A very (and probably very belated) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all from Falalus, Woleai!! I’ve been in island since November 21 and it’s been nothing but new adventures (and some challenges) since. I’m very grateful for this unexpected opportunity to share it all with you!
I was very fortunate - the ship came the day before my birthday, bringing with it the best birthday present I could have asked for – letters from friends and family (I was so filled with joy I wept – more on that later). The ship, it turns out, makes two stops in Woleai each trip – one on its way to the other outer islands and one on its way back to Yap. Which is how I’m able to send this update to my parents who have posted it for me! But enough with logistics – it’s time to get down to the adventure that is my life on Falalus…
The best place to begin is the beginning, so I’ll tell you about my adventures on the
Voyager, the ship on which I spent five days (!)getting to my island. Now, we’re talking about a whole heap of people with even bigger heaps of stuff all on a moderately sized cargo ship. There were a few cabins on the ship, but most were r
eserved for the medical personal that were going island to island administering the H1N1 vaccine. So we did what most people did – found a space on deck and camped out. Gita, Porter, and I loaded our own heaps of stuff on the front platform and set sail for our journey. The ship practically jumped and skipped over the waves as it took us to our islands, and I am ever so thankful that I do not get seasick. We met some amazing people on the ship from all the different outer islands of Yap, plus we got to visit a number of them. We stopped at Mo
gmog where our fellow volunteer Catherine is serving, Fais to meet PCV Joseph, and Falalop, Ulithi, to check in with PCV James at his new site.
My biggest adventure on the ship happened on my way back from visiting James. The Voyager was anchored offshore and we were returning in a little boat as the sun was setting (think beautiful tropical sunset and you’d be right). As our boat approached the ship, I grabbed onto to the ladder suspended off the side. But as I did so, the boat started drifting away! I couldn’t let go of the ladder, and I couldn’t get back in the boat! Gita tried to help out by grabbing onto my legs, so for a few seconds I was bridged over the water, suspended horizontally off the side of the ship! She couldn’t hold on as the boat kept drifting away, but thank goodness I had a good grip. I ended up just hanging there, calm as a clam, half in and half out of the water for everyone to see! Some of the crew scrambled to pull me up and I was already laughing that I had such a crazy adventure and lived to tell the tale!
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The rest of the ship ride was much less eventful. The Voyager arrived in Woleai at night in the rain, so the next morning when I arose, I had the most propitious first view of my island. There was a complete rainbow encircling the lagoon, right next to Falalus! (My island is back there, just to the right of my head…this is what it looks like from Falalop, the main island across the lagoon)
And, now, my life on Falalus.....
When I arrived on my island I was greeted by the whole community and covered with beautiful, fragrant mwaremwares and leis. But instead of going to my intended host family, I went to a different family. It turns out the community made the decision that I should live with another family because of the incorrect belief someone put forth that “kids are against Peace Corps policy.” That is very untrue and it is unfortunate that I wasn’t able to live with my intended family, but there was nothing I could do to fight the decision. That is how I found myself living at Niuroore (sp?), my new home. My host father, Steve, is a very large man and he’s the one person in the family who speaks English. Magdalena, his wife, is a very attentive and doting host mother. We have fun finding ways to communicate without a common language (yet). Their daughter, Priscilla (29), reminds me ever so much of a waitress in a late night café the way she fixes her bangs in a bouffant and jokes with me as she gets food for me or helps me with other simple tasks. We’re becoming friends quickly. She has a 10 year old daughter named Molly (who reminds me of a tomboy from the Bronx) and Seowiiling, a happy, giggly 5 mo. old. There is also Magdalena’s mother, Dolores.
