Halloween

Fiji does not celebrate Halloween. I haven’t discovered any particular reason why.  The origins of Halloween go back over 1000 years to the Celts (and beyond if you’re willing to dig further into history) and is a time honored tradition in the Americas and Europe. Despite the UK and European influences of having been a British colony – not to mention nearby Australia – the spooky holiday has not found its way to the South Pacific. At least, not here in Fiji. Maybe other island countries in the region observe the day (note to self to look that up sometime).

I described the tradition (American style) to the mothers in my village and asked them if it was something they thought might be a fun activity to introduce to the kids. They got excited. I explained that in the U.S., children (among others) get dressed up in costumes and go door-to-door begging for candy. Well, maybe not quite in those terms. I told them about “trick or treat” and how the story goes that if a house does not provide a treat, a trick may be played on them. I said that most houses comply with the tradition and offer treats. I left out the stories of toilet papered trees and flaming bags of poop. Let’s start with a clean celebration – we can build on the concept next year.

I made this suggestion prior to leaving the village for a few weeks of additional training on the other side of the island. I suspected that the idea may be forgotten by the time I returned as is the case with many ideas when one lives on island time. But when I returned in mid-October, I was pleasantly surprised to be reminded by some moms about the upcoming event. Apparently, some of them had seen a movie recently that had a scene that depicted Halloween and, in particular, trick or treating.  They were on board: “What program are you planning, Tevita?” Uh oh, time to deliver. Me and my big mouth.

We gathered the children on a Sunday afternoon and I explained the concept to them: getting dressed up in costumes, trick or treating, bags of candy. Another easy sell.  I felt a bit apprehensive in promoting an activity that resulted in more sugar consumption which is a big problem in Fiji. Diabetes is the number 1 non-communicable disease and dental care is poor, to say the least. (I have met few adults in the village with a full set of teeth and many children show tooth decay even in their starter teeth.) I suggested that we provide healthy snacks at some houses along with the “lollies” – Fiji’s standard term for candy.

Another volunteer, who is working with the Ministry of Health, had, several months ago, supplied me with a bag full of toothbrushes and some educational pamphlets on early dental care and tooth-decay prevention. He was involved in pushing this info out to the village level. I felt armed with a respectable “program.”

I told the kids to think about their favorite movie or cartoon characters and work with their moms on putting their costumes together from whatever resources we had around the village. I explained that we didn’t need money to buy fancy pre-made costumes and that this was a chance to be creative. This was a concept they understood implicitly (I probably embarrassed myself even suggesting otherwise) as Fijians are extremely resourceful. I also suggested that they didn’t have to go as characters but could explore being other “things.” I described how I once went to a party with two other friends dressed as a knife, fork and spoon. They are still talking about that one – “Te, were you the fork or the spoon?”

The day arrived.  Despite the chatter on the subject over the previous weeks, I still had my doubts about what would happen. In the Fiji village, many things are talked about and conceived and never realized – or, if so, rarely on time. This felt like a one-shot chance. If it didn’t happen on October 31, I’d have felt that the moment had passed and the opportunity lost. Such is my American sensibility. Add to that: a volleyball net had recently been installed in the village and everyone is obsessed! Playing begins around 4 or 5 and continues until dark (at this time of year dusk arrives at 7:30 PM). Yes folks, that’s 3 or more hours of volleyball every day – except Sunday of course.  The kids usually start the playing after school but by 6 or so, the adults have taken over completely and play until they can’t see the ball.

My plan was to have the kids get in their costumes after school and have the trick or treating before dark, followed by a costume parade and prizes. I had gone to town earlier in the day to buy the snacks and candy to give to the moms. I had assumed that I would supply the houses with “treats.” It’s a small village so I wouldn’t have to spend much money.

The kids usually arrive back from school around 4. By 5, volleyball was in full swing. Although I saw one mom working on a costume for her son outside the Pottery House around this time, most of the kids, not to mention most of their moms, were occupied with the game. Hmmmm, this isn’t going to come together, I thought. Well, maybe I’ll get a couple kids showing up and I can at least give them some treats – and a toothbrush.

Dusk arrived. The game continued for a bit then folks disbursed. Darkness fell.

I went to the Pottery House (the defacto  Community Hall / gathering place for my village) to see if anyone would show. One mom was there with her son – dressed as a little Indian girl with a cardboard box over his head. The box had a hole in the front like a screen. I interpreted this costume as representing some sort of entertainment personality on T.V. Bollywood is BIG is Fiji.

I had my bags of treats and when she saw them, the mom said, “Te, what is all that? The mothers have prepared treats for each of their houses.  We have the divided the houses into three groups and we’ll split the kids up into age groups and assign them which houses to visit.” I’m looking around thinking “what kids?”

Then, they started to arrive. A trickle here and there at first and suddenly the place was full of kids of all ages in costume! We had a Superman, a Fijian bride and groom, an Indian bride and groom, an old women, a fairy, a gypsy (perhaps), among others. One boy wore a mask of a man’s face (don’t know who the man was, if anyone specific). Three boys simply cut holes in large cardboard boxes and wore those. They were my favorite, actually. I called them the “box-boys.”

