Walt Disney's Board of Directors figured out they were losing the opportunity to make more money at Disneyland because people were afraid of some of the rides. Many of you recall (and many of you won't) that at Disneyland, customers would buy a book of tickets - A through E - and E-tickets were the best. The Matterhorn, Pirates of the Caribbean, Haunted House etc. were the E-ticket rides. Well, I figure one of the reasons they went to a one-price park admission is because people would chicken out on the E ticket rides (which were of course the most expensive ticket) and not buy as many tickets. So they probably decided to charge everyone to get in the park and then it didn't matter if they chickened out.
You're probably thinking "WTF is Matt talking about?" We'll get there.
You hear a lot about "Fiji Time" - the understanding which essentially means things happen . . . eventually. It's generally true and amazing. Things do ultimately get done. Someone will say something starts at 1, and it may start by 3:15, but it happens and people walk away satisfied. No one is pissed off that the meeting didn't start on time, firing off nasty emails on the blackberry about how so-and-so is a loser jerk who doesn't deserve the Lexus he drives . . . I digress. The point is, things get done and Fiji time is not a myth, but a way of life.
There is one exception to the Fiji time mentality.
They say the national sport in Fiji is Rugby. I am inclined to believe that actually it's tailgating. Everything here operates on an island time pace until you get into a motorized vehicle. There are 4 kinds. Cars, Taxis, Buses, and Minibuses. Cars, which are operated by private citizens, seem to be mostly normal. Taxis and buses are somewhat crazy. Minibuses are a whole different thing.
Excuse my language, but these people are f*&%ing insane.
Most of you have been on the Matterhorn at Disneyland, or the Big Dipper roller coaster in Santa Cruz. For those of you on the other coast or out of country, just think of a rickety roller coaster, where part of the thrill is thing is gonna derail and send you flying into sharp objects or distant bodies of water. Now you have an idea of what happens to the heart rate when riding in a Minibus in Fiji.
For instance, tonight I was coming back from Suva to Sigatoka. This is about a 2 hour trip. Remember, that most people in Fiji (actually, everyone) really doesn't give a rats ass whether it takes 2 hours or 3 hours. Our clear preference is that we arrive at our destination breathing and in one piece. But the people who drive the Minibuses have a different idea.
Minibuses here are more often than not older (think late 80's early 90's) Toyota Cargo Vans - the longish, skinny vans that look like they would roll over if you sneezed on them. Here, they put in 3 rows of seats in the back, seating 3 across, and put two passengers in the front seat next to the driver, so all-in you've got 12 people in the van. It is the single purpose of every driver to make sure the van is full at all times, pretty much no matter what. So, they don't leave on schedule, they leave when they are full. If they are not full, they tease the people who are in the van by leaving the station (oh boy, we're leaving!), but then they troll around town looking for more victims, er, passengers. Then, once they have filled up the van, we're on the road! But usually we stop at the gas station, where they put in $20 or whatever, chat with the gas station guy, talk to the girlfriend on the phone, whatever. One time, it was over an hour between the time the van first started moving and when we actually left town. Fiji time!
Until we get going for real. OK, (Tony W. in North Carolina will appreciate this) Jeff Gordon, Jimmy Johnson, Richard Petty, Cale Yarborough - none of those guys have anything on the Minibus drivers. Nascar drivers drive tricked out cars that are low to the ground on smooth race tracks, and with the exception of a couple times a year, they only have to turn left. All they have to contend with are other drivers who are GOING IN THE SAME DIRECTION. Fiji Minibus drivers have lots more to deal with.
First, there is their phone, which is usually two phones (a lot of them have 2 - I don't know why). They are ringing, sometimes simultaneously, which means they have to answered, but often the driver doesn't know where the phone is - it could be in the door, or their pants pocket, or their shirt pocket, or their hand. But that's nothing compared to the other things they have to deal with.
The road from Suva to Sigatoka is a 2 lane road (one in each direction). There are a couple of passing lanes. It's a 122 kilometer (76 mile) drive. There are several competing goals. They all seem like they are most important. But clearly the most important goal is to PASS THE VEHICLE IN FRONT OF YOU AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE NO MATTER WHAT.
You know the single-minded purpose yellow labs have with tennis balls? That's what I'm talking about.
You know all of the stress I left behind in the states? Like everything else here, it's just different. Karmic balance in the works. Relax in Fiji? Sure, until you get in the minibus. Remember, we're in a Toyota tin can that has 857,345 miles on it, that might have decent tires, one shock absorber (because the roads destroyed the other three), with 12 people, one of whom is the driver who is most likely talking on the phone on a winding, often wet road, with the single-minded purpose of PASSING THE VEHICLE IN FRONT OF HIM AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE! Because the roads are often winding, we find ourselves waiting for an opportunity to pass and it is evidently very important to be as close to the vehicle in front of you as possible. If it's at night, I guess it's helpful to flash your brights at the vehicle in front of you incessantly, even though they may be in a van that has one cylinder functioning and is billowing smoke that would make Smokey the Bear roll over in his hibernating cave.
For 2 hours.
I will say though, they are incredibly kind about switching on their turn indicator (blinker) on when passing - for whose benefit I'm not entirely sure. I think everyone knows what the intent is here.
Fortunately there are breaks along the way. Most villages have speed bumps (thank God). There are hills, and these Toyotas with 12 people in them can't go fast going up those hills. Of course, what goes up must come down. So think of the impending excitement you feel when the roller coaster is climbing, the clicking of the chain pulling the car up, certain you are going to be flung out of the car when you start down again. Because when the van is full, it goes faster!
Of course, not everyone in the van is going all the way to the final destination (I know, perhaps not the best choice of words). So, occasionally we drop someone off and three of those bastards we passed pass us, which means WE HAVE TO PASS THEM AGAIN! This happens several times during the trip. Because once you drop someone off, it means there's an empty seat, so if someone is on the side of the road (in Fiji someone is ALWAYS on the side of the road) we have to pick them up, which of course allows more of those dreaded cars to pass us again. These are like unscheduled pit stops during a race. The drivers all seem to step it up a notch after a drop off or a pick up.
I think we pass the same 8-10 vehicles 8-10 times. Seriously.
Unless there's a truck that's packed impossibly full with sugar cane - which by the way they pack sideways so the cane is wider than the truck, often wider than the lane. And it's going REALLY SLOW which means there's a line of vehicles wanting to pass - that's when it gets really interesting. It's like the beginning of the Daytona 500 race - as soon as there's an opening, it's green flag time.
I have thought of all of the angles. If the van is full, it can't go as fast uphill, but goes faster downhill. Less people, faster acceleration leading to increased driver confidence (not a good thing) and the ability to pass. The road being wet seems to have no bearing on driver speed. I'm not sure what is best where the roll factor is concerned (full of people or not). However, one phone is definitely better than two.
Oh, and there are no seat belts with the exception of the front seat passenger, which again, I'm not sure if that's a good thing. These Toyota vans engines are underneath the car, not in the front (I know this because I can feel them overheating underneath my feet). So the seat belt would theoretically keep the passenger in place insuring that his legs would get crushed in the event of a head-on crash as opposed to getting thrown clear through the windshield if you weren't wearing it - I don't know. But if it rolled, you would definitely want the seat belt, so there's that . . .
Let's just say it's an E Ticket without rails.
******************************************
I started tutoring some kids this week. The couple in the village who work have a son, Peni, who is in 8th grade. In a couple of weeks, he has to test in order to move on to secondary school. Because they work, he gets to go to secondary school (about $800 a year). Then, there are a couple of girls, one in 7th grade the other in 8th who live in Lawai (a village down the road from us) who want some extra help. And then there's another 7th grader from my village who showed up.
This is really interesting. These kids are SO hungry to learn. They insisted that I make rules for the ad hoc classroom we have created. Then they told me the first rule is that all of us have to speak English while we're in the classroom. And they brought me a chair (Fijians don't generally have chairs in the village - everyone sits on mats on the ground). We have a broken chalkboard and I bought some chalk. When I went to Suva I picked up a volleyball and a soccer ball so we can have recess. They want to work everyday and Saturdays.
I didn't initiate any of this. I don't think any of the parents did anything. It was all the kids idea.
So this has me thinking again (ok - insert joke here). What I am most struck by is the appetite. They want help with the solids - english, math and science. Especially english. Fijians do ALL schooling in english. First grade (there is no formal kindergarten) through University is taught in english. Everything in the court system (including all contracts) are in english - english is the national language after all. But, virtually everyone, even in the cities, speaks Fijian or Hindi when in social settings. Consequently, their english is often broken. These kids don't speak english particularly well, but they write really well.
Anyway, back to the hunger. No big dissertation here, just a note on how it struck me they are so curious. They really want to learn. And it's not pushed by their parents. They just want to know. It's completely genuine. And it's really cool. I said "does anyone want to go on a field trip?" and they just about went through the roof. We could take the bus (not a minibus) into Sigatoka and they would be delighted. It occurs to me they're not distracted. Education isn't taken for granted. I think there's one TV in the whole village and no one is watching it. There's no money to speak of. Don Draper (sorry - Mad Men reference - Don Draper is on Madison Ave and is an advertising guru) hasn't reached them yet. They're pure. And that makes me think it's really easy to be a kid here and really hard to be one in the states. And that makes me sad.
I don't know what the answer is or if there is one. I am going to work with them. It's so much fun. They are so much fun. They are so hungry.
**************************************
There is a huge battle in the village for sleep, at least for me. And it is a pretty even battle at this point. I've documented the Incredibly Loud Methodist Delivery System (ILMDS). That continues to be in the mix. Alas, there are two other, more bothersome, factors.
Roosters and dogs.
We have lots of roosters. And unlike mid-American lore regarding sunrise, they crow here at all hours all of the time. Seemingly at each other. With no relation to the sunrise. Evidently no one told them they're supposed to wait until the sun comes up. Their favorite time seems to be between 2:00 and 4:00 AM. My guess is they don't want to compete with the ILMDS. It seems that a couple of them are especially fond of coming up to my door and crowing. The earplugs are inadequate for those assaults.
However, the dogs are worse. Dog lovers be forewarned. This message may contain material unsuitable for dog lovers. I have joked over the years with some of you that I want to come back as a dog. Particularly for the belly rubs. Also for the guilt-free sleep at the drop of a hat. And the unrestrained pure joy of chasing a ball into the water. Oh, and girls come up to you and pet you and tell you how cute you are. And . . . well, you get the point.
Well, not so much in Fiji.
You don't want to be a dog here. I'm not sure why they have dogs here. Because they don't treat them as pets. They feed them scraps (I think). Or the dogs scavenge to feed themselves. You see a lot of dog ribs here. The people don't seem to particularly abuse dogs. They just don't take care of them as pets. They don't spay or neuter. Bob Barker evidently doesn't have much sway in Fiji. We have a lot of dogs in our village. Probably in the neighborhood of a dozen or so (remember we have less than 80 people). During the day our dogs mostly stay out of the way and sleep.
But come nighttime, oh my. They bark. A lot. Often all night. At each other. Unless they're mating. Really loud. Right outside my door with the roosters cheering them on. It's like an animal version of the pawn shop basement scene in Pulp Fiction on my front porch. The dogs happily compete with the Methodist Delivery System and often pummel it - completely drown out the message.
(Note: As I type this it is 12:03 AM and 5 dogs just started barking for the night. I'm not making this up).
So, I reckon I will have to learn to sleep like a dog during the day.
Finally (sorry it's been a long one), please feel free to write back. A few of you have written back with observations from your own experiences and it's wonderful to receive those emails. I do know you are all very busy, and I certainly don't expect it - but if you feel the urge, please indulge. It's greatly appreciated.
Maciu
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The "poor" people of Fiji
poor |poŏr; pôr|
adjective
1 lacking sufficient money to live at a standard considered comfortable or normal in a society : people who were too poor to afford a telephone | [as n. ] ( the poor) the gap between the rich and the poor has widened.
• (of a place) inhabited by people without sufficient money : a poor area with run-down movie theaters and overcrowded schools.
2 worse than is usual, expected, or desirable; of a low or inferior standard or quality :her work was poor | many people are eating a very poor diet.
• [ predic. ] ( poor in) deficient or lacking in : the water is poor in nutrients.
• dated used ironically to deprecate something belonging to or offered by oneself : he is, in my poor opinion, a more handsome young man.
3 [ attrib. ] (of a person) considered to be deserving of pity or sympathy : they inquired after poor Dorothy's broken hip.
ORIGIN Middle English : from Old Frenchpoure, from Latin pauper.
context |ˈkänˌtekst|
noun
the circumstances that form the setting for an event, statement, or idea, and in terms of which it can be fully understood and assessed : the decision was taken within the context of planned cuts in spending.
• the parts of something written or spoken that immediately precede and follow a word or passage and clarify its meaning :word processing is affected by the context in which words appear.
ORIGIN late Middle English (denoting the construction of a text): from Latin contextus, from con- ‘together’ + texere ‘to weave.’
One of the most difficult tasks attached to writing about this experience is placing things into proper context. There are so many things that are just different than how people would do them in the US, or Western culture at large. The concept of whether or not these people are poor is front and center for me. Not that poor is the only criteria for Peace Corps involvement, but the question as it relates to the context here begs to be asked.
This last week has been interesting.
A short setup.
As I've said before, the village is poor. (Though now, based on the definition above, I am questioning that assumption. Let's just say for now, they don't have very much money). They indicated to me they have one source of income - the pottery that tourists buy when they come here (and they come here everyday except for Sunday). There are 2 people living in the village that have jobs outside of the village - a husband and wife. That couple keeps their money (except for what goes to the church - stay tuned). The rest of the village evidently lives off of the combined income from the women who do pottery. The kids (except for one) stop going to school after the equivalent of 8th grade because secondary (high) school costs about $800 a year (tuition, books, transportation). So, if you are a kid in Nakabuta, you are destined to farm if you're a boy and do pottery if you're a girl (unless for the girls you marry out of the village). I had a meeting with the men and they indicated (though I'm not entirely sure because of language barriers) their priorities for the village are footpaths, education, incinerators, and a computer. Frankly, I think that was the list the guy who died had made when he requested a PCV. The men seem pretty content with life. I am meeting with the women this coming week to hear their priorities. That should be clearer since generally their English is much better. I'll keep you posted.
