Thursday, December 27, 2007
Christmas music is everywhere leading up to the holiday. More so than even the States. The best part is that most of it is traditional tunes that you guys would remember. There is something a little strange about listening to songs about “white Christmas” and “jack frost nipping at my nose” in Sāmoa. However, none of these traditional songs are sung in the same way. They are either in Sāmoan, or they have been sped up and funkified and are played over funky Casio keyboard beats.
People have Christmas trees. Mostly fake fir trees with decorations and whatnot. Occasionally some random tree with decorations.
We didn’t spend the actual holiday with a Sāmoan family, so we didn’t see the traditions first hand. However, we have been told that in Sāmoa the holiday isn’t about gift giving so much, but about church and spending time with family. Don’t get me wrong. There is gift giving. Cale went into town the day before Christmas and he said it was a madhouse of shopping. But I don’t think it is the same. The kid next door got a new bike, but he got it some time in the afternoon the day before Christmas when they went into Apia to buy it.
A brief run down of our Christmas related activities:
Saturday we went to our village’s Christmas games. The village is divided into five divisions called pitonu’u (nu’u means village and according to our dictionary pito can mean next, edge, border or point). Only four of these divisions compete against each other in the Christmas games because the fifth is too small. We weren’t there early enough to watch the kirikiti (Sāmoan cricket) but we did see some volleyball (voli). Later in the day we went back for the paupau races (outrigger canoes). Cale is very excited to get a paupau of his own. He would like to watch one built and then build one himself. He thinks that with a sail we could easily get from our village to Apia.
You won’t be surprised to learn that the village ended the games with song and dance. Cale was literally carried around by one faletua (minister’s wife). I am not kidding. She picked him up and carried him around. I was also compelled to dance, but no one picked me up.
That night we were invited to a birthday party (pati o aso fanau) that was also a Christmas party of sorts. One of the ministers in the division next to ours was celebrating his birthday and his son’s birthday. There were presents and cake for them. Then all the ministers and their wives had a sort of Secret Santa exchange. Of course there was food. We were given materials to make puletasi and lavalava out of and ula (flower necklace). Cale and I were also given a small round cake to take home for our holiday.
Two thoughts associated with the cake:
1. We are witnessing small ways that married people and single people are treated differently. For example, Cale and I got a cake for our holidays. Alo didn’t. However, Also is more frequently invited to to’onai’i because he is single.
2. Cakes appear to be a typical Christmas gift as we were given two.
Sunday was church and we were invited to to’ona’i (Sunday brunch) by a minister and his family. They live near Alo and the minister works in the Methodist School Board Administration building. Of course everyone spoke English at brunch, but we mentioned that we wanted to work on our Sāmoan, so they said next week they will only speak in Sāmoan. We appear to have a standing invitation to eat with them. They are incredibly nice. The minister lived in Tacoma, Washington for 20 years and his wife is from New Zealand. Their daughter will be getting her nursing degree at the National University next semester.
Monday was the Christmas extravaganza. Our next-door neighbor, the school board director, invited us to the Methodist Christmas pageant. It was five hours of singing and dancing. It is very Sāmoan for things to be a competition and the pageant was no exception. Each division of the village performed songs and dances. There was a panel of judges. In the end there were awards given out for both the winners of the games on Saturday and the singing and dancing that night.
Everyone in the huge Methodist hall was wearing white. We wore our white duds too. However, when we got there we also discovered that everyone had brought some kind of white cloth to use as a head covering. So we know that now for next time.
First each division sang a song. Then each division went up to the stage to do a elaborate singing/dancing/skit presentation. Some of the skits were pretty straightforward. Our group had a Mary and a Joseph and a live baby Jesus. However, another group did something that was obviously traditionally Sāmoan with ava ceremony sticks and fine mats and I didn’t understand any of that one.
The evening ended with a meal and I had some sort of delicious banana bread cake that rocked. I need to get a banana bread recipe.
Tuesday Gal came out to visit us and we had Christmas dinner together. We made tuna steaks, green beans and mashed potatoes. For dessert I made a pumpkin pie from scratch (I started with a freaking pumpkin for crying out loud) and Cale made apple crisp (well the recipe called it apple crunch, but I think we are calling it apple crumble as it wasn’t crispy or crunchy, but it sure was delicious). There were suipi playing and cribbage lessons and later in the night some impromptu flour tortilla making.
In general, quite a good Christmas was had.
