Serepein En Pohnpei

Hello to all! I know it has been a while since my last posts, but you should definitely take that as a good sign.

Life is very good. I can hardly believe I’ve been here for almost five months—time is flying by. (Which, when I think about it, makes absolutely no sense, because every day is immensely long.) I’ve come a long way since June 6^th (both literally and figuratively), and it’s hard to even remember what I was so scared of. My life just feels normal, routine. It’s kind of amazing. As my family says, “Kowe serepein en Pohnpei” (You’re a Pohnpeian girl).

School Update:

School is still frustrating. Not much has changed, except my attitude. I had an amazing 11^th grade English teacher named Ana Jordan who used to say, “Affect the quality of your day.” The intention may have been secretly to help us remember the difference between affect and effect, but the bigger meaning is something I carry with me always. You, and only you, have to power to shape and mold the quality of your day. If you chose to have a bad attitude, chances are you will have a bad day, and the opposite is also true. I believe that simply putting on a smile and adjusting your attitude can have a big impact on the way you look at life. So far it has been working. My secret is laughter. When something trying or ridiculous happens, instead of sulking or being overwhelmed, I just laugh at the absurdity, and push through it. So far it’s really helped. I’ll keep you posted on my personal growth and progress.

However, there has been one notable school achievement that I am quite proud of. My seventh graders (a whopping class of 35) were in pretty bad shape when I arrived. On every assignment, we experienced roughly a 15-20% pass rate (70% or above is considered passing, but most students received grades below 20%). But on my final last week, 65% of the students PASSED and 42% got A’s. This is very exciting and I am so proud of my students. The success is due to the dedication and flexibility of my co-teacher, Hickperson (yes, that’s his name). He is a delight to work with and he is really passionate about helping the students succeed. We’ve already accomplished a great feat in only about two months; I can only imagine where our students will be at the end of the school year.  Our only real issue is not having appropriately leveled texts for the students to read, but I’m trying my best to work on it. I’ve been locating stories either online or out of dusty books I find in the recesses of the school office, then I write them by hand and feed them through the Duplo machine. Recently, I’ve been stretching my spatial reasoning skills by printing them in a way that the pages can be assembled into booklets of sorts, which the students love. However, presently, our Duplo is broken and God only knows when it will get fixed (if ever), so my brilliance has come to a screeching halt. We’ll see what the future holds.

Family Update:

As always, my family is simply incredible. The dynamic within my family has shifted in the past few weeks, and I sort of love it. Before, only the adults, the children, and the women would speak to me and the rest (the majority of my family is comprised of males ages 16-26) would politely ignore me. Well, now the boys talk to me! This is such an exciting turn of events; I can’t even express it to you. It gets lonely in a full house of silent family members. But now, I am included in conversations, invited to ride in the car or walk somewhere with my brothers/cousins, and best of all, most of them tease me the way a brother would, and I tease them right back. We feel like a family. It’s wonderful. Plus, I’m learning a lot of insults in Pohnpeian, which is good (such as how to call someone ugly, fat, stupid, etc. You know, the normal family pleasantries).

Speaking of which, my Pohnpeian is getting much better! (I’m sure this is in part because the number of people who speak to me at home has grown exponentially.) I’m in no way fluent, but I can somewhat fumble through daily interactions and conversations. I’ve even been able to use my Pohnpeian skills to translate difficult reading passages to my classes, to their utter astonishment, no less. Even though Pohnpeian is drastically simpler than English, grammatically speaking (there is no past-tense, for example, people just “know”—however those “people” who “know” are not me) it’s more difficult to learn that I imagined, mostly because I’m learning it immersion style, 100% auditory. I’m accustomed to studying language from a textbook, with vocab lists and grammar rules. But this is real life, sink or swim. I just have to figure it out. Right now my listening comprehension is much better than my vocabulary implies, which is frustrating to me, because I often know exactly what someone is saying to me, but I have no way to respond. But all is well, ehu rahn I pahn esela karos o pahn mai lokaian Pohnpei (One day I will learn it all and I will be good at speaking Pohnpeian). One day.

Personal Update:

I have been thinking a lot lately about how I’ve grown personally since getting on that plane on June 6^th, and I think it all boils down to one thing: tolerance. And I’m not talking about tolerating people, peace and harmony and all that nonsense, I’m talking about tolerating things: unpleasantries, frustrations and the like. As my old roommate Jaimee would say, “if you knew me you’d know” that I am kind of uptight. Don’t try to sugar coat it, let’s just be real. I am easily annoyed and easily exasperated. I over plan and over prepare, and I stress out and worry over every little possible outcome of future events. Charming, right? Well, hold the phone, because things are changing. I am adjusting to the island lifestyle. What’s that? You might ask. It’s never rushing, never worrying, and never letting anything get you down. It is Bob Marley, “Don’t worry, be happy” 24/7. Let me give you some examples of my personal growth in this area:

1.       Pig Guts. At a kamadipw (party) last weekend something I had been warned about in training and had dreaded, fretted over, even had nightmares about, happened. As part of traditional ceremony, several pigs were killed and partially cooked over a local oven called an ohmw (hot rocks covered by banana leaves). Then, to honor the high chiefs present, the partially cooked pigs are carted into a big heap, cut up, and divvied up among the honored guests for them to take home and prepare in whatever way they see fit. I have seen this done numerous times, and the blood and death is really no big deal anymore (again, I’m growing). But what I was warned about, what I worried about, was that I might be given a slab ‘o pig to take home. Well, last week, in the middle of the presentation, I suddenly hear the caller yell out, “Lei en Wai!” and my family immediately started laughing. It took me about 10 seconds to realize what was happening. “Lei en Wai” means “American Lady”, and suddenly all eyes were on me, and a Pohnpeian man was standing with a hunk of bloody pig in his hands, expectantly. I froze, and my cousin Marla, barely able to contain her laughter, told me I better go get it. So, I walked through the crowd and grabbed my squishy, slimy pig meat, nodded my thanks, and carted it back to my seat. Yes, it was disgusting, but I survived. And we had delicious soup for dinner.

