The Peace Corps Way of Laughing

Recently I've been writing a lot - not for you, of course, but for other people, like my bosses - and this means I've also done a lot of reading.  I've happened upon some really great stuff, most of it found in a book, which, like most good books, perhaps, was found tucked away surreptitiously in a primary school library in Fiji.  I, of course, immediately requisitioned said book and began to find jewels, some of which are recreated here for your amusement, and so I can comment briefly on how they relate to my life in the village in Fiji.

First we have Josh Billings, I would have posted all of what he has to say on various insects, but that would have taken you a while to read, so I'll settle for one near and dear to my heart:

Look for "The Complete Works of Josh Billings, (Henry W. Shaw)"

BED BUGS.

I never see ennybody yet but what despised Bed Bugs. They are the meanest ov aul crawling, creeping, hopping, or biteing things.  They dassent tackle a man bi dalite, but sneak in, after dark, and chaw him while he iz fast asleep.

 

A musketo will fight you in broad dalite, at short range, and giv you a chance tew knock in hiz sides—the flea iz a game bugg, and will make a dash at you even in Broadway—but the bed-bugg iz a garroter, who waits till you strip, and then picks out a mellow place tew eat you.  If i was ever in the habit ov swearing, i wouldn’t hesitate to damn a bed bugg right tew hiz face.

Bed bugs are uncommon smart in a small way; one pair ov them will stock a hair mattrass in 2 weeks, with bugs enuff tew last a small family a whole year.  It don’t do enny good to pray when bed bugs are in season; the only way tew git rid ov them iz tew bile up the whole bed in aqua fortis, and then heave it away and buy a new one.  

Bed buggs, when they hav grone aul they intend to, are about the size ov a bluejay’s eye, and hav a brown complexion, and when they start out to garrote are az thin az a grease spot, but when they git thru garroting they are swelled up like a blister.  It takes them 3 days tew git the swelling out ov them.  

If bed buggs have enny destiny to fill, it must be their stummuks; but it seems tew me that they must hav bin made by acksident, jist az slivvers are, tew stick into sumboddy.  If they waz got up for sum wise purpose, they must hav took the wrong road, for there kant be enny wisdum in chawing a man aul night long, and raising a family, besides, tew foller the same trade.  If there iz sum wisdum in aul this, I hope the bed buggs will chaw them folks who kan see it, and leave me be, bekause i am one ov the hereticks.

If you know much about my life in Fiji, you will know that arthropods are a constant annoyance.  Mr. Billings says, "As for me, there is only one piece (thus far) of vital creation, that I actually hate, and that is a bed bug.  I simply despise snakes, fear mosquitoes, avoid fleas, and don't associate with the cockroach, go around toads, back out square for a hornet."  Bed bugs, as they exist for me, are the sliest of creatures, keeping me up all night and when I turn on the light to exterminate them - disappearing completely.  Luckily sunning your mattress works wonders on bed bugs, or maybe they're just hibernating.

-  -  -  -  -  -  -

The next work I'd like to bring your attention to, printed in the same marvelous anthology, is an essay by one of my favorite humorists, James Thurber.  I actually wrote a really bad report on Thurber when I was in high school.  That hasn't dampened my enthusiasm for him.  I write really bad reports on all sorts of great subjects!

The Rabbits Who Caused All the Trouble

Thurber was also a marvelous illustrator, and nearly blind at the end of his life.  This is from the original which I believe was in a book called Fables for Our Times, but I could be wrong.

Within the memory of the youngest child there was a family of rabbits who lived near a pack of wolves. The wolves announced that they did not like the way the rabbits were living. (The wolves were crazy about the way they themselves were living, because it was the only way to live.) One night several wolves were killed in an earthquake and this was blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that rabbits pound on the ground with their hind legs and cause earthquakes. On another night one of the wolves was killed by a bolt of lightning and this was also blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that lettuce-eaters cause lightning. The wolves threatened to civilize the rabbits if they didn't behave, and the rabbits decided to run away to a desert island. But the other animals, who lived at a great distance, shamed them saying, "You must stay where you are and be brave. This is no world for escapists. If the wolves attack you, we will come to your aid in all probability." So the rabbits continued to live near the wolves and one day there was a terrible flood which drowned a great many wolves. This was blamed on the rabbits, for it is well known that carrot-nibblers with long ears cause floods. The wolves descended on the rabbits, for their own good, and imprisoned them in a dark cave, for their own protection.

When nothing was heard about the rabbits for some weeks, the other animals demanded to know what had happened to them. The wolves replied that the rabbits had been eaten and since they had been eaten the affair was a purely internal matter. But the other animals warned that they might possibly unite against the wolves unless some reason was given for the destruction of the rabbits. So the wolves gave them one. "They were trying to escape," said the wolves, "and, as you know, this is no world for escapists."

Moral: Run, don't walk, to the nearest desert island.

Does this even need an explanation?  Of course you should be an escapist, and of course you need to get to a desert island.  Actually - someone recently told me:  It's all about your necessary resources and your time frame.  What do you actually need?  And if you actually need to get to a desert island, you should.

And on that note:  a crappy picture of a newspaper clipping my mom sent me a while back.  You'll recognize it as being from Mother Goose and Grimm.

What to do when ... Someone gives you a fish

Note:  This is the first in a series of essays designed to help Peace Corps Volunteers better adjust to life in Fiji, or just provide a quick laugh.  All of the stories in this series are based on actual events, but may have been altered significantly to protect the innocent or my dignity.

Have a fish!

 A lot of times people give me random things I don't need and didn't ask for (see the essay on Ura).  Sometimes what they give me is fish.  When it's fish, usually it's when I least expect it or when it can be of little use to me because (a) I've already cooked for the day, (b) I'm in the middle of cooking something else, or (c) I'm about to leave the house - probably to eat at a friends house or a soli or a funeral or something.  So, what do you do with the fish?  You can't throw it in the refrigerator since you don't even have electricity.  (For a while I did have a fridge and no electricity, so throwing it in the fridge was possible but sort of counter productive)  Any ideas?  Anyone?  FRY IT!!!

Although it has never been tested by science (that we know of), some Peace Corps Volunteers believe that frying fish makes it last longer without refrigeration.  "Up to a day - or even two,"  said one volunteer when asked how long fried fish lasts.  That being said, coming from the land of fish sticks and the Fillet-O-Fish you may need some guidance on how to fry a fish*.

Step One: Scale it!  This can be accomplished with a knife, it doesn't even have to be particularly sharp.  Hold the fish with the head in your hand and the tail near the crook of your elbow.  Scrape the knife along the fish from tail to head at some sort of angle.  Some people can do it without getting scales everywhere, but I am not one of those people.  I do this outside.  Also, there are some fish which don't need scaling.  You can determine what kind of fish you have by analyzing the scales in this manner: "Would I want to eat those scales?"  If you don't mind eating the scales, move to step two.

Step Two: Gut it!  Some Fijians don't even bother gutting small fish, but your cat will probably want to eat the guts, so it's best to do it.  There's a little hole on the bottom of the fish, cut from there toward the head.  Scrape out the innards.  I take out the gills, too.  They don't look like something I'd want to eat.  Feed all that gross stuff to your cat.  If your cat doesn't eat it, something else will, so don't worry about it.  Rinse out your fish inside and out.  It's now ready to be fried.

Flour Mix and Fried Fish

Step Three: Fry it!  You can just throw the fish in a pan with hot oil, but some volunteers like to dust their fish with some flour, salt and pepper.  This is really easy.  Just mix some flour salt and pepper in a plate and get it all over your fish.  Another common technique is to slice a bit into the fish in the thickest part.  This ensures that the fish will be evenly cooked through.  In any case, it's best if your fish fits in your pan.  You can cut it in half if it's a big fish, but the common thinking is that the more whole it is the longer it lasts.  Keeping that in mind, be extra careful when flipping your fish to cook it on the other side.  Sometimes mine falls apart.  Oh well.  I have a cat.

A bit to big for the pan

Step Four: Eat it!  Fried fish is great with fried onions, but alternatively you could flake the flash and use it the same as tinned fish in any recipe.  It's best to eat your fried fish with friends in the village, preferably the ones you've been mooching off the last few weeks when you didn't feel like cooking.  It will really impress them, since they think you don't know how to cook.  Or - if it's been a couple of days since you fried it - give it to the cat.

Fried Fish - Nearly Ready to Eat

Happy cooking!

*I am not an authority on frying fish and all guidance provided herein comes second hand from other Peace Corps Volunteers or from a really silly version of the Fanny Farmer Cookbook that I wouldn't trust to teach me how to boil an egg.  If you want a more expert take, go here.

