Just Google It

As I sit down, I realize what an absurd situation I’m in; It’s after 10 at night, and I’m with the village Noble’s ambitious and intelligent granddaughter using the computer center to research “failed democracy”. The girl (an aspiring lawyer) was sent by her family to request my assistance to use a computer to prepare her grandfather’s arguments. Members of the Human Rights and Democracy Movement in Tonga are visiting our village and her grandfather, the Noble, is making a speech at the event. He disagrees with the movement.

“What exactly are you hoping to find?” I ask peeking over her shoulder at a page open to Russia’s political history.
“He wants evidence we’re moving too fast” she explains. I glance at her notes and scan the words “violence” and “power”.
“Tonga doesn’t have many guns does it?” I inquire carefully, treading lightly on a topic that tugs at my non-partisan role as a Peace Corps.
“Yeah” she says scrolling down the page so we can continue reading.

I sit with her 20 more minutes, helping her find new sources for her research. We come across the official page of the Human Rights and Democracy Movement and I print out their proposal for a new government structure. I’ve already decided I absolutely want to see this meeting.

The next day I show up late at the hall after teaching morning classes, but there are still plenty of seats. I notice two women sitting outside the building listening through a crack in the door because they are too shy to come in. The population of the meeting is 90 percent men: Town officers, ministers, and high society families. The Noble sits at the front on a special chair surrounded by woven mats. I listen to a panel from the HRDMT pay their respects to the group, and give a presentation on the proposed changes. The Noble is waiting patiently for his turn. Then the time arrives for community input and I watch him stand up, dignified, ready to address the crowd. “Tapu mo e faifekau…” he begins as he shuffles the notes in his hand. I don’t understand the whole speech in Tongan, or the ensuing debate, but I chuckle to myself thinking about the facts he is citing from related searches on google.com

*note: Tonga is a sovereign monarchy. The current proposal is working collaboratively with the King to shift power to elected leaders in the executive branch.

Tonga Time

Definition
Tonga time: adj./n. 1. describing the different (usually slower) pace in which most things happen on an island. 2. The idea that things meant to be, will happen in their own due course if provided with the right setting. 3. A justification for being late.
Question: "When will the boat arrive?" Answer: "Tonga time"

There is an adjustment in space and time living out here that I will refer to as Tonga time. When I arrived as a volunteer with the broad job description of “community education”, I never really received a specific project plan, or time frame for what I was meant to be doing. So I muddled through the resources I was given, fueled myself with self-motivation and patiently learned the ways of Tonga time. Tonga time, as I imagine there is some version of Mongolia time or Bulgaria time, is essential to my belief that development should start at the grassroots and rise from within a culture. That “doing” anything here, really begins with learning to respect and understand the way of life that already exists. That development often works best when it builds on the structures in place, rather than imposing itself and overriding pre-existing knowledge. I’ve tried to maintain a quiet but persistent vision to make myself useful these two years, while immersing myself in Tonga time so as to learn what development is needed and desired by my community. I’ve found that adopting the rhythm of life here has been the key to achieving progress.

So this entry is a response, to people who have asked me to describe what a day of my life looks like in Tonga…. It’s hard to say. In America we have a structure, we set objectives and measure outcomes then we go home at the end of our day. In Tonga we share food, go to church, or stop by a neighbor’s house and we worry about work afterwards. Priorities are shifted and the “little things” matter much more here.

So though I didn’t arrive in my village with any real clue as to what I would be doing, eventually on Tonga time, I've built three separate projects: teaching at the elementary school, starting a computer lab, and creating an environment group. None of the above mentioned positions are things in which I had proper previous training or expertise in. I came here open to whatever assignment I could engage myself in, and I’ve found myself passionately working on these completely unique projects.

The key to my work in Tonga has been building good relationships. "Work", "family", and "social life" are not separate domains, they blur together. Teachers at my school will spend hours sitting on mats on the grass chatting and eating with one another. Because I want to be a part of the teaching community and work successfully with my counterparts, I join them on a mat too. In this way we chat and bond, and the teachers get to know and trust me. Sometimes we sit for long periods of time without talking at all (surely what many Westerners would consider unbearable "awkward silence"), but it's invaluable for maintaining my relationships.