2.       Turtles. Animal killing is sort of a theme, it comes with the territory. My apologies. One of a Pohnpeian’s favorites food is turtle. Now, this seems ludicrous to Americans, as killing a sea turtle is illegal. (And come to think of it, it’s probably illegal here too, but in reality nothing is illegal here). But trust me when I say it is delicious! What is not delicious is watching them kill the turtle. But I’m about three turtles in, and now I can watch and not worry that I will upchuck. This feels like progress.

3.       Bugs. Let me amend my aforementioned rule of “don’t look up”. Just don’t look anywhere. Because bugs and lizards are literally EVERYWHERE. My secret weapon is lying to myself. As I lay in bed and I think I feel something crawl on my leg, I just tell myself it was the wind (yeah right) and go back to sleep. If I see something scurry across my floor, I just assure myself I was mistaken and move on. It really helps me to be less paranoid when I just pretend they don’t exist. Blissful ignorance. You should try it.

4.       Food. Originally, I was struggling, not with the taste, but the presentation of the fish that I eat almost daily. Americans are spoiled; always having fish arrive on a plate as a fillet—boneless and no longer resembling a fish. Weaklings. My fish looks like a fish; fins, eyes, teeth, and all. Initially this horrified me, and I would politely pick at it and feign fullness. Now, I just dig in. It is tricky and requires some training, to be able to pick the meat off the fish without accidentally ingesting bones (one fish bone in the throat is enough to make me gag and never want to eat ever again), but I’m managed to get it down to a science. My Nohno and Pahpa are so proud. And, as a true Pohnpeian, I only use my hands (forks are for Mehn Wai). It may sound repulsive to you, but it’s my normal, and I kind of like it. The first time I order seafood in a restaurant in America, I may laugh when it comes to the table.

5.       Timeliness. I am a very punctual person. Sometimes (always) to a fault. But that sort of outlook is quickly squashed here. Time is all very relative, and I’ve finally accepted the kulok en Pohnpei (Pohnpeian time). I’ve even stopped wearing my watch, because really it doesn’t matter. If someone says we’ll leave at 4:00, I usually get in the shower around 5:00. If someone is picking me up at 12:00, I make lunch plans instead of waiting. If I’m told to be somewhere at 8:00, I arrive around 9:30. I actually got left behind this week when all the teachers had a function in town because I was late; and everyone thought it was wonderful (see, nobody was even mad—island lifestyle, my friends!). I’m going to be the worst employee ever when I get back to America.

6.       Climate. Maybe I’ve gone insane, but it just doesn’t feel that hot anymore. I mean, sure, I sweat sometimes (okay constantly), but I usually don’t notice it, and it doesn’t make me feel disgusting anymore. I take naps in the afternoons in my room, where the temperature is usually roughly 88-93  degrees, but it doesn’t bother me. I do still sleep with my fan at night (mostly to keep the bugs off), but I also sleep with a sheet and (brace yourselves) a comforter, because I usually get too cold (nighttime temperature ranges from about 82-85 degrees—right now, however it’s 88 degrees at 8:30pm— and sometimes when it rains, it drops into the 70’s! Brrr.) My family laughs at me when I refuse the use of a fan in the middle of the day, but I just enjoy the warmth on my skin. God created us to sweat for a reason, and it does make me feel cooler. The office at school has air conditioning (when there’s power), but I can’t sit in there for more than like 30 minutes without freezing to death. I fear that when I get home, I will no longer be able to make fun of my dad for always being cold. It is actually physically painful to imagine being in Chattanooga when it’s snowing. I might die.

7.       Boredom. Many Volunteers complain of boredom, which is totally justifiable, since there is literally nothing to do, but I have yet to experience such things. I have come to relish the opportunities to just sit and do completely nothing. And I don’t mean sitting around and talking to people, or taking a nap, or reading a book (which I do quite frequently); I’m talking about sitting and doing absolutely nothing. Just staring off into space. Nothing. It’s sort of a relief after the fast-paced go, go, go lifestyle in America. Everything just slows down here. It’s wonderful. You can just watch the occasional car drive by, or the chickens walking around, or listen to the sounds of the jungle. My favorite is lying on my bed when it’s raining and just listening to the rain as it falls on the tin roof. It’s probably the most relaxing thing ever. My lifestyle, as an American would see it, is lazy. But like I said, I’m serepein en Pohnpei.

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 I have finally come to a point where I feel at home, and therefore, I rarely venture outside of my village. I’ve become a bit of a recluse, never really socializing with other Mehn Wai (Americans) or spending time utilizing the commodities of town. I make due with what I have with me at my site, and only go into town monthly (or sometimes bimonthly) to collect mail and necessities (which amounts to a single roll of Scott toilet paper and minutes for my cell phone).

I find town overwhelming. If you could see how non-assuming town is, this comment would confuse you, but it just speaks to the simplicity of life in my village. In town, there are lots of cars, and people, and loud noises. I always have meetings to attend, places to go, errands to run, a timeline to meet. And when I pass people on the street and say hello, they ignore me. It’s very unpleasant, and I usually try to get in and out as quickly as possible.

Coconut wireless (the fact that everybody knows everything all the time, despite limited communication) frequently makes its way to my family and they ask me why I don’t join the other Peace Corps for their various excursions. The answer is two-fold: 1. As I’ve said, town makes me feel nauseous, and 2. I tell them that I don’t like Mehn Wai.

This second reason always makes them laugh, but it’s true nonetheless. And I don’t mean it in a hostile way, they’re all very nice people, but I spend so much time immersed in this other culture, surrounded by Pohnpeians, and I don’t know how to deal with Americans anymore. When I’m in my village, I don’t feel like a Mehn Wai, I feel like part of the family, like a serepein en Pohnpei, like I belong there. In town, and with other Men Wai, I feel…icky. I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t like it. To many of the other Peace Corps chagrin, I routinely turn down their invitations for activities, but I don’t mind disappointing them. I joined the Peace Corps to assimilate into a different culture, to push myself to stretch beyond my comfort level, to try new things, experience a whole new lifestyle, and become integrated into a people much different than myself.