On Monday I was talking with one of the women and she told me that the village was going to be buying a "microphone system" for the pastor for $1200! I was scratching my head because the church is relatively (physically) small, and the pastor is a fire and brimstone guy (he's LOUD) so no one has any problems hearing him. But I didn't say anything. On Tuesday I get asked to come up to the church as the Tikina (district) pastor is here to speak and the microphone system is here, so come on up (the church is on top of a hill overlooking the village). While walking up to the church, the woman who told me about the system said it actually cost $1600.
OK.
After a short service and a couple of songs (Fijians LOVE to sing in church), the men start moving briskly about and they unwrap the "microphone system" which is actually a kick-ass amplifier system with two enormous speakers - equipment that I would have loved to have for block parties in college and such. These things are AWESOME. And I'm watching this and trying to figure out why they bought them. We can hear people just fine in the church.
(A quick side note, totally relevant to context. In the US, people generally "go to church" on Sundays. In Nakabuta, people "go to church" 3 times A DAY.)
While they are setting them up, I ask the woman why they bought them and she says "well, not everyone in the village comes to church . . .
. . . and the pastor wants those people (who don't come to church) to be able to hear the service". As she is saying this, the men are positioning the speakers at the windows which overlook the village. After they set the speakers up, the pastor goes fire and brimstone for all of the Nakabuta valley to hear. I am sitting there speechless. This is the Methodist church. Not everyone in the village is Methodist - there is a small contingent of Assemblies of God folks in the village. But everyone in the village can hear this service. Clearly. Whether they want to or not.
I leave with everyone after the service and go home. Home is shaping up quite nicely. After the waterfall and river through my house last weekend, the men of the village "patched the thatch" (sorry), and no more leaks so far. I have electricity and running water. I also have many many critters. Spiders the size of my hand, ants (lots of ants), no cockroaches that I've seen yet, moths, all sorts of bugs in general. But the problem is rats. I have rats. I need to get a kitty cat I think to help dissuade said rats from hanging around my dwelling. (I haven't seen any cats in the village - lots of dogs, horses, chickens and cattle, but no cats). Food cabinets (floor standing) only work for so long before they chew through those. So I bought a refrigerator and I keep everything in that. I also have a stove. The PC gives us a move-in allowance which covers pretty much everything but the fridge. It is a decided luxury (a few families in the village have them), but since I am supposed to be here two years, I decided that I wasn't going to suffer in the name of blending in. If no one else in the village had electricity and fridges, then it might be different, But people have them. So, I am pretty happy about the fridge (though expensive, well worth it).
So anyway after the service on Tuesday night, I have a nice quiet dinner, read, watch a movie and go to sleep. Every night I have time to write, read and watch a movie. Every night I have lots of time. My birthday is coming up and my birthday wish is for people to pass around and fill up an external hard drive with movies and TV shows (like The Wire, John Adams, any and all movies, etc.) they have on their computers. I will happily pay for said services and drive. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.
At 4:00 AM on Wednesday morning, I am shocked awake by the unmistakable blaring of fire and brimstone guy . . . and he's on fire! For 2 hours. He is on fire. About God knows what. But he is preaching, Really loud. Through his brand new kick-ass amplified speaker system that would make Green Day greener with envy. For 2 hours. There was some singing mixed in, but it wasn't soothing. It was aggravating as hell. And then the same thing Thursday morning. 4:00 AM, for 2 hours. I am NOT exaggerating when I say that in the US he would be arrested for disturbing the peace . . . in the middle of the day, let alone at 4:00 AM.
Suddenly, sleep is in major jeopardy.
I asked if this was normal (the 4:00 AM service) and they said yes for the month of July because they are fasting (fasting means no grog and no cigarettes for the month). This called for an emergency trip to Suva to find earplugs, which they have at the PC office. So Thursday I went to Suva to get those. They kind of work (thank God?). Otherwise, I would have needed to bail for the month of July. I suspect that the amplified preaching will be a theme throughout my stay here and I believe that beginning in August the 4:00 AM turns into a 6:00 AM service. There are also services around noon and 7:00 PM daily.
Did I mention they go to church a lot here?
On Friday morning, one of the women comes knocking at my door (people knock on my door constantly - the privacy thing will always be an issue. I am thankful I have a door) and says the TK (Turaga ni Koro - head of the village) wants to meet with me about something. We meet and they ask if they can borrow $2000 from me to pay for the funeral costs for one of the women who died (at age 55 from cancer - more on that later). I'm like "huh?"
So, this is where I don't want to sound like I'm grumbling. But the truth is I am. The PC is supposed to go to each village and do an orientation with the key people in the village (like the Chief, the TK, head of the women's group, etc.) explaining the requirements, rules and such. One of the things that is supposed to be made clear is that they are not to ask to borrow money from the PCV - the PCV is a volunteer and they leave everything back in America and are given a small stipend, etc.. Reason being is that culturally, it puts the PCV in a weird spot. The perception is that I have money (my part in this probably was buying the fridge - but the reality is it probably wouldn't have mattered - they would have asked anyway. Especially in my village, because of the daily influx of tourists, they believe that white people have lots of money. They see TV programs from the US. They know). Anyway, I asked the TK and the head of the women's group if the PC had done said orientation and they said no. Of course, it is a possibility they are saying no when in fact it did happen. But I suspect it didn't considering the utter lack of information PC had about the village - namely the guy who requested PC come has been dead for 8 months and the local health inspector who he made the request through is long gone.
In Fiji, when you are asked for something, it is expected (culturally) that you say yes. So, I was in a weird spot. If I say yes, I am setting a precedent that I really don't want set. If I say no, I am potentially insulting and shaming the people in the village and setting myself back in the process. I called a Fijian contact in the PC who confirmed those two scenarios.
I asked how would they pay me back? That was a good question to ask. Around the village of Nakabuta is a wind power farm with lots of windmills. Turns out there is a second source of income to the village - the village leases the land to the FEA (Fijian Electric Authority) and they are due payment on August 1st and that's how they would pay me back. The compromise I came up with (and I am open to all criticism for this) was to tell them I don't have $2000, but could lend them $500 ($250 US), tell them this was the only time I would lend them the money, had them write it down, told them if anyone in the village asks me again I would politely decline, but under no circumstances would I lend anyone any money again, not even bus fare. I was making the exception because they didn't get the orientation and about 100 people were going to show up over the weekend expecting to get fed for the funeral (funerals in Fiji are big parties). This seemed acceptable to all parties. For me, it's a $250 experiment. I fully expect to get paid back, but if I don't, that's on me. The funeral happened. They bought the pig for the lovo (sp?) - the equivalent of a Hawaiian luau. They fed all the people. Those people are scattering back to their communities today (Sunday). I'll let you know if they pay me back.
So, land lease. Opportunity. I found out this morning that the lease is renewed every 6 months. Or 5 years. Or I don't know. Land leases are THE major source of income for Fiji. It's one of the things that separates Fiji from many other 3rd world countries. They lease the land to the tourist industry for the resorts. And on a smaller scale they lease to the FEA and the water company. Way back when the leases were written for 99 years. Now, they vary depending on the land and the need. I don't know the details about the lease, but I do know it's written in English and I'm pretty sure the guy I talked to this morning can get me a copy. So . . .
. . . the thought that occurred to me was to renegotiate the lease to include an education provision in it which states that the FEA will pay for secondary education for every child from the village of Nakabuta for the duration of the lease (perpetuity unless they go nuclear here :-) ). I'd love to include University into the language as well. It's a small village, so it wouldn't cost the FEA much. I want it paid directly to the education provider to keep it out of the hands of the church. And it could solve the education problem for the village. But it's just a thought. The bridge between thought and execution in Fiji is often very long and sometimes never built. So we shall see.
As for the loan/money stuff, big picture it's not a big deal for me, but potentially a big deal for the village. It is a perfect opportunity for me to work with the village on issues around money management, I've already asked them to write down exactly how much they take in from pottery each day and then will work with the women's group (because they're the ones who earn the money) to determine where the money goes. I can now ask to see the lease with the FEA (and any others - who knows?). It provided me a shortcut into the mechanics of the village.
It also made me think in passing of the book Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I won't turn into that. But it did give me pause.
My guess is they give between 30-40% of their money to the church. The current structure is to give all proceeds for the 1st week of the month to the church. I will turn them onto the idea of percentage giving - i.e. a week ago Saturday was the biggest day - probably 60 tourists - they've had in a long time here. Because it fell after the first Monday of the month, it falls in the first week, so it all goes to the church. So for July it will probably be closer to 50%. They also give every time they go to church (maybe that's why people don't show up?). The youth group gets together every week and meets and they give what they can to the church. And the Methodist church here in Fiji (don't know if it's true in the US) has someone who sits at the front of the church and meticulously writes down how much who gives while they are in church. And in the youth group it was the same. It's the only place I've seen Fijians keep track of money.
Meanwhile there is the most adorable 7 year old girl who didn't go to school all week last week. When I asked her why, she said no bus fare ($1.40 RT).
Money, as usual, is a complex issue with lots of potential strings. There is one thing not associated with money I can launch into fairly quickly I hope . . .
The 55 year old woman who died of cancer; her husband was the guy who requested PC come here. He was in his early 50's when he died, of cancer. They burn ALL of their garbage here in the village (in fact in most villages they burn everything) including all plastic - bottles, bags, diapers, all of it. That can't help. That will be my number one priority and it is amazing how difficult it is to get the point across. By the way, if any of you know of a good design for incinerators (for paper) please pass them on.
Lastly (and sorry for the length of this entry), there's the notion of interference that is on my mind. I was talking with Robyn (some of you know her and the gang that are currently in El Salvador doing work on the school and such) and she spoke of the abject poverty and filth. And violent crime. By the way, there are no guns in Fiji - not even for the police. So there's no gun crime here. Anyway, El Salvador sounds depressing. It sounds poor based on the definition above. It's not like that here. People, especially in the villages, are predominantly happy. It's not like they're hiding anything. They hide nothing. The most constant sound in my village is laughter, the men, the women and the kids.
What it makes me think of is education. I know that in large parts of Africa, female education is literally the key to begin the end of all of it - poverty, hunger, water-bourne illness, AIDS, population control, everything. In Fiji, while people are financially poor, there doesn't appear to be that poverty issue. Population control seems to be stable. There's plenty of food. They're addressing water and garbage, kind of (I think that's where PC can be of the most help).
The gender issue is very real, especially in the villages. But if education comes and continues, then people will flock to the cities (where university is) and then what? This is a formulating thought for me. I don't know what I think yet. I suppose I have a couple of years to ponder. But what I'm left with today, is that these people, in this village, are happy. And when I contrast that with what I left behind in the states, it leaves me wondering.
I don't see very much suffering here. That's what it is. I see much more suffering in the US.
Adam and Eve. The forbidden fruit. Progress. Human nature. At what cost? Debate anyone? :-)
It makes me think a lot of the original Star Trek series and the prime directive of non-interference. If someone passes around a hard drive, I'd love to have that on there as well . . .
Next time, hopefully I will be talking about my garden.
Maciu
meanwhile my $45 cappuccino machine is saving my life . . .
adjective
1 lacking sufficient money to live at a standard considered comfortable or normal in a society : people who were too poor to afford a telephone | [as n. ] ( the poor) the gap between the rich and the poor has widened.
• (of a place) inhabited by people without sufficient money : a poor area with run-down movie theaters and overcrowded schools.
2 worse than is usual, expected, or desirable; of a low or inferior standard or quality :her work was poor | many people are eating a very poor diet.
• [ predic. ] ( poor in) deficient or lacking in : the water is poor in nutrients.
• dated used ironically to deprecate something belonging to or offered by oneself : he is, in my poor opinion, a more handsome young man.
3 [ attrib. ] (of a person) considered to be deserving of pity or sympathy : they inquired after poor Dorothy's broken hip.
ORIGIN Middle English : from Old Frenchpoure, from Latin pauper.
context |ˈkänˌtekst|
noun
the circumstances that form the setting for an event, statement, or idea, and in terms of which it can be fully understood and assessed : the decision was taken within the context of planned cuts in spending.
• the parts of something written or spoken that immediately precede and follow a word or passage and clarify its meaning :word processing is affected by the context in which words appear.
ORIGIN late Middle English (denoting the construction of a text): from Latin contextus, from con- ‘together’ + texere ‘to weave.’
One of the most difficult tasks attached to writing about this experience is placing things into proper context. There are so many things that are just different than how people would do them in the US, or Western culture at large. The concept of whether or not these people are poor is front and center for me. Not that poor is the only criteria for Peace Corps involvement, but the question as it relates to the context here begs to be asked.
This last week has been interesting.
A short setup.
As I've said before, the village is poor. (Though now, based on the definition above, I am questioning that assumption. Let's just say for now, they don't have very much money). They indicated to me they have one source of income - the pottery that tourists buy when they come here (and they come here everyday except for Sunday). There are 2 people living in the village that have jobs outside of the village - a husband and wife. That couple keeps their money (except for what goes to the church - stay tuned). The rest of the village evidently lives off of the combined income from the women who do pottery. The kids (except for one) stop going to school after the equivalent of 8th grade because secondary (high) school costs about $800 a year (tuition, books, transportation). So, if you are a kid in Nakabuta, you are destined to farm if you're a boy and do pottery if you're a girl (unless for the girls you marry out of the village). I had a meeting with the men and they indicated (though I'm not entirely sure because of language barriers) their priorities for the village are footpaths, education, incinerators, and a computer. Frankly, I think that was the list the guy who died had made when he requested a PCV. The men seem pretty content with life. I am meeting with the women this coming week to hear their priorities. That should be clearer since generally their English is much better. I'll keep you posted.
