Sunday, August 21, 2011

Attempts at Integration


Now, you might not think I’m a shy person, but I’ve always felt that way about myself.  No matter how much I might talk or approach a perfect stranger for directions or suggestions for good restaurants or whatever – I have a hard time getting up the courage to go interact with a new community, find it difficult to make new friends.  This could be considered a problem given my choice of occupation for the next two years.

After a good five weeks I realized that I’ve been spending a lot of time in my nice, comfy little bure and still haven’t gotten to know many people in the community.  I decided to take action.  So, one Saturday after sweating through most of the exceedingly hot day, I decided to take a walk in the cool of the evening.  I didn’t get far before being invited to a grog party, and, considering the motive of my walk, I really had no choice but to accept.

Actually it turned out that we got in a bit of trouble.  I was drinking mostly with the youth, some of whom who had been drinking beer since lunchtime.  We were talking and laughing and making fun of the (exceedingly) drunken boys.  Some boys were playing guitar and singing.  Even though we were on the edge of the village, we were making enough noise to attract the attention of the Turaga ni Koro who came and gave us all a talking to.  That was the end of the music.  Oh well – didn’t stop the party!  I’m planning on joining in again, but honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of kava, so it might be an occasional thing.

On Sunday I’d planned to take family photos of people in the village.  Mostly this was an underhanded selfish attempt to learn people’s names and family relations, and a nerdy attempt to make an age distribution analysis (population pyramid).  Unfortunately, I had other things going on, too, and didn’t really get much done on the photo taking front. 

I got up at five to help Na, Ta, Cabe and Vili with the lovo (earthen oven) and the palusami (taro leaves and coconut milk), vakalavalava (coconut and tapioca sweet) and taro we would cook in it.  The lovo is easy enough to start – you make a small fire with coconut shells and husks, then build a frame of sticks around and above it on which you place a bunch of river rocks.  As the fire consumes the sticks, the flame-heated stones fall through; this is the base of the oven.  We put a metal grate on the stones, then piled the food on top, covering the whole thing with first coconut leaves, then really giant leaves from a plant they call “mother of taro.”  The whole time I was thinking about how I would recreate a lovo in my parent’s back yard without the tropical flora.  Seriously, what is with my family and collecting traditional methods of cooking with fire?  The neighbors already think we’re pyromaniacs.

Piling stones on a flaming tower of sticks

Covering the lovo with leaves
 Well – I almost didn’t have time to eat breakfast between getting the lovo ready and heading off to church.  Luckily I made it work – because church was LONG!  The weekly decision is not so much whether to go to church or not – like it can sometimes be in the states – but which church to attend, since it’s a given that everyone will attend somewhere.  I picked this Sunday to head up to the Christian Methodist Fellowship with Vili, partly because my cousin from my training village was going to be there.  This was my first chance to see Tubuna who had lived with my host family the whole time I was in training and I wasn’t going to pass it up.  I liked the CMF service.  It was upbeat, included singing and dancing, and, at times, had side commentary from the German couple who regularly attend there.  But it was after noon by the time I had a chance to chat with Tubuna and after one by the time Vili and I got home to have the lunch we’d worked so hard on in the morning.  I’m not sure I can make CMF a weekly thing considering the distance to CMF and the length of the service versus the village’s Methodist church which is close by and has a short service, but I’ll definitely be back.

Considering the lateness of our arrival back in the village, most of the other families had finished lunch and were off doing various Sunday activities (limited to not-work and not-exercise) with friends.  This made taking family photos quite challenging.  In fact, that day I only successfully got three family photos.  But I haven’t stopped my efforts.  Every day I get a few more photos and write down heaps more names and ages.  Sometimes I even get invited to lunch or dinner.  By far the best idea I’ve had since moving to the village, these photo-taking sessions start all kinds of interesting conversations.  It’s still a challenge to get out and talk to people every day, but it’s getting easier, and hopefully soon it won’t be a new and different community but my village, my community, my friends.

One of my families in the village