A Very Good Saturday

A friend wrote me recently in one of her monthly letters, "Sometimes as I sit in front of my computer on Saturday or Sunday mornings and write to you, I try to envision exactly what you might be doing at the same time on the other side of the world.  And, then I try to compare that to my day ahead.  For example, Today I'm off to a co-ed soccer game, followed by work, and then a play."  And I've got to say that I am a bit jealous sometimes, especially of the ability to go to plays and other cultural events, but my Saturdays can be just as awesome - or - if I may brag - even better.

Take today for example.  It's not even six and I'm exhausted and I'm not finished doing things, either.  I woke up at four and walked with my friend Varansese for an hour to Nabalebale where we waited for a lorry to Savusavu in time for the 8am start of the 5k fun run.  Vara didn't run, but it was fun to include her in my enthusiasm for running.  Of the four competitors in the run, I was one of two who ran the whole way, and if I had paid attention to them starting instead of talking with Vara, I could have won.  But the other lady got a head start.  Darn!  It was a nice run, but not marked and I kind of missed the end and ran around an extra five minutes trying to find it.  But I still came in second and garnered a prize to be announced later.

After a shower, tea, and a bit of shopping we caught up with Vara's son who had come in on the bus with his grandpa.  Together we headed to the Crime Prevention Mini Carnival.  Here they had a crazy scary ferris wheel (which I didn't go on because Vara's son was too scared), cotton candy, popcorn, and a stage show of local children presenting on the topic of crime prevention.  It was also here that I was supposed to go to claim my prize for the 5k, so I jumped on stage, showed off my limited English skills, and was presented with my prize - a pearl necklace from J. Hunter Pearls!  I was awestruck - I hadn't even been charged an entry fee for the run!  What a great reason to show up for the next fun run in October!

After the award, I had to catch the lorry back to the village.  I had just set my bags down in my house when another friend, Makalesi, came to ask if I wanted to go to the seven's tournament in the next village down.  This friendly, local tournament had been set up by boys in our village and was sure to be fun, so I went along.  The games had started in the morning and by the time we got there at one it was nearing the end.  We watched and cheered as the boys slipped in the mud, fumbled the ball, tackled, fell, ran and (occasionally) scored.  The semi-final matches were postponed because of the muddy field, though, so I don't know yet if my village's team will win.  I joked with the girls that they were just there to find boyfriends, and maybe some of them were looking, but there was no denying it was really fun to watch. 

Back at home now, I've got a little bit of down time before Movie Night.  It's just one of the fun, community building activities I've implemented in the village.  Tonight is Top Gun and I'm hoping more than just the kids show up.  But really, I'm hoping I make it through it without falling asleep!  I've had so much fun today I'm not sure I can handle any more!

Splendor Island

On a dreary day like today, having washed the dishes in a basin on the ground, done the laundry in the shower and cleaned the water filter of the absolutely nasty film of algae growing on it, it's nice to dream about the other Fiji.  When the sea is just a darker gray than the sky and the waves on the beach seem ominous, I remember the time I went to Splendor Island.  The paradise where you all think I'm living does exist, just not anywhere near where I live.

When you think of Fiji you probably think of white sand beaches, gently swaying palms, blue sky and sea - a carefree world where you could escape the humdrum monotony or the bustling frenzy of your American Life.  If there are rainstorms in this Fiji they are brief respites from the warm sun and disappear as quickly as they came.  If you're bored you simply put on your mask, snorkel and fins to explore the abundance of life on the reef.  If you're lazy you sit in the shade of palm thatched umbrellas and sip on a cool cocktail.  When you're hungry a generous but casual meal appears as if by magic.  As I've said - this wondrous place does exist - in Fiji even - just not here.

I happened upon paradise on the last day of my parents' long stay in Fiji.  As it happens, many of the flights to the US leave absurdly late from Nadi International Airport, so we had all day to kill.  In addition, one of my friends from home was on a stopover in Nadi on her way back from New Zealand.  She and her niece wanted a day at the beach.  Nadi, though, is a bit short on nice beaches, so the five of us decided to make a quick trip to the Mamanucas, a short chain of pretty little islands right off shore.  The day trip to Splendor Island, the closest of the Mamanucas, was the cheapest and just what we were looking for.  It turned out to be paradise.

Now - paradise is what you make of it.  Some of you will say paradise is working in your garden on a warm spring day - others would say it's sitting near the window of the Powell's bookstore coffee shop with a mocha and a book on a blustery day.  Here we're talking Hollywood style paradise of the tropical island variety, and as I write by kerosene lantern bundled in a hoodie, long pants and even socks, the rain still beating on the roof, my laundry not getting dry and the rough sea seeming absurdly close to my tiny hut, I just want to remind you that not ALL tropical islands are paradise.

The bus picked us up at our hotel and dropped us off at the Denarau port where we boarded a ferry.  It was 30 minutes on a calm sea with beautiful views before we disembarked and landed on a most gorgeous little island.  Splendor is a really little island and uninhabited, so we had the whole place to ourselves, well, us and 40 or 50 other people, but it wasn't so small that we really noticed the others.  First on our agenda was the "submarine boat."  A bit like a carnival ride - the bottom of the boat is glass and the seats are all below waterline, so you can spy on the fishes as if you were in a submarine.  We say plenty of fish, jellyfish, coral, even a ray and a small reef shark.  Sure it was a kiddie ride - but it was fun and the kids screaming, "Dory!" and, "Nemo!" were cute.

Back on land we sipped some white wine (free all day) before suiting up for a snorkel tour further out on the reef.  I was impressed that there was such a good reef here with so many tourists around.  One particular young miss in our group was particularly taken by the "magic" coral that changes color when you touch it - but she was more taken by the snorkel guide.  We ended up going snorkeling two more times that day.

After our underwater tours, we barely had time to discover how deliciously refreshing it is to mix Sprite and chilled white wine before lunch appeared by the pool (we never actually went in the pool, as the ocean was so nice - but it's another of Splendor's attractions).  Chicken, beef, fish, salads, bread, everything you could want in a casual BBQ lunch on the beach.  There was plenty of food at the buffet and I know that at least one gentleman was not ashamed to go back for seconds (or thirds?).

In the afternoon we played in the water - snorkeling, kayaking, paddle boarding and even feeding little sharks.   We treated ourselves to massages and just relaxed on the beach and soaked up the tropical sun.  As we headed back to the ferry, the staff sang the Fijian farewell song Isa Lei and just as we reached Denarau's port a quick rain shower reminded us that we were leaving paradise.  I can't imagine a better way to spend the final day of a trip to Fiji than relaxing on Splendor Island.

Back up in Vanua Levu I raved to my friends about the paradise island I'd found - but it's so distant a concept from the Peace Corps lifestyle in our little rural villages.  And yeah - the village can be nice sometimes, too.  Now that it's nearly May the temperatures have dropped and, at least in my village, things seem to be happening.  The women's group is almost ready to start baking in our newly constructed bread oven and our weekly aerobics classes are going well.  I've just started a monthly movie night and a weekly story time for kids.  People in the village are beginning to seek me out for help and I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of village life.  On top of that - it just stopped raining and the stars are coming out.  Maybe I'm in paradise after all!

NOTE:  The island described here is not actually called Splendor Island, but I bet you can figure out the real name if you try.  If you're interested in visiting said island, you can do it at a fraction of the price we paid by visiting Denarau early the day before and sitting through a time share sales pitch with your affluent looking partner.  Don't blow it by telling them you're a Peace Corps Volunteer.  Dress rich and to be safe - make sure you're recognized as a resident of New Zealand or Australia.  Have fun in Paradise - Wherever it may be!

The Unaccountable Story of the Cat in the Nighttime

The latest kill

It was a dark, overcast night - no moon or stars - and the rain that had provided a constant drumbeat on the tin roofing over the bathroom had finally let up.  Yet I was awake.  Swish - Rustle.  There it was again.  Glancing around my surroundings with a dim headlamp and groggy eyes I didn't see anything.  Maybe it was outside.  I switched off the light and tried to ignore the sound.  Swish - Rustle - Mrow.  "Hey Memphis."  I mummered still wanting to go back to sleep.  Then she made it clear that she'd caught something and was going to be playing with it under the bed.  The headlamp went back on so I could investigate.  "No birds!" I yelled at the cat as I smashed through the tangle of mosquito netting to grab Memphis' latest kill: a mynah bird.  "Good Memphis," I muttered before grabbing the bird and throwing it out the door to the bathroom which was slightly ajar.  I have no problem with the cat killing things - even birds - especially if they're Mynah birds - the rats of the winged world - but I thought I'd made it clear on previous occasions that captured birds - dead or alive - were not to be brought inside.  I HATE cleaning up feathers.  Memphis hadn't gotten the message though and ran to bring the bird back in.  I tried shutting her out - as if that had ever worked.  She climbed the woven bamboo walls and entered where the walls don't quite meet the thatched roof.  She's not as good at getting out of the house, though, and before she'd gotten to the ground I stole her prize (again) and tossed it out the front door and shut that and the side door.  This ensured that the bird would stay outside for a little while at least and I went back to sleep - about midnight.

Cat and Mouse

Later I heard little bones being crunched by vicious feline jaws.  I investigated but it wasn't the bird.  It was a small or medium sized rat - perfectly acceptable.  I'm not sure of the size as I could see only half of the rodent.  It looked like it had been chopped in half with only the hindquarters and tail remaining.  This part would be gone, too, by morning.  I went back to sleep.

Cat and Rat

At 5:30 I was woken again - not by the dawn - it gets light around six this time of year.  Headlamp lit, once again, I found the mynah bird has made another appearance.  Jumping up (again) I planted my foot right on the top of the rat nose.  For some reason this part doesn't appeal to feline tastes and I have to discover the noses and throw them out.  My least favorite method of discovery is by stepping on one.  Gross.  I grabbed a kleenex, scooped up the nose and the bird and tossed them out the door.  The trick, though, doesn't work twice.  As soon as I returned from the bathroom I found the bird back inside.  This sort of behavior calls for drastic measures.  I grabbed the bird by it's ugly yellow legs and marched down to the beach, Memphis running along beside me - wailing and attacking my feet.  I waded into the surf and threw the stupid, dead, ugly, nasty mynah as far from shore as I could.  I turned back to see an utterly shocked Memphis waiting by the patch to the house.  Maybe she's finally understanding the "NO BIRDS" rule.  Somehow I doubt it.

A rat nose

Well by then it was almost time to get up.  I put on the coffee.



NOTE:  Memphis is a hunter cat.  That's why I got her - to rid my house of rats.  And it worked.  Memphis kills mice, rats, birds, lizards, moths and even giant spiders the size of tarantulas but spindlier.  She doesn't kill geckos or frogs or chickens.  She has been known to attack cockroaches.  This is handy whenever I have any disgusting creatures as I can sick my attack cat on them.  It is, however, distressing when she brings home the baby rats - or maybe they're just some small kind of mouse - as they squeal and squeak as she plays with them.  Also kind of gross is when the lizards she brings in drop their tails under your feet.  They look like small wriggling worms.  Despite her vicious nature, I have become quite attached to my furball princess and am wondering what her fate will be when I leave Fiji in 14 months.  If you want a Fiji kitty, let me know and I'll bring her back for you.  Surely if I left her here she wouldn't starve - but who would cuddle with her?

Fijian Ladder

The other day I mentioned to the Turaga ni Koro that there was a leak in the roof right above my bed and that it dripped on me when it rained at night.  This was actually a problem for me; though I could put buckets under the other leaks, I couldn’t really put a bucket on my bed while I was sleeping on it.  I was a little leery of telling the TK because the previous times they’d “fixed” my roof it had either (1) not done anything to fix the problem or (2) had actually made the problem worse.  But it was really annoying to get rained on while I tried to sleep – so there I was.

The next day while it was raining and I was drinking ginger tea to warm up after having been drenched working in the garden, the TK came by with Ramasi, one of the oldest men in the village – possibly the oldest that still gets out of the house.  They looked at the roof and had me poke a piece of bamboo through where it was dripping so they could better see the problem.  A little later village youth (age of village youth: 18-35) arrived one or two at a time, some with long pieces of bamboo, others with pieces of fiber stripped from shrubs, others with bush knives (think: machetes) still others just looking on as they built a ramshackle ladder to climb up to the roof.

Sovui Making the Ladder

The crooked ladder

I had to watch, because, well, in the states if you need to climb up something and don’t have a ladder you either (1) borrow one or (2) go buy one at the store.  In Fiji apparently you just gather some materials and make one.  It doesn’t take long, but it does take a committee of older villagers coaching the youths.  There wasn’t enough of the fiber to tie all the rungs, so they decided (instead of going to get more fiber) to cut holes in one of the bamboo sides and stick the rungs through while tying them on the other side. 

After some initial maneuvers, it went a bit like this:

·      Cut holes in one bamboo pole (two per rung – on either side of the pole)

·      Tie the rungs to the other bamboo pole

·      Line the rungs up with the holes on the other bamboo pole

·      Jam the rungs through the holes

There were some problems with this method as the rungs didn’t line up straight across and it was hard to jam all the rungs in the holes at the same time and the rungs were different lengths.  And there was the problem that no one thought to make the ends of the bamboo poles even when they started so one leg was much longer than the other.  Like I said, I had to watch.

Climbing the Ladder

Fixing the Roof

Up went the ladder, a difficult task in of itself as it was nearly 30 feet tall, and down it came again for adjustment as they realized there were some construction issues.  But it went up again, and so did three or four youths and one older guy and they proceeded to do more repairs on the ladder while it was up there, people on the ground tossing items like bush knives up to the people on the roof.  They fixed my roof fairly well this time and everyone made it down the ladder safely, well, almost.  After two guys climbed down the ladder was having some issues and one of the bamboo poles (the tied on one) came off altogether leaving one pole with rungs stuck through.  Another guy opted just to jump off the roof (a twelve foot jump) and another guy used the now defunct ladder to climb down slowly doing some final repairs on the way down.  Just as he finished the bamboo pole snapped in half and he had just enough time to jump to safety before it completely collapsed.

The guys that built the ladder and did the repairs were laughing the whole time, as were all the spectators.  This is really the most popular kind of entertainment in the village: guys doing something and putting on a show for everyone else, especially me, probably.  But I felt like I was the only one who was afraid someone was going to fall and break a back.  One of the guys said to me, “Fijian Ladder, sometimes good, sometimes bad.  Sometimes work, sometimes not.”  Everyone laughed, even me, but – seriously – if they have to work on my roof again, I’m not going to be there; I’m going to town to have a drink and calm my nerves!

The Flood

At the moment my parents are in Fiji, having rented a car, they’ve been driving around and I’ve been hanging out with them.  But I felt like I’d spent too much time away from the village, so yesterday I asked them to drive me home.  We didn’t make it.  Here’s a picture of the bridge on the “West Coast Road,” the main road going by my village.  

Can you see the bridge?  I didn’t think so.  That’s why we turned around!  More on the visit with my parents later, but, yes, I did get back to the village today and yes, it is still raining.

The Wedding

One evening I was listening to Nora Jane Struthers and relaxing in my little bure when I saw Iliana walk up.  After putting away the iPod and dispensing with the usual greetings she invited me to her wedding two days later.  It was nice of her to come by, I thought, but I was already planning on going to the triple wedding that was the talk of the village.  What shocked me was when she asked me to “stand next to me at church.”  She was asking me to be her bridesmaid.  I was flattered, surprised and of course I accepted.  She asked for a jaba (the top of the common women’s dress) so she could make us matching outfits for the party and said not to worry – she would take care of everything.

Trying on the tapa

In the morning I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I wandered over to Iliana’s house around nine and found the bride to be sitting with a large group of women fashioning salusalus or flowered garlands for everyone in the wedding parties to wear.  I asked if I could help with anything and I was lead outside to the shed where ladies were sitting around cooking for lunch and was put to work slicing long-beans with a razorblade.  Although I have experience cooking for large groups, this razorblade thing was new to me and I promptly cut the tip of my finger (not badly).  When we finished the beans I was whisked back to the house where ladies were arranging the gifts of mats, pillows and mosquito nets in one room and kneeling on the ground folding tapa a cloth made from mulberry bark and printed with traditional designs.  The tapa were pleated, folded over a length of old cloth and tied around the waist like a skirt. 

Cutting veggies with razor blades

Ladies arranging wedding gifts in Iliana's house

When everything was ready the old women dressed the grooms and groomsmen in the tapa and adorned them with the salusalus and sprinkled sandalwood on their hair.  All of the grooms were from the same extended family – which is why they were all getting ready together – the other two brides were from other families and were preparing in other areas of the village.  The old women dressed Iliana and me, too.  I felt conspicuous.  Not only was I the only white person, but I was wearing a bright pink dress Iliana had lent me when everyone else was in white, and I wasn’t wearing the full tapa like the others, but they told me it was fine.  And I was thrilled to be taking part so it didn’t really matter.

