhere, anywhere. But here, in July, I wake up chilly. Like, wool-socks-flannel-shirt-fleece-pants kind of chilly. Soon, maybe August, I'll be able to see my breath in the mornings! How exciting. And yes, I know I have a mouse, but silver lining, the ants cannot maneuver in the cold!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
AIDS, Dubai, ukulele.
Got back from Suva this week from HIV/AIDS training part II. I brought my village nurse and one youth, and we will get to work shortly on designing a workshop for our area. It was a great workshop -- so informative, so expansive. My village nurse got to sit down and talk with our region's zone nurse, and I think I finally understand how health care works in Fiji. We even came up with a workplan of how to improve awareness/education surrounding HIV/AIDS in the province of Ra. But of course, all Suka (the 40-year-old village nurse) could talk about when we got back to the village is how we went to Traps (a dancing club in Suva). So when I walk around the village, the ladies call out "Traps!" and laugh and I tell them "Shhh! Wara tukunia vei Tata!" (don't tell tata!).
Also. Fiji is unpredictable. I know this, and this is why I no longer make plans. But instead of being a constant frustration, this unpredictability, along with all other quirks of Fiji, are starting to become endearing. Even the kids are becoming cuter. Is it a one year thing?
Like, when my favorite person in my village, Te, disappeared for a couple weeks and I thought he had moved to Dubai. Te was my hopeful new community partner who provided the impetus for the women's group vegetable farming project, who I swapped novels with and corresponded with by letters carried by boys on horses (he lives in a nearby settlement 2 hrs walk away). Our weekly meetings, which often lasted all day, always restored my faith in the world. We would talk about the future of Fiji's economy, the role of the Methodist Church in Fiji, the word "sustainability" and how important a concept it is to understand. He's just so smart. And then he got busy, and in the market one day his mom told me he and his brother had just signed a 5-year contract to work in Dubai for an American company to patrol the Red Sea for Somalian Pirates. So, there I was, feeling a bit lost, missing my talks with Te, and, oh yeah, hoping he wasn't at the mercy of pirates in foreign waters somewhere.
But then, as I was rinsing the last of my laundry yesterday in my sink, I look up, and there's Te. He's back, and never went to Dubai. Furthermore, he has recommitted himself to this vegetable farming project. He and I even got teary talking about how the ladies are really starting to take ownership of the farm; they weeded the field last week, and are raising money through fundraisers for plowing/harrowing/seeds/fertilizer, even though there is a good chance we will get that all funded.
I want to rely on Te, but I know that everything in Fiji is transient, is impermanent. It is hard to rely on anything. And I think that is more natural that way. How sterile and rigid America seems sometimes, with appointments down to the 15 minute interval, highways sturdy and strong, rivers contained, rain diverted into cemented channels. When I sit in the bus and wait for either the washed out road in front of us or behind us to recede so we can cross and I can get home, instead of getting frustrated, I am realizing that I have never lived so close to nature. I like being at its whim, because I think that's how it's supposed to be. What's more natural than a flood? So just like roads, I'm learning people ebb and flow, and all I can do is enjoy someone's presence while they are here in the moment with me. Isa attachments.
Also! I bought a ukulele in Suva last week. It's pink, cutecutecute, maybe even cuter than Papukeni. Only know 3 chords, but more to come...
Also. Fiji is unpredictable. I know this, and this is why I no longer make plans. But instead of being a constant frustration, this unpredictability, along with all other quirks of Fiji, are starting to become endearing. Even the kids are becoming cuter. Is it a one year thing?
