When it comes to getting rid of two years of accumulated belongings, there are several PCV examples to follow. Some PCVs decide to give everything to just one local friend and let them redistribute as desired (or not distribute anything and keep it all). Some leave everything inside the house for the next PCV to take over. Some slowly acquire other PCVs’ belongings to sell to new incoming Volunteers. One in Africa, that I learned of from my dad, invited community members to come to her house at X time to claim what they’d like. (I think it turned out to be a madhouse. She said they even took the coffee cup that she was using; I could have seen that coming.)

I will take the “try to divvy things up among families” approach. There are certainly some families who have helped me more than others throughout the two years. I’m closer to some people than others – that’s just inevitable. So as I looked at my belongings and the three Big Ticket Items – the stove/oven combo, the dorm-sized fridge, and the washing machine – I tried to think of how I can thank those who have helped me by giving them one of these more expensive items if they don’t already have them.

There were really four households that I was particularly close with, but two of them already had a stove/oven, fridge (or better, a deep freezer), and washing machine. One house is only an unmarried man now that his sister, her adopted kids, and his mom moved to the main island. Living alone he hardly keeps house and doesn’t need any of these things – or at least he would never use them.

That left one family. It’s a couple whose kids have married and moved away, and they’re perhaps the nicest people in my village. Since they don’t have any of these things, I thought how great that I could show them my appreciation by giving them a couple of things. Sione, the man, fishes, so I asked if he would like the little fridge to keep the fish cold. And for Loutoa, I thought she could use the washing machine instead of scrubbing by hand.

Great, they were so happy to hear that I wanted to give them those things, and, true to Tongan form, they’re giving me a gift to thank me for giving them this gift.

That left the stove. There were very few families that didn’t have a stove. One is the family that spends half their time here in Ha’ano and half the time in another island group. Or the family where people in town say the husband and wife are splitting up, and the wife is moving away, so where would the stove go? Or the family that I don’t really know as well that lives in the village (read: little community of 5 houses) nearby.

Considering the family in the other village, I thought about how, the day I was loading my belongings off the inter-island ferry, the wife was there asking what I’ll do with my things when I leave. Oh, brother.

Perhaps I could have looked around more, but I was sick of everyone asking what I was doing with every belonging, I just wanted to know who was getting what. Enough of this casual stroll over to my house to peek in and see if this article was claimed by anyone yet. Enough of the people talking, when I’m right in the room, about who is getting what of mine.

I decided to give the stove to Tanita’s family, the one in the other village.

I thought of how they have five kids and that’s a lot of cooking on an open fire. And I thought of how nice they were when I first got here. When I got locked out of my house on day 1, Tanita came with a hammer to help me break in the house. (And, we’ll remember, she also gave me a raw fish to eat. I felt like Gollum.) And the dad always helps when the electricity is out in my house, and I love the kids, and so on and so on. So I just said, “I’ll give it to them, and that’s that. No more village talk.”

If living in a Tongan town for two years has taught me anything, it’s that you can never stem the gossip; you can only change the focus. After giving Tanita claims to the stove for after I left, I heard new talk around town.

No longer were they rumoring about who I would give what to, I heard through the “coconut wireless” (we don’t have “grapevines” in Tonga) that at least one person was saying I was being biased about who was getting what. Let’s get some things straight, Ha’ano people who will never read this blog:

1. Of course I’m biased! There are definitely some people who helped me more than others through my service, so I’d want to support them and their families, just like they helped me.

2. I’m specifically trying to share my things around town to give many families something to help them rather than just giving it all to a couple of people.

3. It’s my stuff, so I can do what I want with it. So meh.

To be fair, that was through at least a second-hand source, and gossip can get distorted beyond recognition here. Also, the woman who mentioned that tidbit defended me saying, “If you give anything to anyone, they should just say ‘thank you’ and that’s it.”

By the time I post this, I’ll have already given away everything down to the extra batteries and deodorants and left Ha’ano. Perhaps some people will be disappointed with the bundle their family received, but I already gave you two years of work, and that wasn’t enough?

Update: Gave things away. I gave bundles of things to about a dozen families around town. The things I was happiest to give away were the toys, puzzles, and dress up the kids played with every day at my house. The kids having something fun to do makes me not care about the gossip. Sorry, parents, if you didn’t get that floor mat you were eyeing – but your kids got toy cars and a shapes game!

