This is a video I made for our non-profit VEPA, the Vava'u Environmental Protection Association. It's just some footage from a small costal clean up we held in a village called 'Utungake. You can find more information about our projects on our website.

I've taken so much video footage here in Tonga that I haven't looked at, edited, and posted.....and I'm now realizing that could be a pretty great way to share my experiences. So hopefully I'll get my act together, and put some neat little videos up here soon.Thanks for checking my blogs.

peace & love,

sas

I’m no genius with these sorts of things, but my guess, based on what little basic economic theory I know, is that if it cost people a mere 25 cents to knock on my door, my constant stream of requests and disruptions would be cut in half. I don’t think people count to three (let alone ten), before yelling my name and pounding the side of my house for every tiny little thing.“Siosi do you have a knife” “Siosi do you have a can opener” “Siosi the internet is off…..oh wait no it’s just slow” Every time someone yells over, my dog starts frantically barking, and I jump out of my hammock to find a sarong and t-shirt I can throw on and cover any revealed skin with (so I stay culturally appropriate). There’s no use ignoring them or waiting till they go away. I’ve tried to pretend to be asleep, sick, or out of the house, but usually the person will stand outside my window for at least 5 minutes just repeating “Siosi, siosi, siosi….” till it becomes unbearable. My “hours for business” never seem to close. Teachers start coming to my house on the school property at 7:30 am, and high school students leave the computer center at 10:30 pm. Any time between is considered fair game. And really there are requests that border on ridiculous.“Siosi, can you write my speech for me”“Siosi, can you give me some of your cold water” (the rain tank outside has luke warm water)“Siosi, can I borrow your ipod?”And the all time winner is the girl who comes over (quite regularly now) and asks “Siosi can I use your bathroom” (she’ll stay in there for 20-30 minutes….)Let me clarify that I completely don’t mind opening my doors to correct a homework assignment, fix a broken computer, or translate a form. These are the types of things that I enjoy and expect to help people with. They use my skills and align with reasons I came here. But knocks on my door to use my phone credit or take my nail polish are another story. It was slightly comical yesterday when the Internet really did cut out at the computer center, and I spent over an hour trying to call the company and reboot the service (which we pay for). Eventually, after several calls that weren’t answered, I biked over to the house of a local guy who works for the Internet company. I explained the problem, and he said he’d stop by in two hours. Eventually he came to take a look, and fiddle with a few settings. He couldn’t find anything wrong so he just pressed the ‘restart’ button on the main computer…and tadaa! Everything was working again.“Thank you so much!” I told him several times “It said ‘connected’ and I couldn’t figure out why none of the website would load.”He smiled mischievously as he turned around before walking out the door and asked, “I guess you don’t have any money to pay me with….do you?” It was a test of Siosi's patience. Thankfully I haven't lost it.... yet.

“Splaaat!” goes the mango seed as I hurl it into the bushes. I’m surrounded by a treasure’s worth of these delicious little fruits. When Cyclone Rene hit Tonga last week, it shook the trees silly, and now the ground is literally covered. Round, oval, big, small, green, yellow, red, orange…. I’ve been told there are 5 different types of mangoes on the island, and they come in all shapes and sizes. My belly is full and the juice is already dribbling down my face and shirt, but I can’t stop eating these sweet and tart treats. Susana, an 11 year old from my village, has loaded up her shirt with as many fruits as she can fit to bring along. We walk to the beach and see that it’s low tide. “We should have brought a net” My friend Ha mumbles. She loves collecting creatures from the sea. I follow her in the water down a path of sand through the coral. I wish I knew the names of all the different invertebrates we see crawling around. Susana picks up a sea slug and it squirts out a long thin slimy liquid. An 8 year old boy named Isi comes running up behind us with a purple and black sea urchin. “These are delicious” Ha explains as we watch Isis beat the urchin with a rock and pull off the outer layer of white spikes. He disposes of the brown guts inside and reveals a few slivers of orange slime that he dips his finger in and puts to his lips. All the kids share a taste. We keep walking. Ha wants to find “moule o ne”, a grey sea hare with magnificent purple ink that spills out when you cut it open. She eats the white egg inside, and tells me the black egg is “kona”, poison. Her knowledge of the sea is precious, and has been passed down for generations. She picks out some heavy big rocks that I help her lift to see what’s underneath. Crabs scurry into hiding, and a splash of water spurts up as an eel quickly slinks away. She doesn’t find any more moule o ne.We make it to the other shore and start back towards the village, stopping a few more times to pick up mangoes. “I love acting like a kid” Ha tells me. She’s turning 21 on Thursday. “Me too” I laugh, “I think that’s why we’re friends”. We’ve arrived in the village and I’m thinking out loud. “Man, this has been a great day” I have to say. Ha turns around with a smile and says in perfect English, “Just another day in paradise.”

