In honor of my six month anniversary of living in Quatamele, I would like to give you a summary of my time here. As an accountant I can only do it the way I know best, so here is six months in the jungle - by the numbers.
Days I've been at site - 180
Days since my feet have been clean - 180
Number of times a lizard has fallen out of a tree onto my head - 3
Days since my last hot shower - 74
Months since I've shaved my legs - 2+
Number of times I've fallen in the creek - 1
Months since I've worn any footwear other than flip flops - 8
Pairs of flip flops I've worn out - 4
Number of my necklaces stolen by a rat - 1
Straight days I've eaten simboro for at least one meal - 26
Days since my last manicure - 241
Number of pig killings I've witnessed - 6
Ants crawling accross my computer right now - 3
Number of people I've seen pick their nose today - 5
Days since I've spoken English - 7
Number of times I've almost been killed by a coconut - 1
Number of times I've almost been killed by a tiny boat almost sinking - I don't want to say because my mom reads this blog
Number of Prime Ministers who have governed Vanuatu since I've been here - 3
Bottles of insect spray I've gone through - 8
Days since I've seen a car/truck - 21
Number of times I've wanted to give up and go home - many
Number of times I've been glad I've stuck it out - more than above
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Evelyn
Unlike my outgoing, talkative dadi, my momi is quite shy and known throughout the community as being a quiet woman. While my dadi tells elaborate, exaggerated stories, she is content to sit in the background, her hands always working - peeling taro, weaving a basket, or rocking one of her many grandchildren to sleep. When he gets to a particularly ridiculous part of the story, she might raise her eyebrows at me or scrunch up her nose and shake her head, but her great affection for him and her quiet nature keep her from outright contradicting him.
This incredible woman whose saucepan is always full and whose kitchen is always open to hungry grandchildren daily endures the indignities of small hands pulling her hair, small feet dirtying her clothes, and small runny noses being wiped on her skirts, but she never loses her good humor. It is easy to make her laugh and when she finds something truly funny she squints up her eyes, throws back her head, and lets out a huge laugh unexpected from such a quiet woman.
Momi Evelyn has no interest in village politics or community development, but she loyally shows up to every meeting, every community work day, and every workshop. I know she would prefer to stay in her peaceful kitchen undisturbed, and her presence at these policy-making events is purely to show her support for me, my dadi, my sister, and whoever else might need to see a friendly face.
Despite her gentle demeanor, my momi looks out for me like a mama bear and woe to the man that gets in the way of my eating or sleeping. The first day of my workshop, as we neared our lunch break momi discreetly approached to tell me she had food waiting for me at the house - she knew I had been too busy to think about it that morning. At the break some participants came up to ask individual questions and I saw my chance to eat quickly slipping away. At this point my unobtrusive momi came up to our group and said some very sharp words in the local language. Although I didn't catch the exact meaning, the hasty retreat of the questioners told me momi had voiced her displeasure that they were keeping me away from my simboro. I am never allowed to go hungry and always the best of her garden - the ripest mandarins, the biggest tomatoes, the sweetest mangoes - find their way to my already overflowing plate.
I get great comfort from my momi. Her quiet, consistent presence makes me feel peaceful, and she seems to be the only one in the village who doesn't have the need to constantly pepper me with questions or requests. Often we can peel taro, rasras bananas, or roll simboro without talking - content to just sit together. She never fusses over me and without comment lets me crouch down around the fire with her, subtly teaching me how to cook, wash, and paint mats - imparting her vast knowledge of what it means to be a woman in this culture.
Surely I would be lost without this soft, loving woman, and her calming presence makes living this crazy experience possible.
This incredible woman whose saucepan is always full and whose kitchen is always open to hungry grandchildren daily endures the indignities of small hands pulling her hair, small feet dirtying her clothes, and small runny noses being wiped on her skirts, but she never loses her good humor. It is easy to make her laugh and when she finds something truly funny she squints up her eyes, throws back her head, and lets out a huge laugh unexpected from such a quiet woman.
Momi Evelyn has no interest in village politics or community development, but she loyally shows up to every meeting, every community work day, and every workshop. I know she would prefer to stay in her peaceful kitchen undisturbed, and her presence at these policy-making events is purely to show her support for me, my dadi, my sister, and whoever else might need to see a friendly face.
Despite her gentle demeanor, my momi looks out for me like a mama bear and woe to the man that gets in the way of my eating or sleeping. The first day of my workshop, as we neared our lunch break momi discreetly approached to tell me she had food waiting for me at the house - she knew I had been too busy to think about it that morning. At the break some participants came up to ask individual questions and I saw my chance to eat quickly slipping away. At this point my unobtrusive momi came up to our group and said some very sharp words in the local language. Although I didn't catch the exact meaning, the hasty retreat of the questioners told me momi had voiced her displeasure that they were keeping me away from my simboro. I am never allowed to go hungry and always the best of her garden - the ripest mandarins, the biggest tomatoes, the sweetest mangoes - find their way to my already overflowing plate.
I get great comfort from my momi. Her quiet, consistent presence makes me feel peaceful, and she seems to be the only one in the village who doesn't have the need to constantly pepper me with questions or requests. Often we can peel taro, rasras bananas, or roll simboro without talking - content to just sit together. She never fusses over me and without comment lets me crouch down around the fire with her, subtly teaching me how to cook, wash, and paint mats - imparting her vast knowledge of what it means to be a woman in this culture.
Surely I would be lost without this soft, loving woman, and her calming presence makes living this crazy experience possible.
I'm Back!
I've been away from my blog lately because I haven't been around the Internet and I've been busy busy busy. And before that. . .I had nothing interesting to report. January was a tough month filled with cyclones, and I experienced the worst Peace Corps hardship yet - Excruciating Boredom. I had no cute, witty stories to fill my blog (once you get over waking up with the first lizard in your bed, the second and third bed-invading lizards just don't provide good material. If you've heard one lizard story, you've heard them all) and I had already complained enough about the weather. Then most of February was spent in a classroom in Vila and I was pretty sure you guys didn't want to hear about Project Design Management or how to maintain good mental health out in the jungle.
But don't you worry because now I'm back in the village and gathering lots of blog-worthy material. The sun has come out, I have lots of work to do, and the weeks are flying by.
One of the highlights is that I ran my first workshop. Weeks of planning and preparing culminated in a 2 day workshop on Family Budgeting and Household Money Management. In a total of 10 hours I worked with people with little or no education on how to properly manage their finances. We played games, did group activities, and they listened to me talk way to much, and at the end we celebrated with kava and a roasted pig. Among the attendees were 15 men, 13 women, some kids and a chicken, and I was very pleased with the turnout (except for the chicken - he was very rude and disruptive and had to be kicked out of class). It seemed pretty successful. Already word has spread and several other communities have approached me to ask if I could bring the workshop to their area.
As for my other work: I found an additional buyer for our handcraft group so we're getting busier, I'm helping with the budget and the finances of building a new church house, I've been working individually with some small business owners, and I hope to soon be successful in getting the National Bank of Vanuatu to come start a rural banking program in m area. Like I said - busy! But being busy makes me happy and I finally feel like I'm doing the work I came her to do. The last thing I want to do is turn North Ambae into a greedy, capitalist society, but if I can instil some financial competency, help provide ways of making income (if wanted), and train people how to plan for the future, I will consider myself lucky to have had such success and will be extremely grateful I can give back even a tiny portion of what these amazing people have already given me.
But don't you worry because now I'm back in the village and gathering lots of blog-worthy material. The sun has come out, I have lots of work to do, and the weeks are flying by.
One of the highlights is that I ran my first workshop. Weeks of planning and preparing culminated in a 2 day workshop on Family Budgeting and Household Money Management. In a total of 10 hours I worked with people with little or no education on how to properly manage their finances. We played games, did group activities, and they listened to me talk way to much, and at the end we celebrated with kava and a roasted pig. Among the attendees were 15 men, 13 women, some kids and a chicken, and I was very pleased with the turnout (except for the chicken - he was very rude and disruptive and had to be kicked out of class). It seemed pretty successful. Already word has spread and several other communities have approached me to ask if I could bring the workshop to their area.
As for my other work: I found an additional buyer for our handcraft group so we're getting busier, I'm helping with the budget and the finances of building a new church house, I've been working individually with some small business owners, and I hope to soon be successful in getting the National Bank of Vanuatu to come start a rural banking program in m area. Like I said - busy! But being busy makes me happy and I finally feel like I'm doing the work I came her to do. The last thing I want to do is turn North Ambae into a greedy, capitalist society, but if I can instil some financial competency, help provide ways of making income (if wanted), and train people how to plan for the future, I will consider myself lucky to have had such success and will be extremely grateful I can give back even a tiny portion of what these amazing people have already given me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
How Kymani Marley Saved My Relationship
This past week in Vila has not been a good one. Of course I'm enjoying showers, lights, and seeing all my PC friends, but in general my initial optimism and humor where Vanuatu is concerned was growing thin. And I believe the problem comes from the fact that Vanuatu and I have reached the point in our relationship where we are past the honeymoon phase but not quiet truly comfortable with each other yet. All those little things that were so charming and original when we first met have become simply another annoyance that often leads to a fight. Where before I loved the relaxed, easy-going way of life, now I am frustrated that it takes infuriating amounts of time to accomplish anything. My initial appreciation of the friendliness and openness of everyone in this country has turned to aggravation at having to explain my story to everyone I meet. I used to admire the fact that business is not the most important thing to people here, but now I am plagued by stores closing for lunch "hour" every day or shutting down operations at 3:00pm. Even the weather has become nothing more than a thorn in my side, and at night I lie sweating in bed longing for the days I complained about the snow and frigid Northwest temperatures. I was losing my infatuation and starting to wonder if maybe Vanuatu and I weren't cut out for a serious relationship. Maybe I should start seeing other countries.But then Kymani Marley stepped in and showed me the error of my impatience. Now in the U.S. when an offspring of Bob Marley announces a concert date, for most of us it means nothing more than an excuse to wear hemp, wave a lighter back and forth, and maybe even smoke something you haven't touched since college. But in Rasta-crazed Vanuatu any son of Bob Marley is royalty, and consequently this week leading up to his concert has produced waving flags, Reggae blasting from every speaker, and posters of Kymani plastered on every available surface. To say people are excited would be an understatement. As I was bumping along today in a beat up old bus on my way home to my hotel, my driver suddenly turned into a dirt parking lot close to the waterfront. "Be, yumi go wea?" I asked the driver, hoping I wouldn't have to brave the downpour to find another bus going my direction. The driver turned around and excitedly told me Kymani Marley's boat was about to land on this very dock. He then asked, with the pleading eyes of a child in an ice-cream shop, if we could please just wait 5 minutes till he arrived. He just wanted a look at the legendary man's son. Although I was annoyed and the word "typical" flew through my brain, I fought down my new-found cynicism and agreed that we could indeed hang out for a few minutes. I got out of the bus, camera in hand, and waited. Soon a group of boats could be seen coming around the corner, and the sight took my breath away. One weighed down boat with the celebrity on board was surrounded by smaller boats, overloaded to their limits, zipping around the bay. People were singing, using the side of the boats as drums, and waving a huge flag. Not part of his official posse, people had jumped on any seaworthy (I use that term lightly) craft they could find and rushed to be part of this Rasta sea parade. People began to swarm off the streets and line the dock, all wanting a look at Mr. Marley. It had the feeling of a carnival and everyone was laughing, singing, making beats, and dancing long after the superstar had entered his hotel.
I don't care that I saw Kymani Marley. Until a few days ago I didn't know he existed. So why was he the perfect form of couple's therapy for Vanuatu and me? I'm not exactly sure. It was just another display of chaos that is so prevalent in this country, but for some reason I began to smile and cannot stop. The people of this crazy country are so vibrant and alive. Yes, things can be extremely annoying here, but you will always find people willing to dance, laugh, and sing. And aren't mutual love, a sense of humor, and a dedication to working things out the most important things in a relationship? Maybe I'll give Vanuatu another chance. But I better be getting flowers out of this. . .
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
You can help!
As you sit at your computers, reading about the amazing people that live in Vanuatu and some of the extreme challenges they face every day, I bet you often wish you could do something to help improve the lives and the opportunities for these unique and wonderful people. Well good news - now you can! By following the link below you can donate any amount of money, however small, to help the Gender and Development committee work to provide support for the country's youth.
But what is the GAD committee? We are a group of eight volunteers who meet three times a year and try to address issues of gender inequality, gender-based violence, and others in Vanuatu. As our mission statement says, our goal is to "encourage cooperation between women and men to build strong families, communities, and nation." This encompasses a broad range of activities from raising awareness of domestic violence to helping people re-evaluate gender roles to providing training for Peace Corps volunteers in GAD related issues. But one of the most important things the GAD committee does is to focus on educating the youth of Vanuatu and helping foster confidence, leadership skills, healthy relationships and much more. As we focus on empowering the young people of this country we are ensuring that the next generation of Ni-Vanuatu will have the strength and the tools to improve the country from within. By providing training we can hope to put into place a sustainable development plan that will flourish without volunteers and will hopefully eventually make Peace Corps's presence in Vanuatu unnecessary.