I hope all of you in the States had a happy holiday as well.
I am writing because when I think of lawnmowers, I think of you. Lately I have been thinking about lawnmowers quite a lot.
Outside my window a small team of men are running weed whackers with the mufflers removed. They have been working for 8 hours so far today and today is the third day straight. It must seem to you to be an incredible amount of time for so many people to be whacking weeds. It would be if they were, in fact, whacking weeds. They are not.
It is my limited experience that Sāmoans like to have meticulously-maintained, elaborate gardens and wide-open expanses of well-kept lawns. They mow these lawns with weed whackers. Teams of weed whacking men will mow a single lawn for hours.
I write to you because I can only imagine the hours of manpower that could be saved on my school’s compound if but a single one of your riding lawnmowers was graciously bequeathed. Just imagine, if you will, if this lawn-mowing phenomenon spread throughout the island. I believe it would fill small children with laughter and that joyful men and women would dance in the street.
I know of at least two palagi who would rest easily (at 6 o’clock in the morning) with the knowledge that lawnmowers had come to Sāmoa.
Oh, well it is.
We have lived in our new house for just over a week now, though by the time I can post this entry it will be two.
With the exception of a few amenities (hot water, washer/dryer, hardwood floors, 24-hour gas station convenience store, Wendy’s late-night drive-thru) our little bit of neighborhood here in Sāmoa is much like a neighborhood in Florida.
The house is large. The main room is an open floor plan kitchen and living room combo. The kitchen has tons of counter space, a refrigerator and a gas stove and oven. The kitchen also came already stocked with many items: electric teakettle, dishes, dining room table, etc. We have three bedrooms, one of which is set up as an office. Outside there is a porch that always catches a nice breeze.
Wait a minute? Weren’t we supposed to be roughing it in the Peace Corps?*
*See additional post about how poor we are at roughing it.
Living conditions vary widely from one PCV to the next in here. Some volunteers live with host families their entire two years with either a room of their own in the host family house or their own small fale on the family compound. Some volunteers don’t have host families, but still live in more traditional style Sāmoan fale. Other’s live in more Western-style homes like ours; the volunteer I stayed with on my volunteer visit even had a washing machine. Some people have flats (that’s apartments to you crazy Americans) in town or on a school compound. One guy in our training group is living in a brand new duplex with all the amenities. He says it is nicer than the last place he stayed when he was in college.
Some people have to trek across their compound to get water from a shared tap or water tank. Some people just turn on the tap in their kitchen or bathroom. Some volunteers have become very adept at cooking complex meals in nothing but a rice cooker. Others will be baking brownies today in their gas oven (oh, wait, that one is me).
I think that there are advantages and challenges to all of the living arrangements. Volunteers living with host families may find it easier to integrate into the community but harder to do their own cooking and to find privacy. Volunteers living in more Western situations may have to work harder at practicing their Sāmoan (everyone speaks English to us, everyone) but they might have more control over their living environment and their diet.
Of course, I base all of this on my vast experience of being a volunteer for one full week. Just wait until I have been a volunteer for a whole month, oh the knowledge I will have then.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
E fa’amanuia e Atua api lea.
God bless this package.
E matamata Atua i api lea.
God watches this package.
Also, I mentioned earlier that we are off in Dec. and Jan. and those are good months to visit. This is true, but it is also the hot, rainy season. So you might want to consider May when we have a long break from school and it is the cool, breezy season.
The other day some kids were eating some Ice cream, no cones, just a big double handful of ice cream, and he drops it on the ground. plop. So he picks it back up with two fingers, the way you pick up a frog.... and slides it back into his hand and eats on it some more. I wasn't prepared for that. In the states I never hear anyone say "Hey Ted, I dropped my ice cream and it rolled under that bench- do you mind pickin' that puppy up and passin' it on over this way?"
It's just different here is all...
And when its over, its pretty tricky to remember what you were all flustered about.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
I am trying to decide how I feel about being an official Peace Corps Volunteer now. You know how I am with emotions.
“So Sara, how do you feel about (fill in the blank)?”
I think it was satisfying to successfully finish training and it was a little intimidating to think that this is it, you know, go out there and do something.
Our swearing in was held in the church at our training village.