Nearing the end of my Peace Corps service is full of emotions: excitement, sadness, apprehension, and so on. It can be difficult to keep working when the end is so near. I think to myself, what will happen to the projects after I leave? Will anyone keep up the work I've been doing for two years? To be sure I keep enjoying the work I’m doing while I’m here and to stay motivated, I try to think about daily successes. Here are a few from a week or so ago:

- The women’s group I’m working with in Ha’ano finally started the tourism program and welcomed a group of visitors to the island. Then, three days later, they welcomed a second group. (That one gets extra success points!)

- I found the dead thing that was giving off that smell in my bedroom. (It was a little lizard.)

- From my porch I watched whales jumping.

- I baked the equivalent of 12 cakes with a friend’s family to serve at a Tongan-sized tea.

- Papi and I ran with him on a leash.

- The kids and I made origami whales to wrap up a week talking about whales.

- I finished my last biannual Peace Corps report detailing my work in Tonga.

- Kids who come over after school are making cute bracelets from the beads I was sent.

- A friend and I have done an abs workout and stuck with it for a whole… week.

- I finished knitting two scarves that will be gifts to friends here.

- Almost everyone in town turned out at the kava hall to watch a Rugby World Cup Tonga vs. Anyone game.

Small successes, but there’ll surely be more as my countdown to America approaches 50 days…

While still in Pre-Service Training, some Peace Corps Tonga Volunteers gave us all a CD of Tongan music, videos of Tonga, and playlists for the major events of our Peace Corps service. One playlist would be for Pre-Service Training, another for Early Termination, Close of Service, and so on. Songs correspond to the mood you're in for the event, such as the Early Termination (for people who quit and go home) playlist's “Take This Job and Shove It” or “We're Not Gonna Take It.”

Perusing my iPod, I've got my own playlist for Peace Corps Tonga. Sometimes it's just the title that says it, but other times it's in the song itself. Here's the list:

“All By Myself” - Celine Dion

“Cheeseburger in Paradise” - Jimmy Buffet (minus the lettuce, tomato, Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes)

“Earthquakes and Sharks” - Brandston

“I'm Going Slightly Mad” - Queen

“Island in the Sun” - Weezer

“Mayberry” - Rascal Flats

“Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da” - The Beatles

“Ocean Front Property” - George Strait

“Satan Gave Me a Taco” - Beck

“Shark in the Water” - VV Brown

“Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” - Otis Redding

“Small Town Saturday Night” - Hal Ketchum

“Southern Cross” - Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

“That Kind of Day” - Sarah Buxton

“Thousand Miles from Nowhere” - Dwight Yoakam

“Waiting on the World to Change” - John Mayer

“We Sleep in the Ocean” - The Cloud Room

“Wide Open Spaces” - Dixie Chicks

“You Can't Always Get What You Want” - Rolling Stones

Despite so much work going into it, I realize I never shared how Camp GLOW Ha’apai actually went. So here, three months late, is a bit about our camp.

I had been planning this camp with Juleigh, the PCV in Pangai. Along with a representative from the Ministry of Training, Employment, Youth and Sports (MoTEYS) and the Ha’apai Youth/Red Cross, we formed the island planning team. For 5-day camp, we planned speakers to talk about women’s health, sexual harassment, domestic violence, alcoholism, nutrition, and career opportunities. We planned activities like a beachside campfire, tie-dying, visiting the circus (which just happened to be in town that week – awesome!) and field trips to shadow women working in Ha’apai. We fundraised (including that kalapu, or kava party – “party” being a loose term, I wrote about previously), got community donations, found a caterer, collected resources or got them from other islands or abroad, found a venue, and recruited campers and counselors.

We knew how important it was to share the camp’s message with the girls of Ha’apai, and we had all put in so much work to plan this camp, Juleigh and I were dedicated to reaching our planned number of campers – 25. Though last year’s camp had planned for similar numbers as ours, when the day of the camp rolled around, only 12 girls showed up. Juleigh and I didn’t want that to happen. We used our most “important” person (and thus, person with the most sway in Tongan culture) from our island planning team to help recruit the campers. The lucky guy, Paea from the MoTEYS, came to recruitments at the high schools and parents’ meeting. He repeatedly called the parents to encourage them to let their daughters attend (MoTEYS has no acronym in Tonga. How many times did he introduce himself as from the “Potungaue Ako Ngaue, