01/17/08
Usually when Mary cooks, our little kitchen is filled with children who seem to want to help and are curious about her strange cooking methods. But, there are other reasons.
While making chicken soup, Mary removed the skin and fat from the cooked meat, then put them into the garbage along with the peelings. A twenty-year-old girl from our host family living behind us watched in disbelief at Mary’s actions. She asked if she could have the skin and fat to eat. Mary was visibly shaken by this request and bothered by other children vying for our garbage.
It is hard to determine whether these actions are from hunger, a feeling we are wasteful, or are a special treat. Preparing an American style meal is becoming an act of consciousness as eyes watch our every move. We feel we are being judged, wondering how we are perceived. It makes even having chicken soup with carrots and potatoes a chore.
Friday, January 18, 2008
What Gives Life Meaning?
01/16/08
Great minds have struggled over the question of “ The Meaning of Life”. That subject is beyond my petty brain, so I just disregard the question as an interesting, but a useless academic exercise. A more relevant question to me is “What gives life meaning?”. What conscience choices do we make to give our existence a raison d’etre?
As I spend more time in Samoa, I begin to realize that the answer to ‘What gives life meaning” characterizes both individuals and societies. For Samoans, praising and glorifying God/Jesus gives a meaning to their life. It puts into focus their daily actions. It is their measure. I don’t mean to infer that meeting the physical and biological necessities of life aren’t important, but they seem secondary. It helps me to understand why so much of Samoan time, energy, and resources are devoted to the church when according to my thought; they could be put to more practical use.
What then gives my life, meaning? Is it the accumulation of wealth? Does the person with the most toys win? Is it raising a family? Helping others? What is the lifelong theme of my existence?
As a biologist by training, maybe what I am meant to do is encoded in my genes. Reproduce. Perpetuate the species. Make sure the precious light called life is not extinguished. Life’s other activities may simply be invented fluff to disguise the crass fact that I really don’t have any choice in giving my life some meaning. But there are millions of other permutations of life to keep life’s fire lit. Why can’t I be the exceptional species to define what I think is important?
Life to me is serendipitous. I don’t think you can determine the path to a meaningful life. However, I think there are some guiding principles you can choose as the winds of happenstance blow you from one trail to another. The main rule is to try your best whatever you do not to mess up others during your earthly trip and to recognize you really don’t know very much at all.
At the end of my journey, I would like others to say, “He was an OK guy. Not too good; not too bad. The world may not be better off; but not any worse. At least he made the effort. Let’s give him credit.” That’s meaningful enough for me.
As I do my daily activities, I am finding just being an OK guy is a tough job.
Great minds have struggled over the question of “ The Meaning of Life”. That subject is beyond my petty brain, so I just disregard the question as an interesting, but a useless academic exercise. A more relevant question to me is “What gives life meaning?”. What conscience choices do we make to give our existence a raison d’etre?
As I spend more time in Samoa, I begin to realize that the answer to ‘What gives life meaning” characterizes both individuals and societies. For Samoans, praising and glorifying God/Jesus gives a meaning to their life. It puts into focus their daily actions. It is their measure. I don’t mean to infer that meeting the physical and biological necessities of life aren’t important, but they seem secondary. It helps me to understand why so much of Samoan time, energy, and resources are devoted to the church when according to my thought; they could be put to more practical use.
What then gives my life, meaning? Is it the accumulation of wealth? Does the person with the most toys win? Is it raising a family? Helping others? What is the lifelong theme of my existence?
As a biologist by training, maybe what I am meant to do is encoded in my genes. Reproduce. Perpetuate the species. Make sure the precious light called life is not extinguished. Life’s other activities may simply be invented fluff to disguise the crass fact that I really don’t have any choice in giving my life some meaning. But there are millions of other permutations of life to keep life’s fire lit. Why can’t I be the exceptional species to define what I think is important?
Life to me is serendipitous. I don’t think you can determine the path to a meaningful life. However, I think there are some guiding principles you can choose as the winds of happenstance blow you from one trail to another. The main rule is to try your best whatever you do not to mess up others during your earthly trip and to recognize you really don’t know very much at all.