And, if you don’t mind, I would like to take a little side trip here to talk about the church. Our village is primarily EFKS (which stands for Ekalesia Fa’apotopotoga Kerisiano i Samoa or the Congregational Christian Church of Sāmoa). The church and the fiafeau’s (pastor) house are brand new. Our village raised the funds and did all of the manual labor to big these two impressive structures. We have heard stories of the village women hauling tons of rocks from the river for the construction.
Ok, where was I? Oh, yes we were swearing in at the village church.
Our Associate Peace Corps Director, Fata*, made the opening remarks and ran the ceremony. The village pastor said a prayer. Then our training manager, HP, gave a speech about our training experience. The Associate Minister for the Ministry of Education, Sports and Culture, Solamalemalo Keneti Sio, gave the keynote address. He is also a former member of parliament and a former member of the Sāmoan rugby team. He cut quiet the imposing and distinguished figure. Country Director, Kim Frola, gave her final swearing in speech as CD of Sāmoa. Come February she will be leaving us and a new director will come in March.
Then we were given our oath. The Chargé d’Affaires administered the English version and the language training manager, Sa’u, administered the Sāmoan version. Ryan gave a thank you speech in English and Gal gave a thank you speech in Sāmoan.
We ended the ceremony with another prayer from the village pastor. He also made a short speech at the end that had several funny bits. The best part was when he told us we are always welcome back at his church and that when we get married we will get married in his church, especially the single ones (I guess indicating that Cale and I can feel free to get remarried in the church?). He then went on to mention that all the single volunteers should find Sāmoan men and women to marry and come back to his church for the wedding.
After the swearing in the village fed us and there was quiet a bit of gift exchange between the village and the Peace Corps — the PC giving money to the pulenu’u and the pulenu’u giving cloth, fine mats, food and three large cooked pigs to the PC.
Then we were whisked back to Apia where Cale and I went supply shopping for our move to our new house the next morning.
*There are two groups of volunteers that come into Sāmoa: Capacity Builders and Village Based Developers. Each group has its own APCD. We our Capacity Builders and Fata is our APCD.
P.S. There are some great pictures of us with our host family up on flickr, but you can only view them if you are listed as a friend or family contact on flickr. If you want to see them, get a free flickr account and mark us as a contact on your account. I will make you a friend or family (if you are) and you will be able to see the pictures.
“I bet Gal* is sleeping right through this.”
*Gal is from L.A.
I couldn’t get back to sleep right after the quake. It didn’t feel like a very big earthquake. It was big enough to shake the hotel and the bed. We definitely felt it, but it didn’t feel like anything serious. I base this one all my earthquake experience and expertise…oh wait, I don’t have any.
However, it did get me thinking. What do I do for a big quake? Stand in a doorway? Run out side? What about tsunami? How will I know? The Peace Corps has an emergency system in place. The islands are divided into regions and each region has a lead volunteer who contacts all the other volunteers in their area. However, we are new. Our emergency coordinator might not even have our phone numbers yet. We aren’t even out at our sites right now anyway; we are at the hotel.
I know that if there had been an emergency, we would have been contacted. Everyone in the office knew we were in the hotel that night. Our safety and security officer was actually late picking up the Savai’i volunteers who were heading out to their sites at 6 am because he was monitoring the situation from the office. Initially a tsunami warning or watch was in effect, but it was quickly cancelled.
Anyway, these are the things I was thinking about at five in the morning the day after our swearing in.
Here is some news on the quake, I think they have the day wrong, maybe because China is on the other side of the international dateline:
WELLINGTON, Dec. 14 (Xinhua) -- A magnitude 6.2 earthquake shook the South Pacific Samoa early Friday morning without causing damages.
The Pacific Tsunami Warning center said after the earthquake at 1551 GMT was 210 km off American Samoa's main island of Tutuila.
Meanwhile, Samoa's earthquake monitoring office said the quake, which was 171 km south southwest of the capital Apia, was the strongest felt there this year.
The quake did not generate a tsunami and there has been no report of damages.
A magnitude 7.6 earthquake struck in the vicinity of the Fijian Islands on Sunday caused no damages as well.http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2007-12/14/content_7246948.htm
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Saturday was a day of mixed emotions. Part of me couldn’t wait to close door of the Land Rover, roll over the river and put the village behind me for a while. I wanted peace and quiet and privacy and vegetables. But another part of me was sad to see this time come to an end, especially after seeing how sad our host family was to see us go and how much they had come to care for us in the five short/long weeks we had been there.