Like, when my favorite person in my village, Te, disappeared for a couple weeks and I thought he had moved to Dubai. Te was my hopeful new community partner who provided the impetus for the women's group vegetable farming project, who I swapped novels with and corresponded with by letters carried by boys on horses (he lives in a nearby settlement 2 hrs walk away). Our weekly meetings, which often lasted all day, always restored my faith in the world. We would talk about the future of Fiji's economy, the role of the Methodist Church in Fiji, the word "sustainability" and how important a concept it is to understand. He's just so smart. And then he got busy, and in the market one day his mom told me he and his brother had just signed a 5-year contract to work in Dubai for an American company to patrol the Red Sea for Somalian Pirates. So, there I was, feeling a bit lost, missing my talks with Te, and, oh yeah, hoping he wasn't at the mercy of pirates in foreign waters somewhere.
But then, as I was rinsing the last of my laundry yesterday in my sink, I look up, and there's Te. He's back, and never went to Dubai. Furthermore, he has recommitted himself to this vegetable farming project. He and I even got teary talking about how the ladies are really starting to take ownership of the farm; they weeded the field last week, and are raising money through fundraisers for plowing/harrowing/seeds/fertilizer, even though there is a good chance we will get that all funded.
I want to rely on Te, but I know that everything in Fiji is transient, is impermanent. It is hard to rely on anything. And I think that is more natural that way. How sterile and rigid America seems sometimes, with appointments down to the 15 minute interval, highways sturdy and strong, rivers contained, rain diverted into cemented channels. When I sit in the bus and wait for either the washed out road in front of us or behind us to recede so we can cross and I can get home, instead of getting frustrated, I am realizing that I have never lived so close to nature. I like being at its whim, because I think that's how it's supposed to be. What's more natural than a flood? So just like roads, I'm learning people ebb and flow, and all I can do is enjoy someone's presence while they are here in the moment with me. Isa attachments.
Also! I bought a ukulele in Suva last week. It's pink, cutecutecute, maybe even cuter than Papukeni. Only know 3 chords, but more to come...
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s
Going to Suva, the capital of Fiji (yet only slightly bigger than Roswell, New Mexico) is like stepping on one of those electronic moving walkways. Man is life exciting at first, seeing the same scenery but going by so fast. But then you step off, and trip up a bit, acclimating to the village pace once more. But then you get used to it again, and life goes on just fine. It is like straddling two worlds, being in Suva and being in the village. And I do enjoy each world very much. It's just those transitions that trip you up...
Part of the transition back from town to the village is opening the door after being away for so long and seeing which creatures have taken up residence in your residence. This time, just frogs. Well, there are always frogs, but they somehow get more fearless when you aren't there and poop freely everywhere. Which is a much better situation than it could be (i.e. rat, cockroach infestations) although cleaning up frog poop is not like cleaning up cat or gecko poop, because it doesn't just vanish in one wipe. You have to devote some time to it. Glamorous, i know. But these are the kinds of things I spend so much time thinking about and dealing with on a regular basis!
Speaking of glamorous. I also discovered an impromptu ant farm in my parmesan cheese. And even though I find those kinds of things fascinating, not in my cheese. No way. So i spent a good while sifting out the ants, one by one. Man that was tedious, saving my cheese like that, and I'm not even really a cheese person. But it was dealt with, and it's all ok now. (The day the ants get into my coffee...then we might have a serious problem.)
I'm on a metaphor kick today. But I thought of another one while I was in Suva. Life is baseball, and we are on deck to bat. Right now, we PCVs are swinging around a few bats to warm up, and it is a bit clumsy and heavy and ungraceful at times. But that is only to highlight the immensely directed, calculated, swift swing we will have at the plate, with one bat, back in America. Or something.
Potential future purchase I am excited about: ukulele.
Part of the transition back from town to the village is opening the door after being away for so long and seeing which creatures have taken up residence in your residence. This time, just frogs. Well, there are always frogs, but they somehow get more fearless when you aren't there and poop freely everywhere. Which is a much better situation than it could be (i.e. rat, cockroach infestations) although cleaning up frog poop is not like cleaning up cat or gecko poop, because it doesn't just vanish in one wipe. You have to devote some time to it. Glamorous, i know. But these are the kinds of things I spend so much time thinking about and dealing with on a regular basis!
