In an earlier draft of this blog post, I began to attempt to
untangle the complicated genealogy of my family, but since then I have grown to
accept and embrace the fluidity in which Pohnpeians view family, so my
description will be different. I apologize if my explanation doesn’t make
things entirely clear, but this is the way I see my family, and the way I want
you to see them, too.
I have two fathers and two mothers: Nohno Melipher and Pahpa
Ioney, and Nohno Carly and Pahpa Wetper (the latter two are possibly an aunt
and uncle). I have about nine siblings (some of them are probably cousins by
American standards) with ages ranging from about 16 to about 38, four women and
five men. Then I have probably a dozen cousins (again, many are most likely
nieces and nephews, but who’s counting?) ranging from 18 months-25, all guys
with the exception of two little girls. So that’s who I see on a daily basis,
and on a given day, about 12-15 people stay at my house, the mixture of people
constantly changing. My entire street is filled with family, and it’s members
disperse amongst the houses with no set “home”. Everyone’s house is home,
everyone’s Nohno is your Nohno, and every child is yours to take care of (and
scold).
My family is loud, funny, sweet, caring, and just insanely
wonderful. I’ve been telling fellow Volunteers that I feel spoiled, because my
family is just that amazing, and I don’t feel like I did anything to deserve
such an incredible placement, especially knowing that some of my teammates
still feel awkward and uncomfortable at home. We call these feelings PCG (Peace
Corps Guilt) and it takes many forms—from feeling guilty of your
disproportionate wealth and affluence compared to the local people to feeling
guilty that you have regular bowel movements while all your fellow Volunteers
do not.
Most of my time is spent just hanging around the house
eating, watching the kids, or just sitting and talking. The majority of my
siblings speak English to me (I’ve found there is a big difference between
being able to speak English and being willing to speak it to me, so I feel I
need to clarify “speak English to me” rather than just “speak English”, as a
larger hidden population of my family knows English but is too intimidated to
attempt to speak it with me) and enjoy giving me little lessons in Pohnpeian.
The older members of my family delight when I can string sentences together to
create a simple, but respectable conversation. They always laugh at me, and I
initially took offense, but now realize it is a sign that I did something good
and they are too overwhelmed with excitement and pride to do anything else.
My home complex consists of several structures. The main
house is where I have my own bedroom
(with a full sized mattress no less, I almost cried when I saw it, as up until that point I had been sleeping on a
bed frame with no bed that was, paradoxically, a little too short for me, and
my feet hung off the end). There is also a living room in which probably five
or so teenage boys sleep each night, sprawled out on matts and pillows, and a
make-shift bedroom for one of my sisters, Marla (she’s 26), with a curtain hung
up and drawn to give her some privacy. The bathroom is also in the house, and
I’ll go ahead and satisfy your burning curiosity right now: I have a toilet.
And it flushes. I'll give you a minute to bask in my luxury. I shower standing in a tub much
like you would find in the States, but the water (that is expertly jerry-rigged
into the bathroom via a tangle of pvc pipes) pours into a large bucket that
sits in the tub, and thus began my love affair with “bucket showers”.
Basically, you fill up the big bucket, and using a smaller bucket, you dump
cold water on yourself to bathe. It may sound primitive, but it is amazing.
I’ve already grown to yearn for the cold water in the shower (it’s nearly the
only escape from the heat), but there’s just something extra special about the
bucket shower, and it’s actually quite relaxing. You should try it. There is also
a small kitchen attached to the house. It’s under the same roof, but in order
to go inside, you have to first walk out the main front door. It features two
small kerosene burners, a sink with again, expertly jerry-rigged running water,
and lots of counter space for food preparation.
About 10 yards past my bedroom window is a smaller house in
which my Pahpa and Nohno sleep, along with assorted youngsters. There is also a
large fire area, covered by a tin roof in which much cooking occurs, and a
raised cement platform, covered with a thatch roof, that is the general hang
out location during the day. There are two wooden bench seats attached, and the
floor space is large enough to accommodate about a dozen people crowded around
the t.v. that is housed there. When there’s power (my village routinely
experiences power outages, and occasionally my family simply runs out of power,
as it is a prepaid system) my family enjoys watching American films (pirated,
of course), which I find ironic because the vast majority of those watching
don’t speak a lick of English. But there aren’t many options, because Pohnpei
could never have the resources necessary to either dub over films in Pohnpeian
or produce films of their own, so the American stuff will have to do. This is an
added bonus for me, as I get occasional reminders of home.
My Nohno loves to cook, and my Pahpa is a fisherman. This
translates into delicious. My food situation has dramatically improved since
leaving Kolonia, partly because in the jungle there is naturally a greater
abundance of fresh fruits and veggies than in town, and partly because my Nohno
stays at home, giving her plenty of time to cook, rather than simply open a can
out of sheer exhaustion at a long day’s work. Every morning I have a single fluffy
pancake, occasionally smeared with peanut butter (no syrup, there’s just no way
to store it to keep the ants out), scrambled eggs (did I mention we have
chickens?), and hot green tea. Breakfast of champions I’d say. Lunch and dinner
consist of usually reef fish, crab, or (my favorite) lobster, all of which were
caught the same day and generally kept alive in buckets until moments before
being cooked. If that’s not fresh, I don’t know what is. My Nohno also loves
vegetables and fruits (another Pohnpeian anomaly), so each meal usually comes
with breadfruit, yams, a local squash (currently duking it out with breadfruit
as my favorite local food item), mango, local apples (not actually apples),
bananas cooked in countless ways (it’s funny, in America we’d specify if we
were cooking the banana, such as fried plantains, etc., but here, they specify
if the banana is uncooked—I was actually asked a few days in if I ate raw banana,
and the expression caught me so off guard), or various other greens that don’t
actually translate. And of course, each and every meal (I’m managed to convince
them I don’t need it with my pancake) comes served over a huge plate of white
rice. I generally drink a coconut or two with each meal, as I’m advised not to
drink the water, and my Pahpa takes great pride in being able to locate, knock
down, and open the coconuts for me each time. He even went to town to get me
straws, so I wouldn’t have to put my mouth on the coconut itself (which makes
no difference to me, but was important to him). Generally, my belly is full and
happy.
So that is just a brief glimpse of my life here in my
village. Nothing is perfect (as I type this in my room in the dark due to a
power outage), but I don’t think I could be happier. So take comfort in knowing
I am being well cared for by my wonderful, loving family. I’ve only lived her
for a few short weeks, but I feel like I’ve lived here all my life, and I can
already tell that It’s going to be hard to leave in two years. I’m beginning to
truly feel at home here in Pohnpei, a feeling I didn’t think would happen until
much later in my service. Look out, here comes another dose of PCG: feeling
guilty about not being homesick.
But don’t worry, Mom
and Dad, (and of course, Kay) just
because my family is amazing here, doesn’t mean my family at home isn’t just as
amazing.
I’ll leave you with my two favorite lines from the Pohnpei
State Anthem, sung every morning at school:
I sohte pahn kak
manokehla
Ahi wasahn kouosan
Pohnpei
I can never forget
Where I come from, Pohnpei
--Christy
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