Anyone who knows us knows that Cale and I are not ones for teary good-byes. It doesn’t mean that we don’t care or that we won’t miss you, it just isn’t how we roll. Leaving the village wasn’t any different, but I did feel guilty. I felt like I wasn’t sufficiently sad about leaving my new family behind. I didn’t truly see it as a good-bye. We will be back. Cale and I have plans to go back to visit the family while we are in Sāmoa and we have invited them out to visit us in our village (something the 17-year-old is very eager to take us up on. Gee, I wonder why? Seventeen-year-olds are the same everywhere, I can promise you that).
The leave-taking started the night before at our Farewell FiaFia. We finally got to put all that dance practice into use. We did the sasā, a seated, hand-gesture dance of sorts, and the boys did their clap dance and the girls did their dance as well. After those dances we performed a short play of a bible story in Sāmoan for the village (the irony being that Gal, who is Jewish and had a hard time explaining that and why he wasn’t going to church to his host family, played the role of Jesus in part of the play). We ended our official bit with a thank you song to the village.
Some of the other volunteers had also been practicing one of the dances performed at the Prize-Giving with the village youth and performed that. We were also regaled with the dancing skills of members of the village. One of our host sisters danced in four different dances and a host brother in another. Many of the dances involved people from the audience coming up to us (we were seated on the stage) and pulling us on to the floor to just kind of cut a rug to whatever song was playing. I managed to avoid most of those by looking sickly sitting on my hot water bottle and holding a large camera, but I still ended up on the dance floor. Let me tell you, this white girl cannot dance.
After that we had anticipated a quiet night with the family. We figured we would read our farewell speech, hand out the gifts we had bought, hang out with the family for a while and then head to bed. I was particularly tired from the boil pain and the cold I had developed. Earlier in the evening I had even considered backing out of the FiaFia all together and had talked to Teuila about the possibility of leaving early, but decided against it. I just couldn’t bring such an abrupt end to such an important time. I needed to stick it out and I was very glad that I did.
The family had other, more exciting plans for the eveing. Some relatives from Apia who had visited the previous weekend were back in town. Two of the girls performed traditional Tongan, Fijian and Tahitian dances for us. It was pretty amazing to see. They had hoped to get Cale and I in on their dance party, but I don’t think it turned out at they had planned. Cale was all done with dancing for the evening and my body just doesn’t move in the ways necessary to dance like that. The one cousin was trying to explain how to whip my hips around in a circle they way they do in one of the dances. I was trying to explain to her that my hip are attached to my neck and knees and I have no idea even how to begin to move like that. Cale says that I shake it like semaphore, which is not a compliment. However the dancing and music were fun and there was cake and pineapple and the ti lau mōli (orange leaf tea), which is just delicious.
Our host mom cried through her farewell speech and the family gifted us with ie (cloth used for the ubiquitous wrap skirts everyone wears) and towels. Then the aunt from a couple of houses over gifted us with ie as well. The visiting relatives also had gifts of ie and t-shirts for us. At this point, I was feeling a little guilty since we had only come with gifts for the immediate family. We hadn’t known the aunt and other relatives were coming to see us off.
Cale read our farewell speech for the two of us (in Sāmoan) and we handed out our presents. We gave our host parents a photo album with pictures from our time there and an “America the Beautiful” calendar we had purchased back in the states. We gave the older kids burned CDs and the younger kids we gave markers and colored pencils, coloring books, two mermaid dolls for the young girls and toy cars for the young boys. There was Bazooka Joe gum all around.
Wow, this post is getting long. Don’t worry I will breeze through Saturday as quickly as I can.
Cale and I set the alarm for 7 am on Saturday. We had to be at the trainers’ house with all our stuff by 8:30 and we were to be on the road by 9 am. However, the family decided that 5 am was a good time for us to be up by sending someone into our room to look for the iron and then again at 5:30 to ask us for one of my pulitasi (I think they wanted me to wear it that morning, but it was already packed at the bottom of a bag). So, by the time the alarm came at 7 am, Cale and I were already up, showered, breakfasted and sitting with the family waiting for the time to leave. It was a little awkward that morning. A lot of sitting around and making idle conversation.
Eventually it was time to go and it felt like the entire village was at the trainers’ to see us off. There was hugging and kissing and crying and then the door to the Land Rover closed, we crossed the river and we put the village behind us for now. (You like how I made this blog post come full circle? I know you do. I can feel it.)