Speaking of glamorous. I also discovered an impromptu ant farm in my parmesan cheese. And even though I find those kinds of things fascinating, not in my cheese. No way. So i spent a good while sifting out the ants, one by one. Man that was tedious, saving my cheese like that, and I'm not even really a cheese person. But it was dealt with, and it's all ok now. (The day the ants get into my coffee...then we might have a serious problem.)
I'm on a metaphor kick today. But I thought of another one while I was in Suva. Life is baseball, and we are on deck to bat. Right now, we PCVs are swinging around a few bats to warm up, and it is a bit clumsy and heavy and ungraceful at times. But that is only to highlight the immensely directed, calculated, swift swing we will have at the plate, with one bat, back in America. Or something.
Potential future purchase I am excited about: ukulele.
Friday, March 19, 2010
cyclone camp
Big news this week was Cyclone Tomas, a category 4, hitting Fiji. I was already in Suva for a training on HIV/AIDS outreach with about 10 other volunteers, so we were instructed to just stay put. No major damage to Suva (and if they hadn't said it was a cyclone I wouldn't have noticed!) but better to be safe, right? All volunteers were consolidated to nearby cities, and it only looks like a few sites are affected (although some may be severely affected - still don't know).
We all got pretty stir crazy during the national curfew, in which we would be arrested if we were caught walking in the city. But we made it fun. There were a few computers that were constantly running "ugly betty" and "glee." I painted my toenails teal. There was a pool, and we did water aerobics and ran around the perimeter making a whirlpool, only to switch directions and get swept backwards. We had cards and "set." We even made up games. My favorite was the jump/roll bed game, where one person would roll back and forth along the bed and the other would have to jump across them as they rolled, and if the jumper touched the other person, they lost. Another was the Gladiator cushion game, where we took two long cushions, stood two tile hypotenuses away from each other, and whacked each other until someone stepped out of their tile. At the breaking point we started an impromptu drum circle, using whatever we could whack together to make noise. I might have been playing the toaster at one point.
Overall, quite a different experience than the last cyclone. And hey, when did this whole experience start being so fun??
We all got pretty stir crazy during the national curfew, in which we would be arrested if we were caught walking in the city. But we made it fun. There were a few computers that were constantly running "ugly betty" and "glee." I painted my toenails teal. There was a pool, and we did water aerobics and ran around the perimeter making a whirlpool, only to switch directions and get swept backwards. We had cards and "set." We even made up games. My favorite was the jump/roll bed game, where one person would roll back and forth along the bed and the other would have to jump across them as they rolled, and if the jumper touched the other person, they lost. Another was the Gladiator cushion game, where we took two long cushions, stood two tile hypotenuses away from each other, and whacked each other until someone stepped out of their tile. At the breaking point we started an impromptu drum circle, using whatever we could whack together to make noise. I might have been playing the toaster at one point.
Overall, quite a different experience than the last cyclone. And hey, when did this whole experience start being so fun??
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
what is this, a school for ants??
It has gotten to the point where I merely set something down on the table and the ants sense it, walk up to whatever it is, evaluate it as edible or not, and then climb up it or walk away. It could be a hot cup of coffee, or a book. They still check. They are too smart, and I cannot keep up with them. But i have discovered Mortein bug spray, and I definitely decimated close to 4 ant colonies in my floor on Tuesday.
I've been meaning to share this story, because this was a real turning point for me in how i view this place. One day coming back from town, I took my normal 2:30 bus (the only afternoon bus that goes to my village) but got off early to visit Lydia in her village. I left my vegetables on the bus. Damn, considering that’s my one shot at getting vegetables for the whole week. I returned to my village a couple days later, and nana handed me all of my vegetables minus a few tomatoes that had gone bad. Someone on my bus had noticed I had left them, and then, when the bus reached my village, carried the vegetables all the way to my house and gave them to my nana. And my nana kept them safe, in a bowl, awaiting my return. It is frustrating sometimes being so dependent, so reliant, on those around me. But if I allow myself to truly give into it, to just fall back and let the village envelop me, I know no feeling of greater safety, save my home back in America, surrounded by my “real” family. But how rare, how incredible, to have found this feeling on the other side of the world, away from everyone and everything I know.