On Monday I was talking with one of the women and she told me that the village was going to be buying a "microphone system" for the pastor for $1200! I was scratching my head because the church is relatively (physically) small, and the pastor is a fire and brimstone guy (he's LOUD) so no one has any problems hearing him. But I didn't say anything. On Tuesday I get asked to come up to the church as the Tikina (district) pastor is here to speak and the microphone system is here, so come on up (the church is on top of a hill overlooking the village). While walking up to the church, the woman who told me about the system said it actually cost $1600.
OK.
After a short service and a couple of songs (Fijians LOVE to sing in church), the men start moving briskly about and they unwrap the "microphone system" which is actually a kick-ass amplifier system with two enormous speakers - equipment that I would have loved to have for block parties in college and such. These things are AWESOME. And I'm watching this and trying to figure out why they bought them. We can hear people just fine in the church.
(A quick side note, totally relevant to context. In the US, people generally "go to church" on Sundays. In Nakabuta, people "go to church" 3 times A DAY.)
While they are setting them up, I ask the woman why they bought them and she says "well, not everyone in the village comes to church . . .
. . . and the pastor wants those people (who don't come to church) to be able to hear the service". As she is saying this, the men are positioning the speakers at the windows which overlook the village. After they set the speakers up, the pastor goes fire and brimstone for all of the Nakabuta valley to hear. I am sitting there speechless. This is the Methodist church. Not everyone in the village is Methodist - there is a small contingent of Assemblies of God folks in the village. But everyone in the village can hear this service. Clearly. Whether they want to or not.
I leave with everyone after the service and go home. Home is shaping up quite nicely. After the waterfall and river through my house last weekend, the men of the village "patched the thatch" (sorry), and no more leaks so far. I have electricity and running water. I also have many many critters. Spiders the size of my hand, ants (lots of ants), no cockroaches that I've seen yet, moths, all sorts of bugs in general. But the problem is rats. I have rats. I need to get a kitty cat I think to help dissuade said rats from hanging around my dwelling. (I haven't seen any cats in the village - lots of dogs, horses, chickens and cattle, but no cats). Food cabinets (floor standing) only work for so long before they chew through those. So I bought a refrigerator and I keep everything in that. I also have a stove. The PC gives us a move-in allowance which covers pretty much everything but the fridge. It is a decided luxury (a few families in the village have them), but since I am supposed to be here two years, I decided that I wasn't going to suffer in the name of blending in. If no one else in the village had electricity and fridges, then it might be different, But people have them. So, I am pretty happy about the fridge (though expensive, well worth it).
So anyway after the service on Tuesday night, I have a nice quiet dinner, read, watch a movie and go to sleep. Every night I have time to write, read and watch a movie. Every night I have lots of time. My birthday is coming up and my birthday wish is for people to pass around and fill up an external hard drive with movies and TV shows (like The Wire, John Adams, any and all movies, etc.) they have on their computers. I will happily pay for said services and drive. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.
At 4:00 AM on Wednesday morning, I am shocked awake by the unmistakable blaring of fire and brimstone guy . . . and he's on fire! For 2 hours. He is on fire. About God knows what. But he is preaching, Really loud. Through his brand new kick-ass amplified speaker system that would make Green Day greener with envy. For 2 hours. There was some singing mixed in, but it wasn't soothing. It was aggravating as hell. And then the same thing Thursday morning. 4:00 AM, for 2 hours. I am NOT exaggerating when I say that in the US he would be arrested for disturbing the peace . . . in the middle of the day, let alone at 4:00 AM.
Suddenly, sleep is in major jeopardy.
I asked if this was normal (the 4:00 AM service) and they said yes for the month of July because they are fasting (fasting means no grog and no cigarettes for the month). This called for an emergency trip to Suva to find earplugs, which they have at the PC office. So Thursday I went to Suva to get those. They kind of work (thank God?). Otherwise, I would have needed to bail for the month of July. I suspect that the amplified preaching will be a theme throughout my stay here and I believe that beginning in August the 4:00 AM turns into a 6:00 AM service. There are also services around noon and 7:00 PM daily.
Did I mention they go to church a lot here?
On Friday morning, one of the women comes knocking at my door (people knock on my door constantly - the privacy thing will always be an issue. I am thankful I have a door) and says the TK (Turaga ni Koro - head of the village) wants to meet with me about something. We meet and they ask if they can borrow $2000 from me to pay for the funeral costs for one of the women who died (at age 55 from cancer - more on that later). I'm like "huh?"
So, this is where I don't want to sound like I'm grumbling. But the truth is I am. The PC is supposed to go to each village and do an orientation with the key people in the village (like the Chief, the TK, head of the women's group, etc.) explaining the requirements, rules and such. One of the things that is supposed to be made clear is that they are not to ask to borrow money from the PCV - the PCV is a volunteer and they leave everything back in America and are given a small stipend, etc.. Reason being is that culturally, it puts the PCV in a weird spot. The perception is that I have money (my part in this probably was buying the fridge - but the reality is it probably wouldn't have mattered - they would have asked anyway. Especially in my village, because of the daily influx of tourists, they believe that white people have lots of money. They see TV programs from the US. They know). Anyway, I asked the TK and the head of the women's group if the PC had done said orientation and they said no. Of course, it is a possibility they are saying no when in fact it did happen. But I suspect it didn't considering the utter lack of information PC had about the village - namely the guy who requested PC come has been dead for 8 months and the local health inspector who he made the request through is long gone.
In Fiji, when you are asked for something, it is expected (culturally) that you say yes. So, I was in a weird spot. If I say yes, I am setting a precedent that I really don't want set. If I say no, I am potentially insulting and shaming the people in the village and setting myself back in the process. I called a Fijian contact in the PC who confirmed those two scenarios.
I asked how would they pay me back? That was a good question to ask. Around the village of Nakabuta is a wind power farm with lots of windmills. Turns out there is a second source of income to the village - the village leases the land to the FEA (Fijian Electric Authority) and they are due payment on August 1st and that's how they would pay me back. The compromise I came up with (and I am open to all criticism for this) was to tell them I don't have $2000, but could lend them $500 ($250 US), tell them this was the only time I would lend them the money, had them write it down, told them if anyone in the village asks me again I would politely decline, but under no circumstances would I lend anyone any money again, not even bus fare. I was making the exception because they didn't get the orientation and about 100 people were going to show up over the weekend expecting to get fed for the funeral (funerals in Fiji are big parties). This seemed acceptable to all parties. For me, it's a $250 experiment. I fully expect to get paid back, but if I don't, that's on me. The funeral happened. They bought the pig for the lovo (sp?) - the equivalent of a Hawaiian luau. They fed all the people. Those people are scattering back to their communities today (Sunday). I'll let you know if they pay me back.
So, land lease. Opportunity. I found out this morning that the lease is renewed every 6 months. Or 5 years. Or I don't know. Land leases are THE major source of income for Fiji. It's one of the things that separates Fiji from many other 3rd world countries. They lease the land to the tourist industry for the resorts. And on a smaller scale they lease to the FEA and the water company. Way back when the leases were written for 99 years. Now, they vary depending on the land and the need. I don't know the details about the lease, but I do know it's written in English and I'm pretty sure the guy I talked to this morning can get me a copy. So . . .
. . . the thought that occurred to me was to renegotiate the lease to include an education provision in it which states that the FEA will pay for secondary education for every child from the village of Nakabuta for the duration of the lease (perpetuity unless they go nuclear here :-) ). I'd love to include University into the language as well. It's a small village, so it wouldn't cost the FEA much. I want it paid directly to the education provider to keep it out of the hands of the church. And it could solve the education problem for the village. But it's just a thought. The bridge between thought and execution in Fiji is often very long and sometimes never built. So we shall see.
As for the loan/money stuff, big picture it's not a big deal for me, but potentially a big deal for the village. It is a perfect opportunity for me to work with the village on issues around money management, I've already asked them to write down exactly how much they take in from pottery each day and then will work with the women's group (because they're the ones who earn the money) to determine where the money goes. I can now ask to see the lease with the FEA (and any others - who knows?). It provided me a shortcut into the mechanics of the village.
It also made me think in passing of the book Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I won't turn into that. But it did give me pause.
My guess is they give between 30-40% of their money to the church. The current structure is to give all proceeds for the 1st week of the month to the church. I will turn them onto the idea of percentage giving - i.e. a week ago Saturday was the biggest day - probably 60 tourists - they've had in a long time here. Because it fell after the first Monday of the month, it falls in the first week, so it all goes to the church. So for July it will probably be closer to 50%. They also give every time they go to church (maybe that's why people don't show up?). The youth group gets together every week and meets and they give what they can to the church. And the Methodist church here in Fiji (don't know if it's true in the US) has someone who sits at the front of the church and meticulously writes down how much who gives while they are in church. And in the youth group it was the same. It's the only place I've seen Fijians keep track of money.
Meanwhile there is the most adorable 7 year old girl who didn't go to school all week last week. When I asked her why, she said no bus fare ($1.40 RT).
Money, as usual, is a complex issue with lots of potential strings. There is one thing not associated with money I can launch into fairly quickly I hope . . .
The 55 year old woman who died of cancer; her husband was the guy who requested PC come here. He was in his early 50's when he died, of cancer. They burn ALL of their garbage here in the village (in fact in most villages they burn everything) including all plastic - bottles, bags, diapers, all of it. That can't help. That will be my number one priority and it is amazing how difficult it is to get the point across. By the way, if any of you know of a good design for incinerators (for paper) please pass them on.
Lastly (and sorry for the length of this entry), there's the notion of interference that is on my mind. I was talking with Robyn (some of you know her and the gang that are currently in El Salvador doing work on the school and such) and she spoke of the abject poverty and filth. And violent crime. By the way, there are no guns in Fiji - not even for the police. So there's no gun crime here. Anyway, El Salvador sounds depressing. It sounds poor based on the definition above. It's not like that here. People, especially in the villages, are predominantly happy. It's not like they're hiding anything. They hide nothing. The most constant sound in my village is laughter, the men, the women and the kids.
What it makes me think of is education. I know that in large parts of Africa, female education is literally the key to begin the end of all of it - poverty, hunger, water-bourne illness, AIDS, population control, everything. In Fiji, while people are financially poor, there doesn't appear to be that poverty issue. Population control seems to be stable. There's plenty of food. They're addressing water and garbage, kind of (I think that's where PC can be of the most help).
The gender issue is very real, especially in the villages. But if education comes and continues, then people will flock to the cities (where university is) and then what? This is a formulating thought for me. I don't know what I think yet. I suppose I have a couple of years to ponder. But what I'm left with today, is that these people, in this village, are happy. And when I contrast that with what I left behind in the states, it leaves me wondering.
I don't see very much suffering here. That's what it is. I see much more suffering in the US.
Adam and Eve. The forbidden fruit. Progress. Human nature. At what cost? Debate anyone? :-)
It makes me think a lot of the original Star Trek series and the prime directive of non-interference. If someone passes around a hard drive, I'd love to have that on there as well . . .
Next time, hopefully I will be talking about my garden.
Maciu
meanwhile my $45 cappuccino machine is saving my life . . .
Sunday, July 11, 2010
"If you want to hear God laugh . . .
. . . tell him your plans."
This was the spot-on feedback I received from one of my friends in a response to my last entry. It's been a couple of weeks since my last post. Two weeks filled with anxiety bordering on angst. Packed with vague information about my assignment. Lots of time for me to pass my judgement on the (in)ability of the Peace Corps to do their job correctly and efficiently.
Today (July 8th) we were sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers. Hitherto referred to as Peace Corps Volunteer Trainees (PCVL), we are now volunteers. The US Ambassador to Fiji and the Fijian Minster of Education came to Nadave to participate in the ceremony, along with our host families - in all a crowd of about 150 people including staff. We actually do raise out right hands and repeat an oath. We sing the national anthem. The Fijians sing their national anthem. Then we climb into various moving vehicles (cars, buses, boats, and/or planes depending on our assignment location) and depart for our sites for the next two years.
So those are the parenthetical notations of this particular entry. I suspect it will take some time to fill in the blanks of the two weeks. I am lying in bed in my new place, first night here after a fairly long day of ceremony and travel and a paucity of food. My last communique was a fair downer in respect to my expectations and such. Don't know how this will turn out yet.
The village I have been sent to (Nakubuta) is very small - 70-90 people depending on who you talk to in the village. The guy who requested that Peace Corps come to the village died back in December and Peace Corps didn't know that (hence their "inability" - in truth {my opinion, heehee} PC didn't do their homework in my village). I received a list from my village counterpart on Tuesday with the "projects" the village wants - footpaths, flush toilets for some of the homes, a computer and supplies for the school, and a new community hall. All of these projects require lots of money, which is difficult to come by in Fiji. My counterpart is an 18 year old girl who speaks very little english. I have already gone on ad nauseam re: my shortcomings in the Fijian language. So, since the stakeholder was dead, and it's a really small village with a list of really expensive things they supposedly want, I really don't know what to expect.
My fears were, in order, that no one would speak passable english and that I wouldn't be able to at least find a translator for doing community meetings. The rumors of my housing were a little scary - scant details and not totally clear about water and electricity. I heard they might not be ready for me. I was somewhat anticipating that they would expect me to come and "fix" things (one of the main PC missions is capacity building, not "gifting").
And there is the whole "2 year" thing looming.
We got off the bus in Sigatoka. Sigatoka is a big (for Fiji - 10,000 people) tourist town on the coral coast. There are several resorts in the 85 miles between Suva (the Southeast coast) and Sigatoka (the Southwest coast). Sigatoka is the tourist hub for the resorts. You can book tours there. There are a lot of Aussies roaming around. There are numerous stores, both for locals and for tourists. There is the ever-present outdoor produce market. The longest river runs through town. As I learn more, I will share more of what I learn about Sigatoka. So anyway, we (my counterpart - the 18 year old girl and I) got off the bus and caught a cab to go to the village. Nakabuta is about 2 miles from town, inland from the ocean. It reminds me of - get this, cause it's kind of weird - California here. Rolling foothills. Dry grass on said hills. I could swear the fog came in last night because it actually was cold (high 50's?). Not humid at all. This part of the country is called the Salad Bowl because of the variety of produce that grows here. Of course, we are in cool dry season now. Talk to me in January and we'll see what the weather is like.
Back to the village. I arrived and did my sevusevu, a ceremony where I present Yagona (the plant that cava, or grog, comes from) to the Toro ni Koro (head of the village - not the Chief of the village - I'm still a little unclear on the hierarchy). His name is Sailosi and he speaks next to no English - about the same amount of English that I speak Fijian. I was told my bure (house) wasn't ready. Small rumblings in my panic nodes were beginning to build at this point. I am flashing forward to no english, no house, going to have to bail, how do I do that - bad free association happening in my brain.
Then one of the women explained that my bure would be ready by 7:30 that night. A small, measured amount of relief hits. Remember, this bure is where I will live for 2 years, so this is not a small deal. We sit for about an hour, trying to converse in broken language when one of the village kids comes by and says "touch rugby". I say "io" (yes). But first we must have tea. Tea is what they drink when they aren't drinking grog. And tea is always served with some sort of bread product. And it's always served hot, even when it's 163 degrees with 127% humidity. Fortunately, it was a pleasant mid-70's day with virtually no humidity. We play touch rugby. I play in my reef shoes and step on a very pointed rock and bruise the hell out of my arch. But I don't embarrass myself, I score a couple of times and I make them laugh.
Laughter is the key, literally in Fiji. As long as they are laughing with, near and/or at you, then you will do fine here. Fortunately, I have the ability to get people to laugh, usually at me, and it opens doors really quickly. The kids see you very quickly this way. The women see you very quickly this way. And the men aren't quite sure what to think. But the fact I can still run pretty well for an old guy and I am competitive (Fijians are very competitive) bodes well for me with the men. So the first impression in the village went well I think and I hope . . .
Finally, it is time for me to see my bure, but first a little history on the village of Nakabuta.
Nakabuta currently has one source of income - pottery. The women hand make pottery and sell it to tourists who come to the village. That's it. The men farm, but they don't sell at the market. They farm to feed the families (I think the whole village is related). It is a very financially poor (even by Fijian standards) village. Several years ago (my guess, from the looks), someone (don't know who yet) built 5 small bures to be marketed and used as backpacking hostels for tourists. A really good idea, and I'm not sure yet why it didn't work, but evidently it didn't (more on this to come).
I'm going to live in one of those bures. The others are in various stages of decay and dissaray. I have electricity and running water (huge knot of tension spasms and exits my body and mind). It is small - I haven't measured yet, but my guess is 15 x 15 (I measured. It's 11 x 15). It's a traditional bure, meaning thatch hut, straw roof - hope the big bad wolf doesn't come by a huffin' and a puffin'. It is furnished with arguably the most uncomfortable bed known (slats covered by a very thin foam mattress). I didn't sleep much last night between that and the cold - I mean WTF? Cold?. This will be remedied today by the purchase of a sheet of plywood or a thicker mattress if i can find one as well as a blanket. One small cabinet for clothes. No stove. One very small bathroom sink. There are photos attached.
But, the bottom line is that it is extremely workable. This I can do. I can figure out the kitchen part. I can figure out the bed and the furnishings and the whatever. I am actually pretty happy about the whole thing.
The last big knot of anxiety has to do with the work. What can I possibly do to help these people? This remains to be seen, and it is of course, ultimately up to the village what they want to do. They don't really need footpaths in the village. But they may want them. They need to refurbish the current community hall, they don't need a new one. Don't know yet about the flush toilets or the school stuff, but I'll find out. But the bures are a potential source for income for the village if they want to pay for the other things they want. And a kiln is definitely a possibility to cure the pottery. And the idea of a kickwheel is something that will be floated, though they may wish to remain a traditional hand-made pottery village.
So, what the hell does this all mean? I don't know. There's a woman who I used to see at yoga in Hanalei that has a tattoo that I wanted to get but didn't before I left. I love it and she graciously allowed a relative stranger to take a picture of it:
The games I play in my head are just as convoluted and silly as ever. I think I have a grip. Or I think I know what to expect. A glimpse or an outline is given and I feverishly work to fill in the blanks, to read between the lines that haven't even been written yet in order to produce some "thing" that I will find acceptable - like I know what would be acceptable to me. What I keep finding is that I have the capacity to redefine what acceptable means. Ultimately, I think it means I'm redefining what important means to me, in the context of where I am and what I am doing. Last night, we had a pretty serious thunderstorm and it rained like crazy. I have a small waterfall in, and a flood running through, my little house. Within about a 2 hour period I went from "this is unacceptable" to "I have to go into town tomorrow to get some tarps and towels" to deal with the inevitable rain in Fiji.
This village has plenty of opportunity for me to do what I came here to do. Again, it's just different than how I would have designed "it". What the last few years have taught me is that if I were to design "it", I would often shortchange myself, or the experience I have. I keep forgetting that notion on the front end of any given opportunity, because I think I know better - like I ever have? Perhaps this is the nature of faith. I have never really had faith. It's a concept that I wanted defined before I entertained it. You know, so I would know what I'm getting into.
The next chance I have to get the tattoo, I will - perhaps across my forehead . . .
This was the spot-on feedback I received from one of my friends in a response to my last entry. It's been a couple of weeks since my last post. Two weeks filled with anxiety bordering on angst. Packed with vague information about my assignment. Lots of time for me to pass my judgement on the (in)ability of the Peace Corps to do their job correctly and efficiently.
Today (July 8th) we were sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers. Hitherto referred to as Peace Corps Volunteer Trainees (PCVL), we are now volunteers. The US Ambassador to Fiji and the Fijian Minster of Education came to Nadave to participate in the ceremony, along with our host families - in all a crowd of about 150 people including staff. We actually do raise out right hands and repeat an oath. We sing the national anthem. The Fijians sing their national anthem. Then we climb into various moving vehicles (cars, buses, boats, and/or planes depending on our assignment location) and depart for our sites for the next two years.
So those are the parenthetical notations of this particular entry. I suspect it will take some time to fill in the blanks of the two weeks. I am lying in bed in my new place, first night here after a fairly long day of ceremony and travel and a paucity of food. My last communique was a fair downer in respect to my expectations and such. Don't know how this will turn out yet.
The village I have been sent to (Nakubuta) is very small - 70-90 people depending on who you talk to in the village. The guy who requested that Peace Corps come to the village died back in December and Peace Corps didn't know that (hence their "inability" - in truth {my opinion, heehee} PC didn't do their homework in my village). I received a list from my village counterpart on Tuesday with the "projects" the village wants - footpaths, flush toilets for some of the homes, a computer and supplies for the school, and a new community hall. All of these projects require lots of money, which is difficult to come by in Fiji. My counterpart is an 18 year old girl who speaks very little english. I have already gone on ad nauseam re: my shortcomings in the Fijian language. So, since the stakeholder was dead, and it's a really small village with a list of really expensive things they supposedly want, I really don't know what to expect.
My fears were, in order, that no one would speak passable english and that I wouldn't be able to at least find a translator for doing community meetings. The rumors of my housing were a little scary - scant details and not totally clear about water and electricity. I heard they might not be ready for me. I was somewhat anticipating that they would expect me to come and "fix" things (one of the main PC missions is capacity building, not "gifting").
And there is the whole "2 year" thing looming.
We got off the bus in Sigatoka. Sigatoka is a big (for Fiji - 10,000 people) tourist town on the coral coast. There are several resorts in the 85 miles between Suva (the Southeast coast) and Sigatoka (the Southwest coast). Sigatoka is the tourist hub for the resorts. You can book tours there. There are a lot of Aussies roaming around. There are numerous stores, both for locals and for tourists. There is the ever-present outdoor produce market. The longest river runs through town. As I learn more, I will share more of what I learn about Sigatoka. So anyway, we (my counterpart - the 18 year old girl and I) got off the bus and caught a cab to go to the village. Nakabuta is about 2 miles from town, inland from the ocean. It reminds me of - get this, cause it's kind of weird - California here. Rolling foothills. Dry grass on said hills. I could swear the fog came in last night because it actually was cold (high 50's?). Not humid at all. This part of the country is called the Salad Bowl because of the variety of produce that grows here. Of course, we are in cool dry season now. Talk to me in January and we'll see what the weather is like.
Back to the village. I arrived and did my sevusevu, a ceremony where I present Yagona (the plant that cava, or grog, comes from) to the Toro ni Koro (head of the village - not the Chief of the village - I'm still a little unclear on the hierarchy). His name is Sailosi and he speaks next to no English - about the same amount of English that I speak Fijian. I was told my bure (house) wasn't ready. Small rumblings in my panic nodes were beginning to build at this point. I am flashing forward to no english, no house, going to have to bail, how do I do that - bad free association happening in my brain.
Then one of the women explained that my bure would be ready by 7:30 that night. A small, measured amount of relief hits. Remember, this bure is where I will live for 2 years, so this is not a small deal. We sit for about an hour, trying to converse in broken language when one of the village kids comes by and says "touch rugby". I say "io" (yes). But first we must have tea. Tea is what they drink when they aren't drinking grog. And tea is always served with some sort of bread product. And it's always served hot, even when it's 163 degrees with 127% humidity. Fortunately, it was a pleasant mid-70's day with virtually no humidity. We play touch rugby. I play in my reef shoes and step on a very pointed rock and bruise the hell out of my arch. But I don't embarrass myself, I score a couple of times and I make them laugh.
Laughter is the key, literally in Fiji. As long as they are laughing with, near and/or at you, then you will do fine here. Fortunately, I have the ability to get people to laugh, usually at me, and it opens doors really quickly. The kids see you very quickly this way. The women see you very quickly this way. And the men aren't quite sure what to think. But the fact I can still run pretty well for an old guy and I am competitive (Fijians are very competitive) bodes well for me with the men. So the first impression in the village went well I think and I hope . . .
Finally, it is time for me to see my bure, but first a little history on the village of Nakabuta.
Nakabuta currently has one source of income - pottery. The women hand make pottery and sell it to tourists who come to the village. That's it. The men farm, but they don't sell at the market. They farm to feed the families (I think the whole village is related). It is a very financially poor (even by Fijian standards) village. Several years ago (my guess, from the looks), someone (don't know who yet) built 5 small bures to be marketed and used as backpacking hostels for tourists. A really good idea, and I'm not sure yet why it didn't work, but evidently it didn't (more on this to come).
I'm going to live in one of those bures. The others are in various stages of decay and dissaray. I have electricity and running water (huge knot of tension spasms and exits my body and mind). It is small - I haven't measured yet, but my guess is 15 x 15 (I measured. It's 11 x 15). It's a traditional bure, meaning thatch hut, straw roof - hope the big bad wolf doesn't come by a huffin' and a puffin'. It is furnished with arguably the most uncomfortable bed known (slats covered by a very thin foam mattress). I didn't sleep much last night between that and the cold - I mean WTF? Cold?. This will be remedied today by the purchase of a sheet of plywood or a thicker mattress if i can find one as well as a blanket. One small cabinet for clothes. No stove. One very small bathroom sink. There are photos attached.
But, the bottom line is that it is extremely workable. This I can do. I can figure out the kitchen part. I can figure out the bed and the furnishings and the whatever. I am actually pretty happy about the whole thing.
The last big knot of anxiety has to do with the work. What can I possibly do to help these people? This remains to be seen, and it is of course, ultimately up to the village what they want to do. They don't really need footpaths in the village. But they may want them. They need to refurbish the current community hall, they don't need a new one. Don't know yet about the flush toilets or the school stuff, but I'll find out. But the bures are a potential source for income for the village if they want to pay for the other things they want. And a kiln is definitely a possibility to cure the pottery. And the idea of a kickwheel is something that will be floated, though they may wish to remain a traditional hand-made pottery village.
So, what the hell does this all mean? I don't know. There's a woman who I used to see at yoga in Hanalei that has a tattoo that I wanted to get but didn't before I left. I love it and she graciously allowed a relative stranger to take a picture of it:
The games I play in my head are just as convoluted and silly as ever. I think I have a grip. Or I think I know what to expect. A glimpse or an outline is given and I feverishly work to fill in the blanks, to read between the lines that haven't even been written yet in order to produce some "thing" that I will find acceptable - like I know what would be acceptable to me. What I keep finding is that I have the capacity to redefine what acceptable means. Ultimately, I think it means I'm redefining what important means to me, in the context of where I am and what I am doing. Last night, we had a pretty serious thunderstorm and it rained like crazy. I have a small waterfall in, and a flood running through, my little house. Within about a 2 hour period I went from "this is unacceptable" to "I have to go into town tomorrow to get some tarps and towels" to deal with the inevitable rain in Fiji.
This village has plenty of opportunity for me to do what I came here to do. Again, it's just different than how I would have designed "it". What the last few years have taught me is that if I were to design "it", I would often shortchange myself, or the experience I have. I keep forgetting that notion on the front end of any given opportunity, because I think I know better - like I ever have? Perhaps this is the nature of faith. I have never really had faith. It's a concept that I wanted defined before I entertained it. You know, so I would know what I'm getting into.
The next chance I have to get the tattoo, I will - perhaps across my forehead . . .
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Expectations and Faith
Site announcements were this week. We found out where we are going on Monday night. To give you an idea of the kind of anxiety leading up to site announcements, let me provide a brief synopsis of the narrow ramp without rails we have been negotiating.
For virtually all 35 of us (FRE 8's - Fiji Re-entry class #8), there was at least a one year span from application to departure for Fiji. For that year, we didn't know what region of the world we would be going to, let alone the country. When we finally received our invitation for Fiji, it became a whirlwind of preparing for departure - wrapping up all of our affairs. Imagine clearing your schedule for 27 months - bills, obligations, ties, relationships, everything. The enormity of what you are getting into hasn't even begun to settle in. You just know you're going (in this case literally) halfway around the world, pretty much on blind faith. For the year leading up, you think about it a lot, but you don't really know what to think about. It's a surreal process. But once the invite comes, you've got 6-8 weeks to clear the schedule, so you're dealing with that and beginning to realize just how much you don't know what you are getting yourself into.
