The Rollercoaster

I know I’ve mentioned before that being a Volunteer in the Peace Corps is like a giant rollercoaster ride, with its incredible ups and downs. But that doesn’t really explain it clearly enough, at least not for me. I’m not talking about days or weeks in between the highs and lows, I’m talking hours or minutes. It happens that quickly and drastically and I never see it coming. One former PCV said that Peace Corps makes us all temporarily bipolar. I might agree with that.

Today was a prime example of such a bipolar episode, so I feel inclined to share it with you all.

First of all, you need a bit of backstory. I’ve (foolishly) undertaken what we call a “secondary project”, that is a project in addition to regular classroom instruction. I have decided to gather my rising 7^th and 8^th grade students together and paint a giant world map  wall mural on the outside of one of the school buildings. Cool, right? Wrong. It has been nothing but a thorn in my side since the minute I made the decision to begin. I’m sure it will all turn out wonderfully and the students will have a great time while also learning, blah blah blah, but right now I hate the project.

I know hate is a strong word, but the frustrations are limitless and debilitating. Between motivating and organizing local counterparts, acquiring funding and supplies, building a local scaffold (multiple times, by the way, due to some punks who thought it’s be cool to chop it up one night), and praying that the weather cooperates (I live on a tropical island…yeah right), things have—how should I put this?—progressed slowly.

Part of the preparative work that needs to get done before the students can start involves drawing a grid across the entire working area (4meters x 2meters—hah! Metric system). This sounds simple enough, but it is anything from simple. A step that should have taken 2-3 days has now dragged itself out for almost 3 freaking weeks. I won’t bore you with the laundry list of reasons why I am a failure, but let’s just say things never go according to plan in the Peace Corps.

Anyway, back to today. I was at school, slaving away (alone) on my Everest. I had promised the students it would be ready on Wednesday, and well, it wasn’t. Then I told them to come back on Friday and we’d start. Halfway through my work time today (Thursday) I did some mental calculations and determined that there was absolutely no way in hell I’d be done for Friday. So once again, I would let the kids down and even worse, prolong the god-forsaken process of drawing a huge grid on a brick wall. So I stood there on my wobbly local scaffold, sweaty, enveloped by mosquitos and flies, pencils stuck in my horribly messy hair, giant eraser between my teeth, meter stick in hand, and just started to cry. And then, in that very instant—and I wish I was kidding—it began to pour rain.

I let out some choice words, and just stood there brooding for a few minutes before dashing inside to escape the downpour. I started thinking, what the hell am I doing here? And why do I put up with all this crap? I began to imagine what my life would be like if I was back Stateside. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d be doing, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing on a damn scaffold in the pouring rain holding a meter stick! I grumbled to myself and then stomped home, practically kicking every stone I passed on my way.

Now, one of my only real stress-relief strategies that I can implement here is cleaning, so that is what I decided to do. I took one more look at my teetering tower of filthy clothes and the3 decision was made—I would do laundry. Easy enough? Not. Nothing is easy in my life. Pohnpei has been experiencing controlled blackouts for several weeks. I’m not exactly sure what that means, except that we don’t have power between the hours of 12-6pm. Everyday. So when I come home from school, there is no power with which to use the laundry machine. Now, this ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem, except that my family is going through a machine-only phase. All of the useable areas for hand-washing clothes are otherwise occupied or have been completely deconstructed (my living area is an object in motion and it is rarely the same from week to week).

Well, I was determined to beat my frustrations out and hence needed to find somewhere to wash my clothes by hand. And rather than allow others to do things for me (as they’d most definitely prefer), I took the task upon myself. I found a slab of concrete, dragged stuff around, scrubbed, rinsed, and somehow rigged up the water to flow into an old ice chest. Brilliance. I then spent the next two hours or so doing some good old fashioned manual labor. Nothing beats really working hard. And when you’re full of anger and despair, whacking your clothing repeatedly with a wooden paddle is extremely cathartic. Trust me. And somehow the planets all aligned and nobody came over to gawk. That is definitely a first. I did however, overhear several family members commenting on how impressed they were. My Nohno even joked to my sister that she is the American, because she likes to use the laundry machine, while I’m the Pohnpeian, because I wash my clothes by hand. It never hurts to hear your mom bragging about you.