And well,  that’s what I’m doing.

Ngeih serepein en Pohnpei. (I am a Pohnpeian girl.)

Stay well. With love,

--Christy

Care Packages

In her most recent letter, Debbie, aka Mama B called me out, “…you get lots of notes of ‘tell us what we can send you’ for supplies and I think you are ignoring us all.”  She’s absolutely right. I have been ignoring you all, but mostly because I had no idea what I needed, and also a little because I was reluctant to accept the generosity. Well, I’ve put aside my pride and thought hard about what my school can really use. So here are some things all you anxious supporters can send me:

Supplies for students:

-pencils (non-mechanical)
-extra erasers
-spiral notebooks

Supplies for teachers:

-chalk (yellow or white only, the colors are hard to see on the board when it’s raining outside and the sun’s not out)
-index cards of any and all sizes and colors
-paper clips
-yarn
-scotch tape
-masking tape
-permanent markers
-colored markers
-manila folders (they’re great for turning into fold-up board games)

Resources (for the daring):

-“I Can Read” books of any and all genres (I believe that’s what they’re called. They’re usually found in stores near the picture books, they’re designed to be a child’s first chapter book, with short chapters, limited vocabulary, and some pictures. I have students ranging from age 11-18 that might read these, so try to keep their age in mind when selecting books, even though their reading level is low, I don’t want them to feel like they’re reading a kid’s book.)
-books of kid-friendly poetry (for example Shel Silverstein or Jack Prelutsky, but any author will do)
-Reader’s Theatre books, or any books of short skits the students can read and act out
-any sort of teacher books about teaching grammar/ grammar games/ making grammar suck less, I have tricks for miles for teaching reading, but I’m at a loss for grammar instruction tips

Personal Items (because sometimes I’m selfish):

-personal hygiene items (bars of soap, shampoo, deodorant, etc.)
-single rolls of toilet paper
-envelopes (peel and seal)
-junk food of any kind (individual packs , resalable containers, or send ziplock baggies—lots of bugs!)

That’s all I can think of for now. FSM is on the US Postal system, so you use those flat rate priority boxes and stuff ‘em full! In case you’ve lost it, here’s my address again:

Christy Brinkworth, PCV
c/o Peace Corps Micronesia
PO Box 9
Kolonia, Pohnpei, FM 96941

Thank you in advanced for all your support! It means a lot to me that so many people have contacted me to try and send me stuff. I can definitely feel the love, even across the planet. I’m already getting excited about all the great materials I can create to use in the classroom with the supplies you will provide. My students will really appreciate the donated school supplies, and I will appreciate some soap. Actually, I think everyone would appreciate it if I had soap. Let’s be real.

As always, I hope everyone is happy and healthy, and enjoying their air conditioning.

--Christy

P.S. Just for clarification, I have soap. It’s just strange smelling soap from Japan that turns an interesting consistency when wet. I don’t want people thinking I’m over here not bathing. I do still attempt to retain some semblance of personal hygiene. Thanks again!

Swimming, Flushing, and Outdoor Showers: A Story of Water

Running water in my village is very confusing to me. There is some sort of large tank at my house that I believe is filled with water. But I also get the impression that the water is pumped here from somewhere else. I’ve heard explanations that lead me to believe a well is involved, but other explanations seem to contradict that. I don’t know. All I do know is that whenever we go through a dry spell our water supply literally dries up too. I’m told this happens somewhat cyclically, but my first experience without water was just last week.

In America, if you’re water is off (due to plumbing work perhaps) it is usually for a very brief time. But if for some reason it lasts longer than a few hours, you can simply rely on a friendly neighbor to let you shower, use the restroom, wash your clothes, etc. But what happens when the entire village is without water? Let me tell you what happens: water conservation.

No one washed their clothes. The pipe running water into the house (for my indoor plumbing that I love so very much) was turned off. People reduced their showers to only two a day, some went without showers (of course, my family would never even consider asking me to sacrifice my shower time; they are relentlessly hospitable). Mildly dirty dishes were wiped clean rather than rinsed. We only drank coconut or bought sodas (did I mention I drink the local water now?).

The first day when we didn’t have water my family’s solution for me (Princess Christy) was that I should spend the night at another house, one with water. So I was put in a car and driven to my family’s nearby home in a neighboring village. My oldest brother, his wife, and my oldest sister live there with their respective children (when those children aren’t sleeping over at my house, that is). As soon as I arrived, my nephews and cousins that live nearby came running, wanting me to go swimming with them. They live right on the ocean, and the view was spectacular, so of course I agreed (before you picture white sandy beaches, let me break it to you that Pohnpei is completely surrounded by mangroves, which protects the island from erosion and the like, but also results in absolutely zero beach).

Let me also tell you that Pohnpeians do not swim in bathing suits. Well, the boys wear their shorts, which are typically board shorts, but males pretty much do whatever they want all the time anyway. Women and girls however, swim fully clothed. The more modern or risqué will wear long shorts, but most just swim in their skirts and t-shirts. So I joined the crowed and jumped fully clothed off the rocks into the water, and was immediately engulfed by my ballooning skirt. The family loved watching me struggle to keep myself covered under the water, and I’m still not really sure how the other females were keeping it together so well. Anyway, we swam and played for a while, went back to the house, showered, ate, and went to sleep.