The last day of the school year in Sāmoa is called Prize-Giving. I am not an expert on the topic, seeing as I have only been to one, but I have heard about others, so I feel I can make some generalizations.
The students spend the last month or so of school learning dances and songs (all the finals are in late September-early November, but school doesn’t end until the end of November). These songs and dances are presented to an audience of parents and family and the village (if it is a village school).
The students also receive prizes based on their ranking in their class. For the Prize-Giving at our village school all the students for each class were called out in order according to their ranking. The top three students received larger wrapped prizes and the rest of the class all received the same prize. A lot of the prizes, surprisingly, were kitchen utensils: water bowls that are used for hand washing after meals, juice pitchers, platters, etc. There were also a lot of candy and trinket-type toys as well.
The kids’ dances were great. One of our host brothers was in several dance numbers and you could see him really getting into some of them and having a good time.
Most of the dances were by grade-level and a donation bowl was set out during the dance. Parents would run up and put money in the bowl during the dance and at the end of the program how much money each class had raised was announced. I didn’t realize that so many dances were going to be fundraising, so the first dance with a money bowl got 2 tālā and there wasn’t even a kid from my family in it. After that I caught on to the concept and gave the remainder of my monies to the dances with my families children in them.
Something really nice that the principal of the school did was that she called up the Peace Corps trainees in the audience to help hand out the prizes to each grade level. She tried to make sure that we had a grade level with one of the kids from our family in it.
The eight-year-old girl in our family got first in her class and the 11-year-old boy got the award for most improved. The Prize-Giving went on for three hours and got pretty exciting and rowdy at times. It was a great experience.
Culture Day started out with our host sister hesitantly beating a chicken with a stick. I think the goal was to kill two chickens, but after much squawking (from the chicken and the sister) the second chicken was left alive, sort of.
The idea of culture day is for the trainees to get a tasted of a typical/traditional Sāmoan day. I hesitate between typical and traditional because of that chicken beating. I got the impression that it isn’t typical for our family to kill a chicken for dinner. They get their chicken frozen from the store. So I imagine the chicken beating is more traditional.
We were divided by gender. The guys went off into the forest to gather firewood, coconuts and taro. The ladies prepared koko esi, which is a soup made from papaya, tapioca, coconut cream and cocoa Sāmoa. We learned how to husk, crack and scrape coconuts. The guys peeled taro and prepared the umu, which it basically a pile of hot rocks that the food is placed on and then covered in leaves and left to cook.
Masi and Mataio were the braves one of the group — or the twisted ones, depending on how you look at it. They killed the pig. Pigs in Sāmoa have a slow death because they do not spill the animal’s blood when killing it. This pig was suffocated to death. A stick was placed over its neck and Masi and Mataio stood on the stick until the pig was dead. It took about ten minutes. I didn’t get any pictures of that part because I didn’t want to watch. Once the pig was dead it was cleaned and de-furred. Its innards were outered and in their place hot rocks and leaves were stuffed to help with the cooking.
We also cooked two turkeys donated by HP. They came from American Sāmoa complete with the little plastic buttons that pop out to tell you when they are ready. The ladies cleaned and gutted the fish (I took pictures, but I didn’t do any fish gutting of my own) and the guys prepared palusami, which is made from coconut cream and young taro leaves.
In the end this meal was served in a traditional fashion to the matai of the village, the honored guests (trainers) and two trainees who were given the role of tulafale (orator or talking chief) and ali’i (high chief). Cale was the tulafale and Alo was the ali’i. I was a serving and fanning girl. After I served food to the matai, I sat in front of them and fanned the food while they ate.
Once the matai were finished eating the rest of the trainees were served in a back room and once we were done all of the people from the village who had helped us all morning ate.
Our oldest host sister has two kids. J is about a year and a half old. He, apparently, is afraid of cows. In Sāmoan, the word for cow is povi (poh-vee). Whenever he is being bad or not paying attention to instructions you will hear someone say, “J, povi,” in attempts to scare him with this imaginary cow. I have yet to see this tactic actually scare him or work in any other way, but it certainly is hilarious.
On a related note, I also thought for a while that his name was something like Jesau (jay-sah-ow), because I heard people call him that so often. However, my language training has since taught me that they were just saying, “J, sau,” which means, “J, come.”
Fact 1: Cale and I had been collecting our trash in a plastic shopping bag. Once it was full I gave it to a family member to dispose of. Two days later, the plastic bottles that were in the trash (empty shampoo bottle and empty hairspray bottle) had made their way to littering the yard. They rest of the trash had vanished.
