Tongan Cars

Cars are a special type of breed in Tonga. In America, it is rare to see cars that are especially old or in particularly bad shape. You might see a car in need of a paint job, or with a window replaced with duct tape and cardboard, but for the most part the cars look pretty decent. That is not the case in Tonga.

Here the cars are an interesting hodgepodge of Japanese and European vehicles, inevitably in various stages of disrepair. I rarely see a car that has both 4 unbroken windows and 4 doors that open from the inside and out. Many of the cars don’t need a new paint job as much as would benefit from any semblance of paint at all. Numerous cars are missing a bumper or a rearview mirror. Air conditioning is a mere dream.

I have ridden in cars that wouldn’t start without a few of us having to jump out in the back to push and I am familiar with cars that start only after their engines guzzled a few liters of water. I can vividly recall watching one car jumpstart another from the side of the road, and seemingly every house has the shell of a car, wheels and any reusable part removed, collecting rust in the front yard.

And yet…riding in these cars is one of my favorite experiences in Tonga. Due to my weekly excursions hitchhiking into town, I have sampled a large number of cars. Rarely has everything worked, and never has it mattered. We always ended up where we needed to go, usually gaining a story or two in the process.

Some of my fondest memories are sitting in the back of a flat bed truck, cooled by the breeze as the truck moved up and down the hills of Vava’u. Sometimes in these situations I am alone or with a few people, the space plenty ample for us all. Other times, like last week, I returned in back of the truck with 20 students, all of us crammed in like sardines. It was certainly less cool, but no less of an experience.

Of course there are nice cars. Occasionally a new car or van will arrive in Vava’u on the ferry from the main island, New Zealand, or Japan, all decked out and shiny. But that is not what matters. Instead, what I enjoy is that I can identify every car in my three villages – and many other cars on the island for that matter – simply because all cars have one mark on the inside or out, usually something broken, an interesting choice of color, or some odd design, that distinguishes their car from all the others. When I see a certain car I know who drives it and everyone of their family members who may be riding with him or her.

Some of my favorite cars in my three villages? Great question. We have one low-riding car that has the Tongan flag painted over it and the words of the national rugby team written on the doors. Another van is lime green and barely gets over 30 kilometers an hour. A third van has had its entire inside gutted and replaced with benches along the sides to serve as a type of school bus for the high school kids from one of my villages. The last truck is missing a door on the driver’s side, giving it the appearance of a dilapidated postal truck.

In my mind these cars have character, representing Tonga in some strange but always different way. I love the experience of riding in these cars, and wouldn’t trade it for anything…except maybe for some AC.

Thanks for reading and enjoy the photos.

Helping the kids brush their teeth

Teaching Class 5 last year

Receiving my certificate for completing IST training, April 2013

Group Photo - Volunteers and PC Staff - post IST, April 2013

Teaching sequencing and story telling

Circumcision?

This is a weird topic. I know this. You know this. We all know this. So why are we talking about this? Truthfully…I don’t really know. All I know is that I didn’t have much to say this week, so instead I turned to a subject that is a bit unusual (for lack of a better term). Oh well…lets get started.

The particular tropic of circumcision entered my consciousness some time last October when I was talking with my counterpart, Paea. While I am always interested in learning new facts about Tongan culture, I had never put much thought into the Tongan practice of circumcision. I knew most Tongan boys were circumcised and that was all I felt that I really needed to know.

Regardless of my feelings, somehow this topic came up between Paea and I. Seemingly out of nowhere Paea told me that Tongan boys don’t get circumcised as babies, but when they are between the ages of 10 and12.  I was pretty shocked by this information, not understanding why parents would do this, and asked Paea why the parents would subject their kids to such a painful procedure at that age rather than as a baby? He simply shrugged and said that it is just how Tongans do it. I asked if there was a cultural reason for it, and he replied that he didn’t think so.

I was surprised by this news. I was curious enough to want learn why, but I also didn’t want to ask people I knew around the village why Tongan boys waited. I felt that I couldn’t just go up to someone in my village and say, “Hey, so….why do Tongans get circumcised at age 11?” That would be even more awkward than writing this post. I couldn’t do it.

Thus I put the subject on the back burner until it unexpectedly came up when I returned from America in January and visited my Tongan home stay sister Kalo in ‘Eua. Kalo is the only doctor on the entire island and on my first day in ‘Eua, Kalo, my home stay brother Sione, some of their cousins, and I walked to the wharf to hang out. As we passed a group of boys swimming in the wharf – a common sight – Kalo, again out of no where, told me to never swim with young boys during the summer school break because they were all swimming to help relieve the pain from their recent circumcisions.

I hadn’t expected her to say that. I asked what she was talking about, and she told me that as the only doctor she spends most of her time when school is off performing the surgeries. She further told me that you could always tell who was recently operated on by seeing how the boys walk funny for a few days afterwards. As she was being so forthcoming, I asked Kalo why Tongan boys waited until they were older to have the surgery, and her only answer was that it simply wasn’t part of the post-natal treatment, so the parents just decide to wait.