The next day, the rain had still not come, and therefore there was still no water. My family had accepted that I was going to have to exist in the water-conservation world, and the first step was lugging a bucket of water inside for me to use to flush the toilet. Now, I must confess, I have no idea how a toilet works, and I’m willing to bet most Americans would admit the same. We just press the lever and our toilets magically flush, and all is well. We move on with our day without giving the miracle of flush another thought. So when I was presented with the bucket of water, I really didn’t even know what to do with it. Was I supposed to add water to the tank? Or do I pour it in the bowl after I use the toilet and let the water wash my business down? I felt silly asking, so after a bit of trial and error, I figured out I needed to put the water in the tank. But I had to ladle it out of the bucket using a small bowel, so the process was arduous. I had to really want to flush that toilet. I’ll admit that during the night, if I got up to use the bathroom, I just left it unflushed. I was simply too tired and it was too dark (no light in the bathroom) to mess with it all. I started holding it in the morning until I got to school, just to avoid having to work for my flush. The experience taught me about what I value most in life: a flushing toilet. Everybody go right now and flush your toilet. Do it. Enjoy the ease and simplicity. And think of me, sweating like a pig, splashing water into a toilet tank. I think the best part is trying to estimate the proper amount of water for the each task (different kinds of business require different amounts of water, as you might imagine). Sometimes I would guess incorrectly, so when I would attempt to flush all the water I had painstakingly shoveled into the tank would be gone, and my business had still not gone down. So I’d begin again. The glamour of my life literally never ends.

Another exciting thing about having no water was I got to finally use the outdoor shower. It’s a bucket shower just like the one I have inside except the “bucket” is a giant, retired cooler and it’s on a concrete slab. There are two tin walls (they come up to my shoulders) and a tin roof supported by wooden beams, a tarp works as a curtain for a third wall and a low laying series of wooden posts for hanging clothes and towels creates a fourth “wall”. The non-wall faces out to the jungle, and because of this, I assumed it was acceptable to be naked while showering. Nobody told me otherwise, so I just went about my shower, feeling a bit exposed at first, but wanting to be like everyone else, I just decided to go with it. But a few days later, I saw my cousin Marla come out of the shower holding a wet skirt, so I asked her, “did you wear your skirt in the shower?” She looked horrified, “Of course! Didn’t you?”

So, I learned another life skill: showering with a skirt on. Pohnpeian women routinely wear skirts as dresses (it’s really quite breezy and nice when it’s super hot), and this is also the case when showering. You pull the skirt up above your chest, and just shower like normal (if you consider bucket showers normal, which I do). And to wash the parts covered by your skirt simply requires stealth and skill (both of which I am sorely lacking).

So after my embarrassment, I quickly grew to enjoy showering outside. I was able to still hear my family’s happenings, and I was even occasionally included in the conversations from within the shower. It is also much more open and freeing showering outside; I found it very refreshing. I could hear the birds all around me in the jungle, the breeze rustling the trees, and best of all, if I timed it just right, I could watch the sunset while I bathed. What could be better than that?

Well, the rains finally came, and my life resumed normalcy. In the end, no harm was done, I survived. Worse things can definitely happen. But one thing is for sure:  I will never again take for granted the availability and necessity of water.

Go flush a toilet and shower naked for me. Go crazy!

--Christy

Success

Anyone who tells you that Peace Corps is easy is lying.

 I’ll put aside the daily difficulty in language acquisition, adjusting to new food and less (no) amenities, routine confusion about gender roles, and my accidental cultural taboos. Those trials are frustrating, but sort of fun along the way; reminding me I’m on an adventure. I’m talking about the job. Every Peace Corps Volunteer is sent somewhere with a specific job at hand, and mine happens to be teaching English as a Second Language (TESL). One of the taglines for Peace Corps recruitment ads is “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” Amen to that.

Even with all my training, education, and enthusiasm, nothing has prepared me for the challenges I face daily in the classroom. Everything about my life is a roller coaster ride, with its extreme ups and downs, and school is no different. Some days I leave one of my classes feeling like the world’s most incredible teacher (self-flattery goes a long way in improving my self-confidence) but most days I leave my classes feeling defeated. The task at hand is immense, and promises to be more demanding than anything I have ever attempted.

Beyond the basic objective of teaching English, the Peace Corps focuses on a larger goal: sustainability. It’s the whole “Give and man a fish” vs. “Teach a man to fish” philosophy. It does me no good to teach English for two years, only to leave and have it all leave with me. I have to train the teachers to maintain any improvements I can make. That’s part of why my service lasts for two years—I need time to not only affect change, but nurture it until it grows into permanence. That, my friends, is what seems impossible at this current juncture.

Honestly, if I think about it too much it makes me depressed. I have always been extremely passionate about teaching and my students (which is the only reason I am able to continue teaching despite how insanely frustrating it is), a trait that is now proving to be my tragic flaw. The thought of not being able to help each and every one of my 220 some students is heartbreaking.

After a particularly grueling week (which ended with me sitting in the grass at the edge of the jungle near my school crying on the phone with one of my teammates), I came to a realization: when it comes to measuring my own success, it is crucial not to dwell on the big picture, but to focus instead on the smaller, more immediate glimpses of victory.  I have since made a point to keep track of those small triumphs to help encourage myself when the days get difficult, and I have decided to share some of those with all of you.

Small successes:

1.       One of my neighbors (presumably also a relative) is this large, loud, delightful woman who always greets me happily as I walk to and from school each day. A few weeks ago as I walked by on the way to school, she shouted out, “Soutik mwhau (Good evening)!” I just stopped and looked at my watch, and asked her, “Soutik mwahu?” She immediately started laughing (she has an excellent, booming, infectious laugh) and corrected herself, “Menseng mwahu (Good morning)!” I chuckled and returned a “Menseng!” and continued on my walk. Every day since, on my way to and from school, she calls out to me from somewhere in or around her house with an inappropriate greeting, and I answer back with a different, yet equally inappropriate greeting. I can always look forward to our exchange, and she puts a smile on my face daily. One day I was walking with one of my little cousins, and he tried to gently correct my mistake, which made both of us explode with laughter. Success.

2.       The students at my school love to play baseball and basketball during recess and lunch and after school sometimes the younger male teachers play with them. I’ve been eager to join in, but reluctant because I have yet to see a single girl or any of the female teachers playing. There are very defined gender roles here, and the best advice I’ve been given is just to follow suit with the women around you, so I’ve been just sitting and watching. But one Friday after school, when two of my male co-teachers came bounding into the office to grab the basketball, they stopped and asked if I would like to play. Of course, I agreed, and proceeded to play an intense game of 3 on 6, teachers vs. students. It was so fun and I was so glad to be included. My students talked about it for days.  Success.