At the end of my journey, I would like others to say, “He was an OK guy. Not too good; not too bad. The world may not be better off; but not any worse. At least he made the effort. Let’s give him credit.” That’s meaningful enough for me.
As I do my daily activities, I am finding just being an OK guy is a tough job.
Blogging
01/15/08
Mary was asked during her recent visit to Minneapolis about the mechanics of this blog. I shall try my best.
First of all, I am happy some people enjoy reading my scribbles. However, this blog is really an extension of journals written during our travels. These journals on steno pads are stored in boxes, probably never to be read, and never written with the intention to be read. Keeping a journal is my way to better understand the many dramas around me.
I usually write early in the morning with a companion cup of coffee. The subject material is mulled over during the night from the thousands of potential subjects encountered everyday. A night of insomnia is helpful for remembering my thoughts until the dawn. I edit very little. When particularly moved, I get Mary’s opinion and feedback. My biggest problem is not subject material, but time. There is so much to write about in even one minute of every day.
I strongly encourage others to get into the habit of keeping a journal. It slowly becomes a habit. Writing also makes that morning cup of coffee more enjoyable and helps you to appreciate the many miracles of life.
Mary was asked during her recent visit to Minneapolis about the mechanics of this blog. I shall try my best.
First of all, I am happy some people enjoy reading my scribbles. However, this blog is really an extension of journals written during our travels. These journals on steno pads are stored in boxes, probably never to be read, and never written with the intention to be read. Keeping a journal is my way to better understand the many dramas around me.
I usually write early in the morning with a companion cup of coffee. The subject material is mulled over during the night from the thousands of potential subjects encountered everyday. A night of insomnia is helpful for remembering my thoughts until the dawn. I edit very little. When particularly moved, I get Mary’s opinion and feedback. My biggest problem is not subject material, but time. There is so much to write about in even one minute of every day.
I strongly encourage others to get into the habit of keeping a journal. It slowly becomes a habit. Writing also makes that morning cup of coffee more enjoyable and helps you to appreciate the many miracles of life.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
A Tense Time
01/14/08
It’s 6:30 am and the conch shell is being blown to alert the Village Council (Matais) that the Mayor’s Meeting or Aso Gafua is about to start. What makes this monthly meeting important is that our host father, who is the current village mayor, is seeking reappointment. The decision has great impact on our host family and for Mary and me. We operate under his guidance.
Last evening Mary and I had a long talk with the mayor on our porch. We discussed what he has done and what others think he should be doing. He talked about how difficult it is to be criticized by those who do nothing. We laughed at how people all over the world procrastinate, but once a decision is reached, want results now. His nervousness showed as he smoked one cigarette after another.
Our Peace Corps role in the village is also a factor in his reappointment. The Village Council seems to think we should be doing more, albeit what we should be doing they don’t say. The Council has failed to make the last two loan payments on the construction of our house and have not contributed food to our upkeep. The mayor was the main advocate in bringing us to the village.
We are like other Samoan Peace Corps in the Village Development Program. Expectations are high from the village when we first arrive. The Peace Corps is almost viewed as a silver bullet able to bring money and prosperity quickly. When the realization hits that we are not brining gifts or money, but instead are there to help them find ways to help themselves, enthusiasm fads as reality bites. This is the normal cycle of events, but it sucks when it happens. We must endure as the forces of expectation and reality come back into balance.
So, we anxiously sit and wait. Is there a new boss for us in the village to go along with a new Peace Corps Country Director and a new director for our program, or not? Whatever happens we shall try to do our best. It is an exciting ride if you enjoy speeding down the highway with your eyes closed.
It’s 6:30 am and the conch shell is being blown to alert the Village Council (Matais) that the Mayor’s Meeting or Aso Gafua is about to start. What makes this monthly meeting important is that our host father, who is the current village mayor, is seeking reappointment. The decision has great impact on our host family and for Mary and me. We operate under his guidance.