There is a large local house where the family sleeps, a small hut next to it for weaving, guests, etc.,
and then our outdoor cooking/dining area. We eat on woven coconut mats on the coral gravel or sit on busted pots, logs, coconuts, or crates. As for me, I’m living in the old ‘stoowa,’ a tin and plywood building that used to be Steve’s store. It is actually a great set up. I have a plywood ‘bed,’ a piece of plywood and local mat on a platform, where I read and write by lamplight under my mosquito net (it’s cozy, I love it). There is plenty of shelving and even a display window I can prop up and feel like I’m open for business (the main thing I really want someone to buy is my roommates, the rats). My house is right next to the ‘road’ (think path) and is only 20 or so yards from the beach.
Just down my path, right next to the beach, the community built me an outhouse for my own, particular use. It’s a bottom-less oil barrel with wooden seat, surrounded by tin sides and a tin roof. The men had it up my second day on island, minus the door. I was so pleasantly shocked that they had done this that I assured them there was no rush. I was planning on going ‘local’ the whole time, so what’s a few more days? And so I did go local, using only the beach/ocean, first for one week, then another, and another. Now let me tell you a little about my personal thoughts on going local in this regard. For one thing, I find it inconvenient having to change my lavalava every time nature called (turns out you leave yesterday’s lavalava on the line for today’s bathroom use, but it still requires you to go home and change). For another, it’s a very public affair – on the small island there is always someone on the beach, usually some small kid who doesn’t want to leave me alone – and I’m shy in this regard. And finally, I’ll be brief. I find it quite unpleasant to be in the toilet bowl, so to say. It is also an unhappy thing to have to constantly be on my guard not to step in any number of piles of poo whenever I walk on the beach. Pleasant. Post-digestively, this is not quite paradise. And keep in mind, this is my own personal stance. Others might love it, but it’s not for me. I’m quite happy to now have a door on my ‘kelaisiisi.’
Falalus, in so many ways, looks just like what you would expect a small, remote tropical island in the Pacific to look like. There are local houses made out of woven coconut leaves. The sand is white and the sea is usually clear and ever-changing in its displays of blues, greens, and sparkles. The few ‘roads’ are paths that connect one family’s houses to another’s. There is plentiful shade on account of all the kinds of trees – coconut, breadfruit, plumeria, pandanus. When it rains, it’s heavy tropical rain. Local canoes line the beach. The men use them to go fishing when they’re not busy cutting tuba. The women spend their days weaving – lavalavas, mats, fans, bags – and preparing food – iige (fish), bulage (taro), yaroung (coconut milk), and mai (breadfruit). Everything here is done by hand and you can tell it’s the way it’s been done for generations. The kids are learning the ways from their mothers and grandmothers, just as they learned from the generations before them. Young boys are at home in 30 ft. tall coconut trees and everyone can cut a hair off a fly’s back with a machete by the time they’re six! The kids here are very capable – starting fires, opening coconuts, climbing trees, weaving. In many regards, I’m at the cultural level of an infant here.
The women wear lavalavas and the men wear thus. Most of the little kids either run around naked (washewashe) or wrapped in whatever fabric is available – usually extra thu fabric or tea cloths, which I love. Some of the little girls still wear the traditional grass skirt. Thu fabric is basic cotton, but it I love the colors – vibrant solid blue, green, orange, purple, and yellow. There are some tropical/floral prints, too, so all in all it’s a very colorful wardrobe
As for me, I’m enjoying wearing a lavalava, though it does take quite a lot of practice to a.) keep it from falling off or showing too much and b.) be able to move comfortably in it. My whole body moves differently in a lavalava and I am still getting used to it (plus there’s no public outlet for exercise…I’m going to weave a yoga mat so I can practice in private). Let’s just say lavalavas were not invented with maximum feminine mobility in mind. It is a good thing they are adjustable, however, because my host family jokes that I have the be the size of my giant platform bed, or roughly the size of my voluminous host father, by the time I leave.
As for being topless, it’s not uncomfortable. I actually find myself wearing a shirt or piece of fabric more often than not on account of the mosquitoes. So I do not have to live through the stereotypical ‘nightmare’ of being naked in front of the class – I wear a shirt when I teach. Each morning it still seems strange to go outside my house without a shirt – I get that “I feel like I’m forgetting something” feeling, then I remember where I am. Surprisingly, the thing that makes me feel the most exposed isn’t being topless, it’s toutou-ing in public.