3.       My community is very small. I am the men Wei (American) and everybody knows it. But occasionally I get into conversations with people who don’t know me very well, and I do my best to answer all of their questions. Sometimes, however, my Pohnpeian fails me and I am not sure what they are asking me. But without exception, every time I hesitate or appear confused, someone else present, sometimes someone I don’t even recognize, will jump in and answer the question for me, providing my personal information. Random people, whom I have no recollection of ever speaking to, know how old I am, my birthday, where I am from, what degree I hold, where my parents live, that I have a sister named Kay, and that she is 24 and works at Disney (you’re sort of a celebrity in my village, sis, everyone thinks your life sounds magical—pun intended). My life has become common knowledge, and my personal information apparently passes between people without requiring my presence at all (we call that the “coconut wireless”, the fact that everyone knows everything all the time, despite limited communication portals). Success.

4.       The other night, two of my cousins, my four year old niece, and I were all riding back home from town, and decided to stop and watch a dance crew practicing (dance crews are very popular here, surprisingly enough). The boys were all up on a platform dancing, several of their peers were gathered around in the grass watching, and all the women and children were across the street, standing around talking. My 17 year old cousin Herny went off to sit with some of his friends, and my cousin Marla, my niece Ann, and I went to talk with the ladies. About ten minutes later, Ann walks over to me and tugs at my skirt (like all adorable children who want your attention) and motioned for me to bend down. She looked at me shyly and whispered in my ear, “I men kilang (I want to watch).” I immediately took her by the hand and said, “Kita (Let’s go)!” She giggled and skipped across the road with me and happily sat in my lap in the grass for the remainder of the practice. Ann could have asked Marla to take her over, and Marla would have been just as enthusiastic, but instead she asked me. Success.

5.       The other day I was walking across campus at lunchtime, and a few of my eighth grade girls were sitting together laughing. I smiled and waved at them, not sure if the joke was on me (it frequently is), which made them laugh even harder. I walked over and asked them what was so funny, and one girl said, “Christy, you’re just so…white.” Another added, “You’re as white as blank paper.” I stood there shocked for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. I decided on, “Well, I am a men Wei”, which made them erupt in laughter again. I walked off slightly offended, but mostly just proud. Not only had both girls spoken to me in perfect English, a huge feat in and of itself, but the second girl used a simile, which I just taught them the previous week. Success.

6.       At my school there is an hour break for lunch, and my family and I always walk home to eat then return to school. The first few weeks were somewhat awkward; as I wasn’t sure if I should wait for everyone, gather up the young ones, etc., but soon my family resolved my confusion for me. I have three cousins in 2^nd grade, and one day they just decided they would pick me up from my class before we leave for lunch. I have 8^th grade right before lunch, and usually we run past the bell, with students lingering to talk to me or my co-teacher and I reflecting on the day’s lesson. Well, now my three cousins (Isabel, Jesse, and Disha) are always waiting, their little faces barely visible over the windowsill. I’ve started calling them my bodyguards, but one day my co-teacher, who is as equally as amused by their daily presence at our window, called them my “posse”, which I think suits them. Success.

7.       My family is very large, as I’ve said, and they tend to be arbitrarily spread between several houses at any given time. One of my teenage cousins, Darny, typically hangs around my house, and I’ve grown to really enjoy his company, despite the fact that he won’t really speak to me. Well, he recently spent about a week at some other unknown location, and I really missed having him around. When he returned to the house, I was so excited that without thinking I yelled out, “Darny! Where have you been? I missed you!” I was so sure he would be embarrassed (or worse, creeped out), and I braced myself for his reaction. He smiled widely and in perfect English responded, “Thanks, I missed you too”. Success.

8.       My youngest nephew, Ray Martin, is just over a year old, and quite possibly the cutest baby you have ever seen. He has several party tricks (as my teammate Liz would say), one of which is to wave goodbye to people. He usually reserves this pleasantry for those people he loves the most, but one day, as I was walking away from the house, headed back to school, I heard my Nohno laughing, so I turned back to see Ray watching me leave, waving. I waved back and my heart melted. Several days later I had the privilege of witnessing his first time standing up on his own. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited about anything in my life. For the next 30 minutes Ray and I proceeded to play a simple game of him standing up, and me clapping, picking him up, kissing him on the forehead while he giggles wildly, putting him back down, and him standing up again. It was maybe the best 30 minutes ever. Success.

So there you have it. These are such a few glimpses into my daily interactions with people I would never have had the pleasure of meeting if I had not gotten on that plane almost four months ago. It may not be much, but it’s little successes like this that help me get out of bed in the morning and remind me why I chose to do this in the first place . These small successes may not be enough to change the world, but they’re more than enough to change the way I look at the world.

As always, I send my love to all those back home who support me, even across the globe.

--Christy

Christy Learns an Amusing Word, Looses a Shoe, and Discovers the Stars.

Christy Learns an Amusing Word

There is one thing you need to be aware of: people are constantly talking about me, in Pohnpeian, right in front of me. Every day. Even though it’s technically in my presence, the reality is it’s behind my back, because other than my name, I pretty much I have no idea what they’re saying. Usually I just smile and shrug, and everyone erupts in laughter. Occasionally one of my siblings takes pity and translates for me, but only sometimes.

The other afternoon I was hanging out with my younger cousins and nephews (all of which are also my students), and we were just goofing around, being silly. One of the older boys, Hayden, decided to start climbing a tree, and several of the other children started yelling at him, something that I assumed was “get down” or the like, but then I also kept hearing my name. As previously stated, this is not uncommon, but this time I was very confused, because the phrase they used was “Ke pahn Christy”, which I actually understand. It’s one of my go-to phrases. “Ke pahn ______” means. “You are going to _______”, so in this context, specifically, “You are going to Christy.”

