Peace Corps Adventures in Vanuatu

Have you ever tried learning another language? What's the most frustrating? Grammar? Conjugating verbs? Well, look no further, just learn Bislama and you won't have those problems!
Yes, it's true, they don't conjugate their verbs, and they only add one indicator word when talking in past or future tense. It's awesome! Let me give you a few examples:
Yu no stap lukluk mi olsem. = Don't stare at me like that.
Yu bin lukluk mi yestadei? = Did you see me yesterday?
Bae yu lukluk mi tumoro. = You will see me tomorrow.

Mi bin foldaon klosap long bas stap. = I fell down close to the bus stop.
Mi hop se bae mi no foldaon tumoro.= I hope I don't fall down tomorrow.

Some of my favorite words/ phrases include:
Woman blong mi = "my wife," but they usually shorten 'blong' to 'blo,' which makes it hysterical...
David i gat hed.= David is smart. (NOT what you were thinking!!)
Swim= bathe, but "swimswim" is to swim in the ocean/ pool
Olsem wanem? I stret? = How are you?
Smol haos =bathroom
Bigfala naif= machete
Woman faol= female chicken (man faol= rooster)
Pikinini= children, which I learned after the fact, has some racial connotations, just not in Vanuatu
Nem blong mi Leisale. = My name is Leisale (which means 'woman who enjoys to dance.')
Mitrifala = the three of us
Popo= papaya, which is funny only if you speak German, cuz then it means your butt...I cracked up every time I was offered some, and finally explained it to my host parents, which subsequently made them say it more often with a smirk on their face, just to make me laugh!

And this one, I stumbled upon in the Bislama dictionary: bisexual= fiftyfifty.
Enough said about this language, it's AWESOME and easy to learn. I can't wait for our group's reunions, when we can all speak in Bislama, and everyone else is clueless. I will keep practicing.

Here is another great example of how the world is such a small place, especially if you live in Vanuatu. Scattered across 83 islands, there live approximately 250,000 Ni-Vanuatu people, and by now, many of them have encountered at least one or two white people in their lives. Whether those were early missionaries that they ended up killing and eating, or current Peace Corps or AuzAid volunteers that they mostly appreciate, depends on the island and time period we're talking about. But fast-forward to December 12, 2012, the day that one fellow female volunteer and I set out on our journey to our newly assigned island of Pentecost. We got on a plane with more volunteers and locals in Port Vila on Efate, and headed towards Santo. That's where all of us were supposed to board a second plane to take our friends to Ambae, and then continue on to Pentecost with us two. And that's where the *beep* hit the fan. Unbeknownst to us, they had not given us two the boarding pass for this second flight, only for the last one to Pentecost. So, even though our flight confirmation showed that we obviously were booked on this particular flight to Ambae/ Pentecost, the guy at the gate (the ONLY gate, mind you) would not let us walk onto the Tarmac to board the little plane. All our friends got on, and we stayed at the Santo airport, two brave souls, just wanting to get to our new island.
They told us to wait for two hours, and there would be another plane. Fast forward two hours, and a plane does indeed land, but then it's packed full of people and takes off without us again, this time with the excuse that there were no seats and that it's too hazy for the plane to land on Pentecost. This was a Wednesday, and the next flight would not be until Saturday. So, that was just peachy.
We complained so long that they agreed to pay the hotel fees since it was their fault we got stuck in the first place. But we really didn't want to wait that long. I contacted my newly assigned host dad on his cell phone on Pentecost, and he told me: "Look for the finance minister at the airport. He is there with his family, stuck just like you, trying to go to the same place, since a new priest is being ordained and he is on his way to the celebration. Since he is a 'bigfala man,' they will make a plane appear out of nowhere for him, so just introduce yourself to him and get own that plane with him."
Now, if something like that happened to you in the U.S.,....never mind, it wouldn't.
Anyway, I proceed to walk through this tiny airport, and sure enough, see a family sitting at a table. I break out my awesome Bislama skills and ask if they know Vanuatu's finance minister. The man says," that's me, what do you want?" I introduce myself and quickly tell him that we are in the same predicament as he is and where we are trying to go. He shakes my hands thanks me for my service as a volunteer to his country (you're welcome!) and goes back to the frazzled Air Vanuatu employee, who is just beside himself that he pissed off the finance minister.

Long story short, he arranged a plane for the following day, and it was the smallest plane I've ever been on. We flew over the ocean and I figured that was the day I was going to die, and I begged God to please let me die from the crash and not get eaten by sharks...

Well, we made it safely to Pentecost, and that's my story about why it's important to know important people, even in the remotest place in the world. :)

This picture shows my view of Pentecost. Sorry, I have no pictures of the this adventure because the airline lost my baggage that included my camera for a week, and then it miraculously found its way back to me a week later (this is the bag that belongs to the white girl on Pentecost- you had better get it back to her or she will do some black magic on you!)

I used to be a tourist, and having been on three cruises to Mexico, I feel ashamed. I mean, I know tourism is a big boost in the economy for many countries, but Vanuatu was the first time I wanted to change my skin color to anything but white.
Port Vila gets visits from Australian cruise ships several times a week, and it's just pathetic. First of all, if you're not aware yet, you realize very quickly that people from first- world countries are all fat, and have no manners. They wear slutty clothing, and forget to put sun block in a race to turn lobster-colored as fast as possible. They travel to foreign countries but still insist on burgers and fries (try the laplap and bat stew since you're already here!). They complain about the heat and humidity, or the rain (wait-no one told you it's their monsoon season now?).
What bothered me the most is how they treat the Ni-Van people. No respect, and no clue they understand English, so they can hear you talking smack about them.
Anyway, that's my rant about tourists. Just sayin'.

Small story that cracks me up every time.
Transportation is an issue on the islands. No one owns cars, so you depend on bus or truck drivers to take you where you need to go ( or just walk...). One day, three of us volunteer girls wanted to catch a ride to a town about 20 kilometers away for a fundraising party. My family was already there, and we wanted to join the fun. So, as we are standing on the side of the road, a rental car with a white guy passes us, then U-turns and asks us where we are headed.
My friend gets all nervous about him, but I proceed to tell him the village, assuming he is a tourist and wouldn't know that place anyway. He answers that he is headed to the same village and will give us a free ride (air conditioning included!). My nervous friend gives me the sign for 'hell no, he is creepy!' But I proceed to ask him why is going there. He says he is the director of the private school there, he comes from Australia several times a year to check on things. Well, it just so happens that some of my nieces attend that school so I knew he wasn't lying, because my dad had told me a lot about him. So then we agreed and got the free, cool ride.
It's a funny story because it is an example of how many coincidences I experienced in Vanuatu. Just when you think you're stuck somewhere, you will bump into people that you end up knowing or are related to, and everything has its way of working out.
The other reason it's funny, and this is not meant to offend anyone, but normally, when you walk down the street in the U.S. and some black guys are walking around with machetes, you'd be cautious or even petrified, and in Vanuatu, it was the opposite for us: we were scared of the white guy with the fancy car! :-)

I had a fantastic host family in Vanuatu! In fact, if I had stayed in the training village, I may have lasted my entire two years...who knows.
Anyway, they have a special place in my heart, so they deserve a special entry.
My host parents are Kaloat and Elsy. They are both in their early 60s, and that's pretty much the life expectancy out there, due to all the manual labor and overall conditions. These two are still very active and work in their garden on a daily basis. My mother cooks, cleans, washes, takes care of grandchildren, and had enough patience to teach her newest addition, yours truly, everything about surviving in Vanuatu.
They have five children: Albert, William, Ruth, Naomi, and Manuel. Then I was considered their 6th child. I fit in age-wise too, as their oldest is about 34. They don't really keep track of their age in Vanuatu, but we figured out that William and I share the same birthday. All of my siblings have children, and 4 of them are married. So I loved all my nieces and nephews, and if you read my other post, I named the latest one myself (Jonathan).

The house where I lived was surrounded by three other homes, one belonging to my parents, the other to my brother William with his wife and son. The third house had other relatives, Tom and Helen with their five boys.

So what made this host family so special, you ask? Well, my dad is a chief of a neighboring village, and a pastor for the church in front of my house, Assemblies of God. And we had mass for two hours every Sunday, and Monday nights we had family worship and singing. Other than having to wear those excruciatingly hot island dresses for mass, I truly enjoyed going to church. First off, 3/4 of the people in church were my family members, and I learned their songs fairly quickly and sang along (some even included dancing).

Then my brother William was also an aspiring pastor, and him and two others played the guitar to accompany our singing. Some songs were in Bislama, while others were in English. And they always read from an English bible, so I actually knew what we were praying about.

My family was also vital in my Bislama language acquisition. They listened to me butcher their language and gave gentle hints and corrections as needed. When they talked the local dialect (which was already a miracle that I could decipher when they were!), I kindly asked them for translations, and later, as I got more comfortable around everyone, I just said that it's rude to talk smack about me in front of my face, and they cracked up and spoke Bislama once again. I will post a separate entry about Bislama, that language is something else.

Here are some other things they taught me, in no particular order of importance or chronology:
- how to catch and kill chickens
- how to dive in the ocean and harvest clams
- how to plant various crops
- how to start a fire in the jungle and not burn the place down
- how to make laplap, simborro, and bat stew (yes, I ate bat, just once, eww)
- that you can eat shark
- that you can walk barefoot all the time
- that you can give little kids big knives and they won't chop off their fingers
- that big spiders are good to have in the house (I don't think so!)
- that you can't kill those awful centipedes with the machete, just pour boiling water on them
- that you don't need money to live in Vanuatu
- that you shouldn't date someone, just make out in the jungle secretly, then get married
- that you shouldn't open the door when someone whispers your name at your window in the middle of the night (they're trying to get you to go to the jungle with them!)
- that kids always have runny noses, and that's just the way it is
- kids won't die if they work, and walk through the jungle for hours to get to the garden
- even the happiest place on earth has domestic violence and animal abuse
- kava tastes horrible, and even though young boys sometimes chew it to make it, you still end up drinking it and pray you don't get strange diseases
- that even in the other side of the planet, they believe in the same God, and thank Him for all the blessings in their lives

I could go on and on....i will make another post or I foresee people never reading this stuff if it's too lengthy.
The picture is of some of my nieces and nephews posing for a movie I was trying to put together. They are not really violent like that, hahahah.

Here are some things I won't miss (and they are all true!)
1) a crab in my shower
2) a crab in the ceiling of the bathroom
3) a crab in the ceiling of my outdoor kitchen
4) large spiders next to my toilet
5) rats in my bathroom, which run towards me to get out through the door
6) rats who ate my food in the kitchen and pooped everywhere
7) the cat who looks like he came from Pet Cemetery, and should be dead, and sits by my door to stare at me and scare the hell out of me (I have a witness!)
8) chickens everywhere, and they wake you up really, really early
9) pigs everywhere, that will either spill or swim in your buckets of water at night
10) cows, who will roam around and decide to spend the night on the steps of the church and leave mounds of their poop everywhere, so you can step in it when you're chilled out on kava in the dark
11) dogs, who are mostly cute and calm, but some who display horrible wounds or infections, mostly caused by angry people stoning them because they ate their chickens
And lastly, my worst nightmare:
12) milpods, large centipedes that have poisonous, painful bites, who decided to hang out in my bathroom, mostly at night, and who will stay alive after being cut in half with my machete.
I did not take pictures of most of these things, but I attached one of my rat-infested kitchen.

Now, don't feel bad for me, I'm the one that came home! There are some brave men and women out there as you are reading this. And if course, all the people that live there all their life!

On December 6th, the day of our swearing- in ceremony, my host father, Kaloat, comes and finds me at our hotel. He presents me with an Island Dress he bought for me to wear at the ceremony. I was so honored. It takes a 30 minute truck ride and plenty of walking to locate me, so he really went out of his way to find me. So then he proceeds to tell me that he will be the only family member at the ceremony, since his daughter (my host sister) Naomi gave birth prematurely to her baby. She must have been only 7-8 months pregnant, so I was amazed he even survived the birth. Poor little guy...I think he was born on the floor.
A couple of days later, I am strolling through the Mama's market in town and I bump into another sister, who proceeds to tell me that Naomi and the new baby are at the local hospital to get him checked since he is so little. I ask her if the hospital allows visitors, and she proceeds to take me herself. She also says that my host mom, Elsy, is there with the baby too, and would love to see me. So I get to the hospital, and say a small prayer that I will hopefully never need hospitalization in Vanuatu. It's not a well-equipped place, and definitely not sterile and appropriate for sick people. So I waltz right in to the children's ward, and find my family in the last room. The little guy is just lying on a regular bed, no mosquito net or anything medical-equipment-related attached to him. Oh wait, he was wrapped in a blanket, even though it was a million degrees. Anyway, I get to hold him, and he reached from my fingertips to my elbow. To my surprise, my mom asks me what I want to name him. I thought he had a name by then, being two days old. So, I had heard of families naming babies after the volunteers, so I guess they had hoped it would be a girl to name her after me. So, at that moment my friend's son popped into my head, so I said, "You should name him Jonathan." And they did! I saw him again when he was 3 weeks old, still going strong. That's one of my best volunteer moments...the first picture shows Jonathan and my host dad, proud grandpa.

Hello all, and happy new year!
A billion things have happened since my last post, I apologize for not keeping it up to date at all. :(
As you know from the title, I am back in El Paso. And no, not just for a visit, but permanently. I decided to "early terminate" my service around Christmas time.
After a successful training and Swearing In ceremony, I was assigned to the island if Pentecost, to the village of Melsisi. I was going to teach 9th and 10th graders basic mouse and keyboarding, plus some MS Word and PowerPoint. The school does not have electricity, so the lab with five computers was going to have generator power. The site also does not have Internet.
So the two main things that happened once I got out there were homesickness and that I just felt like I wasn't going to have enough 'work' to fill my time with and look back after two years to be proud of accomplishments. Don't get me wrong, it's enough of an accomplishment to be a volunteer out there on a daily basis. Cooking over fire, killing your own crabs, fish, and chickens, and talking Bislama and navigating their non-existent dating world is quite a feat.
But I just felt like, in the end, it wasn't for me. It was a difficult decision to make, because I really felt like a quitter and like I was letting down my group, office staff and local host family members and friends. I struggled with the decision for about a week, but in the end, I started getting real depressed and anxious to go home.
I arrived in El Paso on January 4th.
I plan on writing more entires about all the experiences I had during the three months I spent in Vanuatu. So it will be 'blogs from the past' instead of up-to-date stuff.