I was thrilled. Not only did they show up, they delivered! Not just the kids, the moms too. Seems silly now, but I wasn’t sure they would get it. It’s difficult sometimes crossing cultures with even the simplest concept and I’m ashamed I had my doubts (after all, who doesn’t understand dressing up in costumes).

With the place full of kids, and the moms standing ready at their houses, we began the “program.” I started by talking a bit about the history of Halloween and the American tradition which we were emulating. Borrrrrrrring. These kids couldn’t sit still and who needs a freaking lecture now. “Let’s go trick or treating!”  The kids were divided into their groups and assigned 5 houses each to visit. Out into the darkness we went. I accompanied the older group to the houses at the far end of the village (my village is basically a square of 15 houses or so) .Usually, in a Fijian village, doors generally stand open unless people are sleeping.  But tonight, they were closed. One house at a time, the kids knocked and when the door was answered they yelled “trick or treat.”  (I had to remind them at the first house or two until they mastered this part). Treats were dropped in the bags… and on to the next house.

Of course, it didn’t take long to hit all the assigned houses and then it was back to the Pottery House for the “party.” By this time, the young men and dads in the village were hanging around outside the Pottery House looking in the windows and gawking at the spectacle. Everyone was getting a kick out of the whole affair.  Next year, I told the kids, grown-ups must get in costume also. They chuckled dismissively but I could see some imaginations churning with possibilities.

The moms had taken the extra supply of snacks and candy that I had brought and made small piles of them as prizes for the best costumes. Everyone got a prize! I took this opportunity to say that treats and sweets are always nice but it’s important to brush that sugar off your teeth afterwards. Then I gave each kid a toothbrush and each mom a pamphlet. So what should we do after every meal and especially after sweet snacks, I asked. “Brush your teeth!” they shouted.

The celebration continued with lots of posing and picture taking – and indulging in the treats. As it was late, the party came to a swift end as folks headed in for the night. I was invited to a late supper at one of the mom’s houses. Her 2 year old (the one in the T.V. costume) didn’t want to take it off. He became a bit whiney at his mother’s insistence that he change out of the costume. He kept repeating some question that I could not understand. What’s he asking, I said. He’s asking, “are they going to do it again tomorrow?” His mom replied to him, “Io.” (Yes in Fijian). I said, more quietly, in English, “next year.” She nodded.

School Break

Fiji schools run on a calendar year with three terms separated by 2 week breaks. The winter break came at the end of August. Since I had been running the Homework Camp, albeit sporadically because the children often are not assigned homework, one of the women in the village suggested that I continue working with the kids on their break. Perhaps a math camp. I didn’t want to push anything academic while the kids were on break but rather plan activities that were more like a summer camp: fun and games.

One day, I lead a “boot camp” style exercise class where we organized “circuit stations” of the basic old-fashioned calisthenics: jumping jacks, windwmills, pushups, etc. I had kids from ages 2-15 and it was a hoot watching them run from station to station as fast and furious as they could to perform each exercise as if they were in a race against each other or time. No such rules had been established, however. There was lots of screaming and laughing. Not sure this is what the moms had in mind but it was fun.

Other days, we ran obstacle course type races or other competitive games. One day, the boys taught me how to play rugby. Granted, it was touch rugby and I thought I was doing OK but after a short break, the boys said, “now Tevita, you sit here on this log and watch the next game.” Maybe I wasn’t doing as well as I thought. But after a few minutes I realized they sat me out because they wanted to play real rugby – full-on tackle – and were obviously protecting me.  A few days later, we played soccer – or football as they call it in most places outside the U.S. – and I scored the winning goal for my team. Looking back, it seemed too easy and I wonder did they let me get a clear shot…

Fijian kids, especially the boys, are very athletic and play rugby or soccer just about every day after school. There are no video games in my Fiji village and life is lived mostly outdoors. Kids play outside every day, even in the rain, just running around doing who knows what but usually there is a ball involved. Girls play hopscotch quite often, cutting the pattern out in the dirt with a rock much like we did as kids drawing it on the blacktop road with a white stone. Some days, I look around and think this could be Cedarcroft Road in the 1970’s (where/when I grew up).

One morning, as we stood around waiting for more kids to gather so we could organize an activity, one boy came walking out from behind a house with a mongoose on a leash! The creature had gotten a vine of some sort tangled in its tail and the boy had gotten hold of it. Obviously, it was trying to get loose and run away but it looked as if the boy was walking the thing like a dog. The other kids taunted the poor creature by throwing rocks and sticks at it and alternately approaching it and jumping back as it hissed at them.  I told them this “game” was not wise and we should let him go.

Suddenly, the mongoose got free of the vine and ran to the shelter of the nearest tree which had a wide shallow hole near its base – an indention in the truck. So while it tried to hide in there, I’m afraid it felt just as trapped with all the kids standing around waiting to see its next move. Some continued to throw sticks and rocks despite my protest and warnings. I kept a safe distance. One of the older boys tried to coax it out with prods from a stick. The thing hunkered down further and hissed. Out of nowhere, one of the village dogs came running up and, seeing his opportunity in the cornered mongoose, reached in and chomped the thing in his jaws and then shook it violently.  The ordeal thus ended – not well for the poor mongoose.

