“He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy,
but he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.”
– William
Blake
Friday, 18 March 2016
it's a wrap!
Puskats are lovely creatures, but they, too have faults. The main one is with their prideful hunt. Yes, this means that rats are scared shitless to enter my domain. A little background info: The walls of my house have about a foot opening at the top where the thatched roof sits. The cats have a system of entering and exiting the house as they please via screened windows. They scurry up the window and enter through the opening. So once they catch a rat outside, they bring the rats back over the window to eat inside the comforts of my cottage. They almost always leave the face and the tail for mother to clean up. Or sometimes the whole rat if their intention for catching it was to play with (torture) it and not to chow down. This is one thing I won’t miss, even though it has become more amusing than anything – cleaning up discarded rat parts in the morning.
I just read the Count of Monte Cristo and it was incredible! I was telling my grandmother Dami about it, either assuming she’d already read it or eager to recommend it to her. She told me she read it in high school… over 75 years ago. Whoa! Such a wild thought that so long ago she enjoyed the same book I was gushing over now. It ain’t called a classic for nothin!
Summer break ended and school started back up on the 8th. For the past two years I’ve had the displeasure of working with the headmaster Mr. Brent. On top of being my boss, he was my next door neighbor and stret family. His stubborn attitude and superiority complex made him hard to be around. However, it was easy enough to not interact with him and he proved helpful a few times, but for the most part, Brent is no good. So I (and everyone else) was excited to find out that we were having a headmaster transfer! The new principal’s name is Carolyn. It’s a nice change to have a woman leader. Unfortunately Mr. Brent has sticky fingers and has left the school with no money. Or generator. Or lawn mower. But! At least this means it also has no Mr. Brent.
At the beginning of my service my dad sent me a few CDs to listen to. My computer doesn’t have CD drive, so they spent the remainder of my service in a tub under my bed. I came across them recently and passed them off to my Uncle Dimas who just fixed the CD player in the truck he drives. He loves the Motown one, but then again who wouldn’t. He says the Leonard Cohen ones are nice, but slow. He likes his voice. But the Beatles CDs are his favorites. The funniest days are when I hear him pass and "Helter Skelter" or "Within You Without You" or another far out song is blaring from his truck!
So what do I do with all my shit? Well I'm sending home a few boxes of handicrafts and other sentimental things, but everything else is being given away or sold. Dave keeps calling it his estate sale, which is hilarious. I set up tables with all of my goods for the community to pick through. Within a few hours, everything was sold and my house was empty! All the material items are gone, but all the intangible gems are impossible to get rid of. What I take with me far outweighs whatever I will leave behind. This probably includes the numerous gastrointestinal bugs that are freeloading back to America! But mainly consists of the memories and insight I’ve acquired along the way. It’s been a hell of an adventure and one I will never forget.
On March 8th, we celebrated International Women's Day with the community. The day began with a little bit of yoga and meditation. Then an oldfala showed us sand drawings (she taught me a few recently too!) and we made a mandala with sticks, leaves, and flowers. I explained what a mandala is - an understanding of transience but a collective effort to create something beautiful anyway. This turned out to be really fun once everyone got over being scared of messing up the mandala. We decorated the ground and welcomed the day together. One volunteer Anastasia described our service as a mandala that we spend two years delicately creating and nurturing, recognizing its impermanence, but devoting our full attention and love to it all the same. Looking around and inward - a beautiful mandala indeed. And now it is time to let the wind carry it away and see what new beginnings are around the corner.
On Saturday March 12th, we had my last kakae or farewell feast. Even though the whole week had been fickle weather, Saturday was blue skies and sunshine. All of my family came down from the village and Mami Amina and Glen came from Lolowai. My favorite Mami Green Thumb, who has been living in West Ambae, made a surprise visit on Friday and was here, too. The day was spent preparing all of the gudfala food… laplap on laplap on laplap! The classic Ambae laplap called wura sala: taro with coconut cream on top, qihe: manioc and coconut cream mixed together and then baked, lulu: manioc and island cabbage in layers with sea water for seasoning, and another qihe made with wild yam!
For lunch my mama made simboro, my favorite Vanuatu dish, and I ate as many as I could, knowing it was my last simboro for a while. Fires popped up everywhere to cook all of the meat. The butcher killed a cow on Thursday, so we had fresh steak (marinated in Dale’s Sauce!) and stew. There were chicken wings roasting on sticks and my papa killed a pig that was being cooked in a million different ways. Mami Amina gave me a coconut crab (!!!!!!!!) she ordered from Maewo, so that was cooking in coconut milk. The impressive spread tasted as good as it sounds!
My island mates came in the afternoon bearing more steak and homemade fudge. Avery and Thomas were wearing island dresses because why not? We helped with the food and kava and by sunset, everything was ready. My papa welcomed everyone and I presented sister, brothers, and parents with calicos and kastom mats. I drank the first shell of kava with my folks and the other volunteers, and then I stood in the field and everyone came and shook my hand, kissed my cheeks, and we thanked each other. They don’t even know that they got the short end of the deal!
I wrapped up my food for later and took a few more shells of kava with aunts and uncles. My brother Moli pulled me to the side and told me to tell him when I was ready for the next shell. 10 minutes or so later, I was lined up with my parents and brother. Then! Another person joined us and Moli gave him a shell. It was my brother O’Brien! He said he wanted to take his first shell of kava with me before I left. A person’s first taste of kava is a big deal here, so I was honored to share it with him.
The sky was clear and showed off a million stars. We hung out until everyone left and capped off the night with a bottle of wine and Grace’s fudge. I couldn’t have asked for a better last kakae! This place has been so good to me.
The Peace Corps slogan sums it up – “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” Living on a tropical island has been fantastic, but I can confidently say that these last two years wouldn’t have been so richly rewarding if not for the many adversities. In ways I’m certain I’d fail to articulate, I’ve been emotionally, physically, and mentally tested, dared by the universe to prove my inner strength. Floating far outside my comfort zone with just myself and my thoughts, I’ve been forced to stare down my faults and vices (even the ugly ones, tucked away in dusty corners) and have worked diligently, with all the compassion that I’ve got, on improving myself.
“Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.” –Robert Frost
An older volunteer Sara Barr had this quote scribbled on the wall of her house – “Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere. And sometimes in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself.” I will never again be who I was before my service and I am eternally grateful for this. I love who I’ve become, what this experience has helped me discover about myself. The most profound and influential moments of my service have been in the company of my host family and, in contrast, alone in quiet solitude. I treasure the time I have spent with myself and I am comforted knowing I will forever be able to harness the glory of being alone. I have discovered a very sacred place inside and could never again ignore its significance.
“The greatest thing in the world to know is how to belong to oneself” -Michael de Montaigne
My mama and papa are two of the greatest people I have ever met and there is simply no way that “thank you” could express my gratitude for everything they’ve done. Now imagine me trying to explain how thankful I am to them in Bislama, a language that serves as our middle grounds. Bislama is a simple pidgin language that is not nearly as complex or eloquent as English or the local vernacular Leonda. Now imagine this blur of communication attempts all while I’ve got a tear-induced puffy and snotty face. It’s pretty hot!
Other than the endless lessons they’ve taught me on how to survive and thrive in Vanuatu, they’ve continuously demonstrated what it means to be genuinely kind and thoughtful individuals. Through our daily interactions, I've learned how to be patient with myself and others and to trust my own mind and abilities. To laugh freely and to not take things too seriously. To work hard and to celebrate success. To share this immensely beautiful life with people I love and respect. I can only hope to one day find a partner that is as devoted and encouraging as my papa. And to become as generous with my love and my time as my mama is. My service would certainly not be as colorful as it is without their humor and contagious laughs. They have been my best friends and kava drinking partners for the past two years and I can't wait until we cross paths again.
Now try saying all of that in too-simple Bislama!
Leaving Ambae was incredibly sad. But sad for all of the right reasons. My favorite spot by the sea in my backyard on little Ambae Island, tucked away in the archipelago of Vanuatu, hidden in the vast South Pacific, will always be a place I can meditate on in the scurrying life that lies ahead. What an adventure! And now it's time for the next one.
I just read the Count of Monte Cristo and it was incredible! I was telling my grandmother Dami about it, either assuming she’d already read it or eager to recommend it to her. She told me she read it in high school… over 75 years ago. Whoa! Such a wild thought that so long ago she enjoyed the same book I was gushing over now. It ain’t called a classic for nothin!
Summer break ended and school started back up on the 8th. For the past two years I’ve had the displeasure of working with the headmaster Mr. Brent. On top of being my boss, he was my next door neighbor and stret family. His stubborn attitude and superiority complex made him hard to be around. However, it was easy enough to not interact with him and he proved helpful a few times, but for the most part, Brent is no good. So I (and everyone else) was excited to find out that we were having a headmaster transfer! The new principal’s name is Carolyn. It’s a nice change to have a woman leader. Unfortunately Mr. Brent has sticky fingers and has left the school with no money. Or generator. Or lawn mower. But! At least this means it also has no Mr. Brent.
At the beginning of my service my dad sent me a few CDs to listen to. My computer doesn’t have CD drive, so they spent the remainder of my service in a tub under my bed. I came across them recently and passed them off to my Uncle Dimas who just fixed the CD player in the truck he drives. He loves the Motown one, but then again who wouldn’t. He says the Leonard Cohen ones are nice, but slow. He likes his voice. But the Beatles CDs are his favorites. The funniest days are when I hear him pass and "Helter Skelter" or "Within You Without You" or another far out song is blaring from his truck!
So what do I do with all my shit? Well I'm sending home a few boxes of handicrafts and other sentimental things, but everything else is being given away or sold. Dave keeps calling it his estate sale, which is hilarious. I set up tables with all of my goods for the community to pick through. Within a few hours, everything was sold and my house was empty! All the material items are gone, but all the intangible gems are impossible to get rid of. What I take with me far outweighs whatever I will leave behind. This probably includes the numerous gastrointestinal bugs that are freeloading back to America! But mainly consists of the memories and insight I’ve acquired along the way. It’s been a hell of an adventure and one I will never forget.
On March 8th, we celebrated International Women's Day with the community. The day began with a little bit of yoga and meditation. Then an oldfala showed us sand drawings (she taught me a few recently too!) and we made a mandala with sticks, leaves, and flowers. I explained what a mandala is - an understanding of transience but a collective effort to create something beautiful anyway. This turned out to be really fun once everyone got over being scared of messing up the mandala. We decorated the ground and welcomed the day together. One volunteer Anastasia described our service as a mandala that we spend two years delicately creating and nurturing, recognizing its impermanence, but devoting our full attention and love to it all the same. Looking around and inward - a beautiful mandala indeed. And now it is time to let the wind carry it away and see what new beginnings are around the corner.
On Saturday March 12th, we had my last kakae or farewell feast. Even though the whole week had been fickle weather, Saturday was blue skies and sunshine. All of my family came down from the village and Mami Amina and Glen came from Lolowai. My favorite Mami Green Thumb, who has been living in West Ambae, made a surprise visit on Friday and was here, too. The day was spent preparing all of the gudfala food… laplap on laplap on laplap! The classic Ambae laplap called wura sala: taro with coconut cream on top, qihe: manioc and coconut cream mixed together and then baked, lulu: manioc and island cabbage in layers with sea water for seasoning, and another qihe made with wild yam!
For lunch my mama made simboro, my favorite Vanuatu dish, and I ate as many as I could, knowing it was my last simboro for a while. Fires popped up everywhere to cook all of the meat. The butcher killed a cow on Thursday, so we had fresh steak (marinated in Dale’s Sauce!) and stew. There were chicken wings roasting on sticks and my papa killed a pig that was being cooked in a million different ways. Mami Amina gave me a coconut crab (!!!!!!!!) she ordered from Maewo, so that was cooking in coconut milk. The impressive spread tasted as good as it sounds!
My island mates came in the afternoon bearing more steak and homemade fudge. Avery and Thomas were wearing island dresses because why not? We helped with the food and kava and by sunset, everything was ready. My papa welcomed everyone and I presented sister, brothers, and parents with calicos and kastom mats. I drank the first shell of kava with my folks and the other volunteers, and then I stood in the field and everyone came and shook my hand, kissed my cheeks, and we thanked each other. They don’t even know that they got the short end of the deal!
