Our day starts at 5:00 am when the empty gas cylinders which serve as bells for the Catholic Church across the street. They are hit with a hammer for five minutes to announce morning rosary. Sunrise is about 6:15 am which is our signal to get out of bed. For most Samoans, the day is already in full swing.
Some mornings I take my mat to a nearby open fale to do some stretching, push ups, sit ups, and leg lunges, noticing a marked decrease in strength since being here. There is no need to work up a sweat that comes naturally later in the day.
Mary gets out her curling iron in a feudal attempt to fix her hair in this humid climate. Then a little makeup is applied to make one feel presentable.
Breakfast is usually brought to us by our host family. Our host mother who cooks on a wood stove wonders if her meals are to our liking. Most mornings we have fired dough balls (panekeke), papaya, bananas, and sometimes eggs, if bring them from the market. Other foods I won’t even try to explain.
I make some tea, cutting my hand on a new ceramic teapot which chipped on the trip from the market in Apia. I have to stop the bleeding, quickly apply antiseptic, in a race to prevent the cut from becoming infected.
When breakfast comes, the woman points to a cup used the previous night to drink Milo (a chocolate flavored drink). I don’t pay much attention to her motions until later when I noticed the two drowned cockroaches in the cup. No problem. The roaches are soon devoured by the constantly roving chickens outside our porch.
Going to our dish strainer, I take out a clean upside down cup and notice a huge spider, about the size of my palm, in the cup taking a nap. Depending on to whom you talk, these spiders are either harmless or can give you a nasty bite. Out to the chickens goes the spider; into the cup goes the tea.
After their breakfast chores, the neighborhood kids begin to arrive. They are all out of school for four weeks because of the South Pacific Games. Why all the schools and universities close for four weeks is a mystery to me. I guess some of the schools are used to house visiting athletes and for administrative purposes. To be fair, all kids throughout the country get a holiday, but then again the South Pacific Games are special.
Our ad hoc language lessons begin with the children who really think it is funny the way we speak Samoan and our attempts to remember what they just taught us. The process is two way with the children wanting to learn English. There is a tension between Mary and me as we each struggle in our own way to learn the language and communicate with those around us. It seems those adults who do not speak any English, expect us to come to the village as fluent speakers, while those adults who do speak English don’t want to mess around with our faulty Samoan. Thank goodness for the children.
Today we, I should say Mary, does the wash. We have postponed until there is no clean underwear and hardly any other unsoiled clothing left. Mary and some of the young girls go to the vaita’ele (fresh water pool and spring near the ocean) to do the wash before the sun gets too high.
At a Samoan Washing Machine
A neighbor boy and I ride our bikes to the market (about 3 miles away) to get some vegetables, mail a RSVP letter declining an invitation to wedding in the US, and to see why his and my cell phone aren’t working. His phone is locked out by the telephone company because someone complained that the phone was being used for bad language. My problem is easier to understand. The speaker is broken and it might be repairable in Apia which is a three hour one-way trip away. He decides to get another SIM card and new phone number. I decide nobody wants to hear my voice anyway, and text messaging is cheaper. It rains on our return trip. The rain is warm, and I need a shower.
For lunch, we eat a brightly colored Tang, the same kind of fish my daughter, Kim, has as a pet in her aquarium. Mary hasn’t quite adapted to Samoan food yet and doesn’t eat the fish as she returns to the toilet for the fourth time, so far today.
Later we learn, the village mayor (pulenu’u) on whose property we live, is mad at me because he thought I had gone to Apia to submit a grant application for a school fence without his prior approval. In actuality, Mary and I went to “The City”, Apia, for a few days of the South Pacific Games. But things being “Lost in Translation” are to be expected here.
A water pipe leaks. The plumber comes. The water pipe still leaks and will be fixed tomorrow when he comes back with the part.
The nearby high school in Iva has been waiting for weeks for the arrival of a Peace Corps Volunteer, Dave, formally assigned to that school. He is to bring and replace some computer power supplies so they could use computers which have sat idle for months. Dave arrives and waits at our place for a teacher whom he has been in contact with comes to take him to the school. The teacher arrives and says he will return shortly. Nine hours later, well into the night, the teacher returns. Dave sleeps overnight with us, catches the 6:00 am ferry back to Upolu, leaving the power supplies with me. Dave has no plans ever to return to the high school.
Mary and I start to work on our Peace Corps 90 Day Activity Plan. One of our objectives is to visit as many homes in the village as we can. This is done to introduce us to the village and to get some idea about future projects. Fortunately a neighbor woman who speaks good English, one of our host family’s children, and Mary set off with a list of questions. Nervously, Mary goes from house to house, basically knocking on doors (but there are no doors!). After visiting five houses, she returns totally confused as to who was who, numbers of children, whose they are, etc., but with the satisfaction of a job well done. Some people are happy to meet her; others indifferent.
Meanwhile there is a big meeting of Matai’s (Lords of the Village) outside our fale. We think they are finally getting ready to meet with us. But alas, the meeting is to settle some dispute where insulted some chief. The Matai’s decide to throw the whole family out of the village by 3:00 pm that day. The main culprit hightails off Savaii to catch the next flight to New Zealand. When the Matai’s speak, that’s it. Period.
For dinner, we have things previously purchased from the market which we share with our host family. It consists of mutton flaps, vegetables and rice. Quite tasty. Our host family is really trying hard to please us, for which we are very thankful. For your info, the meat sold here consists of mutton flaps (sheep ribs), turkey tails, turkey wings, and salted (corned) beef brisket. There is some fish and fruits of the sea available when caught at the local market. Food here is either home grown, junk food, expensive, or stuff which has little or no value in the Western world.
Tonight is the final night of the South Pacific Games (Oceania’s Olympics). We can hear that most of the TV’s are tuned to it for boxing. I want to watch too, and especially to await the finals for basketball. Our host family’s TV antenna was broken earlier by their daughter’s one year old whom they are raising. No TV there. I go next door to visit George, a former boxing coach who has lived most of his life in Hawaii, because he loves sports and has a new TV just for the games. All he gets is black and white snow. No TV there either. I guess I will just have to read about the results when the new encyclopedia comes out. We don’t get a newspaper on Savaii either.
The kids gather again on our little porch. We cut an imported apple to share among them, a real treat. It rains hard, but they are unfazed in their west clothes.
Samoa is a peaceful, happy place. We are glad to be here among these beautiful people, away from the rest of the world and its insanity.
Time to eat another banana and listen to the chirping of the geckos above us before falling asleep at 9:30 pm. Soon the church gongs will sound to announce a new day and a new adventure.
Manuia le po. Good Night.
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