A Secret Beach and a not-so-secret School

My 2^nd grade teacher always told me that every good story starts on a positive note, so that is exactly what I am going to do. My charger, for the moment, has been reborn and I am cautiously optimistic it will remain alive until a new charger arrives in the mail. A New Zealander who owns a café in town generously taped up the exposed part of my chord in conductor tape, and so far so good. Thus, I will continue to post as much as I can, and I even have some pictures of myself in them at the end of this post.

This post will focus on my first three weeks of school and the particularly fun weekend I just enjoyed. Since three weeks is a long time, I will limit myself to the highlights as best as I can.

The first week was all about preparation. My classroom had not been used in years so it had to be cleaned, swept, have trash picked from the walls, and nicely white papered over. The first day was very simply taking attendance and seeing how many students we have this year – it can change quite often – and we finished early enough to allow me to watch the Super Bowl in town, something I was sure I would miss.

The rest of the week was an odd combination of jobs, fake teaching, and meetings. We had a PTA meeting on Wednesday where the teachers and I shared what we needed for the upcoming school year. The wish list was the typical Tongan staples: chairs, desks, mosquito coils (literally life savers), carpet (it’s not actually carpet but rather thin sheets that cover the floor), blackboards, and many other items that we may receive in the somewhat distant future. Also, the PTA took a quick vote concerning who would be chairman of the PTA this year, and every hand shot up when my name was “randomly” selected first. It was mostly in jest but I now may or may not be the Chairman of the PTA.

The rest of the week was interesting for a few reasons. First, one day an army of Tongans from the 3 villages that make up my school district descended upon my school to mow the lawn and cut back the vast hordes of vegetation that had grown during the break. I, along with my students, also spent two days gluing large pieces of white paper to the walls to cover the filth, and cutting and coloring slips of paper to decorate the borders and provide some life to the classroom (I have before and after shots of the classroom I will post eventually). I am still waiting on color paper so I can make signs for my classroom, which will brighten up the room, be instructive, and is mandated by the Ministry of Education, but I am still waiting for those to arrive.

The past two weeks have been quite the learning experience. Having never taught before, I do not really know what I am doing, but so far the students have not rebelled. The classes are still picking up steam, and I hope to continue improving each week.

One interesting side note, however, is disciplinary action. I have not mentioned this before, but Tongans use corporal punishment. They hit their kids. Parents do it. Teachers do it. Anyone in the village can hit anyone’s kids and it is seen as a completely acceptable teaching strategy. They are not hit particularly hard, I would compare it to old school Catholic nuns with rulers or 1950’s America, but it is still hard to see.

Last week, there was a day where one of my classes was misbehaving. The kids are great, but their kids, and wanted to test the boundaries for their new Palangi teacher. Since I obviously won’t hit them, and they know that, I had them run laps around the school. My principle, a very nice and little woman in her 40’s asked me why they were running and I told her it was because they were being bad. She looked at me and said, “Why don’t you just hit them?” I explained that I don’t really hit kids, and she looked at me, totally understanding, and said, “That’s ok. Just flick their ears then. Like this..” and demonstrated on a nearby kid. I just smiled and said, maybe next time I will have them clean the classroom.

Now, on to the weekend. This past weekend was a rarity for me – an event-filled three days. Friday night started with a birthday party, as one of the pcv’s was turning 29. We all met at an American owned restaurant, ate some delicious pizza, and had our first taste of beer in weeks. It was great to see everyone, especially the three outer island volunteers who I hadn’t seen in weeks, and have some American time.

After dinner, we went to the only bar in Neiafu, Tonga Bob’s, to kick back, dance, and have a few beers. Noting worth mentioning happened here, except that we left at closing time, so around 12:30. Randomly, after the bar closed, we were invited to drink Kava at the field by the police station where some of the men drink Kava every night. At this impromptu Kava ceremony was the Minister of Finance and the outgoing and active Police Commissioner of Tonga. It was a surreal experience to drink Kava so randomly and with Tongans of such importance. It was one of those moments where I had to just shake my head and laugh, “Only in Tonga.”

Not content to be done for the weekend, a few of us decided to go camping on Saturday. I was extremely excited to go, as I have wanted to go camping since I arrived in Tonga, and I had still yet to swim in the Ocean in Vava’u with the exception of at the wharf on my birthday.

For our destination we chose the Secret Beach (how could a beach with that name be bad?), which is quietly tucked behind a village on the northern end of the island. The beach is called Secret Beach – at least by the volunteers – because there is a bit of a hike to reach the beach, many of the Tongans don’t go there and the tourists don’t know about it. It is a small beach, but it is quiet, empty, and there is actual sand and little coral so the swimming is perfect.

There were 8 of us. 3 pcvs, including myself, two Australian volunteers, an American who lives in Vava’u with his family, a former Australian volunteer who now works in Tonga, and her Tongan boyfriend. For food we decided to roast a pig. We literally bought a pig, put it in a sack, took it with us to the beach, killed and roasted it, and ate it on the beach. It was delicious, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Saturday and Sunday morning we spent there were perfect. The swimming in the clear and unmatched beauty of the waters of the South Pacific was stunning. The sand, something I haven’t felt for months, was periodically cool and hot beneath my feet as the sun moved back and forth between the clouds. We, and by we I mean mainly the only Tongan in our group, killed the pig, took out its organs, washed it, removed the hair, and placed in on a spike to roast it. For our appetizers we gorged on cooked lung and stomach. It was actually pretty good.