A way to accomplish this is by running BILD (Boys In Leadership Development) and GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) camps in different locations around the country. These camps are a great way to gain access to and engage the country's youth and have been proven time and time again to be effective. Although the Peace Corps is extremely supportive of the GAD committee and our mission, unfortunately for the moment there is no available funding for us to run these camps. So instead, we look to you! You can help us accomplish our goals by donating any amount of money. Any gift of any size is greatly appreciated and gets us one step closer to our goal. So if you want to help the youth of Vanuatu, or get a nice little tax deduction, or if you just want to support your favorite Peace Corps blogger, please follow the link and donate anything you can. Thank you!!
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=461-043
But what is the GAD committee? We are a group of eight volunteers who meet three times a year and try to address issues of gender inequality, gender-based violence, and others in Vanuatu. As our mission statement says, our goal is to "encourage cooperation between women and men to build strong families, communities, and nation." This encompasses a broad range of activities from raising awareness of domestic violence to helping people re-evaluate gender roles to providing training for Peace Corps volunteers in GAD related issues. But one of the most important things the GAD committee does is to focus on educating the youth of Vanuatu and helping foster confidence, leadership skills, healthy relationships and much more. As we focus on empowering the young people of this country we are ensuring that the next generation of Ni-Vanuatu will have the strength and the tools to improve the country from within. By providing training we can hope to put into place a sustainable development plan that will flourish without volunteers and will hopefully eventually make Peace Corps's presence in Vanuatu unnecessary.
A way to accomplish this is by running BILD (Boys In Leadership Development) and GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) camps in different locations around the country. These camps are a great way to gain access to and engage the country's youth and have been proven time and time again to be effective. Although the Peace Corps is extremely supportive of the GAD committee and our mission, unfortunately for the moment there is no available funding for us to run these camps. So instead, we look to you! You can help us accomplish our goals by donating any amount of money. Any gift of any size is greatly appreciated and gets us one step closer to our goal. So if you want to help the youth of Vanuatu, or get a nice little tax deduction, or if you just want to support your favorite Peace Corps blogger, please follow the link and donate anything you can. Thank you!!
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=461-043
Monday, January 31, 2011
Girl Quatamwele
I am back in Vila for more training classes and I find my impression of the city has completely changed. When I first got to Vanuatu I thought Vila was a dirty, sleepy little town with not much going on. Although I still think it’s dirty, now I view the rushing trucks, rows of stores and restaurants, anchored yachts, and so many white people with the wide eyes of a country bumpkin. And I suppose really, that description wouldn’t be too off the mark.
I expected as a Peace Corps volunteer in a 3rd world country I wouldn’t be living in a Hilton with wireless internet and 24 hour room service. I also expected that whatever my living conditions ended up being they would no doubt evoke feelings of sympathy from those faithfully following my blog at home. However what I did not expect was the outpouring of horror and concern that would come from local people on my own island when I mention my home village.
Inevitably, when people hear I live in Quatamwele, they give one of three reactions: they emit a low whistle and shake their heads; they grasp my hand tightly and say, “Oh, sori!” like I just told them the family pet died; or they simply laugh and laugh. The times I make it into the small “town” of Lolowai, shopkeepers will see me and yell out, “Luk! Gel Quatamwele i kam daon lo bush!” causing everyone in the store to stare at me, or residents might simply shout, “Woman Bush!” as I walk by.
Even on North Ambae, where the stores are fewer, cold drinks are impossible to come by, and only one brave truck will dare take on the dirt roads, I am still a source of curiosity and concern. People in the villages on the coast, like Nancy’s Vandue or the neighboring Waluimbwe, are constantly asking how I’m doing “up there.” When I come down to visit, some worried mama will predictably take my hand, and with her brows knit together will lean close and ask in a low voice, “How are you?” No matter how convincingly I say, “Great! Things are great!” she will keep a hold of my hand, concerned eyes searching my face as she asks again, “No, but seriously. How are you??” Although the concern and mothering can be comforting being so far from home, I start to get a little annoyed by people’s constant anxiety that I’m wasting away in the jungle. My favorite fretful mama story comes from Waluimbwe when a particularly apprehensive woman said to me: “Oh my goodness, how are you feeling? Are you sick? Because you look awful!” Being in perfect health I was initially slightly peeved at this woman’s undisguised horror at my appearance, but to be fair I tried to assess the situation through her eyes. And what I saw was a little white girl standing in front of her, feet eternally dirty, mold growing on her skirt, shirt smelling like algae from the dirty creek it was last washed in, a mixture of sweat and dirt plastering her hair to her forehead, and wearing a broken flip flop. Ohhhhh, I did look awful! But up in the bush this is the normal way of things. We don’t concern ourselves with petty things like appearance and cleanliness. Up there the way I looked wouldn’t have garnered a second look. Maybe I have been in the bush too long!
But despite people’s dismay at my living conditions, I really like it up here. Sure I may eat only local kakae instead of rice and meat, and sure I may fall asleep to the sound of frogs and cicadas instead of the whiring of generators and the twanging of local “string band” music. But it’s peaceful in the bush and we live a happy, quiet life. I’m sure it must seem unlikely to all of you. Here I am—a girl with more pairs of stilettos than stamps on her passport, a girl whose drink at Starbucks takes longer to order than to consume, and a girl whose idea of hardship is when her favorite Indian restaurant is closed for remodeling and she has to get Thai for take-out instead—living in a bamboo house without electricity or running water. But the truth is I’m here, I’m making it, and I actually (mostly) enjoy it. I am Woman Bush, I am Girl Quatamwele, and I’m proud of it.
I expected as a Peace Corps volunteer in a 3rd world country I wouldn’t be living in a Hilton with wireless internet and 24 hour room service. I also expected that whatever my living conditions ended up being they would no doubt evoke feelings of sympathy from those faithfully following my blog at home. However what I did not expect was the outpouring of horror and concern that would come from local people on my own island when I mention my home village.
Inevitably, when people hear I live in Quatamwele, they give one of three reactions: they emit a low whistle and shake their heads; they grasp my hand tightly and say, “Oh, sori!” like I just told them the family pet died; or they simply laugh and laugh. The times I make it into the small “town” of Lolowai, shopkeepers will see me and yell out, “Luk! Gel Quatamwele i kam daon lo bush!” causing everyone in the store to stare at me, or residents might simply shout, “Woman Bush!” as I walk by.
Even on North Ambae, where the stores are fewer, cold drinks are impossible to come by, and only one brave truck will dare take on the dirt roads, I am still a source of curiosity and concern. People in the villages on the coast, like Nancy’s Vandue or the neighboring Waluimbwe, are constantly asking how I’m doing “up there.” When I come down to visit, some worried mama will predictably take my hand, and with her brows knit together will lean close and ask in a low voice, “How are you?” No matter how convincingly I say, “Great! Things are great!” she will keep a hold of my hand, concerned eyes searching my face as she asks again, “No, but seriously. How are you??” Although the concern and mothering can be comforting being so far from home, I start to get a little annoyed by people’s constant anxiety that I’m wasting away in the jungle. My favorite fretful mama story comes from Waluimbwe when a particularly apprehensive woman said to me: “Oh my goodness, how are you feeling? Are you sick? Because you look awful!” Being in perfect health I was initially slightly peeved at this woman’s undisguised horror at my appearance, but to be fair I tried to assess the situation through her eyes. And what I saw was a little white girl standing in front of her, feet eternally dirty, mold growing on her skirt, shirt smelling like algae from the dirty creek it was last washed in, a mixture of sweat and dirt plastering her hair to her forehead, and wearing a broken flip flop. Ohhhhh, I did look awful! But up in the bush this is the normal way of things. We don’t concern ourselves with petty things like appearance and cleanliness. Up there the way I looked wouldn’t have garnered a second look. Maybe I have been in the bush too long!
But despite people’s dismay at my living conditions, I really like it up here. Sure I may eat only local kakae instead of rice and meat, and sure I may fall asleep to the sound of frogs and cicadas instead of the whiring of generators and the twanging of local “string band” music. But it’s peaceful in the bush and we live a happy, quiet life. I’m sure it must seem unlikely to all of you. Here I am—a girl with more pairs of stilettos than stamps on her passport, a girl whose drink at Starbucks takes longer to order than to consume, and a girl whose idea of hardship is when her favorite Indian restaurant is closed for remodeling and she has to get Thai for take-out instead—living in a bamboo house without electricity or running water. But the truth is I’m here, I’m making it, and I actually (mostly) enjoy it. I am Woman Bush, I am Girl Quatamwele, and I’m proud of it.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Patrick and William
Patrick and William are my sister Yvette’s two youngest children and are about 4 and 2 years old respectively. These munchkins spend their days running around the village, causing a ruckus and generally living out every boy’s dream. In this place, no one is a stranger and there is no danger of being kidnapped, so kids are free to roam at will. Patrick and William might disappear for hours on end but their mother remains unconcerned, assuring me they must be at their grandparents’ house or playing in the creek. Besides “don’t talk to strangers”, “don’t run with scissors” is another phrase never heard in the jungles of North Ambae. It is rare to see Patrick without a machete twice the length of his arm, and even William likes to wander about with a knife clutched in his chubby toddler’s hand.
