Local Medicine
In addition to being an accomplished and well-known fisherman, my Pahpa is also a respected local doctor. People come from all over the island to get treatment from him, including some Filipinos and Americans, as well as visitors from other island states. I always find the non-Pohnpeians the most interesting to observe, as my Pahpa speaks approximately five English words (three of which are descriptors for different kinds of tuna) and most non-Pohnpeians don’t speak Pohnpeian. On rare occasion, I serve as a crude translator, but most of the time these patients come with a bilingual friend.
The most notable such occurrence was about a month ago when a woman from Kosrae (another state in the FSM) came with her young grandson and their Pohnpeian friend. The boy (the patient), spoke only Kosraean and spoke to his grandmother alone. She then translated into English and spoke to her Pohnpeian friend, who in turn translated into Pohnpeian for my Pahpa. It was a lengthy and tedious process, but very cool nonetheless, observing languages unify. [This reminds me a little of a time last year that I was able to speak with a Japanese volunteer for several minutes using Pohnpeian, as neither of us spoke each other’s language. Pretty awesome.]
Over my almost two years living here, I have taken my share of local medicines. They are all 100% natural and made from pounding, boiling, or drying out various local plants. I figure there’s no harm in trying them and there’s a few that I now swear by. There’s a root that I chew to relieve the symptoms of a UTI, a slimy green liquid that gets smeared on my head in times of headache, and my personal favorite: a cough syrup made from boiling red hibiscus flowers. It definitely works and has a taste remarkably close to Robitussin. Most of the medicines taste earthy, but a few, like a brown hazy liquid to treat diarrhea taken shot-style are very bitter and require banana chasers.
My current ailment is a result of taking too much of that diarrhea medicine. Boy, does it work. Now, in attempts to reverse the effects, I have been prescribed a large bottle of bright green liquid. The best I can tell it’s some kind of fiber cleanse, because well, it tastes like grass. In Pohnpei, talk of bowel movements (or in my current situation, lack thereof) is completely acceptable in any social setting. Word has spread quickly of my predicament, and people are constantly checking up on me to ask humorously if I’ve “given birth” yet. You’ll excuse me if I fail to join in the hilarity.
Funeral Customs
A tragedy has hit my extended local family. My Pahpa’s older brother, residing in Guam, was recently killed in a car accident. My Pahpa has been dispatched to attend the funeral proceedings in Guam, but in the days preceding his departure, my family received many calls from relatives in Guam giving updates.
When I first arrived in Pohnpei, many cultural differences struck me immediately, but the most poignant differences are those surrounding funerals. I have come to almost accept it all as normal now, but initially I met the traditions with incredulity. I have now been able to relive the reverse of my experience through the disbelief of my family members in hearing about the funeral plans.
“He’ll be buried in a big field alongside strangers?!”
“A family member isn’t going to dig the hole?!”
“People can’t spend the night with the body the night before burial?!”
“You have to PAY to put him in the dirt?!”
According to Pohnpeian custom, family members are buried at their surviving family’s homes, with their graves ominously present directly next to houses. All males in the immediate family are expected to help dig the hole and lower the body into it. The night before a person is buried, it is expected that the women in the family will prepare the body of the deceased and then sleep alongside it all night long. And aside from the cost of cement to seal the grave, all of these customs are completely free. You can imagine my family’s complete surprise and disgust at the heresy being performed in Guam this coming week.
English Lessons
As you well know by now, my favorite Pohnpeian is a small boy named Ray. He will be three in July and I love him more than I’ve ever loved a child before. My heart will literally break when I have to leave him.
His mom, my sister in law Mary, is the ECE (Early Childhood Education) teacher at my school (an equivalent to kindergarten in the US), and has started him early learning everything from numbers and letters to names of body parts. Ray is incredibly smart, and it makes me sad that I won’t be able to see him flourish in school.
In addition to his Pohnpeian lessons from his mom, I’ve been teaching him little English phrases (his favorite being “Yuck!”). I also tried for a long time to teach Ray to say “I love you”, but due to different phonemes it comes out more like “I lup ooh.” Our lessons usually consist of me saying “I love you” over and over and Ray repeating back, “I lup ooh” with a huge grin. I had tried to explain to him the meaning, but I don’t think he fully grasps the idea of multiple languages.
A few weeks ago, after a particularly stressful day of school (what day isn’t?!), I trudged home, desperate for a mental and emotional break from the insanity of my life as an unappreciated teacher. As I came down the road and into view, Ray came running across the grass to me, as he is accustomed to doing. But this time, as he approached, instead of telling me to catch him (he likes to jump into my arms and then “fly” around in circles), he simply hugged me around the legs and proclaimed for the first time unprompted, “I lup ooh.”
And then my little heart exploded with joy.
So there you have it, even when life as a Peace Corps Volunteer sucks (which is most of the time), there are still little moments that give us that small shot of happiness to keep us going. God, I’m going to miss that boy.
Stay well
--Christy
