Chickens

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and as only life in a slow-paced developing country can induce, I’ve been thinking a lot about chickens. I know, my life sounds thrilling.

At first I began thinking about animals in general here and how Americans would be horrified and shocked that Pohnpeians eat dog, for example. I was sharing this thought with a fellow Volunteer, Ben, who then pointed out that Pohnpeians would be horrified and shocked by the way we treat some animals in America. His examples covered all the horrors of the food industry in America and the mistreatment of cows, pigs, chickens, and the like while they await their ultimate end. These are all things we are vaguely aware of as Americans, but most of us try to ignore those facts as we happily munch our cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets.

As I continued to ponder this comparison, I couldn’t help but focus on the chickens. Many times in the past, I have been driving beside a giant chicken truck on the highway, with far too many chickens jammed into hundreds of tiny cages and it always made me sad. Those sort of conditions (for any animal) prompted the new-age term “free-range”. And as I was sitting around here in my village thinking, I suddenly realized that I live among truly free-range chickens.

I’m not sure what free-range means in the context of America, but here, free-range literally means free range. Chickens roam around constantly. There are no fences or pens, and even though some of your chickens may be wandering around in the jungle or perhaps walking across the road (I am still trying to come up with the perfect Pohnpei-inspired punch line to that joke!), everyone knows those are your chickens, and stealing or mistreatment of those chickens is considered particularly heinous.

Chickens are pretty much allowed to do anything they want. I am constantly chasing chickens out of the house or the office at school (did you know chickens can fly in through windows? I didn’t) or fishing chicks out of small spaces they managed to wiggle into and they couldn’t get out of, and cleaning up the chicken poop they leave behind. When I’m eating food (again, everything is outside), I’m not only on the lookout for dog and cat food-thieves, but also chickens. They’ll jump up and snatch food right off your plate or out of your hands if you’re not paying attention. And they peck at your feet if you’ve dropped a piece of rice, which believe me, does not feel good.

Have you ever taken a nap and woken up with a chicken looking you in the face? I have.

And whoever came up with this idea that roosters only crow at dawn obviously never lived with any. Roosters crow whenever they damn well please, beginning usually around 4 am (hours before dawn). Now that is fun, let me tell you. My (American) family always finds it amusing that they can hear roosters in the background when we speak on the phone. But it ceased to be amusing around day two. And hens make a lot of noise too, did you know that? Constant noise. Squawking, clucking, noise.

There is one fun thing about the chicken noises, though. Evidently, there is a distinct sound that a hen makes while it lays an egg. I am learning (failing miserably) to recognize it. Regardless of what is going on, when the egg-sound is heard, children are always dispatched to recover the eggs. And remember, these are free-range chickens, so that entails following the sound into the jungle, around heaps of old metal or tires or trash and finding the egg. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, except it’s an egg, in the jungle. I usually give up and just watch the kids find the eggs. Whatever.

But in addition to the ways in which chickens are annoying, they’re also kind of fascinating. Again, this may be the result of a lack of stimuli in my life, but I truly find the chickens interesting. Anatomically, I love observing the amazing dexterity of their specially-shaped feet, with the three main toes and the one small toe in back, and their ability to jump, balance, and grasp branches efficiently. And chicken necks. Have you ever really looked at a chicken’s neck? The neck is surprisingly long and can bend in an almost unnatural way in every direction, good to fixing out-of-place feathers, or snatching bread out of an unsuspecting American’s hand. And some of the roosters are just beautiful. Their colors and the patterns on their feathers are simply gorgeous. My favorite rooster (and I say favorite referring to its coloring only; all the roosters are on my hit list for waking me up every morning) is partially black. His black tail feathers glisten in the sun and shine green, blue, and purple. It’s incredible. But yes, I know it’s just a chicken.

The most amusing chicken activity that occurs is watching the chickens interact with the puppy (whom my family named Kujo, though they have no knowledge of the movie or the character-implications of the name). The chickens quickly discovered that, like most dogs on the island, Kujo’s fur is teeming with bugs, and they have taken to picking out those tasty morsels while Kujo naps in the sunshine. Initially, the pecking woke up the pup and startled him (as one would imagine the appropriate reaction to be), but ultimately he was able to ignore it and sleep peacefully. It seems like a win for both parties. And to express his sincere gratitude, Kujo has begun chasing the chickens. His favorite game is to grab the hens by their tail feathers until they let out a terrified cluck and then he finds another hen to torment. At first I worried about the chickens’ safety, but then I watched one of the hens whip around and peck at Kujo, so now I think they’re a pretty good match.

In the Pohnpeian language, the way to describe illegible handwriting is to say menginpeh duete malek sensenser pohn pwel, or writing like a chicken scratches the dirt. Sounds familiar? Chicken scratch. How funny is that? Some idiomatic phrases are more global than I thought.

And probably my favorite chicken-related Pohnpeianism, is the name of a mountain on the opposite side of the island from where I live. The name is Pwise En Malek, and it refers to the shape of the mountain itself. The translation? Chicken poop. Wonderful.

I’ll leave you with this story : the other day—and I kid you not, this is completely true—I came into my dark, closed bedroom, only to discover a small chicken nestled on my pillow. I turned on the light and the chicken simply lifted its head and gave me a look that I could only interpret as annoyance. As if I was interrupting its well-deserved nap. After a bit of a starring contest, I calmly picked up the chicken (with surprisingly little protest from the drowsy bird) and chucked it (somewhat violently) outside. It then seemed like a good time to change the sheets on my bed.  I may never solve this chicken mystery. And somehow that’s okay with me.

So there it is—the workings of my brain as I live amongst many, many chickens. Hope you enjoyed it!

Stay well,

Christy

The Five Senses of my Peace Corps Life

These are the things I experience daily:

Sight

I see an endless canopy of green, lush trees, gently swaying in the breeze. I see bright and colorful flowers. I see chickens, so many chickens. I see smoke, rising up into the sky from a cooking or trash fire. I see orange dirt, finely coating every surface and me. I see lizards, of ever size and color, traversing walls, ceilings, and trees. I see the smiling faces of my family and students. I see the ocean, sparkling, green, and infinite. I see rain, collecting in messy puddles all around me. I see happy children laughing and splashing in those puddles. 

Sound

I hear the faint rustling of trees when the wind blows. I hear screaming, laughing children. I hear roosters, Lord do I hear roosters, all the time roosters. I hear the unmistakable sound of each family car as it approaches on the road. I hear the crunching of leaves as children and livestock wander through the jungle. I hear yelling voices (most communication is done via yelling). I hear my brothers’ music, constantly playing the same few songs on repeat. I hear the hum of electric fans. I hear the stone-on-stone sound of my Pahpa mixing local medicines. I hear metallic work-sounds of my uncle repairing something. I hear the chatter of my sister’s sewing machine, as she busily creates skirt after skirt to sell in town. I hear laughter, always laughter. I hear the (not so soft) lullabies sung to the new baby. I hear my almost 2 year old nephew as he attempts to speak. I hear the many sounds of pigs. I hear the bubbling of the water tank just outside my bedroom. I hear the soothing patter of rain on the rooftop.

Smell

I smell smoke, soot, and dust. I smell mildew. I smell the stomach-churning scent of pig, chicken, dog, cat, and human waste. I smell oil, as food is being fried. I smell the comforting fragrance of my laundry soap. I smell body-odor. I smell the pungent odor of the local medicinal concoctions. I smell the cleansing scent of rain. I smell the familiar scent of my Dove deodorant and bar soap, as it both comforts and taunts me (haha—you’re not really clean!). I smell motor oil and gas. I smell soup cooking over the fire. I smell freshly cut grass. I smell the relaxing scent of my Nohno’s massage oils. I smell the stinging (yet welcomed) scent of bleach after I’ve cleaned the bathroom. And even with all of this, I even some times inhale deeply the scent of pure, fresh air.

Taste

I taste rice, which has somehow become less bland as time goes on. I taste gallon after gallon of life-sustaining water. I taste fish of all varieties prepared in countless ways. I taste gum sent from home, which I hoard and ration like gold. I taste fruits of many varieties, most of which I have never tasted before, none of which are sweet. I taste the earthy grit of local medicines when I am inevitably sick. I taste refreshing coconut water on a hot day (every day).  I taste and I savor the occasional treat of (melted) chocolate.

