Amanda Abroad...

In Canada...

2010-06-23T23:32:00.000-07:00

...until further notice...or October 20th, whichever comes first. Updates to come!

Motion

2010-03-25T22:42:00.001-07:00

I am moving again.

This time it's a bit less dramatic than the last.

I am simply moving bedrooms, in the same house.

Just a bit of a shimmy downstairs and voila, living life on a whole new level...

My flatmate is moving out and in with his girlfriend, and I have decided to 'downsize', taking a smaller, cheaper room - mostly because it is cheaper, but also because it's nice to shake things up a little bit, and I wouldn't mind initiating a gradual process of culling over the next few months, which smaller spaces seem to demand.

So I guess that's the other big news. I will be returning to Canada for the first time in more than three years this June, for the intended duration of four months, before returning to Auckland in October. More about that later.

It's amazing how much of the energy of moving is still present even in such a seemingly insignificant shift. The subtle buzz of inspiration, the anticipation, the moments of reflection.

I was clearing out a drawer just now and just when I thought I was done something shiny in the corner caught my eye. It was my Peace Corps passport (which I sort of vaguely remember should have been surrendered to some government official at some point)...and with just a touch of nostalgia I picked it up...a little ceremonially.

Evidence the dream was real.

I look for that sometimes. When I was on the island I used to dream of the city, and would wake up wondering which universe was real. Recently I had a dream I was back on the island, but things had changed. There had been more "development", and some of the familiar sights were almost unrecognizable. But the thing is, the coconut trees were lower to the ground.

I reached up and plucked a fresh green coconut with one hand and expertly sliced it open with a nearby bush knife, and as I tilted my head back and lustily drank back the nectar I thought to myself, "Thank God this is real. Thank God this coconut is real."

And then I woke up.

But that was awhile ago, and today as I thumbed through the pages of the passport, reread the dates and airports on all the stamps, searched my eyes in the picture for the innocence I claim to miss, with a sigh I thought to myself,

Who knew?

You know?

Like...who knew I'd end up here?

I've had a recent epiphany about my physical health, which may indeed have psychological and even spiritual ramifications.

I have discovered almost accidentally that I have probably been deeply dehydrated for a very long time.

I did a bit of a cleanse a couple weeks ago, a pretty casual self-directed apple fast, followed by an actual fast with some kriyas (yogic cleansing practices) and some relatively intense meditation and chanting practice. Throughout this period I was extremely conscious of staying hydrated, setting myself little goals for water intake throughout the day.

But I found that once I started drinking I almost couldn't stop. I was incredulous at how much water I was consuming, craving, absorbing. You know how people say when you dramatically increase your water intake you are always running to wee and you feel really bloated and stuff? I just didn't have that. All that water was going somewhere.

I'm not saying it's the be all and end all of all my health problems but it's been a fascinating and promising water-logged week since.

So here's the trick, right? To encouraging the habit of regular hydration. Here's the epiphany...

Before when I wanted a glass of water I'd fill it up, drink it, and put it down, right? And then the next time you want a glass of water you do the same...right? Like this is how you drink water, right?

Wrong!

Fill it up, drink it, FILL IT UP. Immediately. So then the next time the thought even STARTS to cross your mind that MAYBE you want to drink something, or perhaps your eyes fall on the glass as you're looking for something else, or whatever...your glass is already full when you need it.

Think about it.

Far out, right?

I hope now you understand how my world has turned upside down for the better recently.

There is one more thing I'd like to share. Some of you with experience 'in the field' may have already made this connection.

You may or may not be aware that fresh green coconut water is one of nature's most effective, efficient, and fast-acting rehydrative solutions. So, like, if you're dying of thirst even a little green coconut can save your life.

I'm just saying it's interesting is all...

2010 So Far: The Practical

2010-03-13T00:03:00.000-08:00

I prefer not to think of this blog as "abandoned".

Let's just say it has just been...dormant, for various reasons...none of which are interesting enough to explore here. Although I suppose it must be said that probably the major reason is also the least glamourous: after years of resistance I finally joined Facebook. Of course it is a very different forum of online communication, but in some ways it 'does the job' enough to make you not think about writing blog updates. Okay...ME. I won't make assumptions about the rest of you...

I am well aware that long lapses in communication mean I have probably lost most of my previously loyal (and oh-so-close-to-my-heart!) readership, but there must be some of you still kicking around...somewhere.

So I intend to update you all on "2010 So Far" in two parts: The Practical and The Personal. This is the first.

January sort of accidentally began at the Prana Blue Moon Festival in the Coromandel peninsula.

While everyone else I knew made exciting plans to hightail it out of Auckland and go camping over the Christmas holidays, I just assumed I'd kick around the city and use the quiet time to make some extra cash, as I had done pretty much every Christmas 'holiday' period of my semi-adult life.

It was actually a pretty sad and stressful time in general. It felt like a hundred times a day people were sympathetically cocking their heads to one side and saying, "It must be so hard to be away from home for Christmas..."

And a hundred times a day I would have to decide whether or not to explain that I wasn't Christian (gasp! like Vanuatu all over again!), and that Christmas really really REALLY doesn't mean anything to me or my family, and if I was up for the series of questions I might explain that I have been away from "home" for a very long time, and I might even go so far as to declare that I've never really been a "home person". I really felt like everyone around me really wanted me to be depressed about being single and foreign on Christmas. So I guess I kind of rolled with it for awhile...

Also I was totally broke with no idea how I was going to pay my rent week to week.

That hasn't really changed much, but I do cry about it less frequently than I did in December.

But anyway, I am meant to be focusing on The Practical.

So what I didn't realize is that, like the tropics, Auckland really does shut down for the holidays. There was no extra cash to be a made, I would be on holiday with or without my consent. And just when I returned from the library with a stack of books to feed my soul in solitude, the opportunity came up to go to Prana for free as a worker at a stall for a local organic food store. In about 72 hours, various new friends pitched in to lend me a tent, flashlight, etc, cover my classes at the gym and organize rides for me. It was all feeling very blessed.

One of the funniest things that stands out for me about this preparation phase is how deeply embarrassed I felt admitting that I did not have a functional flashlight or pocket knife on hand...at all times. You can take the girl out of Peace Corps, but you can't take Peace Corps out of the girl!

How could I describe the Prana experience efficiently yet effectively?

I remember afterwards declaring it was as transformative as walking into my one-month Yoga Teacher's Training Course a staunch atheist at 20 years old and walking out a devotee...but even crazier considering I had had no plans to be there, had no idea what to expect, and it was only five days...with a bunch of (mostly) strangers with no particular organization or tradition uniting them other than a generalized interest in spirituality, music, eco-politics and/or the healing arts.
New friendships were ignited, old friendships were renewed and young friendships were cemented.

Everything that had seemed so hard and overwhelming about life just...stopped seeming hard and overwhelming for awhile.

Incidentally, I will be returning to Prana over Easter weekend for a smaller, quieter version of the New Year's festival. I pledge to remain expectation-free in the meantime.

When I returned from Prana, the rest of my January can be defined by a single phrase: "Short + Sweet". This ten-minute play festival ran for the last two weeks of January. Here's a news clip about it, but I sort of have a feeling you may not be able to view it from outside of New Zealand...

In Short + Sweet, I wrote and directed one play, co-directed and acted in a second, and Just Plain Acted in a third. It was an exciting experience for a number of reasons, mostly because it was my New Zealand acting and directing debut and my playwriting debut period. It was an exhausting and inspiring time...plus my legs got really strong from cycling to and from the theatre...

February marked my first show and official induction into Auckland Playback Theatre, a company and form I adore more and more as time goes on. Founded by Jonathan Fox in New York in the 1970s, "Playback Theatre is an original form of improvisational theatre in which audience or group members tell stories from their lives and watch them enacted on the spot. Whether in theatres, workshops, educational or clinical settings, Playback Theatre draws people closer as they see their common humanity." That's from the Playback School website you can go to to find a company near you...

In fact, Playback is so awesome I just know I am going to have blog separately about it at some stage.

At the other end of February, after months of rehearsal, Wet Hot Btchs finally had our 2010 premiere under the more family-friendly title of 'Wet Hot Beauties'...in the pool.

From the press release:

Pretty ladies all in a row!
A fantastical aquacade!
A memorial to the King Of Pop!
A hand in glove mix of syncronised swimming and water boogie - don't miss the underwater hit of the summer!

Deeply silly, delightful and glorious, the 40s era water musical aquacade is back, MJ styles! Hilarious! Hot! Wet! Wet Hot Beauties!

It was amazing...obviously. (That photo was not part of any press release - I just put it in cause, like, this is my blog and stuff...)

March...

...began with the fortuitous combination of a terrible cold and an amazing, intensive training for the newly-established Clown Doctors New Zealand, a partner organization of the long-ago-established Rotenasen (Red Noses) International. Pretty much I'm not allowed to say anything about the program launch in Auckland until the PR moguls have done their thing, but feel free to give us money in the meantime...

What I can say with impunity is that I had 20 Clown Doctors on my patio on Tuesday night to celebrate the end of (initial) training and to say Bon Voyage to our teacher returning to Vienna and other staff back to the South Island. I do so like having parties.

Since Halloween I have been teaching a free Yoga-in-the-Park class on Saturday mornings (weather-permitting). It's in the park.

Which brings us pretty much up to speed.

You may also be wondering how I pay my rent. To be honest, I am kind of amazed it happens myself.

So for money I teach a couple fitness classes a week at a gym, I've run a couple 6-week yoga courses, I babysit adorable toddlers in my neighbourhood, and as of a couple weeks ago I telemarket Me Time Pamper Packs - enter code 9572 to get $5 off (Aucklanders only would care). I've even ended up with a couple eensy-weensy gigs behind the camera which has been awesome and I definitely hope to do more of that sort of thing. But yeah, it's been a pretty hand-to-mouth existence the last few months...

A friend recently suggested that one day I will fondly look back on my starving artist days with a kind of bemused nostalgia...and if nothing else have a good laugh about it...(of course with the implication that I won't still be living them at the time). I hope that's true. I find the thought comforting nonetheless.

To My New Filing Cabinet...

2010-02-10T14:44:00.001-08:00

You only cost $5 on TradeMe.

And though it appears I rescued you from certain destruction,
I don’t know how you feel about your new GL digs.

It sure is a long way from Parnell.

I’ll let you in on a little secret
Since it looks like we’ll be working together for awhile now:

You are my last and only hope.

Maybe it’s too soon for such confessions.
After all, we’ve only just met.

But what you are to me,
is the best of everything that has been
and may be.

Keeper of my dreams,
guardian of my secrets,
a window to The Good Life
just
beyond
my fingertips…

Late nights and full moons
forgotten dreams and the rustle of
buried regrets
nestled amongst
precious seedlings of possibility
waiting for the faith to breathe them into life.

Just you and me, Filing Cabinet
against the world.

Ode to 2009

2009-12-23T02:08:00.000-08:00

It is high time we reconciled.

After all, we are running out of time.

Who knew when we began what you would do to me?

There were nights you nearly broke my heart.
There were nights I nearly died in your arms.

And somehow you have found the nerve
to show up drunk
and stumbling
upon my doorstep
begging my forgiveness
pleading my remembrance
as if
as if I could ever forget.

You know, they say you've changed me.

They used to say we looked good together.
Now they are afraid to even ask how you are.

How many times did it seem you were two steps ahead of me?
How many times have I shouted into your shadow?
And how many times did you turn your back on me in the darkness?

How could you meet my sobs with cold, stony silence
and act like nothing had even happened
by morning?

I would have followed you across the universe if you asked me to.

As it is, I crossed an ocean.

And in your name, there remains one ocean I have not dared to cross.

I know you never promised me a rose garden.
But there was a time it seemed like you and I could be anything together.

We would slay dragons, conquer whole armies...

Do you remember?
We promised to move mountains together.

And look at us now.

And as the curtain begins to close on our story,
I can't help but wonder

Could I have been more for you?

I just wanted to make you proud.

I didn't know
I didn't know how the dragons would fight back.

I didn't know
those armies had soldiers
hiding
in every nook and cranny
of those mountains
and I didn't know those mountains
had been there
since before time began.

If I could do it all over again,
I guess I might have held you a little closer,
breathed you in a little deeper.

I thought you came here tonight so I could forgive you
but in the end
it seems
I am the one on my knees.

So what do you say
we cut our losses
shake hands
and part as friends?

Because if nothing else
I learned from you
the sun always swallows the moon
some dragons can be tamed
and some mountains are nothing
but castles in the sand.

Goodbye, 2009.
You'll be forever in my heart.

Suburbia

2009-12-22T13:58:00.001-08:00

For anyone who ever heard me swear up and down I would never return to suburbia, I assure you, it's different in Auckland. Suburbs are where people live, and downtown is where people work and go to bars. Unless you work in the arts, in which case you just work in the suburbs. Really. It's weird.

Anyway.

It's been a busy couple of months, and unfortunately I don't have anything particularly insightful or even mildly reflective to share at this time. Things are slowing down considerably over the next couple weeks and so I anticipate having time and (head)space to pick up the proverbial pen/keyboard again soon.

In the meantime...here are a few photos to give you a snapshot of my life.

These are the people I live with:

These two photos were taken during my birthday party a couple weeks ago, by the talented NZ photographer Doug Barry-Martin. Ironically, the photos have an extremely still and lonely feel despite the fact there was a 'raging' party brewing inside - I enjoy the juxtaposition.

An 'intimate' view of my backyard. And, yes, that is my underwear hanging on the line. My mother will cringe as I was not brought up to be such a tacky host, but it was an extremely busy day (we went to see the Dalai Lama speak before the party). Also, I thought my Peace Corps friends would get a kick out of seeing what is clearly $3 Au Bon Marche underwear - yep, it's been six months out of the field and I still haven't gotten around to new underwear. Lovely.

Just across the park...

I'm still alive...

2009-11-29T22:48:00.000-08:00

And well, I promise.

I personally find blogs where people just list all the things they're doing incredibly boring and kind of annoying. But there hasn't been a lot of time for ponderous reflection and playful musings in the last couple months - hence my apparent silence. Auckland ain't the island, that's for sure.

Expect an appropriate update in the next two weeks...

Just A Morning

2009-09-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

Upon checking the date this morning, the following thought occurred to me,

"Shit! It's October? And Janis Joplin was already DEAD by 27!"

(The photo on the right is meant to indicate that I am unimpressed with my late start in artistic achievements and am about to GET SERIOUS).

At the Movies
On Sunday I began a new screenplay, because I just don't have enough unfinished projects at the moment...

I have made an interesting proposition to myself over a cup of Rooibos this morning: absolutely every character has to be consciously (loosely) based on someone I know or at least have met personally.

Perhaps you will all feel violated, but I think it is a really interesting exercise in observation, imagination, and extrapolation and anyway, you don't really have a choice so...yeah.

But have no fear, Kokoru-Kamam: The Movie is still canoeing along slowly but surely and I hope you will hear a lot about more about it in the coming months. I was able to view the first two hours of footage last week and much to my relief and delight it was not 120 minutes of fuzz, snow, blurry fog or weird audio (okay, there is a really weird sound problem in one scene when the boys playing the bamboo drums are like 100 times louder than the old men singing with them - but I have confidence that some audio specialist somewhere knows how to fix it and actually it kind of looks sort of cool and surreal and even maybe like I did it on purpose.)

When the appropriate funds manifest to purchase a computer more vibrant and capable than this terminally disabled laptop, the editing process will begin in earnest.

On the Waterfront
And for those of you who heard about the tsunami warnings here yesterday, at the end of the day Auckland City was not swept into the sea. Please re-direct your concern and prayers to those in the Philippines, Samoa and Indonesia for the time being...

Where Are You My Only One?

2009-09-22T18:27:00.001-07:00

If you live in Wellington, and even if you don't, I would run (not walk) to see
Where Are You My Only One? at Circa Theatre.

It was without a doubt the (accidental) highlight of my weekend in Welly.

When I have some more time, I will be more than happy to pontificate as to why it was such a moving and beautiful experience, but I want to post this as soon as possible because I actually don't want to risk even just one more soul NOT seeing this play because I don't have time to write a proper review right now.

It was that awesome.

Cruisin'

2009-09-06T00:19:00.000-07:00

So I drove ALL around downtown Auckland yesterday (a busy shopper's Saturday at that) and nobody died!

Take THAT, Other Side of the Road!

P.S. A very special shoutout to my new flatmate Andrew who lent me both his vehicle and confidence for the afternoon. Quote of the week: "I mean, I would prefer if you didn't smash up my car, but, like, it's okay if you do..."

In Hindsight...

2009-09-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

When you go to an audition dressed as a professional businesswoman and the auditioner compliments your shoes, maybe you shouldn't exclaim, "Thanks! Can you believe it? Only $3 at the Salvation Army!"

But...you know...what's done is done...

:)

Life in Auckland

2009-08-24T03:45:00.001-07:00

...is like a dream come true.

So far.
So good.

A New Chapter

2009-08-20T03:37:00.000-07:00

This photo doesn't really have to do with anything...it is just of me buying dried cherries in Jerusalem like eight months ago. But I really like dried cherries. And it just seemed relevant. I hope you can understand.

It is the end of an insanely busy day at the end of an insanely busy week, which, come to think of it, is rounding off a pretty busy month.

Tomorrow I leave New Plymouth again for Auckland, and though I know I will be back here in just three weeks for a few days, it feels a bit like the end of an era.

The era of what exactly, I'm not sure.

But this is definitely the end of something, whatever it is, and the beginning of something else entirely.

As of tomorrow afternoon, I will officially live in Auckland.

For the first time in three and a half years, I will be moving somewhere without knowing it is just a temporary stopover. "Just a few months at the ashram before Peace Corps." "Just a few months in Switzerland before Vanuatu." "Just two years on this island before The Rest of My Life," etc, etc...

I mean, in the strictest sense of things, this whole lifetime is a temporary stopover, but you know what I mean...

I will have a home. I will have an address. I may even have matching plates before you know it.

Some items I can't wait to purchase include:
-a bicycle
-a guitar
-tealight holders
-a mug
-some crystals
-organic foot creme (not 'cream' - there is a world of difference)
-a dimmer switch

I am easily thrilled.

Some urban activities I can't wait to partake in:
-drop-in dance classes
-late-night sushi runs
-finding "my cafe"
-exploring used bookstores
-obtaining a library card
-finding a chanting group

And all of the obvious things like seeing live theatre, arthouse cinema, kiwi indie bands, etc...

And then, of course, there is the greener side of Auckland, one of the main reasons why I was first drawn to the city: the beach, the bush, the ranges - just a hop, skip, and a jump from the pulse of urbanity.

Life, in general, seems to be getting easier as it continues. I certainly have my moments, or, you know, my hours, and, okay, there's the occasional four-hour stretch or so, but the general trend of this whole life thing seems to be gently spiraling upwards.

So, there's that...

...you know?

Weekends in Taranaki

2009-08-08T16:36:00.000-07:00

Work Hard

I made sure I was back from Auckland in time for the Shine festival in Oakura last weekend. It was long hours and all pretty full-on, but we met tons of cool people, got some new students, and broke out the harmonium to liven the place up a little bit. Then we got falafel takeaway which is always a treat around these parts, and even though it made me sick after it was all part of the fun.

Play Hard

Yesterday we took advantage of the rare winter sunshine and went for a 'stroll' up (the bottom of) that magic Mount Taranaki.

So, like, have you guys tried Capoeira? I followed a friend there on Friday night having basically no idea what to expect and LOVED it. It was SO fun and so cool and I woke up totally unable to move my legs (in a good way) and all these different muscles I rarely feel from Yoga. It is excellent cross-training and I am definitely hooked - will go back as soon as I can move my legs again.

In other news, things are almost sorted out on the accomodation front in Auckland. I should be up there in some kind of 'semi-permanent' (I use the term loosely)capacity in less than two weeks.

When I can sort out how to upload having left most of my computery stuff in Auckland, I will post pictures of my first Rocky Horror Picture Show experience. How I ended up dressed as Magenta in a French maid costume at SkyCity cinema at midnight within 24 hours arriving in Auckland and not, ostensibly, knowing a soul is anybody's guess.

It was that kind of a trip.

Couchsurfing

2009-07-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

I may, indeed, be breaking my own personal record of vagabondistic behaviour...

Two nights in Onehunga (almost South Auckland - cheers Katherine!), two nights in Waitakere out west (thanks Heather & Alan), two nights nice & central in Ponsonby (you're the best, David), and now back in Waitakere for one night, Titirangi tomorrow night and...well, we'll see what manifests over the weekend.

If I had to describe the last six days in Auckland in one word, it would be..."magical".

It's been that kind of week.

Auckland-bound...

2009-07-14T23:58:00.000-07:00

Well, not forever.

Just for a couple weeks.

I'll be heading up there tomorrow to get some things set up - crashing with a friend of a friend for a couple nights (okay, so we haven't even met but I have a good feeling about this) and then with my tried-and-true Rotarians for the weekend...and then...um...well...and then I open myself up to the Couchsurfing Gods (who, I might add, have never failed me yet). I mean, if Jesus and his disciples could go with the flow, surely I could give it a go?

Ahem.
So.

New Zealand driver's licence has been obtained, bank accounts have been opened, IRD number (like a GST number) has been acquired...I guess I actually LIVE here now...

Amazing.

By 'here' I mean in this country. It's not like I actually have a residence or...gainful employment or anything crazy like that.

Plus today I rode a bike for the first time in 2.5 years.
It was pretty awesome.

Just two more days of Primaquine to go and then I'm free.
It hasn't killed me yet so...you know what they say...

Primaquine

2009-07-09T03:21:00.000-07:00

-makes me shake
-makes me cry at Will Ferrel movies (i.e. Stranger Than Fiction)
-makes me laugh at inappropriate times (i.e. the middle of Yoga class)
-makes my voice sound really far away to myself
-makes me feel like my life is a movie and I'm watching it
-makes me want to puke all the time
-makes images from horror movies I have never seen hide inside my eyes
-makes all the itsy bitsy malarial parasites potentially hiding inside my body have to die

Eight more days to go!

True Sequence of Events, or Why the Universe and I Are in Love

2009-07-09T02:52:00.000-07:00

1. Yoga Student brings New Friend passing through town to Yoga class one day.

2. New Friend happens to have recently met a local filmmaker looking for extras for a shoot the following weekend.

3. E-mails are exchanged, forwarded, and replied to and I arrive at said shoot the following weekend.

4. Whilst at said shoot, I meet a video editor/teacher at a local polytechnic.

5. When I ask if he knows of any short courses in videography, I am informed that he does...and that it starts THE NEXT DAY.

6. Said course runs from 1-4 p.m., the only available time slot I have in the afternoon between the morning and evening Yoga classes at the Sivananda Centre.

7. Twenty-four hours later I am sitting in my Video Course.

8. Twenty-four hours later than that, I have consultants and co-conspirators and an elaborate plan to digitise my documentary footage.

9. Twenty-four hours later than that, I am offered a random ride up to Auckland next Thursday by aforementioned co-conspirator.

10. Twenty-four hours later than that (today), though it was touch-and-go for awhile there, all of the whole NTSC vs. PAL* issue I was praying would not be a problem was revealed to be just that...not a problem. And for the first time, I was able to see my footage on screen...like...like...A REAL MOVIE...

I Have Learned So Far...

...that I LOVE editing! Even though of course I hate it too. But at least I have answered one of the big questions about this film - whether or not I was going to buy the equipment and learn how to do it myself or try to find an editor. Defo going to do it myself.

Two things I decided to accept fully and completely today:

1. This film is going to take a lot of money to make.
2. This film is going to take a very long time to make.

Once you can kind of get your head around that, it all becomes very exciting...

*NTSC is the American system and PAL is the Almost Everywhere Else In This Part of the World system. I purchased an NTSC camera assuming I would be producing this film in North America, which has (surprise) turned out not to be the case at this time. None of it should exactly be a problem because I shot in HD but it can also sort of be a problem except for sometimes it's not and right now it's not.

Taranaki

2009-07-05T03:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy weekend, and I can't wait to crawl into my bed...and under my magic electric blanket.

Just wanted to post a quick update to All Concerned Parties that I'm healthy and happy and eating copious amounts of kiwi fruit.

Like an old folk tale, it seems like every day I meet at least one expatriate, and sometimes several, who one day found themselves mysteriously drawn to Taranaki and have never been able to leave.

Here is why:

"There's something about that mountain..."

they say, and there is a pause as the speaker loses themselves in a wistful reverie. Everyone nearby shakes their head in solemn agreement, and there is a moment of silence.

Indeed, everything is wonderful when I stop to think about it for a moment. Every day I wake up to find Synchronicity on my doorstep offering the next adventure (I think I almost mean literally at my doorstep - I mean, I live in a Yoga Centre and I don't get out much - so the adventure does usually have to walk through the front door). I guess when your life reminds you of an enchanting old folk tale, that's probably a good sign.

Needless to say, New Zealand has been kind to me so far.

I am still in New Plymouth living and teaching and attempting to spend more time on my head at the Sivananda Yoga Centre.

This is my second day of primaquine consumption, and I've got twelve more days of my apparently 'highly controversial' antimalarial cocktail and then I am officially free!

The tentative intention is to go up to Auckland in a week or so to get new headshots done and check in with some people, and then come back here to New Plymouth to do some kind of a detox and celebrate my new drug-free state.

After which I will begin the process of moving up to Auckland For Real.

Dates are, perhaps obviously, still flexible for the time being. Things might have to stop being so awesome here before I can leave.

There's something about that mountain, I tell you...

Help A Women's Small Business Project in Vanuatu!

2009-06-20T16:55:00.000-07:00

This is for those of you who want to just keep reading about Vanuatu on this blog...

I'd like to pass on some information about a project a friend of mine is working on through a program called Peace Corps Partnership. It is a great way for you folks at home to participate in the crazy stuff we do out there on the islands...this one is to complete a Women's Business and Education Center for a women's group that sells woven baskets and handcrafts.

This project is close to my heart because I stayed in this village for two weeks last year and it was definitely one of the highlights of my Peace Corps service.

These families welcomed me into their community and were amazing participants in my Hygiene & Sanitation and Reproductive Health workshops.

These women are industrious, talented and committed and the organization they have developed is one of the most successful small business projects I've seen (certainly partly due to the awesomeness of their Peace Corps Volunteer Blake.)

General Details

Community Contribution- $1303.64US (31% of total budget)
Original Request- $2786.47US

Women artisans in this part of Vanuatu have been organized since mid-2006. Currently the women’s group is compromised of approximately 40 women who are working in collaboration with a local fair trade organization. The vast majority of their products are baskets woven from the leaves of the pandanas tree. This provides them with their livelihood and the ability to provide their families with necessities such as soap, matches, food, and school fees. However they have been functioning without adequate facilities since they began. Now this group is facing a growing demand for the center to work in and store all of their products and materials. Pressure increases with the rising interest of more women desiring to take advantage of this opportunity. The leaders of this group have voiced this need and have developed a floor plan for an appropriate building to cater to their needs, as well as those of the women they serve and the entire community. Let’s help them achieve their dream.

To donate, click here!

For more details, keep reading Blake's Semi-Detailed Project summary...

"Your donations will contribute to the construction of this center in the village I am living and working in, Qatamele. This building is intended to provide appropriate facilities for the women artisans in the surrounding communities to manage their small handcraft business with a comfortable and appropriate place to conduct business, store products, and to provide materials to highten the awareness of women's/child's rights/etc. Due to the infrequent use of the this building (once every two weeks for business purposes) it will alternatively serve the communtiy's various needs. The building itself will be big enough to comfortably hold approx. 30 people for classes, workshops, sunday school, housing for visitors, fundraisers etc... The women's group and community will contribute primarily with locally avaliable resources as well as a portion of the construction costs.