Last evening Mary and I had a long talk with the mayor on our porch. We discussed what he has done and what others think he should be doing. He talked about how difficult it is to be criticized by those who do nothing. We laughed at how people all over the world procrastinate, but once a decision is reached, want results now. His nervousness showed as he smoked one cigarette after another.
Our Peace Corps role in the village is also a factor in his reappointment. The Village Council seems to think we should be doing more, albeit what we should be doing they don’t say. The Council has failed to make the last two loan payments on the construction of our house and have not contributed food to our upkeep. The mayor was the main advocate in bringing us to the village.
We are like other Samoan Peace Corps in the Village Development Program. Expectations are high from the village when we first arrive. The Peace Corps is almost viewed as a silver bullet able to bring money and prosperity quickly. When the realization hits that we are not brining gifts or money, but instead are there to help them find ways to help themselves, enthusiasm fads as reality bites. This is the normal cycle of events, but it sucks when it happens. We must endure as the forces of expectation and reality come back into balance.
So, we anxiously sit and wait. Is there a new boss for us in the village to go along with a new Peace Corps Country Director and a new director for our program, or not? Whatever happens we shall try to do our best. It is an exciting ride if you enjoy speeding down the highway with your eyes closed.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Rainy Season
01/12/08
It has been raining now almost steadily for the past week with no let up in sight. I think we are finally into the rainy season. The nice thing about the rainy season is that the temperature drops whenever it rains. The bad thing is that when it stops and the sun works its magic, you are immersed in a pressure cooker. You sweat just sitting. Your clothes feel damp all the time. You are almost grateful for the next shower.
For Samoans, this is a time for children to play in the puddles and run in the downpours. For other Samoans, it is a time for long shelves shirts and jackets. They say this in the cold season. For us, it is time to just lie around and read. The village is just exhausted from having relatives live with them and drained from the fa'alavelaves. There really isn’t much else to do, except watch my cabbage and cucumbers grow.
This is also prime cyclone season (hurricanes south of the equator). The Peace Corps office called to say two storms were in the Pacific, one south of Tonga and the other south of Fiji, but posed no danger to Samoa. We should listen to our radios for hourly updates. Great advice. Of course, we have no radio!
Next thing they will tell us is that buttered microwave popcorn is bad for our health. Of course, we have no buttered microwave popcorn. No microwave either. You can never be too careful or fearful.
It has been raining now almost steadily for the past week with no let up in sight. I think we are finally into the rainy season. The nice thing about the rainy season is that the temperature drops whenever it rains. The bad thing is that when it stops and the sun works its magic, you are immersed in a pressure cooker. You sweat just sitting. Your clothes feel damp all the time. You are almost grateful for the next shower.
For Samoans, this is a time for children to play in the puddles and run in the downpours. For other Samoans, it is a time for long shelves shirts and jackets. They say this in the cold season. For us, it is time to just lie around and read. The village is just exhausted from having relatives live with them and drained from the fa'alavelaves. There really isn’t much else to do, except watch my cabbage and cucumbers grow.
This is also prime cyclone season (hurricanes south of the equator). The Peace Corps office called to say two storms were in the Pacific, one south of Tonga and the other south of Fiji, but posed no danger to Samoa. We should listen to our radios for hourly updates. Great advice. Of course, we have no radio!
Next thing they will tell us is that buttered microwave popcorn is bad for our health. Of course, we have no buttered microwave popcorn. No microwave either. You can never be too careful or fearful.
Proud Mary Returns
01/09/08
The gangway to her ferry lowered as it emerged from the mist. I anxiously awaited Mary’s arrival after being away for two weeks in the US. She came off the boat dragging a suitcase larger than the one she took in one hand and a large cardboard box in the other. She looked like a bucket of water had been dumped over her head. Her freshly applied make up was smeared, her new hair do looking like a mop, and her clothing soaked through as the rains poured down on her. How could you not love such a sight? Afio Mio. Welcome back to Samoa.
Fatigued though she was, she attempted to condense her two weeks into a few hours of conversation, interspersed with constant interruptions by people who wanted to welcome her back and me suddenly having to transcribe a letter in Samoa for our host father before he caught the next boat in 30 minutes. A meal of mutton flaps and green beans awaited her. Bedlam reined.
