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.
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