Naturally, I gave them my confused face, and used several of my other go-to phrases to express that I have no idea what’s going on. I repeated the phrase as a question, “Hayden pahn Christy?” and that seemed to clear it up for them. Of course, per usual, all the children began laughing hysterically. Through pantomiming (this is how I do my best communicating) I was able to deduce that they were saying that Hayden was going to fall. I was still hopelessly confused as to how my name played into this, but had no choice but to wait for one of my English-speaking siblings to come to my rescue.

We all tromped off together in a crowd to find my cousin Marla, who immediately bursts into laughter upon hearing the story. She explained that the word was “kirisdi”, and it is a verb that means to slip and fall down. “Kiris” means to slip, and “di” implies the falling down part. Now, there are some things you need to understand. First, people in Pohnpei have a very hard time pronouncing my name. There is no phoneme that makes the “Cr” sound to start my name in their language, so to make things easier, people usually insert an “uh” to aid in pronunciation, essentially “Cuh-risty”. Also, there is no hard “t” in Pohnpeian, only a “dt” blend, represented by a “d” (fun fact: Pohnpeians do use “t” in their alphabet, but it makes a “ch” sound). There is also no “C” in Pohnpeian, only a “K”.  Basically, what this all boils down to, is that the difference in pronunciation between my name in the local accent, and the pronunciation of “kirisdi”, to fall down, is largely indistinguishable. Pohnpeians can hear the difference, but I, sadly, cannot.

So now the family joke is “Christy pahn kirisdi.” “Christy is going to slip and fall.”

I guess, if there had to be a Pohnpeian word that sounds exactly like my name, I’m glad it’s one that brings such joy to others.

Christy Looses a Shoe

This story requires a lot of context. First, everyone in FSM wears flip flops all the time (and they call them “slippers” in English, don’t ask me why). There is not a single occasion in which flip flops are not appropriate. Second, no one wears shoes inside buildings, so outside every door you’ll find a pile of flip flops, waiting for their owners to return outside (this comes in handy when I want to know if a specific persons is inside, I just look for their shoes). Third, this is a very communal society. What’s mine is yours. It largely makes no difference who’s shoes they are (That phrase doesn’t even really make sense here—who’s shoes are those? The answer is everybody’s!) , you are always permitted to put on any pair and go about your business. My family, however, is very respectful of my belongings, and they never attempt to use my shoes (my hope is that one day they will, it will mark a day of cultural integration). But, I foiled their attempts to be polite when I purchased a new pair of shoes in town the other week. You can pretty much find sandals of any kind in town, but I wanted to buy one of the numerous styles that have little “Pohnpei” logos on them. They are typically the cheapest, and the kind most people have, so I thought my family and students would appreciate me wearing shoes just like theirs. Well, as it turns out, another pair of the exact same sandal and of similar size exists at my home, shared by several of my brother/cousins.

Needless to say, we routinely run into trouble. My brother/cousins frequently put my shoes on and I have to ask for them back in order to exit the house (they are always extremely apologetic) or, my personal favorite, I do not call attention to my missing sandals, but instead perch myself somewhere out of the way and wait. Typically two boys will walk past each other and realize they are wearing the same shoes, then frantically compare the two pairs to determine which pair is mine (newer with less wear, but not any less dirty as clean shoes are impossible here), and then quickly put my shoes back where they found them, looking around to see if I’ve noticed. I always feign oblivion, but I secretly enjoy watching the events unfold.

I never have any problems at school, because students and teachers wear their shoes in the classroom (I’m still not sure why), so my shoes are only left outside of the office whenever I am planning or relaxing during recess. But typically students do not enter the office, so the only shoes outside are adults’, and there has never been an issue with accidental (or purposeful) shoe theft.

Well, never say never, because one day last week, at the end of the day, after all the students and most of the teachers have left, I go to leave the office (after having been inside for several hours planning), and find only one of my shoes outside. Next to it is a sandal of the exact same type, but probably two sizes smaller, obviously one from a child’s pair. The remaining teachers thoroughly enjoyed my predicament, and laughed as they watched me hobble off, my left foot hanging out the back of my shoe.

I got home and explained the situation to my family, who, like my coworkers, thought it was hilarious. I told them I would just hunt down the culprit the next day at school. Surely, I thought, the child must be tripping over my much larger shoe, and would also be eager to switch back. They seemed empathetic, but doubtful that I’d be able to figure out who it was. My school is roughly 250 students, and I too had thought about the daunting task of locating my shoe.  

[This is irrelevant to the progression of my story, but worth sharing nonetheless. After I spoke with my family I went inside to use the bathroom and whatnot, and when I came back out and went to put my shoes on, I discovered that my tiny shoe had been replaced, with a left shoe of the appropriate size, but much more worn down than my right shoe. I immediately knew what had happened and ran off to find my cousin Ernie, who—just as I suspected—was wearing the child’s shoe, his heel dragging in the dirt. This just goes to show you how sweet my family is. As evidence that he does in fact understand English (despite the fact that he refuses to speak to me in English), he responded to my rant to Marla by sacrificing one of the shoes from the boys’ pair. I thanked him, but made him switch me back.]

The next day, the day of reckoning, I set off to school early, hoping to be able to survey the school yard a bit before school actually began. En route, I joined up with a few of my younger cousins, and even before I caught up with them (Pohnpeians walk very slow!), I could tell that I had found my shoe thief. My cousin Ivan, was visibly struggling, tripping every few steps. But he continued on merrily, seemingly oblivious.

 [Now, let me tell you about Ivan. He is one of my favorite children here. He’s hard to explain, but Ivan pretty much reminds me of a man trapped in a kid’s body. Regardless of what is going on, he always greets me with a respectful bow and a handshake (as is customary), and sits calmly beside me to join in whatever conversation is underway. All of his mannerisms, the way he holds himself as he walks, the way he offers to help anyone and everyone around, is so beyond his years.  Ivan is 11, and absolutely none of his peers behave in this way. As a result, the rest of the kids call him “bus oangoang”, which is a particularly hurtful insult that sadly enough has an equal counterpart in English. It literally means “yellow bus”, but is the equivalent to calling someone “short bus” in English. In Pohnpei, students with special needs are transported in yellow vans (Pohnpeians calls them “busses”), whereas in America we use just shorter school busses. So, my darling Ivan is the family “bus oangoang”, despite my routine scolding of the other children.]

When I get up to the boys, Ivan of course, greets me and shakes my hand, smiling warmly, but I just shout “Ivan!” and point to his feet. He seems very confused, so in my best Pohnpeian, I manage “Ahi zohrrie”, “My shoe.” He shakes his head, not understanding. So I just say, “Give me that!” and take off my (his) left shoe and kick at his foot until he relinquishes my sandal. Once we swapped his face lit up. He sort of wiggled around in his shoe, pleased with how it fit, smiled, said, “Oh”, and continued walking.  Apparently, despite what I had imagined, he had no idea that he had the wrong shoe.

So mystery solved. My coworkers exploded with laughter when I told them it was Ivan. He has a similar reputation at school as at home, and unfortunately, our sandal confusion has done nothing to make a case in his favor. Thinking back to his face when he realized what had happened; I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as well.

I have now decided to use a bit of nail polish to distinguish my sandals from others. I think it’s best to avoid this kind of thing in the future. For all of our sakes.

 Christy Discovers the Stars

 I’ve been saying from the start that the scenery just seems unreal here. So impossibly beautiful and captivating that I just can’t accept it. Well, I’ve recently come to learn that the ocean, mountains, and jungle, don’t hold a candle to the stars.

When I lived in town, there were just too many lights and buildings (you would laugh if you knew what I was describing as “too many” lights or buildings) to see the stars. When I got to my village I was awed by the stars, shinning brighter than I had ever seen before in America. I’d often spend a few minutes after dinner standing in front of the house, looking up. But evidently I didn’t know the half of it.

A few evenings ago, I went on a car ride with two of my cousins (to go pick up some fish from a distant relative and deliver it to another distant relative, naturally), about 30 minutes each way. I realize now that multiple things contributed to the utter amazement that enveloped me. First, I had never traveled outside of my village at night, except for short distances.  Second, I now understand that even though there are very few lights in my village, it still makes a difference when it comes to star-visibility. And third, in my village and the surrounding area, where the thick canopy of trees rises up on both sides of the road, only a small portion of the night sky is ever visible at one time. Often times, I cannot locate the moon because it is hidden behind trees.

Well, about halfway through our journey, we rounded a corner and emerged onto a portion of road in a much more rural area. To my right was thick, dark jungle, and to my left, was a mountain ledge, presumably with an incredible view of the ocean. But when we turned in that bend, I let slip the only words my mouth could produce, “Holy shit.”

Before me was an immense, vast expanse of just, glory. As far as I could see in every direction were insanely beautiful, bright, incredible stars. Constellations took form in record number, and I was literally speechless with amazement. My cousin Marla practically yelled, “What? What’s wrong?” and I could only manage, “The stars.” She giggled, and humored me while I hung out the window gaping for the remainder of our trip.

The experience reminded me of when I got glasses for the first time. Many people can relate to the utter amazement of walking out and seeing, for the first time, that trees have leaves. It’s not that you didn’t know trees have leaves; you just sort of assumed that the large green blob was the leaves. It wasn’t until I could finally see clearly that I even knew what I was missing.

To describe the scene as beautiful, or breathtaking, or even awe-inspiring, doesn’t even seem to cover it. And what’s funny about it, is I had no idea stars could even be that beautiful. These aren’t different stars here in Micronesia. These are the same stars I’ve looked up at my whole life, but it took me a journey across the globe to truly see them.

It was truly amazing.

Well, I hope you enjoy reading my stories as much as I love living them.

For now,

Christy

Observations, Reflections, and Lessons Learned

As my internet access is less frequent now that I live in my village, I felt it was only right to post twice while I have the chance.

There is quite a bit of down time in my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and the following are just a few things that have crossed my mind over the past few weeks. Hope you enjoy.

Rain

I’ve always said I wanted to live somewhere where it rains all the time. Well I’m currently in one of the wettest places on Earth, and I am so happy about it. The rain is usually welcomed relief from the heat, and I sometimes embarrass my family by wanting to go stand in it instead of take shelter from it.

Anyway, the rain here is unlike any I’ve ever experienced before. Sure, there’s huge downpours, the kind you can see coming for hours, the dark cloud looming overhead (which also makes it cooler... rainy days are the best!). But there are also the daily showers that appear and disappear before you realize it. The funny thing about this type of rain, is it’s almost impossible to see. I know that sounds absurd, but I will frequently be inside a building, listening to the rain pour down outside, but all I can see is bright skies and sunshine. This is usually when I run outside to confirm it Is in fact raining, and bring shame upon myself by relishing in the invisible rain splashing on my face. Sometimes I dance.

Another thing I enjoy about the rain is what it does to people. Every ducks under whatever is close by: a tree, an awning, the doorway of a house or store. It doesn’t matter who you’re crammed in there with, nobody speaks. You just pile in, and make room for the inevitable few who were caught further from shelter, and who come sprinting down the road to join you, their clothing already soaked. Families separate, often times children are being temporarily cared for by a stranger, and sometimes you’re the stranger whose hand gets grasped by a small lonely child. But no matter what, once the rain stops, the silence is broken and people walk off in every direction, reuniting with their family members and resuming their lives.

But my favorite thing about the rain here is the few moments before the rain actually begins to fall. Everything goes quiet—all the birds, pigs, dogs, children—it’s like they can feel it. Then the wind shifts, and that’s how you know. You can literally hear it coming through the jungle even before the first drop is felt. If you’re lucky, you have just enough time to run out and pluck your clothes from the line, but most times you’re not, and you have only enough time to stop whatever you’re doing, look up, and take a deep breath of just-before-rain air before you must find quick shelter. And if you’re me, you take those few precious moments to smile and be thankful for the beautiful place you live in.

