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.