The 7th Week

This past week brought many typical island days.  The rain continued for a few days, which was a needed cool down.  We experienced quite the storm actually.  It was quite the experience, indeed.  Looking out the window into the vast nothingness of the ocean in the middle of high winds and torrential downpour definitely makes a person feel small.  However, the later half of the weekend brought plenty of sunshine.  The sun is nearly directly over the equator right now, AKA almost directly over us.  This means that that top of one’s scalp can burn in seconds, and heat exhaustion is alive and well.  It just so happens, that this coincides with Liberation Day (which like all holidays here, should just be deemed a weekly event).  I don’t imagine that there are many countries in the world that celebrate the day the Americans arrived, but low and behold, this one does.  The Americans liberated the islanders from the Japanese in 1947 with the Pacific Islands Trust Territory movement, which did bring about much positive change for the island.  The country has been independent since 1986, but strangely doesn’t celebrate that independence as much as the American Liberation. 

The day is celebrated with the different villages dressing in different colours, and representing themselves with spirit, song, dance, and marching.  It’s somewhat of an island-wide pep rally.  The day before Liberation Day is packed with feasts, and various track and field events (sprints, tire races, etc.).  Prizes are donned out to all participants; bags of sugar and bags of laundry detergent, which are both quite valuable.  Liberation Day itself is home to the battle of canoe races; again with different villages racing against each other.  Racing canoes are used, which seat 6 people, and events are segregated by sex (as is almost everything that happens here).  The local people practice for this day for many, many months, with most rising at 4 am to begin practice at 4:30, and practicing again at about 4 in the afternoon.  I did not participate in any of the practices, for obvious reasons, but was asked to paddle in the races that took place in my host family’s municipality.  It was rather impromptu, but I jumped on the band-wagon, happy to be the lone Aussit, not to mention the only bean-pole in a boat.  Sadly, I was wearing the wrong colour, as I had dressed in the yellow of the town where my current home is, and not the red of my family’s town.  My family was a little let down by this, but quickly forgot when I joined the race with their team.  Sadly, my race was not won – but it was the effort that counted, I like to think. 

In addition to all the weekend hoopla, I also managed to complete my Open Water Diving Certification.   I won’t pretend I’m not slightly nervous about the whole schebang – but my nerves are matched with equal excitement.  I’m not sure who/ what told me my head could explode if safety stops weren’t taken when ascending, but I’d now like to smack that person/ thing.  It’s been hard to shake that visualization, despite my instructors telling me it’s hogwash.  At any rate, the pristine coral and amazing water-life continue to lure me deeper.  My first real dive will be this upcoming Saturday, and I’m certain it will be amazing. 

It’s hard to believe it’s almost 2 months into this little adventure, and I have yet to reap the benefits of the garden I planned out before even arriving – but sadly, those are the breaks.  I currently have 2 eggplant seedlings, which I talk to and love every day, as well as a bunch of spinach slips that are happily rooting in water right now.  My bean seeds failed miserably.  I’m still shocked my former students have successfully grown beans in a classroom, and I’m struggling to bring seedlings to fruition in the South Pacific, but, keep trying I shall.  The pollinating insects are few and far between, but luckily we have butterflies who frequent our yard, and I’m hoping if I just keep loving and talking to my plants, fruit will come.  In the meantime, we’re buying whatever we can find, and my lovely Host-Mum has been stocking me when I am able to visit.  I’ll take the spoiling where I can get it!  Her garden is amazing, and her local hot sauce (which is called hot-lime, in native tongue as the lime is as integral as the crushed chilies in the recipe) is the best hot sauce I’ve ever tried. 

Just in case I needed another nickname, my high school seniors have tacked one on.   Rang-Rang, they call me (pronounced just like the past tense of Ring).  Rang-Rang (pronounced like wrong-wrong) means yellow.  One day in class when asking if anyone knew if there were any lemons on island, I mispronounced yellow, and the students thought perhaps this was the best thing they had ever heard.  The verdict is still out on whether they are swearing at me or not, but they promise me they are innocent.  A host-cousin of similar age has told me that an even slighter variation of pronunciation results in a slang word for… let’s call them, ‘R-rated movies’.  Lovely.  Would I expect any less from high school students?  Definitely not.  I offered extra credit to any student who would stand in front of the class and explain the meaning of “Rang-Rang”, and while I had plenty of takers which included various types of charades, no one has yet described the aforementioned.  To be safe, I told them to no longer call me this name, which they’ve respected, for the most part.  They really are fantastic kids. 

At the end of last week, I asked them to take 10 minutes to write down suggestions for me/ my teaching, which would help them learn.  After a period of much confusion -children are not allowed to question adults here, yet alone make suggestions for improvement - they divulged.  While I had a few token responses of “give us more free time”, “play more games”, and even one “play a little light music while we work”, most took the review very seriously.  I was happy to read many “To be honest with you, you do your work just fine”, and “I have learned a lot from you”, but the responses that really touched my heart were the offers of assistance from the kids.  Below is courtesy of a male student who works as though his life depends on it, for every assignment given: 

“Can you please, please, be strict so that we can be improved.
How can we be successful students.  We need to be successful in some way.  For the teacher, you need to be strict, so that the students could be improved.  Then for the late students, get rid of them.  Try to make some punishment for the bad guys.  I also want to help you with their behaviors.  Please try to lead them into good habit.” 

While it’s true I have a handful of kids who need to be redirected from chatting and joking and laughing, I don’t think I truly have any ‘bad guys’.   In fact, as a whole, they are far better behaved than most high school classes I remember being a part of.  It is the boisterous students who tire me, yet also make me smile with their creativity in response and sense of humour.  Perhaps this is a reflection of my former class-clown days?  Regardless, they steal my heart with writings like this:

(the assignment was to write an essay on a strong woman in their life)

“The woman that I recommend to be the strongest woman in the world, still does not change.   She took care of me ever since I was just a kid.  She raise me up, protect me, feed me, and right now I even have a little beards grown on my chin.  That strongest woman is my mom.” 

Even on the most challenging day, their charm prevails.  

( photo: my 30 second tutorial on canoe racing, Sansrik Harbour, Liberation Day )