Departure comes, you say goodbye. If you are a human being, you shed a lot of tears. For me, both of my daughters gave me letters to read when they dropped me at the airport. When I read them it was a watershed moment (in more ways than one - pardon the pun) in that they put into words what so many struggle to command - in a word, faith. They believe in me, in themselves, and in us as a family. Those letters have, and will, carry me through so much of this. It's staggering . . .
So, composure returns (then and now). You land in Fiji. You get on a bus. You go swim in the ocean (because they want to know you can). You spend 3-4 days in this blur of camp-like setting. And then you go to your host family and you begin to settle in. The novelty is gone. You are here. It is poor. You shower in a bucket. You are expected to do a lot of things to accommodate culture - things like drink grog, sit on the floor all the time, try and learn a new language, and live in a world seemingly without walls where privacy is concerned.
Immersion is a very interesting thing. It is so consuming you don't seem to miss things. I think we always miss people. We miss people when they're in the next room. Sometimes we miss them the most when they are lying next to us in bed. But the culture thing is different. Exactly that. Different. You still clean your body, it's just different. You eat. But it's different. And you adapt incredibly quickly. Time is redefined. Money is completely redefined (more on that a little later). Anyway, point is, you are IN IT. And you begin to realize they are soon going to tell you where you are going to be for 2 years. Exactly where. The name of the village or city. Whether you will be living alone or with another volunteer. If you will have electricity and/or running water (or not) for 2 years. And what kind of work you'll be doing. For 2 years.
2 years.
So, there is some anxiety leading up to site announcements. Unlike everything else in the Peace Corps, they actually consult you for this part of the process.. They want you to be successful (read: don't leave the country and adapt) wherever they send you. So there are two interviews with your program manager talking about the work and placement. Being Peace Corps though, these interviews are vague. After the first of these, I was certain of where I was going ("where" being either urban or rural). After the second one, I was less certain. But I got to voice my thoughts, preferences and desires regarding all sorts of things. The kind of work I want to do. That I want to be urban for a variety of reasons. I gave really compelling reasoning for everything that we talked about. It really makes perfect sense for me to be in Suva working for the Ministry of Health or the Ministry of Eduation. I won't get into the details here. It just makes perfect sense.
Expectations are also very interesting. I have come to work really hard at minimizing them in general, and the depth of them when I am aware of them. I know that in this process, I was aware of really trying to keep a lid on them. I am fond of saying (not my original thought) that expectations are resentments in training. But I'm beginning to believe that some expectations are a lot like falling in love. I know that for me there have been times in my life when falling in love, there's this game I have played with myself - when there's the uncertainty of whether the other person is feeling the same way, or if they can meet me the way I wish to be met. I start putting conditions on the relationship so early. Like, "well, if she doesn't feel this way about me, then I'm going to not have these feelings anymore and it won't hurt" (ha!) or "I don't want to get my hopes up" when my hopes are through the roof. The truth is I feel what I feel. I am in love. I can pretend all I want and it's not going to make any difference in the amount of pain I will experience if she can't . . .
So, like I said, it makes perfect sense for me to be in Suva working for the Ministry of Health. Politicking, convincing, figuring out systems, writing curriculum, training large groups of people, etc. All things I'm really good at.
Except that I am going to a very small, rural village to a new site for Peace Corps with no real job description and a very unclear set of objectives.
For 2 years.
Oh, I was in love. I had my hopes up. I had expectations. I was in Suva. I honestly didn't know I had the expectations until I saw the piece of paper showing me the location of the village I am going to. As I write this, it's been almost a week and I'm still learning how deep the expectations were. During the two days after site announcements, I was around all of these (mostly) really young, (mostly) really happy, people, most of whom were drinking a lot.
For site announcements, we spent 3 nights in a really nice hotel in Suva. Kind of a resort. Showers with hot water (Oh My!). A swimming pool. On the ocean. Variety of food. And a lot of alcohol. And the FRE 7's (the PCV's who came last year) were there as well. Of the 35 of us (FRE 8's), there is only one other that seemed as stunned as I was. Mostly, people are thrilled with their placements. The surfer guy (he brought 4 boards with him) is going to surf paradise. The Jodie Foster water environmental chick is going to the best dive spot in Fiji. And yes, there is the guy going to Suva to immerse into the mental health system in the Ministry of Health (I didn't even know the specific job existed).
The last week has been very up and down. I have been writing this entry in bits and pieces during the week. I have a commitment to be honest about my process in these writings, but have to be careful not to succumb to negativity - or more precisely, not to succumb to my will - what I think is the best thing for me. But before I go to faith, I will vent a smidgen more. In everything I wrote to the PC regarding the kind of work I wanted to do, I was very consistent in wanting to work for the Ministry of Health or Ministry of Education - specifically in any drug/alcohol prevention education programs. Yesterday, I was walking around and saw the front page headline on the Fiji Times - "28% Increase in Alcohol Use among Primary Students". An official was quoted with words like epidemic, our youth is at risk, etc. Right up my alley. But it would appear, not to be - at least for now.
Then there's the whole language thing - where urban makes a lot more sense because of the prevalence of English as the spoken language. The village I'm going to speaks a completely different dialect than the one I have (not) been learning. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
Where am I going? Just outside of a small city (really a town) called Sigatoka on the southern coast of Viti Levu (the biggest island). Sigatoka is a tourist center - the town nearest resorts on the coral coast, mostly patronized by Aussies. I will be about 3 kilometers inland from the town in a village called Nakabuta Village. 22 families. 78 people. They've never had a volunteer there before. I evidently will have water and electricity and there is internet connection available in town. My job description is generic boilerplate verbiage that's the same for any rural volunteer at a new site in Fiji - water, garbage, sanitation. Usually, this means that the village - and Peace Corps - has no idea of what is needed. Essentially, I am back in the place of not really knowing what to expect - I'll find out more when I get there (July 9th I believe).
Yes, I am disappointed. Some days, I am ok with the notion of not doing a lot of work - living a very quiet life in a small village, close to amenities, close to tourists, etc. But the truth is, a major reason I joined the Peace Corps was to work. In talking with FRE 7's and FRE 6's, a lot of them talk about how much they DON'T work. A couple even said they're not here to work - they are enjoying their time here and taking advantage of the time they have. Many speak of boredom. I knew this was a distinct possibility when I applied for PC. So now, I deal with a new set of expectations, and the game in my head begins again. And of course, the truth is I don't know - anything really.
So what of faith? That is the question I am currently wrestling with. There are many forms to the question. One being, WTF am I doing here? :-) (which I'm sure some of you are asking). But the more thoughtful one is "Will I be available to see the signs?" - the clear signals that in retrospect are almost always present if we are willing to see. Or will I be too caught up in what I think I am missing out on to see? Being open to the idea that the "why's" won't be answered on my schedule - in fact not until much after the fact, or I may never receive what I consider to be a satisfactory answer - that has never been part of my equation until the last 2-3 years. I know that this newfound faith (if you will) is fragile, easily injured, but hopefully not quickly shattered.
Moce for now.
~MP~
For virtually all 35 of us (FRE 8's - Fiji Re-entry class #8), there was at least a one year span from application to departure for Fiji. For that year, we didn't know what region of the world we would be going to, let alone the country. When we finally received our invitation for Fiji, it became a whirlwind of preparing for departure - wrapping up all of our affairs. Imagine clearing your schedule for 27 months - bills, obligations, ties, relationships, everything. The enormity of what you are getting into hasn't even begun to settle in. You just know you're going (in this case literally) halfway around the world, pretty much on blind faith. For the year leading up, you think about it a lot, but you don't really know what to think about. It's a surreal process. But once the invite comes, you've got 6-8 weeks to clear the schedule, so you're dealing with that and beginning to realize just how much you don't know what you are getting yourself into.
Departure comes, you say goodbye. If you are a human being, you shed a lot of tears. For me, both of my daughters gave me letters to read when they dropped me at the airport. When I read them it was a watershed moment (in more ways than one - pardon the pun) in that they put into words what so many struggle to command - in a word, faith. They believe in me, in themselves, and in us as a family. Those letters have, and will, carry me through so much of this. It's staggering . . .
So, composure returns (then and now). You land in Fiji. You get on a bus. You go swim in the ocean (because they want to know you can). You spend 3-4 days in this blur of camp-like setting. And then you go to your host family and you begin to settle in. The novelty is gone. You are here. It is poor. You shower in a bucket. You are expected to do a lot of things to accommodate culture - things like drink grog, sit on the floor all the time, try and learn a new language, and live in a world seemingly without walls where privacy is concerned.
Immersion is a very interesting thing. It is so consuming you don't seem to miss things. I think we always miss people. We miss people when they're in the next room. Sometimes we miss them the most when they are lying next to us in bed. But the culture thing is different. Exactly that. Different. You still clean your body, it's just different. You eat. But it's different. And you adapt incredibly quickly. Time is redefined. Money is completely redefined (more on that a little later). Anyway, point is, you are IN IT. And you begin to realize they are soon going to tell you where you are going to be for 2 years. Exactly where. The name of the village or city. Whether you will be living alone or with another volunteer. If you will have electricity and/or running water (or not) for 2 years. And what kind of work you'll be doing. For 2 years.
2 years.
So, there is some anxiety leading up to site announcements. Unlike everything else in the Peace Corps, they actually consult you for this part of the process.. They want you to be successful (read: don't leave the country and adapt) wherever they send you. So there are two interviews with your program manager talking about the work and placement. Being Peace Corps though, these interviews are vague. After the first of these, I was certain of where I was going ("where" being either urban or rural). After the second one, I was less certain. But I got to voice my thoughts, preferences and desires regarding all sorts of things. The kind of work I want to do. That I want to be urban for a variety of reasons. I gave really compelling reasoning for everything that we talked about. It really makes perfect sense for me to be in Suva working for the Ministry of Health or the Ministry of Eduation. I won't get into the details here. It just makes perfect sense.
Expectations are also very interesting. I have come to work really hard at minimizing them in general, and the depth of them when I am aware of them. I know that in this process, I was aware of really trying to keep a lid on them. I am fond of saying (not my original thought) that expectations are resentments in training. But I'm beginning to believe that some expectations are a lot like falling in love. I know that for me there have been times in my life when falling in love, there's this game I have played with myself - when there's the uncertainty of whether the other person is feeling the same way, or if they can meet me the way I wish to be met. I start putting conditions on the relationship so early. Like, "well, if she doesn't feel this way about me, then I'm going to not have these feelings anymore and it won't hurt" (ha!) or "I don't want to get my hopes up" when my hopes are through the roof. The truth is I feel what I feel. I am in love. I can pretend all I want and it's not going to make any difference in the amount of pain I will experience if she can't . . .
So, like I said, it makes perfect sense for me to be in Suva working for the Ministry of Health. Politicking, convincing, figuring out systems, writing curriculum, training large groups of people, etc. All things I'm really good at.
Except that I am going to a very small, rural village to a new site for Peace Corps with no real job description and a very unclear set of objectives.
For 2 years.
Oh, I was in love. I had my hopes up. I had expectations. I was in Suva. I honestly didn't know I had the expectations until I saw the piece of paper showing me the location of the village I am going to. As I write this, it's been almost a week and I'm still learning how deep the expectations were. During the two days after site announcements, I was around all of these (mostly) really young, (mostly) really happy, people, most of whom were drinking a lot.
For site announcements, we spent 3 nights in a really nice hotel in Suva. Kind of a resort. Showers with hot water (Oh My!). A swimming pool. On the ocean. Variety of food. And a lot of alcohol. And the FRE 7's (the PCV's who came last year) were there as well. Of the 35 of us (FRE 8's), there is only one other that seemed as stunned as I was. Mostly, people are thrilled with their placements. The surfer guy (he brought 4 boards with him) is going to surf paradise. The Jodie Foster water environmental chick is going to the best dive spot in Fiji. And yes, there is the guy going to Suva to immerse into the mental health system in the Ministry of Health (I didn't even know the specific job existed).
The last week has been very up and down. I have been writing this entry in bits and pieces during the week. I have a commitment to be honest about my process in these writings, but have to be careful not to succumb to negativity - or more precisely, not to succumb to my will - what I think is the best thing for me. But before I go to faith, I will vent a smidgen more. In everything I wrote to the PC regarding the kind of work I wanted to do, I was very consistent in wanting to work for the Ministry of Health or Ministry of Education - specifically in any drug/alcohol prevention education programs. Yesterday, I was walking around and saw the front page headline on the Fiji Times - "28% Increase in Alcohol Use among Primary Students". An official was quoted with words like epidemic, our youth is at risk, etc. Right up my alley. But it would appear, not to be - at least for now.
Then there's the whole language thing - where urban makes a lot more sense because of the prevalence of English as the spoken language. The village I'm going to speaks a completely different dialect than the one I have (not) been learning. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
Where am I going? Just outside of a small city (really a town) called Sigatoka on the southern coast of Viti Levu (the biggest island). Sigatoka is a tourist center - the town nearest resorts on the coral coast, mostly patronized by Aussies. I will be about 3 kilometers inland from the town in a village called Nakabuta Village. 22 families. 78 people. They've never had a volunteer there before. I evidently will have water and electricity and there is internet connection available in town. My job description is generic boilerplate verbiage that's the same for any rural volunteer at a new site in Fiji - water, garbage, sanitation. Usually, this means that the village - and Peace Corps - has no idea of what is needed. Essentially, I am back in the place of not really knowing what to expect - I'll find out more when I get there (July 9th I believe).
Yes, I am disappointed. Some days, I am ok with the notion of not doing a lot of work - living a very quiet life in a small village, close to amenities, close to tourists, etc. But the truth is, a major reason I joined the Peace Corps was to work. In talking with FRE 7's and FRE 6's, a lot of them talk about how much they DON'T work. A couple even said they're not here to work - they are enjoying their time here and taking advantage of the time they have. Many speak of boredom. I knew this was a distinct possibility when I applied for PC. So now, I deal with a new set of expectations, and the game in my head begins again. And of course, the truth is I don't know - anything really.