Abiding by cultural norms, sharing my lunch, and telling a good joke have all helped me gain acceptance here, and it extends beyond the schoolyard. In Tonga, people don't close their doors. The word for wandering around is called going for an "eva-pe", and all day people mingle and stay at each other's houses. There aren't so many formal invitations to "come over and visit", but instead people just walk in the house and sit down. If a meal is ready they share whatever is there. Adopting Tonga time means making time to stop and chat with people, try some of their food, and see how their day is going. I have yet to see anyone in such a "rush", that they can't pause for 2 seconds and greet their neighbor. So I welcome my neighbors to try my cooking, I stop by friends' houses, and I always make room for an “eva eva”, and it keeps me tuned into the village network.

The last essential activity I participate in is religion. If people aren’t on the school grounds, or out for an eva-pe they are most certainly at church. Tongans are pretty unanimously religious, and overwhelming Christian. Being a part of the community means praying throughout the day and going to church (at LEAST once a week). And in truth, the church is where the community leaders rise and influence society. To attempt to work outside of the religious institutions in Tonga, would be swift suicide, and I’ve found the inclusion of ministers to be vital towards progress. So I’ve learned when coming to another country to do development work, I’ve had to leave some of my fundamental beliefs and values behind in order to work by other terms. It’s not up to me to pass too much judgment on the way it works here. Religion is a fundamental part of Tongan culture, and I’ve needed to recognize and work with in that structure.

Ultimately my acceptance in the community has been the platform from which I have become involved in every aspect of my development work. It is how I heard about the donations of computers and was able to facilitate the building and running of a center. It is what has allowed me to instruct my classes smooth and successfully with the other teachers at school. And it has provided me with local knowledge and attitudes towards nature that precipitated forming an environmental conservation group. Everything I’ve gotten involved in doing out here has arisen from my effort spent learning Tonga time.

Perhaps this is why when I'm asked what my "work" looks like in Tonga, I try to explain that there is no line where it begins or ends. Just as much as I have prepared lessons, downloaded software, and organized meetings, I have made sure to sit under a mango tree, sing with the choir at church, and welcome visitors with my door wide open.

Cracked

I’m sweaty, hot, tired, and homesick. My co-teacher didn’t show up for school again, and the kids were in a restless mood. I finally sit down to drink the fresh coconut a student gave me, only to realize that the outside is husked but the nut doesn’t have a hole yet. I haven’t invested in a machete, so I get out my small cooking knife and hack away at the edge. Hack, hack, hack. Pieces chip off, but progress is slow. Hack, hack, hack. I could go to my neighbors, but I refuse to give up. Hack, hack, hack. I will break you coconut, you’re going down!

5 minutes later, the nut still hasn’t cracked. I hold the carved edge in my hand feeling defeated. I’m debating just putting the drink away for another day when I turn it around and notice 3 obvious circles of soft flesh on the other side. I take the sharp point of my knife and poke an easy little hole. Ah ha!

Sometimes I guess you just need to stop and turn things upside-down. The answer might be right in front of your nose.

Letting Go

12 pm Tuesday. The sun is shining outside, I just finished up my class, and I’m sitting at home making some food when the phone rings: “Siosi” Villiami, our program manager greets me “there just was an 8.0 earthquake recorded near Vanuatu. Be advised there is a tsunami warning. Please stay on high ground, and keep away from the water”. I hang up the phone and feel my heart pumping uncontrollably in my chest. I walk outside to look for the other teachers and I see that they’ve already heard the same news. School is cancelled, and the kids go rushing home. Now I’m alone in the compound, sitting on the stoop with my little puppy. The air is clear and the sun is still shining but my thoughts are racing.

I just went through the same motions the previous week when Villiami called after a large earthquake near Samoa. Except that time I hadn’t really paid any attention to his announcement, and I had shrugged the whole thing off. Turns out the tsunami hit. There was significant destruction and a few casualties in a northern island of Tonga. Even worse damage hit our neighbor Samoa. Reports were that people had 10 minutes between the tsunami warning, and the first wave arriving. 10 minutes.

I’m still sitting on my stoop a few hours later, because there’s nowhere else to go (I live on the only hill in my village). Nothing has happened. Finally, Peace Corps calls me back to tell me that the warning has been canceled. I breathe a sigh of relief. The truth is tragedy happens at any moment wherever you are in the world, and we can’t live our lives scared of death. Sitting alone trapped on an island has made me feel so vulnerable, but I realize we are all helpless in the face of an uncertain future. I look to the sky one more time and remind myself of the things I can control. All I know is to live life to the fullest, and love with all my heart. Everything else we have to let go…

Snapshot from My Village

This moment, I think to myself, is perfection. It’s dusk and the rain has finally stopped. The sun is setting a bright orange haze over the lagoon. Grasshoppers come out from their hiding spots and start chirping away. A cow lets out a long pained “mooooo”. I can feel my flip-flops dragging through the mud and splattering dirt up my legs as I walk down the main road of my village. I cut right through the fresh and crisp air.

I meander down past some houses and give a little wave hello to my neighbors. The kids run outside yelling “Siosi! Siosi!” Even after being here nearly a year, I still stand out as a novelty with my white skin and blonde hair. In the distance I see one of my best friends strolling up. Before we are even within talking distance I’m cracking up laughing. She’s making some sort of funny dance motions and randomly holding a broken mirror. “Why are you carrying that around?” I ask in Tongan amidst the giggles. “Checking myself out” she jokes back. We conclude that carrying around said broken mirror is in fact a brilliant idea. Not only can she check on her hair, but she can also surreptitiously spy on potential new boyfriends. A whole crew of hot young men are playing rugby on the field behind us. “Nice work!” I exclaim as I walk away still laughing. The teasing, the joking, and the friendly island lifestyle is infectious and I realize how happy I am here.

I’ve been reflecting a lot recently, and I’m trying to take-in this whole experience. Last weekend I spontaneously hopped on a sailboat for a few days with some other travelers. Relaxing one night anchored in the dark I laid under the boundless sparkling night sky and looked for shooting stars. “What will you wish for?” my friend asked and I paused with uncertainty. “This is going to sound cheesy” I warned him “but I think I’m pretty happy exactly where I’m at”. The more I've thought about it, the more certain I've become that my life is in-sync with my dreams. I’m doing what I want to be doing. I’m amazed at how much has happened this year, and I’m excited about all the projects I’ve gotten involved in out here. At times it’s been extremely difficult and stressful, taxing on my emotional health to be somewhere so far away and different, but I’ve never been so sure of the fact that I’m precisely in the place I should be, living intentionally.

As I reach the end of my village and circle around to return to my little house, I think back on the whole process of applying to Peace Corps and preparing for my assignment. During a session at our 2-day pre-departure training in LA, the group leader asked us to close our eyes and imagine what a “perfect day” would feel like sometime in the next 2 years. As I close my eyes again now and switch my awareness back to the world around me, I realize that walking with the children down a muddy trail at sunset is everything I had pictured.

Of Lettuce and Life

I’m just going to start by showing this picture, because it was such a beautiful site I had to rub my eyes a few times when I first saw it. I’d woken up to some 8 year olds banging on my window at 7 in the morning only to open my door and find they’d brought me this mouthwatering abundance of leafy greens (cue the heavenly music). Mind you that a few months ago, I was riding my bike an hour to town to spend my last pa’anga on a few meager peppers and cucumbers (the only available supply of fresh vegetables). So this here, was quite an unexpected treat:



This may sound silly, but for me the bundles of lettuce also represent a successful cultural exchange. In true Tongan fashion I was given more food than I could possibly consume, yet instead of getting giant root crop, or imported meat items, I got a basket full of fresh greens. The generous gift made me feel both appreciated and better understood by my village.

To extend this exchange, I used the surplus lettuce to make the teachers at my school an “American salad” for our Friday meeting lunch. I cut up some other veggies I had stored, mixed up a light oil, vinegar and herb dressing, and tossed together a simple dish. The funny part was that after I left for 20 minutes to prep some activities for my class, I walked back to sit with the teachers and found my counterpart husking a coconut for milk. Next a can of meat was being opened, and soon enough my salad was doused in all sorts of new flavors. It wasn’t the meal I had envisioned, but I was happy to see Tongans taking ownership of the salad, and incorporating that healthy lettuce into a Tongan style meal. In fact our lunch ended up opening a dialogue amongst my peers about healthy eating, the prevalence of diabetes on the island, and the importance of exercise. We discussed starting our own vegetable garden on the school grounds, and my principal suggested that I give a presentation to the community about balancing different food groups. In essence, that basket full of lettuce may have turned into my next grass-roots development project.

This story is just some random tiny snapshot of a Friday morning, but it exemplifies the value I find in Peace Corps work. Our exchange was only possible because I live in a village, I have a decent understanding of the culture, I’ve seen the medical issues that result from the diet here, I can somewhat speak and understand the language, and I’ve built a mutual respect and friendship with the people around me. Working as a Peace Corps puts me in this unique and valuable position for doing development work. And so far as it’s turned out, it seems that most of my “success” comes from the brief day-to-day encounters. Things that seem so little are what have made me feel like I can make some small impact here. Right now it may only be one palangi's craving for plentiful crops of leafy greens. But maybe that's enough to start a movement. 

Trapped in Paradise

The sun is already setting and I can’t bear the thought of another day without real exercise. Yesterday was Sunday, and I wasn’t allowed to go for as much as a long walk (there are laws against exerting yourself). I tried strolling through my village to the bush, but immediately noticed the looks I got for walking “too quickly”. I nervously fingered the ipod tucked away in my pocket. No music or television is allowed either, unless it’s holy. And you don’t get away with anything. Neighbors notice every move, and before you take two steps outside your house somebody asks “where are you going?” I truly appreciate how friendly my village is, and I’m incredibly thankful for being included in this community, but there are days when I get so antsy from trying to be cultural appropriate that I just want to yell a Queen song “ I want to break freeeee!”

Am I sounding a little crazy? Perhaps. But I know when it’s been too much and I can’t stay locked in my house another minute and let my mind begin its negative wanderings. I need to sprint all that stress and downbeat energy off and run as fast and far as I can. The sky is growing darker and venturing outside the boundaries of my community is not an option. The best I can do is run back and forth down the main road till my legs give out. It might be universally agreed upon that “insanity” constitutes running in circles. Certainly the people in my village give me confused looks and commentary each time I pass by. But I’m so invigorated to be sprinting through the dark I stop taking notice. My moment of madness bursting from all the suffocating frustrations I’ve been unable to communicate. I’m done feeling stifled and silenced here from expressing what truly encompasses “me”. So I run back and forth through the darkness, not getting anywhere. It’s hard to see the road, but the wind brushes my face, I lift my legs to take longer strides, and I feel my heart pumping with life.

The longer I’m here, the more people I know, the better I speak the language, the more conspicuous I become, and the more pressure I feel to keep up appearances. It’s a pressure I put on myself to be the best volunteer I can be, and respect every cultural nuance. There are few other times in my life I can say I have thrown myself so full-heartedly into something like I have here in Tonga. I’ve literally left everything behind and plunged myself into this experience. Becoming a Peace Corps is not accepting a “job abroad” because there are no hours to the work. From the moment I wake up to the roosters’ crowing outside and the church bells ringing at dawn, until the final minute I crawl under my mosquito net and shut my eyes to sleep, I am playing a role here. I’m pretty much available to help members in my community at any moment asked, I accept every invitation to learn Tongan culture and language, and my mind is always buzzing with lists of personal goals and assignments. It’s what I signed up for, but this experience is so intense and all-consuming that I can’t stop doing and thinking “Tonga” ever. I feel like I’ve lost my old perspective.

I hope it will become clearer again soon. I’m leaving for New Zealand to meet up with one of my best friends and adventure in a “western” country with big snow-capped mountains, fresh yogurt, and endless highways (with speed limits and traffic signs!). It all seems unreal. But I think the timing to “step away” couldn’t be better. I’m waiting to walk off that plane and breathe out this incredible, long, exhale of air. To feel my shoulders slump back down at my side and my mouth curve into a smile as I see an old friend and laugh until my belly aches. Freedom and release. It’s not that I don’t love Tonga. It’s a stunningly beautiful, generous, and friendly country, and I’m still very excited to be working on this island. But my life here has not been as simple as living in a tropical paradise and soaking up the sunshine, and I need to get-away from my Peace Corps obligations. So I’m escaping for a few weeks to rolling hills and green pastures to remind myself how big the world is, and how many endlessly diverse people and opinions are out there. And I expect when I come back, I will have the patience and peace of mind again to embrace a day of rest.