We feasted at sunset, just feet from the ocean. We roasted the pig for hours. We threw potatoes and hopa, which is a type of banana, into the fire for side dishes. We even added some salad and cookies for desert for good measure. In a “Why Not,” type mood, a few of us even tried a little pig brain. It tasted ok, neither good nor bad. The entire meal was delicious.

At night we built a large fire and just sat around and talked. I would often lie on my back and just gaze at the stars. It is often cloudy in Vava’u, so while I definitely see more stars than I am used too, I see less than you would think. On this clear night, they literally lit up the sky. Everywhere I looked I could see the Milky Way and constellations I could not recognize.

When we left the next day, we took a quick detour to the lookout to gaze at the cliffs of Vava’u, the beach below, and the vastness of the Ocean. It was a terrific end to a weekend that I won’t soon forget.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this post, as I will not able to post another one for two weeks. I promise, however, it will be worth the wait. Next weekend, I, along with the other pcvs, are heading to an outer to celebrate a birthday and explore. It will be my first time visiting one of the outer islands, and I hope to regale you in the next post with tales of the island and more pictures of your favorite author.

Enjoy the photos! (I know they’re overdue)

The view from the beach

The lookout.  That is the beach below. 

The pig, pre-roasted

The Feast

A Momentary Absence

Hello Readers. I, unfortunately, have some bad news to relate.

First, it seems that in the past week something happened to my blog. I submitted a post last week, without a problem, but was then made aware two days later that my blog was no longer appearing online when I spoke with my parents on the phone. As I only go online once a week, I’m afraid my blog had disappeared for the last few days, which I am sure confused anyone who tried to read it this past week. It certainly surprised me and I apologize for the confusion.

I have since rectified the problem. I am not exactly sure what happened, but the problem seems to be fixed, and I hope this will not be an issue again. The Blogger website told me various ways I could fix the problem, but, in truth, all I did was sign in and the problem went away. Again, I am hopeful it will remain working from now on.

The second issue, however, is a bit more daunting. My computer charger is breaking. Before leaving for Tonga and over the past 5 months, I have constantly worried that my computer would break as I have repeatedly been told that electronics do not do well in hot and humid Tonga. I never thought about my charger. Not even once.

This past week my charger has been held together by a combination of tape, clips, and luck. It is still currently working, but each day has become subsequently harder to maneuver any kind of electricity toward my computer and I fear that this won’t last much longer.

My parents have sent my new charger in the mail. This can take anywhere from 4 weeks to never. I am also furiously looking for a charger in Vava’u. My secret hope is that I might be able to find someone willing to sell me their old, extra charger, but so far I have not met with much success.

This, therefore, may be my last post for a while. I wanted to let my faithful readers know, so that they were not worried about my lack of updates and the odd timing of the blog’s temporary disappearance. I will still be able to access my email through other means, so if you would like any updates on my life please email me.

Thank you for understanding. I sincerely hope this stoppage will be short lived and I will soon have use of a fully charged computer.

Fish Trucks and a Beach-less Island

There are times during the past five months that I have noticed something random that has peaked my interest. These perceptions are not important or worthy enough to be the subjects of a post, nor are they really related to the topics I have previously explored. Therefore, I have decided to mention some of the odd, surprising, interesting, weird, and different things that I have noticed in this post and will talk more about the first week or two of school in my next post.

1.     Everyone reading this is probably familiar with the ice cream trucks in America that used to play a distinctive melody that made kids sprint to the truck to buy ice cream as fast as their little legs could carry them. Though these trucks are somewhat outdated now, I believe that everyone has an idea of what I am talking about.

Well Tonga has something similar, except instead of ice cream, the ice cream man is selling fish. Whenever the fish market does not sell out, a man – always the same man – in a car – always the same car – with a large trunk drives through all of the villages blowing a whistle. This whistle tells everyone that he is selling the fish stuffed in the coolers in the back of his car. While this does not elicit the same level of euphoria as say an ice cream truck in America, the fish car man and his whistle do exceedingly well in Vava’u.

2.     When you hear South Pacific island certain images pop into your head. Palm trees filled with coconuts. Strong Ocean swells. Picturesque scenery. Incredible sunsets. Gorgeous beaches.

All of these images are certainly true for Tonga, except for the beaches. With the exception of the island group Ha’apai, which is famous for its beaches, Tonga has pretty terrible beaches. There are several reasons for this.

When you reach the ocean in Tonga you find several things. Mud flats. Cliffs. Mangroves. Blowholes. Sand-less expanses. Rocky outcrops. All of these things make it difficult to swim in the ocean. It is still remarkably pretty, just from the vantage point of land.

That being said there are beaches. The outer islands, which I have yet to visit, supposedly have beautifully beaches filled with coral reefs and are great for snorkeling. There are several beaches within biking or driving distance from my house that are beautiful and swimmable at high tide. These beaches are, however, surprisingly few and far between.