William is a loving, smiling little guy and unbeknownst to him made my transition here a little easier. One of the first nights I was in Quatamwele we were having a goodbye for the former volunteer and amidst the speeches, the tears, and the eating; William kept coming over to me and climbing in my lap. His mother was appalled at his boldness and in embarrassment tried to scold him. But he was undeterred and nestled himself into my arms. William has started to talk but only speaks the local language. Sometimes we will have a conversation—me speaking Bislama and him speaking a mixture of language and toddler gibberish—and although neither of us knows what the conversation is about, William will cock his head as if listening closely to me and I will nod in understanding at his undoubtedly profound statements. He has earned many nicknames from his mother and me including “Man Bush” for his affinity for taking off his pants and “Hurricane” for his propensity to destroy plants in the garden with his ever present knife.
Patrick is a precocious thing and is going through the phase where he just wants to be a big kid like his siblings (I don’t have the heart to tell him that longing will last into his adult years until he finally reaches 21 and thanks God he’s not old and boring like his siblings J). Every morning his little voice sings out, “Gud moning Mac!” and sometimes he will simply poke his head around my door and say, “Hey!” Today as I sat in my house working, he came by and stated: “Hea blo yu i naes.” (basically he told me my hair looked good today). What a flirt. Patrick is clever and observant and always making me laugh with his unexpectedly on target remarks. When he recently went to Vila with his parents, his mom told me every white woman he saw he would grab her arm and say excitedly, “Look! It’s Momi Mac!” She would have to explain it was someone else and his face would fall in disappointment. Although he’s a good older brother, sometimes I will catch Patrick poking William with a stick or throwing seeds at him until William starts to cry and Patrick adopts an innocent look on his face.
These two keep me laughing with their antics and charm me with their loving ways. In our “family” they are supposed to call me Momi and they have taken on my new role with enthusiasm. They come to me with special rocks to show me, they cry to me when they skin their knees, and William is even comfortable enough to pee right on the floor of my house. I knew I wasn’t ready for kids yet!
William is a loving, smiling little guy and unbeknownst to him made my transition here a little easier. One of the first nights I was in Quatamwele we were having a goodbye for the former volunteer and amidst the speeches, the tears, and the eating; William kept coming over to me and climbing in my lap. His mother was appalled at his boldness and in embarrassment tried to scold him. But he was undeterred and nestled himself into my arms. William has started to talk but only speaks the local language. Sometimes we will have a conversation—me speaking Bislama and him speaking a mixture of language and toddler gibberish—and although neither of us knows what the conversation is about, William will cock his head as if listening closely to me and I will nod in understanding at his undoubtedly profound statements. He has earned many nicknames from his mother and me including “Man Bush” for his affinity for taking off his pants and “Hurricane” for his propensity to destroy plants in the garden with his ever present knife.
Patrick is a precocious thing and is going through the phase where he just wants to be a big kid like his siblings (I don’t have the heart to tell him that longing will last into his adult years until he finally reaches 21 and thanks God he’s not old and boring like his siblings J). Every morning his little voice sings out, “Gud moning Mac!” and sometimes he will simply poke his head around my door and say, “Hey!” Today as I sat in my house working, he came by and stated: “Hea blo yu i naes.” (basically he told me my hair looked good today). What a flirt. Patrick is clever and observant and always making me laugh with his unexpectedly on target remarks. When he recently went to Vila with his parents, his mom told me every white woman he saw he would grab her arm and say excitedly, “Look! It’s Momi Mac!” She would have to explain it was someone else and his face would fall in disappointment. Although he’s a good older brother, sometimes I will catch Patrick poking William with a stick or throwing seeds at him until William starts to cry and Patrick adopts an innocent look on his face.
These two keep me laughing with their antics and charm me with their loving ways. In our “family” they are supposed to call me Momi and they have taken on my new role with enthusiasm. They come to me with special rocks to show me, they cry to me when they skin their knees, and William is even comfortable enough to pee right on the floor of my house. I knew I wasn’t ready for kids yet!
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