Vosoti Au!

Ok, first and foremost: Vosoti Au! I apologize for waiting two full months to update you all on my life here in Fiji!

As you know from my last entry (and from the brief update that my sister, Risa, so kindly posted on my behalf last month), I am now living in the Fijian village... my home for the next two years.

LOCATION

So, my beachside village is located about 2 hours West of Savusavu Town by bus (see the map below for a visual) along the Hibiscus Highway (which is essentially a bumpy and unpaved dirt road). The community is barely identifiable from the main road (which is densely lined by vei kau, tropical jungle that Fijians refer to as “the bush”), and the only way you can tell its there at all is by the ladies who sell pie (Fijian pie, which is kind of like a huge, pizza sized cookie with a thin layer of custard on top) in the mornings to the passing buses.

THE VILLAGERS

My village has a very small population (only 102 residents and 22 houses—16 houses if you don’t count those along the main road to town). Most of the community lives in extended family households. I essentially have two families in the village.

The first family (i.e. the one that has essentially adopted me), for example, lives in a large, three bedroom, one large common space, one dining room (with sink), one toilet, house with a separate tin structure for cooking and a separate, outdoor, shower stall. The heads of the family are two siblings: Jona, an unmarried man (36 yrs old) and Tema, his widower sister (49). The rest of the household consists of Tema’s children (there are 9!) and grandchildren. There is Semi (M 27), Apimeleki “Papa” (M 25—whose wife, and my best friend in the village, Mereani Seselia (F 26) stays in their one-room tin house next door to Tema’s while Papa lives and works on an offshore island), Jemimi (F 23) with her husband Osea (M 26) and their two kids Asesela (M 2) and Tema (F 1), Taraivosa “Manu” (F 21), Siteri (F 19), Miliana (F 18—who lives in town and works as a “housegirl”), Jona (M 15), Alumita (F 11), and Losana (F 10). Don’t ask me about the sleeping arrangements because I still don’t know how they all fit into those three rooms!

Jeimimi and small Tema

Siteri, Asesela and Losana

Ika Lolo kei Tavioka (Fish in Coconut Milk with Cassava)

LIFE IN A SMALL VILLAGE

Anyway, living in such a small community certainly has its advantages. It’s been easier to learn names (although I don’t pretend to know them all yet); I usually know where people are and what’s going on each day (my house, being across from the church house and therefore right in the center of the village, is conveniently located so that almost everyone walks by it at least once a day); and in terms of work, if there’s a meeting I want to hold or an idea I start talking about, word travels and the village organizes itself pretty fast (this is dissimilar to other Fijian communities my Peace Corps friends work in). I cannot stress how thankful I am for this last point.

My second family is that of the Peace Corps appointed ICCP (Initial Community Contact Person), Sereanna. She is both the Nasi Ni Koro (village Health Worker), and the daughter-in-law of the village Chief. Sereanna and her husband, Sepesa, live in the Chief’s house (along with the Chief’s wife, and two of his other grown children, their spouses, and grandchildren galore). Sereanna’s relationship with the Chief makes him unusually accessible to me considering the formality of his traditional position. In fact, from time to time I simply walk over to Sereanna’s house (approximately 40 steps away from my own), poke my head in to say hello, and before I know it I’ve had an hour long conversation with the Chief about the village’s history, areas of concern, and my ideas for future work.

However, as you can probably guess, in a small community like mine there are disadvantages, too. When we had a death in the village about a month ago, for example, it was not only one household that was in mourning, but every household (as most everybody in my village is related in some way or another).

Also, even though there is no such thing as secret keeping in a Fijian village (no matter which one), I am certain that nobody’s business is everyone’s business quite like in my own village. During my first few days here I inspired so much curiosity that children would hang around my balcony in the tens and twenties just to stare at me though the front door while I went about my settling in routine. At night when I could finally close my door and draw my curtains without appearing “rude,” I often heard whispered conversations like, “what’s she doing now?” ... “sitting at the table” ... “doing what?” ... “reading [or whatever I was doing]” ...

The usual crowd of children coming through my veranda gate

Older, primary school aged kids

Me and some friends

More congregating around my veranda

Although by now they’ve toned down on the obvious peeping, there are still many times I am surprised to learn how clearly my fellow community members have taken note of even my most insignificant actions. After I unfortunately suffered a sudden and rather severe case of food poisoning in the night last week, I was surprised and amused to overhear a neighbor of mine telling another that she had seen my light on at 4am. What she was doing awake at that hour is quite unbeknownst to me.

Anyway, I digress...

MY HOUSE

As I mentioned earlier, my house is right in the center of the village. It lies along the village path to the main road, and across the path is my big family’s house (see above), the large church house, and the church lawn. If I stand outside my front door and look to the left, I can see the ocean through a row of four houses, and if I look to the right I can see the village path, sparsely dotted with houses on either side, disappearing down a slight hill towards the main road. Above it and in the distance, is a palm tree and jungle covered mountaintop that is almost always shrouded in mist.

My ocean view!

My house itself is very small. Although the villagers are constantly apologizing for the size, I find it quite cozy and comfortable since it’s only me living there alone. After all, there is a small veranda in the front, a sitting room / kitchen / dining room right when you walk inside, and through a second locking door is a very private bedroom with a connected bathroom (with separate shower and toilet stalls). From the bathroom there is one more door to the outside (a Peace Corps requirement as an extra safety measure), and this door is conveniently located for me to access my small yard that has a long laundry line (propped up by a piece of bamboo) and a homemade compost pit for my food scraps. I say this door is conveniently located because, if you may have notice from my short description here, I have no sink. Thus, I do all my washing under the waist-high, second spicket inside my shower stall. At first, this was a source of frustration for me as I never failed to emerge drenched in water after even a short laundry or dishwashing session, but I’ve since developed strategies like doing my cleaning over a basin to catch some of the splashing and tucking my floor-length skirt into my waistband while I do my cleaning.

View of the house upon entering the village (the tin portion is my bathroom)

View of Vale Ni San Diego from the front

(It's really bigger than it looks!)

The house is made of wood. It has a tin roof and a mix of cement and wooden floors. The floors of both main rooms are at least partially covered by large, traditionally woven Fijian mats (made from locally grown reeds called Voivoi). Right before I moved in the village also decided (because I’m a girl?) to paint the interior walls hot pink, so the house is certainly bright and cheery.... It’s light too. There are four windows in the kitchen room and seven in the bedroom (including two windows that look into the bathroom... the reason I’ve been told for this is that the supply of wood for my wall panels was running low during construction of the house). Together with three doorless doorways and a shower stall to deal with, I had an expensive, yet fun, experience having curtains sewn to cover them all properly (for the first few weeks it was sheets and towels pinned up all over the place). And most luckily of all, the house has solar lighting! This means that (with the exception of particularly rainy days), I can have lights inside the house whenever I need them. This is much more than I can say for most other Peace Corps Fiji volunteers who live with either 2-3 hours of village generator power each night, or else no power at all. However, solar lighting does not mean power, and I still have no at-home method for charging my cell phone or other electronics, let alone plugging in an appliance like a fan!

My Solar Panel (and my next door neighbor's panel too)

In the bedroom I have a raised double bed (which has inspired many fun question and answer sessions between myself and the village ladies... “how did you sleep last night?” ... “great thank you” ... “alone?” ...), a large bookshelf that the village carpenter made me (to hold all my Peace Corps books, art supplies, and toiletries), and two long pieces of bamboo nailed up in one corner as a make-shift hanging closet. Also in the bedroom is my locked, tin box, from the Peace Corps (elevated on cinder blocks so that it makes a great sitting bench), and there is still enough room for me to spread my yoga mat and exercise in the early mornings before it gets too hot.

The view upon entering my bedroom from the kitchen

My bed, hanging closet and storage space

My bookcase and the odd windows looking into my bathroom

COOKING/EATING

I cook on a two-burner, propane stove that turns on and off at the flick of a switch (no matches needed), and the village carpenter even built me two little shelves so I can cook standing up.

My kitchen

I also have a table and two stools in the main room for eating (when I’m alone) and working. Although whenever I have Fijians over we sit on the floor... I’m starting to think the table is getting in the way actually.

Although it has taken some getting used to, I have finally managed to get the hang of storing and preserving food without a refrigerator (and in the presence of ants and mice). I have one locking wall cupboard where I keep all my non-perishable cooking sauces, condiments, canned food, pasta, coffee and teas, oatmeal/cereals, peanut butter, dried fruit (sultanas and dates) and nuts, dried soy products, and dried beans. Then there are two plastic food racks on which I store my tea-serving supplies [three empty peanut butter containers with powdered, full-cream, milk (for the Fijians), cane sugar, and plain breakfast crackers inside], fruit and vegetables purchased either in the open market during my weekly stocking up trips to Savusavu town or from a local family’s garden about a thirty minute walk from the village [most commonly I have Apples, Bananas, Bok Choy Chinese Cabbage, Long Beans, French Peas, Eggplants, Tomatoes, Cucumbers, Carrots, Bell Peppers, Pumpkin, Garlic, and Onions], and, of course, all my spices (which I buy in bags from the Indian shops in town and store in empty peanut butter containers).

Locking food cupboard, dish-rack, table/desk and doorway into my bedroom

Most days I have fruit and nuts for breakfast, boiled eggs or a protein powder shake for a snack, a large salad with boiled beans (chick peas or black beans) for lunch, and some cooked creation from my Peace Corps Fiji recipe book for dinner (like Pumpkin curry, vegetable soup, Eggplant lettuce wraps, Tuna and Ginger stirfry, etc). This, of course, is in addition to the Fijian food that my family sometimes sends over with a messenger child [usually consisting of a root crop, either Dalo (Taro Root) or Tavioka (Cassava), and some sort of seafood (boiled white fish or stingray or giant clam) cooked in Lolo (coconut milk) with Rourou (the green, spinach-like leaves of the Dalo plant).

An intense pumpkin curry session with Mareani

My first meal from scratch: Chili

(and I mean scratch, I even soaked the dried beans overnight and boiled them for hours!)

A meal brought over by my family: Kokda Vasua (the flesh of those huge white clam shells that people often buy and use as soap dishes cooked in ceviche style), Ika Lolo kei Rourou (white fish in coconut milk with boiled Dalo leaves), and Tavioka (steamed Cassava root).

Long story short: I’m eating pretty well here. However, this certainly does not mean that I am opposed to packages containing American foods from time to time...

MY DAILY ROUTINE

Living in the village has been great fun. The first two months have been a technically “work-free” time when my job has been to integrate, and that I have done my best to accomplish.

Every morning I wake up around 6am, turn off my porch light, and open the door for my cat (oh, did I mention that I got a kitten?! In my opinion, this is the only true solution to having rats in the house). When I’m feeling ambitious, I then drag my friend Mereani out of bed so we can go aqua jogging (running in the waist deep high tide waters). Otherwise I try to spend an hour doing strength training exercises inside the house. Many mornings, however, I creep back under my mosquito net after I’ve opened the door and sleep a little longer... Did I mention that I crack the door for my cat? I have a kitten! Not only is having a cat the best strategy for getting rid of the rats I’ve found since living here (and I have tried MANY different strategies in my first two months at site), but my kitten is adorable and great company in my little house. Her name is “S.K.” She’s named after a 19-year-old boy (Sekia Kumi, S.K. for short) from the village who begged me to name my cat after him. We pretend it stands for “Silent Killer,” but he knows the truth...

Me and my little S.K.

The real S.K.....My S.K.'s yaca (namesake)

When I actually do get up and out of bed, I take a cold shower, draw all the curtains, and have my cup of coffee while I read. Then, I usually spend the morning chatting with passers by (sometimes serving tea.... boiled lemon tree leaves with a few cloves thrown in makes a delicious brew), doing laundry, cleaning the house, working in the yard or on my makeshift pot-plant garden, or getting some reading and writing done.

Then, after a good hour of cooking lunch and another hour or so of eating and washing up I often take an afternoon nap (me and the rest of the village). If not, I walk down to the local primary school (along the beach at low tide), go out on a little paddle boat to fish the reef, visit some of the ladies and talenoa (chat/tell stories) while they weave, or I take my phone down to the shoreline (where I get service) and collect shells on the beach while I text my parents and Risa relentlessly until they finally give in and call me J .

On my way to the Koro Vuli (primary school)

Around 5pm I start to prepare dinner and shower one more time before it gets dark (at 6) and the water is too cold. After it’s dark out, I usually venture out to talenoa some more with my neighbors, watch movies (on my family’s generator-powered TV), or, oftentimes, drink Yaqona (the strained Kava root drink) for hours upon hours with my new friends.

Above describes my general daily doings about five days a week. The exceptions are my “town days” and Sundays.

RE-STOCKING IN TOWN and SUNDAYS

On the days I chose to travel to Savusavu town for re-stocking, I wake up around 5:30am and leave for the bus by 6:40am. I catch the 7:00am bus (any time between 6:45 and 8:00), and as long as there are no delays (such as engine failure or flat tires), I arrive in town between 9 and 10:00am.

In town I do whatever grocery shopping needs to be done at one of the four markets, stock up on household items such as cleaning supplies, see my Peace Corps friends (who live and work in town) for lunch (which usually consists of me binging on a huge container of cold yogurt from the “fancy” grocery store that carries imported goods... I miss refrigeration...). After lunch I talk to any government officials I need to advice from, visit the private doctor (I am almost always sick with something... such is the beauty of being a Peace Corps Volunteer), go to the open market to buy my vegetables, and then quickly buy a cold soda and a local newspaper before heading back to the bus stand to catch my 2pm bus (arriving back in the village just before dark).

It is always a long day in town, and I am very much looking forward to the rest of my service (after this week) when I am finally allowed to spend the night away from the village (with my friends in town). Then I might actually rest for a bit the evening (maybe even going to the internet café and updating my blog), before I have to catch the crowded bus back home to the village.

Sundays, of course, are also spent quite differently. Most of the day is spent doing pretty much nothing (as it is forbidden to do basically anything—even play cards or go for a jog) except eating, napping, and going to church.

THIS WEEK

This week will be very different, however, as I will be traveling to Suva, Fiji’s capital city, for an Early Service Training for my class of new Peace Corps volunteers (on technical training on topics of our choosing) and a one-day conference that every Peace Corps attends.

While I am on the main island, I have chosen to extend my stay (with the permission of my village’s Turaganikoro, sort of like the village Mayor) so that I can take the opportunity to meet with several government agencies and non-profit organizations (who all may be potential funding channels for my future projects) before I return to my community in two weeks time to officially “begin work.”

Next time, before returning to the village (I promise!) I’ll write an update about what this work might entail. I am starting to get very excited for much of it. But for now, it’s getting dark... Time to go and bring my laundry in, have my shower, cook my dinner, and drink some Yaqona (as a sort of farewell/safe travels party).

So, Moce Va’a Lailai (goodbye for a little).

Yours Truly,

Milika