3.     Children in Tonga do not call their parents by the Tongan equivalent of mother and father. They use their first names. In fact, first names are pretty much used in any scenario in Tonga, regardless of where you are. I don’t know if this is unique to the South Pacific or not, I just found it surprising.

4.     The following is a true anecdote that I wanted to relate:

Several years ago in Tongatapu, some New Zealanders started a business that made some material out of used coconuts. In the coconut littered Tonga, this seemed like a great idea. They offered Tongans money for every coconut they brought into the factory, much like how you can receive more for returning empty cans and bottles in the States.

The business was going well. They were getting coconuts but they needed more. They decided to double the price for each coconut, hoping to offer Tongans a greater incentive to bring their coconut shells in larger numbers. Instead of receiving double the coconuts, however, the number sharply reduced to half the previous amount.

I love this story. For me, it is classic Tonga. This anecdote incorporates several characteristics of Tongans. There is a degree of laziness in this. Any Tongan you meet will readily admit this and privately and public lament the sometimes laziness and island mentality of the Tongan people.

However, more than laziness, there is also ambition. Without a doubt, a different kind of ambition than we recognize in Western society, but an ambition nonetheless. This is an ambition to be content, to provide what is thought to be needed and no more than that.

The Tongans bringing the coconuts wanted to receive a certain amount of money for their work. When the New Zealanders doubled the wages, the Tongans saw it as a way to get the money they wanted for half the work, rather than a means of doubling their income. This was not a way for them to get rich, but rather a way to acquire the specific amount of money that they required.

This is a story that, in many ways, sums up the experience of living in Tonga for the better (almost always for better) and for the worse.

5.     The hardest thing about doing laundry in Tonga is everything but actually doing the laundry. It is making sure it won’t rain for the rest of the day and the next one. It is making sure the clothesline is high and out of reach of pigs, chickens, and dogs. It is finding a spot to place the chair, bucket of soapy water, bucket of fresh water, clips for the clothesline, and laundry bag that isn’t covered in animal poop.

Let me explain. There are two methods of fencing in Tonga. Keeping things in and keeping things out. Almost every house in Tonga, including my village, has a fence around it to keep the unfenced in pigs out. The only exception to this is my house.

Since most houses have this fence, some families keep their pigs fenced in within this area. Other families keep their pigs fenced in an enclosure on their farm in the bush. Others, probably the majority I must confess, don’t fence their animals and let them wander and forage for food except for daily return trips when the animals know to receive food.

As I mentioned, my house has no fence. It is also on a field that is lush and green. Sometimes the field is used for volleyball. As my fingers type these words, there is volleyball net literally 5 feet from my front door.

Always, however, my yard is filled with pigs walking around and eating the grass. There are some benefits to this. I only rarely burn my garbage now because the pigs, chickens, and dogs consume all of my trash. (Side note: Watching what pigs eat, even more than watching them killed, makes it somewhat harder to eat them. They are delicious, though, so I persevere). The negative consequence of this, however, is that my yard is riddled with animal poop. At night, I have to walk with a flashlight to make sure I don’t step in anything too gross.

Occasionally, some of the villagers come and collect the poop to either clear the field for volleyball or to use as fertilizer, but until then the field is riddled in excrement. Therefore, finding a spot for laundry isn’t always obvious and I often wake up in the morning saying, “Ah! I love the smell of pig poop (I don’t say poop but use your imagination) in the morning.”

There are more random thoughts that I was planning on bringing up, but as this post is getting longer than I expected, I will save my other gems for a later date. Now, to conclude, there is only one thing left to mention:

Feast Watch 2013

This latest feast update was both a surprise and a bit of a disappointment to your humble protagonist.

Last Friday, I went for a run around 5:15 p.m., as I usually do, as it is much cooler later in the day (thank you for not saying duh). On my way back, a bunch of people in my village were hanging out outside the first house I needed to run past to get home, so I stopped by to say hello. In Tongan, and remember I had just finished a run and was sweaty, exhausted, and had nowhere near the necessary brainpower remaining to concentrate on Tongan, they asked me if I was going to church.

I asked, “When,” to which they replied, “6.” After some quick calculations I realized it was probably close to 6 though I noticed that none of them were even close to being ready. I gave a lukewarm response, to which they said there would be a malanga (speech) and a feast, and heavily implied that I should go. I was done for. Tongans have great guilt trip eyes. The moment I stopped to talk I was doomed.

I rushed back to my house and jumped in the shower. I was still overheated, so after the shower I put on some shorts and sat down right in front of my life-saving fan. I knew it was 6, but as I live within sight of the church, I figured I had some time to spare and I needed to cool down or I would be sweating like crazy.

I was also starving. Readers, please allow me for a minute to backtrack, as it is relevant to the matter at hand. I pretty much cook four things. That is because I can afford and know how to make four things. Those four things are pasta and tomato sauce, grilled (on a stove top) chicken, rice, chicken hotdogs, semi-fried and quasi-edible eggs, and cooked vegetables. Oh wait, that is 6. Well, regardless, I can’t cook many things.