‘Tou-tou’ means shower in Woleaian and it’s done in two stages, twice a day. First, there’s the toutouli taati, or ocean shower. This basically means going to the beach twice a day to hang out and play with the kids. After this phase, I walk back to the house where I toutouli shaaliu, or shower with fresh water (every few days I use soap – most people use tica, or coconut oil). The water we use comes from the giant catchment barrels by my house which, like I mentioned, is right by the path. So as I’m showering people usually stroll by. It’s going to take me a while to get used to talking to my students while I shower, or kepate me yaai sariiskuulo ileete gaangiu I be toutouli shaaliu.
Bit by bit I’m picking up more of the language. I have lots of mini-celebrations when I say something and people understand more or less what I’m trying to communicate. Plus, the more I know the more I can joke around and get to know the people here. Of course, there have been many comical linguistic mishaps, like in Yap the first time I ate turtle. I meant to say, ‘yes, I ate turtle,’ or ‘ngoa, I sa mwongoo woongi.’ But instead of ‘woongi,’ I said ‘waangi,’ which is a man’s hoo-haa. Everyone got a hoot out of what I accidentally said. While I was visiting Gita, I learned to be very careful when I say ‘correct’ – pashe. Not pashiu, which means horny. Of course, you don’t really say the last vowel of any word, so it’s a very slippery slope for a newbie.
It’s been harder for me to learn more practical local skills, like cooking and using the machete, because of how busy I am with teaching and how people here ‘teach’ by doing. It’s more work for someone to take the time to walk me through something than to do it themselves, so I have to be persistent yet respectful in asking to learn something (aka everything!). So far I have learned how to start a coconut husk fire, wrap mare, weave a basket, and make coconut milk, a very intensive process. First, you have to gerigeri shooa, meaning grate the coconut. I really like this part. You use a little saw-horsey deal with a scraper on the end. Once you have the grated coconut, you have to wongiwongi, or milk, it by hand – add water, knead, squeeze handful by handful, add more water, knead, squeeze handful by handful. It’s very methodical and I like how ‘zen’ it is when you get lost in the routine…unless your hands get tired or your legs fall asleep. I’m actually having to actively combat bad posture here. It’s hard to sit up straight when there are no chairs and you have to sit in a lavalava, let me tell you! Send a lower-back prayer my way.
The main thing I spend most of my time trying to learn here is how to teach, which I enjoy but find challenging. I have four generations of teaching behind me, so I’m not too worried about it, but I still spend a lot of the time not really knowing what I’m doing. Fortunately this is a great place to figure it out. The school has three classrooms, there are three other academic teachers, and there are about 33 students. All good things come in threes, right? Oh, and I’m teaching three classes – English Writing Gr. 5/6, EL Writing Gr. 7/8, and EL Reading Gr. 7/8. As you can see, the classes are combined, which poses a challenge in itself. I have 11 kids in each class and they’re great, but it’s hard b/c they are very low-level English speakers. The kids are hanging in there, though. For example, the very first thing I decided to teach the reading class was a poem (I could write it on the board, which seemed like a good idea given limited resources). But the one poem snowballed into a whole unit on poetry, including literal vs. figurative language, alliteration, personification, and metaphor! I started these poor kids off with the hardest thing in the English language! But we survived, including me, and now we’re working on one of my personal favorites, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
I wish I had time to tell you about the kiddos one by one, but alas, I don’t have the time or the battery power to do it. So instead, just look at some of my pictures. I know when you see them you’ll understand how wonderful they are and how much I like them. Most of these pictures are from a rainy day of volleyball this week.
If you have any teaching resources, ideas, or guidance, I’d love to have it. I’m teaching all my kids at about a grade three level in America. The hardest parts are teaching to multiple levels in one class and measuring comprehension. A lot of the kids can copy a model but not necessarily do what they’re learning on their own. Plus, they’re all ‘ma,’ or shy to speak English in the classroom. On the volleyball court, it’s a different story – they love using any English they know to taunt the other kids! It’d be easier in the classroom if I was actually co-teaching, which is the Peace Corps model, but that’s not happening. So for now I have to remind myself to speak very slowly and keep it fun and interesting for the kids.
Now here are some snippets of my life on Falalus...
- Flies. Everywhere. Almost all the time. The flies are so bad that I’m afraid with each bite that I’m going to eat one. The worst part is how they flock to the smallest of open wounds, which kids here can’t help but have given the conditions. Even personally, the smallest thing like an ingrown hair attracts flies and gets infected. I’m hoping that soon my body will acclimate to the conditions.
- Mwaale tugofai. It means ‘old man’ in Woleaian. It’s what my family calls oatmeal b/c they saw the Quaker man but don’t think they can say ‘oatmeal.’
- Booty shakin’ and soul singing. The kids here are preparing for the Christmas ceremony and I’ve got to learn some of their dances. Let me tell you – these kids can shake it! In a culture so physically open with their bodies, there are no reservations in movement. Let’s just say hips are central to dance here. And these kids can sing! What would you do without video games or tv? You might learn to love songs as much as these kids here and develop a beautiful set of pipes
- Culture classes. At the school there are also two ‘culture’ teachers. They teach local skills, like building a house for the boys and weaving for the girls, as well as ways of life, like respect and communal living. I think it’s neat.
- 'Going out.’ In America when you lose a round in a game, you ‘go out.’ Here, if you lose a game you have to stand up and dance a silly dance to a song they all sing. It’s hilarious and I love it.
- Maweshe. I can’t actually translate this word, but I can tell you it’s a kind of term of endearment. I like to think it means more or less ‘dear’ or ‘my dear.’ But to the point. It’s everywhere. Everyone calls all the kids, regardless of if they’re their own, mauweshe. I get mauweshed all over the place. I call my students mauweshe. It’s just about the sweetest thing ever.
- These families have tall trees. There are four generations of women at my house, which is a wonderful and interesting thing to observe. For example, they all have the same nose, and they all think that throwing rocks at someone is an effective way of dealing with someone (everyone throws rocks here…it’s ubiquitous)
- Names. Most people here have wonderful English names, like Dolores, Priscilla, Heffner, MaccDonald, but they usually go by their island name. For example, MaccDonald goes my ‘Moonkey’! When I was in Yap, my host mother and father gave me a local last name that some people call me here – LeHasugumal.
- Coconuts, coconuts, coconuts! I drink one for every meal, plus the community knows I love yaroung, or coconut milk, with just about anything. But coconuts are used for EVERYTHING here – firewood/charcoal, cups, alcoholic and sweet tuba, rope, oil, seats (just pop a squat on a coconut!), mats, roofs, walls, floors, bags, fans, brooms, you name it!
- Pigs tied to trees by the beach. They move around and make little ‘crop circles’ to claim their space. If in any life you’re born a pig, you’d want to be a pig here on the beach!
- Faalimaase – ‘the end of the island.’ It’s probably the most beautiful place on the island, and that’s saying something. It’s where I have permission to go check my sat phone every day. It’s also where I can see the sunset and say hello to Mark, one of the sweetest old men on the island.
- Family. The whole lagoon is related somehow, which means everyone is welcome anywhere, anytime. Everyone shouts to anyone passing by to come eat. Food is prepared at one house and distributed all over. When the men go fishing, they share the catch with all the family. The best way to describe how this all feels is flow –there’s a comfortable flow of people everywhere on the island. This is a family as much as it is a community.
- Set-up. The beach faces north-ish and looks out onto the ring of happy islands in the lagoon. The rest of the island is surrounded by rocks.
