Luckily, today is a birthday for two very close friends of mine in Peace Corps...AND my cousin Charlie! (Happy Birthday to all of you!)
And where there are birthdays,there are birthday parties.
I never thought I'd be involved in birthday parties in Peace Corps. I'm lucky and I know it.
Anyway, after an extremely stressful work-week, I am ready to enjoy the following:
--soup night for dinner party (I hear minestrone, pumpkin, vegetarian chili, tortellini, bread bowls, and other things are on the menu)...
followed by...
--a Murder Mystery Dinner Party!!! It's called How to Host a Murder, with 8 characters based in Roman times. Each person received an invite last week with a brief bio of all the characters, including the one we were chosen to be. I am....Harangus...someone who is a successful senator and military guy, very wealthy, but not at all into money or status because I love Stoicism and studying ancient philosophy. Woop-woop! And my suggested costume?: a toga with purple trim.
I love birthdays and fun dinner parties.
TOGA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Of Sea Salt
Pour me back in the bottle, where the sea meets the sun
Where the bones and their rattle don’t mean anything to no one
I had a swing when my salt was my own
I’d my teeth bared for battle, til love’s loss made me dull,
It made me dull
--from “Teeth” by Lisa Hannigan
I changed my blog title to “Sea Salt” because of this song. I guess thematically, the lyrics don’t necessarily reflect my current situation except for sea images and references. But this song made me think about my own salt. No one really refers to themselves—their self-ownership or self-organism—as their own salt. But I like it. We’re referenced as the salt of the earth, so it’s totally relevant.
It’s funny that I ended up here. Of all the places I’d hoped I would go—(anywhere in Africa or the Middle East, perhaps Eastern Europe,) I landed on a Pacific island. And not only that, but one of the two Pacific islands that still has a strong cultural ownership. A country with beautiful scenery that—if you ignore houses and livestock in the road—doesn’t seem third world.
Other Peace Corps Volunteers around the world call us the Beach Corps, which seems reasonable but is also a bit too judgmental for me. And of all the beautiful creations on this earth, the beach is probably what I appreciate the least. I hold a great respect for the sea. It scares me to no end—all those mysteries hidden in the deep, bluey hues. But mountains, careening hills, luscious valleys and vast farms—that’s my happy place. Cold weather? Love it (along with boots, winter jackets, sweaters, scarves, fun stocking caps, ice skating, the holidays, etc.) And I’m nearing one year of completed service with an intense sunburn, coconut and mango trees in my yard, and two thin “sweatshirts” in my closet. (For those cold nights of 60 degrees.)
So instead of pining for the relief of a hot coffee mug to toast my frozen hands, I’ve decided to own this idea of my own salt. And what better metaphor than the sea—that depthless, scary, and intimidatingly beautiful symbol—to pair it with finding more parts of myself.
It’s really helped me develop my feelings of the sea to more than just respect. I’m fond of it now. The sound, the feel of when it hits the reef and forms pearls around my calves. The hastiness of the rising tide, the little mysteries (like sea cucumbers, crabs, soggy diapers, etc.) that drift to shore. The uplifting sea breeze that makes me take a large, relaxing deep breath to offer every ounce of worry, frustration, anxiety, stress, self-doubt to that roaring hush of air and sea.
I don’t feel at home in the sea—I’m not a huge swimmer and often feel uneasy to be among depths I can’t touch—but I feel cozy and at home in my own skin as I witness all the power in each wavey punch or in every little ripple along the surface. It’s a nice little spiritual haven.
**Thought I'd mix up the posts a bit. :)
Where the bones and their rattle don’t mean anything to no one
I had a swing when my salt was my own
I’d my teeth bared for battle, til love’s loss made me dull,
It made me dull
--from “Teeth” by Lisa Hannigan
I changed my blog title to “Sea Salt” because of this song. I guess thematically, the lyrics don’t necessarily reflect my current situation except for sea images and references. But this song made me think about my own salt. No one really refers to themselves—their self-ownership or self-organism—as their own salt. But I like it. We’re referenced as the salt of the earth, so it’s totally relevant.
It’s funny that I ended up here. Of all the places I’d hoped I would go—(anywhere in Africa or the Middle East, perhaps Eastern Europe,) I landed on a Pacific island. And not only that, but one of the two Pacific islands that still has a strong cultural ownership. A country with beautiful scenery that—if you ignore houses and livestock in the road—doesn’t seem third world.
Other Peace Corps Volunteers around the world call us the Beach Corps, which seems reasonable but is also a bit too judgmental for me. And of all the beautiful creations on this earth, the beach is probably what I appreciate the least. I hold a great respect for the sea. It scares me to no end—all those mysteries hidden in the deep, bluey hues. But mountains, careening hills, luscious valleys and vast farms—that’s my happy place. Cold weather? Love it (along with boots, winter jackets, sweaters, scarves, fun stocking caps, ice skating, the holidays, etc.) And I’m nearing one year of completed service with an intense sunburn, coconut and mango trees in my yard, and two thin “sweatshirts” in my closet. (For those cold nights of 60 degrees.)
So instead of pining for the relief of a hot coffee mug to toast my frozen hands, I’ve decided to own this idea of my own salt. And what better metaphor than the sea—that depthless, scary, and intimidatingly beautiful symbol—to pair it with finding more parts of myself.
It’s really helped me develop my feelings of the sea to more than just respect. I’m fond of it now. The sound, the feel of when it hits the reef and forms pearls around my calves. The hastiness of the rising tide, the little mysteries (like sea cucumbers, crabs, soggy diapers, etc.) that drift to shore. The uplifting sea breeze that makes me take a large, relaxing deep breath to offer every ounce of worry, frustration, anxiety, stress, self-doubt to that roaring hush of air and sea.
I don’t feel at home in the sea—I’m not a huge swimmer and often feel uneasy to be among depths I can’t touch—but I feel cozy and at home in my own skin as I witness all the power in each wavey punch or in every little ripple along the surface. It’s a nice little spiritual haven.
**Thought I'd mix up the posts a bit. :)
Sunday, September 25, 2011
A Burr Day (written and illustrated Friday)
I just pulled a burr out of my left butt-cheek.
Symbolically, that would sum up the entirety of my day. Funnily enough, it actually happened. (Stupid long skirts and their magnetism to spiky plants!)
So instead of calling this day a down day, a low day, a slump, I’ll refer to it as a Burr Day.
1. It makes me think of Brrrrr! Winter! which I cannot wait to experience in less than 3 months!
2. It makes me smile.
3. It could totally work as a declaration of frustration.
4. It reminds me of the 7 dwarfs in Snow White when they wash up for dinner and with each scrub say, “BURR, BURR, BURR!”
5. Burrs are a pain in the arse, literally and figuratively.
6. I’m always looking for some type of euphemism to mask stress, anger, sadness, etc. It’s part of my own personal rejuvenation program.
So I’ve worked for TFHA (Tonga Family Health Association) for nearly three months now; most of the work has consisted of Camp GLOW duties (which, on bad days, I refer to as Camp WOGL, as it makes me giggle.) In this time I’ve invested for the camp and probably because of all my running-around-busy-ness, I’ve been given little instruction and communication for my role at TFHA, so have only used my time to work on GLOW, start a little preparation for other projects, etc. Today I discovered that this is no bueno. In a nutshell, there are some characteristic differences between my boss and I which mainly stream from lack of communication and my entire lack of knowledge in the world of NGOs, among other things that will remain unmentioned.
Oh, NGOs.
Once I switched from working 4 hours a day as a teacher (along with random other tiny projects that required some time,) I landed in a speedboat in a vast sea of NGO competitors. “Don’t talk to this person, he’ll only use you to his advantage.” “She is a great resource, but her boss is a tyrant.” “Never use this NGO, they hate your NGO.” Yada yada yada.
I feel like everywhere I turn, the Soup Nazi (Seinfeld reference) is raising his taunting ladle and yelling, “NO SOUP FORRRjYOOOOO!”
My recent blog entries were entitled some reference to Big Girl pants, and let me tell you, people, big girl pants are Mom Jeans. They’re ill-fitting, make my butt look oddly misshapen, and hit my waist at an unknown level of discomfort. Somewhere in that sentence there’s a metaphor for my feelings.
I suppose on this Burr Day, I realized some things.
My patience has astoundingly improved
• I will forever be tender-hearted
• My blood pressure significantly rises when I’m angry (It was medically proven today!)
• I have a lot more responsibility than I prepared for (which is good, just testy)
• My time for secondary projects will now be severely limited
• The Peace Corps staff/my Program Manager really takes care of me. She’s a rock star.
• I’m getting more assertive (which is great…usually I stammer in conflict and say ‘It’s fine.’)
• The place on my lip may not be a boil...
• but I could have lice :/
BURR. Day.
Symbolically, that would sum up the entirety of my day. Funnily enough, it actually happened. (Stupid long skirts and their magnetism to spiky plants!)
So instead of calling this day a down day, a low day, a slump, I’ll refer to it as a Burr Day.
1. It makes me think of Brrrrr! Winter! which I cannot wait to experience in less than 3 months!
2. It makes me smile.
3. It could totally work as a declaration of frustration.
4. It reminds me of the 7 dwarfs in Snow White when they wash up for dinner and with each scrub say, “BURR, BURR, BURR!”
5. Burrs are a pain in the arse, literally and figuratively.
6. I’m always looking for some type of euphemism to mask stress, anger, sadness, etc. It’s part of my own personal rejuvenation program.
So I’ve worked for TFHA (Tonga Family Health Association) for nearly three months now; most of the work has consisted of Camp GLOW duties (which, on bad days, I refer to as Camp WOGL, as it makes me giggle.) In this time I’ve invested for the camp and probably because of all my running-around-busy-ness, I’ve been given little instruction and communication for my role at TFHA, so have only used my time to work on GLOW, start a little preparation for other projects, etc. Today I discovered that this is no bueno. In a nutshell, there are some characteristic differences between my boss and I which mainly stream from lack of communication and my entire lack of knowledge in the world of NGOs, among other things that will remain unmentioned.
Oh, NGOs.
Once I switched from working 4 hours a day as a teacher (along with random other tiny projects that required some time,) I landed in a speedboat in a vast sea of NGO competitors. “Don’t talk to this person, he’ll only use you to his advantage.” “She is a great resource, but her boss is a tyrant.” “Never use this NGO, they hate your NGO.” Yada yada yada.
I feel like everywhere I turn, the Soup Nazi (Seinfeld reference) is raising his taunting ladle and yelling, “NO SOUP FORRRjYOOOOO!”
My recent blog entries were entitled some reference to Big Girl pants, and let me tell you, people, big girl pants are Mom Jeans. They’re ill-fitting, make my butt look oddly misshapen, and hit my waist at an unknown level of discomfort. Somewhere in that sentence there’s a metaphor for my feelings.
I suppose on this Burr Day, I realized some things.
My patience has astoundingly improved
• I will forever be tender-hearted
• My blood pressure significantly rises when I’m angry (It was medically proven today!)
• I have a lot more responsibility than I prepared for (which is good, just testy)
• My time for secondary projects will now be severely limited
• The Peace Corps staff/my Program Manager really takes care of me. She’s a rock star.
• I’m getting more assertive (which is great…usually I stammer in conflict and say ‘It’s fine.’)
• The place on my lip may not be a boil...
• but I could have lice :/
BURR. Day.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Big Girl Pants, Continued
With the new side of democracy in Tonga’s government, it is possible for a woman to be the Prime Minister. There have been 4 women in Parliament over the last 4 decades, the current Minister of Education is a woman, there are female lawyers and doctors, female principals, female ministers, etc.
In the grand scheme of things, women are much more limited in other parts of the world.
But in the last couple of years, more husbands have killed their wives, women still cannot own land, women are being out-maneuvered on the political spectrum because only men are allowed at specific social interactions that would attract a large political support network (i.e. kava circles), and in other islands like Ha’apai, ‘Eua, outer islands in Vava’u, and the Niua’s, most women have little to no job opportunities. Not to say they’re unhappy doing domestic duties, but they have no other choice, either. In most cases, a victim of rape is blamed for being out too late, not listening to other advice, giving it up too easily, or wearing “suggestive clothing.”
Sound familiar?
Tonga’s patriarchal history is definitely more current and active than what most of you guys are accustomed to, but it’s not other-worldly. If nothing else, it shows how closely connected Tonga is to the Western world. And all over the world, there is unequal treatment based on gender.
(Enter Camp GLOW.)
We’re not expecting women to own land or be elected Prime Minister anytime soon, but until then, we as PCVs are working to build up a foundation of empowering young women. These young women have little sisters, who can be taught the value of their gender, ideas, beliefs…and these young women will grow to be older women who feel comfortable in leadership positions within society, business, politics, the church, the home, and any other avenues of female empowerment.
Empowered by Educational Sessions:
This year in ‘Eua, the youngest of our group was very open and honest in a discussion about Domestic Abuse. When the core speaker asked the group about the forms of domestic abuse, the girl had answers enough to fill a whole page with bullet points. The speaker, about as baffled (but not quite) as I was, asked her if she made this up or had seen it. The girl had seen it. Experienced it. Done it, even (as far as physical abuse.) *I will make a note that Tonga is a very physical culture—punishment almost always involves a smack to the head, the bottom, the hands, legs, etc. So this girl wasn’t the only one who had physically disciplined her younger siblings.*
The core speaker for Women’s Health was absolutely thrilled by how many questions the girls asked. They broke out of their shells, ditched conservatism to the wind, and asked the speaker about menstruation, hormones, sex, necessary bathing rituals during menstruation, etc. (It’s a common myth that while on your period, you shouldn’t bathe or wash your hair in cold water.)
During the Anger Management session, the girls were wiping tears from whoops of laughter done by our most energetic speaker, a male advocate at Salvation Army. But between each bout of laughter was a serious self-evaluation, where the girls were taught to look inward at sources of anger rather than follow the norm and relieve steam through violence.
In Community Involvement/Creative Expression, campers and counselors alike were getting into character as palm trees breezing over a sunbather, or biscuits beside a cup of tea on a saucer. They learned how to walk like a model, dance hip-hop, and mold themselves by group into a car.
For community service, two groups happily shouted they wanted to pick up rubbish, while the other group wanted to make environmental awareness posters for the nearest primary school. And throughout the week—often without being asked—many girls offered to clean, sweep, organize, help carry equipment, etc. When a girl’s dad was sick, another comforted her. When Kimberly baked cookies, the girls were outstanding in showing appreciation; “Kimi—you—you made these for US? Diss…diss is so NICE!”
During the rotation of tie dye and painting the camp banner, each girl was individual in expressing what contribution she wanted to make; they drew stars and Tongan flowers, they dyed with their own color scheme, they asked for help, but they wanted to be different.
This, friends, is a good start.
So thank you for every word of support, every dollar you donated, and every opportunity you’ve helped to give these girls.
And I'm pretty sure the first female Prime Minister is a 15-year-old girl from 'Eua who looks like Lauryn Hill, acts like Michelle Obama, and has the mindset of Rosie the Riveter. Just sayin'.
Putting on Our Big-Girl Pants…well, Skirts…Long Ones
A Breakdown (wika-wika!) of Camp GLOW ‘Eua 2011
Logistics:
• 12 campers (including 3 Junior Counselors)
• 3 counselors (2 from ‘Eua, one from Ha’apai)
• 4 PCVs (2 from ‘Eua, 1 from Tongatapu, 1 from Ha’apai)
• 1 truck driver named Peni who is the skinniest Tongan I’ve seen
• A smorgasbord of guest speakers who led sessions
Sessions:
• Domestic Abuse
• HIV/AIDS
• Women’s Rights
• Sexual Assault
• Women’s Health
• Anger Management
• Drug/Alcohol Abuse
• Critical Thinking
• Decision-Making
• Model Mamas (a job shadow program)
• Budgeting and Savings
• Goals and Motivations
• Community Involvement and Creative Expression
• Self Defense
• Tie-Dye!
• Tons of games
• First Aid
• Sports
• Camp Fire
• 2 Movie Nights
• Hip Hop (dance)
• Environmental Protection
• Pampering Night (with nail polish, ice cream, and giggles)
Feitu’u (place)
• A college in ‘Eua
• Girls’ dorms were upstairs, counselors slept in the room with the girls
• PCVs slept downstairs, in the room with all the equipment (bodyguards!!!)
Me’akai (Food)
• A woman’s group from ‘Ohonua, ‘Eua’s capital, was our amazing caterer who provided balanced meals and lemongrass tea that tasted like Fruit Loops!
• With leftover fundage and donations from random people, we also provided an ice cream night, two baked-goods nights, and 2 nights of noodles before bed.
(more commentary to be added later!)
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sprinting to a Stop
Malo 'e lelei, dear friends!
It is Tuesday, September 20th, which means....
-Camp GLOW is finished!
-I am tired!
-I flew back yesterday morning
-I just ate the most disappointing Twix of my life
-My toilet was a black pool of mosquitoes
-I get to sleep in a real bed again!
-Our amazing Country Director, Kelly, leaves Friday for her new job :(
-We had a going away party for her last night...which was classic.
-In the last 2 1/2 weeks, I've had 2 conscious hours to myself. (Even in 'Eua, I usually shared a makeshift bed/pile of blankets.)
-I can start working on other projects now. :)
-I cut 10 inches off my hair! (I'mmmmm freeeeee, as free as the wind blooowwwsss)
-Two good PCV friends are leaving in 2-3 weeks (wah wah wah)
and........
-I'll be home for Christmas in 12 weeks!!! (WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!)
So there is the life update. More to come soon, including:
-Camp GLOW shenanigans
-A thoughtful expose on airplanes here in Tonga
Warm blessings, wishes, and cheers your way!
Jamie O
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Pig-Tailed Robots
In celebration of my reunion with 'Eua (my first host-island), I decided to dedicate this sketch and entry to my students. (Also, I won't get to post for a while, hence the blog-post-overload.)
Most of my memories of Houma are with my 16 students, our jokes, stories, classes, library time, village adventures, bush-road runs, guava-picking etc.
But I'll never forget day one, when I was wide-eyed, shell-shocked, and completely overwhelmed with the thought that I would have to figure out a way to TEACH. And not only teach, but SPEAK with these students. Plan lessons for them. Have conversations.
But I think the kicker of it all--the comic, relief, even, was my principal's introduction on that first day of school. She wasn't very confident in English, but they had routine morning introdutions, in which she would greet the class good morning, ask the days of the week and the months of the year, etc.
So she said hello as I awkwardly stood by the door with 60+ eyes on me.
"Goot mor-ning, closs."
and with complete robot efficiency--the same monotone with all 32 students-- they replied,
"GOOD MOR-NING-TEA-CHER"
"how ah you dis morning?"
"WE-AH-FINE-THANK-YOU-HOW-ARE-YOU"
I couldn't hold it in, I began in this bubbly nonsense of giggles, even through the Lord's prayer, through my own introduction... I couldn't stand it! These cute-- no, adorable, broken-English-speaking kids said, with perfect pronunciation, basic greetings, etc. And it was SO formulaic!
So in the next 6 months I taught, we worked on phrases like "I am great! I am sad. I am awesome! I am excellent! I am mad. I am terrible! I am good. I am fine. I am wonderful!"
Of course, most of the sentences came out "I awesome!" or "I is....fine!" Or perhaps, "YOU ARE TERRIBLE!" (that was my smart and oldest student, who loved poking fun at me.)
Anyway, the visit awaits my little pig-tailed robots, and I can't wait to see them!
Most of my memories of Houma are with my 16 students, our jokes, stories, classes, library time, village adventures, bush-road runs, guava-picking etc.
But I'll never forget day one, when I was wide-eyed, shell-shocked, and completely overwhelmed with the thought that I would have to figure out a way to TEACH. And not only teach, but SPEAK with these students. Plan lessons for them. Have conversations.
But I think the kicker of it all--the comic, relief, even, was my principal's introduction on that first day of school. She wasn't very confident in English, but they had routine morning introdutions, in which she would greet the class good morning, ask the days of the week and the months of the year, etc.
So she said hello as I awkwardly stood by the door with 60+ eyes on me.
"Goot mor-ning, closs."
and with complete robot efficiency--the same monotone with all 32 students-- they replied,
"GOOD MOR-NING-TEA-CHER"
"how ah you dis morning?"
"WE-AH-FINE-THANK-YOU-HOW-ARE-YOU"
I couldn't hold it in, I began in this bubbly nonsense of giggles, even through the Lord's prayer, through my own introduction... I couldn't stand it! These cute-- no, adorable, broken-English-speaking kids said, with perfect pronunciation, basic greetings, etc. And it was SO formulaic!
So in the next 6 months I taught, we worked on phrases like "I am great! I am sad. I am awesome! I am excellent! I am mad. I am terrible! I am good. I am fine. I am wonderful!"
Of course, most of the sentences came out "I awesome!" or "I is....fine!" Or perhaps, "YOU ARE TERRIBLE!" (that was my smart and oldest student, who loved poking fun at me.)
Anyway, the visit awaits my little pig-tailed robots, and I can't wait to see them!
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