And although I was exhausted and sore, when I finished my laundry, my mood had visibly lifted. So much so that the gang of children that typically drive me up a wall actually brought a huge smile to my face. They were being ninjas. Clearly. And let me tell you, if you’ve never watched a group of 4-8 year olds make “hiyah!” sounds and pretend to spin and kick each other stealthily, you’re missing out. I managed to get them to slow down long enough to capture this gem:

Then it was time to begin preparing for a big celebration: a 1^st birthday party. These are a really big deal here in Pohnpei (sadly, due to high infant-mortality rates), and my cousin (everyone is called a cousin, I actually have no clue how we’re related) Samiah just turned 1, so cake was definitely in order.

Usually, I am not included in cooking tasks because everyone assumes I am incompetent.  But today, for whatever reason, my sister Ioren plopped the supplies and the bowl in front of me and told me to make the cake. Just like that. So I did. All of the kids were simply dumbfounded. It may be narcissistic, but I don’t ever get tired of dazzling the Pohnpeian spectators to my life. And believe me, they were dazzled. Plus I got to spend some quality time with my sister, which is always a good thing.

The evening wore on and eventually we were ready to eat our cake and ice cream (essentially just milk at this point—remember the power has been out all day). [Wait. First you need to understand how we bake the cake. My Pahpa found a rusty  old broken oven, only God knows where, and he brought it home and stuck it in our fire pit. Now, we light a fire underneath, and presto—a working oven! You have my permission to be impressed.] As you might imagine, eating cake and ice cream is a BIG deal. All of the kids sing “happy birthday” (in English because interestingly enough, the practice of celebrating birthdays came from American influence, in fact there isn’t even a way to say “happy birthday” in Pohnpeian…just a fun fact!) and then line up from youngest to oldest and get their huge portions, which they eat with their hands and faces only, no spoons required.

Here’s the birthday girl, Samiah, enjoying her ice cream:

So there I was, surrounded by happy, sticky children, dripping with ice cream and joy, stuffing their faces with the cake that I made, and I just thought, I love these people.  And just like that, I made a complete turnaround. My day, which had begun in such misery, had ended on the highest of high notes. I almost laughed at myself, at how dramatic I can be. I mean it’s just a silly map. It will get done, eventually. It’s not worth getting so upset over. I found sanity through chocolate cake (is there any other way?).

So, there you have it; a small glimpse into the rollercoaster ride that is my Peace Corps experience. I have a feeling that if I can stomach the drops and just hold on tight, it will all be worth it in the end.

Stay well,

Christy

The Fourth of July

I’m not sure why, but this July 4^th was really important to me. Perhaps it’s because it was the first American holiday I celebrated here on Pohnpei last year, and I felt its celebration this year clearly marked the passage of time. Or perhaps because I have numerous fond 4^th of July memories from back home; from swimming in various swimming pools with assorted childhood friends to watching fireworks in every direction on top of the Magnolia parking garage at USF my senior year. I don’t know how to quite put into words why I enjoy the holiday so much, and to be honest I didn’t really realize I was so fond of it until I got here and suddenly found myself without it.  There’s just something about everyone all decked out in cheesy red, white, and blue outfits, eating hotdogs and cupcakes with red, white, and blue sprinkles, and gathering on little blankets by a lake somewhere to watch fireworks while listening to patriotic music at full blast. It’s magical.

Now, there may not be fireworks or lakes here, but there is a US Embassy and there is most definitely free food.

Last year, as a Trainee and having only been in Pohnpei for about a month, I remember the 4^th of July celebration at the Embassy as being comparably magical. I was so desperately homesick and was relieved to be surrounded by Americans and eating potato salad at tables with plastic red, white, and blue tablecloths. It was simple but it was precisely what I needed at the time.