I wrapped up my food for later and took a few more shells of kava with aunts and uncles. My brother Moli pulled me to the side and told me to tell him when I was ready for the next shell. 10 minutes or so later, I was lined up with my parents and brother. Then! Another person joined us and Moli gave him a shell. It was my brother O’Brien! He said he wanted to take his first shell of kava with me before I left. A person’s first taste of kava is a big deal here, so I was honored to share it with him.
 |
| the girls |
 |
| me and my mama |
 |
| funny bumbu joyce |
 |
| kava |
 |
| coconut crab |
 |
| girls on the grill |
The sky was clear and showed off a million stars. We hung out until everyone left and capped off the night with a bottle of wine and Grace’s fudge. I couldn’t have asked for a better last kakae! This place has been so good to me.
The Peace Corps slogan sums it up – “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” Living on a tropical island has been fantastic, but I can confidently say that these last two years wouldn’t have been so richly rewarding if not for the many adversities. In ways I’m certain I’d fail to articulate, I’ve been emotionally, physically, and mentally tested, dared by the universe to prove my inner strength. Floating far outside my comfort zone with just myself and my thoughts, I’ve been forced to stare down my faults and vices (even the ugly ones, tucked away in dusty corners) and have worked diligently, with all the compassion that I’ve got, on improving myself.
“Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.” –Robert Frost
An older volunteer Sara Barr had this quote scribbled on the wall of her house – “Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere. And sometimes in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself.” I will never again be who I was before my service and I am eternally grateful for this. I love who I’ve become, what this experience has helped me discover about myself. The most profound and influential moments of my service have been in the company of my host family and, in contrast, alone in quiet solitude. I treasure the time I have spent with myself and I am comforted knowing I will forever be able to harness the glory of being alone. I have discovered a very sacred place inside and could never again ignore its significance.
“The greatest thing in the world to know is how to belong to oneself” -Michael de Montaigne
My mama and papa are two of the greatest people I have ever met and there is simply no way that “thank you” could express my gratitude for everything they’ve done. Now imagine me trying to explain how thankful I am to them in Bislama, a language that serves as our middle grounds. Bislama is a simple pidgin language that is not nearly as complex or eloquent as English or the local vernacular Leonda. Now imagine this blur of communication attempts all while I’ve got a tear-induced puffy and snotty face. It’s pretty hot!
Other than the endless lessons they’ve taught me on how to survive and thrive in Vanuatu, they’ve continuously demonstrated what it means to be genuinely kind and thoughtful individuals. Through our daily interactions, I've learned how to be patient with myself and others and to trust my own mind and abilities. To laugh freely and to not take things too seriously. To work hard and to celebrate success. To share this immensely beautiful life with people I love and respect. I can only hope to one day find a partner that is as devoted and encouraging as my papa. And to become as generous with my love and my time as my mama is. My service would certainly not be as colorful as it is without their humor and contagious laughs. They have been my best friends and kava drinking partners for the past two years and I can't wait until we cross paths again.
Now try saying all of that in too-simple Bislama!
Leaving Ambae was incredibly sad. But sad for all of the right reasons. My favorite spot by the sea in my backyard on little Ambae Island, tucked away in the archipelago of Vanuatu, hidden in the vast South Pacific, will always be a place I can meditate on in the scurrying life that lies ahead. What an adventure! And now it's time for the next one.
school break
I got back from COS Conference and entered into the much-anticipated Peace Corps service victory lap. The only thing left to do was enjoy the next two months! Oh, and write a Description of Service, close out my SPA grant, finish my school projects, write a comprehensive action plan for the market house, create a convincing resume, and find some sense of closure. But I’ve figured out how to squeeze all of these tasks in with plenty of time to spare for relaxing. The good thing about being somewhere for two years is that you have ample time to do all of the stuff you want to do, so no regrets on running out of time. I’ve had sunny days and rainy days and quiet days and active days, seen plenty of kastom ceremonies and eaten too many weird things. I’ve witnessed sunrises and sunsets and swam in the sea and soaked in the hot springs. So no need to do anything in particular now except enjoy whatever comes up. Just a couple of months of easy living.
Back in June we had a fundraiser at the school, and I had lent out my knife to cut up the meat. Knives here have the reputation of growing legs and walk off pretty often, so I wasn’t too surprised when it didn’t return back to my house. Recently I went on a morning walk and came across some mamas who invited me to join them in the afternoon for tea and cake. So that afternoon I followed the same road back to their village, and I stumbled upon my little yellow knife. I couldn’t believe it! At first I chalked it up to serendipity reuniting us, but then I decided there was a little knife gnome that saw me coming and set it on my path. Or maybe just a man or woman who felt that the knife should be returned to its owner. Whatever it was, I stood there laughing alone (or was I?) at the site of it. I had forgotten its existence, and there it was again at my feet!
My parents have a bunch of pigs – all named Wala- that roam around. Recently they invested in a bunch of wire fencing and enclosed a huge space that was once a coconut plantation belonging to my papa’s family. Next they’ll build another big fence around one of my mama’s plantations and fill it with cows. Ples blong olWala or Walas’ place is only a 10 minute walk from the school. During school break my parents went over there almost every day to work on the fence and clear out the overgrown bush. They built a small hut to house the extra wire and to hang out, I call it the club house. It’s a peaceful place tucked away in the shade of big mango and banyan trees. Eventually my parents are going to build a house there and split their time between the school grounds, the village, and ples blong wala. It’s right on the water and has a beautiful rocky coast. It’s quiet and secluded and we’ve been spending many afternoons there.
 |
| family clubhouse |
 |
| hi maewo! |
 |
| wala with his tusks |
 |
| tree wala! |
 | ||
wala and his puskat friend
|
Feeding the pigs is always fun! They mainly eat regrown coconuts called navara that you slice open with a knife, but I love the crunchy sounds made when they munch on greens. My mama said when she was little she would bring island cabbage to her family pigs and listen to the crunchy sounds, too. Inside the fence is bigfala Wala who is old and grouchy. His tusks have reached “ala” which means they have circled around and started to re-enter his skin. I’d be grouchy, too. My favorite Wala lives in there, too. He is the one that used to live in the magical tree near my house. He’s a fattie now, being primed to grow his own set of tusks. There a handful of mama pigs, too. Two litters (litters?) of 9 piglets each were born in January, so once the pig ones get their fill, the little pigs follow their mamas and snack on the coconuts. Oldfala Wala has a puskat friend that lives there, too. They are best friends and even sleep curled up together.