- Chick, chick, chickens! There are maliuge, or chickens, everywhere. I have learned to sleep through the roosters’ crows, so I guess I wouldn’t make a very good farmer.
- STARS! That’s all I have to say about that
- Climate. It’s rainy season here and boy, can it rain cats and dogs! Between the rain and all the trees on island, it’s actually comfortable most of the time (as long as you’re not directly in the sun).
- The ‘Dentist.’ A man came on the ship to check the kids’ teeth. He set up shop in the office and for two days in the afternoon he asked if any teeth hurt. If no, he applied fluoride. If yes, he pulled. He pulled tooth after tooth as I lesson planned. Yikes!
- Everyone shows affection for each other by pulling lice out of each other’s hair. Things have gotten especially bad lately and a number of people are running around with fully or partially shaven heads. Today as one woman had her head shaved, I tried to communicate that I once opted for that ‘do…don’t know if it translated.
- Island sounds. There are kissing lizards, crickets chirping, frigate squawks, chicken clucks, dog barks, guitars playing, kids singing, rats crawling, waves rolling, and people hawking.
I celebrated my 25th birthday in total LOCAL style, let me tell you! There I was, sitting topless in a lavalavaon a woven mat, chewing betel nut, and drinking a coconut. Soon I was practically buried with floral marmars and leis, covered with turmeric, and painted with lipstick on my lips, cheeks, and eyebrows! Now, “all dolled up with no place to go?” you might ask. Not quite. All the students sang to me then we spent the day playing volleyball on the beach. The perfect birthday on a tropical island, if you ask me.
Falalus is bigger than I expected but further away the islands than I thought. Still, Gita and Porter visited our second weekend here and I got to show off my new digs. Last week, I returned their visit and caught a ride to Falalop in all the funeral hubbub (the ship also brought the body of a local man. Here, most everybody is related somehow anyways, so funerals involve the whole community). It was such a heartening visit for me for so many reasons. We celebrated a belated, dehydrated Thanksgiving feast courtesy of my wonderful family (THANK YOU!). When we talked about what we are thankful for, we all agreed we are thankful for my family thankful for the roots that support me through this experience, both old (like you) and new (like Gita and Porter). We listened to Christmas songs as we rehydrated everything in 5 minutes. It was fabulous.
The next day at the funeral, as I sat observing the rituals, someone handed me a package addressed to the Woleai PCVs – MAIL!! The wonderful Miss Laura put our mail on the ship and it made it to us – the day before my birthday, no less! It was the best birthday present I could have asked for. The letters from my friends and family were like no treasure I’d ever received and made me realize how disconnected I really do feel at times. But they also made me realize how many happy surprises the universe has in store. For example, my dear friend Courtney sent me a t-shirt from the third annual Yarmouth Pumpkin Run, an event we did together last year. She doubted if I’d ever actually need the shirt, but she sent it because of the spirit of it all. And let me tell you, it comforts my body and my soul! Wearing it practically takes me to crisp fall leaves and cold weather (and yes, some nights it’s temperate for me to wear it). There are many comforts from home that I miss and this brought many of them to me. The main other comfort I miss is quick communication – if only there was email on this island! I also have a list of forbidden thoughts that I try to stop myself from having, like:
- Nachos and other forms of Mexican food
- Portland’s Farmer’s Market
- Coldstone Creamery, or any ice cream, really
- Couches
- Garlic
- Private showers
- Harry Potter
- Snow
- NPR
- Cooking in my kitchen at 68 Winter St.
This, of course, is a list of material things, but the thing I miss most is each of you. If I’m lucky, the ship will come semi-frequently so we can stay in touch via mail. I was able to get a lot of letters out on the ship, but there are still many more I want to write. If you don’t get a letter this round, know that one is on its way sometime…maybe not soon, but sometime. As always, I am filled with gratitude to be on such a wonderful adventure and to be able to share it with you. With all my heart, thank you for support and thank you for coming along with me – whee!
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