There were many high points to her trip. It started upon her arrival, as a night Christmas Day snowfall deposited large white flakes to create a picture postcard arrival in Minneapolis. Charges on our Visa card marked her days. It seemed no restaurant was left unvisited.
The booty she brought back consisted of several crossword puzzle books, novels, Good & Plenty candy, a CD player, and a new replacement laptop. In the large cardboard box, there were bicycle racks for some other Peace Corps Volunteers. For our host family members some gifts, which like Christmas gift's everywhere, are a hit or miss proposition.
She left behind the early anxieties about our children who have moved on to handle adult responsibilities without us, and friends whose questions about Samoa could not be adequately answered. It was good to know that Proud Mary’s wheels will keep on churning for the next 20 months of our stay.
Note: Please understand why pictures of her arrival do not appear on this entry.
The gangway to her ferry lowered as it emerged from the mist. I anxiously awaited Mary’s arrival after being away for two weeks in the US. She came off the boat dragging a suitcase larger than the one she took in one hand and a large cardboard box in the other. She looked like a bucket of water had been dumped over her head. Her freshly applied make up was smeared, her new hair do looking like a mop, and her clothing soaked through as the rains poured down on her. How could you not love such a sight? Afio Mio. Welcome back to Samoa.
Fatigued though she was, she attempted to condense her two weeks into a few hours of conversation, interspersed with constant interruptions by people who wanted to welcome her back and me suddenly having to transcribe a letter in Samoa for our host father before he caught the next boat in 30 minutes. A meal of mutton flaps and green beans awaited her. Bedlam reined.
There were many high points to her trip. It started upon her arrival, as a night Christmas Day snowfall deposited large white flakes to create a picture postcard arrival in Minneapolis. Charges on our Visa card marked her days. It seemed no restaurant was left unvisited.
The booty she brought back consisted of several crossword puzzle books, novels, Good & Plenty candy, a CD player, and a new replacement laptop. In the large cardboard box, there were bicycle racks for some other Peace Corps Volunteers. For our host family members some gifts, which like Christmas gift's everywhere, are a hit or miss proposition.
She left behind the early anxieties about our children who have moved on to handle adult responsibilities without us, and friends whose questions about Samoa could not be adequately answered. It was good to know that Proud Mary’s wheels will keep on churning for the next 20 months of our stay.
Note: Please understand why pictures of her arrival do not appear on this entry.
Centipedes on the Plane
01/08/08
On Mary’s plane ride from Samoa to the US, a fellow Peace Corps passenger felt something on his leg. He flicked it off onto the top part of the seat in front of him. It was a six inch centipede! In true Peace Corps fashion, he calmly covered it with a cup. Samoans around him quickly pulled back in horror, as westerners gawked.
After ringing the call button, the Air New Zealand flight attendant said in no way was she going to touch that cup. She in turn got a male attendant to take the cup. The stowaway traveler was flushed at 35,000 feet into the Pacific. No one could find the centipede's mother.
Now, Samoans and Peace Corps Volunteers know South Pacific centipedes can inflict a terrible bite. I have been bitten twice and can verify their potency. So if you ever come face to face with a Samoan centipede, get the hell out of there!
On Mary’s plane ride from Samoa to the US, a fellow Peace Corps passenger felt something on his leg. He flicked it off onto the top part of the seat in front of him. It was a six inch centipede! In true Peace Corps fashion, he calmly covered it with a cup. Samoans around him quickly pulled back in horror, as westerners gawked.
After ringing the call button, the Air New Zealand flight attendant said in no way was she going to touch that cup. She in turn got a male attendant to take the cup. The stowaway traveler was flushed at 35,000 feet into the Pacific. No one could find the centipede's mother.
Now, Samoans and Peace Corps Volunteers know South Pacific centipedes can inflict a terrible bite. I have been bitten twice and can verify their potency. So if you ever come face to face with a Samoan centipede, get the hell out of there!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