At the end of January there was an election for the MP positions. My parents were helping to run the voting up in the village, so we went up there the day before to set up. We slept at my Bumbu Joyce’s house and the next morning, my sister Petrina and I decided to head back to the school grounds and sleep there. Before we left, my papa served up grub for breakfast. As in, he chopped open a log, found Lion King-style worms, and fried them up. They were pretty good! But on the walk down, the mix of kava from the night before and fried bugs for breakfast weren’t sitting too well. I told Petrina I was going to poop in the bush, but she said we were close to our Auntie Merelyn’s house if I could wait a few minutes. After 10 or 15 more minutes we stopped in the garden to grab corn and I informed Petrina that I really needed to poop. She told me that we were just a few minutes away. So I took off down the trail and was relieved when I found the house. I ran over to their bush toilet and squat over the toilet. Right before shit went down (ha!) I instead went down. Yes, I fell into the bush toilet. The rotting palm trunks that you stand on caved in, and before I knew it, I had fallen into a very large pile of shit. Adrenaline hoisted me out of there before I had time to realize what happened and I started yelling “wai, wai, wai!” Wai means water in local language, but I was cracking up when my ears heard “why, why, why?!” My little cousin Jared brought me a small cup of water and I turned him around to bring a bucket. I was a mess! But it was pretty hilarious.
All my cousins were trying to maintain straight faces, but after seeing me laughing, they joined in. Guess what kids, a white man just fell into your shit hole! Eventually my aunt watered me down and I headed back home. I went straight to the hot springs and scrubbed my body clean. By the time I got back up to my house, everyone at the school to vote (another poll location) had heard the news. Three people came up to me and shared their shit stories with me. I feel like I am now a member of an elite club of people falling in pits. I am just grateful that I hadn’t started pooping when I went down! Miraculously that urge vanished behind the desire to scrape myself out of a 10 year old toilet used by a family of 8. I also feel lucky that if I were to fall in a pit, at least it belonged to people I really liked. I went back up to their house for a 100 day dead ritual a few weeks after and everyone greeted me with potty talk. All in good fun. I’m safe and healthy and now pretty sure nothing could embarrass me. “He who laughs, lasts.” –Mary Pettibone Poole
At the end of January, Jessie Rae visited! She was on her way back up to Rah for her last 2 weeks in Vanuatu and spent some time on Ambae beforehand. One night she came and slept at my site. She brought me dark chocolate and we shared a bottle of wine with my mama. My parents love Jessie Rae and reference her jokes all the time, so I know they were glad to say farewell to Jess. While she was here she also helped me come to (and get through) a realization: the market house would not be complete by the time I left. There are a million reasons for this, from the El Nino-induced drought to misuse of the materials. She went with me to talk to the foreman Shem and figure out what to do. He told her that the project would fail because women were leading it. Ouch. I have witnessed plenty of gender inequality and injustice, but this was directed towards me and the brilliant women who have busted their asses for months on this project, so that was hard to hear.
No matter how many conversations you have or how hard you try to lead by example, you can’t change people’s attitudes toward gender equality. At least I can’t, not in two years. So I learned that coming to terms with this and letting the project “go” would be difficult, but crucial for my growth. The market house was never my project to begin with, just one that I got the chance to help out with. Jess reminded me of this and of the change in the women on the committee with their new found confidence. She was the right person to have next to me during this low day. But not only does Jessie Rae have her masters in mental health, she’s also incredibly funny and kind and was able to pull me out of the funk.
 |
| sandy loves the hammock |
 |
| my sister stuck him in his own hammock, he loved it! |
A few days later was January 26th, my two year anniversary in country. How the hell did that happen? Thomas went along with Jenita, a Vila staff member, to do final site checks up north. The truck dropped him off at my house and we made the best pizza ever to celebrate two years for me and one year for him! Everything has changed now that there is shelf-life cheese on Ambae. Listen to this – stuffed crust pizza with mushrooms, capsicum, and onions. We made pesto sauce as the base with fresh basil, walnuts, and parm cheese and drizzled black truffle oil on top. We ate in silence.
And then out of nowehere, it became February.
 |
| sneaky sneaky milpod |
awo maewo
On February 6th we were sitting at my parents’ house, drinking my papa’s spicy pineapple homebrew and eating chicken wings. I got a call from Thomas- apparently Manaro has volcanic activity. Katie, a volunteer on Maewo, called our Country Director with this news. She told him that from her village, they could see lava shooting into the sky and bursts of light. I talked to her later that night and she told me that everyone in Baitora said it was the first time they’ve seen something like that. So I told my folks and they brushed it off, saying that the flashes of light happen when it gets too hot and that we weren’t in the danger zone. They are pretty practical people, so I believed them and slept peacefully. The next morning Grace, Kathleen, Thomas, Avery, and I were on a boat, evacuating Ambae to head over to Maewo. Nothing more had been reported, but Peace Corps has to play it on the safe side. Plus, Manaro is one of the world’s top 10 most dangerous volcanoes (whoops, sorry mom, did I never mention that?) so getting off the island “just in case” was fine with me. Even if it meant that all the manAmbae who heard we were leaving cheeked us for doing so. This was my first time seeing Ambae from the water! I’d been on canoes before, but this time I got to enjoy the whole panorama of the island in all of its beauty. It really is a stunning place. But sitting on top of it was an eerily fluffy cloud which looked like no other clouds in the sky at the time. The boat driver commented on this, too, saying he’s never seen a cloud like this sit on top of Manaro.
I just reread what I wrote and it’s a pretty heavy dose of spooky foreshadowing. So before you get too anxious, I’ll tell you know- nothing came out of it. Manaro and the toxic lake it sleeps in did not explode and Ambae still remains. For now…………..
We arrive to Narovorovo and settle in to a little island-style bungalow on the water. We make some lunch, explore a bit, and spend the day catching up. That night we grabbed kava in the village and did funny solar light introductions with the community.
I just reread what I wrote and it’s a pretty heavy dose of spooky foreshadowing. So before you get too anxious, I’ll tell you know- nothing came out of it. Manaro and the toxic lake it sleeps in did not explode and Ambae still remains. For now…………..
 |
| ambae crew |
 |
| thomas, avery, and kathleen |
 |
| photo shoot |
 |
| blue everything |
We arrive to Narovorovo and settle in to a little island-style bungalow on the water. We make some lunch, explore a bit, and spend the day catching up. That night we grabbed kava in the village and did funny solar light introductions with the community.