Ene- tickle

Io- yes

One day a man was walking along and met a witch. The witch’s mouth was clamped shut. “Open your mouth!” he demanded. But she refused. “Open!” he asked again. But she didn’t peep a word. The man wasn’t one to give up, so he decided to try and tickle her. Sure enough the witch couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her mouth cracked open and a flood of water came gushing out. ‘Eneio has been there ever since.

Just down the road from my house: Eneio beach

In Tonga the word “fakahingoa” means to give someone your name, and people quite frequently honor friends and family in this way when a baby is born. Still, I was very shocked and honored to hear that my co-teacher named his new son after me, “Siosiua”, which means Siosi 2. Siosi is my name in Tongan, and 2 is the number of years I will have helped at the school as a Peace Corps. Born on Feb 10th 2010, I’m proud and excited to introduce Siosiua to the world.

“Can you bring these gifts to my uncle in Salt Lake?” Siliote asked me the day before my flight home for Christmas.“I’m sorry I’m going to California” I explained, “It’s very far from Utah”

“Oh” she replied disappointed.

“Kind of like Tonga and Fiji….I would have to take a plane”

Tonga is a country where everybody seems to know everybody with 2 degrees of separation or less. Villages consist of a few key extended families, and often as soon as you hear someone’s last name, you can usually find out a lot about them.

My journey home for the holidays was like a return to another world. I could have sat in LAX people watching for hours; mesmerized by all the strangers, and the eclectic mix of cultures busily bustling around. The human traffic at the airport felt bigger than the entire population of my island (Vava’u only has 20,000 people).

But as soon as the car came honking to pick me up, I was swept right back into my old life. It was so wonderful to be with friends and family again! It wasn’t really until my last week home that I felt how disoriented I was wandering out of my island bubble. As I sat in my old bedroom, for a split second it felt like my life in Tonga wasn’t real.

It was a bit far to visit Siliote’s uncle in Salt Lake, so instead I went to see a couple of families related to my village living in N. California. My student’s brother lives in Palo Alto and my home stay family’s daughter and son live in San Mateo. It was absolutely wonderful to meet them. Seeing these extended family members transported me right back to my island again. Here we were miles away from Tonga, but so much of the culture stayed the same. The family immediately wrapped me up in warm welcomes, and I went right back into babbling away in Tongan, sharing laughs and smiles.

It’s reassuring to remember that America, land of immigrants, has pockets of Tongan communities I will be able to stay connected with in the future. These two years don’t make up some solitary experience that will just end when I leave. Rather, I will forever communicate with the families and friends I have come to know so well out here, and no matter where the next adventure takes me Tonga will always be a part of my life.

See if you can find “where’s waldo”…I’ve never claimed to be much of a dancer.

Check out the website I made at www.vavauenvironment.org for the non-profit environmental conservation group we started in Vava'u. Malo!

That's the gist of the song I've been teaching children as I bitterly walk through sheets of water and mountains of mud. Okay, okay I'm kinda joking...but I had to survive 4 years in Seattle (love the city, hate the weather) and I'm pretty sure I have something like seasonal affective disorder.

Tropical rain on my house sounds like a military ambush of bullets pelting down on my tin roof. It pretty much means days spent locked away, frustrated. That said, my village has been very excited....everyone is going to swim in the sea because they don't have to worry about beating down sun and afterwards they can just stand in the rain for a shower. So, I guess I won't mope too much....as the old saying goes "laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone".

picking mangoes

painting indoors

“I’m closing the computer center when school ends” my principal informs me, “What do you think?”

“Hmmm” I respond hesitantly, “I think a lot of the youth will want to use it during the Christmas holidays. Plus it can make a lot of money for the school.”

She’s still frowning and shaking her head “The youth are getting in trouble with these computers. They are looking at immoral sites.”

“Really?” I ask her, surprised and concerned “What have they been doing?!”

She lowers her voice and explains quite seriously. “They are all on Bebo*, looking for girlfriends and boyfriends. It’s not appropriate!”

Gender relationships are dramatically different in Tonga. Young males and females are held to strict separation except for culturally acceptable settings like a kava circle of men with a female toa (server), or a hula hula dance (supervised by the rest of the family). Traditional stringent religious codes have meant conversation between the two sexes is limited before marriage, and there isn’t “dating” like we have in the States (arranged marriage is still quite common). Yet recent technological advances, such as the widespread availability of cell phones, have changed this dating landscape by allowing for potential love interests to write each other in secretive texts. Now, with the arrival of Internet, regulating a young dating scene is becoming more and more impossible.

As much as I can empathize with my principal’s efforts at maintaining traditional Tongan morals and ideals, her attempts to stop these changes may be futile. The truth is that globalization has seeped into Tonga, and it’s affecting lifestyles for better and for worse. I want to explain to her that these youth will find the Internet whether it’s in our village or not, and we can’t simply try and avoid or deny the reality of some underlying issues here. But I stop and question whether it’s my place. The Internet is still so new for my community, and perhaps even overwhelming for people in the village who have never used a computer before. So for now maybe we need to slow things down.

“Sure you can close it” I tell her. “Will deal with it in the New Year.”

*Bebo is a social networking site like Facebook or Myspace

I was six when

Mama was careless

She sent me to school

alone

five days a week

One day I was

kidnapped by a band

of Western philosophers

armed with glossy-pictured

textbooks and

registered reputations

'Holder of B.A.

and M.A. degrees'

I was held

in a classroom

guarded by Churchill and Garibaldi

pinned-up on one wall

and Hitler and Mao dictating

from the other

Guevara pointed a revolution at my brains

from his 'Guerilla Warfare'

Each three-month term

they sent threats to

my Mama and Papa

Mama and Papa loved

their son and

paid ransom fees each time

Mama and Papa grew

poorer and poorer

and my kidnappers grew

richer and richer

I grew whiter and whiter

On my release

fifteen years after

I was handed

(among loud applause

from fellow victims)

a piece of paper

to decorate my walls

certifying my release.

by Ruperake Petaia (Blue Rain, U.S.P. Centre, Western Samoa and Mana Publications, 1980.)

I read this powerful poem while tutoring a girl preparing for her HS exams. I found it thought provoking and incredibly relevant to my delicate role teaching English and doing development work in a remote Tongan village. At times I can become frustrated and narrow-minded when things work differently in Tonga, but this poem is a reminder that I'm absolutely not here to shove around my Western way. Tonga has an incredibly unique culture and way of life, and I respect they way Tongans have held on to their traditions and instilled an unshakeable Tongan pride in their children.

“Baha’i is a religion for our time” my neighbor explains. I am watching one of the Baha’i village information sessions where members of the community have come to her house to ask questions about the faith. A year ago I had never heard of the Baha’i religion, but since living next door to such avid followers, I’m becoming quite the expert. I’m happy to see people in attendance at the information session because (as is the case worldwide) there are a lot of misconceptions about the Baha’i faith that have resulted in my neighbors experiencing prejudice and segregation in the village. So they’ve put out an open invitation for members of the community to come share freshly baked brownies while learning about this relatively new religion. I don’t want to miss out (particularly as it involves my neighbor’s delicious baked goods).

To provide a setting for all of this, let me give a brief picture of religion in Tonga. Christianity is ubiquitous. Prayers occur before meals, school, meetings, and sporting events. Everyday my village starts with church at 5 am, and finishes in the evening with more sermons and singing practice. Big tall ripped Tongan men give speeches at feasts with tears streaming down their cheeks as they thank Jesus. Sundays are completely shut down with no stores open, no planes flying, and no exercise or work of any kind allowed. If you ask around, 99.99% of Tongans will tell you they believe in God (whether each and every Tongan is truly committed to these spiritual beliefs is a whole different essay, but we won’t open Pandora’s box on that one….)

