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

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!