Aru

Aru was my first (and still one of my only) young male friends. The cultural separation of men and women and my own belief that a self-imposed distance from the mischievous youngfala boys increases my acceptance by the woman keep me from becoming too close to any men my age. However, most of our handcraft group's best carvers come from this demographic so out of necessity I struck up a relationship with the informal leader of the group: 25-year-old Aru. The boys sensed my hesitation to get too involved with them so they would send Aru to my door to ask for carving tools or negotiate prices and I in turn would send him back with tips for cleaner carvings or requests for specific products. Our friendship has grown (cautiously) through the months and after his village of Vuiberugu selected him to go to the leadership camp in May we've gotten to know each other better.

Besides being a contender for sexiest man alive (he has a smile that will make a girl forget her own name. But don't worry - he's happily married to a sister of mine and is a doting father to three adorable girls), Aru is an incredible leader, an extremely hard worker, and loves life with an enthusiasm that is contagious. Only finishing school through the 6th grade he considers himself dumb and uneducated but in reality picks things up with amazing speed and ease. Show him something once and he can do it. Show him something twice and he can teach someone else how to do it. He amazed everyone at the leadership camp with his proclivity for American sports - showing an effortless mastery of American football, Ultimate Frisbee, and even Yoga while his friends struggled just to understand the rules. You might expect someone as gifted as Aru to be arrogant and selfish with his skills but you would be surprised. He just doesn't understand the point of keeping knowledge to himself. Anyone who asks is welcome to his array of knowledge from how to play the guitar to how to carve the perfect dolphin to how to make home brew. If you told this unassuming and humble guy he was a natural leader he would deny it with embarrassment, but I think he acknowledges the adoration of the younger boys and tries to take every opportunity to show them how to be better men and specifically how to be better husbands. In a culture where domestic abuse is at least tolerated if not encouraged, Aru tells the boys it's not ok to hit their women. One time he told me the main thing he tells them over and over is that they all "mas gat love lo ol man."

Aru knows he will probably spend the rest of his life in the village. He's not trying to run for office or add things to his resume. He just truly wants everyone to live as full a life as they can, and if he can help - he will.

I don't have a lot of male friends, but I'm satisfied with choosing quality over quantity :)

Turn Right at the Coconut Tree

After living in this wonderful and exasperating country for a year I have grown to understand and even enjoy many of its quirks and idiosyncrasies. However there is one source of unending frustration that I have not been able to accept: the manner in which the people of Vanuatu give directions. On a side note I now find I must apologize to my oldest brother and his lovely Irish lass for previously accusing the Irish of being the worst possible direction givers. Sure they might send you through a string of unnecessary roundabouts, confuse you by giving contradictory information, or even lie to avoid admitting ignorance, but at least when you find yourself hopelessly lost some helpful soul will happily show you to the nearest pub and allow you to buy him a pint for his assistance. No such luck in Vanuatu.

Let me give an example of how directions are typically given here. A woman in your handcraft group has invited you to her house to talk about a new style of basket (and inevitably eat a heaping plate of simboro). You ask someone you know how to get to her house. "Oh yes!" they enthusiastically reply. "I know her! She's so-and-so's dad's cousin's sister! You know so-and-so in the next village over? Well her brother married your uncle's daughter and their son married so-and-so's mother's auntie's daughter!" Yes, yes, that's all fascinating and memorable of course but where is her house? "Ok, do you see that Naos tree up there? Her house is 'nother saed long wei'." Now here your months in the bush have taught you to pause. Even if you can determine which tree out of a dense mess of jungle vegetation that stretches on for miles is being referred to, the phrase "long wei" needs some illumination. In the muddled language that is Bislama "long wei" can either mean "over there" or quite literally "a hell of a long way away." You must clarify to determine whether your trip will require a packed lunch, a sleeping bag, or perhaps a week's supply of clean drinking water. Once the relative location and distance of the house is determined, you ask for detailed directions. "Take the path on top until you come to two coconut trees. Follow the path by the smol smol one. You'll go up a big hill then down a little one, up a little one again, and then down a sorta big one. Then you'll come across your uncle's cow - take the path to the right of the cow. Follow the path for a little bit more and you're there! It's the house with the natangurra roof."

Although perhaps you're not quite clear on the details, you're confident this is as good as you'll get so you set off. Almost immediately you are confused. Where there are supposed to be two coconut trees there are three! All of various sizes! You're supposed to follow the smol smol one, but was that determined before the even smaller one started to grow? You pick one and take a chance. Things start to improve. You traverse the hills easily and after going down what's probably the "sorta big" hill you see the cow! You permit yourself a break and a celebratory drink of water. But then. . .right in front of your horrified eyes the cow moves! Now both paths are to the right of the cow! What to do? You consider giving up and in desperation ask the cow if she can at least direct you to the nearest pub, but the only response you get is a lazily hostile chewing of grass. You sigh thinking how good a Guiness sounds about now but there's nothing to do but pick a path and follow it. Soon you arrive in a clearing and see a house with a natangurra roof. That must be your cousin's auntie's grandma twice removed or whatever's house! But then you look around and see five more houses with natangurra roofs! Luckily at this moment a curious kid comes to stare at you and can be persuaded to show you the right house. You are welcomed with smiles and food and can finally relax. Until the trek back. . .

Fr. Mark

Fr. Mark Mwera is a happy, playful, and somewhat flirtatious guy, tiny in stature and huge in smiles. But if you want to say that to his face you're gonna have to shout. Quatamele's retired priest, at age 81, no longer hears very well, sees very well, or can go too far without his walking stick, but his heart is still that of a child's. He loves to read picture books, sing children's choruses, and tease the little kids. But although everyone in the village calls him Grandpa Mark and nothing lights up his face like playing with one of his many "grandkids", he has no children of his own. Anglican priests are allowed to marry but Fr. Mark never got around to it. When you tease him and ask him why he never found a good woman he gives you a different response every time. "You women are trouble and I wanted a peaceful life" he might say, or "I found one once but she loved someone else," or my personal favorite "Well I never found a woman that's as good looking as me!" But although he has no wife to cook for him, daughters to sew for him, or sons to cut firewood for him, our area is filled with his family members who try their best to look out for him. However, helping Fr. Mark is not an easy task and often his well-intentioned relatives become exasperated with the stubborn old man. And here's why: any little gift intended to make Fr. Mark's life easier will fly out his door before he ever uses it. New shoes will be found on his nephew's feet, a rain coat will turn up keeping a child dry, and food finds it's way into the kitchens of all his friends. "Stop giving stuff away - that's meant for you!" his frustrated relatives will exclaim, but that's Fr. Mark's style and he's not likely to change it soon.

Although at first glance Fr. Mark is just a goofy little grandfatherly figure, truly he is as wise as his years and has had some amazing experiences. He remembers well when the U.S. troops came during WWII (he can sings the whole Marine theme songs and sometimes when I walk by he salutes me) as well as when Vanuatu gained it's independence, and he worked for over 10 years for The Republic of Vanuatu's first (and some would say only successful) government. He has written a fascinating story about his life so people won't forget him, and I'm going to copy it and put it in a nice book for him as a surprise.

Yes you strain your vocal chords when you story with Fr. Mark, but hearing his corny jokes, his interesting experiences, his beautiful and heartfelt sermons, and his expert kastom story telling is well worth it. Fr. Mark easily takes down your defenses and makes you laugh, but look out - he might not be as harmless as you think. He keeps threatening to steal my passport so I'll be stuck forever in Quatamele, unable to leave him :)

What I Really Do Up Here

When I started this online documentation of my adventures in Vanuatu I promised myself I would never become the typical self-agrandizing blogger who uses words like "self-agrandizing" and urges her reader to realize how awesome she is. But it looks like I didn't make it very long. I must apologize, but I'm so excited about all the great things going on in North Ambae so you're just going to have to let me gush and brag for a post. But if it makes you feel better you can all write me about the cool things you're all doing :)

So here's the update:

• My treasurer training workshop - One of the problems I've begun to see in my area is the widespread gross mismanagement of money. Community and group funds are constantly being raided for personal use - often by the treasurer of the fund or his family. Now maybe I'm too naive and haven't gotten the chance to have my idealism and my optimism kicked out of me yet, but I don't believe this embezzeling is going on because the treasurers are bad people. In fact I know many of these individuals and they're wonderful people. No, I think this problem comes from the fact that many people are just confused about money in general. Money is a fairly new concept in these parts, and in a culture that still often uses kastom woven mats and pigs as currency, it's hard to fully understand the value of a little piece of paper. I do not want to insult the intelligence of the people I live with - of course they understand that money has value and they can take it to a store and exchange it for salt and soap. But at the same time they haven't had the generations to get used to the idea of paper currency that we have, and how to use it right and manage it well can be somewhat of a mystery. In addition, in this culture if a family member asks you for something you are honor bound to give it to them. Food, clothing, tools, and even money are often thought of as family property and to refuse someone is to cause great shame. Now it is not my place (or even my desire) to question or change these cultural practices. I admire how tightly knit and supportive these families and communities are here. However when this "help yourself" attitude starts to seep into community funds, church funds, youth group funds, etc., resentment grows and fights break out. So last week I did just a one day workshop on how to be an effective treasurer. We talked about the correct way to release and receive money, how to keep good records, how to report back to your group, and most importantly the accountability you have to keep the money safe. I think it was pretty successful but we'll see if it does any good.