The next day Avery, Thomas, and I walked over to Phil’s village Nasawa. He showed us the caves that are close to his house. One has smooth, round rocks stacked on top of each other, placed strategically underneath dripping water. Over time, the water smooths down the rocks and created pseudo stalagmites. There were hundreds of them! This tradition has gone on for longer than anyone around could say. We also went to moon cave, a huge cave you can swim in. At the top of moon cave, there is an indention in the stone in the shape of a large round circle. The kastom story is that Tagaro (Ambae and Maewo’s god) would hang out in there. It was so bright in there and so dark outside at night, so he had an idea. He cut out a piece of the cave and threw it into the sky to make the moon. It’s true, too, so don’t try and rebuttal!
We got back to Nasawa and Phil’s mom had made us an amazing banana pie. We swam in his spring-fed shower and headed back to homebase. When we got back, Grace and Kathleen informed us that we could head back to Ambae! Peace Corps met with Meteo and the Office of Natural Disasters and nothing was showing up on the radars or in the equipment they have placed within the cone. Turns out that it must have been something atmospheric around the volcano versus being seismic. Yahoo! A few weeks later I saw Katie and she showed me the pictures she took of Manaro firing up- it was definitely something. I would have called the Peace Corps, too! That night we watched a vibrant sunset over Ambae and the next morning, we were on our way home. It poured rain the whole 1 ½ hour trip back, but it was a glorious break from the hot sun and drought we’ve been experiencing. Our unexpected little evacuation turned out to be a great visit to Maewo. Thanks Peace Corps for the free trip!
Avery had told us that a Canadian named Dr. Jack and his family were in his village when he had to leave. Dr. Jack worked at Lolowai hospital for many years and was back to visit his host family, colleagues, and friends. They were set up for the week in house in Lolowai and saw us come off the boat. They offered us breakfast and coffee and we had a chance to chat about Ambae stuff. His daughter and her husband were there, too, just spending a few months on Santo doing a 6 month program on Santo for med school. She was a little girl growing up on Ambae and told stories of growing up here. It was so interesting hearing their perspective and experiences living on this little remote island 20 years ago and seeing the changes that have developed since.
I got back to my site bearing the gift of fresh mincemeat. On the 8th, school “started” back, but today was the 10th and no one was at school. They were let out because it was too hot and no one could focus. Plus, the first day of school here doesn’t get the grand entrance that we give it in America. Only about a third of the students come the first two weeks while their parents collect school fees. I told the teachers about the rain-drenched boat ride and they were shocked – no rain reached Northeast Ambae! And it has been that way for few weeks at this point. The school has drinking water, but many villages’ wells are dry. That night we had burgers for dinner and I shared my Maewo stories and pictures with my folks. So happy that it was a short trip and nothing too serious!
 |
 |
go pro at phils  |
 |
| inside moon cave |
 |
| that's ambae back there! |
 |
| heading home |
 |
| wet |
 |
| dry |
Avery had told us that a Canadian named Dr. Jack and his family were in his village when he had to leave. Dr. Jack worked at Lolowai hospital for many years and was back to visit his host family, colleagues, and friends. They were set up for the week in house in Lolowai and saw us come off the boat. They offered us breakfast and coffee and we had a chance to chat about Ambae stuff. His daughter and her husband were there, too, just spending a few months on Santo doing a 6 month program on Santo for med school. She was a little girl growing up on Ambae and told stories of growing up here. It was so interesting hearing their perspective and experiences living on this little remote island 20 years ago and seeing the changes that have developed since.
I got back to my site bearing the gift of fresh mincemeat. On the 8th, school “started” back, but today was the 10th and no one was at school. They were let out because it was too hot and no one could focus. Plus, the first day of school here doesn’t get the grand entrance that we give it in America. Only about a third of the students come the first two weeks while their parents collect school fees. I told the teachers about the rain-drenched boat ride and they were shocked – no rain reached Northeast Ambae! And it has been that way for few weeks at this point. The school has drinking water, but many villages’ wells are dry. That night we had burgers for dinner and I shared my Maewo stories and pictures with my folks. So happy that it was a short trip and nothing too serious!
happy belly
In Vanuatu I’ve learned that I love to cook. During my first year I switched between my gas stove and fire pit, slowly weaning off the gas while mastering a cook fire. Eventually the tank emptied, I sold my stove, and used my bush kitchen to cook all of my meals. It’s been a fun challenge! I feel like I’ve finally perfected the right temperatures for making pizza in a frying pan and a pie inside a small pot sitting inside a big pot. Oh, to think of simmering with a dial-controlled stove! And an oven! Things are looking up in the kitchen department. But this has been a culinary adventure I’ll never forget.
Recent belly happenings:
A Peace Corps Response volunteer in Vila named Zach got a kombucha mushroom from an expat and had been fermenting kombucha at his house. He gave me a mushroom to bring back to site and I’ve been making it here! It’s easy to maintain and fun to experiment with. Every time the tea goes through fermentation, the mushroom or mother or SCOBY (symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast) duplicates and makes a baby SCOBY for a double batch. And so on and so on until you’ve got 8 jars of kombucha with 2-3 mothers in each one. My papa is intrigued, so I’m leaving the operation in his hands. He makes some great pineapple home brew, so I’m not too worried about this nonalcoholic venture. I’m leaving a few for my papa, but passing the rest out to my Peace Corps island mates and interested community members. I’ll definitely make my own kombucha forever.
After the initial 7-10 day fermentation, you can ferment it again, adding flavors and more sugar to make carbonation. My favorite combos so far are honey lemon ginger, mandarin ginger, and coconut lime. The end result is a fizzy fiesta in your mouth. Whenever I go into town, I bring a bottle to put in Mami Amina’s ice box for refreshing afternoon gulps.
For shits and giggles, I held a kombucha tasting with some parents who hang around the school while their kids are in kindergarten. I paired it with nangae nuts and a fruit salad and watched the range of expressions upon tasting the acidic drink. As expected, there was a mix of surprised, sour, and satisfied faces among the participants. I taught them about the fermentation process, the belly benefits of drinking it, and explained how they could make it themselves. And this is how I spent a Tuesday morning. Man, the freedom of being a Peace Corps volunteer!
