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