So what of faith? That is the question I am currently wrestling with. There are many forms to the question. One being, WTF am I doing here? :-) (which I'm sure some of you are asking). But the more thoughtful one is "Will I be available to see the signs?" - the clear signals that in retrospect are almost always present if we are willing to see. Or will I be too caught up in what I think I am missing out on to see? Being open to the idea that the "why's" won't be answered on my schedule - in fact not until much after the fact, or I may never receive what I consider to be a satisfactory answer - that has never been part of my equation until the last 2-3 years. I know that this newfound faith (if you will) is fragile, easily injured, but hopefully not quickly shattered.
Moce for now.
~MP~
Monday, June 21, 2010
Dyslexia and Meke
Technically, I am not dyslexic. I have no learning disability that I am aware of. I've always known that I have struggle with language, and I suppose up until now, the knowledge of that struggle has held me back from trying to learn. Several years ago, I took an Italian class in preparation for a trip to Italy. It was an adult education class, met once a week with several other people, and I learned virtually nothing while in it. I really didn't think much of it at the time, figuring I'd find a way to get by, which I always have done.
Well, this is different. I'm now about 4 weeks into 10-15 hours a week of language in a small group of 4 people with one instructor, and I am completely lost. Everyone has said something along the lines of "oh, it will come", or "it will suddenly fall into place", and mostly "don't worry, you'll be fine". Well, to address those three in particular, I wish to share these thoughts.
"Oh, it will come". Uh, no - I'm afraid it won't. I had a realization yesterday when my teacher asked me something in Fijian and I saw her reaction to the glassy-eyed look that was creeping onto my face. ALL OF THE WORDS SOUND THE SAME TO ME! It's actually worse now than it was a week ago. There's a similarity to so many words, and differentiation isn't happening for me at the moment.
"It will suddenly fall into place". No, it won't. I have had to take and pass the series 7 securities exam twice in my life. There is a large section in that exam that has to do with options. It's all formulaic and often you will hear people say "it will suddenly fall into place", and it actually does - BECAUSE IT'S FORMULAIC. There is no rhyme or reason to Fijian language.
If Fiji doesn't have a word, they bastardize and Italianize it (no, not italicize - Italian-ize). For instance, there was no word for "Monday", so the word for monday is Moniti. Dollar is Dola. Cake is keke (maybe they soccer-star-ize it?). And there are many words (like half of them?) that begin with "vaka", but there are no rules as to why they begin with that prefix. Vaka in and of itself, doesn't mean anything. Vaka doen't lend a clue as to where the word is going. So, for me, it's like trying to learn a language completely from scratch with no frame of reference. The way my brain works is I need something to build from, and learning Fijian is like trying to build a foundation on a bottomless well - I just keep slipping deeper into the abyss.
Then, just to confuse people like me who know a very little of Italian, "dua" is the number one.
Seriously, my brain does lots of things really well. I'm good at seeing systems in a big picture perspective and then translating for others. I'm good at solving problems. In my grandiose dreams, I liken myself to Mr. Wolff from Pulp Fiction ("my name is Mr. Wolff - I solve problems"). Blah, blah, blah. I SUCK at language. I do believe that different peoples brains process language differently. For me, the only way I can explain it is to say I need it (language) to stick to something - some sort of corresponding translation. It's like there is a component missing in my brain. I can do all of the exercises in class. I can read whatever is put in front of me. I can enunciate the words fine. But virtually nothing sticks. Some vocabulary is sticking over time, but then putting it into context is almost impossible for me. If someone speaks to me in Fijian, my brain locks up. It is incredibly demoralizing.
We learned an interesting thing this week which is that they've never had Fijian language textbooks. There's only one Fijian-English dictionary in print. Rosetta Stone probably isn't on her way to the islands to create a course for us. This is due in part to the large variance in dialects among the islands. They just don't print very many books in Fijian language. In one of my conversations with the Chief, she commented (lamented, actually) on the fact that so few Fijians read books for enjoyment. All cultural knowledge is passed down verbally in stories and song. But no written word. I suspect (but don't actually know) that one of the reasons that Fiji went to English as the official language was because of the (relative) consistency of the language, and the ready availability of textbooks, along with the geographic proximity to New Zealand and Australia - and of course the long-standing relationship with England.
Anyway, I now completely understand why people who are dyslexic quit school. Everyone wants to tell me I'll pick up the language, it will come, don't worry, etc. And it leads to subtle destruction of self-confidence and makes it so that I don't want to come to class anymore. I try many different ways to communicate that it's not getting better - in fact it's getting worse and people - with their hearts in the right place and with the best of intentions - repeatedly tell me I'm wrong. At my age I recognize things I do well and things I don't do well. So it's pretty clear to me. If I were a kid with any kind of learning disability and people did not listen to what I was saying - if they continually minimized the problem and told me I would be fine, while all I did was fall farther and farther behind - well, I'd try anything to escape that hell.
This has been very informative in that regard.
Which leads me to . . .
"Don't worry, you'll be fine". Yes, I will. Pretty much everyone speaks English. I have forged incredible relationships in a very short period of time. The chief has invited me to stop by her home anytime I please to discuss whatever business I would like. She is extremely well-read and has a very dry sense of humor. Our village will be hosting all of the PCV's in our class along with their host families on the 26th of June, all at her invite. I was invited to participate in the opening Yagona ceremony of Rewa Days this past weekend - that invite being quite an honor from what I'm told. We (total of 11 PCV's) then performed a "meke" or dance.
A side note about dance. Pretty much everyone in Fiji loves to dance and sing. Every Saturday night in our village, we go to one of the PCV's host family's house for dinner and then this quartet shows up with a "lali" (drum) and they sing for about 3 hours while everyone dances. It is remarkable and wonderful and very fun. Traditional dance is a large part of any formal celebration or festival. So Rewa Days, which is a festival for the Rewa province (which our chief is the head of) happens every June, and the opening ceremony was one I sat in. And it was quite the honor.
So, back to our meke. Somehow, we got roped into doing a meke. We had no idea what we were getting into. We thought we were going to dance for the volunteers or something like that. Turns out that we were going to dance on the opening day of Rewa day for the chief and all of the villages present for the celebration (maybe a thousand people?). The men and the women dance separately, and each of us did a dance that lasted about 10 minutes (see the link!). We were a HUGE hit. Evidently, we performed this dance much better than most Fijians do in their first crack at it. Days later, strangers on the bus would look at me and laugh and say "meke - Vinaka!" (dance, very good!).
There was a newspaper story on page 3 of the Fiji Times featuring us with a closeup of one of the women during the dance. I think if one wants to endear oneself into a culture, the fastest way is through traditional dance.
Anyway, here are the links (in the men's, I'm the second from the right):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLRMET98zd8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwIhiw2mrw8
More soon, as site announcements are coming.
Write back! I love hearing from people :-)
Matthew
Well, this is different. I'm now about 4 weeks into 10-15 hours a week of language in a small group of 4 people with one instructor, and I am completely lost. Everyone has said something along the lines of "oh, it will come", or "it will suddenly fall into place", and mostly "don't worry, you'll be fine". Well, to address those three in particular, I wish to share these thoughts.
"Oh, it will come". Uh, no - I'm afraid it won't. I had a realization yesterday when my teacher asked me something in Fijian and I saw her reaction to the glassy-eyed look that was creeping onto my face. ALL OF THE WORDS SOUND THE SAME TO ME! It's actually worse now than it was a week ago. There's a similarity to so many words, and differentiation isn't happening for me at the moment.
"It will suddenly fall into place". No, it won't. I have had to take and pass the series 7 securities exam twice in my life. There is a large section in that exam that has to do with options. It's all formulaic and often you will hear people say "it will suddenly fall into place", and it actually does - BECAUSE IT'S FORMULAIC. There is no rhyme or reason to Fijian language.
If Fiji doesn't have a word, they bastardize and Italianize it (no, not italicize - Italian-ize). For instance, there was no word for "Monday", so the word for monday is Moniti. Dollar is Dola. Cake is keke (maybe they soccer-star-ize it?). And there are many words (like half of them?) that begin with "vaka", but there are no rules as to why they begin with that prefix. Vaka in and of itself, doesn't mean anything. Vaka doen't lend a clue as to where the word is going. So, for me, it's like trying to learn a language completely from scratch with no frame of reference. The way my brain works is I need something to build from, and learning Fijian is like trying to build a foundation on a bottomless well - I just keep slipping deeper into the abyss.
Then, just to confuse people like me who know a very little of Italian, "dua" is the number one.
Seriously, my brain does lots of things really well. I'm good at seeing systems in a big picture perspective and then translating for others. I'm good at solving problems. In my grandiose dreams, I liken myself to Mr. Wolff from Pulp Fiction ("my name is Mr. Wolff - I solve problems"). Blah, blah, blah. I SUCK at language. I do believe that different peoples brains process language differently. For me, the only way I can explain it is to say I need it (language) to stick to something - some sort of corresponding translation. It's like there is a component missing in my brain. I can do all of the exercises in class. I can read whatever is put in front of me. I can enunciate the words fine. But virtually nothing sticks. Some vocabulary is sticking over time, but then putting it into context is almost impossible for me. If someone speaks to me in Fijian, my brain locks up. It is incredibly demoralizing.
We learned an interesting thing this week which is that they've never had Fijian language textbooks. There's only one Fijian-English dictionary in print. Rosetta Stone probably isn't on her way to the islands to create a course for us. This is due in part to the large variance in dialects among the islands. They just don't print very many books in Fijian language. In one of my conversations with the Chief, she commented (lamented, actually) on the fact that so few Fijians read books for enjoyment. All cultural knowledge is passed down verbally in stories and song. But no written word. I suspect (but don't actually know) that one of the reasons that Fiji went to English as the official language was because of the (relative) consistency of the language, and the ready availability of textbooks, along with the geographic proximity to New Zealand and Australia - and of course the long-standing relationship with England.
Anyway, I now completely understand why people who are dyslexic quit school. Everyone wants to tell me I'll pick up the language, it will come, don't worry, etc. And it leads to subtle destruction of self-confidence and makes it so that I don't want to come to class anymore. I try many different ways to communicate that it's not getting better - in fact it's getting worse and people - with their hearts in the right place and with the best of intentions - repeatedly tell me I'm wrong. At my age I recognize things I do well and things I don't do well. So it's pretty clear to me. If I were a kid with any kind of learning disability and people did not listen to what I was saying - if they continually minimized the problem and told me I would be fine, while all I did was fall farther and farther behind - well, I'd try anything to escape that hell.
This has been very informative in that regard.
Which leads me to . . .
"Don't worry, you'll be fine". Yes, I will. Pretty much everyone speaks English. I have forged incredible relationships in a very short period of time. The chief has invited me to stop by her home anytime I please to discuss whatever business I would like. She is extremely well-read and has a very dry sense of humor. Our village will be hosting all of the PCV's in our class along with their host families on the 26th of June, all at her invite. I was invited to participate in the opening Yagona ceremony of Rewa Days this past weekend - that invite being quite an honor from what I'm told. We (total of 11 PCV's) then performed a "meke" or dance.
A side note about dance. Pretty much everyone in Fiji loves to dance and sing. Every Saturday night in our village, we go to one of the PCV's host family's house for dinner and then this quartet shows up with a "lali" (drum) and they sing for about 3 hours while everyone dances. It is remarkable and wonderful and very fun. Traditional dance is a large part of any formal celebration or festival. So Rewa Days, which is a festival for the Rewa province (which our chief is the head of) happens every June, and the opening ceremony was one I sat in. And it was quite the honor.
So, back to our meke. Somehow, we got roped into doing a meke. We had no idea what we were getting into. We thought we were going to dance for the volunteers or something like that. Turns out that we were going to dance on the opening day of Rewa day for the chief and all of the villages present for the celebration (maybe a thousand people?). The men and the women dance separately, and each of us did a dance that lasted about 10 minutes (see the link!). We were a HUGE hit. Evidently, we performed this dance much better than most Fijians do in their first crack at it. Days later, strangers on the bus would look at me and laugh and say "meke - Vinaka!" (dance, very good!).
There was a newspaper story on page 3 of the Fiji Times featuring us with a closeup of one of the women during the dance. I think if one wants to endear oneself into a culture, the fastest way is through traditional dance.
Anyway, here are the links (in the men's, I'm the second from the right):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLRMET98zd8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwIhiw2mrw8
More soon, as site announcements are coming.
Write back! I love hearing from people :-)
Matthew
Monday, June 7, 2010
Water and Adaptability and Cracker Butt
Water. Don't take it for granted. Start conserving now. Worship it. Worship it's cleanliness. Worship it's abundance. Appreciate the fluoride in it. Pay your water bill with a big smile on your face.
Water in Fiji is an interesting thing. It is everywhere. It rains a little (sometimes a lot) pretty much every day. Very much like Hawaii in that respect. Pretty much everyone in my village of Lomanikoro has running water in their homes. But, then out of the blue, the running water will stop, sometimes for days at a time. Which means that unless you have a tank (many families do), or you have filled several buckets with water, then bathing is out of the question until the water pressure comes back. I don't know the rhyme or reason behind the stoppage (or the starting back up) - it just happens. As for drinking/cooking water, most people keep several bottles of water just for this purpose when it stops.
Consequently bathing has become, rather quickly, a luxury. It is hot enough even in the "cool, dry season" to become sweaty-sticky every day. There is a river which surrounds the village, but very few people bathe in it because no one is quite sure what goes into it. More accurately, people are unclear of how much of various waste products go into it. Some villages don't pretend - human waste goes directly into the river. Lots of garbage ends up in the river. The river around our village feeds into the Rewa river, which is a big river. More on the Rewa river later.
Adaptable - adjective ~ able to adjust to new conditions.
The novelty of being in Fiji was gone in about 4 days.
So, the overwhelming message of this particular entry has to do with our capacity for adaptability. All of the PCV's knew to ramp down our expectations, but I don't know that we really knew what we were coming into. It is impossible not to buy into the whole notion of the beauty of Fiji - and it is beautiful here. But, village life is so different. And city life is different here as well. Most of our group are young recent college grads. Some are a little older, and some of us are set in our ways. I think we thought we would miss different things than we miss. Maybe we thought we would miss "stuff", because there's not a lot of "stuff" here.