Occasionally, because it is more expensive, I am able to make spaghetti and meat sauce. I had done this once before in the almost 3 months I have lived in Vava’u and it was delicious, by far the best thing I can make. For lunch that day, I ate little knowing that I was going to cook my super amazing spaghetti and meat sauce for dinner that night. I was looking forward to it all day – in Peace Corps these little things end up meaning a whole lot.

To return, I was starving. I was tired. I had just run and I was still exhausted, but I knew that I should go to the malanga so I decided to hold off on the cooking until 7:30, as things often start late in Tonga.

6:30 - nothing happens. I decide to get dressed anyway, so I would be ready whenever the service started. 7 - no one is at the church. 7:30 – nada, zip. My stomach is beginning to eat itself. There are weird noises. It was time for desperate measures.

I walked over to my neighbor’s house to see what time the church was starting. Lisi, Mana’s daughter, told me 6. Mind you, it was 7:30. I kindly mentioned this to her, and she said, “Oh, I hadn’t realized. I don’t know when it will start.” At this point I just needed something to keep my mind off of food so I went into the hall, where they just put in a tv last week, and watched the Seven’s rugby tournament that is currently being played in New Zealand.

8 0’ clock. The bell rings. People are walking over to the church. Yes! – Never thought I would say that before Tonga.

I walk over. Instead of everyone going into the church, some mats are set outside for the youth to sit on. I walk over to Mana and ask him why there was a special malanga today. He replied, “To give the youth something to do on a Friday night instead of going to bars and drinking. You know, to make sure they save room for Jesus in their lives.” I said the only thing I could think of, “Ok.”

I sat down with Mana on one of the benches, and for the next hour I listened to speeches I did not understand and watched what can only be described as several interpretative dances to religious music performed by the youth group. Meanwhile, I was thinking of how much food I was planning on devouring at the feast and hoped that the opening prayer did not last too long.

9:30. The malanaga is over and we walk into the hall to eat. There was nothing there. Normally during feasts, there are tables filled with food everywhere. Today, there weren’t even mats. I looked around for a bit until one of the villagers gestured for me to join him at the kava circle. I drank kava to hide my hunger, until a few minutes later I was passed a parcel of tin foil. I opened it up greedily. Inside was some curry chicken and breadfruit. I devoured it within minutes, was offered and ate another package moments later, talked for a bit, and then returned home stuffed, happy, and content.

That is the first of my feasts. It was not much of a feast, it started late, and all I could think of during the dances was Will Ferrell in Old School minus the ribbon. It was classic Tonga and I went to sleep dreaming of a lunch of spaghetti and meat sauce for the next day.

Thank you for reading!

No Child Left Behind

During my time in Tonga, I have tried my best to stay up to date on the latest news, whether it be world, political, sports, or cultural. The reason for this is twofold. The first is that it is very easy to feel isolated living on a small island in the South Pacific and reading the news of the world is an easy way to help feel connected. The second reason is that when I return to the United States in less than two years, I don’t want to be overwhelmed by culture shock, and I believe not living in a news-less bubble while I am in Tonga will certainly help ameliorate that transition.

It is not that difficult for me to stay up to date with the news. I have advised a strategy that works relatively well. I go online about once a week. Working quickly while online, I copy and paste all the news I can find onto a word document that I then read as a quasi-magazine during the week, until the process repeats itself again the next time I am in town.

This is therefore a long winded way to state that I am relatively aware of what is happening in the world at this moment, or at least what occurred last week. Thanks to an article I was able to copy from Time Magazine and other articles I have read, I am aware of Russia’s decision to make it illegal for American couples to adopt Russian children. While the articles mention that this may be a retaliatory measure on the part of Putin as revenge for a recent American bill attacking Russian corruption, the adoption legislation seems to be following a trend of similar laws that have passed in South America, Eastern Europe, and Africa outlawing international adoption over the last few years.

I am sure many of you are aware of this phenomenon, and specifically the recently signed Russian bill. With the current international adoption climate, I have decided that this would be a good time to discuss the unique institution of adoption in the Kingdom of Tonga, mostly for comparison sake.

There is no formal adoption agency in Tonga. No government body concerns itself with domestic adoption, and from what I have learned from expatriate Tongans trying to adopt Tongan children, international adoptions are particularly tricky as it is unclear where one goes to legally adopt a Tongan child. There are no orphanages.

Instead, adoptions in Tonga are governed by family concerns and a sense of community. If one family has too many children, some of the kids will be raised by the wife’s sister, the husband’s brother, the grandparents, uncles, aunts, a close friend, or any connection that you can possibly imagine. If a family has too many children of the same sex, they can adopt a girl or a boy from a family that similarly has too many mouths to feed or pass one of their children along to another family in need.

These children usually grow up knowing that their “Mom” and “Dad” are not their biological parents, but rarely seem to care or want to reestablish relations with their birth parents. For all concerned, the parents who raised them are their parents. Plain and simple.

Adoptions in Tongan can happen for a variety of reasons. A child born out of wedlock. The death of a parent. Having too many children. No issue in Tonga is too large or small to no merit adoption.

To give a more concrete example of how informal adoption is in Tonga, one only needs to look at my neighbor Mana. Mana, who lived in the U.S. for several years in the 80’s and speaks, along with his whole family, fluent English, is probably the person I am closest with in my village. One day, about a month ago, I asked him who the young 10-year-old girl was at his house who I had never seen before. Mana, who has a teenage daughter and son, told me that they adopted their new daughter because their older daughter was lonely and wanted a sister. From day 1, the family has treated her like they have known her their whole lives and love her no less than any member of their family.

In another example, I asked Mana to explain to me whether or not the 5 children, who looked like siblings, were related since they all lived in different houses. It was then explained to me that the youngest daughter, about 4, lives in town with her father. The oldest daughter lives with the mother in my village. The 8-year-old daughter was adopted by another family, and she lives in a different house in the village. The two brothers were also adopted by another family and live in a different house in the village as well. That means the 5 siblings live in 4 different houses, and are being raised by 3 separate families. I asked Mana why they were all adopted and he just kind of shrugged his shoulders and said they just were.

There is also one more interesting quirk concerning Tongan adoption. Tonga, like most societies, is a mostly patriarchal society that is dominated by the men. The one exception to this however, is that the oldest sister, based on hierarchy, is the most important member of the family. This means that if the younger siblings have children and the oldest sister does not have any, she can ask for the child and the younger siblings cannot say no. This practice is still prevalent within Tonga.

As you can see, the adoption system in Tonga is convoluted and quite different from the adoption practices of the Western world. I do not know if it is better or worse, I will leave that up to you to decide. It is certainly different, and while there is rarely, if any, legal tracking of these adoptions, they somehow work in the family-centric, community-dominated Tonga. It is not a practice that could work back home for a plethora of legitimate and illegitimate reasons, but I do know that every Tongan child, regardless of their lineage, has a family and a home in Tonga.

As for my life, there is not much to report. I failed to mention in my last post that during training in Nuku’alofa, the Minister of Education came to speak to us, which was a great honor. Though our work will rarely affect or come into contact with her level of governance, it was particularly interesting to hear the vision of the woman who is leading the revolution of the Tongan educational system.

In the past two weeks, I spent the first week finishing up my lesson plans, reading, and reintegrating back into my community, and this past week I have been attending the teacher-training week with every primary school teacher in Vava’u to prepare for the upcoming school year.

Monday, Tuesday, and today, Wednesday, I listened to speeches in Tongan that I did not understand, while sitting on a bench in a Wesleyan Church Hall in Neiafu. I met my new principal, a nice woman in her early 40’s who lives in Neiafu, and is now at least aware she will have a Peace Corps volunteer at her school. We have yet to discuss what I will be teaching during the school year, but I am hopeful that everything will be figured out as we spend the last two days of the week at our school.

Though, there was one funny/embarrassing moment. One of the woman at the Ministry of Education came up and spoke during training today. A few minutes into her speech, she called me up to the front, and only me, and had me demonstrate a Tongan song, with hand gestures, in front of everyone. It was only slightly horrifying, and I managed to survive the interaction relatively unscathed.

She then mentioned in Tongan that she had seen the Superman movie the night before, though I believe she meant Spider Man, and quoted, “With great power comes great responsibility,” as her inspirational speech. She then said she was Superman and laughed heartily. I think the message, unfortunately, wasn’t quite clear to the rest of the Tongan teachers, but I will always approve of superhero/movie quotes in any and all work related activities.

Finally, I am happy to report that my long period of forced idleness is almost over. Schools starts on Monday and I will be able to actually help my community, and hopeful relate some colorful commentary back to you, my readers.

Thanks for reading!

The Story of Joseph – the non-Biblical version

I have magical powers – bear with me please, this post has several topics, more than is probably necessary digressions, and this first sentence is somewhat relevant to the post as a whole. As I was saying, I have magical powers.

I have yet to see a stick of gum during my entire service in the Kingdom of Tonga, let alone consume one. Mints yes. Gum no. I am not an avid gum consumer, but from time to time I have found myself missing the taste of gum and the feelings of minty freshness that it leaves behind.

On Thursday, during training, I mentioned to my friend next to me that I would love a stick of gum. He acknowledged my craving, and kindly refrained from stating how likely I was in satiating this desire. 20 minutes later – and this is where those magic powers come in – the Peace Corps Tonga doctor, during his presentation, asked us if we would like some gum as if it was the simplest thing in the world. I revengefully reproached my friend with a tacit I-told-you-so-look, and remarked on the odd coincidence of this glorious present. Several sticks of gum later, I was a very happy man.

I, unfortunately, was also a very foolish man. As every American is taught super powers are both a blessing and a curse. I should have known better. Christopher Nolan’s Batman and even the Tobey Maguire Spiderman movies have been trying to drill that into us for years.

This leads me into my first digression. After living for almost 5 months in Tonga, what I am most proud of America, or the entire Western world for that matter, is the almost permanent eradication of insect life. In America, we have won the war. Insects, of every type, while certainly present, rarely have any effect on our daily lives. Even in the battleground state of sub-tropical Florida, with the exception of those tiny ants you can barely see, the battle has largely been won.

In Tonga, I am very much on the front lines. I have recently written about the insects in my home and my views on cohabitation. I won’t recount those again, but I will say I was welcomed home to my house with a beautiful gift of termite poop – it is somewhat astounding how much poop these little creatures can produce. This leads me back to my powers, and how foolish I was.

Forgetting my newfound gifts, I recklessly asked another volunteer, while we were sitting around the guesthouse, if she had ever seen the flying cockroaches or the molekau. Brief digression. Yes, some cockroaches can fly here and molekau (possibly a misspelling) are centipedes that can grow very large, have sharp teeth that can apparently hurt you when they bite, and can even bite you when their head is cut off.

The volunteer said no, she had not seen the flying cockroaches, and asked me if I had. I said yes. The flying cockroaches are quite a pain to kill and I saw my first molekau several days ago when I found it next to my pillow moments before I was planning on jumping in and falling asleep. With the help of my roommates bolt cutter, we were able to safely destroy the creature before it could get up to its devilish tricks. We then moved on to a cheerier subject.

Another 20 minutes later – my powers work quite fast – I felt something slam into the back of my neck. As I have unfortunately been pounced on by insects several times since I have been in Tonga, I knew the proper way to respond. I jumped up, issued a high-pitched and very manly scream, and ran ten feet in the opposite direction. Retrieving my courage, I looked back to see a flying cockroach directly above where I had just been sitting. Shuddering with disgust, I coolly (I doubt it was actually coolly but please let me have this) said to the other volunteer, “So, that is a flying cockroach.”

Several sprays of mortein later, the room was again safe for all of us to return. Or so we thought. Another half an hour later, a molekau slivered out from underneath a nearby couch – they are remarkably quick – ushering fear in all of us. This was serious. Action was required. As one of the two guys present, my role was tracking. I made sure to never lose the spawn of Satan from my sight. Another volunteer, one of the married men, grabbed his wife’s water bottle, and began beating it, immobilizing the creature.

Several whacks, his wife’s disgusted looks at her water bottle, and the use of a knife to chop of its head off, later, the room was safe. I have now learned to treat my powers carefully. I will not say the word shark within 20 yards of the ocean. I am careful whenever I talk about insects. I never say the word rat.

End of topic one.

Topic two. Warning – this may end up being a particularly long post. It is hot, I am delirious, and I am feeling particularly loquacious.

The scene for the previous story was a guesthouse that the Peace Corps always puts us up in when we are staying in Nuku’alofa. We stayed there before home stay, after home stay, and, now, for our January training. It is a cozy little guesthouse – think European hostel and you kind of get the idea – with great people running it, that we have gotten to know a little bit.

One of the perks of staying at the guesthouse is that they have an awesome little kid. I don’t know his age, we all kind of guess it to be around 2 and a half, and his name is Joseph. He is a very spirited kid. He climbs the poles and stair railings. He smashed bananas and places them in front of me for a snack. He picks up the cat and chases the guests with it. He pulls the hair of the girls when they least expect it. He is a great little kid, fun to play with, and he makes all of our trainings a little more interesting.

To get to the point, after staying at the guesthouse several times, Joseph has overcome his shyness and now loves to spend time with us. This is usually awesome, but on Friday, it lead to an interesting scene.

Friday, being our last night together, we all decided to go to the Chinese restaurant in one of the hotels. It is not particularly good, but it is plenty good enough for us at this point. Tired from the week, and running late to meet the rest of the group their, ten of us decided to call a cab. 20 cab-less minutes later, 5 of us, myself included, decided to walk.

After walking several hundred yards we turned around the see Joseph, by himself, following behind us. The moment he saw us looking, he decided it was a good decision the pull his pants down, revealing everything to the world, and stand in the middle of the street. Alarmed, I walked back to Joseph to return him to the guesthouse, while the rest of the group watched and waited for me.

On reaching Joseph, my first goal was to clothe him. I reached down and tried to pull up his shorts, careful not to touch any private areas. Joseph, fully delighted by this attempt, failed to acquiesce and as such his shorts remained firmly around his ankles. Realizing the futility of my action, I lifted him up under his arms, extended my arms as far in front of me as humanly possible to avoid any decision Joseph may have to pee or poop on me, and then began walking slowly back to the guesthouse. (The volunteers who saw me told me later that this created an incredible appearance from their vantage point and, as one volunteer elegantly stated, the silhouette of my holding this small Tongan child and the background of the setting South Pacific sun will be an image he never forgets when he leaves Tonga – I sincerely hope he was joking).

As I was walking I noticed the cab had finally arrived and was picking up the volunteers who had stayed behind. The cab drove towards me and then stopped. The cab driver got out of the car, pulled up Joseph’s shorts not nearly as delicately, but far more successfully, than I had, picked him up, and placed him on his lap as he sat down in the driver’s seat.

Confused, I asked him if I should take the kid back to the guesthouse. He said it was ok. I tried again. He said no it was fine. I asked the volunteer leader who was sitting shotgun and asked if it was ok, as he speaks Tongan and understands the culture far better than me having lived here for two years, and he said hop in. More confused, I hopped in the back.