My neighbor tells her visitors that the Baha’i believe in God, and the faith isn’t contrary to Christianity, but rather incorporates it (along with Islam, Judaism, etc…). Baha’i’s describe themselves as unifiers of all faiths. They believe there were many prophets including Adam, Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammed, all of whom have been succeeded by Baha'ullah, the founder of Baha'i. My neighbor gives more details of the Baha’i religion, but what I find most interesting is her focus on the religion’s function as a vehicle for social restructuring. For example she emphasizes that men and women are treated equally, and have equal responsibility in the house. Customarily Tongan household duties belong completely to the women who cook, clean, wash and raise babies, but the Baha’i faith re-arranges this differently with men taking over some of those roles. Also she explains, Baha’i’s don’t have fancy churches or official ministers that are “higher up”. Most of Tonga is complete with complex hierarchies and levels of respect, with gifts and money showered on church buildings and church leaders (In fact it is common practice for churches to announce the donations made, and have families go into hundreds of dollars of debt to save face). The idea that Baha’i’s pray in their own houses, and don’t reveal their contributions to their religious institution catches the room’s attention. People seem to understand that the organization of the Baha’i faith radically differs from other religions in Tonga. I don’t think anyone had a sudden personal revelation that converted him/her on that very day, but it was exciting to hear an open-minded religious debate that challenged people’s views. Sometimes it feels like most members of my community don’t question why they act and believe as they do (much like the complacent thinking of most Americans), but this information session opened up some interesting new debates and ideas. I mean, it certainly gave me some food for thought…sitting there…eating a delicious gooey homebaked brownie…mmm…hmmm

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

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. The “little things” are extremely important. 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 cooking 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 keep my door open, stop by friends, and 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 tree, go to church, and leave my door open.

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.

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…

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 holding a random 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.

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. 

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.

- Instead of a hug or a kiss, Tongans great close friends with a sniff on the cheek

- Dried noodles (without seasoning) are a favorite snack.

- Hitchhiking is a main mode of transport (it’s pretty safe since everyone on the island knows each other)

- A sign of closeness is picking lice out of each other’s hair.

- Being called “fat” is quite a compliment.

- Eating with your hands is expected.

- Cardboard boxes are cut up for flashcards. Educational displays are made from egg cartons and toilet paper rolls.

- Teenage boys walk arm and arm.

- Cars are repaired with great ingenuity. A passenger’s seat is replaced with half a plastic chair. A screwdriver is used to start the engine instead of a key. And because my friend’s headlights were burned out, we drove down a jungle road guided by her turn signal.

- People yell hello to me from across the street and down the road

- Children still skip

- Laughter is everywhere

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit all this on paper, but before I left for my Peace Corps service I worried about some pretty silly things. One of my main concerns was the creepy crawlies I would encounter (giant spiders, rats, centipedes and the like). Next I thought about being dirty and sweaty all the time, living in run down conditions. And later, when I found out I was going to the Pacific Islands, I nervously read up all about dengue fever and hurricane winds. Meanwhile, every Peace Corps website and questionnaire I checked out referred to the challenges of cultural differences and the need for coping mechanisms. Feeling secure in my experiences (or at least well traveled) and emotionally stable, I didn’t bother much with these forms. I figured I could write in my journal, go for a run, or practice meditation when things got too tough…. But man, was I off. Because at the heart of what makes Peace Corps “the most challenging job you’ll ever love” are the endless cultural clashes. Forget the stupid roaches and insects, or the nights of howling wind and sheets of rain, because you learn to deal with those things real quick. What appears to be the actual struggle for all volunteers, whether in their first few months of service or their last, are the irreconcilable differences in values and opinions that cause an internal battle to negotiate a new identity.

“Culture” is an overused and underappreciated term. Usually people refer to it when discussing travel and their observations of a “different” culture. Living in America I didn’t spend much time examining my own “culture” and the incredible relevance it had for my everyday life. My culture consisted of norms like having endless choices of produce at the supermarket or assuming a certain amount of privacy in my home. However since stepping away from these routines and expectations, I’ve suddenly felt like I can’t be certain of anything anymore. The previous rules and guidelines I adhered to simply don’t apply, and even after an intensive 2 months of cultural training before living 3 months in my village, I’m still grasping in the dark for cultural understandings. There are such fundamental differences between the views of Tongans and Americans regarding everything from individuals and community, to the place of religion, and the hierarchy of respect that I’m constantly tiptoeing through the issues. So long as I still don’t fully understand the conventions of everyday life in Tonga, I find myself erring on the safe side, afraid I won’t pick up certain nuances. But it’s exhausting. Everyday, my energy is sucked up questioning my perception, my actions, and my identity here. As soon as I walk out my door, I’m responsible for a different code of conduct. And even as I’m trying my best, I’m finding uncertain footing.

It’s a lonely journey. I’m the only outsider trying to assimilate into this community. I will never “fit-in” in Tonga. It’s a very homogenous country, and I’m clearly not Tongan. I can stay here 2 years and try to abide by every cultural expectation, speak in perfect Tongan, learn the traditional dances and I will still just be the only tall white girl from America in my village. It isn’t my purpose to try and become Tongan for 2 years but I also didn’t come here to cling on to my American ways. So I face endless personal choices as to which aspects of the Tongan culture I chose to observe and which aspects of my American culture I hold on to.

I’ve been in Tonga 5 months and I’ve battled the rat in my house, kept cool when my students pointed out the giant spider crawling on my lesson plan, and swept away a whole country’s worth of cockroaches, but I haven’t won the fight for peace of mind by understanding my identity in this new culture. I’m lost as to how I’ll achieve that. I know I’ve worn out my previous weaponry, because going for a run or writing home is a temporary escape that doesn’t solve the issues. But I haven’t worn out my determination to be here, and continue to examine the ways in which I can purposefully live in this country. I’m being pushed to new boundaries, and I’m going to explore where it takes me. It’s proving to be the most challenging journey I’ve ever undertaken, but it’s providing me with a much wider perspective on life and my place in it.

Happy Holidays from Tonga! I know Christmas ended a few weeks ago (and most people tend to be Christmas-ed out by now) but I have this little video clip filled with so much cheer that I still really want to share.

Depicted: PCVs Amy(Group 73) & Jenny (Group 74)

I’ve been meaning to write, record, and show so much more, but the days have flown by and I haven’t given many (any?) updates. It’s been a whirlwind of change as I’ve gone from being a trainee to swearing-in as a volunteer. I’m finally starting to feel a bit more settled into my new site, and I feel like this really will be a home for the next 2 years. It’s wild to think that it was about this time last January when I applied to the Peace Corps, and now here I am, on the tiny island of Tonga of all places. I never expected I’d end up in the middle of the Pacific Ocean working as a teacher, but I truly believe everything is meant to be and it all works out in its own way (as hippy as that sounds, it’s my life philosophy…don’t laugh). So far the pieces have fallen together, and I’m in a place where I think I can be happy and I know I will grow and learn so much from. I’m ringing in the New Year in Tonga, with grand resolutions for what I hope to accomplish in 2009.

Peace Corps has laid out some very important and serious goals for volunteers in Tonga to complete during their service: These include everything from the longterm big scale objectives like creating mutual cultural understanding between Americans and Tongans, to the small(and still important improvements) like increasing resources at local schools. I plan on spending my next two years working full heartedly towards these goals to the best of my ability.

Of course while in the process, I also plan on having a lot of laughs and a ton of fun. So I've begun working on a list of "personal" goals that I hope to continue to fill with projects in the upcoming months.

In no particular order:

Goal # 394 Choreograph a Dance to the Tongan Techno Pop Hit "Falaite"

To be performed at a Mormon mixer.

Goal #472 Become a Street Pingpong Champion.

Yes Sander. I'm practicing.

Goal #121 Maintain a Tune While Singing Tongan Bible Hymns at Sunday Church

This could be extremely difficult for someone who previously only sang in the privacy of her own car (drowned out by the radio)

Goal #272 Master Bush Survival Skills

i.e Crack open a coconut with my bare hands, start a fire without matches...etc

Goal #629 Muster up the Courage to Dive under Swallow's Cave

A right of passage as a volunteer here on Vava'u

Goal #548 Weave my own Beach Hat

This will require both learning to weave and becoming relatively skilled at it.

More goals to come....

I have to postpone telling stories with cultural observations and impressions because right now I’m just bursting with enthusiasm about the election. Barack Obama is an inspiring man, and I am so proud to be an American abroad serving under his administration for the next two years. Peace Corps gathered in Neiafu to watch the polls, and when the results were announced there were pumped fists, tears of joy, and a standing ovation. Some volunteers walked below the restaurant deck and just started jumping in the ocean fully clothed. I followed their lead, and soon there were over 20 of us floating in the salty sea, soaking up the moment. Splashing and laughing we experienced the breathless beauty of a Tongan sunset, and I felt my heart filled with excitement; As I venture on my own new beginnings I carry a restored belief in my country and hope for the future. Sopping wet we climbed back up the deck to find that the tables had been cleared & the Tongan radio was blaring. And so we danced.

I walk out of my home stay mid-afternoon in capris and a dri-fit shirt (even when running I need to dress conservatively). I forgot to bring a belt here so I improvise and grab one of those sturdy pieces of reed Tongans use for weaving. My clothes are still a bit on the big end, but I know it's just a matter of time before a diet of taro and white bread kicks in to add some padding around the waist. I take off down a dirt road. My Tongan training instructors have warned us against wandering into the bush alone, so my run is a bit limited to going back and forth in town. I don't mind this route because I enjoy the attention I get from locals. Some elderly men are out "eva-eva pe"(just wandering around) and they greet me with a "malo e lei lei". I continue through town and stop by a group of 14 year old girls on their way home from school to take a turn on their jump rope. Tonga is called the "friendly islands" for good reason, and I feel welcomed in my new community.

After all the safety precautions I've thought of for insects, sharks, and assaults I've found the most surprising and realistic danger to be the viscous roaming dogs. As I round the corner and sprint up a hill, a pack of 3 stray hounds follow me snarling and flashing their teeth. I heave the closest nut I can find, but they continue barking and threatening. A local man calls them off but I'm still a bit shaken by the incident. I realize that I need to be on the look out next time, and I pick up some rocks. And so you have this funny image of a "palangi" (foreigner) in her long shorts and fancy sports shoes with a stone in each hand, and a few things occur to me:

Jenny & Ily fully converted me into a "runner" (and it's an addiction)My fellow PCV's idea to get a pet pig may not be that ridiculous after all (and I might just follow in her footsteps).I'm adjusting to my new life in Tonga while managing to retain aspects of my old identity.

I jog back home feeling grateful that all my limbs are still intact, and ready for a well earned ice cold bucket bath.

Dearest Friends, I set up this blog to post some updates on my 27 months as a Peace Corps volunteer in the Kingdom of Tonga. I'm not quite sure yet what my "blogging voice" is so this will probably include some hodgepodge mix of stories, facts, and reflections. Hopefully it will be mildly entertaining for anyone curious about my service.....

To start things off I've compiled some interesting tidbits about my placement in Tonga:

I'm in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, somewhere between NZ and Hawaii.We're positioned just west of the international dateline "where time begins"There are roughly 170 islands that are considered part of Tonga (but only 42 are inhabited)This ancient kingdom is the oldest and last remaining Polynesian monarchy (it's never been brought under foreign rule)

Tonga is known as the Friendly Islands :)Missionaries had a HUGE impact here. Sundays are sacred and all business are closed because no one is allowed to work, exercise (run, swim, jump), or negotiate contracts (they'll be considered void)Mormons account for 15% of the populationMost meals consist of root crop & meat (think pig's head on the table) More to come soon...

I really hope to stay in touch with the wonderful friends and family I have back home. Please shoot me a message or send a letter to:

Saskia Nauenberg, PCT

Peace Corps

PO Box 147

Nuku'alofa

Kingdom of Tonga

South Pacific

(Write "God Bless" on the envelope so it won't be tampered with)

Peace & love,

Sas