Fact 2: I witnessed a neighbor girl come to our fale. Though I could not tell what she was saying, I could tell she was asking a favor. I could tell that our sister gave her a positive response. The neighbor girl then went behind the fale, fished around in the weeds and came up with an empty plastic bottle and took it with her.
Fact 3: Several days after the hairspray bottle ended up in the yard, I saw one of my little sisters surrounded by three other village girls. They were obviously checking out something my sister was holding. As I drew closer, I discovered it was the hairspray bottle. Apparently, when filled with water, it has become quite the coveted spray gun that other village children play with as well.
Conclusion: The empty plastic bottles littering the yard are not trash. This is actually some sort of storage method. They are being saved for either uses unknown to me or for use as toys at a later date.
I will report back when I gather further knowledge.
There are times that their actions totally baffle me and times that I just wish everyone would disappear and leave me alone, but there are also times that I love them dearly and wouldn’t trade the experience for the world. Strangely enough, I feel the same way about my own family back in the states too.
Our host family has taken two complete strangers (from another country, who don’t speak the language) into their lives completely. They welcomed us with open arms. They gave us the best “room in the house,” which is usually reserved for family from New Zealand. They feed us, they do our laundry, they help us with our homework. They are wonderful.
Sometimes it can feel strange to live and interact on such an intimate level with a family you have only known for a couple of weeks, but I am sure it is just as strange for them. Yet I have never seen them complain or become angry about this intrusion into their lives. When we left the village after the previous two-week stint, our host mom was in tears at our departure. She is an extremely caring and outgoing women and I have no words for how much I appreciate her taking us in as her own children.
The Peace Corps practice of putting trainees into host family homes is a good one. Not only does it help you integrate into the culture, but it also gives you a home base of sorts in a foreign country. Particularly for the single volunteers, they now have a family in country. They have a place to go — if they choose — for holidays and other events. Cale and I are a little different, since we brought our ready-made family with us. However, it is still comforting to know that come Christmas time, if wanted to have the experience of family around us for the holidays we could always head home to our training village and our host family would be happy to see us.
Masi says many of his friends are reading our blog and that I had better make it interesting. I told him I would compose a poem just for him.
M is for masi (I know, not very creative), which means biscuit in Sāmoan.
A is for asiasi, which means to visit friends and which Masi is well known for
doing in the village. He’s a social butterfly.
S is for the sasā, our FiaFia dance that Masi served as our energetic MC in.
I is for igoa, which means name and is how I came up with this outstanding
I think it says a lot about Sāmoa that there is a word in the language that means “covered with ants.” That word is lōia (low-ee-ah) and my life in Sāmoa is lōia. I cannot escape the ants.
I am not sure if it is significant that the same word also means lawyer (sorry Dad), since I think it has more to do with it sounding like the English word than the meaning.
Finally, the word also means the feeling you get in your stomach after eating a lot of fatty, greasy foods. It is also a telling thing about the Sāmoan diet that they have a word for that feeling.
Monday, December 10, 2007
I am lying face down on the bed, my right butt cheek exposed to the world while Cale re-bandages it. Just behind the house our littlest host brother is wailing at the top of his lungs and somewhere in the distance a family is firing the traditional Christmas cannon (basically a large, long piece of bamboo filled with kerosene). The booms of the cannon echo off the mountains and our host brother’s cries ring in our ears, just another day in the village in Sāmoa.
The first time it was the tale of my two horrible, painful, disgusting butt boils, how I suffered through attempting to apply warm compress to them in the village and failed, how they oozed goo during my Volunteer Visit, how our medical officer poked them with knives for four days and how they were finally on the mend.
A riveting tale. But then something happened. I developed two new butt boils.
The second time I wrote this entry it was the tale of my four horrible, painful, disgusting butt boils, how I suffered through all the humiliation and pain for the first two only to have two more develop while those were on the mend, how our medical officer also discovered I had a fungus (like ringworm) on my leg when she was inspecting the boils, how I immediately filled my new hot water bottle and sat on it for three days straight and how the two new butt boils seemed to be taking care of themselves and were finally on the mend.
Also a riveting tale. But then something happened. I developed two new butt boils and one on my inner thigh nearer to my knee and a baby boil on each hip.