The dog dropped the dead mongoose and moved on as quickly as it had come and one of the boys picked up the carcass with a scarf and taunted the younger kids with it – many of whom had been earlier tossing rocks and sticks at the live creature. Turn about is fair play? Most of the kids squealed and ran, a few of the younger ones cried. With some effort, I finally got the whole scene to shift toward playing a game of volleyball. The dead mongoose was tossed into the stream.

On the last day of the break, I took the kids on a picnic to the beach. This has to go down as one of the most fun days I’ve had here so far. Despite living so close to the coast, people in my village don’t go to the beach. In general, even for villages that are right on the beach, Fijian people use the ocean for fishing and other practical purposes.  Spending a day at the beach in recreation is a novelty – something for tourists (and Peace Corp Volunteers  ;)  The kids packed their lunches, a van was arranged and off we went. Watching them on this beach was pure joy: they jumped and screamed in the waves, played “Jaws”, buried each other (and me) in the sand…

At one point, a large log of driftwood made its way toward shore with the incoming tide and when it came within reach, the kids used it as a raft to ride the waves in until it beached. Then, as a team, they rolled the big thing up past the surf and took turns posing on it for pictures. Despite my sunburn (especially my head), this was an ideal Fiji day and there has been much talk about doing it again at the next break in December.

Living in Paradise

Apparently, August was wicked month for my people back home:

• The debt ceiling battle caused more economic stress (the details of which I am not really privy since my consumption of news from the states is rare and scant). I guess I'm not retiring anytime soon and may have to work till I'm dead since what little investment I have is apparently shrinking (again). Then again, I'm a 46 year old volunteer living in a rural village in Fiji... building wealth has not been a huge priority. I think I'll relax and head for the beach
• A rare earthquake hit the mid-Atlantic region. Again, I've gotten few details but apparently it shook the ground from DC to Baltimore. Could it be that the sleepy fault line down the eat coast is stirring? I currently live within or quite near the infamous Pacific Ring if Fire and the only tremors I've felt are when the rcikety old buses rumbled over the bridge near my host family's house.
• A giant hurricane has swirled it's way up the east coast threatening the big cities and causing evacuations. Haven't gotten an update on this one yet... Hope everyone is safe and well. Here in the South Pacific our hurricanes are called cyclones and the season for these storms is Nov-April (the opposite of the Atlantic hurricane season). Right now, we are in our dry season (winter). Although the sun can get hot and some days are steamy, it is relatively cool (especially in my region) with chilly nights.

My month:

• Visited the Sand Dunes, Fiji's first National Park, and hiked up a giant dune that overlooked the Pacific. Tried to "ski" down the sand slope by taking huge jumps down it's steep side and slidding in our sandals.
• Spent a weekend at one of the many resorts that dot the coastline on the south side of this island. Took a sea kayak out in the morning, swam within the coral reef, napped in a hammock under the palm trees.
• Traveled to the capital city for the annual Hibiscus Festival (carnival food and rides!) and marched with the Peace Corps in the Hibiscus Parade.
• Hiked through a hilly rain forest to waterfalls and pools.

So, apparently, it's safer here (certainly more pleasant) in Fiji right now than it is back at home. I think I'll stay a while. Come join me!

 

Fiji Time

My first month at site can be characterized by a pattern similar to what I experienced during training: excitement, culture-shock, homesickness, adjustment. After the flurry of meeting everyone, exploring my new village and moving into my new home, the initial elation gave way to a familiar anxiety and discomfort about living in this strange new way. I understood myself better having gone through all this during training. I felt that if I just held on, took my time and waited a few weeks, the requisite adjustments would occur. Most days now, I feel it has. Mind you, I expect this pattern to repeat itself innumerable times during the course of my two year service (current PCV’s assure me it will) but hopefully each time will be less jarring and I’m better prepared for each squall having weathered the previous storms.

The main difference between this acclimation and the initial one my first few weeks in country is the sudden lack of any structure. After the intensity of training, where every day was scheduled, my primary task for the first three months is simply to integrate. (Not that it’s easy). Although I have an assignment – the village requested a volunteer for a reason – it is broadly defined and my job is to work with the community on assessing their needs and then developing a plan or some projects to achieve some goals. All this can seem rather nebulous as times but there is a template that Peace Corps has provided and on which we were trained. It’s interesting stuff, for sure, but the nature of development work is very slow and we, with our American sensibilities of time management, goal orientation and muti-tasking, are confronted almost daily with frustration and boredom. While there is much to do, from our perspective, the pace here is relaxed and it’s best to embrace it.

I have yet to establish a routine and I’d be hard pressed to describe a typical day (for me) but my village has a certain rhythm to it that I’m beginning to understand – and groove to. We are not far from the Coral Coast and there are many resorts on that part of the island. My village is known as one of the few Pottery Villages in Fiji and we get tour groups from the resorts almost on a daily basis - coming to the village for pottery demonstrations. The sale of pottery is the primary source of income for many of the families. The clay is from a stream that runs along the edge of the village and apparently is unique to the area and ideal for this kind of handiwork. I’ve started to learn how to make some things. We do it all by hand – no wheels or machinery. I made my first clay turtle last week! It was hideous. Looked more like a fat cat with dwarfed legs – paws stuck on a round body.

My village is very small: just 3 extended families in about 20 houses. Population is around 75 and almost half of them are children. I started a homework camp after school where the primary school aged kids come and I help them with their assignments. The first day, 3 girls showed up. The following day, more than 10 kids. Since then, attendance is sporadic. I’ve learned, very quickly, that unless I put some structure and rules into this “activity” it’s either chaotic (when they show) or waning. I have found that most of the kids don’t have homework everyday so I need to have some sort of lesson or activity planned. The kids are at all levels so having one activity that’s appropriate for all attendees is a challenge. Math aptitude, I found, gets poorer as the student gets older so I’ve started math drills. Other days, I have them help me learn Fijian words which also helps them with their English. Win-win!

New Mailing Address

Anyone inclined to send me something accross the miles... here is my new mailing address:

Dave Crowley, PCV
c/o Pita Novelu
PO Box 1930
Sigatoka, Fiji Islands

Letters and notes are much appreciated! Packages can take up to 2 months (or as little as 2 weeks) and are subject to inspection. It's best to send items in padded envelopes. I'm told they come quicker and less chance of being opened by customs. Don't send post cards - they just end up on the post office wall somewhere. Don't send anything of great value  as everything runs the risk of not making it to me.

If you send something (anything!) let me know so I can keep an eye out for it... and alert my friend Pita to check periodically.

And of course, emails are always encouraged (and cheaper). News and notes from home are priceless!

The New Home

My new village consists of 20 houses and approximately 80 people. Half of those people are children. Except for my college years, I have never not lived in a city.

On the day I arrived, a formal ceremony called a sevusevu is performed. This allows me to enter the village, be welcomed and counted as a member (family) of the community. The ceremony includes presenting to the village elder (sort of the mayor) some yoqona which is a root plant from which kava or grog is produced. Now, grog is legendary in this part of the world. The yoqona is pounded into a powder form which is then wrapped in a cloth, submerged in a big (usually wooden) bowl of water, and squeezed like a giant tea bag until the water is a murky brown. Yes, it looks like dirty water. Grog is served out of a half coconut shell called a bilo (the Fijian word for cup). Like everything in the Fijian village, this is a communal experience. The bilo is filled and presented one by one to each participant who imbibes the mixture in one long gulp. In the formal ceremony, there is a pecking order that is recognized in each round. Guests are served early in each round.

I have participated in many grog sessions, both formal and informal, since arriving on these islands. Grog is called the national drink of Fiji and is featured at every ceremony, meeting, and general social gathering. It’s the Fijian equivalent of “drinking.”  Grog sessions last for hours. They have to. The narcotic effect does not kick in until one has consumed many (20-30) bilos of the stuff. Until then, all you are going to experience is a slight numbness or tingling of the lips and tongue. Yoqona is a sort of pepper root plant. If you hang in there, you may get to the point of feeling extremely mellow and sleepy (aka stoned).

I have yet to experience the full quality of this exercise. For several reasons: like most gatherings in Fiji (and most Pacific Islands) everyone sits on the floor, legs crossed “Indian Style,” and that posture for me has its limits; all that liquid, along with all the water we’re supposed to be drinking to stay hydrated, makes me have to pee all night; most of the conversations that occur around the grog bowl are in Fijian and I get bored and self-conscious sitting there quietly; it doesn’t taste good. I’ve developed the habit of staying for a bilo or two out of respect and then finding a reason to excuse myself.

Honestly, I don’t get the whole grog thing. I keep thinking, “let’s all just have a beer or two and get to the point.”

(I could write gobs more about grog but I run the risk of this blog becoming cliché. I trust many others have written far better descriptions of the experience and suggest googling it to get a more complete peep into this part of the culture. It’s ubiquitous, essential to Fijian culture, and sure to be an ongoing subject in this journey).

After the sevusevu, I was escorted to another home where the women had prepared lunch for me. I sat (on the floor, natch), filled up my plate with the various dishes – typical Fijian fare: fish, kasava, bele. Without realizing, I had taken the fork or spoon from one of the serving bowls and began using that to eat what was on my plate. One of the women said, “Tevita, in Nadroga we eat with our hands.” Maybe that’s why I had pilfered the serving spoon: there were no other utensils in sight.  Good enough for me. I dug in with my fingers, fish and all! In my training village, I had a fairly well-to-do host family and all my meals were served at a kitchen table with utensils. This first meal in my new village signaled a new phase of my Fijian life. I felt oddly liberated.

Another aspect of Fijian meals is that very often, guests will be served along with the men of the household and they will eat and finish their meals before the women join in. I had never quite gotten comfortable with this, even if I did get a bit used to it during training. Many times I would ask my host mom to eat with us. Sometimes she would say, “after.” Sometimes she would look to her husband for confirmation before getting a plate and joining us. Otherwise, she would just sit there while we ate joining in only on the conversation. When we finished, my host father and I would excuse ourselves from the table, my host mom would clear our dishes then call her daughter and mother in to eat what was left. Thankfully, she always prepared plenty and I never felt guilty about eating more than my share. Some of my fellow trainees had remarked that they often felt that they were leaving scraps for the women of their families if food was scarce. If I haven’t written it outright at this point, it probably goes without saying that women’s roles in Fiji are extremely traditional.

Now on this first day at my new village, as I moved from the sevusevu to the lunch, the men stayed behind at the grog bowl while the women sat with me at lunch. And I do mean sat with me. They did not eat with me but watched and talked with me while I ate. Since then, I have shared many meals with a couple of the families and I’m happy to report that everyone eats at the same time: men, women, children, me. I guess at that first lunch I was an honored guest but now I am a member of the community. Family.

My house is a traditional Fijian Bure. Although the floor is a concrete base (with linoleum tile laid on top), the walls consist of a wood frame with bamboo and the roof is bamboo leaves. My bure is one room (with an attached bathroom). Imagine living in a cabin in the woods and that’s my life for the next two years. The bure is a living organism. I share my home with a variety of critters and creatures: the usual spiders, ants, moths and mosquitoes but also some other Pacific Island stalwarts like geckos, rats, and roaches. And frogs! Lots of frogs – which begin arriving at dusk and usually stay for a few hours hopping around my floor until they get tired and head back out into the dark. I routinely scan my floor every evening for the evidence they leave behind: little mushy poops and tiny puddles of pee. I try to detect them with my eye before I catch them under my feet.

During the day it’s pretty calm. Most of the “visitors” come at night. Thankfully, my kitchen is another structure about 20 yards from my bure so I keep very little food in my little one-roomer. What I do have, I keep in a little fridge or string up on a line so it hangs out of reach. I have yet to see or hear any rats or roaches (so far so good). Another volunteer nearby says she plays a game while she lies in bed at night waiting for sleep to come. She calls it “what creature is making that sound?”

I remember overhearing several weeks back when we were merely trainees, one of my cohorts was asking a current volunteer about the bure. Not everyone gets to live in one – depends on the village – and it’s considered a privilege – a truly unique Fijian experience – if one is up for it. The trainee was asking about the presence of said critters and creatures. The volunteer hesitated a half second and answered, “well… it IS a bure, so… it’s alive.” A very apt description. On several occasions, I’ve been lying in bed and noted, if there happens to be a gracious breeze, how the walls billow as the air passes through. It looks as if the bure is literally breathing.

The Fourth of July

On the morning of Monday, July 4, a large chartered minibus pulled into our training village to transport us to Suva, the capital city. Two members from each of our six host families were invited to go with us because our training group had been selected to perform our Meke as part of the swearing-in ceremony. (See blog entry for PST week 3). In particular, we needed the women of our host families to sing the songs and play the lali (Fijian drum or percussion instrument made of wood) that went with our traditional dance. So while we had several host family members accompanying us, we were overwhelmed when dozens of others showed up to send us off.

It was quite a scene! We were half an hour late in pulling out of there as villagers, most of whom I recognized but would have to confess to not knowing all their names, wanted to shake our hands, hug us and make pleas to stay in touch and come back to visit. Many were in tears. Again, we were amazed and touched by how central our presence had become to the life of the village. Even before our real service begins, we get sense through this experience how impactful we can be just by being here. Imagine the possibilities when we actually get down to the work!

In the Fijian culture, families are vast and once you are in, you are IN. I will always be considered a member of this village and have many “relatives” there. If I live to be 100 and return on that day, I’m quite certain that I will be remembered and welcomed as warmly as I was sent-off on this day. When we all finally managed to board the bus one of fellow trainees summed up the moment best: “Wow. That is a lot of love.”

A few hours later in Suva, we were sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers. Now I’m not one who stands on ceremony and I don’t particularly enjoy formal events but this was a thrill. I don’t usually feel different as birthdays come and go or other milestones, like graduations, occur. My adult life is full of these short chapters (jobs, residences, um… relationships ;) that often find me in state of flux. I like change. But I’ll boast that this moment felt significant. This whole experience of being so far away from everything that’s familiar and comfortable (aka “home”) has heightened my emotional state. I may have discovered pride in a new way.

The President of Fiji attended and spoke at the ceremony. Then the US Ambassador to Fiji administered the oath. We all stood, 25 strong, raised our right hands and declared:

I solemnly pledge my commitment and support to the peoples of Fiji, and in the spirit of peace, friendship, and international cooperation that I will do my best to fairly represent my country while respecting the traditions, culture, and values of Fiji, that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully carry out my duties as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

With that, training ends and service begins. Another chapter closes. The next… I'll start writing that one now. Yes, I feel different. Excited. Anxious. Frightened. Unsure. Very sure. All heightened!  It’s exhausting (physically, I feel fine). I need a nice long nap.

Farewells Fijian Style

The last week of training was a busy blur of sessions, exams and parties. Since our site announcements the prior week, our focus shifted to wrapping up our formal training and transitioning to the “real thing.” We still had a final language test ahead of us and, of course, packing up and saying goodbye to our host families.

Each training village seemed to have multiple farewell events planned and I was able to go to a few of them besides my own. I was touched by the fact that at each if these events, some formal remarks were given that always included a plea for forgiveness from the host communities for any failings that we may have experienced as trainees in their care. This is a remarkable attribute of the Fijian people. Their culture and faith imply that they fall short in kindness and generosity when nothing could be further than the truth. Fijians willingly and openly share everything with each other and strangers alike. I found my sadness at the end of this chapter came from my sense that I had missed an opportunity to match them in this aspect. I felt I should be asking them for their forgiveness.

My final language exam surprised me. I was expecting to duck in just under the bar, that is, enough to pass (a rating of “novice”). Somehow, I managed to score two levels higher. I’m not being modest  - I’m not sure how this happened. Well, actually, I have to credit my host father for spending time with me the night before the exam and teaching me a few sentences that would demonstrate that I had a certain level of confidence with the language: things that weren’t taught to us in the language sessions but would show that I’d picked up a few things from living in the community.

In Fiji, whenever you meet someone they ask you 4 basic questions: What’s your name? Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married? The other morning, I was riding the bus to Suva (the Capital city) and a young man hopped in, sat next to me and rattled off the questions. I answered as usual: Tevita (Fijian name), Washington DC, 46, no. In turn, I asked him his name and where he was going (that’s the 5^th question, by the way, or most likely the first question you get from anyone who already knows you and therefore the answers to the other 4). He said he was going to the university. Amused to be playing this game, I asked him how old he was: 18. And if he was married: a giggle, then no. “Good,” I said, “you’re too young.” We both are, I thought – and may have even said that out loud.

That got me thinking. I knew those standard questions would be part of the exam. And I knew the training manager who was going to be giving the exam was a single man in his 30’s – a very eligible bachelor here in Fiji. Now as part of the exam we are encouraged to ask questions, not just simply answer the ones asked of us, to demonstrate that we can have a conversation. I asked my host father to teach me how to say “Don’t rush. We’re still young.” So I was ready for the “are you married?” question. But as the exam progressed, it didn’t come. At the end, the examiner asked me if I had any questions. Yes, Filipe, I said (in Fijian, naturally), “O iko sa vakawati?”  “Sega,” came the reply. Then I waited.

Felipe:  “O iko?”  (And you?)                       Aha! Here’s my chance!

Me:        “Sega. Se bera.”                  (No. Not yet.)

Filipe:    “Oh. Oi.”              (Oh. I see)

Me:        “Sega na lega. Kua na vaka totolo. Se gone.         (No worries. Don’t rush. We’re still young)

Score! He laughed, brought the exam to a close and scored me at an “Advanced – Low.” Lialia (crazy!)

And so training ended on that high note. We spent the rest of the weekend in our village saying farewells (dinners, church services, grog sessions*) and packing up our things for the next phase of the adventure: Swearing in and transitioning to site.

*If I haven’t yet written about grog, google it (Fiji grog, Fiji kava, or Fiji Yagona).

PST: Final week

Not much new to report. Lots of prep for final testing (technical, language, cultural, etc.) and getting ready to move to site. 3 day to swearing in! In a week from now I'll be at my new site, meeting my community and (hopefully) catching up on sleep. Life will change again in this next chapter. The pace, I'm told, will be much slower. The first three months at site are designed for integrating, getting to know your community and assessing the kind of work you'll be doing with them. Sounds nice after the grind of training.

I'll be living close to a nice town and some very nice beaches so I'm anxious to get out and explore! So much to see here and we've barely scratched the surface. Think of it: I've been in the South Pacific for almost 2 months and I've only been swimming in the ocean once! I'm almost as pale as I was when I left DC. My hair might be getting lighter again though (or is that gray?).

Our village training group has been chosen to perform our Meke (a tradional Fijian dance) at swearing-in on Monday. We've been told that the ceremony is typically broadcast on Fiji TV. I've been practicing my autograph!

My new home and neighbors!

I haven't met them (my new neighbors) yet or seen this house in person but another volunteer in the region sent me this photo.

This is a very exciting time! I will wrap up training within the week and begin my transition to my new site: my home for the next 2 years.

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It's winter here under the equator. Of course, in Fiji, that means a "chilly" 85-90 degrees (F) during the day dropping down to maybe 75. Some of the locals wear sweaters at night. I'm still sweating most of the time. Winter also means dry season and we had been experiencing mostly dry/hot days for the past couple weeks. In fact, my village had water shortage problems a few days ago. Then, last night, a deluge.  I woke up to a flooded village - water up to the 2nd stair (of of 3). But I was slow... by the time I thought to take pictures, most of the water had receded.

Sadly, one of the old dogs in the village didn't survive the night (probably drowned in the down-pours) and I was an unfortunate witness to seeing a young boy drag him with a rope tied to one of his legs and slide his lifeless body into the stream by the piggery. From there, I hope, he's simply carried out to sea with the receding tide and flood waters.

I asked another young villager who I was talking to at this moment what date was today. He said June 26. Funny, I thought. I lost my Linus on June 25 two years ago. And, while it's June 26 here in Fiji, it's one day earlier at home.

Site Announcement!

Peace Corps surprised us with site announcements a day early. I can't tell you how exciting that moment is... well, I could, of course, but my words wouldn't do justice. All the anxiety, fear and apprehension combined with weeks of intense instruction, life-style adjustments and culture shock culminate in a weird sudden dissipation. In a second, this huge void is created and then immediately replaced by elation. All the focus shifts to the possibilities that lie ahead in the community where I'll be living and the work I'll be doing. It's quite a high! I know there will be more dips and twists on this ride but for now, for today, I am enjoying this feeling.

I am assigned to a village on the south west side of Viti Levu (the main island of Fiji).My village is tiny (less than 100 people) and I'll be working with them on income generating activities. The nearby town is about a mile away and has shops, a market, restaurants and internet cafes. This area is not very far from where most of Fiji's mainstream tourism (resorts, beaches, etc) and many tourists blow through this town on their way to other destinations in the area.

This part of the island is called the coral coast and my village is probably about 2 miles inland from one of the best surf spots in Fiji. Maybe I'll take lessons (although I'm also told there are sharks). Fiji does not have alot of beaches with breaking waves (the coral reefs keep the breakers well off shore) so this is a nice feature. Once I get there, in a couple weeks, I plan for my first exploration: to map out my running route to the shore!

I will be living in a traditional Bure - a one room Fijian house with thatch roof (woven banana leaves, I think). I'll have electricity and running water including an indoor toilet and bath room. Not sure if there is a shower (but I'm used to bucket baths already). There is an outdoor kitchen area but I could also have a portable gas stove (and probably will) inside the house. I have not seen my house but imagine it looks something like the one in this picture. I've been inside this one and it's absolutely charming! This is the real deal - Peace Corps experience at full throttle.(Well, alright, that may be a bit dramatic. Some of my fellow trainees got assignments in much more remote areas with little or no electricity and only stream-source or rain-catchment water supply. They may lay claim to the "real deal PC experience." But I'll take mine just the same.)

I'm thrilled! I feel connected again to why I did this and why I'm here. I expect more challenges ahead but, for now, once again, I "get it."

I'll be wrapping up my training in the next 10 days. We swear-in an Volunteers on the 4th of July and then within a weeks time of that I'll be moving to my village to start my work.

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Some of you have asked about where to send me stuff (mail, etc.). For now, use this address:

Dave Crowley, PCT

Peace Corps, Fiji

Private Mail Bag

24 Saint Fort Street

Suva, Fiji Islands

I'll have another mailing address once I get to site. I'll post that once I know what it is.

PST Week 4 : June 13–19

Training drags on. In most Peace Corps countries, pre-service training lasts 3 months. In Fiji, only 7 weeks. Thank God. It would be daunting to think that we’re only 1/3 of the way thru. We are actually on the downhill slide toward swearing in which occurs on July 4 – Independence Day! (In more ways than one).

Although out village is great and the host families are treating us well, the actually training part is a grind: language lessons, technical project/program sessions, cross-cultural workshops, safety and health education, and more. All necessary, of course, but much of it is redundant. Our time is highly structured and on top of that, we are required to complete competency questionnaires and worksheets (to prove that we’ve learned what they are trying to teach us) and perform trainee activities (to put into practice what we’ll be expected to do once we’re at site). I know there is purpose and utility in all this training but it’s a bit much. Most of us are chomping at the bit to just get out there are start doing it already – for real. 

We’ve had two placement interviews so far during this time. It’s like a job interview – or more like a job match. The Peace Corps staff discusses your background and interests and tries to match you with the appropriate sites that they have identified for Volunteers. It’s all very coy. Even before we arrive on the islands, they have our resumes and other information from our Peace Corps application process and they have scouted out the prospects for Volunteer service throughout the country.  There are a limited number of options so it seems obvious that much of the matching is done before we even get here. So it feels more or less like a conversation for them to confirm that they are heading in the right direction in placing each of us in the right place.

They don’t reveal many specifics during these interviews so the process from the trainee perspective involves a lot of suspense and guess-work. “How do you feel about traveling by boat?” “How would you handle having no electricity for most hours of the day?” “Are you comfortable working with women’s groups?” We all debrief each other after our respective interviews and try to figure out where we could possibly be headed for service based on what we now know are some of the existing sites and where other Volunteers have served. At the same time, if our short tenure with Peace Corps has taught us anything, it is that All Bets Are Off. Situations are constantly changing and what you think might happen may never occur or be the complete opposite of what you expected.  Probably the number one rule of survival as a Peace Corps Volunteer: be flexible.

Here’s what I’ve been able to glean from my interviews and training experience so far:

Oh, wait! First, what I thoughtmy PC experience would be like going in: as a business volunteer, I would most likely be in an urban setting, working with an NGO or maybe a government ministry, most likely working with the Indo-Fijian population and thereby learning the Hindi language that is spoken here.

Now… here’s what I’ve been able to glean from my interviews and training experience so far:

I will be placed in a rural village working with the native Fijian population and thereby learning the Fijian language (which I have been doing since week one: VinakaVakalevu!) working on projects defined by the community in an unstructured setting (aka not a job, per se). I’ve been asked about my marketing skills and if I’m comfortable working with women and youth/children.

Your guess is as good as mine.

The suspense ends this Friday - the day after I’ll have a chance to post this blog entry. So now you can all share in the suspense!

PST Week 3 : June 6 – 12

Each week, one of the five training villages plays host to the other trainees and our entire group (the 25 of us known as FRE-9’s – that’s all of us that came to Fiji in 2011 with Peace Corps) convenes at the host village for an afternoon of cultural training and activities. This is called, rather obviously, Culture Day and occurs every Friday. The event becomes quite a big deal in the host village as the families plan and prepare the day’s festivities. As the weeks have ticked by, Culture Day has taken on a competitive quality as each successive village works to outdo the previous weeks’ hosts. This week, my host village took our turn and I can report with no embarrassment of excessive pride that we blew the lid off the event.

Let’s start with the food. Now, Fijian food, by my account and experience thus far, is pretty decent, all things considered. There are some requisite oddities in the diet and preparation of certain things (like mixing canned tuna with pumpkin) that one would find in any international travel and there is an excessive amount of dalo (a bland starchy root crop staple that has little flavor to my taste).But the climate produces an abundant variety of fruits and vegetables; the pig and the chicken are decently prepared and consumed (forget about the cow – they don’t know how to do beef here for some reason [insert show leather metaphor here]); and lots of seafood, of course. While the previous Culture Day hosts certainly provided admirable feasts, our village went the distance and prepared a traditional Fijian “lovo.”

The lovo is an earth oven. (Google the term and search for it on You-Tube to see how it’s done). Basically, a pit is dug in the ground and a wood fire is built. Once the wood burns down to embers, large rocks are placed on top. Once those are hot, food is placed on crates and layered on the rocks. One can roast whatever one desires – we had chicken, dalo, and dalo leaves (the edible part of the dalo plant that grows above ground). Then, banana leaves are used to cover the “oven,” followed by, in our case, a plastic sheet held down by rocks. After an hour or so, the layers are removed and therein lies the roasted/smoked bounty for your feast. I discovered a new-found respect for the ubiquitous dalo once I tasted the ones roasted in the lovo. No more boiled dalo for me if I can help it! 

Now, most of us had heard about the lovo even before we arrived in Fiji. It’s one of those cultural benchmarks you read about once you decide to travel (or, in our case, get assigned to) these islands. But we’d been here just under a month and surprisingly had not yet experienced it. SCORE for my village - the bar has been raised! 

We also did something that no other village had done on their Culture Day as of yet. The villagers set up stations where they demonstrated some of the traditional crafts practiced by Fijians: fan and basket weaving (from coconut palms); broom making; and mud-lobster trapping. Several days later, I had the opportunity to test these new-learned skills and I made a broom – albeit a rather thin broom but functional nonetheless. I use it sweep my room out at least a week (probably should do it more frequently but I am really quite busy these days).

Each Culture Day culminates in the presentation of a “meke” by the host trainees. As I have previously written, there are six of us here in my training village and we had been practicing for this since the week after we arrived. A meke is a traditional form of dancing with movements that act out the formal words of song and chanting. The songs usually tell of some historic event or legend. The women of our village taught us 3 or 4 meke’s and we rehearsed several evenings over the past couple weeks at one of their homes. The rehearsals were a village event unto themselves as swarms of villagers (women, children, youth) would hover around the vale doors and windows to sing, clap and cheer us on as we learned and, dare I say, perfected our technique. The Culture Day performance was no less impressive by all accounts (not just mine, thank you very much). That’s right folks: I’m still in show business! (and getting my best reviews ever).

(see my facebook page if this video does not load)

We had our first language exam – a mini mid-training oral test – and I was pleasantly surprised to find I could string together enough Fijian vocabulary to stammer our a few coherent phrases. The challenge is retention: if I let even one day slip without reviewing what we’ve learned, I risk forgetting even the most basic things. But I was encouraged. Until I went home for lunch and my host father said something simple (in Fijian) like “lunch is ready,” and I stared at him like an imp. Oh well… baby steps.

I had another experience of the “now this is Fiji” category. Our village is just a few miles inland from the ocean although the coastline on this part of the island is mostly mangrove swamp. No white sandy beaches of the postcard variety. We got a tip from a villager for a hike that lifted us up into the hillside. After traversing some dirt roads and muddy pathways we emerged atop a clearing that held one solitary tin-roof shack overlooking a spectacularly picturesque view of the pacific. The lone farmer that lived up there kindly allowed us to loll about his property where we stood (and then sat) for about 45 minutes just staring out at the distance palm trees, blue skies and water, other islands in the distance, birds, and cool breezes. I said out loud to my friends, “I have to make it through training so I can get to more of THIS.” We all nodded in agreement.