I turned and asked another volunteer, “Hey, so are we just trusting the cab driver to bring Joseph back after he drops us off?” My thoughts were swirling. What were we doing? Adoption is different here, a topic for later, is this actually ok? I was just imagining myself unwittingly aiding in a devious kidnapping attempt. The volunteer laughed and responded, “Dude, that’s his dad,” eliciting relief within me and laughs from everybody else.

I had never seen him before. I thought it was a cab driver. Slightly embarrassed, but reassured that I was not the only one who had similarly been confused, I was just happy that Joseph was back and safe. I still have a lot to learn about Tonga.

Last but not least, I have decided to initiate Feast Watch 2013. This is not a novel concept. Sports writes often title their articles, “MVP Watch,” or, “Rookie of the Year Watch,” in several sports. We have political watches – candidate, state, and even demographic. I am sure there are celebratory watches. Feast Watch 2013 simply evolved from its predecessors, some more worthy than others, and I will just relate any feasts I attend at the end of my posts, until either you or I get bored with this set up.

Tongans are very generous – sorry, I love these brief, and not so brief, digressions. I have mentioned this many times before. It is, in my humble opinion, one of their greatest qualities. It is also the reason that international development and funding, particularly in agricultural subsidies and animal husbandry, doesn’t work that well here, as personal property is rarely seen as private but rather as communal.

 Tongans rarely have a lot, whether it is wealth, property, or livestock, because sharing is such an important part of Tongan culture. If a person has more than they need, they feel an obligation – or the village reminds them of their obligation – to share what they have. This is true for their family, friends, community, and the church. I am frequently a recipient of such generosity. In Tonga, success and wealth, are meant to be shared, not hoarded. The word kaipo in Tongan, literally meaning one who hoards or steals (the same thing in this case) food, is a grievous insult to place on a Tongan.

The feast I attended yesterday was a fakaafe, rather than a kaipola. The difference, though both events are a feast, is that a kaipola is for a special event while you have to be invited to attend a fakaafe, though the whole village is usually invited.

There was no particular reason for this feast. My town officer, Havea, an incredible man who has helped me fix up my house and integrate into the community, just decided to hold a fakaafe for the entire community as a gift to them.

The generosity was astounding and expansive. Not to be content with the normal feast food, Havea and his family decided to also include several whole crabs for every person. To make things even more incredible, the family did not partake in the feast, until the very end. Havea gave a fakamalo, thanking the community. His family walked around pouring juice for everyone and making sure the food was to the people’s liking.

And…just because one feast is not enough in Tonga, there was another fakaafe in the afternoon, after the 4 o’clock service. Uhila, also a very nice man who had me over at his house for after church lu several weeks ago, similarly wowed me with his generosity and how much he wanted to share his prosperity with the community.

For the thousandth time I have been here, I was absolutely blown away by the generosity I have seen in Tonga. By American standards, the Tongan people have much less wealth, but that does not deter them from sharing everything they do have. As I have said before and will say again, it is this incredible generosity that makes me proud to serve as a volunteer in Tonga.

Thank you for reading. I promise the next post won’t be as long. I hoped you enjoyed it.

A True Tongan Diet

In the course of this blog, I try show how my life in Tonga really is. My opinions are of course subjective, but in terms of the events I attend and my observations of the people and culture, I try to be as accurate as possible without bringing any preconceived notions or bias into my thoughts and writings.

The previous statement therefore leads me to this next one. The next few paragraphs are of a somewhat graphic nature. If you are squeamish or a particularly passionate lover of dogs, you may want to skip reading the next few paragraphs. If you choose to skip it, just scroll down to where it says, “It’s Over,” in large bold letters and you are then safe to read on. For the rest of you, I apologize if this upsets you, but this is simply the way of life in Tonga and I wanted to portray it accurately.

Tongans eat dogs. It is not a main staple of their diets in the same way lu, pigs, chickens, beef, and root crops are, but it is certainly a part of it. In the past, before Tongans had access to as much food and meat as they do now, dog, and even bat, was eaten frequently. Now, if a dog is hit by a car and dies, if a dog attacks anyone, if there are too many dogs in the village, or simply if a person want to eat a dog, dog is eaten.

Volunteers in the past, and in my group, have tasted dog while they have been in Tonga. Though I want to be adventurous and try new things, I really have no interest in eating dog. In more sad situations, Tongan villagers have eaten the dogs that were the pets of volunteers in the past, not realizing how important dogs are to Americans. As I mentioned in a previous post, dogs are not treated well in Tonga and are not considered pets.

I have never seen dog served on a Tongan plate nor have I ever been offered dog. I only bring up this topic now for an event that occurred last week.

Last week, in the middle of the day, I was reading in my house when I saw a Tongan villager I know walk past my house about ten feet away from my back door. I stood up to say hello to Saia, who his around 15, but stopped short when I realized he was dragging a dead dog behind him as if it was a pile of sticks. The dog’s throat was sliced – I could tell by the dried blood – in the same way a pig’s throat is cut when it is slaughtered to eat.