Turned 24 last month! Thanks mom, for the candy. And Denise, for the wonderful book! And Jess M, for that hilarious card. Conveniently, the day before my birthday, the medical officer called me and several other volunteers, letting us know we had to come into Suva for an H1N1 vaccination the following day. Following the mass vaccination, we all went out on the town dancing to celebrate being done with the shot, being together, and, oh yeah, my birthday. It’s not often things happen like that here. Good fortune indeed.
I slept with a blanket last night, for the whole night. This is huge. This means that the heat is subsiding, the worst is over, and now we just coast into fall. That does not mean that my bure is still unbearably hot sometimes. And, in the time of most dire heat, aka 4pm, I hear the clinking of spoons against teacups. The hottest hour in my village is tea time. Do Fijians have esophagi (?) made of ice cubes? Thermoregulation of steel? Either way, it’s pretty damn impressive, even if I want no part of it.
OK, now deep thoughts by Lisa. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to enjoy the means toward an end. Like, not reading books just to say you’ve read them. Not hurrying up mountains just to say you’ve climbed them. Not cooking a meal just because you’re hungry. If you are too focused on the end, and rush through the process, you have wasted time, because the end is such a minor part of the whole! Instead, relishing each page, each overlook, each chopped vegetable along the way. Finding joy in the way you’re getting there. Because then – does it even matter where you end up? And isn’t life just one huge, long process? Isn’t the Peace Corps one huge, long process? But to find joy in each day, regardless of any outcome in the future – I think that might just be a good way to live.
I've been meaning to share this story, because this was a real turning point for me in how i view this place. One day coming back from town, I took my normal 2:30 bus (the only afternoon bus that goes to my village) but got off early to visit Lydia in her village. I left my vegetables on the bus. Damn, considering that’s my one shot at getting vegetables for the whole week. I returned to my village a couple days later, and nana handed me all of my vegetables minus a few tomatoes that had gone bad. Someone on my bus had noticed I had left them, and then, when the bus reached my village, carried the vegetables all the way to my house and gave them to my nana. And my nana kept them safe, in a bowl, awaiting my return. It is frustrating sometimes being so dependent, so reliant, on those around me. But if I allow myself to truly give into it, to just fall back and let the village envelop me, I know no feeling of greater safety, save my home back in America, surrounded by my “real” family. But how rare, how incredible, to have found this feeling on the other side of the world, away from everyone and everything I know.
Turned 24 last month! Thanks mom, for the candy. And Denise, for the wonderful book! And Jess M, for that hilarious card. Conveniently, the day before my birthday, the medical officer called me and several other volunteers, letting us know we had to come into Suva for an H1N1 vaccination the following day. Following the mass vaccination, we all went out on the town dancing to celebrate being done with the shot, being together, and, oh yeah, my birthday. It’s not often things happen like that here. Good fortune indeed.
I slept with a blanket last night, for the whole night. This is huge. This means that the heat is subsiding, the worst is over, and now we just coast into fall. That does not mean that my bure is still unbearably hot sometimes. And, in the time of most dire heat, aka 4pm, I hear the clinking of spoons against teacups. The hottest hour in my village is tea time. Do Fijians have esophagi (?) made of ice cubes? Thermoregulation of steel? Either way, it’s pretty damn impressive, even if I want no part of it.
OK, now deep thoughts by Lisa. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to enjoy the means toward an end. Like, not reading books just to say you’ve read them. Not hurrying up mountains just to say you’ve climbed them. Not cooking a meal just because you’re hungry. If you are too focused on the end, and rush through the process, you have wasted time, because the end is such a minor part of the whole! Instead, relishing each page, each overlook, each chopped vegetable along the way. Finding joy in the way you’re getting there. Because then – does it even matter where you end up? And isn’t life just one huge, long process? Isn’t the Peace Corps one huge, long process? But to find joy in each day, regardless of any outcome in the future – I think that might just be a good way to live.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
paddling, wasp, work
Fun stories from this week include a swim across the Viti Levu Bay, approx. 2 miles, in which I paddled a boat while 6 fellow volunteer swimmers swam. (Sorry dad, I just didn't get those swimming genes!).
Another fun story includes a wasp attack during an impromptu hike, in which I got bitten about 7-8 times by the same wasp, throwing my body down the hill of sugarcane to escape. Never before have I swatted away a wasp, only to watch it come right back for me, looking for a new place to attack. It was something out of a horror film, perhaps, only it was just one, but man, did it make itself known. And I was in clear sight of my main road. If my village didn't think Americans were crazy to begin with, seeing me flail and scream around a patch of sugarcane has probably confirmed their suspicion.
The best part was that I was on the way to feed the pig at the time. And afterward, I thought I saw a clear shot up to the top of the hill, so I went for it. I'm always looking for a way up the hill behind the pigs, so that I can look out on the valley from a clear, uninterrupted vantage point. But no. The search continues.
And I returned, with an empty bucket, pale and shaky, with cuts on my arms and legs, telling my neighbors that I had returned from feeding the pig.
Am I a crazy American? I am starting to think so.
But good news. I have found a new community partner to work with, who is extremely intelligent (and I have actually swapped novels with!). A few days ago he asked me, "Now Lisa, I just found this out yesterday and it really shocked me. Is Turkey part of the European Union or the Middle East?"
An intellectual challenge!
I told him I didn't really know, and he launched into a discussion about its precarious intersection between Europe and the Middle east...
I have actually talked to him about the Fijian tendency to expect Peace Corps volunteers to give them free handouts (eg. brushcutters, sewing machines) and how unsustainable it all is. He agrees that it is unsustainable, and that is not my job, and we are both thinking of ways to supply this community with income-generating projects that could, if these communities wanted in the future, buy them 15 brushcutters and sewing machines if they so desired. Talks of backpacker's resorts, vanilla planting, and money management workshops. We'll see where it all goes...
Another fun story includes a wasp attack during an impromptu hike, in which I got bitten about 7-8 times by the same wasp, throwing my body down the hill of sugarcane to escape. Never before have I swatted away a wasp, only to watch it come right back for me, looking for a new place to attack. It was something out of a horror film, perhaps, only it was just one, but man, did it make itself known. And I was in clear sight of my main road. If my village didn't think Americans were crazy to begin with, seeing me flail and scream around a patch of sugarcane has probably confirmed their suspicion.
The best part was that I was on the way to feed the pig at the time. And afterward, I thought I saw a clear shot up to the top of the hill, so I went for it. I'm always looking for a way up the hill behind the pigs, so that I can look out on the valley from a clear, uninterrupted vantage point. But no. The search continues.
And I returned, with an empty bucket, pale and shaky, with cuts on my arms and legs, telling my neighbors that I had returned from feeding the pig.
Am I a crazy American? I am starting to think so.
But good news. I have found a new community partner to work with, who is extremely intelligent (and I have actually swapped novels with!). A few days ago he asked me, "Now Lisa, I just found this out yesterday and it really shocked me. Is Turkey part of the European Union or the Middle East?"
An intellectual challenge!
I told him I didn't really know, and he launched into a discussion about its precarious intersection between Europe and the Middle east...