Touch

I feel hot. I feel sweaty. I feel discouraged. I feel sick. I feel bored. I feel frustrated. I feel grimy. I feel like I might die if I eat one more bite of fish. I feel lazy. I feel trapped. Sometimes I feel mad. I feel like an alien. I feel like an idiot. I feel sticky. I feel stress like I have never felt before. I feel the constant itch of ant and mosquito bites. I feel the familiar tickle of a bug crawling across my skin. I feel the pure pleasure of letting raindrops land on my face on a hot day (every day). I feel immense pride and joy when a student surprises me. I feel immeasurable love being poured out from my family. I feel independent. I feel inspired. I feel empowered. I feel hopeful. I feel resourceful. I feel accomplished. And even through the ups and downs, I feel happy.

--Christy

Never Say Never

The other day it rained. And I don’t just mean rain; I’m talking about the torrential downpour that helps Pohnpei be one of the wettest places on Earth. It rained and it was freezing. I know that sounds ridiculous. Freezing.  And  I admit, the first time it really rained like this, and my family complained about how cold they were, I thought they were lunatics. However, as I spend more time here, acclimating to the climate, I have come to agree. And really, it makes sense if you think about it. The reason that it is unbearably hot most days is the exact same reason that it is insanely cold when it rains: no climate control.  Nothing is sealed off, there is no air conditioning, the temperature outside is the temperature inside. The same glassless windows that keep me from suffocating in the stifling heat make me shiver in the rainstorms.

But the majority of time is spent outside anyway, including during a downpour. Inside is only for sleeping, and for weird white people who go inside to hang out during the day (me). So we all sit jammed under the only structure, a thatch roofed hut called an ihmwiahs, trying not to die of cold. We can’t really speak to each other, because the wind and the rain is so loud, and we’re not exactly dry either, since there are no walls on the ihmwiahs and wind throws rain in every direction. Occasionally, one of the many falling fruits ripped from its tree by the violent wind strikes the roof of the ihmwiahs and lets a small stream of water through the thatch. Then my Pahpa hurries to try and repair the leak. We try to cook and eat like normal, but the wind and rain puts out any fire. So we end up with fruit, maybe some bread, and if we’re lucky and the power is still on (the two are typically mutually exclusive), some hot rice from the cooker. All of this, for hours. Sometimes all day.

Eventually, I typically give up and retreat inside where I can seek more protective shelter (and nibble on my hidden care package snacks). As was the case on that day, and as I was huddled in my bed shivering, curled up for warmth, wearing leggings and my purple USF hoodie (thanks James), I thought to myself, I never thought I’d be this cold on a tropical island. Well, never say never.

And I got to thinking about all the things that are normal to me now that I never thought I would experience. I thought I might share some of those things with all of you:

I never thought I’d be able to go all day without noticing that the power was out.

I never thought I’d be able to go several days without noticing that the cell tower is down.

I never thought I’d be able to survive without toilet paper.

I never thought I’d be able to go an entire day without speaking English.

I never thought I’d be able to teach a class full of students who don’t speak English.

I never thought I could exist in a world without air conditioning.

I never thought I’d walk down the road and see chickens and crabs crossing the path in front of me and not even look twice.

I never thought I’d be able to live off of rice.

I never thought I’d be able to learn to like cold bucket showers.

I never thought I could go weeks without internet.

I never thought I would prefer local medicines over my western ones.

I never thought I would consider silverware unnecessary.

I never thought I would lose my terror of eating fish with a face.

I never thought I could live in the tropics without getting burnt to a crisp daily.

I never thought I’d be able to husk and crack open a coconut.

I never thought I could live without item that I once considered necessity.

I never thought I’d feel comfortable sharing my room with an assortment of geckos and spiders.

I never thought I’d be able to teach in another language.

I never thought I’d set off to wash my clothes wielding a wooden paddle.

I never thought I’d become unaffected by constantly naked children.

I never thought I’d have the time to sit and read an entire book in one day.

I never thought I’d be living in the jungle, completely cut off from modern civilization.

I never thought I’d have the stomach to watch an animal be killed and cooked and still want to eat it.

I never thought I would consider lying on a cement floor comfortable.

I never thought I’d be able to joke and tease in another language.

I never thought I could go months without television.

I never thought I’d eat raw fish, let alone call it my favorite food.

I never thought I’d look at my alarm clock/thermometer, see 87 degrees, and think, “hey, not bad.”

I never thought I could spend time in a foreign hospital and find the experience enjoyable.

I never thought I’d be able to simply walk a few minutes and see endless ocean in every direction.

I never thought I’d feel at home here.

Well, never say never.

--Christy