Silently, I went to my back door and watched where Saia was taking the dog. He dragged the dog another 50 yards and brought it to my neighbor’s house. I am sure I was watching dinner being served at the same house I attended a lunch last week, though I am fairly certain I did not eat dog as they would have told me before and the only meat I consumed was chicken…or at least, I hope it was chicken.

To be honest, after watching the event I was a little sad. While I am no great dog-lover, especially for the vicious dogs in Tonga, it was still difficult to watch an animal I have long viewed as man’s best friend so callously dragged around and served for dinner. I did not dwell on it long, as that would serve no purpose, but I thought it was important to relate this anecdote in my blog as it depicts how life in Tonga, though normal by standards in many other countries, is so different than the US. As I mentioned earlier, I hope this did not upset you.

IT’S OVER

As for me I have spent the past week in the main island of Tongatapu for a week of Peace Corps training. I do not have much to report that I think will excite you, my readers. I went to see my host family on Sunday, which was amazing. It was great to see the family that took such incredible care of me and treats me like a son. My host sister was not there, but I made arrangements to stay overnight with my family when I fly through Tonga on my way to see my parents in April so I am really excited about that.

It has also been great to see other volunteers in the group and just compare how similar and different our experiences are over the past week. The wheel was not reinvented, but just speaking English consistently was like a gift in its self.

I know I promised photos for the week but I had forgotten that I really do not like taking photos at group events. Eventually there will be some photos of me again on this blog, but I hope for now the contents of this post and possible future topics of the lack of beaches, adoption, the ocean, my life, and of course my many embarrassing moments can keep you satisfied.

To make your wait slightly less unbearable, I believe it is time that I finally relate to you the Great Onion Famine of 2012.

The Great Onion Famine of 2012 was a terrible event. For 3 weeks in Tonga, around the last week in November and the first two weeks of December, the onions disappeared. Before the eventual collapse of Tonga’s profitable onion industry, rumblings could be heard of future onion scarcity. Onions were going out, but none were coming in.

Tongans, never to be confused with ferocious vegetable consumers, do particularly like to use onions in their lu and when they cook meet. The Palangi population was similarly overwhelmed, as those of us in Tonga have quickly learned, cooked onions make even the most spice less and flavorless Tongan food taste slightly more appealing.

Tongans, expats, and volunteers flocked to the markets and stores buying every onion they could find. I luckily bought a few and threw them in my fridge. To digress for a moment, I have formed a tacit agreement with my food in Tonga – I will protect if from the ants, cockroaches, termites, lizards, pigs, the weather, small children, etc and be willing to cut off the parts that are rotten and eat greedily away, if the food just pretends not to discolor or smell as it rots. So far the agreement has been quite successful, leading to greater personal consumption and minimal stomach complaints.

Returning to the subject at hand, the last vestiges of onions quickly disappeared  -and the results were dramatic. The lu tasted worse. The one restaurant in town that had onion rings no longer had onion rings. I could no longer make spaghetti and tomato sauce – one of the four things I now know how to make and is scarily large staple of my diet.

At first I though this was only a Vava’u problem and that help was on the way. I texted my friend Michael to ask him about the onions in Tongatapu. There were none. Help was not coming.

I then texted my friend Chiara in the island of Eua, an island near Tongatapu that is far cooler than the rest of Tonga. I figured Chiara, a vegetarian, and someone who faced humiliation, lack of understanding, possible starvation, and a frightfully boring pallet for refusing to lose her vegetarian ways in meat-filled Tonga, of anyone I knew, would know how to find the onions. Nope. There were no onions in Eua, she had no clue what was going on, and she was even more concerned than I was.

I was now curious – and by curious I mean confused, angry, and kind of hungry - swirling with thoughts stemming mostly from an empty stomach. Knowing nothing about gardening myself, I asked a Tongan where the onions came from. No one really knew, which was not surprising as Tongans don’t really think of where things come from – they’re just happy it’s there - but the general consensus was that Tonga was too warm to grow onions and that they were probably imported from New Zealand.

My next thought was ok. Sadly, yes, that was my first thought. Resignation was fast at hand. I quickly snapped out of it, however, and decided to discover how a country could be out of onions. I asked around, again, and discovered the following truth (caution, I am using the word truth quite liberally, I have absolutely zero proof what I am about to write is accurate and Tongans love to lie, but I find this story plausible, oddly comforting, and very Tongan):

Apparently, the onions arrive from New Zealand in a large shipping container and are removed in Nuku’alofa. The container is taken off the ship at the wharf and then some onions are sent to the markets of Tongatapu, while the rest are sent to the other islands, including Vava’u.

The person in charge of unloading the onions, however, was sick when the shipment of onions came in but failed to notify anyone that he was not coming to work or ask anyone to replace him. This being Tonga, nothing was done, no safety nets were in place, and no one thought to ask why has the container just been sitting there for several days? The onions sat in the blazing hot sun for several days until the man returned from his illness to a container of rotten onions.

Thus one man, one individual person, caused the entire Kingdom of Tonga to survive without onions for several weeks and lead to your faithful writer’s growling stomach and his quest for the truth. That my readers is the sad Tale of the Great Onion Famine of 2012, may it never occur again.

Thanks for reading!