Kitione getting tapa put on him

The boys in their tapa

Iliana and I all dressed up

As we started to the church I handed off my camera to Nasa, a boy from a nearby village whom I trust a little more than the others because he is smart and talkative, always smiling and wants to be a pilot.  It turned out to be a good bet – I got lots of great photos.  I was only concerned with acting appropriately like a good bride’s maid.  The only problem was that I had no idea how a good bride’s maid is supposed to act in the US or in Fiji so I was trying to watch the other girls and do what they did.  This lead to me making furtive glances around at the party while we were standing at the front of the church and probably made me look even more odd.  I did realize that I wasn’t supposed to have my shoes on and then desperately tried to kick them behind me.  Mostly I tried to be comforting, supportive and cheerful.

Outside the church

In the church

Vows

As the wedding progressed I could feel myself sweating profusely.  It was a very hot, humid day with no breeze and the tapa and salusalu must have added about 10 degrees (Celsius!).  By the time the talatala had finished the vows for the first two couples (same stuff you hear in the states: in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, etc.) I knew something was wrong with me – my knees were weak and I was getting nauseous.  I needed a fan or something.  I remember putting my hand on Iliana’s shoulder to ask her for her fan, but the next thing I knew three pairs of hands were grabbing me and setting me down on a bench.  I fainted in the middle of the wedding!  The old women took off my tapa and salusalu and started fanning me.  Out of nowhere a cup and bottle of water appeared.  I was all right and the wedding was going on, but I was mortified.  Iliana told me not to worry. 

Everyone wondering what's going on with me

Just barely consious

Feeling better not that I'm sitting down

After signing the legal documents and shaking hands with a hundred or so people, we headed back to Iliana’s house to change into our matching sulu jabas and head to lunch.  There was a big table set up for the wedding parties, with chairs and silverware and cups and all the things that you might take for granted in the states but actually rarely have when dining in Fiji.  We had bowls and plates of all the best food – including pork ribs – to choose from.  Everyone else took turns standing at long counters and consuming a steady stream of food from plates that the women served already heaped with an assortment of the usual Fijian feast foods: fish, taro root, beef chop suey, stewed beef, stewed pork, chicken curry, and more fish and taro root.  I had never had such good pork in the village!

Nasa - my awesome photographer

With lunch over – I thought we would head straight to the various sheds around the village that had been decorated for drinking grog (kava) and dancing to music blasting from boom boxes, but there was another matter to attend to first, the dowry ceremonies.  Iliana’s had been done before the wedding day, but the other two brides had to be formally given to the grooms’ family along with all of their possessions.  First came Salote, whose family is from the same village and didn’t have to come very far.  She was accompanied by a huge wooden chest full of chinaware, blankets, mats, pillows, even a mattress.  Her father presented her, her things and a tabua, a sperm whale tooth on a cord woven of coconut fiber – a very valuable cultural artifact, to the groom’s family and when her family left, Salote stayed in the house.  She and her husband already have their own house, but she told me it was ceremonial for her to stay at the husband’s family’s house.  When Seinimeri came it was a different experience.  Her family is from a different island and it is possible, though unlikely now that the islands are better connected by ferries, that she will never see them again.  Her father cried as he gave her away, again with a tabua, and the groom’s family tried to be comforting and cheerful.  Like Salote, she just stared demurely at the ground as the old men talked.  These days women choose who they want to marry – and these couples had been together and happy for years before the wedding day, but in the past the bride had no say in the wedding besides just saying yes.  It was interesting for me to observe a cultural tradition that is so distinct from the marriages I’d experienced at home.

Dancing with the ladies on the wedding mats

With all of the ceremonies out of the way, it was finally time for the party.  All over the village the sounds of celebration, grog drinking, kava pounding, and music abounded.  I headed, with some other girls, to a party on Salote’s side of the village with the more traditional sigidrigi music played with guitars and ukeleles accompanying soft Fijian voices.  We danced, sang, drank grog and enjoyed the atmosphere until all the grog was gone and then left to sleep away our grog-induced stupor.  A pleasantly Fijian end to an incredibly Fijian day.  I went to bed feeling like a real Peace Corps Volunteer.