This year I drew on that memory and waited for repeated perfection. But things are much different now. I didn’t arrive in a Peace Corps vehicle, chaperoned by members of Staff. I arrived by taxi, on my own schedule.  Early in fact, because I offered to help set up and get the face-painting and games station set up. As I entered the Embassy office and shook hands of men and women I’d met before, and received a gift of chalk from one man who has become a great friend of the Peace Corps Volunteers. They donned me with a wonderfully tacky American flag baseball cap, showed me my boxes and let me on my way. I was not a guest or a spectator as I was last year, but somehow included and involved in an event organized by the US Embassy.

I spent the majority of the event painting kids’ faces. I didn’t hear the speeches that encouraged me last year. I didn’t notice any of the patriotic background music that had once comforted me. I ate quickly. The food was decent, but I didn’t have a religious experience over the baked beans as I had last year. I spent some time visiting with the new Trainees, and then I just left, caught a taxi, and went home. That was it.

On my (long) taxi ride home, I was feeling somewhat disappointed that my 4^th of July wasn’t as life-altering as last year’s. I felt shorted in some way, like I had missed out on something wonderful. And as I contemplated this, I hit a whole new level of comfort. I fell asleep. I slept in a cramped taxi amongst other sleeping Pohnpeians strangers. I slept because I was exhausted, but also I slept because the taxi driver knew me and knew exactly where to take me and I wasn’t worried I’d end up somewhere strange. And sure enough, I got home safe and sound.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in kind of a funk. I just lay around at my house reading and feeling sorry for myself. But when dinner rolled around, that’s when the 4^th of July magic truly happened. I had spent the last few days explaining to my family (the best I could in my newly-acquired second language) what the 4^th of July celebrates and why it is so important to Americans and me in particular. I shared some stories and tried to give them a glimpse of what July 4^th is really like back home. They seemed marginally interested. (For example, when I got back home all of the kids wanted to know if I had eaten cake at the Embassy party.) But my Pahpa, who is terribly hard of hearing, knew very little of why I went into town today, only that it was for a special celebration.

Dinner was prepared by my Pahpa, so I got the Princess special—fish without the skin or bones, cut up into pieces with rice and soy sauce. He thinks I’m a child and he is correct. But the best part was dessert. I told my Pahpa probably eight months ago that I love pineapple. They grow here locally, but there are no trees near my house  with the fruit. He said he’s find me some, but partly out of difficulty of locating them, and partly out of plum forgetfulness, I had still not yet eaten local pineapple. Well, at dinner he produced not one but three pineapples. With a big grin he told me they were for me, to celebrate.

I could have cried. The pineapple was so good. I just don’t think you understand.

I then happily munched my fruit (juice dripping shamelessly all over my chin) and contemplated my 4^th of July. Last year I was in a completely different place that I am now, and therefore I took very different things away from the Embassy 4^th of July celebration. This year is distinctly different. I have a place here, a role, a family, a community. I thought I was going to gobble up the chance to be in that little bubble of America again. But the truth is I didn’t need to.

And after dinner (and my wonderful, beautiful pineapple) as I stood in the doorway of my house, watching the rain fall peacefully all around I couldn’t help but smile. Last year, the 4^th of July helped cure a bought of homesickness, this year the 4^th of July helped me to see that I am home.

I hope everyone had a wonderful 4^th of July with their friends and family, wherever they may be. I know I did.

Stay well,

Christy

A Whole New Kind of Tourist

I know this post is long overdue, put it took me a while to process my trip to Japan this past June with my fellow Peace Corps Volunteer Mia. I had an incredible week, saw a lot of interesting and beautiful things, ate great food, and just plain had some fun. That being said, the experience as a whole was, how can I put this lightly…overwhelming. I knew the trip would be overwhelming when I bought the plane ticket, but I had no real grasp of just how overwhelming it would be, nor did I anticipate which things I would find overwhelming.

 I suppose one gets used to their surroundings. After living here on Pohnpei for a year, I’ve come to expect a certain level of development—one that I’m completely comfortable with now (most of the time, that is). The first big shock of our trip was during our layover in the Guam airport. Like most airports, there are several little shops lining the main strip. What really got me, surprisingly, were the lights. Every store was incredibly bright, shelves were backlit, and some displays even seemed to have spotlights fixed on them. I just couldn’t handle it. We walked past the shops two or three times before feeling brave enough to enter, and even then we only stayed a few seconds before retreating back into the terminal. I live in a world of natural light. Daytime lighting is pretentious and unnecessary, and nighttime lighting is a single light bulb, or perhaps two. That’s it. The amount of lighting used in the airport was shocking and intimidating.

And if I thought lighting was scary, the second I entered the airport in Narita, Japan, I was utterly terrified. The sheer volume of people attempting to squeeze through walkways almost brought me to a standstill. Mia and I just gave each other wide-eyed looks and pressed on, desperately trying not to get separated or trampled. And then to add to my airport stress, our mode of transportation out was by train (which we managed to navigate thanks to the limitless kindness of Japanese people).  Now, my only transportation here in Pohnpei is my own two feet or a car going maybe 40 mph (if they’ve got a lead foot). When that train pulled away, I felt like a kid on their first roller coaster. I honestly thought I was going to puke or die, or both. I think I embarrassed Mia by making a loud comment to as much while violently gripping my seat.

But, we made it to our destination and into the guidance of Mia’s friend from college, Kassi. The rest of the week was jam-packed full of excursions. As it turns out, Mia is quite the planner, which is just as well, because I was so dumbstruck most of the time that I would not have been able to make a sound decision. We had a daily schedule, and Kassi helped us immensely by writing out instructions for our train trips each day. Figuring our way around was no small task, but again, our success can mostly (okay, wholly) be attributed to Mia. Fiercely determined to see all the things on her list, Mia dragged me all over Tokyo and more, fearlessly navigating the subway map and using her four or five Japanese phrases she taught herself. It was a whirlwind of sightseeing, but wonderful indeed.

The biggest takeaway from the trip for me was the genuine kindness I saw in almost every single Japanese person we encountered. Not one person seemed put out with our language deficiencies or our fumbling around with the foreign currency.  We were constantly met with a smile and gracious assistance, many times from people who themselves didn’t speak a lick of English. Although on more than one occasion, an English-speaker came out of the woodworks and just appeared at our sides in a moment of panic (usually in a train station) and helped us find our way. I will never forget how friendly and welcoming the Japanese people were.

As for things we saw, my favorites were the giant Buddha at Kamakura, along with other countless beautiful temples we wandered through in the surrounding areas, meeting actual summa wrestlers on the street, and eating delicious food. May favorite food was fresh sushi at a popular conveyor belt restaurant, where the food literally just constantly scoots by your table and you just graze as you see fit. Pure brilliance. One of the best days was when we went to Kassi’s school where she teaches and observed her kindergarten classes. It was such a cool experience to take a break from the tourist thing and just see Japanese people in their everyday routine. We even got a chance to play with the kids, and that was such a treat. It’s nice when games don’t need words and laughter comes in every language.

Although, I must admit that most of the trip is quite a blur. Mia took avid notes (that I will be copying from her one day), but I was just so overwhelmed for the majority of our stay that all I could do was take it all in. The busy, crowded streets, the sensory-overload of smells and sounds and lights at every turn, the enormously tall buildings, and the overarching technology that was involved in almost everything we did (I swear, even the toilets were smarter than me). It was all so foreign, but in more ways than one. I wasn’t just an American dealing with your average culture-shock. I was an America who just spent the previous year on a developing island nation. It was just plain insane.

I think our experience is illustrated well by our behavior on our first train, when we got a good view of everything. The train was packed, and we were trying not to embarrass ourselves by appearing too touristy, but we just couldn’t help it. One of us would spot something and try to nonverbally alert the other. We just kept excitedly nodding at things outside the windows as they zoomed by. And the funny thing is they weren’t anything particularly special. They were like cars, buildings, bridges, or trees. Big whoop. But it was exciting to us, the Pohnpeian-Americans, and that’s all that counts.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from the trip. Enjoy!

A wonderful garden of irises we found at one of the temples on our first day.

Buddha at Kamkura

Sushi

The summo wrestlers!

All three of us outside of the last shrine of our trip.

--Christy