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

piglets!

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