I don’t have any particular insight to add to what I have just written. I think the practice of waiting seems a bit odd, and to prove that I try to show Tonga in all of its glory to my readers, I wrote this post. I hope you….liked it?

Thanks for reading. The photos below were taken when Peace Corps staff came to my school to watch me teach.

Paea and I with last years Class 6 and 5 students

Teaching Class 6

Helping Lili answer a question

My Class 6 from last year

The teachers of GPS Houma

Attack of the Moms

It is now my favorite time of the Tongan school year – Sports Day. For those of you who don’t remember from last year, Sports Day is when the schools, first regionally then by island group, meet to compete in a series of track and field events. Sports days are a staple of both the GPS’s (primary schools) and high schools’ yearly calendar.

Our Sports Day was held last week, but preparation for the big day began several weeks ago. For a myriad of reasons, my principle has allowed me to pretty much run our school’s fitness programs, which means that I am in charge of making sure our school doesn’t embarrass ourselves during the competitions. I have to admit that I enjoy the role. I love the idea of coaching, and I genuinely like teaching the kids how to start, properly pass a baton in a relay race, or how to breathe properly after the race is over. And…I also have to admit that I am as competitive as the students and I want to see them win.

Most of my work centered on the older kids, Classes 4 to 6, who would be competing in most of the events. We worked on stretching before and after each practice, so that they understood the importance of not just going straight from sitting all day to running full blast. We ran the 100, focusing on pure speed and a fast start. In Tongan races, the count down is announced in English….On your mark….Get Set…..Bang! and we worked on recognizing when to launch yourself into the race.

The 200 meters and the 400 meters race were more of an endurance test, a sharp lesson for kids who are fast but rarely run for more than a minute straight. Particularly challenging was the 800 meter race for the Class 6 kids, who during practice understood the concept of not running the first 400 too quickly, which inevitably lead the first 400 being run at a snails pace and the second to be run as if it were the 100, with the kids flying down the lines.

The funniest and cutest times were when we raced the younger kids, Class 1 to 3, and though we weren’t even sure if they would have an event to race on Sports Day, the kids were eager to practice with the older students. With incredible earnestness, the little kids would run as fast as their small legs could carry them. The races were epic, eliciting laughter from the older students, a few face plants into the grass, and even the teachers would poke their heads out of their classroom at these moments to watch the youngest kids flash by.

For two weeks we practiced. We spent a lot of time on the relay races, making sure the kids knew not to just wait for the person to pass them the baton, but to actual start moving before so as to build up a head of steam before they even started to really run. Were we ready? I think so. In truth I already knew who would win and who would lose, as I had trained the kids in our entire region last year and the students are of course the same every year except the oldest ones. Regardless, the kids and I both had a fun time preparing.

On the Sports Day, of course a brutally hot day, my students, their parents, and I hopped onto the school bus to take the short drive to the largest school in our region where our school and three other schools would compete. On arrival, the parents, with their mats and containers of food for lunch, quickly commandeered a tented area near the field to be our home for the next 6 hours.

For me it was time to work. During the day I was in charge of making sure the kids were ready for their races, and helped coach them during the actual events. The trial heats were in the morning with the finals in the afternoon after lunch. I won’t go into too much detail of the races, as we did not to do very well, but our class 6 boys did win most their events in their age group and will compete in the all island sports day.

The most ridiculous events occurred during lunch. Some of you may remember that last year during our Sport Day – where I was the only non-Tongan out of as many as 500 Tongan students, family members, and teachers – I was “attacked” by a bunch of moms, who lifted me up, attempted to unbutton my shirt, and I only was able to run away when they dropped me and felt bad just long enough for me to make my escape. This year I came prepared, and beyond a few occasions where I had to run away from a too-bold mother, I had survived well.

Of course that doesn’t mean that the moms were not their normal crazy sports day selves. They raced alongside the kids. Lifted them up. Tackled each other. At one point they got so rambunctious, the teachers in charge made them race each other in the 100 meters but rather than race they all ended up tackling each other again. It was pretty hilarious watching these large mothers wrestling each other in front of so many laughing spectators.

During lunch, I ate way too much food that was generously provided by several families from my village. We sat on the floor and ate the chicken, root crop, pig, sausage, and even a crab with our fingers in the Tongan style. After we finished eating, my principal asked me to take part in our schools concert to raise money. I reminder her about the attack last year and said I would stay behind, but gave her some money as my contribution.

A few minutes later and our school was called. It was time for the concert and we had to dance. Two of the mothers grabbed me and tried to get me to go with them. I again told them what happened, joked that they did not help me last year, and sad that I already given money. This did little to dissuade them and after several minutes of pressuring me I made them promise to (even going as far as to make them pinky swear) to protect me if the women from the other villages came after me. They said they would.

We were up and running. I danced with the students and for a few minutes I was safe, until the more rambunctious mothers from the other villages tried to get me again. At fist, the women from my village kept their promises and would surround and shield me from the other women, but eventually they got bored and “betrayed” me. Luckily, I now have the loyalty of my students after working with them for such a long time, and whenever a woman came by 20 of them would stand between us a moving shield. This lasted for a few minutes, until one of the women decided to really come after me, and started tossing the kids left and right (and I mean literally throwing them into the air), until I booked it as fast as I could -thankfully I was a bit faster than her - to the laughter of everyone watching.

That was my last scare. Afterwards, I told the new female volunteer who works in one of my region’s schools, how lucky she was that as a girl that she didn’t have to worry about the “attack of the moms.” She just laughed. Regardless it was a fun day and now I can’t wait for the all Sports Day in a few weeks.

Thanks for reading – I know this was a long one. Enjoy the photos.

The mom's "race"

Waiting for the bus with Taiuli, Hignano, Hepi, and Nasoni

The march

The Class 3 students

The Class 6 boys - my students are the 2 in the middle and the 2 on the far right

How to attend a Tongan Church Service

Well that depends on whether you are a Tongan, what church you are attending, or me. If you are a Tongan who belongs to the Free Wesleyan Church then you are already an old veteran, having attended numerous services and choir practices during the week and several on Sunday, including the most highly attended one, the hour long service at 10 a.m.

As a Wesleyan man you will wear a button down shirt, your tupenu (skirt), and your ta’ovala (woven mat worn around the waist and held up by a rope that is tied and knotted around the mat). If you are an older man or an important member of the church you may wear a blazer, even though the weather is suffocatingly hot. For the Wesleyan women, now this is the day to look your best. It is time to put on your nicest pule taha (Polynesian matching shirt and skirt, normally replete with tropical designs) your kiekia (female version of a ta’ovala), wear the make up you never put on any time else, and brush your hair. If you are between the ages of 8 and 30 you will also be lucky enough to wear a ridiculous pair of high heels, usually a minimum of several inches high, that for some reason are only worn during church.

During the service itself you happily sing along to all the hymns that you have known since childhood, listen carefully to the prayers, and wait for the malanga (sermon) to be presented by whoever was chosen to speak from the village this week. There may even be a collection, but that is by no means a weekly occurrence.

As a female member of the Church of Latter Day Saints, your outfit is identical to what the Wesleyan woman wear. You may not have to attend as many services as your Wesleyan brethren, but you more than make up for that with a three-hour service on Sunday from 9 am to 12 pm. For the Mormon men there is a dress code. You have to wear a white button down shirt with a tie and often a blazer, and nice black pants – possibly the only time you as a Tongan man ever wear pants.

The service itself has a clear pattern. The first hour is a normal service that includes taking Communion using bread and water, instead of the traditional wafer and red wine. The second hour you know that you will be split up into distinct groups – men, women, and youth – in order to attend a religious class taught by one of the members of the congregation. Finally, the third hour will be spent attending a mixed service and class, before your time of church is over.

If you are a member of one of the many other sects of Christianity in Tonga – Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, Pentecostal, the Free Church of Tonga, etc – or a part of the small Baha’i minority, your services lie somewhere in between the Wesleyan and Mormon spectrums. Unfortunately, I am not as familiar with the services of the other churches and I have already spoken about the Baha’i Faith.

For me? Well, it is both the same and different. Like the other Tongans in my community, I wear a clean button down shirt, my tupenu, and the ta’ovala that I still tie poorly around my waist even after a year and a half of living here. I also stand during the hymns – silently however as I do not know the words – and seem to listen to the sermon. The difference however is that since I cannot understand what is happening (it is difficult to listen to a speech in another language and many of the words used in church are not used elsewhere) I let my mind wander, day dreaming blissfully, thinking about the future or the past, making to do lists, and deciding what movies I need to watch when I get back to the US. The trick is that while doing this to listen enough so that I know when to stand up or pay attention if they mention me specifically, which happens from time to time.

If I can’t understand what is happening, you may be asking why do I attend. The reason is two fold. The first is that church is the center of the community. The social lives of the villagers are almost exclusively revolved around the church. My community appreciates my attendance and in the rare times I do not attend Church (maybe 4 times since I have lived here) they always ask me where I was. Though I am not religious or Christian, it is a simple gesture on my part that allows me to be part of the community and a full member of the village.

The second part is that I love the Sunday staple of eating a traditional meal of lu and root crops every Sunday after the service. Tongans are extremely generous and are always sharing their meals with their neighbors. I often see two families trading their lu chicken for a lu beef to add some variety to their meal. Besides really enjoying the taste of lu, I love having the opportunity of eating with another family and temporarily becoming part of it. I tend to eat most of my meals alone in my house, so I relish the opportunity to eat with members of my community and forge a bond that comes from sharing a meal with another person. The meal allows us to have a deeper conversation in Tongan than we normally would in the quick hello conversations that dominate daily life.

Though I often eat with the same few families, I have eaten with most of the families at least once in my village and each time it has either cemented or built upon my relationship with that family. I learn something new every week and I am always touched whenever I am invited into someone’s home. It is truly one of my favorite experiences of living in Tonga, and one that I look forward to each week.

Thank you for reading. Below are the photos of Ha’apai after the destruction of Cyclone Ian, taken by PCVs Mandy Pederson and Abby Kloberdanz.

Someone's house - notice the bed frame

The strong winds warped this metal sheet

off of the main road