In talking with other volunteers, all seem to be adapting really quickly. All of us feel like we've been here a lot longer than two weeks. I spent four months on Kauai before I left and I already feel like I've been here longer than that. Not in a bad way. It's just that we are "in" it here. There is no buffer from the depth of the culture here. When traveling on vacation, or even adventure traveling, there has always been a cushion of some sort - perhaps it's simply the knowledge that I will return to my life in X number of days. That has been removed. For many of the PCV's, the possibility exists that we will never return to the life that we came from. If we are going to return, it won't be for over two years. So that mindset changes EVERYTHING.
I spoke with one volunteer who will be going home in July. She has been here two years and she can't wait to go home. She feels like so much of her previous identity has been compromised or lost. Much of that has to do (I think) with the fact she is a young woman. You cannot be any lower in the pecking order in Fiji than a young woman. For many of the natives, they don't know any different. For Americans, it's a whole different story. She longs to go home and reclaim the parts of herself that have been lost, or deeply suppressed during her time here. She doesn't have regrets. It's not like that. It's just being forced to live outside of the generous parameters that we have been provided in the US.
Yet, everyone adapts. The thing we all miss the most is privacy, and we will reclaim some of that once we receive our permanent site placements (in 5 weeks from now). No one complains about missing any stuff. We all have food that we miss. We all miss people. But I don't hear any grumbling about missing the pace or the lifestyle.
I don't think I have any fear of living in poverty anymore. I'm not saying I would choose it. It just doesn't hold the power it did before. I will be making a lot of value judgments in these entries and they are simply my own observations, mostly about self. I do not wish to offend - that's not what I mean to do. But I will question our culture in the US.
I had a conversation with one of my bosses from my last job the Friday before I left. He said "go out and change the world Matt, and in a couple of years you can come back to the real world". I had a slight visceral reaction to that statement then. The reaction I have now is clear. The world he referred to as being real feels almost entirely manufactured to me. Much of the world lives in these conditions. It's hard to explain what I'm trying to say. It will come with time and I will explain it.
My head is getting stretched, trying to get it around some of the things I am facing. Like, what is it that I really miss? Is it just familiarity? I know I miss some people. Even with skype and facebook and the web, it's not the same. Something is missing, but I can't place my finger on it. I'm sure it will come in due time. I am finding my way. I am not happy nor unhappy. I am not necessarily homesick. I know I found something in Kauai now. I know I'm not attracted to shiny. I love the ocean. I love the ocean.
Work. I am ready to work. I met with the Chief (just the 2 of us) for about 45 minutes on Friday morning and she was open and honest. It was a great conversation and I am looking forward to talking with her more as my time here goes on. One of her main concerns is the Rewa river, as so much garbage and waste goes directly into it. (Evidently the Nausori waste water treatment plant dumps into the river and no one is quite sure how treated that waste water is). I am hoping that I can continue to cultivate the discussion and learn what her hopes are and help fit the Peace Corps mission into that.
As for the rivers, let's just say that you very rarely see people swimming in them and it's not because the water is cold . . .
Another comment she made is that very few people read in Fiji. We were talking about books and I had just finished "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett (?). Great book by the way. Anyway, I went into Suva to see if I could find it for her (I have it on Kindle for my iPhone). Nope. There aren't any what we would consider conventional bookstores in Fiji. People evidently just don't read. There were 3 "bookstores" that I found and the one with the most books had some Clive Cussler (?) novels and some trashy stuff. Maybe 100 books total in the store? But virtually no selection, and no selection of books in fijian language. So I had to order it along with "Team of Rivals" about Abraham Lincoln for her from Amazon.
There is so much to do here, in so many different areas. For instance, the official stance of the Ministry of Health is that smoking marijuana causes schizophrenia. Period. End of story. Mental health issues are a huge source of shame for Fijian culture. Science is pushed aside in many areas, especially mental health. There are very few mental health clinicians in Fiji. On a bigger scale, many of the M.D.'s are leaving Fiji to go to other countries to earn more money, so there is a lack of continuity in the health field in general. I had my first placement interview this week and am pushing hard to get placed in Suva to work in the Ministry of Health. I would love to go stick my nose in the mental health stuff and make an attempt to change some of the conversations that are had.
Cracker Butt. My momma used to say I had a cracker (read: flat) butt. A skinny little white boy. Well, I wish I had a bigger butt because I spend (like everyone here) an inordinate amount of time sitting on my butt on the floor cross-legged. And it hurts. All the time. The Fijians don't have cracker butts. Fortunately, the churches have pews (a gift of the various missionaries that came here). Because, for instance, today I sat through a 2 hour and 45 minute methodist service, entirely done in Fijian. If only the pews were padded . . .
Guesswork. My guess is that once I receive my permanent site placement that I will settle in. I know I harp on it, but the privacy thing is a big deal. It's not just privacy, it's having my own space. Being able to cook for myself. Not sharing a bathroom with 5 others. Not having to be "on" all the time. Once I settle in, I know I will be fine. I know I am here for a reason. I don't know what the reason is - I probably won't know until long after I've left. But I certainly have some ideas. And I will pursue those. Sorry for the lengthy nature of this entry. I'm going to use it as kind of a marker to look back on as my time here passes.
~MP~
Water in Fiji is an interesting thing. It is everywhere. It rains a little (sometimes a lot) pretty much every day. Very much like Hawaii in that respect. Pretty much everyone in my village of Lomanikoro has running water in their homes. But, then out of the blue, the running water will stop, sometimes for days at a time. Which means that unless you have a tank (many families do), or you have filled several buckets with water, then bathing is out of the question until the water pressure comes back. I don't know the rhyme or reason behind the stoppage (or the starting back up) - it just happens. As for drinking/cooking water, most people keep several bottles of water just for this purpose when it stops.
Consequently bathing has become, rather quickly, a luxury. It is hot enough even in the "cool, dry season" to become sweaty-sticky every day. There is a river which surrounds the village, but very few people bathe in it because no one is quite sure what goes into it. More accurately, people are unclear of how much of various waste products go into it. Some villages don't pretend - human waste goes directly into the river. Lots of garbage ends up in the river. The river around our village feeds into the Rewa river, which is a big river. More on the Rewa river later.
Adaptable - adjective ~ able to adjust to new conditions.
The novelty of being in Fiji was gone in about 4 days.
So, the overwhelming message of this particular entry has to do with our capacity for adaptability. All of the PCV's knew to ramp down our expectations, but I don't know that we really knew what we were coming into. It is impossible not to buy into the whole notion of the beauty of Fiji - and it is beautiful here. But, village life is so different. And city life is different here as well. Most of our group are young recent college grads. Some are a little older, and some of us are set in our ways. I think we thought we would miss different things than we miss. Maybe we thought we would miss "stuff", because there's not a lot of "stuff" here.
In talking with other volunteers, all seem to be adapting really quickly. All of us feel like we've been here a lot longer than two weeks. I spent four months on Kauai before I left and I already feel like I've been here longer than that. Not in a bad way. It's just that we are "in" it here. There is no buffer from the depth of the culture here. When traveling on vacation, or even adventure traveling, there has always been a cushion of some sort - perhaps it's simply the knowledge that I will return to my life in X number of days. That has been removed. For many of the PCV's, the possibility exists that we will never return to the life that we came from. If we are going to return, it won't be for over two years. So that mindset changes EVERYTHING.
I spoke with one volunteer who will be going home in July. She has been here two years and she can't wait to go home. She feels like so much of her previous identity has been compromised or lost. Much of that has to do (I think) with the fact she is a young woman. You cannot be any lower in the pecking order in Fiji than a young woman. For many of the natives, they don't know any different. For Americans, it's a whole different story. She longs to go home and reclaim the parts of herself that have been lost, or deeply suppressed during her time here. She doesn't have regrets. It's not like that. It's just being forced to live outside of the generous parameters that we have been provided in the US.
Yet, everyone adapts. The thing we all miss the most is privacy, and we will reclaim some of that once we receive our permanent site placements (in 5 weeks from now). No one complains about missing any stuff. We all have food that we miss. We all miss people. But I don't hear any grumbling about missing the pace or the lifestyle.
I don't think I have any fear of living in poverty anymore. I'm not saying I would choose it. It just doesn't hold the power it did before. I will be making a lot of value judgments in these entries and they are simply my own observations, mostly about self. I do not wish to offend - that's not what I mean to do. But I will question our culture in the US.
I had a conversation with one of my bosses from my last job the Friday before I left. He said "go out and change the world Matt, and in a couple of years you can come back to the real world". I had a slight visceral reaction to that statement then. The reaction I have now is clear. The world he referred to as being real feels almost entirely manufactured to me. Much of the world lives in these conditions. It's hard to explain what I'm trying to say. It will come with time and I will explain it.
My head is getting stretched, trying to get it around some of the things I am facing. Like, what is it that I really miss? Is it just familiarity? I know I miss some people. Even with skype and facebook and the web, it's not the same. Something is missing, but I can't place my finger on it. I'm sure it will come in due time. I am finding my way. I am not happy nor unhappy. I am not necessarily homesick. I know I found something in Kauai now. I know I'm not attracted to shiny. I love the ocean. I love the ocean.
Work. I am ready to work. I met with the Chief (just the 2 of us) for about 45 minutes on Friday morning and she was open and honest. It was a great conversation and I am looking forward to talking with her more as my time here goes on. One of her main concerns is the Rewa river, as so much garbage and waste goes directly into it. (Evidently the Nausori waste water treatment plant dumps into the river and no one is quite sure how treated that waste water is). I am hoping that I can continue to cultivate the discussion and learn what her hopes are and help fit the Peace Corps mission into that.
As for the rivers, let's just say that you very rarely see people swimming in them and it's not because the water is cold . . .
Another comment she made is that very few people read in Fiji. We were talking about books and I had just finished "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett (?). Great book by the way. Anyway, I went into Suva to see if I could find it for her (I have it on Kindle for my iPhone). Nope. There aren't any what we would consider conventional bookstores in Fiji. People evidently just don't read. There were 3 "bookstores" that I found and the one with the most books had some Clive Cussler (?) novels and some trashy stuff. Maybe 100 books total in the store? But virtually no selection, and no selection of books in fijian language. So I had to order it along with "Team of Rivals" about Abraham Lincoln for her from Amazon.
There is so much to do here, in so many different areas. For instance, the official stance of the Ministry of Health is that smoking marijuana causes schizophrenia. Period. End of story. Mental health issues are a huge source of shame for Fijian culture. Science is pushed aside in many areas, especially mental health. There are very few mental health clinicians in Fiji. On a bigger scale, many of the M.D.'s are leaving Fiji to go to other countries to earn more money, so there is a lack of continuity in the health field in general. I had my first placement interview this week and am pushing hard to get placed in Suva to work in the Ministry of Health. I would love to go stick my nose in the mental health stuff and make an attempt to change some of the conversations that are had.
Cracker Butt. My momma used to say I had a cracker (read: flat) butt. A skinny little white boy. Well, I wish I had a bigger butt because I spend (like everyone here) an inordinate amount of time sitting on my butt on the floor cross-legged. And it hurts. All the time. The Fijians don't have cracker butts. Fortunately, the churches have pews (a gift of the various missionaries that came here). Because, for instance, today I sat through a 2 hour and 45 minute methodist service, entirely done in Fijian. If only the pews were padded . . .
Guesswork. My guess is that once I receive my permanent site placement that I will settle in. I know I harp on it, but the privacy thing is a big deal. It's not just privacy, it's having my own space. Being able to cook for myself. Not sharing a bathroom with 5 others. Not having to be "on" all the time. Once I settle in, I know I will be fine. I know I am here for a reason. I don't know what the reason is - I probably won't know until long after I've left. But I certainly have some ideas. And I will pursue those. Sorry for the lengthy nature of this entry. I'm going to use it as kind of a marker to look back on as my time here passes.
~MP~
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Bula! Greetings from Fiji
Bula Vinaka! (Greetings!)
First, the facts:
We (35 of us) arrived on the 20th of May into Fiji. The demographics of the group are 19 men, 16 women. Many recently graduated from college. 4 guys older than I am (one is about 70). 2 married couples. Generally, a really cool group of people. Only a couple of people who have me scratching my head.
We spent the first few nights in camps (dorms) doing rudimentary language and cultural training. mostly bonding with other volunteers. it was all very exciting and new. On Monday the 24th (it is Saturday right now - we are 19 hours ahead of pacific daylight time), we were placed in our pre-service training villages. These villages are all located due east of Suva. I'd paste google earth, but the villages aren't listed. We are all located about 10-20 kilometers south of Nausori. (see google map link at the bottom of the page).
I think I had more apprehension about the village placement part of the process than anything else.
Each peace corps volunteer (PCV) is placed with a host family in a village for the first 7 weeks for language and culture training. 4 of us are in the village of Lomino Koro. I have the COOLEST family. Na (aka Lilly or my "mom") and her 3 sons - William 20, Jeremy 15, and George 10. The father (William Sr.) is currently serving in Iraq as part of Fiji's peacekeeping force for the UN. He is a career army man and will be back in September.
Each village has a chief. Each village is part of a province. Rewa province is the largest province and is where Lomino Koro rolls into. Lomino Koro has no cars, only a concrete footpath that runs through the village. It is an island community accessible only by small boat. About 200 people. Has the oldest Catholic church (though it is primarily a Methodist village) in all of Fiji. Most of the residents have indoor plumbing, running water (at least sometimes) and electricity. I really don't know if the tap water is treated. I think so, but we were issued a water filter that my host family was very appreciative of.
So here's the really cool part. Lomino Koro's chief is the chief of all of Rewa province. All other chiefs roll up to her. Yes, I said HER. She was the Minister of Education in the gov't that was ousted in the coup in 2006. Very well educated woman. I met her last night. My hope is that I will be able to cultivate a relationship with her as she is excited about the Peace Corps being in Fiji. Her name (if you wish to google) is Ro Teimumu V. Kepa. If you are interested, poke around a little. She actually was detained during the coup in 2006.