The Language Barrier

This is probably the most amusing thing about my daily life. At school, my coworkers use me as a buffer to ward off parents who are calling about unnecessary things. Whenever the phone rings, they make me answer the phone. One of two things happens: either it’s somebody from the DOE who thinks it will be fun to only speak to me in Pohnpeian, even though they can speak English fluently (I think they enjoy hearing me struggle, in fact I can usually hear them chuckle under their breath), or the caller is a parent who hears my voice and they immediately hang up the phone. My coworkers’ theory is, if it’s really important they’ll call again. They usually don’t.

My Pahpa and I communicate minimally. He only speaks Pohnpeian, so I usually run out of dialogue shortly after, “Ia rohmw? (How are you?)”. Our daily interactions usually involve him telling me he will go get me a coconut, him presenting me with a coconut, and me thanking him for the coconut. But he is the sweetest man on this island, so he often acts out what he’s trying to tell me (usually involving “eat more” or “go rest”). It’s all very endearing. One day I hope to be able to carry on a real conversation with him. I think that will be the moment I know I have a grasp of the language.

But an unfortunate result of a language barrier comes in when you’re sick. Naturally my family is always concerned, but especially when I cannot communicate to them what is wrong. My Pahpa and Nohno practice local medicine, so they especially are always interested in details about my ailments and what kind of medicine I will be taking to remedy the situation. They usually try to prepare special food for me that corresponds to my particular ailment, take today for example. I have a cold, so my Nohno prepared a special soup that, as best as I can tell from my limited Pohnpeian, is a local cure for a cold. It was essentially chicken noodle soup, and as I ate it I sort of laughed in spite of myself. I was somewhat skeptical of some local soup cure, but then I realized Americans do the same thing, and in fact, in this case, we have the exact same remedy.

A less adorable interaction involving explaining sickness occurred last weekend, when I had the joy of pantomiming “diarrhea” to my Nohno. But don’t worry, I now know the appropriate word.

American Influence

This country has a very unique relationship with America, made possible through what is called the Compact Agreement. If you are unfamiliar (as I think most Americans are), you should definitely look into it. I am very interested in your opinions on the matter, and am more than willing to give mine, but in a far less public forum (email me!). As a result of the Compact, imported American food, music, movies, clothing, and products pop up everywhere. The effect is a very strange mixture of tradition vs. innovation, which is just as interesting to observe as it is sad to fully understand. My fear is that American culture is stepping on the toes of the local culture, and will eventually will overrun it. There is already mounting tension between the governmental leadership (FSM follows the US government structure) and applicable laws and regulations and the local, traditional leaders and their accepted customs. It’s hard to explain unless you live here and see it every day, but I never expected the strange hybrid culture that exists here. I’m not sure if I like it.

Expert Jerry-Riggers

One of the many things I have noticed about the people here that I find inspiring is their ability to take just about anything and turn it into something useful and to truly make the best of whatever they have. I’ve already mentioned the plumping—the water is in this large receptacle of sorts just outside my window and it is pumped to various locations around the compound using an assortment of complicated pipe configurations. It may not look pretty but it definitely works. The same goes for electricity. The number of extension cords running everywhere is staggering, but every place that needs power, gets it. One of the first things I marveled at was the use of large coolers as tubs in which to wash dishes, clothes, and children. Brilliant.  Water is pumped to the coolers (which are in three different locations) via the pipe system, and once the water needs to be drained, the plug is simply opened and the water pours out the bottom. Genius.

But my favorite thing I’ve seen are these wonderful toy cars some of my cousins created this week. They used old plastic bottles for the bodies (mostly old motor oil jugs), whittled sticks for the axels, and carefully pieces from old or broken sandals for the wheels. They assembled them themselves one day and their ingenuity took my breath away. The toys are perfect. A car purchased from a store in America could not have made them happier. The moment I saw the boys playing with their cars might have been the same moment I knew I’d like it here.

Ignorance is Bless

This old adage can apply in countless situations here, but I have narrowed it down to two daily occurrences in which it really is just best if you don’t know. Trust me.

1.       Don’t look up.

Credit for this tip must be given to Mark Brown, a Volunteer in the FSM State of Chuuk. It is relevant any time you’re in a abuilding (but especially if you’re in the bathroom). It’s is always best to just not look up, because then you’ll see what creatures are lurking in the corners and on the walls and you’ll have to deal with them. Ignorance really is bliss.

And even though this has been my team’s mantra since about day three in FSM, lo and behold on day one in my new house, I was lying in bed about to go to sleep, when I did what I knew I shouldn’t—I looked up. And when I did, I saw the most enormous spider I think I have ever seen, about eight feet from my head. I tried to ignore it, but it was too late. I looked up and  now I knew it was there. I ended up having to rouse a few brothers from their sleep to shoo it out, which was both awkward (I had only been there a few hours) and embarrassing. Let me repeat: don’t look up. Just don’t.

2.       Don’t ask, just eat.

It’s like when I was a kid and my parents decided not to tell me  and my sister what calamari was until after we was sure we liked it. Sometimes food just takes better before you know what it is you’re actually eating.

Take an experience I had last weekend. I was at a local feast celebrating a baby’s 1^st birthday (which is huge here) with one of my sisters Yoren. I was served a giant plate of food and began eating. As I’m tearing off pieces of meat (Pohnpeians rarely use flatware) the thought occurred to me that since this is a large celebration, someone probably killed a dog or two in honor of the baby. I pause to ask Yoren if any of my meat is dog, but then I decide not to, because really no good could come of me knowing. And suddenly I am very thankful that we are eating outside in the dark, where I am unable to inspect my food closely.

Well, that’s all I have for now. I hope you are all happy and healthy, and as always, enjoying your air conditioning.

With love,

Christy

Ahi Paneinei Kapw (My New Family)

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