A portion of the project's money will go towards furnishing the facility and managing the project. Items are cash boxes, containers to store/protect handcrafts, a filing cabinet for records, stools, tables, particle boards for posting announcements, etc. Approximately $400US will be placed into the groups revolving fund to directly purchase handcrafts from the women easing the burden of waiting for delayed payments for these products. It will increase the existing fund to $1,000US and when payment is received this fund is replenished."

Once again, to donate click here! .

And feel free to contact me with any further questions...

A Toast

2009-06-19T12:57:00.000-07:00

Amidst the hustle & bustle of the Arrivals terminal at Auckland airport, which is strangely enough starting to feel a little bit like home to me, I kill time at the free internet kiosk waiting for my domestic transfer that leaves in about two hours.

I have been awake for 25 hours and counting, and I've got another four hours or so before I reach my final (temporary) destination, my peeps at the Sivananda Yoga Centre in New Plymouth.

I imagine I'll stay there for a couple weeks or so before heading up to Auckland and Getting A Life. Since I am now both homeless AND unemployed, my dates are flexible as you might imagine. We'll see what happens.

Despite the fact that I began sneezing as soon as the plane took off and I will most certainly die of hypothermia before the end of the month, I'm feeling pretty good about things...not least because of the fabulous send-off I received at the airport last night.

To the group of committed troopers who braved the torrential downpour to be by my side from my 11 p.m. check-in to my 3 a.m. departure [flight was delayed 2 hours, and I wouldn't have had it any other way], especially those who made the long, laborious and expensive trek from North Efate to do so...yufala i rokem wol blong mi we.

So if you'd all like to raise your virtual coconuts, I'd like to propose a toast:

To Vanuatu: You taught me every day that there was another way...you'll be forever in my heart.

P.S. A note to my loyal readers: As I am still technically "abroad", I see no reason why this blog should end here. Especially what with my aforementioned condition [that is being homeless, unemployed, etc] I should have ample time to write.

So stay tuned for the next chapter...

Abu blong Yumi

2009-06-18T19:24:00.000-07:00

May 27, 2009

[incidentally, 2 days before the earthquake that rocked our world...]

This is what I want to say.

Somewhere in the rainforest, an 83-year-old man is perched on a wooden bench as the sun begins to set. He is wearing a floppy fisherman’s hat that is undoubtedly several decades old. His brow is permanently furrowed by time and life. Several teeth are missing, and there is the slightest tremor underlying every movement.

He opens his mouth and begins to sing.

He is barely audible at first, his voice hoarse, his breath weak. His body is still, but his eyes dart furtively from point to point as if lost in an inner world. His gaze falls on his equally ancient wife just a few feet away, mostly hidden by the thatch roof of their bush kitchen. She is quietly grating a coconut and cooking their dinner. She begins to sing along with the first few lines, just to get him started. She sings quietly but confidently, and he is calmed.

In a moment he is joined on the bench by his thirty-something-year-old son, himself a father of three. A man unusually tall for his race, he is known for his short temper and fits of violence. He is the man you go to when you want someone warned.

But now he is a child again. He slouches and shrinks down on the bench so he is able to meet his father’s eyes. He joins the singing, his voice both strong and soft, and together they sing the songs of their ancestors. It’s hard to tell whether the son is helping his father remember or the father is teaching the son. At times it seems both are happening at once.

The old man is the Guardian of the Music, a role passed on to the firstborn son of each generation. He is one of the last surviving elders who can remember the songs from Before.

I am ten feet in front of them, behind the camera. This is why we are here. Just nine days before my final departure from this island, they are seizing the unique opportunity to record their traditions as a kind of training tool for the next generation. The times they are a-changin’, and the youth don’t want to learn from the Elders in the way that they used to. The once sacred oral tradition is now threatened by the forces of the 21st century. They would blame secular education, democracy and urban drift if they had the words for them, but instead they click their tongues and mutter, “there is no respect nowadays”. It is through this footage that future generations will learn their history and their kastom.

A wave of peace and contentedness washes over me. Every fibre of my being knows that I was brought to this place at this time for this moment and this moment only. I feel blessed to be a witness. I feel destined to be a scribe.

Within a few minutes a crowd gathers, women and children pointing, laughing, swaying. Another Elder, almost ninety, appears and joins the two men on the bench. His voice is louder, stronger, and he remembers all the words. Young men appear from all directions and drift slowly towards the centre. Someone drags a hollow log of bamboo into the frame, and two boys obediently sit down cross-legged on either side. The drumming begins.

And suddenly reality folds in on itself. What started as a film about these people and their stories has become part of the story itself, the recording an occasion for revival. The Elders explain the chants and the young men are asking questions. Some children drift in and begin to dance.

And in an instant I surrender the past two years to this moment. I give the last two years to this moment, in that I decide it has all been worth it. Every challenge, every hardship, every tear shed over this crazy little place in the middle of the ocean, I offer it as a sacrifice to right now.

And I know there could be no fairer price.
.

Last Letter Home

2009-06-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

May 14, 2009 - Wednesday

Dear Parents,

I decided to write a letter because I never write letters anymore, and pretty soon I’ll be online and have cheap long-distance, so there will be even less of a reason/opportunity.

I think the reason I stopped writing letters was mostly because I have been travelling through Vila so much the last several months - and even if I know it’ll be two months till I go in again, e-mailing someone later will get to them faster than mailing it from the island. There’s that and the fact that I’ve had my DVD player since October. And the fact that no one writes me anymore. Anyway.

By the time you get this, I will most definitely already be in Vila, if not New Zealand.

The reason I am writing at this particular moment is because I finally started cleaning the Dirty Corner of my house and I found this half-empty notebook…and I thought I was out of lined paper! I despise writing on blank paper. What do you think that reveals about me? Ironically, this was the notebook I used when I first got here. I’ve just flipped through my notes on basic greetings in Namakura and some family trees I sketched while I was trying to get to know everyone, before I just gave up on trying to keep track of it all.

I also found an ‘Ideas’ page from my youthful and hopeful days of 2007. I thought it would be incredibly depressing to review it, but actually it wasn’t! I discovered that surprisingly I’ve ended up accomplishing the spirit if not the letter of most of the ideas on that list - and some other stuff that is actually a lot more interesting and potentially important than what I’d originally brainstormed.

I see why so many volunteers end up extending at the last minute. It’s hard to walk away, particularly from unfinished projects you don’t want to crumble in your absence. And yet I know I”d never stay, not least because nothing ever really will be finished, and you could keep dragging it out forever - and also because no one but me and other Peace Corps/Development People care whether my projects fall down or not.

When I first got here, I had a lot of ideas for what I wanted to do, and then was (appropriately) brainwashed by Peace Corps to believe your own ideas were inherently evil and everything was supposed to be about the communities’ needs and desires - so I waited a year for someone to articulate them to me (I just got asked for money a lot). When I got too upset and guilty about spending all day in my house (not bored, mind you, guilty but never bored - I love sitting in my house all day), I started doing whatever I thought could be important, mostly anywhere but here in this village, and the funny thing is, the projects and programs I started later in my service, all the things I feel like ‘salvaged’ my time here, made it worthwhile in the end - are actually not that different from my original ideas list. Go figure.

I experienced a moment of ‘integration’ last week - when I got to see a few of the things I’ve been working on converge. Bridget and I took five of our best campers from our Tongoa Camp GLOW in March over to nearby Tongariki to help another volunteer (Sarah) run a GLOW for her girls. Our girls had no idea we were going to make them teach anything, and I’m sure would not have agreed to come if they had, but we did make them and it was pretty cool to see the girls poring over the lessons plans from the Camp GLOW Manual for Camp Leaders in Bislama, otherwise known as Why I Don’t Remember October. You may remember me complaining about it last year. A resource like that had been my dream since I first joined the GAD (Gender and Development) committee, it took forever to hammer out that draft and I was eager to pass it off to the next set of willing hands. Bridget, Sarah, and I also used it during our camp in Tongoa in March, and even then how I was joking how we had written it for Ni-Vanuatu facilitators but in the end it was saving our own asses.

But this was way cooler - seeing it used for its original purpose, by women I had personally trained and ‘mentored’ if you will. I don’t know how often you get to see the fruits of your labour in Peace Corps. I guess it depends on your project - but I think we do all live with the general understanding that you will never really know if anything you do works, lasts, means anything to anyone, etc.

After the first camp with the teens from Tongariki, when our next program fell through (long story island-style), we improvised a 2-day How-to-Run-A-Camp workshop for our campers-cum-counsellors from Tongoa, with a few locals that wanted to join, including a really amazing teacher. It took me 5 minutes to write my two sessons, “Why Drama?” and “Dealing with Behaviour Problems”.

It occurred to me that after two years of making a lot of mistakes, I have actually picked up a thing or two and have gotten pretty good at some things. It’s a shame I don’t actually care about development work or Vanuatu, because I almost feel a Ph.D thesis coming on - what with the utter specificity of my various methodologies (too bad I don’t care about academia, either). Anyway, I am just trying to write up as much as I can for the people that do care.

So…onto a life I actually do care about! I hope I don’t get distracted again…at least not for awhile. I can’t wait to be one of those crazy women obsessed with their careers. People whisper how she has no social life because she is married to her career. I’ll give myself a hobby for balance (and fitness), cycling or…something new, like rock-climbing. I am quite fond of extremes…

Okay, I am bored with writing now. Bye!
Amanda

Still ailve.

2009-06-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

Just really busy.
Things are moving as they should.
I'll update soon.

P.S. Contrary to popular rumour, Earthquake 2009 and its aftermath, though an exciting exclamation point decorating the end of my Peace Corps sentence, has not altered my final departure plans. I will be flying to New Zealand on a one-way ticket as scheduled on June 20.

Alive

2009-06-04T17:41:00.000-07:00

Hey Friends,

I just flew into town and am totally overwhelmed, but these are the most important points you need to know.

1. Yes, I just left the island for good. Here in Port Vila until June 19 when I leave for New Zealand.

2. Yes, the rumours are true - there was a massive earthquake during my goodbye party last Friday. No, no one died. Yes, there is a huge amount of damage. We all camped out at the Aid Post for five nights singing, praying, cooking the fallen breadfruit, and 'doing the disaster' as a community (yes, it's all on film). They were going to break camp yesterday when I left but the strong aftershocks and rumours of potential volcanic activity have kept them together. There's broken homes, ruined gardens, landslides, and most urgently - 14 water tanks in our community destroyed - a good majority of the water supply. I am up to my ears in relief effort details, but do stay tuned for ways you can donate to "Save Tongoa". I'm working on it as fast as I can.

And yes, "Kokoru-Kamam" is going to be the best documentary ever.

Thrilled to be back alive and well and back online! I'd love to hear from you all.

Two Years and Counting.../Description of Service

2009-04-15T22:38:00.000-07:00

I had a really great day on Tuesday. Like a really, really great day. And just as the great day was fading into a fabulous evening, I received a series of "Happy two-year anniversary" texts that startled, delighted and moved me all at once.

How could I have forgotten? I'm usually obnoxiously sentimental with significant dates.

And so, for all of you that were sure I would never survive two years of being a bushman (much more of a descriptive than derogratory term here)...I assure you: no one is more surprised than myself.

But here we are. And while I was rained out all Easter weekend, I took the opportunity to finally scratch the surface of the dreaded Description of Service...the Thing You Have to Write Before They Let You Leave.

I began having nightmares about the DOS almost as soon as I arrived. All the samples I've seen have been flowery, verbose novellas extolling the volunteer's virtues and earth-shattering achievements. For those of you that know me well, you know about my Thing with Written Documents With Deadlines. I panic, I crumble, I refuse to consider the concept of a 'draft' and instead curl into a ball of paralysis until the last possible moment (usually around 8 p.m. the night before something must be submitted in the morning) and then write like a madman with my heart pounding all throughout the night, barely stopping to eat, drink or pee.

I hear there are other ways of doing things, but I have never trusted them.

So the fact that my DOS is already finished NOW is like this huge, huge achievement for me. It is...indicative of potential sanity for the future. The main thing was, I was SURE the DOS didn't have to be as big a deal as everyone seems to make it. And after inquiring about the format with the powers that be, I was able to confirm that 1) there is NO guideline on length 2) point form IS acceptable. Hallelujah!

And so I hammered it out in time to catch the Sunday night outdoor movie at Nambawan Cafe.

So maybe this will...help...answer that burning question, What have you DONE with yourself for the past two years?

DESCRIPTION OF SERVICE:

Amanda served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in a remote island community in Vanuatu from 2007-2009.

Tongoa Island is home to fourteen villages with a combined population of 2000 people. Its two southernmost communities, Bongabonga and Meriu, are separated from the rest of the island by a large hill and at least an hour’s hike to neighboring villages in any direction. Their mountainous topography, small population and relative isolation from the rest of the island pose significant challenges to development and healthcare initiatives. With no running water or electricity, they also have no reliable or affordable transportation to the nearest port, airport, market, and health facility. They are regularly denied government funding and overlooked by health and education outreach programs. It is simply too hard to get people or materials there, and the population is not large enough to demand more attention.

Despite these challenges, these industrious families have lived comfortably, creatively and happily on their land for generations. They are deeply committed to improving sanitation, education, and access to healthcare while maintaining their traditional subsistence-farming lifestyle.

Just a fifteen-minute walk away from each other, the two villages of Bongabonga and Meriu share one primary school, one church, and until recently, one telephone for the combined population of 120 people. Since 2003, they have sustained a formal agreement to work together for all development activities, in order to better serve the interests of their small populations.

Amanda lived in Meriu village for the first several months of her service and moved to Bongabonga in 2008.

Primary Responsibilities:
1) project management of the construction of half-finished community Aid Post that had been previously shut down by provincial health authorities
2) training of local health committee on facility administration and fundraising strategies
3) development and implementation of health education programs
4) training of local service providers on health promotion techniques for village health workers, teachers, and youth leaders

Part I. Partnership with Rotary Club of Waitakere, New Zealand:
• facilitated the request of funds from Rotary for remaining materials to complete Aid Post
• co-ordinated travel arrangements for Rotarians in December 2007 and April 2008
• supervised the purchase of materials and shipping from Port Vila to Tongoa
• worked with Aid Post committee to implement fundraisers for additional project expenses
• liased with community leaders to arrange lodging and meals for Rotarians
• promoted the project as a guest presenter at Rotary Club meetings in Auckland, New Zealand in February 2007 and February 2008
• worked with Aid Post committee to submit proposal for additional funding from New Zealand High Commission in 2009

Two formal project phases were completed in December 2007 and April 2008, with over $6000 USD of materials used. Specialists from Rotary came to Tongoa to train community members on basic construction techniques: painting, tiling, plumbing, etc. The first trip yielded the first septic tank and flush toilet in the area, with the second trip completing the process of bringing running water to the Aid Post, securing a functional toilet, sink, and shower system.

The third and final construction phase is currently scheduled for June 2009.

Part II. “Stap Nomo” -- In the Village: Local Education Initiatives
• First Aid Training for primary school teachers
• Drama Club for primary school students aged 6-13
• Youth Talent Night
Workshops:
• Cyclone Preparedness
• Cancer Awareness
• Family Planning Methods
• Dental Hygiene for Toddlers
• Seasonal Calendar
• Daily Schedules & Division of Labor
• Protecting Your Mobile Phone

Part III. “Wokabaot” -- Around Tongoa: Island-wide Programming
• Camp GLOW: Leadership Camp for Girls of North Tongoa
• Shepherd Island Village Health Worker In-service Training
• Yumi Washem Hans: Hygiene Education for Kids
• Youth Drama Workshop - Nampagasale Junior Secondary School
• Island-wide health issues survey
• EU/Peace Corps/VRDCA Water & Sanitation awareness tour
• Healthy Schools Survey
• Health Committees Needs Assessment

Part IV. “Lukluk Ples” -- Beyond Tongoa: Travel to Other Islands
• Hygiene & Sanitation Workshop - Ambae
• Camp GLOW: Training of Camp Leaders -- Ifira
• Life Skills Workshop -- Vila North Secondary, Port Vila, Efate
• HIV Workshop -- Ifira
• Diabetes Awareness -- Saama Village, North Efate

Part V. Peace Corps WID/GAD Committee
• served as secretary for Gender and Development committee
• created training manual in Bislama for Camp GLOW Leaders
• wrote training templates for Peace Corps pre-service and in-service trainings
• facilitated GAD training sessions for volunteers and trainees

So yeah. I guess...that was my life. Scheduled to fly back to Tongoa at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. I just spoke to an old Elder from my village (God bless Digicel and the Mobile Revolution) and when I asked if the weather was clearing up, he laughed and laughed and cackled until his credit ran out. So...um...you'll probably hear from me again before I head back.

On the subject of rats...

2009-04-13T18:05:00.000-07:00

In the process of cleaning out my house for my upcoming departure, I found this handwritten, unsent letter from a year and a half ago. It made me crack up all over again...

October 16, 2007

An average night in rural Vanuatu:

For the first time, I set a rat trap myself, making me feel 1) independent 2) more honest - if a rat is going to die at my command, I may as well face up to it. Though I’m still not quite ready for the aftermath.

So, I set the trap, take my kerosene lamp and head out for the night. My hope is that the deed will be done in the early evening and I can get someone else to dispose of it, rather than hearing that awful sound in the middle of the night.

But unfortunately all the fearless little boys I was dining with fell asleep right after eating, as people here are wont to do. It sometimes looks like a weird mass suicide when you slowly see men, women and children dropping like flies onto pandanus mats. So I go to my house to check and open my door to find the rat sort of moving, obviously not dead, but I was confused as he was a good foot and a half away from where I set the trap, but instead of shining my light to get a closer look I freaked out and ran for Saki, my only friend/close neighbour still awake at the late night hour of 9 p.m.

Saki, or Jacqueline, is also the only person here also squeamish/scared/traumatized by dead rats. She swallows her fear, ready to do the job, but at the last minute we decide to try to find our other friends, which leads to a comedy of errors sneaking around the village, whispering in young girls’ windows like secret lovers do here, and of course only waking their mothers.

Unsuccessful, we return to my house and decide to just throw the rat outside with the trap and get Debor to deal with it in the morning. But of course, we soon realize, a cat will come in the night and either run off with or ruin the trap (I only cared because it wasn’t mine and you can’t buy new ones on the island). During this discussion, Saki tries to convince me that hiding the dead rat and trap in my currently empty laundry bucket is a great solution, but I refuse for hygiene & ickiness reasons she’ll never understand.

In the meantime, we (she) bring it outside, at which point she exclaims it is still not yet dead and suggests perching the unit on a piece of wood and hoping for the best. Of course I protest screaming that we have to put it out of its misery which leads to a horrible beating scene with a nearby blunt object.

It then occurs to me, we could put the corpse and trap in a plastic bag and hang it with rope we can make from scraping off some local bark nearby, thereby keeping the trap safe until morning -- all of this because neither of us want to touch the rat to remove it. So my plan is executed, we are shrieking and laughing the whole time -- at the horror of it, at our own fear, at the absurdity of the whole process, and also because Ni-Vanuatu shriek and laugh whenever they do anything.

I can just imagine Deborah’s face when she dutifully appears at 6 a.m. after hearing about the rat, and I lead her to the hanging concoction in my bush kitchen as if I actually expect her to spend her morning unraveling it.

And so.

A slice of life, if you will. Every day I become a little more brutal, a little more shameless and a little more able to to take responsibility for the pain I inflict on other living beings. There’s Ahimsa-in-the-City and then there’s living in the bush. You learn to become a hunter whether you eat the stuff or not.

As per usual, I am still in Vila waiting for things to dry out on Tongoa so I can head back there. In the meantime, I am still having a great time in Vila. Flight "scheduled" for tomorrow. We'll see what happens.

"I bet even Amanda couldn't fit in that box..."

2009-04-07T00:59:00.000-07:00

The office antics never end...

I think Vanuatu has made me a little more playful.

A Day in the Life in Vila

2009-04-04T00:07:00.000-07:00

I am currently writing from the Peace Corps Resource Centre. I am here on a Saturday evening with my good friends Blake, Erin, and Jared. Justine is passed out on the couch.

We are currently trying to decide what to do with the small cluster of baby rats just found in our photocopier. While we have not settled on the appropriate course of action, it does explain all the recent paper jams.

I am inclined to just leave them there for awhile, although Jared keeps shouting at me to take them outside and kill them, asserting that it is far more humane as they will inevitably starve to death if we don't. I am not sure why *I* was selected as the recipient of his instructions, since *I* was not the first one to find them.

Now the boys are proposing various torturous ways of murdering the rats just to upset me.

In this moment, I love Peace Corps with all my heart and soul.

Not kidding. I mean it. Now that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, I'm totally back on the Peace Corps train...

And...*drumroll please*...my visa/work permit for New Zealand has finally been approved! So the next step is there for me whenever I'm ready to take it.

Still haven't made any decisions about whether or not I'm leaving early so...we'll see...

Misnomer

2009-04-03T00:34:00.000-07:00

A Tangential Rant.

Warning: I talk about periods and make gross judgmental stereotypes about my Host Country Culture.

I wrote this my last night in the village before I started the journey of getting into Vila. I am still doing fabulous. Maybe this will be the last bitter rant you'll hear from me for a (little) while...

This blog was originally titled,

Six Days In My Life, or, A Glimpse At My Job.

but then I didn’t end up getting through the first day, or talking very much about my job. Oh, well.

March 27, 2009

It’s been two years. And you all still keep asking me what I do all day and what my job is. When are you going to accept the fact that I do nothing all day, and that I have no job?

Okay, seriously, I know it’s my fault because I rarely talk about work. This is due to a combination of the following factors 1) I rarely work and 2) when I am working, I am busy working and am not pontificating.

Which is why you are all left wondering why the U.S. taxpayers are paying for me to drink coconuts and play with babies for two years.

Well, you wouldn’t be the only ones.

But to put it in perspective, I read somewhere once that the entire budget of Peace Corps (like for every volunteer and program operating in every country combined) is less than the cost of one of the fighter-war plane thingies flying around Iraq. This statement would be a lot more dramatic if I remembered the precise details of it. Oh well.

Sunday

Sunday is a sacred day of rest here, which means as a Peace Corps volunteer, it is the only day I will ever have a captive audience for meetings, workshops, etc. For a long time I was very respectful of the sabbath and would absolutely never initiate any kind of work-related activity on a Sunday. In fact, I used to even get indignant when someone else would schedule a meeting on Sunday and expect me to show up - on the Lord’s day of all days! What an abomination!

Gradually, as I began to feel (and show) less and less respect for local custom and religion, I started working more on Sundays, and I feel like mostly everyone probably thinks I should have done that a long time ago. Does it really matter if the heathens work on Sundays? Who knows?

Anyway, my usual routine on Sundays is to get up and do my morning Yoga routine, cook breakfast, and then head to church in my village, Bongabonga, around ten or eleven, whenever the bell rings. Church is usually 1-2 hours long, and then I go down and have lunch with my “mom” in Meriu, the nearby village I lived in for my first several months on the island. I hang out there for the afternoon, and then I walk back up to my village as it is getting dark laden with fresh but rare goodies from the garden, ‘Western’ vegetables that she gives to me for the week ahead: green beans, cabbage, tomatoes, or green peppers depending on the season.

This particular Sunday varied slightly. As per my previous statement about no longer showing respect for local customs, I opted out of going to church. It was great! I think I might do that every Sunday from now on. Then I headed down to Meriu a little early, because I actually had some ‘business’ to attend to, interviewing two sample households for a Community Health Survey we Peace Corps Health Volunteers are piloting. Just to cover all my bases, I had asked a chief’s representative a few days ago to select the households I should interview, because you just never know when a group of people is randomly going to erupt into a jealous rage.

I did make a mistake in planning this excursion: I did not consider my lunar calendar...as in, I accidentally planned to do something on the dreaded Day 3 of my period.

I have a real thing about The Third Day, the one day of the month when, in the past, I would consistently conclude that life was a terrible mess of loneliness and this body was a substandard vehicle that oppressed me. Over the past couple years, in an effort to support this day of utter exhaustion and systemic shutdown, I have integrated so many rituals that I actually look forward to it most of the time.

As a rule, I do not do any work f it can be helped, and it usually can with just a little advance planning. I make no social calls, and purposely make my home unwelcome to visitors (this means keeping windows and doors closed as much as the heat will permit). I organize my life so that as much housecleaning and laundry as possible is done in the days prior. If I’m really on the ball, I sort out most of my food procurement and prep in advance, so that I am free to spend virtually the entire day supine. Yoga practice is, for once, entirely optional. I was once read in a tabloid that a certain actress (Sharon Stone?) had written into her contracts that she would always have at least eight hours between shoots to ensure her beauty sleep. As soon as I have enough clout and am not begging for any acting job I can get, I sincerely intend to have a clause in all my contracts that I don’t work on My Third Day.

Anyway, every once in awhile, I forget and plan something unnecessary, which is why I concluded that I was most certainly about to die as I trudged down to Meriu in approximately 100 degree heat and about 85% humidity (I’m guessing). Needless to say, when I arrived at the first house, they had no idea I was coming or why. After we spent awhile trashing the people that should have told them (they) and ascertaining that they were, in fact, willing and able to participate in the survey (me), I took out my papers to begin and realized with horror that several important pages had been left in my house...up the hill in Bongabonga.

I might have cried at the shock, surrounded by several rounds of the always so helpful, “Wow! That is so awful that you have to walk back home to get them in this heat, I wouldn’t do it!” as well as my favourite, “If only you had checked through all your papers carefully before you left...”

I might have cried, but after sweating so profusely on the walk over I really did not have any extra fluid left.

I would like to go off on a tangent for a moment and talk about this phrase that translates to “If only...” People love it here, and it was one of my pet peeves until I decided to adopt it myself and realized how enjoyable it is. “Oh! You wanted to get on that truck? If only you were here ten minutes ago, as there won’t be another one until October.” I guess in our culture people say that stuff, too, but...here, it is actually considered an acceptable way to end a topic of conversation. “What? The province is closing down our Aid Post because our Village Health Worker has other obligations and our building is considered substandard? If only our Village Health Worker didn’t have other obligations and our building was better...” and everyone nods emphatically and that is the end of the discussion. And you’re sitting there as the Peace Corps volunteer and for like the hundredth time you say, “Well, maybe instead of reviewing all the things that went wrong we could spend this meeting brainstorming possible solutions...” and you are met with a chorus of blank stares. The whole point of meetings is to Blame Someone, isn’t it? How would anyone know how much they’ve failed if we went ahead and found solutions?

I remember once lamenting to a fellow Peace Corps volunteer, “I don’t understand how people here think that blame is the most effective use of time and group energy. Is trying to find a solution really such a foreign concept?”

“Yeah, actually, it probably is...and that’s probably, you know, why the U.S. is, like, a developed country and stuff...

Sheer genius! I have thought about that conversation at least a hundred times since.

Put all your thoughts on imperialism and the concept of development aside for a moment and consider it. Maybe if your culture lends itself to focusing on solutions, y’all come up with things like, I don’t know, running water or...the wheel. And maybe if your culture lends itself to finding a scapegoat, y’all come up with...nothing new. And nothing ever changes. Until Western influence trickles in and you decide you want your very own Jean Claude van Damme DVD box set, but now you need the DVD player to play it, and a source of electricity, and the money to pay for all that, and a job to give you that money, and maybe an education system to make you eligible for work, and then you decide you need a Peace Corps volunteer in your community because, after all, they probably all know Jean Claude van Damme personally, but if they don’t they probably know other white people that will give you money so you don’t have to work, after all...

Am I being racist? Or, like, culturist or whatever? I honestly can’t tell the difference anymore. When you live in a society where segregation is a rule, where racism isn’t racist, it’s just...life, where, for God’s sake, people actually ask you if white women menstruate, it’s so hard to remember what’s appropriate.

I’ve tried to explain race relations in America several times here, unsuccessfully. It usually comes up when guys ask me how they can get themselves a Missus.

“Well, actually, in the countries that most of these women come from, it is not generally accepted to choose a mate based on skin colour alone, so you don’t want her to know that you want her because she’s white.”

“Why not? Tell her I like white girls. And I want a half-caste baby...”

“Right, but...like, these women don’t want to be wanted for their pigmentation. It’s like, how would you feel if someone wanted you just because you were black?”

“Great! That is totally what I’m looking for, a Missus that likes black men. Do you know any?”

“But-doesn’t it bother you that a woman would only want you because you were black?”

“No, because that means she wants a half-caste baby, too!”

And so on, and so on...the conversation is always the same.

I was supposed to give you an overview of six days in my working life, but...that didn’t work. And now I’m tired. And nothing seems more boring than writing about my job right now.

Although I will tell you that I did hike back up the hill on Sunday to get my forgotten papers, and then I did go back down to do the surveys...and then of course had to hike back home again in the afternoon. Which actually set the pace for the week ahead because the next day I started a First Aid training program for teachers at the primary school in Meriu, which means I have been going back and forth to the school every day since, anyway, so...

So I am going to climb into bed with Mrs. Dalloway and not think of tomorrow’s adventure: getting myself to the other side of the island without dying of 1) fatigue 2) heat exhaustion 3) frustration. The only trucks that can make it to my side are out of commission, so I intend to use some combination of walking, paying teenagers to carry my stuff, and possibly a canoe to get myself to the airport by Sunday afternoon.

That is, if the rain doesn’t cancel my flight, anyway...

What I Hoped to Find

2009-03-30T00:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, I really am feeling really awesome right now but I guess nine days ago I wasn't feeling so...awesome...but anyway, that's just a slice of island life, isn't it?...

March 21, 2009

When I sat down to write that’s what came out.

So I guess we have to talk about that now, don’t we?

How depressing. I started this evening cleaning my bookshelf, and with the past two years of my life spread out on the floor I decided to take a break and write.

I should have kept cleaning, I guess.

What I Hoped to Find.

I guess...

A certain peace of mind and generosity of spirit. An all-pervading love and deep compassion in my heart. Strength. Endurance. The capacity to rise above the trivial. To be driven by inner vision. The ability to lead by example with...grace and charm. Spontaneous forgiveness. Divine inspiration. Purification. Release.

What I Found.

A rage darker than anything I knew existed. An infinite capacity for hatred and judgement. Resentment festering in the smallest wounds like clotted, sour blood. A pain that can never disappear completely, that can only wrap itself in the guise of tolerance until it bursts at the seams. An oppressive bitterness. A venomous bile capable of sweeping the greatest of intentions away in the undertow. The overwhelming grief at discovering all of that must have been inside me the whole time.

And so I weep for what could have been.

Who I could have become here. If only...if only I hadn’t got so lost in the darkness. If only I had had the strength to climb out of the well.

Cleaning my bookshelf was today’s attempt to pull myself out of my current pre-menstrual, probably malarial depression (more about that in a second). How many times have I been through this sorting process? It varies only mildly. The piles begin. What to keep, what to take, what to destroy, and what to give away. You can get lost in the stories, not the ones inside the books, but the ones that brought each particular item to that particular shelf. And I’ve only lived here for two years. And I only got my bookshelf a year ago.

This is all I would like to say about Peace Corps and malaria: that of all the trials and tribulations I have experienced over the past two years, nay, even the past twenty-six --the absolute worst thirty minutes of my life was spent having to prick my own finger about seven times to generate enough blood for a slide and Instant Malaria Test Kit. (Negative, if you’re curious, although could be a false negative because of the high amount of my prophylactic antibiotic in my system, which had I been taking faithfully prior to the fever I would probably not have been in this predicament).

I am twenty-six years old! I should be living in the suburbs agonizing over an at-home pregnancy test, not a friggin’ malaria kit! They say you just have to pee on those. They don’t require a self-mutilation of flesh.

In the end, it ended up being quite a cathartic experience. With every stab I was overcome with a fresh wave of tears, ejected from the very depth of my being. The kind of silent scream that twists your face in agony. Not for the pain, because it is only a finger...but at the horror of it...the injustice! No human being should ever have to draw their own blood. It is just so deeply unnatural, and I cried for the karma that brought me to this moment.

Someone just came over. I was unnecessarily rude to her because I wanted to get back to writing. Why?

Because I am leaving and there is no point in being nice to people.

That seems like a strange answer. Where did that come from?

Because I’m not going to be here for very long so everyone may as well start getting used to it now.

That also seems warped. One more time?

Because that’s just life, isn’t it? People coming and going and being nice to each other for awhile. Because I am the Goodbye Expert in a land where people don’t really do goodbyes, and I may as well start showing them how it’s done. And it all starts with the pre-departure froideur. Everyone knows that. Trust me, it’s easier on everyone in the end.

When I am honest, I feel only slightly more dysfunctional than when I bury my head in Sudoku and pretend I am crying from the heat and mosquitoes, and not because life as I know it is disintegrating, and because though I know it is virtually impossible for anything that follows to be worse than anything that has already happened, it is still going to be a long, long time before I belong anywhere, and that to me is the hardest thing to bear.

I simply do not know if I’m up to this, this Building A Life Again.

Perhaps a change of climate in New Zealand is all I need (oh, how Victorian!). I have been through this whole tropical season-change several times, and there is a distinct pattern. The hotter it is the more I conclude there is no point to living, that life is an endless wheel of pain and suffering that will never get better. As it cools down, the the more alive I feel, the more in awe of the beauty and wonder around me, the more grounded, capable, and...

I think it is safe to say I wasn’t exactly born for the tropics.

My mind is a broken record of negative thoughts. I don’t know how to turn it off. All I want is to put an end to the guilt. All I want is a selfish life. (Does the cultivation of a selfish life really lead to the eradication of guilt? I don’t know...but I may as well try it!)

All I want is a life of luxury and simplicity, where my only obligations to others are contractual and...clearly defined, preferably with a monetary value attached to all interactions, just to keep things tidy. I don’t want any pressure, and I don’t want to have any opinions, I don’t want to care about what happens to anyone else. I want to eat chocolate and have bubble baths and know if I am too lazy to do anything else that is my own damn business and I alone will reap the consequences.

When you hang out with yogis and Peace Corps-types long enough, you start to believe that there is no greater sin.

But isn’t it a greater sin to live the lie?

And yet...don’t all my shining stars make it worth it in the end, even if they are few and far between? Because in between the tears I see them, lined up in front of me...a battered woman, one in a hundred, leaving her husband. A teenage boy taking a condom to a party. A young woman practicing Yoga in secret when she is supposed to be washing her father’s clothes. A one-year-old child humming “I’m washing my hands” to himself while he plays in the dirt. These diamond-studded sequins to my memory, my shining stars...compared to all the failures, there are so very few of them.

And yet doesn’t that make them all the more precious? Aren’t they enough? And not just because they have to be. Because they are, anyway. And because the book closes here, and there’s no point in getting sentimental about it. I refuse to make a Vanuatu-style exit. I am completely uninterested in the fanfare. The pomp & circumstance. The speeches, the fake tears, with an extra round of applause for whoever wails the loudest. The demonstrative gift exchange, the promises to return. I dread it all equally.

Maybe if this was my first big Goodbye I’d be up for it. Or my second or my third. But when you’re in my line of work, or at least my line of life, you become something of a professional. You just pack up your shit and get on with it.

And you tell yourself that one day there will come a time when you won’t have to pack up your shit anymore. One day, you will have a bookshelf that just...stays there gathering dust. The books will be your own, gathered or given to you along the way, each one telling a part of your story, the story of here, of how you became someone with her own bookshelf and...and her own matching plates and her own bathtub and...and.... unopened organic toiletries artfully arrayed in the guest bathroom.

I never thought I would be someone who dreamt of matching plates, but in this moment I can’t think of anything more beautiful...

In Vila

2009-03-29T23:48:00.000-07:00

Made it here yesterday.

Everything is wonderful.

Will update soon.

En Route

2009-03-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

Apparently, my flight IS going today after all, even though there is a massive thunderstorm here in Vila and I'm too scared even to run across the street to the grocery store to pick up some last minute things.

"The Second" was a success, after all, but I'll have to write about it another time.

I check in in an hour, but I refuse to pack up my stuff and get there only to be told the flight has JUST been cancelled, so instead I am calling the Domestic Terminal obsessively every half hour for an update.

I'll be back in a couple weeks...

When It Works...

2009-03-05T18:56:00.001-08:00

...it really works.

This is how we roll in Vanuatu: if we are going to screw something up or 'drop the ball', as it were, the ramifications will be of epic, beyond-the-Richter-scale proportions.

But if we do something right, we will shock you with the charm and grace of a thousand ballerinas dancing in perfect unison.

Just to keep you on your toes.

I would like to share two tales of the recent superhuman feats achieved by my two surrogate families: the good people of Tongoa and those of Peace Corps Vanuatu.

The First.

Now, this time it WAS my fault. I 100% forgot the majority of supporting documents for our Aid Post grant application in my house on the island. In my defense, I was under an enormous amount of stress at the time, not least because I suddenly got word that my ship was coming to rescue me EIGHT HOURS EARLIER than scheduled, which meant I had to RUN approximately one and a half hours with all my stuff to the wharf. That was over a month ago, and I still have scars from the blisters from my Chacos.

Just as I was about to jump on the ship, I remembered the missing paperwork and in a flash of panic tinged with ingenuity, tossed my housekeys to my uncle with the following instructions,

"I forgot something really important! You need to get these keys to Mama Alice and I will take care of the rest, but if for some reason I can't get a hold of her someone needs to find my PURPLE FOLDER, okay? PURPLE...FOLDER!"

He nods vigorously, mentally repeating (I imagine) 'purple folder' to himself several times, as he and several strangers do the old heave-ho to get our little boat off the shore and to the waiting ship. He waves goodbye, grinning from the shore...and I wave back weakly, powerless.

I make about a million phone calls upon my arrival in Vila all the way until the departure lounge for my flight to New Zealand, 95% of which result in voicemails left on mobile phones that I know get charged once a week or less.

When I return two weeks later, I discover the following small miracles have ACTUALLY occurred:

1. My uncle passes my housekeys to my Mama Alice.
2. Her sister passes on my frantic, detailed message (thank God for my near-photographic memory).
3. My mom retrieves the Purple Folder from my house and passes it to my dad.
4. My dad solemnly takes the Purple Folder across the island and delivers it to Travis (fellow Peace Corps Volunteer).
5. Sarah, another Peace Corps volunteer from nearby Tongariki happens to show up on Tongoa via boat en route to Port Vila.
6. Travis gives Sarah the precious Purple Folder, and she takes it on the plane with her to Vila.
7. Sarah places the Purple Folder in my mailbox in Vila upon her arrival.

FOR REAL!

The story should have, or at least COULD have ended there, but then, it couldn't have taken place in Vanuatu, after all.

Within a few hours of my return to Vila, after several phone calls I am informed of the miraculous sequence of events outlined above. I check the urge to rejoice (see previous blog entry) which is a good thing because, alas, my mailbox is empty! Which can only mean one thing...

IT HAS BEEN MAILED BACK TO ME ON TONGOA.

(Some of you may remember this isn't the first time I have been in a situation like this. In September, both my mobile phone and my plane ticket to Fiji were accidentally mailed to me on Tongoa - also my fault then).

I call Bridget's phone repeatedly until she picks up and opens all the mail she has picked up for me on the island. The purple folder isn't there.

WHICH MEANS IT IS STILL SOMEWHERE IN PORT VILA.

By 9:15 a.m. the next morning, I had retrieved the Purple Folder from the outgoing mailbag at the post office in Port Vila, which was on its way out to the airport. Is it illegal to break into your own mail? I know it is in North America, and we're pretty sure it is here, too but...damn it, do you want the poor children of Tongoa to have a roof over their head when they seek penicillin from the Aid Post? Do you want them to have a clean water source they can bathe in when they are gripped with malarial fever? How many mothers have to give birth in their bush kitchens before you GIVE ME MY OWN MAIL BACK, Sir?

Thank you very much. You have yourself a lovely day.

Please stay tuned for details on The Second, as this operation is currently in progress and I dare not celebrate until its success is confirmed.

Only in Vila...

2009-03-01T16:43:00.000-08:00

...can you be in a cafe ordering a smoothie on a Monday morning when the Secretary General calls to move up your appointment to...say, right NOW, and you cheerfully agree mouthing the words "Take-away" to the waiter, and then show up to said appointment in board shorts & an Old Navy tank top, with a Nalgene dangling from your purse with a caribiner, and no one seems to find your attire the slightest bit remarkable as you proceed to explain why your community, whose recent actions have ALLEGEDLY led to the entire island being un/officially blacklisted by the network of international aid organizations deserves, well, a second chance. "Because don't we ALL make mistakes?"

In January, I often described my life as a 'nightmare that keeps getting worse'*. In comparison, February in New Zealand was like a dream come true.

How do I feel being back here?

It feels a bit like walking off one film set onto another, dropping one role and picking up the next. A dramatic change of scenery, a quick-change of costume, language and general demeanor.

My first day back I actually SWORE at a guy harassing me on the street. I just FORGOT you don't do that here. I mean thirteen 'high-risk' prisoners are on the loose again...

After two years of mastering the art of lowering my eyes & hanging my head, making myself the picture of demureness & obedience, it's amazing how instantly it falls away. I guess you can't take (N.) America out of the girl, after all...

I'm in love with the anonymity I felt in Auckland, with not being a diplomat or...anybody. That being said, on one particular night out I was feeling so uncomfortable in my not-really-that-short shorts that I actually went back and changed.

Of course it's not just about clothes. It's crossing a chasm at lightning speed. It's shirking one set of fundamental values for another, and when you get right down to it, tuning your mind to a different understanding of the universe and of even...the meaning of life.

So which one is The Real World, and which one is the Real Me? And yet, of course, I know the answer is neither, and with such a distorted sense of centre, the compass spinning wildly and my future so uncertain, it dawns on me that I'm just going to have to make my sense of 'home' a little more portable, small enough to wrap up and tuck inside.

Because that's what it DOESN'T feel like, for the first time in a long time. Returning to Vanuatu no longer feels like coming home. It feels like going back to work. Or more like...taking care of business. Which is not a bad feeling. It's actually a good thing considering the fact that that is exactly what I'm doing, tying up all my loose ends in a pretty little bow so I can hop on a plane and start a new life.

What I Learned in Peace Corps Vanuatu:

That you can experience failure after failure after failure, until you learn to redefine it so that it doesn't feel like failure anymore. It just feels like Life. And then one day, while you're meditating, perched atop the mountain of your forgotten hopes and dreams, there is an almost imperceptible rustle underneath you, and you discover that just one of them has risen, just one of them has a chance.

But you no longer rejoice. Because arming yourself against the sting of failure has immunized you against the joy of success. Because you know in Vanuatu, and maybe everywhere, you're always just one rainstorm away from a mudslide. And the Day After Tomorrow no longer beckons you in the way that it used to.

And so you keep your head down and get on with it. Because at the end of the day, it's only A Day. And even mud is beautiful in the right light.

*I know there is a big black hole hanging over these updates (as in, the month of January and why I'm jumping ship far earlier than planned), and I promise once I am officially a free agent again I will fill in all the blanks, but for now...you know, 'diplomacy' and all...

New Roots

2009-02-22T22:38:00.000-08:00

Well.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to report that...it's for real, now.

I should be living in Auckland by the end of May.

The crazy idea/pipe dream/half-joke has manifested itself into something resembling ...my future. Inquiry has turned into intention, wandering into planning, networking into interviewing, and investigation at Immigration has turned into a visa/permit application. So as long as I can convince the powers that be that my chest is free of good ol' homegrown Vanuatu tuberculosis, I should be drowning in kiwis before I know it.

Believe it or not, moving to New Zealand is actually the most logical thing I can think of to do at this point in my life.

The pros are countless, the cons are few and far between.

With the NZD trailing miserably behind the USD, it's the perfect place to while away my Peace Corps money while I get used to The Real World again (while American production companies happily take advantage of the economic situation and reverse season benefits - go, go, Power Rangers!)

I'll be in a beautiful, moderate climate rife with Pacific Island food and culture, in a (relatively) small city just minutes away from both the beach and the bush in any direction. It's a hop, skip, & a jump from Vanuatu if I need to reshoot/follow-up with anything for the documentary or if I just get homesick. I'll be in a cool, casual culture where you can have a hole in your t-shirt and airbrushing is frowned upon.

It is the perfect place to transition out of the rainforest and into The Industry (as long as my terrible kiwi accent improves considerably as well as my skills at driving on the other side of the road).

And it's literally on the way back to North America.
If it doesn't work out, I can just keep on rolling.

I know what you're thinking.
Auckland looks an awfully lot like Toronto in this picture, doesn't it?

Alive and Well

2009-02-02T22:23:00.000-08:00

Well, alive anyway.

Just kidding. I am fine.

It took me 26 hours to get from Tongoa to Vila via speedboat yesterday...I mean, today.

Why? Because for some reason the boat was going up to Lamen Bay, Epi (shout outs to Amy) and then to Malekula!

Okay, I know these names and places mean nothing to 90% of my readership, but for that small group for whom it does, can you believe it, MALEKULA? Why, oh, why?

But I've already whipped out the silver lining and here it is. Ready? "I just got a free trip to Malekula."

Details to come.

New Zealand next Wednesday.

An Executive Decision

2008-12-15T21:33:00.000-08:00

You know how some people put faraway tropical islands on their desktops as, like, an uplifting image amidst the oppressive drudgery of work-a-day living?

Well, what with all the recent travel, I was feeling kind of homesick so I put "my" beach on my desktop to help ground me.

Shortly thereafter I decided to abandon my unfinished grant proposal and go back to Tongoa as scheduled tomorrow.

I mean, I waited six months for my village to do their part, surely everyone can wait six weeks until I come back into town again...right?

Twenty months into this thing and I'm only just learning the joys of island time.

Besides, this is Vanuatu, where the Holiday Season starts in November and lasts until the beginning of February. How much work would you want to do in 32 degree weather?

That being said, all proclamations of intended travel by yours truly are to be swiftly ignored by you, the wizened reader, since as I type an ominous cloud begins to threaten the last few weeks of pristinely perfect sunshine.

I very well may be rained out until 2009.

Home Sweet Home

2008-12-13T18:43:00.000-08:00

Well...close enough, anyway.

I am allegedly returning to the island on Wednesday, for about six weeks this time around...although when I stopped by the office to check mail on the way home from the airport, I discovered that the Aid Post Committee in the village finally completed 'their end' of a major grant application, just when I had all but given up hope considering I had been waiting(semi-)patiently for the last SIX MONTHS.

So I might not get out of here as earlier as I'd like.

But being stuck in Vila because you actually have real work to do for a real project (especially one you have been working on for, say, a year and a half or so and had pretty much resigned yourself to the knowledge it would not be finished by your departure on, oh, say...June 18 or so) is way better than being stuck in Vila because ...oh, say, it's raining, for example.

At least, I think it is. I'll keep you posted.

Details of my around-the-world tour to come (after this grant is in).

Sigh...The Auckland Affair

2008-11-21T23:22:00.000-08:00

My love affair with this city has been re-ignited.

Despite the fact that I only slept for 45 minutes on the plane last night and began sneezing the second the plane landed, and despite the fact I seem to be suffering from acute hypothermia, I had a FABULOUS day on my one-day Visa hiking, napping, and eating oh-so-amazing local apples and kiwis.

Being in the right place at the right time also led me to being spun around in a speeding pick-up truck around the back alley of a West Auckland film studio (in broad daylight, friends, it wasn't "like that") conferring with a friend-of-a-friend dolly operator about agencies and The Industry here, and suddenly I have a guy who's expecting a headshot & resume by Monday.

*Cursing myself* Always, always, ALWAYS have a headshot & resume on you...even if you are in a pick-up truck in transit from Vanuatu to Tel Aviv.

Because you just never know.

One Leg Down

2008-11-21T08:55:00.000-08:00

I do love Auckland airport.

Free internet, a welcome tea & coffee, free showers, and they didn't even give me any hassle at Customs, what with my questionable itinerary, my three passports, and my plethora of imported plant products...and yes, I have been hiking in a rural area in the past 30 days...

It's 6 a.m. according to New Zealand, 4 a.m. according to me, and I am waiting for the good people of Rotary Waitakere (you remember them from all the Aid Post Project photos) to pick me up and paint the town red until I fly to London at 10:45 tonight...

Incidentally, I came over with a group of about fifty Ni-Vans arriving for one of these new apple-picking cheap seasonal labour scheme our governments are doing. It was pretty fun watching them take the piss out of all things Auckland, their eyes lighting up with joy at that flat escalator thing that helps you get "there" just a little bit faster. Where's there? I don't know, friend, but welcome to it.

I watched them dick around at Customs and laughed out loud as the angsty official kept crying out for them to stay in line. Most were already shivering. Having been amply forewarned, most of them were wearing hats. Imagine their surprise when some short little woman behind the desk asked them to please it.

Take off my HAT?
You just do NOT dis a brata like that.

Outward Bound

2008-11-17T22:59:00.000-08:00

The adventure begins...

at midnight on Friday night!

First I fly to New Zealand which gets me there at 5 a.m. Auckland time, then I play around Auckland for the next 19 hours if I'm not exhausted, then spend 25 hours on another plane (with a brief two hour stopover in, get this, LOS ANGELES) and end up in London in time for Sunday brunch with my parents.

Do the London thing until Wednesday and then jump ship (figuratively speaking, this time) to Tel Aviv, eat a lot of hummus for 2 weeks and then return to London without my parents for an additional four days of shopping at Boots and eating toasties.

Then it's back to New Zealand (of course, through L.A. again) but this time for a whole 26 hours over a Friday night which will hopefully involve general carousing and merriment.

Then back here on Saturday afternoon.

So, um, it's a good thing I LOVE airplanes...

God, I Love This Country...

2008-10-31T00:40:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that before?

I don't think I have.

Not here, anyway.

Still rained out...fortunately a ship going my way has sailed its way into town and is allegedly departing at 11 p.m., so I intend to be on it. (It'd be really unfortunate if it doesn't go, because all my stuff is already on it.)

I know what you're thinking..."But, Amanda! You're going on a SHIP? But that one time you tried last year you threw up for approximately eight hours straight propped up on a pig cage holding onto the railing for dear life while the provincial Health Promotion Officer awkwardly held your ankles amidst shouts and jeers of 'Hold on tight! Rub her back!'"

And you would be right to raise an eyebrow. But those of you that know me well also know that, for better or for worse, I'll try anything twice.

And besides, it seems I can stomach a lot more in general these days, so I'm hopeful.
(Famous last words?)

So last night on my new cell phone I got a text from the good people at Digicel informing me a brata had requested a transfer of 100 vatu (approx $1 USD) credit. I laughed, rolled my eyes, sent him the credit, considered sending a snarky text like "Don't spend it all in one place-who do you need to call at this time of night?" and then thought better of it and decided to mind my own business.

It occurred to me that not so long ago it was precisely this aspect of this culture that would drive me up the wall - offend me, infuriate me, confuse me and frequently lead me to tears. But last night I just felt...flattered? A complete shift in perspective...it was almost gratitude...that someone knew me well enough to ask for help and knew that it wouldn't offend, infuriate, confuse me, etc...It was like a rite of passage, if you will. And besides, it's just a friggin dollar, you know? Can't ya just give a brata a break?

Maybe I have been here too long...

Incidentally, one of my friends got a DVD copy of Survivor Vanuatu: Islands of Fire which was filmed just outside of Mangaliliu, a village about a half hour north of here in Vila.

It was hilarious, enlightening, and deeply gratifying watching it...especially when they first arrive and the "tribesmen" canoe out to their cruiseship to welcome them and then do some weird battle-calls surrounding them with spears before the kava ceremony.

To give the show credit, there was a lot of authenticity in terms of kastom dress, dance, ritual, etc...and a lot of the lore they talked about on the show is true...of a lot of other islands in Vanuatu really far away from the 'suburb' of the capital they were filming in.

So as four of us gathered around my new mini-DVD player (thanks, Andrea!) in the early hours of the morning, we shared what definitely wasn't the average American viewer's experience, I assure you...

Me: Hey Dom, do we know any of these people?

Dom: Oh yeah, tons of man Mangaliliu, just wait for it...where do you think they got all those kastom canoes from?

Me: *Shrug*...maybe rented them from some tour operator or something? Oh, hey look! There's Chief Mormor! Look at him flailing around and pointing as if he doesn't speak English...he's such a ham!"

Dom: Yeah, now he's giving the FBI agent a hug for climbing the coconut tree...man, that guy gives the best hugs!

Me: I know, he's like the best-hugging chief in this country!

Then we had lots of fun being cocky and self-righteous as we watched the Survivors fumble with green coconuts and cooking bananas the wrong way (no wonder the women's tribe were all crying and strung-out by Day 3 - you cannot FRY those kind of bananas when they are that green - you have to boil them for at least fifteen minutes - I'm sure they were constipated as hell from that, too, but they didn't touch on that on the show.)

We also had loads of megalomanic fun shouting out disdain at the screen, "Oh, cry me a river Miss-Day-Six-and-I'm-sick-of-being-wet-all-the-time! Try TWO F***ING YEARS!!!"

Every now and then you just kinda...need that, you know?

I love it here tonight. I've had some great workshops and an awesome vacation. I love Vila, I love my friends & family in Peace Corps, and I cannot wait to go back home to the island and find out who's been knocked up since I left. It's been two whole months!

So, if I blog again tomorrow, strung out and stressed in yesterday's clothes because the ship did not leave after all...don't take it seriously.

This place really is paradise in the right light.

Back to Fiji

2008-10-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

I mean, I'm not going back to Fiji, just the blog is.

One of the advantages of being rained out for several consecutive flights is that one has the chance to catch up on all sorts of internetic activities...and the fact that I never did wrap up this Fiji trip has been weighing on my mind and to-do list for weeks (not kidding).

This is the hostel I stayed at my first night. I highly recommend it - the Downtown Backpackers Inn in Nadi. This was why it was awesome:
1) two seconds from the Hindu temple
2) dirt cheap
3) in fact, the free airport pickup for me saved me more in lack of cab fare than the one night I paid to stay there
4) because I made friends with the Indian staff guy, my sister ALSO got a free pickup the next day - and she wasn't even staying there!
5) I ran into said Indian a few days later at a bakery at 7 a.m. and was greeted like an old friend...subsequently felt connected and cool...
6) I met a really cool Frenchman there who has since sailed his way to Vanuatu which is why instead of finishing the Healthy Schools survey I intended to do Tuesday night I wandered Vila like a tourist and played on a pirate ship till the wee hours of the morning (I believe the appropriate term is 'schooner')...alas, bon voyage, mon ami!

Well, the market looks just like the one here in Vila but smaller, but I don't know if I've ever posted pictures of it...

If you're ever in Nadi, definitely go for cheap, fabulous Indian food at Tata's around the corner from the temple. But, do not, under any circumstances, kiss anyone while you are there! It is not allowed!

Andrea's first coconut!

This could be a beach in Anywhere, Vanuatu, which is why I didn't really take any scenic shots.

But if it was Vanuatu, I couldn't wear this! Oh, how I enjoyed being scantily-clad before returning to the land of Cover-Your-Knees...

Andrea's peaceful coconut-drinking experience is disturbed by a wild pig, which is part and parcel of Pacific life. The seemingly shy teenager that attends to it becomes somewhat of a mascot and our, um..."tour guide" for the rest of the trip (his cousin-brother's wife sold us said coconut).

I could go into the whole story about a sketchy rental car, an unexpected additional chauffeur, bogus entry charges and a lot of wheeling and dealing but let's focus on the positive memories, shall we?

I give Andrea a lesson on harvesting island food...

While on tour of the chintzy First Fijean Village, I tried my skills at hearing the Voice of Our Saviour. My tour guide made me do it...I swear. I mean, not swear but...um...

This is Jamie's family in his village (different one). Holding this baby was the best part of Fiji.

"No, really, I don't like beer...yes, even FIJEAN beer. What? Ok, well that was stupid because I'm really not going to drink it..."

We didn't USED to be the kind of sisters that shared each other's clothes and stuff...maybe it was our Couple's Massage and Harmony Spa that geeked us up...

So, like, if you want to see actual blog-worthy pictures of beautiful Fijean beaches and crystalline water etc, maybe Andrea will be kind enough to post a 'comment' with her Picasa link. I can't help it...I'm too oblivious to paradise to notice anymore... :(

You'll have to wait for the documentary...I promise it's coming...

Rained Out!

2008-10-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

I'm still here in Vila.

Theoretically leaving tomorrow but as it's been raining the s*** out of Tongoa for the last two weeks, I doubt I'll be going anywhere anytime soon.

Which is a blessing in disguise because I wasn't really ready anyway.

Because I am a huge procrastinator.

Some things never change.

Kamp GLOW

2008-10-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

So I have been horribly delinquent with both blogging and correspondence for the last little while, but for once in my Peace Corps working life I have been busy as hell...with actual work. Go figure. People always say it takes a year to get started, I just never believed them.

Tomorrow we open a one-week leadership camp for teenage girls - 9 of us volunteers are bringing two girls from each of our sites, most of whom rarely if ever get the chance to leave their island.

Except for because my Tongoa girls cancelled on me at the last minute (yet another smol drama I probably could have prevented had I actually been on the island instead of having fun in the sun in Fiji), I've called upon three fabulous young women from Emua, my training village, to be my all-star pinch-hitters.

It is 2 a.m., I haven't slept in about a month, and I'm about to be ON for twenty-four hours a day for the next 7.5 days. Now this is what I signed up for.

I just wrote this letter as part of their welcome packet. I am going to post an English version, though I'll warn you it's going to sound really stupid and awkward (a thought: remember when things used to sound stupid and awkward when they weren't in English? Oh, how times have changed...)

Actually just for fun I'll post it inside of the Bislama version, so those of you studying to come visit me can check up on your Bislama skills. Ready?

Welcome to Camp GLOW: Girls Leading Our World - Camp Leader Training

Kamp GLOW hemi wan lidasip kamp blong ol yangfala gel. Kamp ia i trenem ol gel long saed blong ol laef skil olsem komunikesen, helt, ol gol mo timwok.

Camp GLOW is a leadership camp for teenage girls. This camp trains girls in life skills like communication, health, goal-setting and teamwork.

Sam long yufala oli bin go long wan Kamp GLOW bifo long ples blong yu, sam long yufala bin harem storian nomo long ol kamp blong Tongoa, Epi, Emae, Malekula, Santo, Ambrym mo Efate. Most long yufala bae hemi fas taem blong yu blong luk wan Kamp GLOW. Yumi evriwan i kam tugeta blong lan long yumi evriwan.

Some of you have attended a Camp GLOW before, some of you have heard about those that took place on Tongoa, Epi, Emae, Malekula, Santo, Ambrym and Efate. For most of you, this is the first time you will see a Camp GLOW. We are all together to learn from each other.

Kamp GLOW hemi wan program blong Pis Ko long planti kantri long wol finis, long South America, Europe, Asia, mo Africa tu. Afta wik ia, yu tu bae yu wan sista blong GLOW famli.

Camp GLOW is a Peace Corps program already in many different countries of the world, in South America, Europe, Asia and also Africa. After this week, you too will be a sister in the GLOW family.

Purpose blong Kamp GLOW hemi blong givim ol skil mo save we i save leftemap laef blong ol yangfala woman, blong sapotem mo inkarajem paoa blong wan-wan we i stap insaed long hem finis, from...

Ol Gel i Lidim Wol blong Yumi!

The purpose of Camp GLOW is to give skills and knowledge that improves the lives of young women, to support and encourage the power that each of them already has inside, because..

Girls Lead Our World!
Trening blong Kamp Lida

Mifala ol Pis Ko i wantem karem Kamp GLOW long nekis level long Vanuatu. Mifala i redi blong putum program ia long stret ples blong hem, long han blong yufala ol woman Vanuatu. Hemia nao tingting i kam blong mekem wan nasenal trening we ol yangfala lida i save kam tugeta blong lanem mo praktisem samting ia. Afta bae yu go bak long ples blong yu mo mekem own kamp blong yu wan.

We at Peace Corps want to take Camp GLOW to the next level in Vanuatu. We are ready to put this program where it belongs, in the hands of Vanuatu's women. This is why we created a national training for young leaders to come together to learn and practice all this. Soon you will go back home and run your own camp.

Mifala i silektem yufala wan-wan from mifala i luksave se yu holem ol lidasip skils finis. Purpose blong wik ia hemi blong pasem kandel blong GLOW long yufala ol woman ples. Mifala i hop nomo se bae yu karem kandel ia bak long ples blong yu mo laetem laet long ol sista we oli stap wet blong GLOW...

We selected each of you because we see that you already possess these leadership skills. The purpose of this week is to pass the GLOW candle on to you, the native women. We hope you will carry this candle back to your homes and light the lights of our sistas who are waiting to GLOW...

Amanda, Arthur, Christa, Janet, Jasmine, Krissy, Liz, Mary, Sandra

Cultural Note - it's not actually as cheesy as it sounds in a culture where the literal lighting of a sista's light is a completely regular, essential, every day experience in the village.

But, in any case, feel free to shed a tear...

"If my life were a novel...

2008-10-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

...I wouldn't be able to put it down."

That is what I wrote in my journal today, en route from Nadi back to Vila.

Fiji awesome. Details to come.

Fiji

2008-09-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

So I got in around 6:30 last night, easily found my hostel shuttle driver, had some weird awkward airport conversation with aggressive taxi drivers while I was waiting for mine to come back with two British tourists, one of whom went to primary school with my good friend Dan in Bristol.

We got to the hostel, I threw my bag into a dorm room and took off in search of the Hindu temple to join the festivities for the first day of Navarathri, Festival of the Divine Mother. It turned out that the temple happened to be approximately 30 feet away from the hostel.

I got to the puja, slipped in at the back, and almost burst into tears of relief at the familiar sights, sounds and smells. In fact, I'm sure I would have if I wasn't made overly self-conscious by the 100 Indo-Fijeans staring at me blankly trying to figure out what the f*** this white woman was doing there.

Then we ate dinner after at the temple and people were impressed because I knew how to eat with my hands and I liked Indian food. Then I made a friend who gave me her cell phone number and said she would help me out...

Ooh - my sister just got back here! Yay!
Ok bye.

Ambae Workshop Update

2008-09-29T05:23:00.000-07:00

This is the English version of what I submitted to the two newspapers here in Vanuatu:

Qatamele Village, North Ambae.

On Mon Sept 8, over 25 people from Qatamele village and surrounding areas on North Ambae came together for the opening of a four-day “Water, Hygiene, & Sanitation” workshop sponsored by the European Union through their Non-State Actors Programme and implemented by Peace Corps.

Each morning, participants learned how diseases spread and discovered how higher levels of hygiene for the individual, family, household and community can prevent illness at the village level.

Through drama, drawings, games and discussions, participants shared their perceptions of their community’s needs as well as the knowledge and resources already available in the village. They explored gender roles, division of labour and identified ways that men and women could work together to improve their family’s health. Each participant then began to develop a Family Action Plan to bring home.

Each afternoon, participants took the time to construct the first VIP (Ventiliated Improved Pit) toilet in the community, employing a technology that greatly reduces the number of flies spreading germs throughout the village.

Each evening, the entire community was invited to watch videos on various health issues and ask questions.

Every household in Qatamele was invited to send a representative to the workshop, with the hope that the tools given and skills developed would reach everyone in the community and each participant would serve as a Hygiene Leader for their family. Invitations were also sent to nearby villages in the Waluriki area to encourage neighbours to consider similar programs.

Children aged 1-12 attended their own program, Yumi Washem Hans!, an awareness campaign originally piloted on Tongoa earlier this year.

Workshop facilitators were Blake Stogner, a local Peace Corps Volunteer in Qatamele, and Amanda Prasow, a Peace Corps Community Health Volunteer on Tongoa.

According to Arthurvan Garae, Chairman of the Qatamele Council, “We are very glad to see something like this happen here. We are a ‘back-way’ community, we live in the bush…there are healthworkers on the other side of the island but never has one of them reached us. We’re taking seriously this chance to ask questions and clarify a lot we didn’t know or understand before. We are going to see how this really raises the standard of knowledge and health for this village…”

The workshop, as well as materials for the VIP toilet and an additional two new water tanks, was made possible through funding from the European Union/Peace Corps/VRDTCA’s Community-Initiated Water & Sanitation Programme. Any community interested in a similar project should contact VRDTCA or a nearby Peace Corps Volunteer.

Um...I intended to finish this blog properly but I happen to be co-housesitting in the flasest mansion ever and my friend just showed up with, I kid you not, a crew of single men. It's time to be a hostess!

And everything is wonderful again.

2008-09-27T05:42:00.001-07:00

I just wanted you to know that.

The week from hell has turned around in almost every way imaginable...as these weeks are often wont to do in this country.

Everything is fabulous.

Details to come.

(Fiji on Tuesday)

Back.

2008-09-20T21:16:00.001-07:00

So, um...Ambae was so amazing that I changed my whole crazy plan and stayed an extra week. I do intend to describe all the magic of it (with photographic evidence) and explain why that workshop was definitely the highlight of my Peace Corps service thus far...just as soon as I can muster up the enthusiasm.

Because right now I'm in a horrible mood, partly because Vila is always a stressful whirlpool of inexhaustible to-do lists, phone calls, errands, and malfunctioning technology wrapped in a generally suffocating environment of diesel fumes, rotting garbage, sexual harassment and oppressive heat.

But mostly I am in a horrible mood because I am currently missing the following items:
-my new cell phone
-my plane ticket to Fiji
-my glasses (I was wearing them before I went to bed last night, so they can't have gone far...)

Plus I just found out that 9 prisoners have escaped yet again, which means that instead of having to scurry home before the sun sets at 6 p.m. like usual, I am now supposed to hide behind locked doors and/or be with someone else every second of the day until further notice. This is so stupid...I'd punch something if I wouldn't hurt myself.

Oh, um...don't, like, worry or anything. Prisoners frequently escape here. This is either the third or fourth time I remember since I have been here...so we're looking at an average of a group of prisoners escaping every 4-6 months. I guess I could be scared but after my last mefloquine-inspired hallucination a year ago when I saw mutilated babies sneering in negative colour every time I closed my eyes, I kinda just purged all the fear I had available in the darkest recesses of my psyche.

I am frightened by very little these days. Just a few weeks ago on the island I got lost in the bush walking home alone in a storm, and I got so lost that I didn't find my way to the cow-fence (the landmark that I have about a thirty-minute downhill walk to get home) until it was pitch black. And then thankfully I had an umbrella because I used it as a walking stick, or more of a...pitchfork rather to dig into the ground that was sliding and crumbling underneath my feet at every step, and every few minutes I'd be trying to put the umbrella point in the ground and not feel anything, and then I'd be like, "Oh, there's nothing there - I guess that is the edge of this cliff and I shan't put my foot there."

And I got home safe and sound and everything. I have only the tiniest scar from tearing my leg on some barbed wire, but I think it will fade with time. Anyway, even then I wasn't really that scared. And as I was wringing out my soaking wet filthy clothes, I thought to myself, "After today, imagine being afraid of something like...credit card debt" Sometimes I collapse into giggles in the privacy of my own mind.

Anyway. I'm not giggling now. I want my phone and my stupid plane ticket. I'm hoping this is all a big hilarious misunderstanding involving someone accidentally taking these items out of my Peace Corps mailbox and, um, sending them to another volunteer or something...who, um, may have been surprised by the random cell phone in her mailbag but, um, thought it was a gift?

Perhaps I am too trusting. There are worse vices.

Yes, I've tried calling it.

I'll write again when I am feeling less violent.

No, I'm not "done" yet!

2008-09-03T16:03:00.000-07:00

I am surprised by the number of people who, after noticing my sudden online presence the last week and a half, have assumed I was "home" or on my way out.

"Surely it's been a couple years already, hasn't it?"
"Um...are you still doing that Peacekeeper thing?"
"Do you still live in the jungle?"
etc, etc

For the record, as it stands now (despite recent rumours on the coconut)I officially COS (Close-of-service) in mid-June 2009.

Although it doesn't mean I won't be venturing out with some crazy cool projects/vacations over the next few months.

This itinerary entry is for the people that actually do want to keep tabs on me for the next little while. I don't expect those of you I am not in frequent contact with to be particularly interested, so, um, you could scroll...

Sept 5-12: VIP Toilet & Sanitation Workshop, West Ambae
Sept 12-15: Vila
Sept 15-22: home (Tongoa)
Sept 22-29: Vila
Sept 30-Oct 7: Fiji with my sister!
Oct 7-24: Vila, prepping, doing, and dealing with the aftermath of a leadership camp
a month or so: home (Tongoa)
Nov 25ish-Dec 8ish: Israel with my parents, probably through Australia, London, or Hong Kong so heads up if you live there, I'll be e-mailing you.

So that means I'm out tomorrow...but I'll be back in a week! Hopefully with good pictures.

Me

Musik

2008-09-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

This place is seeping through my skin.

Nothing on my iPod satisfies me anymore.

There will, of course, always remain moments of emotional intensity where Western Music Infusion is the only and best therapy. When hearkening back to only the indiest of rock or the folkiest of guitar will pull me up from the floor or down from the clouds and remind me who I am and where I come from.

But when I think of Life on the Outside...

I just can't imagine listening to anything that ISN'T some kind of stringband-calypso-reggae-R&B-African pop-gospel-hip-hop. Like, why would you want to?

What's the point of music if there's no rhythm...no groove to it? No softness, no warmth, no...slide...?

Team Tongoa (At Play)

2008-08-28T22:06:00.000-07:00

Before Travis joined us, Bridget and I often cooked gourmet meals together when we missed home...

But then Travis had the balls to suggest we make real homemade gnocchi!

It was amazing!

Travis is coping very well considering he was placed on an island with two bipolar girls that like to talk about their feelings a lot. He's learned all sorts of slumber party rituals...

Things got a little crazy as the night went on...

But there was one ritual he just couldn't get into...despite Bridget's all-star skills as a tarot card reader.

That is, until after an exhausting day and night doing the Peace Corps thing at Independence Day. In an effort to be more inclusive and foster team spirit, I suggested that Travis pull a card "for the three of us."

I am met with raised eyebrows.

Bridget: Um, what do you mean, for the three of us?

Me: You know, like, whatever it represents is like a message for the collective - it applies to all of us as a unit. And it can, like, comment on our group dynamic or experience or whatever.

Bridget laughs.
Travis shrugs.

Travis: I just can't believe that these aren't symbols that can be so broadly interpreted as to apply to anyone...but sure, I'll play, let's see what Team Tongoa's "going through"...

It turned out to be The Hierophant, and according to the book, "The Hierophant is questioning the conventional wisdom of the culture, though is not yet taking strong action to change it."

I mean, even he found it hard to stay a skeptic after that...

Team Tongoa (At Work)

2008-08-27T20:51:00.001-07:00

This is Part One of a two-part photo series. Stay tuned for Part Two: Team Tongoa (At Play)

So I know I already wrote about the Independence Week activities, but considering it was the most satisfying three days of my working life in Vanuatu, I'm going to write about it again with pictures.

Health survey blo mi mo Travis..."What are the two health issues that affect your village the most?"

Results!

Yumi washem hans!

Um...I buy time due to the unexpected change of schedule and being suddenly rushed by a hundred people...

Okay...um...I guess we're doing an interactive story theatre about washing our hands...um...with music...um, sing it with me, now!

Okay...thank God Bridget is ready...now go trace your hand on the banner and write your name inside! If you don't know how, ask a big kid to help!

The banner to remind me it's all worth it...

Then come to the Supercool Washing Hands Station to wash off all that marker...don't forget to use SOAP!

Oh, what? You need to clarify the DANCE ROUTINE to the Washing Hands Song? No problem!

We learned how to dry our hands, too!

Bridget is a Primary School Teacher Trainer. This is her thang:
Survey for primary schoolchildren about learning styles...

Magnetic poetry game to promote literacy...

Some Posters
Three goals of Peace Corps.

Yes, we can help you identify needs and develop action plans...no, we can't buy you a truck out of our own pockets...

Yumi stap go long medel naet now...

It's getting late, isn't it...? And it's a really great party...lots of cool people here, eh?

You know what? Why don't you take some free condoms? Really! Take 2...10...20...pass them to your friends!

Two Pictures of Me

2008-08-27T20:48:00.000-07:00

I wanted to see if I could take pictures of myself in my doorway and make it look like someone else took them.

These were my best two.

Some days I've got a little time to spare...

A Better Day on the Island

2008-08-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

August 23, 2008

This is a story about why I've been getting depressed lately, and about the miraculous epiphany that suddenly swept it all away...

So it's Campaign Week in Vanuatu. Need I say more? Perhaps I do, but for um, diplomatic reasons, I can't really say too much. I guess I always assumed that witnessing a democratic election in a developing country would be kind of inspiring...you know, Power to the People! Take Back the Night! etc, etc...

Well...let's just say democracy in a developing nation isn't as...democratic as one may hope.

Yesterday I had an interesting discussion with my Chief about the need for the government to form a system giving chiefs actual legislative power at the federal level. "The basic principle that this government has hitherto overlooked," [I'm translating, and therefore obviously paraphrasing] he informed me, "is the sovereign power of each local Chief. According to our custom, every man, woman, and child is the Chief's private property [his emphasis]." He repeated that phrase, the only one in English, several times over the next few minutes, as he went on to explain the key role chiefs play in maintaining "justice, peace, and unity" at the village level. He had a variety of suggestions for government recognition, including a percentage of the federal budget to be earmarked as tithes for chiefs.

So here is one reason why I've been squirming through all of these campaigns. There is, as you might imagine, a lot of talk about the appropriate use of public funds. But what no one seems to be talking about is how much of this government's money comes from international aid: New Zealand and Australia being the major monetary players, with China quickly rising in the ranks, and then you have Canada (CUSO), the U.S. (Peace Corps), Japan (JICA), and the UK (VSO) sending in the unarmed (as in without money) troops into the field.

A fellow volunteer told me it's about 40% of government's funds that comes from international aid, and let the record show that I have no idea where he got that number from or if it's remotely accurate. You may be thinking that's an awfully large Christmas present from the international community. Personally, I cannot imagine how that percentage can be so low in a country without income tax, I would have guessed more like 80-90%, but I'm no economist.

So here's why I get uncomfortable. It's not like I'm a proponent of colonialism or anything, but surely the average Australian taxpayer might have some opinion about where their money should go. And I recognize that Vanuatu is by constitution a Christian country that sees no need for the separation of church and state, but surely Ramachandra in Auckland or Avraham in Brisbane or Mohammed in Perth or...a whole lot of communists in Beijing might have something to say about that? I mean, I know God is supposed to punish those heathen sinners, but how can we forget that their slave labour at... ToysRUs, for example, just paid for the penicillin that saved your dying child and that new fishing boat just donated to your village?

Which begs the question, how can you have political independence without economic independence?

I mean, surely, I'm not the first person to ask this question here...right?

Incidentally, I'll share an anecdote that I'm pretty is not 'tabu' if I don't reveal the candidate or party in question. So, like, I GET my apolitical role, right? I am very careful to stay happily outside of the circus ring that is Elections 2008. I have perfected my Political Poker Face when candidates appeal to me in their speeches, and everyone turns anxiously to see if the lone Whiteman has given away anything with her eyes.

But the other day this candidate was talking about taxes, and I got excited, because I love taxes! And when we were all casually discussing it after, I casually explained how GST and PST work in Canada, and sort of asked the group at large, "What is the VAT tax here anyway? 12%? 15%?" and was met with a sea of blank stares, to which the candidate replies, "Look, I don't write the platform, ok? The Big Men do that and just tell me what to say..."

Anyway, I'd worry more about potentially intervening in this political process with my ill-advised question (surely the VAT is public knowledge?) if everyone else didn't nod emphatically, almost apologetically, as if to say, "We're really sorry for our Whiteman, sir. She's really short & small, but she is always asking embarrassing questions. We've tried everything to stop her..."

So last night my mom gets home from this parents' meeting at the high school (the one I'm doing the Drama Team with) and tells me about all the parents' responsibilities she learned about. "Great!" I think, "I love parental involvement in education! What did you learn?" And she's like, "So these reports they get, right? Well if it says A, that's good, right? You should tell them that they are a good person. But like, if it's one of the bad letters, like, um, you know a D or E? You need to whip them good! And ground them! And never let them see their friends...and then you need to make sure they cut their hair..."

I wish I was joking, but there is currently undergoing a mass 'cleansing' in the dorms. You know, cause everyone knows that today's dreadlocks are tomorrow's rapists. Clearly all we need to do is shave their heads and all our societal problems will disappear...

There was a lot more said about corporal punishment (there always is) but I'll spare you the details. It's too sad. But here's the thing I have to remember: all these teachers and parents truly believe in their heart of hearts that beating a kid really is in the child's best interest.

And, of course, it is, if what you want is to create a race of obedient, subservient beings..."private property", if you will. All I could hear was that phrase echoing in my mind from 1 a.m.-6 a.m. last night (have I mentioned I stopped sleeping around June? It's kind of a problem...)

I've seen some literature floating around from UNICEF about the CRC, you know, the rights of the child: going to school, not being beaten, etc...and all I can think of is, "Says who?" I would not at all be surprised if I saw someone roll up one of those handy little brochures and beat a kid with it if they said they had homework to do instead of chewing kava for an uncle.

So this brings me back to the fundamental question: Are there universal rights? I mean, are there really? And, if so, who has the right to...administer them? There are some of the questions I ponder in the long hours between one and six when everyone else is asleep.

But are you ready for the epiphany that made it all better? Ready? Here we go:

I AM CAMERICAN!

Born in New Jersey to Canadian parents, and transplanted to Toronto at the age of six and three-quarters. I'm not anyone's private property! My countries have come up with some beautiful things, like the right to the pursuit of happiness and Section 15, respectively.

I was never much of a patriot before. As a Camerican, I never really knew where my loyalties stood and besides, being a leftist you're generally supposed to despise nationalism and The Man, right?

But I am a born-again Camerican and I don't care who knows it! I love my countries, and this is why:

1. Right to Free Speech. Seriously, it's pretty amazing. Think about it. You can't imagine how awesome it is until you've seen it...not in place. And I mean, this is Vanuatu, the "Happiest Place on Earth", not some military junta or anything. I'm sure free speech is on the books...somewhere...wherever they store all that CRC paperwork...but the fact of the matter is, we don't get a whole lot of books out here on the outer islands, and if we did, who knows how to read them?

2. Freedom of Worship/Separation of Church & State. They're the same but different. I'd pontificate on this issue but I'd run out of ink and I'm low on pens as well as everything else. Just think about it.

Education! Taxes! Social services! Telecommunications! Sure, there's some...um...flaws in our systems, and sure my countries (okay, one more than the other) has made some very serious mistakes but...

But I love Camerica with all my heart and you can't ever take that away from me!

GOD BLESS CAMERICA.

Peace.

A Depressed Day on the Island (Edited Version)

2008-08-26T01:04:00.000-07:00

August 21, 2008

Okay, I am just going to write. Handwriting a blog seems kind of pointless, but then again a) every single aspect of my life feels pointless today b) I’m going into Vila soon and and transcribing will be an infinitely less arduous task than composing something new, which I would undoubtedly feel obligated to do - but I can never write in Vila. I’m always far too busy and stressed and shell-shocked and…like…happy when I’m there…and then there’s, of course, c) I would be typing this, but quite suddenly, my laptop is unwilling to put forth the letters “S” “J” “G” and some others. I have NO idea why, other than that it’s lived too long in Vanuatu, where every Big Thing Always Works Out in the End, and every Small Thing that Can Go Wrong Does.

I will spare you the litany of Small Things that Have Gone Wrong Lately. It’ll make me seem petty.

I started writing because it occurred to me I could be suffering from Vitamin D deficiency (it’s been cloudy for a couple months) and should sit out in the sun for awhile, so I went outside and then remembered that sunlight makes me nauseous and anxious, and I am now safely hiding in my mosquito net in my bed - the only place in this country I can stay for more than ten minutes without experiencing an overwhelming urge to get somewhere else.

So, my mom called last week and asked if I was “feeling better” after the last blogs I got Bridget to post for me in July. I was incredulous. I mean, I don’t remember exactly what I wrote that long ago, but I am pretty sure it was one of my most upbeat and cheerful postings in awhile - at least I was feeling the most upbeat and cheerful I’d been in several months.

My mom asked if it could be my [anti-malarial] “medication”. I mean, I guess it could be, even though it’s been a year since I switched off the one that’ supposed to make you suicidal and to the one that’s just supposed to make you allergic to sun (oh! maybe that’s why I hate sunlight - nah, I always have…), even though when I take my pill after 1 p.m. I invariably have epic nightmares involving a lot of blood and guts and gore.

So Bridget (my BFFL fellow volunteer on the other side of the hill…you know, where the grass is always greener) was over that day, and when I got off the phone and told her about the conversation, we actually laughed about it. How can you explain to someone that’s not here, “No, no, I’m fine. It’s VANUATU that’s depressing. No, really, ask anyone!”

Now, in the old days I would have considered myself an Eternal Optimist, and in fact I still do - in matters completely removed from the Peace Corps Vanuatu experience. But here…well, it’s just not an appropriate strategy for living…

This is my general philosophy for living here, refined over the past sixteen months…

1. Assume everything you are told is a lie.
2. Assume no one will show up to anything.
3. Assume no one will ever pass a message.
4. Assume your flight will be cancelled.
5. Every ‘gift’ is a request in disguise.
6. Always assume people are spreading false rumours about you at any given moment.
7. Trust no one, as betrayal has a myriad of forms.

So here’s the thing. As bitter and jaded and offensive the above principles may seem to the the outside eye, I actually have found that adhering to them does make me happier, more compassionate, more effective at work, and generally more fun to be around - compared to when I was stupid enough to expect anything else from people.

Epiphany: it’s because everybody HERE operates under these assumptions too, so we’re finally on the same wavelength.

But, like, really, I’m not trying to be ironic or anything. I really am happier this way, or at least was, until this wwwk, where everything seems to have collapsed suddenly, but I think it’s just because I know I’m going into Vila soon and am therefore forced to acknowledge the sheer superiority of the Outside World. That and the fact that I am suddenly out of everything: toilet paper, candles, kerosene, food, conditioner, patience, faith, dish soap, stamps, etc.

Sigh…I was Doing So Well, too…

It recently occurred to me that life would be more enjoyable if I had a reason to get up in the morning. Because knowing you’ll be hungry eventually if you don’t isn’t the greatest impulse around which to base your whole existence. But the problem is, I can’t actually think of anything currently available to me that would make me want to get up. I’d bribe myself with chocolate but I’m out of that too.

Anyway, don’t get me wrong. I do get up in the morning…usually around six, and I make my way through my morning routine and Yoga practice. My practice is more consistent and stable than it has ever been, but I still dread it, and certainly never look forward to it.

I think tomorrow morning I’ll schedule playing with Play-Doh at 6:15 a.m.

[Editor’s note - I did]

I’m trying. Really.

Maybe I always led a depressed and pointless existence. Maybe I was just as frustrated, conflicted, self-hating and deeply unsatisfied in my Old Life - but at least I had tofu. And broccoli. And grapes. And Rolos. Okay, maybe I haven’t purchased a Rolo in 15+ years but I’d kill a pig for one right now.

And of course, there are all these personal benefits to being here, like having lots of time to do Yoga and contemplate everything I hate about myself, but it does seem like a…strange use of public funds. I mean, thanks, taxpayers, but surely you’d rather spend your money…not on my spiritual development. Think of how many young, virile soldiers you could be sending to Iraq right now instead…

Oh, a note from my split personality: I really do love Peace Corps and I strongly encourage every American to do it. You really can make a difference. I mean, I’m not, because I’m slothful and selfish, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Better People can certainly do awesome things with their two years, and I personally know several who are. So, write your congressman! Don’t cut the Peace Corps budget!

Seriously, please don’t confuse my personal woes with being a reflection of this institution. (Not being sarcastic,) I love Peace Corps, as an institution and as a community, with all my heart and hope to serve again in my life (hopefully with a husband, you know, so I’d have a reason to get up in the morning).

Just to put a bit of balance into this particular entry, so you get the full bipolar flavour of my Peace Corps experience, here are some of the highlights of the last month or so…

1) Independence Day-Week Festivities with my peeps Bridget & Travis. We gave out over 200 condoms, mostly to 15-year-old boys, which was a really inspirational eye-opener for me, since I had previously resigned myself to the fact that no one cares about safe sex. It turns out they do, they just don’t want to get beaten by their parents for admitting it. Fair enough.

2) “Mommy & Daddy: My Health is in Your Hands!” a modified (and greatly expanded) version of the nursery school program I did in June. But this time the poster has 58 hands on it traced in Magic Marker (thanks, Jackie!) And this time it involved a last-minute improvised one-woman theatre-in-the-round performance by yours truly, with, of course, my indispensable support team (Bridget & Travis) chiming in for the chorus of the hit single “I’m Washing My Hands!”. God, I get chills just thinking about it. I’m going to look at that poster every time I want to quit. Yay, Peace Corps!

3) As for my Aid Post - really, don’t ask. I gave someone a piece of paper to fill out three months ago and I’m waiting for a response…no further comments.

4) And the Health Committee I’ve been trying to start since September…we’re so close. Last week we had four whole people come to the meeting. We’re supposed to have six members and they refuse to elect officers until we have everyone, but we are getting there!

In other news, one of the cutest babies that has hitherto been afraid of me happily crawled into my lap for a whole ten minutes yesterday. Bliss! (Perhaps I have not yet mentioned how strange it is to never touch or be touched by anyone). It was during the campaign speeches. Vanuatu has a federal election on September 2. If you’ve never seen ‘democracy at work’ in a developing country, it’s pretty wild.

As for the movie, it’s coming along…slowly.

Oh, and yes, we are suddenly getting cell phone service on the island! Yes, it’s true! Watch this space (or better yet, my movie) to see how the good people of Bonga Bonga go from having no phone in their village to cell phones in one fell swoop. I mean, forget the fact that we have no consistent power source to charge everyone’s phones - Amanda’s always the party pooper - yay, cell phones!

I have now been writing for so long it can be officially considered ‘late afternoon’ and the evil sun will soon leave me in peace.

Oh yeah, I forgot to write about the new Youth Drama Team I’m starting at a nearby boarding school for ninth- and tenth- graders! I had big plans for all sorts of ‘topical’ plays, but I have had to pull back a bit when I discovered the boys won’t even stand in the same circle as the girls for the warm-up. Okay, so we’re not quite yet ready to explore Domestic Violence in a theatrical context but…baby steps. This is the only work I really care about, anyway. I mean, it’s the reason I joined Peace Corps in the first place…

Until next time,
Me

"Life's too short to not eat brie..."

2008-08-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

A quote by yours truly, last night.

On the subject of veganism, and how traumatic it was for me to go unvegan in preparation for Peace Corps, and whether or not I'll want to go back to that upon my 'return' to the U.S. After so much involuntary deprivation, I'm not sure I'll be willing to impose it on myself again. Not that it ever felt like deprivation before...anyway, I was just musing.

So I flew in town yesterday, a shockingly uneventful experience for once.

My first meal of "Vila food" after three+ months on the island was...drumroll please...

A sandwich with real bread and the following items: brie, roasted carrots, asparagus, and tomato!

It was awesome.

I'll be updating this blog in the next couple days so stay tuned...

2008-06-29T20:01:00.001-07:00

June 25, 2008

So…yeah…solar power is awesome except for now that it’s winter it’s not as plentiful as it once was, so I’m actually going to try to make this sort of quick before my inverter makes that ghastly beep again and Bridget takes off to Vila tomorrow with my USB stick and my login info. Some highlights of the past five weeks on the island:

• Welcome, Travis! Our newest Health volunteer on Tongoa, Noelle’s replacement, swings by for his five-day Wokabaot site visit. Noelle, Bridget, and I try to make him feel welcome and excited. As he will be the ‘central’ volunteer (an hour’s hike north of me and forty minutes south of Bridget), we inform him of his sacred duties: funneling mail, passing messages, joining B & I in endless hours of girl talk, sharing all chocolate that arrives via plane or ship, etc. The panel meets after his departure and it is unanimously agreed that this boy can hack it. We’ll see you next month, T!
• Sori long Lumbu/Congratulations, Noelle! The amazing volunteer that showed us the ropes, helped us get our bearings and gave us endless support, guidance, and sushi triumphantly completes her two years of service and gets the f*** off the island, leaving yours truly the most senior volunteer. I guess I’m responsible for holding down the fort now. Damn. What was that thing about being positive I was going to start?
• Nufala Helt Komiti! Yes, only eight short months after I first asked for one, the village elects a new Health Committee to work with me. More than half of the five members.came to the first meeting (that’s, um, three people). And a whole two of them showed up at the second! By Vanuatu standards, this shows unparalleled interest and commitment (I’m not being sarcastic). I really am excited about this. Only two weeks after our first meeting, we complete the task of picking leaves out of the gutterings that lead into our two sources of water for the Aid Post. Although how this job ended up getting pawned off on a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old with no one from the committee, I’ll never know - but never say Ni-Vans can’t delegate! Go Health Committee!
• Yumi Washem Hans! I experience a charming, fun, deeply satisfying and inspiring morning at the nursery school introducing songs, stories, and games about why and how we wash our hands. I also have the benefit of following up with the parents later to evaluate the efficacy of my program. Says one cheerful 16-year-old mother, “Kalo and Jennifer loved your program! They came home and sang that song you taught them, whatever it was, who remembers now, I mean, they’ve obviously forgotten it…anyway, when I sent them to wash their hands those crazy kids started looking for the soap - and I was like, ‘Bastards! Don’t waste the damn soap on your body or I’ll whip you good!’ Soap is for laundry, obviously…oh, kids today…”
• Smol Hip-Hop Danis Bridget & Amanda attend Shefa Day, an all-island celebration of…well, no one was really sure but it’s a public holiday that lasted a whole week. Thirty seconds before it begins, they dare each other into entering the Dance Competition against some very earnest pre-teens that have clearly practiced for the big event. All of Tongoa rejoiced as not one, but two of their otherwise generally respectable White Missuses gleefully improvised to the tune of “Girl Fight”. Favourite moves include “The Fish”, starring Bridget as The Fisherman and Amanda as The Fish, and Bridget’s solo performance as “The Worm”. Says the dynamic duo, “We have totally amassed enough social quotient credits for at least the next month. We can pretty much stay in our houses and do nothing until fall.” It is now accepted practice for man-Tongoa of all ages to hide in the bush and scream, “HIP HOP!” delightedly as Amanda or Bridget walk by. There are rumours of several toddlers imitating their wild gyrations, but on this issue the pair declines to comment. Word on the coconut is the Doublemint Twins are already in intensive rehearsal for Independence Day festivities, as well as the much-anticipated and more exclusive “Welcome, Travis!” soiree in July.
• Botel-gas i go long sip! After four very smoky (but enlightening) months, my empty propane tank for my stove finally made it on a Vila-bound ship this morning. It took the first three and a half months to get it from my village to the next one where the wharf is (special thanks to the Deputy High Commissioner of New Zealand who came to check up on our defunct Icebox Project and let me chuck the 11-kilo tank on his truck - man, Whitemen give you so much free stuff, it’s awesome), and another two weeks for a functional ship to arrive. Of course, every phone on the island went down today so I can’t let the gas company people know to pick it up on the other side, but I am encouraged by the developments. At this rate, I should have a functional stove again by 2009. Imagine, making breakfast in under two hours!
• Ova the Fanis Moderately deflated by general feelings of uselessness and despair, as well as the whole lot of nothing going on in my working life, I’ve decided to unofficially hop the fence of project sectors (from Health to Education) and join Bridget in her workshop series for primary school teachers…to help her out, get to know other villages and just, like, to do something with my life. This has also given me a lot of ideas for blending our projects and expanding my Health program outside of my small area. Competition and jealousy is the driving force behind work of any kind here, and it’s a shame it’s taken me a year to figure out how to harness that. Every day I spend working in another village converts another five previously disinterested parties into fervent labourers suddenly desperate for my time and attention. Long live the Petty Rivalry!

So that’s what I’ve been up to…I will definitely be in town again (Vila, that is…) the first week of September, though it’s possible an insatiable hankering for broccoli could put me on a plane before. All is well here…God bless the cold season.

I might meet my sister in Fiji sometime in the next few months, and possibly a parent or two in either Malaysia/Thailand/Australia/here or not at all in October, and I’m planning to hit New Zealand again in January or February. So yeah, I’m going to try to stay put on the island while the tide is low for the next couple months…which means snail mail as usual or e-mails forwarded via Peace Corps.

Once again (credits flashing on the bottom of the screen), you can write to:

Amanda Prasow, Peace Corps
Bonga Bonga Village
Tongoa Island
VANUATU
Southwest Pacific

or volunteer@vu.peacecorps.gov with my name in the subject line.

And, last but not least, the winners for most awesome item received in a recent package go to…

-my sister Andrea for Annie’s Organic Shells & Aged Cheddar Cheese Sauce and
-Juli’s mom for Yerba Mate Chocolate Teabags

You rock my world!
Amanda
(via e-scribe Bridget)

2008-06-29T20:00:00.000-07:00

Another letter to a Yoga friend:

June 23, 2008

It’s just so easy to write to you of all this. Why? Other people would understand, of course, but they would worry about me too much. I feel like you understand that when I struggle with what I see, it’s the thing itself that troubles me, not its effect on me and my life. I, after all, have a departure date, however buried into the future it may seem at times. I have a place to go ‘back’ to, a culture, or at least a community within a culture, that shares my essential values and beliefs.

And so I write to you, to tap into that community, because I need to draw on that connection now.

Let me preface this by saying I remain in a relatively balanced state of mental health, at least as far as happiness goes. As far as remaining ethically sound, I’ll get to that in a moment…

I have not yet crawled back into the cave of depression and resentment that held me for several months, though the pessimist in me sleeps with one eye open, awaiting the fall. I keep reminding myself it need not come - people do break cycles eventually, isn’t that, after all, the whole point of Yoga? But I have been through so many false starts, new beginnings, thrilling highs always followed by the inevitable crash that my own naivete in believing ‘it will be different this time’ seems as much my greatest weakness as my greatest strength.

Listen to me…a little dramatic, huh? As if a heroin addict constantly on the verge of suicide…no, it’s always little old me and my little old mind - and the lows are never worse than some tears and maybe a chocolate bar too many to easy the pain - though those are harder to come by than you might imagine out here.

So what is different this time? For one, I currently have the most consistent and regular Yoga practice I’ve ever had outside the ashram - so that’s a big thing. I am still struggling to keep asanas in my life…but I have been able to build a daily practice of meditation, pranayama, kirtan, spiritual reading - and finally start to disentangle the world of karma yoga from the very confusing web of Responsibility, Charity, Duty, Sympathy, Dependency, and other such confusing concepts that comprise my ‘working’ life.

But anyway…I want to talk about rape.

I don’t know what is more disturbing - what I heard today or how I reacted. I don’t know if my cool detachment is a sign of spiritual progress or moral decay (I find myself wondering that a lot here).

A fellow male volunteer once told me, “There’s no real difference between rape and courtship here…” and it’s a line I’ve repeated often to others yet inwardly believed or at least hoped was a gross exaggeration. Just look at all the ‘good boys’ I know here.

So today, after almost a year on the island, a young cousin-brother who is the closest thing to a male friend I trust & respect here casually mentions raping several women…

My first instinct is to create immediate distance and display my disapproval, especially as he’s laughing about it with his friends (including a 22-year-old girl who is laughing with him at how dumb I am for not ‘getting it’). But it suddenly seemed so pointless. My disapproval means nothing to anyone here, nor should it really, beyond momentary embarrassment. They understand that I live by a different set of rules - in a crazy place where you’re not supposed to lie or steal or rape or beat children, but no one sees this as relevant, no more important than women wearing pants in my country or having long hair.

So then I tried to curb my reaction and focus on information-gathering, understanding. What exactly does force mean? Why force? Do you feel bad? What if she screams? Struggles? Cries? Methodically we discussed all the scenarios. Incidentally: “I never had one that cried, so I don’t know. I guess I would just let her go, cause if she cries that means she feels really bad, right? Plus, she’d probably report it…”

And so I listened, and learned how the ones that swear at him will definitely get it because it becomes a competition thing, that if they scream for help they’ll get let go since they’d tell anyway after, though most don’t scream, and they never try to fight him off - because, after all, most of them want it anyway and are just playing hard to get - and the young girl with us is laughing too and nodding, and suddenly I’m the only one too stupid to understand a basic game of cat-and-mouse where usually no one gets hurt.

And as I listen, scarily I begin to understand. What is a right here? There is no such concept of individual freedom in this culture. I listen how he would never rape someone from a different island (one hopes this automatically includes those from a different country, as well) but woman-Tongoa, they belong to him…

And of course, they do. Because in Vanuatu when you pay for a woman, she is yours. And when you father a daughter, she is yours until someone else buys her from you. Property - like a cow, a piece of land, a pencil. And if you grow up with that basic principle of ownership, then…what then?

And I look at him and my anger melts. He is family, after all, and I do love him like a real brother. He’s a good kid…he didn’t design the world he grew up in…what’s that part in the bible (which I never saw before Vanuatu) when Jesus says it’s not the healthy people that need a physician? I decide to continue loving him, and that I won’t walk away from this issue…but I will leave it for later, when we are alone and he can speak more honestly.

Will I think more carefully about being alone with him now? Nah, not really - he’s still the boy I feel safest with and this doesn’t change that. It’s all a game here, and even if I don’t get the rules, everyone else does and they do live by them.

I know he trusts me now, more than before, enough to share this stuff - and I do feel honoured, and I want to keep that trust.

I cannot help but think that Christianity does so well here because of the constant redemption - as long as you’re sorry on Sunday God forgives you. Judaism has far too many rules to follow, and Yoga would be far too much work.

There is that simplicity about Christianity I find compelling, and even wish I could believe in, but something just doesn’t sit right with me about it. I am struggling - a true Yogi would see God everywhere and rejoice in any house of worship, but I have so many inner blocks about it.

So anyway - is this afternoon indicative of a step towards true understanding and unconditional love? Or a sign that everything I’ve ever stood for is weakening, that I am giving into the madness around me, that I’ve walked into the rainforest and sold my soul?

What would Swami Vishnu do? I think he would use Love to build a bridge to knowledge. I think he would trust God that a person will come when he is ready. I think he would advise me to do the same.

I have a Christian friend, another volunteer, who is always talking about different things God has told her - casual conversations, big revelations, etc. I wish I had that confidence…that certainty that all I had to do was listen…

2008-06-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

A letter to my sister:

June 8, 2008

Dear Alexandra,

Why I stay, or why I have stayed so far, is not because I am afraid to become an actor as you suggested, but precisely because I am 100% sure there is nothing else I could do without hating my life - and simply because I am trying to work through all the issues I can here (as Swami Sivananda would say, “remove all defects”) before I risk letting my own personal cocktail of baggage ruin the only thing I’ve ever really wanted: my dream career.

The more time that passes, the clearer the image becomes of what I want my future life to look like. This is an unfortunate obsession, and one has a lot of time to think out there…for example, I have already chosen the toiletries in the guest bathroom of my dream apartment. But it is strange, however, to realize my career is the only thing I care about - more important to me than love or money, or even having a strong spiritual community around me…and I certainly have no desire for children of my own. It is stranger still to conclude this here, where no one has a career - where family is the only thing that matters. They can’t even begin to understand.

So while it is true that I hate it here most of the time (though much less with the dawning of the cold season and my ‘mastery’ of firemaking), I hate it no more than I hated the ashram, or Geneva, or England, or any place I’ve ever lived or any job I’ve ever had more than a few months. I am not sure why I am plagued with insatiable restlessness, why my boredom turns to resentment and then to rage so quickly - it often occurs to me that a possible reason is that all I’ve ever wanted is to be an actor in New York and all I’ve ever done is something else, but I suspect it is not that simple, that there is more going on...and I may as well stay in a place where I have 24 hours a day of free time to do several hours of Yoga a day, should I find the discipline (and I’m starting to), read trashy novels in my hammock, and rest in complete financial security. In no other environment I can think of can you delve into being a complete basketcase without it adversely affecting your or others’ quality of life. So - it might not be the most valiant of reasons, but the all-expenses paid sanitorium is a major reason why I’m still drinking coconuts.

I’m hoping to build some strength, purge some of the negativity through a diligent, sustained, consistent Yoga practice before I risk sabotaging the only thing I’ve ever really wanted (my career) by not getting myself together enough before it is too late. So this is mainly why I stay.

Perhaps there is no such thing as ‘too late’, but it’s true that in acting you can’t get away with things the way you can in other fields. Weakness, insecurity, fickleness, nervousness - these are why actors don’t get work, and people have long memories in the entertainment industry. Perhaps it is the same in many fields, but actors are constantly looking for new work so I guess the challenge is more pronounced.

But I was going to tell you about my day.

I woke up at 5, and as it is winter now it was still pitch black. I’ve been in a habit of lolling about till the sun comes up at 6 or even later. This is “bad” primarily for yogic reasons - a meditation before sunrise is exponentially more powerful than after. And, practically, if I get up at dawn to do my morning routine (pee, brush my teeth and use my neti pot) before Yoga, I will be attacked by mosquitoes, so more often than not I hide in my net until well after sunrise. By that time the roosters and children are louder than ever, I get painfully hungry, and start to feel guilty about doing ‘nothing’ for hours when my neighbours are breaking their backs chopping firewood or carrying coconuts.

So, you know, it’s really better for everyone if I get up while it’s still dark. I can always nap later.

I remember a lot of idle conversation about cultures that rise & fall with the sun like this one. It always amazes me that at 5:58 a.m. there will be not a peep in the village and by 6:02 it is light and the day is in full swing. I always wonder if they actually wake up with the light or just wait for its cue to get up.

It occurs to me: as I’m the only one with Indiglo, they couldn’t get up earlier. If they woke up and it was still dark, they’d have no idea whether it was 10:30 p.m. or 4:30 a.m. The roosters, of course - always crow from 3:25-3:50 a.m., so that’s a clue, but they sleep through that, those lucky bastards. Ni-Vans are such deep sleepers that they constantly wake up with rat bites on their ankles. It’s a real problem, especially for kids, because the slightest cut or sore can be grossly infected within hours in this tropical climate. After a year, I remain incredulous. I am awake the moment a rat climbs onto my roof (though these days, roll my eyes & go back to sleep instead of crying till morning), I’d probably wake up to the sound of a rat next door - but then again, I’ve always been a strange sleeper - I can’t remember sleeping through the night more than a handful of times in the past several years. If I ever sleep deeply enough to let a rat get close enough to consume my flesh, I will truly be ‘integrated’ into island life.

(Incidentally, it is a good thing I feel safe here. Peace Corps gives us these useless-in-Vanuatu personal alarms, and once in training a rat pulled the cord out of my friend’s and not a single person in her house woke up. Earlier this year, another friend was actually screaming bloody murder as some stranger broke into her house and tried to rape her and of course no one woke up. Fortunately she was able to fight the guy off and scare him away…)

Anyway, so I got up and was smugly drinking Rooibos tea with Vanuatu vanilla and cinnamon and reading the Bhagavad Gita before dawn. A half-hour’s pranayama then a half-hour meditation to follow. Normally I’d move on to asanas or chanting or sometimes just guitar, but I actually had to be somewhere this morning, which happens (no joke) every 3 months or so, so I went back to the kitchen to reset the fire & make oatmeal when my dad dropped by with a plate of bananas in coconut milk, which when sliced thinly over oatmeal turned out to be almost enjoyable. I’ll eat anything in a pinch, and often do, but after so long I still find cooked bananas nauseating unless I’m starving. I’m often starving with no food source of my own, but I am starting to take steps to deal with that. Last night, I slipped my mom a dollar and today she brought me enough taro for at least 3 days of meals, so at least I don’t have to live on crackers & peanut butter if no one brings me other food. Procuring something green is far more complicated and fruit is more or less out of the question unless I happen to be walking by when someone is peeling a grapefruit or orange. Custom - they have to give me half, especially if I look at it. But anyway, the taro is a good start.

June 11, 2008

Oh, shoot - I might have burned the first 2 pages of this letter. Why am I such a pyro? Now that I cook with fire, it’s so easy to burn things. Sometimes I close my eyes at night and just see flames. Plus I tend to go on these burning rampages. I can’t believe that the only source of fire in my life used to be tealights. It’s just so basic to me now - for food & sterilization and warmth (thank God for winter) and family and spirituality. You should read the book The Vision by Tom Brown Jr. I think you’d like it.

June 13, 2008

I was trying to tell you about Tuesday. I have often bitterly declared, “There is no point working with anyone over the age of 3 in this country” so I decided to take my own advice and visit the nursery school for my most successful workshop ever.

First we all made a circle and I told a story about a boy that had diarrhea cause he never washed his hands, then we all acted out a story (you know, one of those ‘Going on a treasure hunt’ and you all run or hide or reach up, etc) about the boy learning to wash his hands with the Washing Hands song (tune of “London Bridge”). Then we traced all their hands with marker on a poster that said “Mommy & Daddy: Please help me to wash my hands with SOAP and CLEAN WATER all the time!” The poster is now hanging at the Aid Post. Then because of course their hands are obviously dirty from the marker, we all stood in a circle around a basin of water and sang the washing hands song while one by one each kid washed with soap - there was an awkward moment when I made the teacher do it, too - I realized I should have demo’d exactly how to use the soap but whatever - then every kid got to choose a sticker for being such a good handwasher!

I love the nursery school! I can’t wait to go back with toothbrushes!

Then because our phone is down in Bonga Bonga, I strolled down to my old stomping grounds in Meriu to call this guy about a computer we’re trying to get for the school (which has no electricity, but you sort of have to do things backwards in Vanuatu to get funding) hung out with some weaving women and went back up the hill.

I recently bought flour and was experimenting with it in a frying pan and I accidentally made a pita! This was very exciting, and I ran into the house to take a can of chickpeas from my cyclone stash and mushed them up with crushed garlic (jar), sesame seeds (imported) and lemon juice (fresh) and had a theme meal!

Then because I never have any work so a little work is exhausting, I had a nap and read, until I wandered next door at sundown and listened to my teenage brothers practice stringband. For the first time in a long time, I caught myself sighing and thinking, “God, I love this place.”

So something’s working.

2008-06-29T19:58:00.000-07:00

Hi friends! I’m still on the island but one of my island-mates is going into Vila so I asked her to post some blogs for me…really these are just some copies of letters I’ve written to people in the last few weeks that after writing I realized I wanted to post so then I typed them out…yay, solar power!

A letter to a Yoga friend:

May 29, 2008

It is as if I have roused myself from a bad dream and woken up in paradise.

The hot season has vanished almost overnight, and a calm, cool, constant wind has taken its place. A bad fever has broken, and I am suddenly at peace.

The wind enlivens me, inspires me. It calls out to the Vata inside me, and for once I no longer see the Vata as a hindrance - but feel its strengths: flexibility, lightness, movement, transformation.

“Wind” and “breath” are the same word here. The words for “inhale” and “exhale” are “pull wind” and “let go wind”. It takes a long time to say in a Yoga class, but it really is a beautiful image.

With the abrupt change of seasons, the colours are suddenly brighter, the lines between the ocean and sand suddenly…crisper somehow.

I have begun to kill rats again, after several months of trying to live with them. A book I am reading called The Vision about a man’s relationship with an Apache shaman is helping me find some honour in it, at least in bringing some consciousness to the task.

This week I spent three entire days cleaning up the feces built up in my house during my several weeks away. There must have been hundreds. And I have never cleaned this house so thoroughly -- climbing up onto every shelf & ceiling rafter, and as I swept and swept into my new plastic dustbin (I can’t believe I just used a coconut leaf broom for a whole year), I started thinking about the nature of rats and my relationship to them.

An interesting question I’ve begun to ask myself lately is, “if my life were a movie, what would this particular event/illness/creature symbolize?” it’s just a way of stepping outside myself, I guess, and seeing the bigger picture - but I’ve found a way to talk to myself in a vocabulary that means something to me, and that makes investigating things easier, if you know what I mean…

Anyway. So what are rats? Or, more accurately, what have they been to me? Small, insidious creatures, feasting nightly; eating away at whatever I have been careless enough to leave behind. I am compulsively meticulous, though, which means they mostly eat away at plastic bags and containers. Pecking away at my treasures while I lie awake fuming, chasing after the shadows with the flashlight I keep by my bed for this purpose, or alternatively plugging my ears with my fingers & squeezing my eyes shut in a kind of desperate denial.

And yet, they are so small and so RELATIVELY harmless it seems cruel to murder them. “It’s just…stuff…” I tell myself. And so they survive, and thrive, and multiply like a virus in the body.

I killed two in two days before the big cleanup, and felt a certain confidence, a certain TRIUMPH as I swept. And I asked myself what I have allowed to eat away at me over the past several months - thought patterns, habits, behaviours, relationships - too small to demand action individually but en masse enough to break every container, to weaken the whole system, to desecrate a sacred space with their waste.

Three days it took - around 20 hours altogether, and I still find pellets appearing on shelves or rolling onto the floor - the aftermath of the first kriya so to speak.

Or maybe this is just all lies to make myself feel better about being a murderer.

I am becoming more and more comfortable with animal slaughter, which is sort of disturbing. I certainly do not participate, but I don’t run and hide the way I used to. I can walk freely among the torn, bloodied carcasses, sit down with friends while they casually make soup out of intestines.

I have never before been present for the kill, though I have often heard it in the distance.

Some people have heard of Hindus here, they know them as cow-worshippers and often ask me about it, and I was thinking about that the other day as I passed a cow in the bush - that I don’t really know the stories behind it - the mythology or the scripture or anything other than cow as ‘giver of milk’. But I’m passing this cow and thinking there’s so much I do that Hindus do that I don’t fully understand, and I kind of shrug and nod, “Hello, Mother” - which felt at once bizarre and sort of comforting - like I knew where I was for a moment.

The next day a kill was announced, because my brother was discovered two-timing two girls and we found out one was pregnant, so we had to make a sorry ceremony for the non-pregnant girl’s mom in the morning and do an engagement ceremony for him & the pregnant girl in the afternoon (against the will of all three involved in this love triangle - I have it all on tape).

Usually the kill happens in the bush, but somehow the animal ran all the way down the hill and my uncles chased it into my yard. I was in my kitchen and I chose not to come out, though I listened to the whole thing.

It was so quick, the attack and then the fall, the death. I never realized how quickly the whole process happened. I almost found a kind of respect for these men I feel I know so well, suddenly revealed to be true hunters.

Almost, but not quite.

If we are all one consciousness, what is the difference between pulling a bunch of cabbage up from the earth and slicing the throat of a pig or a goat? Their levels of consciousness?

It is frightening the questions you begin to ask out here, when once you knew, knew with certainty, where right and wrong lived.

Is it really rape if it is all they know and all that they expect?

Is it so wrong to hit a child when the child knows that will be a consequence of the behaviour?

I don’t think I believe in absolute morality anymore, and I think I used to - though ultimately, I don’t think it matters much - my own moral code is essentially unchanged.

Finding compassion for these people has made me better, not worse - though I guess I won’t really know until I’m out of it.

The mosquitoes have significantly dropped in numbers with the drop in temperature - though I seem to be plagued with a new race of welts that I attribute to ants or spiders or both. I consider that my cleaning spree has disturbed hundreds of these creatures.

Without the suffocation of the heat, the bites cause more curiosity than despair. I calmly observe my body’s reactions, wondering how much it can take at one time, wondering how the scars will layer on top of each other, checking the swollen areas constantly from an almost…artistic perspective. Just to see the picture they make. And yet I am calm.

Do I exaggerate this world I live in? I don’t know. I wish you could come here and see for yourself. I’m certain you would only see the beauty in it. The rest takes time and a trained eye - or perhaps I really have gone mad out here.

And if I did, who would know?

And yet even as I write I know it is all true - all of it at the same time. This world - it is a jungle and it is a temple. It is a hotbed of violence and a circle of love.

Is it different everywhere else, or anywhere else? I don’t know.

I have found my way back to Yoga again - this time more gently, gradually than ever before. Small baby-step goals. Rewards along the way. There has been no Love in Yoga before for me - no sweetness, no kindness. It has always been a tangle of guilt, self-hatred, a strangling perfectionism in the name of Sacrifice and Duty.

I feel the Gurus laughing at me almost daily - when I fall on my face in the Crow, when I open one eye to sneak a peek at the time mid-mala, when I hit a hideously off-key note in “Jaya Ganesha” - and I laugh with them now, sometimes out loud (is that crazy?) It’s just like one long light-hearted game.

That’s life, I guess.

I just finished the novel Chocolat about a medicine woman of sorts opening up a chocolaterie against the will of a fuming country priest. It is a truly decadent book - rich, colourful…thick.

Tonight I made a fire and boiled water, almost considering a cup of hot chocolate in celebration of nothing - a rebellious act considering the late hour and the morning meditation ahead.

I made some Rooibos tea (the one I got at your organic store in New Plymouth) with cinnamon instead…and at the last moment I thought “What the hell?” and threw in a teaspoon of chocolate powder.

Just a teaspoon. But it was enough.

I feel certain now that this is my path.

Well, there you have it - for once, a letter and not a panic attack on paper. So you can stop worrying about me, at least for the time being. Because I really am okay now.

Om Shanti

Aot.

2008-05-21T18:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I didn't have time to write more.

And I'm supposed to check in in half an hour.

I feel like I have spent an inordinate amount of time running for planes in my young life.

But, alas, it is good for the soul.

I have no idea when I'll be back in town next...no later than the last week of August, for a "Gender & Development" committee meetings.

Since I seem to be going crazier as the months progress, I might not be able to make it that long, so I might be back soon.

Check out pics from last week's "Gender & Slope Farming" workshop...

GAD and Slope Farming

Until next time...

There are ants living in my laptop.

2008-05-20T17:19:00.001-07:00

I live through the looking glass.

I have been here in Vila for almost three weeks, at a Water & Sanitation thing, then our big gala All-Volunteer Conference at a flas resort, and then I nipped up to Nguna island to faciliate this "Gender & Slope Farming" workshop at this agriculture in-service training.

I have just returned from the airport, having been kicked off the plane.

I intend to write more before I leave (allegedly) tomorrow. But if not, you'll hear from me soon.

The Castaway's Guide to Escaping Tongoa

2008-05-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

Inspired by my recent adventures, I've spent the past couple days compiling a document for my fellow (and future) volunteers. It occured to me that including some excerpts might just help to paint a picture of life on Tongoa. Our island and the northern island of Maewo, I believe, are the last two airports in this country that shut down in the rain.

Thus, I dedicate this blog entry to my bratas and sistas on these islands, and to everyone who has ever been a castaway in Vanuatu.

The Castaway’s Guide to Escaping Tongoa

This guide was written for Peace Corps staff and volunteers who need to get themselves, family members, or counterparts on or off Tongoa in the event of one or many cancelled flights due to saf-mat at Pele Airport.

Be aware that one or two days of heavy rain can close the airport for several days. When planning a trip to Tongoa, chances are high that you will encounter at least one cancelled flight along the way, so it’s a good idea to leave yourself extra days when possible.

Note that this guide is written from the perspective of someone trying to get off Tongoa and to Vila, but of course all ‘escape routes’ equally apply to the reverse scenario.

Confirming your flight.

Finding out whether or not your flight is actually going is often half the battle. It takes determination, patience, and often a full Telecard.

To find out if your flight is cancelled:

The Agent on Tongoa will make his report on the airfield that morning, usually by 10 a.m. for 12 p.m. flights and 1 p.m. for a 4 p.m. flight. If you can get a hold of him directly earlier, he may often be able to tell you up to 2 days in advance that the flight will be cancelled. This is key because Air Vanuatu will never cancel the flight until a few hours before.

Planning your escape.

If you’ve confirmed you’re flight is cancelled, go ahead and grab:
• pen & paper
• fresh Telecard
• your current ticket/PTA #
• extra vatu, or your bank book/card and a plan to get some $

The guide then goes on to describe the various names, numbers, prices, and other details required for 'activating' each escape route, from the least crazy and cheapest options to the more outrageous and dramatic ones. They include...

Escape Route #1: Wait for a ship.
[I have done this once.]

Escape Route #2: Rent a fishing boat to Emae and take a plane from there.
[I have done this twice...in four days...last week.]

Escape Route #3: Rent a fishing boat to South Epi and take a plane from there.
[I know someone who is rumoured to have done this once.]

Escape Route #4: Charter a private plane.
[I have heard it has been done.]

Escape Route #5: Call the helicopter.
[I have seen it done.]

Escape Route #6: Charter a fishing boat all the way from Tongoa to Vila.
[It seems like it could be done.]

Helpful Hints:

• Use your PC taowis. Going through PC volunteers on the island in question will probably save you time, vatu, and Telecard units by doing some of the recon and bookings on your behalf.
• Share the love. If you’re already a Tongoa volunteer, you undoubtedly hold dear our sacred bond and would never leave your brethren behind. But even the best of us can succumb to island fever, so just remember if you’re desperately trying to get on/off the island, chances are one of your fellow volunteers (or villagers) wants to come along too... they can share the adventure and the expense.
• Safety first. Geekiness aside, if you’ve been stranded on Tongoa due to poor weather conditions, chances are your escape route will involve rough seas and some unconventional, last-minute arrangements. Bring your lifejacket and make sure someone (preferably in the office) knows your plan. Bring your sat phone if you have one.
• Be creative. There is an almost infinite number of ways to combine the escape routes above. You might, for example, take a ship to Emae and charter a plane from there.
• Do not panic. Instead, congratulate yourself on your first rite of passage as a Tongoa volunteer. We’ve all been stranded at least once, usually in a storm, with a funny/crazy story behind our escape. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and repeat the sacred mantra of Peace Corps Tongoa Castaways:

I will get off this island.

Still raining.

2008-04-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

So I'm still in Vila.

Yes, I've had eight consecutive flights cancelled.

It's sort of a long story, but the middle of it involves a malfunctioning aircraft and an all-expenses paid weekend in a fancy hotel and the end of it is leaning dangerously close to a happy resolution.

Fortunately, one of the many perks of being stranded in Vila for an additional twelve days means I was able to go to the airport and greet the five Rotarians that arrived in Vila yesterday from Auckland.

They are here for "Phase II" of our Aid Post project, supplying the Aid Post with running water and working on some of the smaller aspects of building construction (painting, installing doors, etc).

I have spent literally an entire week calling ships, boats, private planes, a seaplane and even a helicopter as well as various Peace Corps volunteers, fisherman, guesthouse owners and Air Vanuatu agents on four islands to try to figure out how to get people to and/or from Tongoa in the rain.

I almost find it hard to believe that no one has tried to do this before.
Almost...because this is Vanuatu, after all.

It has been at once stressful and thrilling.

Perhaps I should reconsider a career in the arts and become a travel agent.

The upshot of it is, mifala sikis (6) are currently rerouted to Emae, a neighbouring island that is not debilitated by rain, and in about five minutes I will find out whether or not we have a fibreglass banana boat confirmed to run us over to Tongoa from the closest beach to the airport.

Our plan is SO close to being perfect.

Check-in is in less than two hours.

Tick.

Tock.

Rained out!

2008-04-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

So...when I called the airport to confirm my flight at 12:40 p.m. and they told me it was definitely on, one might wonder how the weather situation could have changed so drastically in twenty minutes. One that doesn't live in Vanuatu, that is.

When I arrived at the airport to check in at 1 p.m., lugging my carton of pasta & cookies (other than the food I bought, I didn't have much to take back since I didn't, like, come with anything) up to the check-in sign, imagine my surprise when a guy comes out slowly, cautiously, out of the back room to the counter.

"Oh...hey...hey, listen..."

I forget, do I actually know this guy? Or does he just know who I am and where I'm going? I'm never going to get used to that about this place.

"Um...it's raining on Tongoa so...you're not flying today...sorry?"

It's cool, you know, I was ALMOST considering staying an extra couple days anyway to sort out some last-minute details for this next phase of the Aid Post project, but I thought I'd better get back home...I miss green but, green will be there in a few days so...whatever...I'm crashing at a friend's place so I'm not wasting all my money on a hotel and a couple more days of eating like crap wouldn't kill me considering my recent bout of near-starvation.

These are the amazing things I've eaten since I've been in town: pizza (x3), pasta & broccoli made by me, vegetable stir-fry made by me, sushi, Raisin Bran, chocolate mud cake...so, yeah, you get the picture. I no longer look like a sallow waif, so that's good.

Now, if the rain doesn't clear by Friday, well, I might go back up north to the training village for the weekend. A whole week in the city is just CRAZY (even though I want to live in one for the rest of my life...yes, there will probably be some issues there).

I might even shell out the big bucks for imported asparagus tonight.

We'll see what happens.

A Letter

2008-04-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

So I had this letter I hadn't gotten around to mailing to my sister yet...and I read it over...and I thought it might be a good kind of day-in-the-life thing to post...during one of the downswings, that is.

It's amazing what a couple days of pizza and chocolate mud cake does for morale, though and I am feeling quite "refreshed" and "recharged" and ready to go back to the island tomorrow.

Disclaimer: sometimes people have bad days, right? This is what this is. And even though there are some people that may be hurt if they read this, I feel it is risking a kind of artistic integrity if I don't publish it for that reason, so I am going to go ahead and do it anyway...and hope that anyone that would be offended by this is able to understand it within its own context: a rough day in a rough week in a rough month.

April 3, 2008

I have concluded recently that I am at least moderately depressed, which I don't care too much about, either because I've always been at least moderately 'emotional' or 'high-strung', or maybe because I'm too depressed to be too concerned about anything.

Although is it depression if you have what the general population of your home country considers very good reasons? Is it still an affliction if you live in what would generally be agreed upon as appalling conditions? Are soldiers depressed? Are prisoners? I'm not suggesting my lot is as bad as theirs, I'm just exploring the ideas. I mean, I don't think I know a single volunteer (other than the ones that live in town) that ISN'T depressed at least a good chunk of the time, if you'd use the traditional checklist of symptoms.

Last week a fellow volunteer was talking to me about trying to identify all the true sources of her anxiety, like unresolved relationship issues, homesickness, etc when I was like, "Maybe you're freaking out because your house is crawling with rats and you live in filth?" In Vanuatu, it would probably be weirder to NOT feel depressed.

Anyway, the only reason I am writing is because by the time you get this I will either be already in Vila or almost there - and after a shower and a pizza and a hotel room with clean sheets, I'm sure I'll be fine.

But that's the trick of going into Vila. Everyone recommends you go in at least every 3 months or so to stay sane, to get "refreshed" and "recharged" for the island. And you go to the expensive, dirty, semi-dangerous city and as soon as you get over the thrill of running water and Cadbury, you find yourself missing the island - the peace & quiet, the coconut milk, the lush greenery, unpolluted water, and the freedom to do whatever you like twenty-four hours a day - and you get back here, and after the first few days of euphoria you remember that you kind of live in a hovel, and before you hate yourself too much for being ungrateful, you remember that if this standard of living was considered acceptable, either by this country's government or your own, you wouldn't be here. And so I imagine the cycle continues for the better part of two years.

I'd go into all my reasons for feeling like crap, but I'd bore MYSELF, so I will share the main one - at least once a day I get a mosquito bite that swells up to at least the size of the palm of my hand. I now have three mosquito nets in various locations so I'm not confined to hiding in my bed all day, I light mosquito coils in my house and as of today also in my outdoor toilet (kind of like lighting a candle in the wind...sort of pointless). Before I can even go outside to pee in the morning (the toilet is where they bite me), I have taken to putting Tropical Strength deet on every inch of my body (these are Pacific mosquitos that go beyond "exposed skin" - thin cotton won't stop them). Then I run to the toilet and back as fast as I can, then assess the damage on the parts I somehow seem to have missed.

Then I do my morning meditation & pranayama in a mosquito net, and when the sun is well and truly UP and there is no longer the additional threat of the Dawn Army, I go and have a bucket-bath. If I linger over a luxury like washing my hair, it's a conscious sacrifice of flesh. The only reason I haven't jumped on a plane is because the situation should theoretically improve 'any day now' with the coming of the "cold" season. I am almost certain I cannot bear living through the hot season again next year, but I am trying not to focus on that.

I am just trying to focus on getting through each day, which is getting harder to do as my allergic reactions seem to worsen rather than improve.

For the most part, my new village is working out really well and I am really happy here as far as the people go.

But we live in the bush.

And these bugs are out of control.

Oh, and in case you're curious - no, other people don't get bitten like I do. They just laugh at my welts and say, "I guess those mosquitos really like white skin..."

Anyway. What started to make me think there is officially something wrong is the fact that this week I can no longer eat. I seem to suddenly find everything intensely nauseating, which is weird because I am famous in at least four countries for my appetite, and that is especially true here [editor's note - of course, this was the onset of my weird stomach thing that also debilitated a few people in my village, but I didn't know that yet].I think my body has just given up on Vanuatu. I read the bestsellers Mom sent me and all I can focus on is the food - I dream of broccoli, asparagus, carrots. I love vegetables. And for an entire year I have pretended that root crops are an acceptable diet but even just writing about the chalky manioc, the sludge of kumala - I really do want to puke.

Tonight I built a fire so I could make Rooibos tea & cinnamon (got the tea in NZ). My stove ran out of gas a couple weeks ago, so it is Robinson Crusoe-styles until further notice (which I'm sure adds to my general despair). It was a desperate attempt to feel urban again.

I even steamed some of my precious quinoa reserves from NZ, but since I'm out of soya sauce, I can't bring myself to touch it. Usually these occasional indulgences comfort & inspire me, but tonight I feel like a fraud.

There is nothing Madison Avenue about squatting in the dirt blowing on pieces of wood like you're trying to resuscitate an unconscious victim.

I am losing my drive.

I'd quit if it wouldn't be such a deep shock and insult to this village, who finally spent a lot of time & money on my new house. Plus, when I seriously consider it, it seems so absurd to declare my official reason for resignation as "those f***ing mosquitos".

Though I wouldn't be the first to do so. I can think of two this year that left for almost the same reasons.

Anyway, I'm not quitting. I'm just going through a stage. The stage where if I could just get a little bit of inspiration to clean my house, wash my obscene pile of dirty clothes, clean up my desk, etc - I know I could just get out of this slump, but the task seems so daunting I can't seem to face it.

No matter where I've lived, I've always been obsessed with the prospect of a clear space being the key to my salvation - and I don't even really think I'm wrong. "If I could do the laundry, I'd have space to do Yoga which would allow me to to discover my True Nature and live peacefully in Eternal Bliss..." "If I cleaned up my desk, I'd find my voice coaching book and then I could train my voice every day and then be a clear, confident actor and then get work and have career satisfaction and..." Etc, etc.

I have always been this way. After being a true celebrity in Vanuatu, I have learned I am no longer interested in fame or fortune. I only dream of having enough money to afford a housekeeper.

Although, that being said, I can't believe I ever found housework daunting when I had a washing machine, running water, and refrigeration.

I didn't mean to rant & rave for several pages...it isn't all bad.

But the truth is, I'm just so anxious to start my LIFE...my REAL life, where I have an apartment in the city (which one TBD) and an acting career to build. I don't want much - I want to take the subway to a jazz class on Thursday nights, I want to go for vegan lunch with my boyfriend (which one TBD) on a Tuesday, and meet the girls for cake on Sunday afternoon. I don't want to be the only yogi on my entire land mass. I don't want to be stared at and laughed at all the time.

I realized recently en route to another village that I'm actually now quite comfortable and happy with all the Ni-Vans I already know, but I am simply UNWILLING to go through the ritual of meeting new ones. I am going to puke the next time someone asks me, "Yu gat hamas brata?" as in "You got how much brother?" meaning of course, how many brothers do I have. Then, of course, when I say none, they have to click their tongues five times in sympathy. Sometimes I'm so bored with the script I just finish it for them,

"No brothers - nope, not one. Two sisters. I'm the youngest. Yes, they are both married [people are always relieved at least at the last part]. No, I'm not going to marry one of your towis [cousins] and stay in Vanuatu. Yes, my parents are both alive and yes, my dad has a job. No, they're not coming to visit."

The variations on the theme are unbearable. I am truly shocked that I have had the same conversation with at least 400 people in this country. Maybe an outsider would observe the same thing in America? I can't imagine Americans are as Borg-like. But let's face it...what else are we going to talk about? They're not going to ask about Shakespeare or Germaine Greer or greenhouse emissions or a recipe for baklava...they're going to talk about family, cause that's all they have here. Maybe if I knew more about gardening they'd chat more about yams.

Yesterday, I did this workshop on division of labour and...stuff...and the point is to subtly probe the gender issues, like how women have an average of 16 hours of work a day and the men have, like, four or so. So each group has to present their own daily schedule and their perceived schedule of their counterparts.

So a mom in the Mamas group warns her daughter in the Teenage Girl group, "Careful what you write about the boys' schedule - because they'll probably swear at you or slap you if you make them look lazy."

This is where I live. I don't believe they want it to change.

Amanda

So that's what I was thinking about on April 3.

A Little Video

2008-04-14T22:31:00.001-07:00

You know how I'm always too lazy to explain what exactly I do out here?

Well, you and I can both thank Craiger out there in Auckland, New Zealand, for putting together a little slide show of our Aid Post project.

These are pics from the first Rotary Waitakere team who came out to the island in December, and we are looking forward to hosting another group of 5 people at the end of this month, with a third group coming in early June.

I'm not in these pictures, but I took a bunch of them.

Check it out:

http://www.rotarywaitakere.org.nz

So, yeah...that's what I do...part of it anyway.

:)

Notes from the Field

2008-04-12T20:43:00.001-07:00

I went to the airport on Tongoa on Friday to mail a letter, and decided I wanted to get on the plane. A sister threw me a t-shirt and a tank top, a friend gave me $7, and I called my village from Vila to ask them to take my clothes out of their soaking water and throw out the leftover kumala in my kitchen. So I'm here! But more about that later...

April 8, 2008

8:01 p.m.

This will be the first time I am able to write from the island, due to an innocent-looking 12V car battery that with the help of an overpriced 300W inverter and several adapters has officially significantly changed my life here…at least…potentially. Having light has definitely significantly changed my life. Having a charged iPod has calmed me down more than once when that forsaken fire would just not stay lit (my propane tank ran out of gas a few weeks ago, so I am officially cooking island-style until further notice - the worst of the learning curve seems to be over…I vaguely recall putting the mastery of fire on my list of 25 things to do in my 25th year so…anyway).

But yeah, other than that, suddenly having electricity hasn’t changed my life as much as one would imagine…but maybe that's because electricity usually comes with like…a system…I mean, it’s awesome having a laptop here as far as writing goes, but as far as work or communication goes - you know, without internet or a printer - it doesn’t have the same…charm.

But I digress.

Tonight’s inaugural ‘from the field’ entry is about prayer and petits fours.

I will spare you the details of this week’s “illness”, mostly because I find reading about other people’s illness and injuries, even the most tropical and glamourous, excruciatingly boring. But to understand where I’m coming from, you should understand that this is the first day in almost two weeks I’ve been able to eat something close to a normal amount, we’re talking whole days on a few crackers and some Rooibos tea. I would close my eyes at night and peacefully imagine lying on a luxurious white couch (whose I don’t know) with an IV casually strapped to my arm. I was convinced, based on my sudden, complete and inexplicable repulsion of every island food available, that I would never be able to eat again. Anyway.

I seem to have come out the other side. My appetite has returned…with a vengeance after two weeks of near starvation, though admittedly the means to satisfy it are nowhere to be found, and my imagination is a lot more…decadent than my intestinal strength at this time.

But then, this is supposed to be about petit fours.

In times of extreme distress, we all do whatever we need to do to get through it. Some pray, some repeat mantras, some listen to indie rock or cry or have ill-advised encounters. At various times in my life, I have done all of those things.

So tonight, when I came dangerously close to a complete nervous breakdown when I could not keep that friggin' fire alive, who knew what my subconscious would come up with?

(If you had asked me a few weeks ago, say before my stove ran out of gas, what are the factors that affect a fire’s ability to stay lit, I would have been at a complete loss…however, I can now conclude with confidence that this evening’s challenge was due to a combination of the following factors: the smallest wood on the bottom was not enough in volume, and there was too much horizontal stacking as opposed to a strategic criss-cross, some of the wood was a little wet due to it having rained for the better part of the last month, the angle of the largest pieces of wood was slightly…inverted, due to a collection of old ash I have been quietly shoving to the back. In short, I had built a lazy man’s fire, and I was completely aware of all these things at every stage. I would have saved myself a lot of mental anguish if I had just accepted defeat and started again, but to be fair…if you hadn’t eaten for 11 days you’d probably make some stupid decisions too, right?)

As in the past, I heard that familiar voice, This too will pass. Is that from the bible or something? Which one? I have so many scriptures in my life these days it’s hard to keep up.

And then, like, usually the voice goes on to describe a perfect day in the life in my glamourous future in Manhattan, just to take my mind off the current suffering.

But today, perhaps debilitated by the torment of the last few days, my inner crisis control officer had this to say:

Vegetable Udon Soup.

What?

Pizza. Macaroni & cheese. Pasta primavera.

I’m sorry…?

A toasted tomato sandwich. Heinz canned lentil soup. A mild green coconut curry with tofu. Bean burrito.

And somewhere inside me, Hope returned, grasping on each image like the rungs of a sacred ladder. Imminent deliverance.

Vegetarian fajita. Grapes. Asparagus in garlic sauce with slivered almonds.

What began as a contemplation of these basic yet deeply-rooted dreams of my future soon gave way to a tour of my past, winding my way through the streets of every city and town I've ever lived in or visited... even the stands at the many airport terminals I’ve waited in began to flood my memory.

Sandwich wraps. Yogurt. Sesame bagel with cream cheese. Pizza bagels.

Interesting that after being vegan for years, some of the most intense, emotional cravings were for dairy products. Perhaps it was all part of the…indulgence of it.

Banana bread. Mom’s macaroni casserole. Broccoli-tofu stir-fry with peanut sauce…no, black bean sauce!

A striking blow to the heart as I recall one particular (insignificant at the time) meal with one particular (significant at the time) lover. And soon I am haunted by others, as these recipes became a kind of....offering...to the woven tapestries of my past, meal after meal a record of the life I've left behind.

Miso soup. Hash browns. Falafel.

You can get the hash browns at Future’s on the corner of Bloor & Brunswick, but they’re never as good as you want them to be. Or you can keep walking and go for the falafel at Sarah’s two doors down. For the miso soup you go straight to the end of the block to New Generation, or for the earlier crowd, Sushi on Bloor across the street - but no matter what any waiter tells you in any restaurant in any country, the miso soup does contain fish broth, so you just have to decide whether to believe them that day.

Brownies. Peanut butter cookies.

We’ve turned back to Future’s again.

Petit fours. Starbucks Caramel Hot Chocolate.

How did we end up by the lake in Geneva?

Hummus.

Like the amazing stuff they had at the house of that patriarch guy in that offshoot of Islam incestuous sect that started with a D, somewhere between Haifa and Tel Aviv.

[editor's note: with the help of Google & Wikipedia, I now recall I am referring to the Druze]

Baklava. Swiss cheese…slices.

My heart begins to sing.

Graham Chewies (Mom’s recipe). Snowballs. (always and only at Uncle Leon & Aunt Joan's Christmukkah parties). Smores. I am a kid at camp again.

Lo mein. Pad thai.

I am back in the city.

Daal.

At the ashram.

Pumpkin soup.

How did I end up at the Delta Delta Delta annual Founder’s Day Thanksgiving gala at the Ontario Club?

Croissant. Pain au chocolat, for that matter. Roti. Rosti. Nachos. Jujubes. Trail mix. Fondue.

I’m back in France, or Belgium, or Switzerland, or my sixth-grade skating party. The momentum is building inside of me.

Toasties. Jacket potato…with baked beans.

I don’t care what they say, a vegetarian can eat very well for under 1.20 on the cobblestone streets of the Lake District in northern England.

Berries. Fiddleheads. Samosa. Matzoh balls.

And I begin to know with a peaceful certainty that I will taste each and every one of these again. Someday.

And I begin to know I will survive.

As foolish as it may seem, the greatest gift you all could give to me from wherever you are is to take a moment now to read over all the dishes in italics above. Slowly... individually...and consider their beauty. Maybe let your mind wander to your own treasured tastes.

And promise me this: the next time you taste one, take another moment. Consider yourself blessed. Not because the good people of Melanesia know or care that they’ve never tasted split pea soup or raspberry chocolate mousse, but because you have. And you can. Because what you have that they don’t is one thing I’ve come to realize is the most important thing in the world to me: choices.

Because probably, whoever you are, however you know me or don’t, and wherever you are reading this, you were born into a world where you could have either been an opera singer or an engineer or both if you felt like it, and probably still could if you decided to tomorrow. And probably after a little while, everyone around you would accept it and probably not even think it was that weird.

Almost everyone I know in this country has not been educated past sixth grade due to being unable to afford the massive spike in “skul fis”. Many others fail the national standardized exams (in English or French, no less - languages they learn and speak only in school for the sole purpose of passing these exams). So...imagine if blanking on a high-pressure test at eleven years old dictated the rest of your life.

It should be noted that there are a few exceptions…but only a few.

But this is not a sob story about the Third World. I have too much inner conflict about this country and this culture and my own to dare to moralize or even analyze these issues.

I write because I would do almost anything for some gnocchi from Ticino right now…or, hell, I’d take the sketchy Jamaican patties they sell for 60 cents at Mac’s (the vegetarian ones, that is). At least they were 60 cents when I was thirteen.

The world can’t have changed that much since then.

I am currently reading Arthur Miller’s 614-page autobiography (this is, of course, the Arthur Miller of Death of A Salesman fame). When you can’t eat or cook or look at or think about food, one finds oneself with extra time on one’s hands.

Now there’s a man that had seen some changes in the world since, you know...1915.

Oh, damn! Another ant bite! I had a grand plan of visualizing away all my scars so I can be bikini-ready for the All-Volunteer Conference at Iririki Resort next month.

I realize the absurdity of this for two reasons: 1) anything that bites in Vanuatu really bites, and a simple mosquito bite can easily scar for several months 2) I can’t imagine I have significantly more gross bite scars than all the other Peace Corps bikinis that will be lounging around that pool.

But, on the other hand, it’s maybe good for me to be almost forced to remember my appearance at least once a year. It keeps me…assuredly American.

Anyway.

To the Frozen Iced Raspberry slush at the Cheesecake Factory in Fort Lauderdale:

You keep my fire alive.

A True Story

2008-02-06T22:44:00.000-08:00

Ram, Ganga, and I are sitting around the living room floor playing cards and drinking tea, when we come to a sobering realization with regards to the Arnott's Butternut Chocolate cookies we have purchased just a few short hours ago.

There are only three left.

Me: [completely seriously, no sarcasm whatsoever] I think we should ration them in case of an emergency.

Awkward, pregnant pause.

Ram: You know, we're actually not on a desert island right now.

Me: Oh...right.

I look down at the ground, somewhat embarrassed by my rather absurd suggestion. I could have been joking, but I wasn't. I laugh half-heartedly. Ram tries to reassure me.

Ram: We're not going to have any emergencies.

Me: I know, I know.

Of course, let's just eat the cookies.

You know, if we run out, we can just...buy more.

Of course we can.

Why do I feel so awkward?

If we run out, we can just buy more. I've been turning that notion over and over in my mind for days.

Is this what it means, to be one of the Chosen People, born and bred in a country where if you run out of Arnott's Butternut Chocolate, you can just...buy more?

Is that who I'll become again?

And how quickly will I forget?

And which of the children will haunt my dreams, begging remembrance?

Everything is upside down and inside out.

One more day in the Real World, and then back to the Island Dream.

Or is it the other way around?

Maybe I should move to Auckland?

2008-01-31T13:23:00.000-08:00

I mean, you have a thriving cosmopolitan centre just minutes away from beautiful beaches and bush trails...great granola communities AND a bourgeoning film industry. You can meditate alone in the forest in the morning, spend the day surfing, and be downtown in 20 minutes, grabbing a Caramel Hot Chocolate at Starbucks on your way to meeting the girls for sushi.

This might be my dream city.

So, yes, I'm having a great trip so far. Even though I may have brought some malaria with me and very nearly passed out in Chapati Indian Restaurant last night. But, yeah, I'm...dealing with that.

While I was lying on my back on the floor of the 'differently-abled' toilet, watching the room spin while being blinded by the overhead fluorescent light, growing progressively more debilitated by alternating waves of delirium and nausea, I managed to find a momentary, quiet comfort in the realization, "At least I have lived."

The adventure continues.

I'll be flying down to the newest Sivananda centre in the world in about two hours (in New Plymouth).

Here.

2008-01-20T21:37:00.000-08:00

In Vila.

Again...because...

I'm going to New Zealand next week! Yay!

So, like I don't know how in-depth your googling goes, but in case the coconut reaches any of you and you're curious, yes, Cyclone Funa hit Vanuatu last week. No, no one was hurt and there was no major damage. And no, it didn't hit my island, though it was supposed to...at 200 km/hr apparently, but then it felt like turning east a bit...which was, you know, lucky for us and stuff. It was a little windy on my island and bit of rain for a couple days, but that was pretty much it.

It was pretty damn close, though, which was pretty exciting, and almost fortunate that I got to go through the whole process as like a "trial run"...right down to the "Standfast [as in DON'T MOVE]" orders sent from my office to my sketchy sat phone...and I was strangely calm and serene about the whole thing, more than I imagined I would be but also because I think I was in denial. Juli was visiting, which I'm sure made the whole thing a lot less scarier, and we just kind of quickly and quietly filled up buckets of drinking water, arranged cans of baked beans and put new batteries in the flashlights. Then there was nothing left to do but hole up and wait for destruction to come, which was a weird, eerie feeling...so we sang every Ani song we knew and many that we didn't and then, you know, the storm just skipped us.

So yeah, pictures and stories and stuff to come in the next week...I'm not out to Auckland (and then to New Plymouth) until next Wednesday.

Happy New Year to all!

Time to go already?

2007-12-15T22:45:00.000-08:00

Juli's mom, this pic is for you! Thanks for the crayons!!! These kids gather at my house to colour EVERY afternoon. They have never had access to anything like this and it is so amazing for them and me to have this time and space where they can be freely creative without adults hovering over them swearing at them to chop more firewood or scratch some coconuts.

(I wish I had time to qualify this statement, it's not like ALL kids get sworn at EVERY day, but the general cultural perceptions of the role of a child is very different than in North America.)

Oh, shoot.

I had all these plans to really update this blog properly with all the different pictures and themes and stuff and...alas...suddenly it's my last night in Vila and I'm meeting Erin & Julie M. for pizza & a movie (I have been FANTASIZING over both pizza and movies for the last 4 months).

So...it's going to be a choose-your-own adventure look through my photo album (below).

Main guides:

1. all the pics with cement in them are from the guys working on a teacher's house for the primary school, not my project but follow-up from the last volunteer.

2. as soon as you start to see other white people in the pics, that means all the Health volunteers are together doing a 2-week workshop for Village Health Workers in Lumbukuti, on the other side of my island

3. the random pictures of myself are because I didn't have a mirror and wondered what I looked like at various points in the last four months...especially after Noelle cut (ALL!) my hair...a relatively traumatic experience that I am just now getting over...

3. the ship near the end is the one I took to Vila, the one that made me puke for the better part of 13 hours (what a fun day...for real)

4. the last pics are of malaria testing that we do when anyone comes off a ship or plane - trying to help Tongoa become malaria-free :)

Tongoa - The First Four Months

If you're curious, I'm receiving your letters an average of 3 weeks after you send them, if you mail them directly to the island. Letters & packages sent to Peace Corps headquarters in Vila take a lot longer, though is definitely more 'secure'. As for letters FROM me, some people have got them in 2 weeks, or 4 and some of you are still waiting so...who knows?

I should be back in town en route to New Zealand around the third week of January...so check back around then.

Happy New Year!

John Roberts, 1983-2007

2007-12-15T19:00:00.000-08:00

I have spent some time thinking about if and then how to write about this, and I'm not sure I have an answer yet.

But for those of you interested in following all the ups and downs of my Peace Corps experience, I feel I would be remiss if I did not include the recent death of 24-year-old volunteer John Roberts on the southern island of Erromango.

No, he was not a close friend of mine, nor someone I knew very well. When I got the, "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this..." phone call on the island, I know the shock and pain I felt cannot begin to compare with those of his friends and family in Peace Corps and at home, or the members of his training group that officially completed their two years of service last week...without him. He died just over a month before he was meant to come home.

So that's part of why I have a hard time figuring out how to talk about this.

But he was one of the family, nonetheless.

I had only really met him a handful of times. In fact, the only significant conversation I remember having with him was when he was teaching me how to set up my satellite phone system, and cautioned something along the lines of, "The sooner you realize you're completely alone out here, the better. Peace Corps can't or won't protect you - so you're going to have to learn to take care of yourself."

As a new trainee brimming with enthusiasm, that struck me as a peculiarly bitter and perhaps unnecessarily pessimistic viewpoint.

Ironically enough.

So, as it happens, I'm not really going to talk too much more about this right now. But, as a gesture of respect for John and his family, I would appreciate it if you would take the time to click on the links below and read a little bit about him and his story.

A Peace Corps blog...

A local news story.

A press release.

Thank you.

My Updated Family (in Emua)

2007-12-15T00:17:00.000-08:00

So I know I'm jumping around a lot with these posts, but linear time is a Western thing anyway and really...I'm trying to get all this stuff posted before I go back to the island on Monday.

Here are pics of the fam from last weekend. Emua feels like a modern urban centre compared to my village on Tongoa. I mean, you can buy chocolate there.

Enat is not as innocent as he looks.

Smol Amanda's bigger! And as Uncle Matthew turns 17 next week, the family has decided I am to find a White Missus for him to marry "so he can travel". Seriously, he would be a great catch in all respects, and I have never seen a teenage boy in any country take care of babies as lovingly as this one. He also likes laplap, Jesus, and long walks on the beach...

I know what you're thinking...why am I decorated in crepe paper, why is Enat wearing a mat and why is Alexi wearing a bindi? You kinda had to be there...

Even angry and drooling he's so cute...I love this boy...have I mentioned that?

Awww...

Emua Dec 07

etc (the rest of the album)

My New Best Friend

2007-12-14T22:46:00.000-08:00

Okay.

Deep breath.

After a year and a half of lusting after this camera, I just bought it.

And that means...this is for real.

I really am making a movie.

My gear is being shipped to my friend's place in New Zealand, and I'm picking it up when I go visit in January.

Which means filming should officially commence March 2008.

Exhale.

As far as this purchase goes, I am definitely relieved that the process of researching and second-guessing my choice forty million times along the way is finally over.

But as far as considering the prospect of making this film, my dominant experience is...quietly terrified.

I've never made a movie before, let alone completely by myself...on an island...in one of the most disaster-prone countries in the world...teaching myself how to operate a camera and...trying to tell a story in a language I don't speak and...and...okay, you get the picture.

But I've always wanted to be the kind of person that did stuff like that, though.

So I may as well start now.

And when I think of the past few months, I've definitely had my share of quietly terrifying experiences...

There was the time when the giant rat jumped out of a plastic bag in my kitchen ONTO MY FACE. And then the time when the schizo-psychotic old guy in the village was having an "episode" and broke into my hut on a Sunday morning. Or when a piece of my roof fell off during the tropical-depression-that-was-almost-a-cyclone and I had to huddle up in the only corner of my house that wasn't leaking. And the time when I was walking through the bush by myself in the pouring rain with like 50 lbs on my back side-stepping carefully along a cliff, calmly aware that one misstep would send me straight over the edge of a coconut plantation.

And, you know, now every one of those experiences are funny stories for the memoirs. (Not funny ha-ha, per se...)

So, like, I can probably make a movie, right?

My House

2007-12-13T22:57:00.000-08:00

...in Bonga Bonga...is apparently finished.

Which means I am moving.

Here is a little photo journal of my house construction...

Let's hearken back to Wokabaot Week in May. If they worked solidly from this point forward, the house could be done in about five days. But then work just...stops...island-style.

Work resumes sometime in August...Tat Winnie, Papa Amos and Tat Leikav are 'cleaning' the wild cane for the walls.

Boo-Boo Charlie weaves it through the posts.

Lunch-time, roasted breadfruit, in my kitchen.

Jenery and Jenisa want to help!

These kids are totally kiaman...they were not helping at all...they just ran in to get photographed.

Then work stops again for a couple months and resumes in November.

So close! This is my front door...or it will be.

The newly-improved kitchen with a little wall-thing to keep out the chickens and pigs and stuff.

My swim-haos has a bench - how random. Steph (PCV from Epi who is visiting and taking all the pics of me) points out it's probably to put the bucket on so I don't have to bend down...she's really smart. She was a Stats major and everything.

My toilet.

I haven't been to Bonga Bonga in over a month now so who knows what the final product looks like...but...yeah. I'm moving out of Meriu and into Bonga Bonga. Definitely have mixed feelings about that, but ultimately I think the pros outweigh the cons and it's going to be a really good long-term setup for me. I am dreading the process of moving (lugging all my junk straight up a mountain) but I am looking forward to...having moved, if you know what I mean.

And for my loyal pen pals, this means that you can now send letters to:

Amanda Prasow, Pis Ko Volontia
Bonga Bonga Vilij
Tongoa Aelan
VANUATU
Southwest Pacific

Or you can keep sending mail to Meriu as there's only one Amanda on the island and I am 1 of the 3 people that ever use the post office the size of a closet anyway (the other 2 are the other Peace Corps volunteers on Tongoa).

:)

Brothers

2007-12-09T13:07:00.000-08:00

So.

I'm back in Vila.

And I feel a little strange.

Not least because I woke up at an ungodly hour for the second time in five days to catch a truck back into town.

It has been a complete whirlwind of a week and a half, running around for work and play in Vila, visits to two northern villages, planning my movie and my upcoming trip to New Zealand as well as spending copious amounts of money on stuff I lived without for the first four months but am now more than ready to indulge in (in my former life, I would not consider things like "drainboard" or "nailbrush" an extravagant indulgence).

And now, here I am, back in Vila with a million things to do in the next few days, which might turn into a lot longer since actually every flight to the island is FULL for the Christmas season and I am just going to have to do that stand-by-hope-for-the-best thing we all learn to do in Vanuatu so well. It wouldn't matter if I didn't have a major project starting on Monday, with two kiwi Rotarians who don't speak a word of Bislama flying in. Actually, the thought of missing my project is sort of amusing, when you think about it, because we tend to think we are so indispensable, but obviously the show will always go on...but mostly it's funny because spending months coordinating a project you don't show up for because you were too irresponsible to book a flight ahead of time -- well...it's just such an incredibly Ni-Van thing to do. You know, island-style...why MAKE something happen when it's up to Papa God anyway?

Alas.

I really hope I get there on time.

But that's part of why I'm feeling a little strange right now. It was SO nice to be back in Emua. Mostly because I spent most of the weekend hugging Alexi. He's so cute and cuddly, I love him so much! In fact, Enat, our 5-year-old brother, solemnly asked me to adopt Alexi and take him to Tongoa, because even though he is only 2 he has a fierce right hook and really it would make his life easier if he wasn't there.

[Cultural footnote: One thing about Vanuatu is that children are regularly passed freely to friends & family...like how we would share, say, books or clothes..."Oh wow! You gave birth to a GIRL? Lucky! Can I have it? Like just for a few years or something? I'll give you a boy if I get one later..." For real. It's fascinating.]

Being back in Emua, sleeping in my old room and stuff, ended up being pretty emotional and helped me realize how much has really happened in the past eight months. It wasn't so long ago that 2-year-olds would burst into tears at the sight of me and my scary white skin. And now, a 2-year-old bursts into tears when I LEAVE the village. Alexi's poor little face just crumpled up and the tears just came...but not the screaming, tantrum-y kind of bawling that is his signature style, but this sad, sweet, pathetic expression of utter dismay.

I love that little boy.

And I'm feeling a little weird about going back to the island. Part of me can't wait to go home...and it DOES feel like home now. Peace and quiet and clean air and mangoes. Except for now it's going to be a new home in a new village and everything that goes along with *deep breath*...

Starting Again...

again.

Yes, stop the presses, they finally finished my house in Bonga Bonga. Almost. Apparently they're nailing on the last 3 windows today. So I'm moving. Again.

Anyway, so at 7 something this morning, I'm walking down the street in Vila contemplating the many recent and upcoming changes in my life, feeling a little mixed up and premenstrual and nostalgic, when I hear, "Ah-MAHN-daaa! Ah-MAHN...DAAA!" and look up to see one of my older Emua brothers standing in the back of a pick-up...and as the truck and him are getting smaller he's talking to me in that idiosyncratic Ni-Van sign-language that probably evolved when people starting riding in backs of trucks long before the telephone. Though I can't swear to it, I somewhat proudly decode his flamboyant gestures as "Meet me at this spot on the road at 4:30" but I confess, a lot of it is...inference.

On second thought, maybe it's ALL inference.

...at least in Peace Corps Vanuatu, anyway.

And suddenly there is a spring in my step again.

The Birthday Chronicles

2007-12-06T00:06:00.000-08:00

So, like, I know you're just dying to hear about the past four months of my island life, but first you have to take a virtual tour through my SO-fun birthday...

(If you click on the pics they'll get bigger).

There was a time in my life when I envisioned waking up on my 25th birthday to breakfast in bed and my rockstar husband in a swank Manhattan apartment. As it happens, I woke up in someone else's flas-tumas Port Vila apartment (Neely's) to someone else's husband (Krissy's) snoring on the floor, and that ended up being just as cool. I amused myself taking pictures of myself on the balcony ostensibly for posterity and my parents but mostly cause it was fun...

And then...let the birthday festivities begin!

Peace Corps staff ALWAYS look directly at the road while driving Peace Corps vehicles...

Unfortunately, these photos do not show how truly packed this truck was...I mean...um...

There are far more lovely photos of this afternoon that I am not permitted to post because of SOME people's alleged bad hair days. I mean, really, you're in PEACE CORPS, people - you can have hot hair again in two years...

So then comes the totally fun part of the day when everyone's crazy sketchy plans for transport unexpectedly converge in EMUA, my training village, en route to Ekipe. I was only there for an hour or so, just enough time to surprise the fam, hug the living daylights out of my baby Alexi, and coo my face off at Smol Amanda.

When my mama found out it was my birthday she was incredulous that I hadn't informed her sooner and assured me we would be celebrating when I came back to Emua on the weekend. Not fifteen minutes later a girl I swear I don't know came up to me and was like, "Hey, I heard about your b-day party on Saturday! Can't wait!" So now I'm pretty excited. Apparently there's some kastom about throwing someone in the ocean fully clothed, but my mom said she felt bad cause she knew I'd have to ride the truck to Ekipe in my wet clothes...so who knows what I'm in for this weekend?

Speaking of the truck to Ekipe...

3 cheers for Jen for catching a boat in from Lelepa and then waking up at 4:30 a.m. to get back for a meeting. For real, it really does mean a lot to me.

So somehow Javi gets stuck cooking while the girls scamper off for a night swim in the coolest hidden little cove. Seeing Jen in that outfit was enough of a birthday present in itself...I'm still laughing...

Chili Tuesday lives...island-style! When you all live in a motel for 5 weeks in Vila, you get creative with theme dinners...

We won't talk about the guacamole disaster. Really. It's not necessary.

This was before drinks. For real.

Take a good look at Krissy & Javi's house...cause I forgot to take pictures of my house on the island, which actually doesn't really look anything like theirs but anyway...

The Cove in daylight! We officially celebrate my birthday on Wednesday as well, as it was still Tuesday in North America.

I'm scared to jump off the rock!

Ok, I'm going to do it...

Wahoo! It feels way higher than it looks in this picture.

Now THIS is what I'm talking about when I say I wanted to make sure I had an Island Birthday...

And this. Now on the beach. Right before a long, awesome nap.

Unfortunately, the camera was not out and ready this morning to capture the quiet pandemonium after Javi whispered ominously, "Um...Krissy? It's 5:30." Of course, both Krissy and I believe that to be an erroneous statement, as the alarm was set for 4:40 and the first transport back to Vila leaves at 5 and the last one at 5:30 so...yeah, we were up, out the door, and at the side of the road in FOUR MINUTES...thank god, we've got the adrenaline of 25-year-olds. We are waiting by the side of the road for not even a MINUTE when the truck rolls by, I flag it down, and hop in it.

A busy yet amazing day ensues. Highlights include:
-getting confirmation that everything is on track for the kiwis coming in for our Aid Post project next week (more about that later).
-I find out that not only did all our construction materials get put on the ship, but that they actually ARRIVED on the island when they were supposed to and FURTHERMORE were actually PICKED UP and transported to the Aid Post!
-I splurge and spend a whole $6 on a brand new T-shirt as my birthday present to myself, then hightail it to an awesome secondhand store and spend $12 on 2 skirts, 2 tank tops, and 2 T-shirts...wahoo...

Thus ends Part I of the Birthday Chronicles. More to come after the weekend in Emua...

25 Goals for My 25th Year

2007-12-05T22:26:00.000-08:00

So this is my first "I am 25" picture. A complete photo diary of my first two birthday parties (the third one is on Saturday) will come as soon as I figure out a faster way to upload.

Ahem. As I was saying...

1. Master fire-making.
2. Hold The Handstand for 2 minutes.
3. Learn to play fifteen of my favourite songs on guitar well.
4. Write some songs.
5. Learn to weave a decent pandanus mat.
6. Make significant headway in writing a play or novel.
7. Build a piece of furniture by myself (starting with chopping the wood).
8. Get a teen Health Drama company touring the island.
9. Get our Aid Post building complete and up and running.
10. Learn to garden.
11. Host a random party on the beach.
12. Carry buckets on my head with no hands.
13. Read at least five ‘classics’.
14. Learn to navigate my island in the dark without a flashlight.
15. Learn to climb coconut trees.
16. Learn to skin, crack, scratch, and milk a coconut with efficiency.
17. Achieve at least an intermediate level of Namakura (local language).
18. Train at least two people to teach Yoga to others.
19. Learn to tell time well by the sun.
20. Learn to tell weather well by the moon.
21. Make laplap entirely by myself (get leaves, vegetables, stones, etc).
22. Write & teach Health Education rhyming games in Bislama
23. Have a meal in all fourteen villages on Tongoa.
24. Become adept with a machete.
25. Fingerpaint.

Frequently Asked Questions (Answers T.B.A)

2007-12-01T18:27:00.001-08:00

So, the prospect of updating you all on the past four months of my life is actually sort of daunting...especially considering it's definitely been the CRAZIEST four months of life!

I truly don't know where to start...but I guess for the purposes of inducing a collective sigh of relief I should say right off the bat that I'm doing FABULOUS right now. It has definitely been a rollercoaster of emotions, but things are starting to stabilize and all of a sudden a bunch of amazing things are happening and I am in a really great, inspired place right now. There's a lot of exciting things going on on the island...and I am having the time of my life in Vila showering and eating pasta and relearning English and catching up with my dearly beloved Peace Corps and Ni-Van friends & family in the Vila area.

I have mentally committed to using this forum to answer the most frequently asked questions you send me via snail mail, e-mail, telephone and the good ol' coconut wireless...if I'm leaving something out, send it along!

These are the questions most people have asked me:

1. So, like, what do you DO on an average day?
2. What exactly is your job?
3. What is your house like? And, wait, WHICH village do you live in?
4. What and how do you eat?
5. How often do you get to see other volunteers/Whiteman?
6. What's the craziest thing you've done/seen/heard/eaten so far?
7. What's up with your documentary?
8. How is your mental health?

And, last but not least...

9. Did you fix your f***ing sat phone yet? I tried to text you ages ago...

I promise I'll get to all these before I go back to the island. At first I thought I'd head back next Friday, but there's too much I want to get done while I'm here so I think I'll tack another week onto it. It's a little overwhelming being back here after 4 months in the bush and I am definitely working on an island time, which I forgot to 'budget' for when I planned this trip...

But don't feel too sorry for me. Part of what I want to 'get done' is party it up for my 25th birthday on Tuesday! I actually really wanted to spend my birthday on the island for the coolness factor, but as my schedule would have it, I'm here on Efate and I somehow ended up planning three birthday parties for myself. First there will be birthday brunch at Jill's American Cafe (Amy Jo, I can see you smiling!) with everyone here in town and then I'll catch a truck up north to have the rural island birthday I wanted with a few friends at Krissy & Javi's site in North Efate... kinda like nipping up to 'cottage country' for a few days. I was trying to get all my cousin-brothers from Emua to come out for it, but as they've all suddenly made themselves examples of the Urban Drift Crisis in Vanuatu and gone to Vila to get construction jobs they can't skip out on (which is a really interesting phenomenon I will comment on at a later date), we've agreed that we'll all meet back in Emua (my training village, on the OTHER side of North Efate) for the weekend, where I will force everyone to celebrate my birthday yet again, as well as shower Smol Amanda with presents and love and take a million pictures of Alexi.

So I'm pretty excited.

:)

Alive and Well

2007-11-27T12:43:00.000-08:00

Where does a person start after four months?

And...The First Four Months at that?

I'm in Port Vila.
13 hours on the ship arriving, rather inconveniently, at midnight on a Tuesday.

A more detailed account will come when I've eaten my first Whiteman Breakfast in months (real whole wheat BREAD!) and retrieved my bag from the wharf (for some reason they wouldn't give it to me when I got off the ship last night).

Stay tuned for the story of me kneeling on wooden cage containing a pig puking my guts out over the railng as the provincial Health Promotion Officer held onto my ankle so I wouldn't fall overboard...okay, that's actually the whole story, but there are others...

I'll be in town for a week or so...so e-mail me, friends!

Love you all!

Pictures to come.

Independence Day

2007-07-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

I have thought about it long and hard, and I have come to the conclusion that my entire life is a comedy of errors and there is no reason my village entry, no doubt The Day I Will Never Forget, should be any different.

Today is Independence Day in Vanuatu. Official Revelry and Pandemonium abound. On this of all days I will shortly be attempting to make my way through the madness to get myself and my prized possessions on a bus to the airport, and then (keep your fingers crossed) on a plane to the island…again.

What will happen when I arrive at the airport? Of course, the best-case scenario is that there will be people from the village there to meet me, possibly with some kind of transport. Worst-case? Well, not worst-case, but like, worst-case logistically, I will have to leave my stuff in a corner of the airport (I would like to take this opportunity to clarify that the airport consists of one cement room in the middle of a yard known as the runway), follow my ears to the sound of the party, and wander through the festivities asking, “Hey - are you from Meriu? Do you know anyone from Meriu? Do you know anyone who knows how I could get to Meriu?” etc, etc. Of course, even just showing up would probably yield something very quickly, as it’s not every day a White Missus finds her way to the island so…it won’t take long for someone who knows someone who is expecting me to find me…right?

As Karin (one of the amazingly helpful volunteers I am replacing who is currently in Vila with me) mentioned laughingly this morning between phone calls to the island in an attempt to sort me out, “From American standards, this whole scene is absolutely ridiculous…but you know…it’s just how it is here…everything works out.”

Indeed.

Incidentally, I did go to Emua for the weekend.

I kid you not, this was my weekend: there was a ded (mourning ritual) for a village elder on Friday, then up-and-at-‘em early morning for the Round Island Relay Race, and then a mared (wedding) in the afternoon. Then we watched The Gods Must Be Crazy at my cousin’s house. How my cousins got their hands on a copy of this film I will never know, let alone the means to view it. When we lived in Emua, Juliana’s host family did not have a television or DVD player, let alone a generator or…any form of electricity. But, you know, that’s ‘development’ for you, especially here - when it rains, it pours…especially when you finally get that stipend from Peace Corps, I guess…

I officially challenge all Peace Corps volunteers around the world to watch The Gods Must Be Crazy with the host country nationals in your community. It will no doubt be one of the most surreal, ironic, embarrassing, humorous, and bizarre experiences of your service.

There is a part in the movie where the White Man is dehydrated and the Bush Man buries him in sand and gives him some kind of white fruit, not unlike the green coconuts we use here for rehydration.

I whisper to my teenage cousin Ray [translated into English for the majority of readers],

“Pssst…why did he put him in the sand like that?”

He hisses back confidently, “Because he’s too hot…”

Okay, I get it. The sand protects him from the sun or something. But how come he got this and I didn’t??

“Oh…is that what you do here? If someone’s dehydrated?”

He gives me a strange look. “No…”

“So what do you do if a man is too hot?”

He shrugs, “Fanem hem…?”

Of course. Fanem hem = Fan him. If a man is too hot in Vanuatu, you should fan him.

The hilarity of this exchange overtakes me and I collapse into giggles just loudly and long enough to disturb the twenty or so members of my extended family crowded around the television set.

Every day is full of surprises here.

Let’s roll.

Rained Out

2007-07-26T18:24:00.000-07:00

So after a semi-frantic morning of calling the office and airline and the island multiple times, my flight is finally confirmed. I am told to get to the airport...RIGHT NOW.

I rush back to the hotel, recruit Team Vila into helping me carry all my junk and flag down a bus (remember it's a minivan that operates like a taxi), say my hurried goodbyes and I'm off...

We arrive at the airport and there is a marked...lack of activity around the check-in counter. Before unloading, I ask a nice man who has come to help me unload what he knows about the flight to Tongoa. He shrugs.

The bus driver cries, "Over there, over there, those are people from Tongoa,ask them!"

I remember it's a very small country.

The people from Tongoa come over. "Amanda?" "Um...yes..." Who are they? Yes, indeed, it is a VERY small country.

They inform me the flight has been cancelled because of the wet runway on the island...most likely hours before the person on the phone confirmed that it, was, indeed; not cancelled. That's just how it is here.

So...um....it appears I will now be leaving on Monday. Independence Day. A day of general pandemonium and revelry for all. It will most likely be an interesting first night on the island, to say the least. But there is, after all, something poetic about that.

I just may go to Emua for the weekend.

Ho-hum.

2007-07-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

So I wrote this last night, but now it's started to rain a little bit...so I may or may not be departing in 2.5 hours. I'm supposed to call back in a hour to find out if they're going to fly.

You know how it is...

Hello, Doxy!

July 26, 2007

11:24 p.m.

Wow. Last night in Vila. Last night of electricity. Last shower tomorrow morning. Last time with my beloved laptop, (though I do hope to get my solar setup in place by the new year).

Went all out for The Last Supper with the girls…sushi for dinner and then to another place for chocolate mousse and crème brulee. It’s hard to believe it’ll be just yams and coconut milk as of tomorrow. Or taro and coconut milk. Or manioc and coconut milk. Occasionally, if I’m lucky, snakebean and coconut milk. It’s a good thing I like coconut milk…so far, anyway.

I have been quite spoiled the past five weeks, what with all the amenities and constant internet access. It’s going to be hard to give all that up again. I do feel a bit weird writing this right now. It’s like saying goodbye all over again. It occurs to me that I have become a Goodbye Professional. I have been perfecting my skills for the last year. First when I left Toronto, then when I left the ashram, when I moved to Switzerland, when I left Switzerland, when I left Toronto again for Vanuatu, when I left the training village for Vila, and now…here I am, leaving Team Vila 5 (Javi, Krissy, Jen & Julie M. comprise the group of us that have made a Real World out of living in a motel for five weeks), all luxuries, cheap long distance, and most sources of protein…

This is it, you know? The real deal. The whole shebang.

It is, after all, what I came here for.

Right?

In other news, I am officially off the sauce! By that I mean I am off mefloquine and onto another anti-malarial, doxycycline. I feel so good about this decision! I can feel the hallucinogens releasing from my body. For real. Now that I’m off the stuff, I can finally recognize how much it may have been messing me up.

Conversation with our Medical Officer:

“So, like, I know that doxy is supposed to screw up your stomach and give you yeast infections and photosensitivity and stuff…but I figure, you know, long-term I’d probably rather deal with physical side effects than be wigged out on a drug with mental ones…you know?”

She does.

“Actually, Amanda, you’ll find that those side effects you’ve mentioned are not all that common with our volunteers. What we really hear most often is that the number one side effect is heartburn, but if you take it in the morning on a full stomach, you’ll probably be alright.”

Heartburn? Are you kidding me? Last night I was awake at 3 a.m. envisioning possessed dolls in blue light with eyes rolled up to the lightning sky and you’re telling me my alternative is heartburn?

I left that office wondering why on earth anyone is on mefloquine.

But of course not everyone gets irritable or depressed or anxious on the mef. I have friends that experience absolutely no side effects, and some who just have highly erotic dreams that shake up the monotony of island living. I, for one, get jumpy if I have M & M’s after 6 p.m…so you know, it all depends on how sensitive your system is, I guess.

And of course, the major reason most people are on the mef is that you take it once a week, whereas doxy must be taken every 24 hours…or…you know, bae malaria i come kasem yu quicktime!

But I figure, if millions of women all over the world can remember to take a daily pill to prevent unwanted pregnancy, I can organize my morning routine around preventing malaria…or at least making a concerted effort in that direction.

Anyway, we’ll see how it goes.

It’s entirely possible that everything I have been experiencing is just my own intrinsic insanity asserting itself and has nothing to do with the mefloquine. If I’m still crazy in three months, I can always switch back. Of course, if that’s the case, there are some other issues that would need attention…as I was gently reminded by the medical officer who, bless her heart, is unaccustomed to my twisted humour and tendency to speak in superlatives.

So…we’ll see. I have been doing the Yoga thing for long enough to recognize my own personal brand of basketcase, and I know that, on some level, this anxious energy around me lately just…doesn’t belong to me…

Anyway, if you have some free time and moderate interest on the subject, you could google some stuff on these two drugs for me and let me know what you find. I certainly wish I had the opportunity to properly research this stuff before I swore-in as an official U.S. Pill-Popper. This from the girl who used to cringe at the prospect of white sugar in her bloodstream.

Chemicals aside, I have calculated that if I remain on the island for three months before coming back into town, as is generally recommended, I should have enough iPod battery for 2-3 songs a day. So if you happen to be sending positive vibes my way, send some for the Nano too. He just may save my soul.

For once in my life, there will be no frantic packing until the wee hours of the morning. I just need to throw some toiletries in a backpack and then am pretty much ready to rock. For those of you that know me and my habitual packing strategies, please acknowledge this sign of growth and maturity.

Thank you.

I shall now enjoy a pleasant chapter of Tom Robbins before falling asleep (for The Last Time) in my big comfy bed. My own l’il mattress and bedding will arrive by ship sometime next week, if all goes according to plan, and several weeks later or never if it doesn’t; so I’ll probably be sleeping on the floor for awhile.

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about the seeds I got for my garden…ready?
Tomato, bell pepper, carrot, cucumber, green bean, strawberry (long shot but it would thrill me), mint, coriander, zinnia and delphinium (flowers…apparently…they had pretty colours on the package so I picked them). I know absolutely nothing about gardening…yet.

Love to you and yours…
Amanda

Care Package Ideas List

2007-07-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this girl told me she put one of these into circulation and at first I thought it was really tacky. Then I thought about it more. Then I fielded a number of e-mails from people asking what they should send here, reconsidered, and decided it was actually a fabulous idea.

So...should you happen to be inspired to send anything my way...(scroll down two entries for the mailing address info), here are some ideas:

-cheap dollar store anything I can give as gifts, especially if it has Canadian or American paraphernalia
-pens
-crayons or any art supplies (not just for me, for the kids too!)
-incense
-Scotch tape
-duct tape
-magazines on Yoga, theatre & film, Cosmo, or…you know, anything…
-used paperbacks, anything...English...or French
-guitar tabs to songs you think I would know/like (www.ultimate-guitar.com)
-PICTURES - of you & yours, North America, or other interesting places
-Peanut M&M’s or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (wrapped in Ziploc to deter rats)
-Starburst Jelly Beans (they don’t even have gelatin!)
-dried fruit/trail mix
-random powderd mixes: hot chocolate, veg soup, green vitamin stuff, etc

But, what I will want a thousand times more than any of this stuff, is letters from you!

:)

Miscellaneous Photos with Me in Them

2007-07-25T22:44:00.000-07:00

Well, in general, I don't tend to take too many pictures of myself...but occasionally, other people do.

So...

Here I am on a boat in the rain!

It's still raining!

An accidentally poetic moment with...Adam? Javi? Can't tell...

Camp GLOW - Girls Leading Our World

Yoga!

Cutest, bossiest kid ever at Jennie's wedding. I love her.

:)

P.S. Juli's Mom - I talked to her today and I told her that if my sat phone works normally, she can call me locally on the island and I can e-mail you messages from my sat phone like "Call Juli next Thurs at 2". So if you get a weird e-mail from a random number, it's me. We'll see if it works. No guarantees, though. ;)

Flashback.

2007-07-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

So I'm not leaving tomorrow. Try to stifle your surprise. It's been raining. I am now supposed to leave on Friday. If it doesn't rain. *Shrug*

I found this on my laptop the other night. I wrote it just as I was beginning the Peace Corps application almost a year and a half ago.

I thought it would be interesting to share here now:

March 2006

The Last Straw (or How Amanda Ended Up in Africa)

…or the wilds of India
…or the barrios of Brazil.

This could be the title of my story if it is ever written.
Perhaps that is why I take notes.

I’m still reeling from today.

The past week has been crazy. A number of events occurred in a particular sequence that have culminated in today. I desperately try to order them in my mind. I am someone who pretends to be post-modern but is secretly in love with linear narrative.

When is the beginning? It is hard to say now. But it will be even harder to say later, so I will just begin…

Background: Through spending the past four weeks in preparation for One Big kNOw [propeace arts festival in downtown Toronto], I have spent a larger than normal amount of time contemplating war and poverty.

1. Last Wednesday I wandered into a used bookstore on Queen Street, and wandered out with a torn copy of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver.

2. This Tuesday I got results from a blood test showing that I am officially too ‘stressed out’. For real (I won’t go into the whole thing now but don’t worry, there’s nothing seriously wrong with me). It’s not that this is a surprise or anything. I have deliberately created a lifestyle that has minimized external stress factors to almost nothing, and am far more of a basketcase than the average person. But to suddenly have a number attached to my insanity? Cortisol: 533. The paper has a certain authority that friends and family will never have. And so it occurred to me to listen.

3. That night I stayed at the gym for hours after closing, finished The Poisonwood Bible and literally cried through an entire 45 minute stint on the bike, blasting the likes of Ben Harper, The Killers, Bob Dylan, Great Big Sea, Sum 41 and Janis Joplin through the central sound system.

4. On Wednesday realized that this is probably one of the precious few times in my life I will be young, single, healthy, and debt-free all at the same time. I could pick up and go at any time. And though I am well aware that you don’t need to go to Africa to be a useful citizen of the world, if I am even mildly inclined to do such a thing - now would most definitely be the time.

And I decided that contrary to (some of the) popular opinion, the world wouldn’t care if my acting career started at 26 instead of 23. Then I remembered the world wouldn’t care if my acting career started at all.

5. Couldn’t sleep on Wednesday night because I was dreaming of how many choices I have. I could nanny in France for awhile to perfect my French before I head out to Africa. I could just join the Peace Corps and make that 27-month commitment. Maybe I’ll go straight to an ashram in India to apprentice under an Ayurvedic doctor, because at least I know I’ll be able to be a vegetarian easily. I could just…get on a plane and see what happens.

6. By Thursday morning, it seemed, strangely, that finally realizing it was okay to take off like this also made me realize it was okay to stay for awhile too. And so I cleaned my room, did laundry, cooked, did my TAXES even, fired off some submissions to theatre companies. Everything just seemed so suddenly easy by virtue of it all being temporary if I so desired.

6. And then today, The Last Straw. I set off on Bloor Street with a plan to just wander on east for what might have a leisurely afternoon of running errands and postering for “One Big kNOw”. I went to the post office, got my legs waxed, bought a hammer and hooks from Home Hardware (because deciding to take off in three months suddenly made me want to fix up my room?) , and then wandered into Noah’s to give them a poster and settle in for my semi-regular vegan lunch at their Sunny café.

The cashier started to put up my poster, when the manager/owner guy walked by with

“No way, I don’t want it up – this event is bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” I don’t even think I understood what was happening until I’d actually left the store.

“Artists Against War? What is that? It’s bullshit, that’s what it is! War? What war?”

I thought maybe he was joking at first. Then I thought it was some kind of trap.

“Well, uh, this particular event is coinciding with the anniversary of the invasion of Iraq…”

“Yeah, but like what war are you guys against?”

“Well…as a collective we’re sort of against war in general, but specifically Iraq at the moment.”

“But there’s no Canadians there! What war? I don’t understand? War against yourselves?”

“Uh…well…just because Canadian troops aren’t in Iraq doesn’t mean Canadian citizens don’t have opinions on it…?”

I wasn’t strong or clever or articulate enough, for once not because I was intimidated but because I was truly taken aback and utterly confused.

“I just don’t see the point. I think it’s bullshit. I’m questioning the validity of your organization”

“You’re absolutely entitled to question the validity of things. That’s part of what we’re about. Here’s our website if you’re interested in more information.”

Needless to say, I left without purchasing anything from Sunny Café.

Usually I cry after something like that happens, but this time I didn’t. I don’t know why. There was too much else going on inside me, I guess.

And, ironically enough, I think that asshole was exactly what I needed to get me off my ass. Isn’t that always the way?

The thing with hypocrisy is it’s an awful lot of work to maintain. And I am so tired these days. Epiphany: It takes fewer resources to change a life than to justify it. It all comes down to economics in the end.

And so I continued on with the afternoon, sans lunch, to the part I was dreading most. I returned the Power-Y-Bra (too powerful around the ribs) to Lululemon – my Yoga Retreat participants had chipped in to give me a gift certificate there, partly because I went on a rant about the oxymoronic phenomenon of a Yoga Lifestyle Brand. I love that they have a sense of humour about things.

And then off to Guess to return the capris I was talked into after returning a jacket my mom gave me for my birthday. In fact I ended up spending far more than the gift card that first time due to extended flattery by a particularly good-looking salesman.

In truth, I hated carrying that Guess bag around with me all afternoon and wanted to get rid of it asap.

Finally, free from the horror of Retail Way, I marched straight down to Theatre Books. I’d had $67.16 refunded to my VISA at Guess. Seven minutes later, $53.45 went to Legislative Theatre: using performance to make poltics by Augusto Boal.

I realized immediately afterwards that I was ‘starving’ and thought of Adah in The Poisonwood Bible. “Hunger of the body is altogether different from the shallow, daily hunger of the belly. Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not (Kingsolver, 345).”

I started walking to Real Thailand with the thousand voices in my head and begged them to stop talking for a moment, or at least to talk to each other (It occurs to me that I am perhaps schizophrenic, but the voices don’t really talk to me specifically – and I can’t have Multiple Personality Disorder since no one is ever dominant – I believe I have settled for Overactive Imagination with a twist of ADD).

“Okay, listen” to the masses in my mind, “are we really going to do this?”

And we said Yes, but what exactly are we doing? And we said we didn’t know, but we would almost surely find out soon. And we said But we know how the universe works, we’ll get cast in something amazing just before we go and we replied, So we may, and then we would go later or make a choice. And then we said, But remember last time? We’ll fall in love just when we’re supposed to be packing our bags! And we said, Yes, we all lived through last time just fine, didn’t we? And we said, But what if we aren’t as strong as ourselves in our fantasies? What if we crumble? And we said, Then we may return. And we said, But what if we make all these plans and change our mind? And we said, So we may. There are worse things…

And as I waited for my Sweet Basil Tofu & Rice, I tore into Legislative Theatre with baited breath, drinking the words like wine, my own private oasis on Bloor Street.

And for the first time in a long time, everything makes sense at once.

And now I’m home working on my Peace Corps application.

End of transmission.

Mini-Wheats, Meriu, & Me

2007-07-21T19:56:00.001-07:00

So, last week I gleefully informed Seth that I had found Whole Wheat Mini-Wheats on sale for only 200 vatu, which seemed like a great deal because all the other newfangled flavours, like fruit-filled-jam-inside-something-or-other, were a whopping 695.

Seth: "Are you SERIOUS? They jave those AMAZING jam-inside ones here? They only have them in select cities in the states!"

He proceeds to list the cities.

"Are they really that good? Like 695 vatu good? Maybe I should try them? While I still have access to refrigeration and (soy)milk?"

He pauses, and looks genuinely deflated, "They probably don't have any of the GOOD flavours though. Some places only have grape."

"I saw Strawberry and-"

"Strawberry?! You really saw it? Yes. I think it just may be worth 695..."

So, today, I purchased them. And you know what? For all the fancy packaging and shiny picture on the box and flas copy and general approval of my peers, I don't even really like them. In fact, I much prefer the regular old no-sugar-added-200-vatu-plain-brown-box variety.

And it occurred to me that this is a sort of a...metaphor for...okay, I'm just going to say it...for the rise of colonialism and the effects of westernization in this country.

I mean, what did strawberry-flavour-filled cereal REALLY do for the Ni-Van?

These are the things I think about Sunday afternoons now.

Whereas before, once upon a time when I lived in North America, cereal was...cereal.

But that's why I'm here, right?

In other news, due to my extended homelessness, my site has been switched to the village of Meriu, about a fifteen-minute hike away from my original village in Bonga Bonga, still on the island of Tongoa. I should be flying out on Wednesday...weather-permitting. I'll be moving into the house of the volunteer I'm replacing, a girl that extended her contract TWICE, lived there for FOUR years, and then married a local boy last Friday and moved here to Vila, the capital (incidentally, it was a lovely wedding and I really should post pics).

I mean, talk about big shoes to fill...*sigh*

Now, for you people, this slight change of plans doesn't really mean anything, in terms of what you envision I'm doing out here.

And indeed, it probably doesn't need to mean that much to me either. But still it's like a whole new LIFE has suddenly been prescribed for me. New house, new host family, new neighbours, etc. Other volunteers keep asking me how I FEEL about the change, and to be honest I don't really know enough to have an opinion, other than I know I don't really have a say in the matter so I might as well get this show on the road and get on the plane already.

The two significant things I know about Meriu, as opposed to Bonga Bonga, is that it has a phone and more youth that play guitar, so...*shrug*...it sounds good to me, I guess.

So...in theory I'm out of here in three days but...it was raining pretty hard last night so...as Krissy said, "I wouldn't roll up your yoga mat just yet..."

At first it was really bizarre to think I was moving to a place that you couldn't fly in or out of when it was raining.

But now, it just seems sort of...in harmony with nature, in a way. I mean, it wasn't that long ago that civilizations all over the world had to restrict their activities depending on the weather. When you think about it, it just makes sense that's the way things should be, right?

Besides, apparently, there's some way to work out rainstorms by checking when the new moon turns to a crescent to a quarter-moon kind of thing.

I'm really excited to learn about all that kind of stuff. And how to garden.

So...I'll check in before I actually go with updated contact info and stuff but....I guess...let the games begin?

Smol Amanda & Friends

2007-07-19T03:21:00.001-07:00

Without further adieu...

...aged 8 days in this photo.

With her 2-yr-old brother Alexi and our grandfather.

Alexi, I love you love you love you miss you cutie boy! (and currently ponder the likelihood of you ever seeing a computer in your life...)

A Day in My Life with Teenagers

2007-07-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

So I just wrote this for an internal newsletter, but I thought I'd share it with you fine folks...

“Making Choices” at Vila North.

The afternoon bell rings, and approximately seventy Year 9 & 10 students clamor into a cement classroom at Vila North. They move aside desks and haul in extra chairs with practiced efficiency. In moments, they are settled and staring expectantly. They are going to be kept after school for a whole hour and a half, so this better be good…

They are told that in today’s workshop, there are no right answers, and that discussion and dissent is encouraged. They are told that this is a safe space for them to express themselves without worrying their comments will be shared with teachers or parents.

Some boys giggle and hide their heads in their hands, as a group of girls exchange nervous looks. There have been rumors we are going to talk about…S…E…X.

And indeed we do.

But mostly we talk about choices. To help them see that they have them. To find out how they make them. To name them…and their consequences.

Our first activity is “Agree or Disagree”, where participants choose a side of the room to stand on, and those unsure are invited to linger in the middle.

Washem klos i wok blong woman nomo. [Washing clothes is women's work.]

Amidst wild giggles, every girl rushes over to Disagree, while every boy stands fast on the Agree side of the room.

Ol man gat raet blong kilim woman. [Men have the right to hit women.]

A few nervous giggles escape, but there is a general understanding that this is about to get serious. The girls remain on Disagree. One boy confidently leaves his post to join the women, apparently giving about a third of his peers permission to follow. The boys that remain on Agree quickly busy themselves looking at their feet, out the window, or at each other.

Ol man gat raet blong forsem ol gel blong mekem sex. [Men have the right to force girls to have sex with them.]

A hush falls over the room.

And the afternoon has begun...

Shrug.

2007-07-16T02:23:00.000-07:00

And sometimes you just take a deep breath, exhale, and with a shrug say...

"Olsem nao!" which can be sort of roughly translated as "I guess it's just like that."

I don't have all that much to report, but I feel I should update you all since a week ago I was in such a state.

I have made the conscious decision to embrace the Limbo Life. Yes, it's true I am still homeless until further notice. Yes, it's true I've just moved hotels yet again, hopefully for the last time. But, at this particular moment in time, possibly due to my excitement over Skittles sent to Javi & Krissy that were subsequently shared with me, none of it seems so bad.

Well...other than the Skittles, the real reason I am okay now is that after my mini-breakdown last Monday, I hid in my room doing Yoga, writing, and dancing to The Killers on my iPod for the better part of three days.

And now I've...reset.

Gotten a good little routine going with the writing and the Yoga-ing in the morning, cooking in the afternoons, even a little work in between every now and then.

I talked to my toddler niece on the phone today (the real one, in Canada) and she said she didn't know who I was. She'll be, like, twice her age when I get back.
*Shrug* Olsem nao...

Okay Nathan's waiting for me to finish so he can escort me back to the hotel (it's night-time now, see previous pumpkin comments), pack up, and fly out to site in the morning.

And then there were five.
(of us left here in Port Vila with no houses on our islands)

P.S. Juli's mom, if you're still reading this, I talked to her twice this week from her island - your girl's going to be just fine out there!

Rumblings of Discontent...

2007-07-09T19:49:00.000-07:00

Okay so I wasn't going to post this here. Because, you know, you write about one bad day in Peace Corps and the next thing you know the internet goes down and then a cyclone comes and then I don't get online before I go to site and then everyone spends the next several months thinking I'm suffering immensely when really it was just a (few) little thing(s) on a (few) bad day(s).

However, at this particular moment in time, I'm a little bit weary of always trying to provide the official version of things. If I wanted to be a cheerleader, I would have gone to an American college.

Thus concludes the preface to my first Public Bad Day Blog Entry.

Sometimes things just all seem to fall apart at once.

And you go from riding high on, ready to embark on the adventure of your life to…being stuck between existences for a month, living out of a suitcase yet again, with your per diem suddenly cut off due to “budgetary constraints”, living in a dirty, boring town where the mosquito bites apparently can scar for life and the diesel makes you sneeze black…and you have to turn into a pumpkin at 6 p.m. (less dramatic way of saying good luck to you if you’re a girl out alone at night), watching all your friends go off one by one into the bush where the latest offer you’ve heard on the table is that if your village can slap a roof on your house in the next ten days, everyone will call it done and they’ll put you on a plane.

And the worst part is, you know you haven’t seen anything yet.
That this particular bad day (or two) is like a 0.035590 out of 100 on the scale of How Low Will You Go over the next two years.

I could blame the mefloquine…for general destabilization. But to convince myself that my emotional stability is completely out of my hands and subjects to the whims of this weekly chemical cocktail will inevitably do more harm than good.

In other news, I just copied like a million songs from Juli’s collection onto my iPod.

Getting an influx of new music is good for the soul.

Not that I’ll be able to listen to any when I don’t have power out at site but…for now, it’s really helpful.

And, anyway, that’s what the guitar is for.

Incidentally, a few minutes ago I opened the fridge in the Peace Corps Resource Centre to discover that I still had almost a full carton of Mango & Calamansi Lime juice, which I had hitherto forgotten. This brought immense joy.

So, you know, sometimes it's just the little things, I guess.

Snapshot.

2007-07-07T16:25:00.000-07:00

Pandanus (it's a kind of tree). A goodbye gift from my fam...

The other side...my kastom name.

Pics of the baby to come!

Limbo

2007-07-04T22:06:00.000-07:00

Looks like I won't be heading out to Tongoa before July 20th.

So...*twiddling thumbs*...there's stuff in the works. I guess. Or talk of stuff in the works. Or I could be just hanging out here doing mostly nothing for awhile.

Anyway...I am going up to see Smol Amanda in Emua tomorrow!

And then Saturday I'm moving hotels to one that has slightly better and freer kitchen facilities...so, you know, that's exciting.

In the meantime, I have all-you-can-eat curry night to look forward to this evening...at the closest thing to an urban cafe this town has.

Days pass.

The important thing is, Port Vila has peanut M & Ms and Veet wax strips.

So, you know, it all works out in the end.

:)

Amanda Abroad...

In Canada...

Motion

2010 So Far: The Practical

To My New Filing Cabinet...

Ode to 2009

Suburbia

I'm still alive...

Just A Morning

Where Are You My Only One?

Cruisin'

In Hindsight...

Life in Auckland

A New Chapter

Weekends in Taranaki

Couchsurfing

Auckland-bound...

Primaquine

True Sequence of Events, or Why the Universe and I Are in Love

Taranaki

Help A Women's Small Business Project in Vanuatu!

A Toast

Abu blong Yumi

Last Letter Home

Still ailve.

Alive

Two Years and Counting.../Description of Service

On the subject of rats...

"I bet even Amanda couldn't fit in that box..."

A Day in the Life in Vila

Misnomer

What I Hoped to Find

In Vila

En Route

When It Works...

Only in Vila...

New Roots

Alive and Well

An Executive Decision

Home Sweet Home

*Sigh*...The Auckland Affair

One Leg Down

Outward Bound

God, I Love This Country...

Back to Fiji

Rained Out!

Kamp GLOW

"If my life were a novel...

Fiji

Ambae Workshop Update

And everything is wonderful again.

Back.

No, I'm not "done" yet!

Musik

Team Tongoa (At Play)

Team Tongoa (At Work)

Two Pictures of Me

A Better Day on the Island

A Depressed Day on the Island (Edited Version)

"Life's too short to not eat brie..."

Aot.

There are ants living in my laptop.

The Castaway's Guide to Escaping Tongoa

Still raining.

Rained out!

A Letter

A Little Video

Notes from the Field

A True Story

Maybe I should move to Auckland?

Here.

Time to go already?

John Roberts, 1983-2007

My Updated Family (in Emua)

My New Best Friend

My House

Brothers

The Birthday Chronicles

25 Goals for My 25th Year

Frequently Asked Questions (Answers T.B.A)

Sigh...The Auckland Affair