The solar fruit dryer is up and running! I’ve been experimenting with it and have had some luck. Other than the dried mango, pineapple, and papaya, I’ve dried herbs, garlic, and hot peppers to make spices, dried corn for popcorn, and made banana chips! For a twist, I mixed honey and lemon (and ginger for a few batches!) and dipped in the banana slices. Then I doused them in either crumbled local nuts or coconut shavings and dried these out for fancy banana chips. A big hit with my little cousins! I want a dehydrator when I go back to the states, if only for the banana chips and sundried tomatoes.
It’s avocado season! Big green and purple fruit in all shapes and sizes are dangling from trees all over the community. Like all fruits and veggies in bloom here, there is an overwhelming abundance. No one here loves avocados, but people are fascinated by my love, so they bring them to me in heaps. My puskats are possessed by avocados and meow like feigns when I cut one open. I have to hang them (the avocados, not the cats) in a basket from my ceiling or else they are pilfered in the night. Waiting for the avocados to be ready is a true test in patience. When I gaze admiringly at them in the trees, they look ready to my untrained eyes, but it turns out they are not. Are we there yet?! “Wait small, Alison,” I am told. Eventually some trees are ready to share. The tree in my front yard produced 3 funny-looking fruit. They made great guacamole. My parents told me that those were the first avocados the tree has ever made in its 5 years of life. Approved!
I’ve mentioned that my family and I have been on a hobo kick lately. Hobos consist of chopped veggies, potatoes, onion, garlic, whatever doused in spices and dale’s sauce (thank you Estelle!!!) and wrapped up in tin foil. Once your fire turns into the good glowing remains, plop the hobos down and wait half an hour (enjoy the aroma while you’re at it!) and out comes a delicious, steamy meal. It’s like opening an individually wrapped bundle of happiness. And they haven’t failed us yet. I’d say at this point we’re making hobos 3 nights a week. Long live the hobo!
Tomato season is long gone, but one Friday in February they just showed up at the market, uninvited but eagerly welcomed. Mother Nature’s freak accident turned into a tasty complement to everything. Avocado and tomato season just miss each other, but not this time! We made tacos twice that week, topped with guacamole and salsa! One day I decided to surprise my parents with “Los Jobos” or Mexican-style hobos! We used taco seasoning and lots of garlic for flavor, added in black beans, and topped everything with shredded cheese, salsa, and guac. It was incredible! After we cleaned our plates, we sprawled out on my parent’s front porch with happy bels. My mama told my papa in language that she could eat this every night forever. He translated for me and I knew it was genuine or else she would have said it in Bislama for me. Viva los hobos!
With the extra tomatoes, some capsicum, and a can of mushrooms I made a big sauce. I had a packet of gnocchi I got in Vila that I added to it. I breaded some thinly sliced susut (kinda like zucchini) and fried them. Once the sauce was done, I topped it with the fritters and then melted cheese on top. Yum!
My Aunt Jenny sent me a wonderful care package with matzo ball mix inside! One night we killed a chicken, simmered a soup, and dropped in the matzo balls. We watched Grease while we slurped it down. My parents asked if we could make the second packet the next night, but we decided they’d have to try it when I’m gone.
Last time I was in Port Vila I went to Vate Industries in the hopes of having a steel grill plate made for my parents as a thank you gift. We love to cook together, so this would be a fun reminder of all those adventurous meals. A very helpful kiwi named Rex built the 2 ft x 3 ft 10 mm thick plate for me and welded their last name Mala on to the top! He attached handles and a frame and delivered it to Laura’s house for me to put on a ship. I have horrible shipping luck, so after a few grand tours around northern Vanuatu, the heavy carton finally arrived to Ambae. My parents love it and we’ve been using it regularly for grilling meat and veggies and making tortillas. It’s indestructible and has their name on it, so the chances are good that it won’t be stolen and will remain as a Mala heirloom for a while.
I showed my family the documentary “Just Eat It” about food waste in America and they were shocked at how careless we are. This got us talking about factory farms, unethical farming practices, and industrialized agriculture which left them speechless. I decided to show them some documentaries on CAFOs and factory farms. As I sat there ashamed of my country, they were jaw-dropped and disgusted by the ruthlessness of it all. Cows, pigs, and chickens here have the bush to roam, plantations to graze upon, and are for the most part treated respectfully. I have had the pleasure of living here and eating fresh produce, fish and meat. It will be hard to return to a place where these options are expensive and not as accessible as the alternative. I know that a local food movement is happening all across the states, so I’m looking forward to returning to this! I have set higher standards for the products that nourish my body and understand that at times these guidelines will be impractical to abide. But! I want to make a point of knowing my butcher, living close to a good farmer’s market, and purchasing and eating the good stuff.
Recent belly happenings:
A Peace Corps Response volunteer in Vila named Zach got a kombucha mushroom from an expat and had been fermenting kombucha at his house. He gave me a mushroom to bring back to site and I’ve been making it here! It’s easy to maintain and fun to experiment with. Every time the tea goes through fermentation, the mushroom or mother or SCOBY (symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast) duplicates and makes a baby SCOBY for a double batch. And so on and so on until you’ve got 8 jars of kombucha with 2-3 mothers in each one. My papa is intrigued, so I’m leaving the operation in his hands. He makes some great pineapple home brew, so I’m not too worried about this nonalcoholic venture. I’m leaving a few for my papa, but passing the rest out to my Peace Corps island mates and interested community members. I’ll definitely make my own kombucha forever.
After the initial 7-10 day fermentation, you can ferment it again, adding flavors and more sugar to make carbonation. My favorite combos so far are honey lemon ginger, mandarin ginger, and coconut lime. The end result is a fizzy fiesta in your mouth. Whenever I go into town, I bring a bottle to put in Mami Amina’s ice box for refreshing afternoon gulps.
For shits and giggles, I held a kombucha tasting with some parents who hang around the school while their kids are in kindergarten. I paired it with nangae nuts and a fruit salad and watched the range of expressions upon tasting the acidic drink. As expected, there was a mix of surprised, sour, and satisfied faces among the participants. I taught them about the fermentation process, the belly benefits of drinking it, and explained how they could make it themselves. And this is how I spent a Tuesday morning. Man, the freedom of being a Peace Corps volunteer!
The solar fruit dryer is up and running! I’ve been experimenting with it and have had some luck. Other than the dried mango, pineapple, and papaya, I’ve dried herbs, garlic, and hot peppers to make spices, dried corn for popcorn, and made banana chips! For a twist, I mixed honey and lemon (and ginger for a few batches!) and dipped in the banana slices. Then I doused them in either crumbled local nuts or coconut shavings and dried these out for fancy banana chips. A big hit with my little cousins! I want a dehydrator when I go back to the states, if only for the banana chips and sundried tomatoes.
It’s avocado season! Big green and purple fruit in all shapes and sizes are dangling from trees all over the community. Like all fruits and veggies in bloom here, there is an overwhelming abundance. No one here loves avocados, but people are fascinated by my love, so they bring them to me in heaps. My puskats are possessed by avocados and meow like feigns when I cut one open. I have to hang them (the avocados, not the cats) in a basket from my ceiling or else they are pilfered in the night. Waiting for the avocados to be ready is a true test in patience. When I gaze admiringly at them in the trees, they look ready to my untrained eyes, but it turns out they are not. Are we there yet?! “Wait small, Alison,” I am told. Eventually some trees are ready to share. The tree in my front yard produced 3 funny-looking fruit. They made great guacamole. My parents told me that those were the first avocados the tree has ever made in its 5 years of life. Approved!
I’ve mentioned that my family and I have been on a hobo kick lately. Hobos consist of chopped veggies, potatoes, onion, garlic, whatever doused in spices and dale’s sauce (thank you Estelle!!!) and wrapped up in tin foil. Once your fire turns into the good glowing remains, plop the hobos down and wait half an hour (enjoy the aroma while you’re at it!) and out comes a delicious, steamy meal. It’s like opening an individually wrapped bundle of happiness. And they haven’t failed us yet. I’d say at this point we’re making hobos 3 nights a week. Long live the hobo!
Tomato season is long gone, but one Friday in February they just showed up at the market, uninvited but eagerly welcomed. Mother Nature’s freak accident turned into a tasty complement to everything. Avocado and tomato season just miss each other, but not this time! We made tacos twice that week, topped with guacamole and salsa! One day I decided to surprise my parents with “Los Jobos” or Mexican-style hobos! We used taco seasoning and lots of garlic for flavor, added in black beans, and topped everything with shredded cheese, salsa, and guac. It was incredible! After we cleaned our plates, we sprawled out on my parent’s front porch with happy bels. My mama told my papa in language that she could eat this every night forever. He translated for me and I knew it was genuine or else she would have said it in Bislama for me. Viva los hobos!
With the extra tomatoes, some capsicum, and a can of mushrooms I made a big sauce. I had a packet of gnocchi I got in Vila that I added to it. I breaded some thinly sliced susut (kinda like zucchini) and fried them. Once the sauce was done, I topped it with the fritters and then melted cheese on top. Yum!
My Aunt Jenny sent me a wonderful care package with matzo ball mix inside! One night we killed a chicken, simmered a soup, and dropped in the matzo balls. We watched Grease while we slurped it down. My parents asked if we could make the second packet the next night, but we decided they’d have to try it when I’m gone.
Last time I was in Port Vila I went to Vate Industries in the hopes of having a steel grill plate made for my parents as a thank you gift. We love to cook together, so this would be a fun reminder of all those adventurous meals. A very helpful kiwi named Rex built the 2 ft x 3 ft 10 mm thick plate for me and welded their last name Mala on to the top! He attached handles and a frame and delivered it to Laura’s house for me to put on a ship. I have horrible shipping luck, so after a few grand tours around northern Vanuatu, the heavy carton finally arrived to Ambae. My parents love it and we’ve been using it regularly for grilling meat and veggies and making tortillas. It’s indestructible and has their name on it, so the chances are good that it won’t be stolen and will remain as a Mala heirloom for a while.
I showed my family the documentary “Just Eat It” about food waste in America and they were shocked at how careless we are. This got us talking about factory farms, unethical farming practices, and industrialized agriculture which left them speechless. I decided to show them some documentaries on CAFOs and factory farms. As I sat there ashamed of my country, they were jaw-dropped and disgusted by the ruthlessness of it all. Cows, pigs, and chickens here have the bush to roam, plantations to graze upon, and are for the most part treated respectfully. I have had the pleasure of living here and eating fresh produce, fish and meat. It will be hard to return to a place where these options are expensive and not as accessible as the alternative. I know that a local food movement is happening all across the states, so I’m looking forward to returning to this! I have set higher standards for the products that nourish my body and understand that at times these guidelines will be impractical to abide. But! I want to make a point of knowing my butcher, living close to a good farmer’s market, and purchasing and eating the good stuff.
a few last kastoms
My brother returned from Australia where he spent the last 6 months picking oranges with other Ni-Vanuatu. We had a small kastom ceremony for him at the school to welcome him back. This consists of speeches, gifts of mats, kava, and laplap (the big 3!) and being covered in baby powder and calico. The main part of the welcome back ceremony is the presenter handing them a green coconut and them finishing it in one gulp.
Last October my papa had the chance to go to China for a Pacific island economy workshop for three weeks. The whole shebang was eerily paid by the Chinese government. Still not sure what that’s all about but! He was chosen to go and see a different country and meet people from all over. It was a great trip, and I guess our community hadn’t properly welcomed him back. So on a Saturday 4 months later, it happened. The whole day was spent preparing for the welcome back kastom ceremony! I’ve talked in astonishment before about how impressive it is to watch the machine of women making laplap in operation. Sometimes men and kids help, too, but it’s primarily female domination when it comes to laplap.
Here’s what that looks like:
• Building the fire to heat the stone to make the earth oven
• Grading the taro, manioc, green banana, yam, and/or kumala
• Collecting the “laplap leaves” and wrapping the mush for baking
• Removing the hot hot stones, placing the bundle in the pit, and covering it back up with the stones again. You use a big branch that’s split ¾ of the way down as bigfala tongs.
• Meanwhile, dehusking, cracking open, and grading the coconuts
• Milking the shredded meat and boiling it into cream.
• Once the laplap is finished cooking (I think a sixth sense notifies everyone here that it’s ready) you remove the stones and the laplap bundle, open her up, and dribble coconut cream all over it
• A note on this! I’ve never seen anyone pour the cream on the laplap and smear it around. This would be much more efficient. Instead they take a spoon and drizzle it on randomly until it covers the whole thing. I’ve asked a few women why the do this and they looked at me like I was crazy. It’s just what they do!
I sat down with my bumbu Joyce and cousin Kendra and helped with the coconut grading. Other than the 3 laplaps being made on the school grounds, many more were in the works in individual kitchens around the community. My papa and uncle went and killed one of my brother’s mama pigs because she’s got a terrible habit of eating baby chicks. I learned that this Wala (all of the pigs are named Wala) is the mama of so many other Walas I know. Strike three, Wala, sorry. They shot her in the bush and then two men carried her down on a bamboo pole. They butchered the pig and put it (her?) in an earth oven to bake. I didn’t grow up eating pig, so I never had a taste for it before here. But let me tell ya, fresh, well-fed, baked or roasted pig is a delicious treat.
After lunch time our laplap was ready. Almost like clockwork, a slew of women with laplaps and mats balanced on their heads enter the school. The ceremony began mid-afternoon. Because it was a rainy Saturday, we were inside the assembly hall. My papa used the world map to explain his China travels and everyone ooo’d and ahhh’d thinking about the foreign land. Mats were given to my papa and then he gave some to the auntie that presented him. Lots of mat exchange in these parts! My uncle John Richard got back from Australia recently, too, where he manages Ni-Vanuatu groups of fruit pickers. His brother died from a heart attack while doing the same this in New Zealand, so my uncle came back to grieve with his family. They presented him with mats, too. We all drank kava and feasted on the good food in front of us. Welcome back Papa!
There are many traditional ways to prepare kava and these vary from island to island. Preparing kava just refers to the process of transforming it from intact root crop into mush so it can be sieved with water for drinking. For example, on Tanna and Aneityum, they chew the kava. In some areas of Tanna this is done my virgin boys only! On some islands they ram it into a stone and on Ambae they grind it into a long wooden bowl with a wooden pestle. It’s called qasis (pronounced kwa-sees) and only a few men still have the tools needed to make it this way. Nowadays everyone primarily uses mincers to mushify their kava. These hand grinders are all over the place on every island! One time I made the mistake of asking if I could use one to make peanut butter. It was a definite no.
The traditional preparation methods result in a much more potent shell of kava. On Chief’s Day, my cousin Hickman brought down a stumpa of kava from his garden and Uncle John Richard agreed to grind it for me. I drank two shells with my brother and mama, and the rest was brought over to the mincer for easy prep. I had a few more shells of that and slept soundly in my kava-induced slumber.
 |
| that baby powder glow |
 |
| smiles! |
 |
| first born and papa |
Here’s what that looks like:
• Building the fire to heat the stone to make the earth oven
• Grading the taro, manioc, green banana, yam, and/or kumala
• Collecting the “laplap leaves” and wrapping the mush for baking
• Removing the hot hot stones, placing the bundle in the pit, and covering it back up with the stones again. You use a big branch that’s split ¾ of the way down as bigfala tongs.
• Meanwhile, dehusking, cracking open, and grading the coconuts
• Milking the shredded meat and boiling it into cream.
• Once the laplap is finished cooking (I think a sixth sense notifies everyone here that it’s ready) you remove the stones and the laplap bundle, open her up, and dribble coconut cream all over it
• A note on this! I’ve never seen anyone pour the cream on the laplap and smear it around. This would be much more efficient. Instead they take a spoon and drizzle it on randomly until it covers the whole thing. I’ve asked a few women why the do this and they looked at me like I was crazy. It’s just what they do!
I sat down with my bumbu Joyce and cousin Kendra and helped with the coconut grading. Other than the 3 laplaps being made on the school grounds, many more were in the works in individual kitchens around the community. My papa and uncle went and killed one of my brother’s mama pigs because she’s got a terrible habit of eating baby chicks. I learned that this Wala (all of the pigs are named Wala) is the mama of so many other Walas I know. Strike three, Wala, sorry. They shot her in the bush and then two men carried her down on a bamboo pole. They butchered the pig and put it (her?) in an earth oven to bake. I didn’t grow up eating pig, so I never had a taste for it before here. But let me tell ya, fresh, well-fed, baked or roasted pig is a delicious treat.
After lunch time our laplap was ready. Almost like clockwork, a slew of women with laplaps and mats balanced on their heads enter the school. The ceremony began mid-afternoon. Because it was a rainy Saturday, we were inside the assembly hall. My papa used the world map to explain his China travels and everyone ooo’d and ahhh’d thinking about the foreign land. Mats were given to my papa and then he gave some to the auntie that presented him. Lots of mat exchange in these parts! My uncle John Richard got back from Australia recently, too, where he manages Ni-Vanuatu groups of fruit pickers. His brother died from a heart attack while doing the same this in New Zealand, so my uncle came back to grieve with his family. They presented him with mats, too. We all drank kava and feasted on the good food in front of us. Welcome back Papa!
 |
| kendra and bubu joyce on laplap duty |
 |
| backyard kava pulls |
 |
| explaining his china adventure |
There are many traditional ways to prepare kava and these vary from island to island. Preparing kava just refers to the process of transforming it from intact root crop into mush so it can be sieved with water for drinking. For example, on Tanna and Aneityum, they chew the kava. In some areas of Tanna this is done my virgin boys only! On some islands they ram it into a stone and on Ambae they grind it into a long wooden bowl with a wooden pestle. It’s called qasis (pronounced kwa-sees) and only a few men still have the tools needed to make it this way. Nowadays everyone primarily uses mincers to mushify their kava. These hand grinders are all over the place on every island! One time I made the mistake of asking if I could use one to make peanut butter. It was a definite no.
The traditional preparation methods result in a much more potent shell of kava. On Chief’s Day, my cousin Hickman brought down a stumpa of kava from his garden and Uncle John Richard agreed to grind it for me. I drank two shells with my brother and mama, and the rest was brought over to the mincer for easy prep. I had a few more shells of that and slept soundly in my kava-induced slumber.
 |
| qasis! |
 |
| sweet nectarine |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)