My na - Lilly my host mom - is head of the Ladies committee.....and she basically acts on behalf of the chief. They are quite close. In other words, again, I got really lucky in this part of my placement.
Now, it's a really long story, but the bottom line is that it appears that the women are the ones who get things done, but they don't get any credit (this is the stuff I can't put in my blog - it's also JUST MY OPINION). Grog (kava) is involved. See the Wilipedia link below
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kava
(Parenthetically - Last night we went to a party that was thrown for us in the village. Like all parties, Kava (or grog) was involved. My dime store reaction is that many of the young men in Fiji do little more than drink a lot of grog. Grog is the most apt description of what it appears to do to people. It's like a mild sedative. A major demotivator. I probably will continue to write about this, as it is a very interesting cultural phenomenon).
Anyway, Lilly is head of the Ladies committee in Lomino Koro and is super tight with the chief - of all of Rewa. Head of the largest confederacy in all of Fiji. She lives 300 yards from my house. I'm looking at her house as I type. And they want to get stuff done. So it's very exciting, as I will have many opportunities to meet with this woman and learn from her what she's looking for from Peace Corps. I don't know what's in store, but it should prove to be interesting. More to come on this for sure.
Now, on to Fiji. You know the picture you have in your mind? The one where when I told you that I was being assigned to Fiji and your reaction was "Wow - that's great!" and silently (or some not so silently) you said "you f*&^ing A**h&^e! How could you be so lucky?" Well, it's not exactly like that. It is extremely poor. It is a developing country. It is an emerging culture. It is very backward. You do not want to be a woman in this culture. You cannot show any skin if you want any respect. EXTREMELY male dominated culture. It is difficult for me to get used to how the social hierarchy sits. I will continue to write about this in emails as well.
Now, the personal stuff - Imagine these two scenarios:
One, you are in a beautiful country, lush, green, tropical. Poor, but filled with extremely friendly people. Many Fijians fully understand that it doesn't cost any extra to be nice. Fijian time totally exists. It's whenever it's (it being fill in the blank) supposed to happen. Completely family oriented - there are tribes with clans and they stick together. The party I went to last night (some pics attached) was a family event. We ate dinner, and then danced for hours to this quartet (2 women and 2 men) who had nothing but a drum and their voices and it was incredible. Everywhere I walk in the village I am greeted with a "Bula" or a "Io" and a smile.
Two, you are in the same country described above, filled with those really friendly people - who have almost no concept of what privacy (as Americans define it) is/means. The greetings of "Bula" and "Io" are often followed by inquiries of "what are you doing, where are you going, where are you coming from?" (these are complete strangers asking the questions). You cannot be in a hurry here. You will surrender quickly because you won't get there on time. On a more personal level, it is a huge adjustment. The Peace Corps requires that each PCV is provided a room with a lock by the host family. I have that. It is about 6.5 feet by 7 feet. It has 2 windows, but there is virtually no breeze in Lomino Koro. Even though we are going into the cool season, it is hot and sticky. I exchanged emails with a couple of current volunteers in Fiji before I left and they both mentioned that they were going to burn every piece of clothing they have when they leave. I've heard that from 3 other current volunteers since arriving AND I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND. It's hot. And sticky. Anyway, back to my tiny room. My concession to my station in life was to buy a fan. Thankfully, I have electricity and I am willing to pay the host family for the cost of the electricity so I can sleep, because without the fan I wouldn't (didn't) sleep. There is no privacy in the house. I have no avenue to do my yoga. I cannot run in the village. There is no soccer (only rugby). I am SO HAPPY I brought my coffee. It is my complete and utter luxury.
On the other hand, I wear a skirt every day. Actually, it's called a sulu, or the fancy ones are pocket sulu's (yes, because they have pockets). That's what men wear here and I love them. Men cannot wear shorts in the villages (the city is a completely different story). Especially older (hehe) men like myself. We wear sulu's. They're great.
Truth is this is a huge adjustment. I love my host family, but the no privacy thing will be a challenge for me for the next 6 weeks. I am struggling with the language - at least I think I'm struggling. I don't have a frame of reference of being thrust into it when I have to learn it. I know that others are picking it up more quickly and there will be a test. I can't be sworn in until I pass the test. Two years of being this dirty all the time, confined to cold bucket showers seems daunting. My brain has not been overwhelmed in I don't know how long - frankly I don't remember having to try this hard at anything (primarily the language). Because I am the elder in our group (as well as the only male), I am the one to do all the talking. For instance, this morning in church, I had to address the entire congregation and do a greeting in Fijian. Because I am a PCV, it really is not an option to say no to pretty much anything.
I am holding up well. I miss my daughters terribly but have been able to skype with them. I will have internet access during my remaining 6 weeks in Lomino Koro (I just have to walk over to the provincial office with my laptop to get close to the wireless). I don't know the what or where of my permanent assignment. I think I will request to be placed in the urban setting of Suva. It's close to this village and I like the idea of perhaps working in the Ministry of Health. Our work in our host villages is around turning people on to composting and rudimentary waste management. Some of the folks are ahead of the game (like my Lilly - she has a gorgeous garden and she composts). There is NO garbage system in any of the villages. Most burn their paper and grass clippings and bury their plastic and tin. Some villages just throw everything into the river (including human waste).
During my time here in Lomino Koro I will also be working with youth groups around sex and drug/alcohol education and trying to leverage my friend Robyn's efforts in El Salvador to build a kiln and a kickwheel there and do the same in this village. Those would be called secondary projects, which is the beauty of the Peace Corps - to be able to try and implement some difference makers of your own along the way.
All that said, it is a beautiful country. Lush, green, gorgeous. I haven't seen any of the resorts yet (though Tony Robbins was behind me in the customs line at the airport when we arrived - talk about a disconnect). One of my reasons for wanting to be placed in Suva is because we do get weekends off as well as 24 days of vacation each year.
And after I finish my training in the village, I can have visitors!
That's all for now. I hope everyone is well. Write back with news from home if you're so inclined. Below are some pics and a google map of where we are.
Moce (pronounced Mothe) meaning kind departures
Maciu (pronounced Matthew)
First, the facts:
We (35 of us) arrived on the 20th of May into Fiji. The demographics of the group are 19 men, 16 women. Many recently graduated from college. 4 guys older than I am (one is about 70). 2 married couples. Generally, a really cool group of people. Only a couple of people who have me scratching my head.
We spent the first few nights in camps (dorms) doing rudimentary language and cultural training. mostly bonding with other volunteers. it was all very exciting and new. On Monday the 24th (it is Saturday right now - we are 19 hours ahead of pacific daylight time), we were placed in our pre-service training villages. These villages are all located due east of Suva. I'd paste google earth, but the villages aren't listed. We are all located about 10-20 kilometers south of Nausori. (see google map link at the bottom of the page).
I think I had more apprehension about the village placement part of the process than anything else.
Each peace corps volunteer (PCV) is placed with a host family in a village for the first 7 weeks for language and culture training. 4 of us are in the village of Lomino Koro. I have the COOLEST family. Na (aka Lilly or my "mom") and her 3 sons - William 20, Jeremy 15, and George 10. The father (William Sr.) is currently serving in Iraq as part of Fiji's peacekeeping force for the UN. He is a career army man and will be back in September.
Each village has a chief. Each village is part of a province. Rewa province is the largest province and is where Lomino Koro rolls into. Lomino Koro has no cars, only a concrete footpath that runs through the village. It is an island community accessible only by small boat. About 200 people. Has the oldest Catholic church (though it is primarily a Methodist village) in all of Fiji. Most of the residents have indoor plumbing, running water (at least sometimes) and electricity. I really don't know if the tap water is treated. I think so, but we were issued a water filter that my host family was very appreciative of.
So here's the really cool part. Lomino Koro's chief is the chief of all of Rewa province. All other chiefs roll up to her. Yes, I said HER. She was the Minister of Education in the gov't that was ousted in the coup in 2006. Very well educated woman. I met her last night. My hope is that I will be able to cultivate a relationship with her as she is excited about the Peace Corps being in Fiji. Her name (if you wish to google) is Ro Teimumu V. Kepa. If you are interested, poke around a little. She actually was detained during the coup in 2006.
My na - Lilly my host mom - is head of the Ladies committee.....and she basically acts on behalf of the chief. They are quite close. In other words, again, I got really lucky in this part of my placement.
Now, it's a really long story, but the bottom line is that it appears that the women are the ones who get things done, but they don't get any credit (this is the stuff I can't put in my blog - it's also JUST MY OPINION). Grog (kava) is involved. See the Wilipedia link below
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kava
(Parenthetically - Last night we went to a party that was thrown for us in the village. Like all parties, Kava (or grog) was involved. My dime store reaction is that many of the young men in Fiji do little more than drink a lot of grog. Grog is the most apt description of what it appears to do to people. It's like a mild sedative. A major demotivator. I probably will continue to write about this, as it is a very interesting cultural phenomenon).
Anyway, Lilly is head of the Ladies committee in Lomino Koro and is super tight with the chief - of all of Rewa. Head of the largest confederacy in all of Fiji. She lives 300 yards from my house. I'm looking at her house as I type. And they want to get stuff done. So it's very exciting, as I will have many opportunities to meet with this woman and learn from her what she's looking for from Peace Corps. I don't know what's in store, but it should prove to be interesting. More to come on this for sure.
Now, on to Fiji. You know the picture you have in your mind? The one where when I told you that I was being assigned to Fiji and your reaction was "Wow - that's great!" and silently (or some not so silently) you said "you f*&^ing A**h&^e! How could you be so lucky?" Well, it's not exactly like that. It is extremely poor. It is a developing country. It is an emerging culture. It is very backward. You do not want to be a woman in this culture. You cannot show any skin if you want any respect. EXTREMELY male dominated culture. It is difficult for me to get used to how the social hierarchy sits. I will continue to write about this in emails as well.
Now, the personal stuff - Imagine these two scenarios:
One, you are in a beautiful country, lush, green, tropical. Poor, but filled with extremely friendly people. Many Fijians fully understand that it doesn't cost any extra to be nice. Fijian time totally exists. It's whenever it's (it being fill in the blank) supposed to happen. Completely family oriented - there are tribes with clans and they stick together. The party I went to last night (some pics attached) was a family event. We ate dinner, and then danced for hours to this quartet (2 women and 2 men) who had nothing but a drum and their voices and it was incredible. Everywhere I walk in the village I am greeted with a "Bula" or a "Io" and a smile.
Two, you are in the same country described above, filled with those really friendly people - who have almost no concept of what privacy (as Americans define it) is/means. The greetings of "Bula" and "Io" are often followed by inquiries of "what are you doing, where are you going, where are you coming from?" (these are complete strangers asking the questions). You cannot be in a hurry here. You will surrender quickly because you won't get there on time. On a more personal level, it is a huge adjustment. The Peace Corps requires that each PCV is provided a room with a lock by the host family. I have that. It is about 6.5 feet by 7 feet. It has 2 windows, but there is virtually no breeze in Lomino Koro. Even though we are going into the cool season, it is hot and sticky. I exchanged emails with a couple of current volunteers in Fiji before I left and they both mentioned that they were going to burn every piece of clothing they have when they leave. I've heard that from 3 other current volunteers since arriving AND I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND. It's hot. And sticky. Anyway, back to my tiny room. My concession to my station in life was to buy a fan. Thankfully, I have electricity and I am willing to pay the host family for the cost of the electricity so I can sleep, because without the fan I wouldn't (didn't) sleep. There is no privacy in the house. I have no avenue to do my yoga. I cannot run in the village. There is no soccer (only rugby). I am SO HAPPY I brought my coffee. It is my complete and utter luxury.
On the other hand, I wear a skirt every day. Actually, it's called a sulu, or the fancy ones are pocket sulu's (yes, because they have pockets). That's what men wear here and I love them. Men cannot wear shorts in the villages (the city is a completely different story). Especially older (hehe) men like myself. We wear sulu's. They're great.
Truth is this is a huge adjustment. I love my host family, but the no privacy thing will be a challenge for me for the next 6 weeks. I am struggling with the language - at least I think I'm struggling. I don't have a frame of reference of being thrust into it when I have to learn it. I know that others are picking it up more quickly and there will be a test. I can't be sworn in until I pass the test. Two years of being this dirty all the time, confined to cold bucket showers seems daunting. My brain has not been overwhelmed in I don't know how long - frankly I don't remember having to try this hard at anything (primarily the language). Because I am the elder in our group (as well as the only male), I am the one to do all the talking. For instance, this morning in church, I had to address the entire congregation and do a greeting in Fijian. Because I am a PCV, it really is not an option to say no to pretty much anything.
I am holding up well. I miss my daughters terribly but have been able to skype with them. I will have internet access during my remaining 6 weeks in Lomino Koro (I just have to walk over to the provincial office with my laptop to get close to the wireless). I don't know the what or where of my permanent assignment. I think I will request to be placed in the urban setting of Suva. It's close to this village and I like the idea of perhaps working in the Ministry of Health. Our work in our host villages is around turning people on to composting and rudimentary waste management. Some of the folks are ahead of the game (like my Lilly - she has a gorgeous garden and she composts). There is NO garbage system in any of the villages. Most burn their paper and grass clippings and bury their plastic and tin. Some villages just throw everything into the river (including human waste).
During my time here in Lomino Koro I will also be working with youth groups around sex and drug/alcohol education and trying to leverage my friend Robyn's efforts in El Salvador to build a kiln and a kickwheel there and do the same in this village. Those would be called secondary projects, which is the beauty of the Peace Corps - to be able to try and implement some difference makers of your own along the way.
All that said, it is a beautiful country. Lush, green, gorgeous. I haven't seen any of the resorts yet (though Tony Robbins was behind me in the customs line at the airport when we arrived - talk about a disconnect). One of my reasons for wanting to be placed in Suva is because we do get weekends off as well as 24 days of vacation each year.
And after I finish my training in the village, I can have visitors!
That's all for now. I hope everyone is well. Write back with news from home if you're so inclined. Below are some pics and a google map of where we are.
Moce (pronounced Mothe) meaning kind departures
Maciu (pronounced Matthew)
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