I have actually talked to him about the Fijian tendency to expect Peace Corps volunteers to give them free handouts (eg. brushcutters, sewing machines) and how unsustainable it all is. He agrees that it is unsustainable, and that is not my job, and we are both thinking of ways to supply this community with income-generating projects that could, if these communities wanted in the future, buy them 15 brushcutters and sewing machines if they so desired. Talks of backpacker's resorts, vanilla planting, and money management workshops. We'll see where it all goes...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
fiji summer hits
School restarts next week, and life will once again move like it did in the end of November. I'm excited for that. I'm excited to dedicate a full year of myself to do whatever I can to improve my villages. I'm ready.
Right now though the days are hot and long. Fiji right now is an unexpected and never before experienced amount of tough. The water shuts off multiple times every day, and sometimes for more than a day. The heat is so bad at times you wipe your brow every 15 seconds, thinking of ice cream, dreaming of snow-covered mountains. Life continues to move back home, without you, and visitors remind you that you are being slowly forgotten, and not on purpose, but because life just moves. It's just the natural progression of things.
I am slowly realizing what a family I have here, though. The volunteers around me are an endless supply of laughter and diversion and fun. Without them, I am not sure I could stay and do the things I am trying to do. What an amazing group of friends I have here. How lucky am I!
I have not mentioned the cyclone, which happened mid-December. It shook me up beyond belief. Without dwelling on it, safe to say, I do not like cyclones. And, with 8 more scheduled to rip through the South Pacific this season, I may have to change locations for a few months to ensure that I never have to experience that ever again in my village. My location is particularly vulnerable, as the river flooded and I was trapped to weather the storm in a tin house that could have easily been crushed by a tree or had its roof blown off. And nearly did.
One thing that has surprised me recently is thinking of religion in a new way. Not as the root of all evil, and as a way to justify persecution, like I unfortunately used to. But rather as a source of strength and help when life is too sad, or too hard. Having never before even considered religion, this is a huge realization for me. But I've always felt there is too much sadness in the world to not believe in something higher. Perhaps I've never before been driven to places so dark as to really seek it out, to need it. But I am starting to really see its value. It gives people hope, and sometimes, that's all you could ask for.
Everything will be ok. And I still, despite it all, would not want to be anywhere else. I am having an amazing experience. Here I am, making my way in Fiji, trying to do something good in the world. That can't be all bad.
Right now though the days are hot and long. Fiji right now is an unexpected and never before experienced amount of tough. The water shuts off multiple times every day, and sometimes for more than a day. The heat is so bad at times you wipe your brow every 15 seconds, thinking of ice cream, dreaming of snow-covered mountains. Life continues to move back home, without you, and visitors remind you that you are being slowly forgotten, and not on purpose, but because life just moves. It's just the natural progression of things.
I am slowly realizing what a family I have here, though. The volunteers around me are an endless supply of laughter and diversion and fun. Without them, I am not sure I could stay and do the things I am trying to do. What an amazing group of friends I have here. How lucky am I!
I have not mentioned the cyclone, which happened mid-December. It shook me up beyond belief. Without dwelling on it, safe to say, I do not like cyclones. And, with 8 more scheduled to rip through the South Pacific this season, I may have to change locations for a few months to ensure that I never have to experience that ever again in my village. My location is particularly vulnerable, as the river flooded and I was trapped to weather the storm in a tin house that could have easily been crushed by a tree or had its roof blown off. And nearly did.
One thing that has surprised me recently is thinking of religion in a new way. Not as the root of all evil, and as a way to justify persecution, like I unfortunately used to. But rather as a source of strength and help when life is too sad, or too hard. Having never before even considered religion, this is a huge realization for me. But I've always felt there is too much sadness in the world to not believe in something higher. Perhaps I've never before been driven to places so dark as to really seek it out, to need it. But I am starting to really see its value. It gives people hope, and sometimes, that's all you could ask for.
Everything will be ok. And I still, despite it all, would not want to be anywhere else. I am having an amazing experience. Here I am, making my way in Fiji, trying to do something good in the world. That can't be all bad.
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