The third time I am writing this entry it is the tale of my eleven horrible, painful, disgusting boils, how I suffered through the humiliation and pain of two boils, how I developed two new boils that healed themselves, how boils then erupted all over me, how on the same day our medical officer put me on a high dose of antibiotics I caught a cold and I failed my Language Proficiency Interview, how I took to naming my boils like tropical storms (I got up to Karl, but both Karl and Jessica never made it to full hurricane strength before dieing down), how I spent all of Saturday in bed in our hotel room as the pressure in my head increased and the pressure in Eugene (the boils currently raging on my butt) slowly decreased and how the boils may finally be on the mend — again.
But I am not going to get my hopes too high. I may have to write this blog entry a fourth time when new boils erupt on my face or the soles of my feet or somewhere else equally comfortable. Or maybe they will just stick to my right ass cheek and slowly the entire cheek will rot off and I will be Sara, the one-butt wonder.
So, there you have it. The new, abridged version of my butt boils. If you are interested in the longer, day-by-day, blow-by-blow account of the boils, I can always email the earlier versions of this blog entry to you. I am sure you want to hear all the details of how difficult it is to apply a warm compress to your butt in the village when all you have is a handkerchief and a bowl of boiling water.
I would like to take a moment here at the end to express my love for Cale. I have no idea how a single volunteer could have dealt with this affliction. Cale has been inspecting, cleaning and dressing the wounds on my backside for three weeks now. There is no way I would have been able to care for them myself, especially in the village. If I had been single, I would have had to make a friend — a very awkward friend. I married Cale for a lot of reasons, not just all the presents we got at the wedding, but now I know that I married him because it means I will always have someone to bandage my oozing butt boils when I am living in a Sāmoan village and cannot do it myself.
November 16 we left the village and came to Apia for the All-Volunteer Conference. Once a year all the volunteers in country get together for an update on the state of Peace Corps worldwide and in Sāmoa. We also got updates on Safety & Security and Medical issues (Peace Corps Samoa reported no new cases of STIs among volunteers in 2006, totally kicking to butt of some other South Pacifc island that shall remained nameless).
The following day was Saturday and our Thanksgiving celebration hosted by the charge d’affairs at the former US Embassy in Sāmoa. I left from the dinner for my Volunteer Visit with my host Moli. Cale left on his visit with Tim to Savai’i the next morning.
For the Volunteer Visit we were sent out to live for three days with another volunteer who has been in the country for at least a year. The goal being that we can see what volunteer life is like.
Moli shares a house with another PCV, Beth. Both Moli and Beth teach at the National University and live close to campus. Another PCV, SIta, was staying with Moli and Beth for a couple of days as well.
School wasn’t in session at NUS (National University Sāmoa), but Moli had signed up for a weeklong workshop on Pacific film. I went with her to that on Monday. I left early Tuesday morning to make my boil appointment with our medical officer.
We were in town for three and a half days and then headed back to the village on Saturday afternoon.
Wednesday in the village was our culture day, which I will discuss in more detail in another post. However, short summary: Pigs, chickens and fish were killed and cooked. Coconuts were husked and scraped. Baskets were weaved. Koko esi (papaya and cocoa Sāmoa soup) was made. Matai were served and fanned while they ate.
Thursday was the village school prizegiving. More to come on that as well.
Saturday was our third LTA (Language and Technical Assesment). It was a group teaching assignment. Ryan, Eli and I taught the year seven and eight students for 30 minutes. Tuesday was our fourth LTA. That was solo teaching for 20 minutes. I will probably do a blog post explaining the LTAs in more detail some day.
Monday we had our 90-Day work plans. The idea behind that being that we meet with our counterparts from our sites and discuss what we will do for the first 90 days in the village. The day didn’t start out so hot when a rockslide closed down the quick route to town and we drove the long, windy, bumpy route that made us almost two hours late and extremely carsick. The secretary to the principal of my school came to the event. We worked on the plan, but it was really just a vague outline since most of the secretary’s suggestions were that I talk to the principal, who could not be there because of a funeral.
Thursday was our Language Proficiency Interview in Apia. That is the big test that determines how well we have learned Sāmoan so far. I failed. I am being given a chance to retake it on Tuesday. If I fail again I will put in 40 more hours of language classes over the course of two weeks in January.
Friday was our last night in the village and our Farewell FiaFia. I will have a entire entry just on that to come soon.
Saturday morning we headed back to Apia. Wednesday we will be sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers.