Hats

Time continues to roll on here in the Equatorial Pacific.  The weather is playing a cruel game of yo-yo with my body temperature; dropping to as low as maybe 25 degrees, which amazingly feels cool after being at temperatures closer to 35 for over 3 months.  However, just as I seem to remark how pleased I am with not soaking through my clothing that day, the weather spikes back up.  I know that it is now close to zero at home, and you have no sympathy for me, so I digress. 

While I came here to teach English to high school students, I’ve somehow found myself wearing more hats than anticipated.   The newest hat being “Radio DJ Melanie”, hosting the 3-4pm slot every Wednesday.  Tomorrow will only be my second show, so I won’t try to sell myself to you too readily just yet.  I will however advise, if you ever find yourself with a brand new impromptu radio show, it is important to rehearse beforehand, because once speaking on air in the studio there is noone to ask, or no way to gracefully pause.
~ know the name of the radio station before you begin the sentence “Lenwoh, Kosrae.  This is Melanie on….  ….  ……  …..  the radio”
~ don’t try to summarize announcements mid-reading without writing them down, because you will definitely say “Ummmmmmm” more times than you can count, which will only increase with anxiety over the awareness of saying “Ummmmmm”, and the fact that noone says “Ummmmmm” on the radio
~ try to avoid saying “sit back and relax” three times, because… well… who says that?!  
Telling people to relax just isn’t necessary here.  The fact that almost all things unfold without any stress amongst the locals is much to be admired.  I just finished placing a phonecall to a water company (because, yes, our rain catchment at home is still not operational/ clean), only to giggle at the exchange:

Me (in half English/ half Kosraean):            Nga lungse order kof, nunakmanas (I’d like to order water, please)
(what sounded like an 8 year old) Child:  ekash?  (how many)
Me:  2 five-gallon jugs, nunakmanas.
Child: Suc inem an?  (Who are you)
Me:  Melanie. I live at Willy Sigrah’s house in Finnanpes.
Child:  OK
Me:  Do you know when it will come?
Child:  No.
Me:  Today?
Child:  Maybe.  
Me:  OK, kulo muhlalap.   (thank you very much) 

And, at home we call the telephone company in hysterics if our new light-speed, super-duper fast internet connections, or satellites the size of houses, are not installed between the hours of 3 – 5 pm.  

Cultural differences are everywhere, and often provide amusement.   Walking along the road often leads to being picked up by random cars/ trucks, and some interesting conversation with interesting people.  One day, I was picked up by a police officer on his way to work.  It was obvious to me he was a police officer not because he was wearing a t-shirt, blue slacks, and flip flops with socks, but because he had handcuffs and a walkie-talkie on the truck console.  Police here do not carry guns, or batons.  They do however, provide the prisoners (which may total 3 max. at any given time) machetes to do roadwork, or cut down overgrown trees, etc.  Hmmmm.

Back in the truck, the police officer and I exchanged typical small-talk chatter.   He was maybe 40 or 50 years old (people here are extremely difficult to age, although that’s a long discussion for another time).  The duration of the ride wasn’t much longer than 5 minutes, as I was close to my final destination.  Upon arriving at my stop, just as I was about to leap out of the car, the police officer asked:

“Are you married?”
In my shock, I responded dumbly, “No.  I’m with WorldTeach” (still not sure of the connection.  It was simply the first thing to come to mind in an awkward moment)
“Can I see you again?”
“…Mmm…What do you mean?”  (I must ask for clarification, because a 50 year old police officer wearing socks and flip-flops would never proposition me …  or would he?)
“You know.  Just go around together”
“Well, I don’t think my boyfriend would be very happy with that at all”
“Oh, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry”

Never did I mention, “Sir, did you notice that you’re likely almost as old as my parents?”.   Or, “Sir, you’re wearing socks with flip-flops” for that matter.

Little things worthy of chuckles happen every day.   Not so much because they are truly funny, but more because they somehow seem normal, but definitely aren’t by Western standards.   Some examples to help illustrate my point:
~ At this very moment there is a monitor lizard standing in the doorway staring at me
~ This morning, 11 weeks into riding the school bus every day, I noticed the bus driver keeps not one, but two machetes at his feet
~ Yesterday I was encouraged to attend the funeral taking place at my next door neighbours house to “…just hang out, and get food”
~Last week, at our parent-teacher conferences, the Principal showed up wearing a t-shirt with a giant marijuana leaf on it.

On the work front, things are progressing nicely.  The diagnostician I have been working with has been out of office for the past 4 weeks, with 2 more to go.  This has granted me the lovely title of “Diagnostician in Waiting”.  It is a very interesting coincidence, I must say, since Diagnostics is precisely the area I would like to work in, if I ever manage to complete the 4023 years of school in my life plan.  It’s been a great opportunity for me, as I’ve been able to assist my host dad in the community with assessments and follow-up visits with children. 

In the SMD, where I have been supporting the young boy who has Autism and his teacher, things are flourishing.  The little boy, is now repeating a handful of words and is able to sit for longer periods of time.  I am currently creating a toilet training program for him, which I believe will work well.  Yes, even in the Pacific, I am still childless but still toilet training children!

I’ve developed a real affection for this little boy, and now know, even though it is several months away, it will be difficult to say goodbye to him.  He has been a joy to work with, and I’m thrilled with his progress because he is apparently the first child on the spectrum on island, and staff were quite apprehensive to work with him (due to the fact, that for all intents and purposes, he simply ran around the school on his toes all day).  He was not allowed to attend school last year at all, but he has now become a favourite to many of us who work with him. 

Given the fact he squirmed and squealed whenever he didn’t want to sit, work, listen, or really do anything other than what was on the top of his own secret agenda, the first word and sign I tried to teach him was “Tari” (finished).   Since I’ve done this with dozens and dozens of children at home, I figured teaching him a way to indicate he didn’t want to do something would be successful.  I believe in empowerment, and a child’s right to assert their dislike or upset.  Despite my intentions, all I’ve managed to achieve is yet ANOTHER nickname.  I was amazed at how quick my young friend picked up echoing “Tari”, and really quite proud of myself and my efforts at the end of week two.  But, sometime between then and now, “Tari” has taken on a new meaning.  My little friend, with eyes as dark and shiny as onyx, and eyelashes women worldwide would kill for, has associated “Tari” with me in the truest of forms.  He thinks “Tari” is my name.  Every morning after greeting him with “Tuwoh”, he looks up at me with his radiant little face and beautifully articulates, “Tuwoh Tari!”.  Good Morning, Finished, it is!  The fact that he is spontaneously responding after only 2 months of work is amazing.  We’ll work on names later. 

If I manage to make it home without an identity crisis, it will be miraculous.

Signed,

Aussit Lemonie Melanie Cristin Tulpe Arney Jonas Rang-Rang Tari Coffey.  

( photo: morning dew on hibiscus, Lelu )