• My family budget workshop - Word spread about the one I ran in my village in March and next week I'm doing it again in the neighboring village of Vuiberugu and I'll be doing another one in Wainasasa in September. Hmm. . .that actually isn't that interesting or cool. Next.


• My rural banking project - It's gonna happen, it's really gonna happen! I would never publicly admit this but I'm actually very surprised this is going ahead. A note about North Ambae - people don't think we're very important. We don't have much development or wealth and we're largely illiterate (of course I could go on and on about how awesome we are but I'll save that for another time). We're basically the hicks of Ambae and people tend to ignore us or mock us (a common saying is "North hemi zero." Really nice East Ambae - you guys are clever!) But regardless there is some money around here and I think it would really help people's money management skills to have access to a bank (for now money is buried or put in an old peanut butter jar), however to hire a boat to the nearest bank in Lolowai is the equivalent of $60 USD - an astronomical sum to most people here - including me. So I thought - if people can't go to the bank, bring the bank to the people! I can't really credit myself with this idea (sadly) because the National Bank of Vanuatu (NBV) already has a mobile banking program. Just not in North Ambae of course (remember? We're "zero.") So I decided to pull it to us. I started in February by requesting a meeting with the Head of Rural Banking in Vila and he grudgingly accepted (I don't think he wanted to but in this country people work pretty hard to keep the Peace Corps on their good side). By the end of the meeting I had gotten his mandate - but that's it. I could use his name if I wanted but he wasn't going to make any calls for me. Next step - local branch in Lolowai, East Ambae. Through a combination of smiles and refusing to go away I got them to agree to a financial literacy toktok in North Ambae and then (more smiles and refusing to go away) they agreed to start sending a guy once a month to do deposits, withdrawls, and maybe even some microfinance loans. Next step - get the bigwigs on board. With the help of my wonderful chief I called a meeting of some chiefs, church leaders, the one rich guy in North Ambae, and the school headmaster - basically 8 of the most powerful men in the area. Trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from choking me or making me throw up I pitched my idea (I couldn't even rely on my sister who usually helps me through these things with supportive smiles and head knods because she opted to sit outside and listen at the door. Coward. And this woman is not easily intimidated). And. . . they loved it! They all agreed it would be great for the North and said they backed me 100%. They'd even help with providing a venue and helping me spread the word (not easy in a world without cell phones, email, or trucks - we basically pass notes). Our first NBV day and official kickoff of the program is next month so there's plenty of time for things to go wrong but I hope I hope I so much hope this will go smoothly.


• My (I use that term loosely) youth group - The two guys I brought to the Training of Trainers last month (remember? the youth leadership camp that you guys helped pay for?) have taken it upon themselves to start a youth group in Vuiberugu. Every Sunday after church the youth of the area gather to sing, tell kastom stories, and play all those silly camp games we taught at the TOT. Then these two (Aru and Tensley) sit them down and talk to them about one of the subjects we trained them on. They've covered leadership, communication, and building trust, and next week is good teamwork. With minimal help from me (we meet every Saturday to go over what they're gonna say and I jump in if they get stuck) and with zero resources and limited formal education, these two have started successfully building up the youth in the area. Sounds to me like money well spend :)


• My dove necklace project - As a proud member and treasurer-in-training of the Gender and Development Committee I'm always trying to find ways to help our dismal bank account (it's a long story but we're very limited in where we can seek funds). As one of the managers of our local handcraft group I'm always trying to find new markets for the products. And Nancy and I have found a way to do both! I worked with North Ambae's incredible carvers who can make beautiful jewelry out of nuts, seeds, and shells, and we designed the Peace Corps Dove Necklace - a re-creation of the Peace Corps symbol made from a natangura seed. They've become very popular with the volunteers in Vanuatu and the orders are flowing in. Half the proceeds go to the carver and half to the GAD committee.

So there it is! I'm super busy and slightly exhausted, but very happy. As those closest to me already know, I'm never more content than when I have lots of work to do, plenty of projects to complete, and maybe just a few too many committments on my calendar.

6 Months is the Coconut Anniversary, Right?

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

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.

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.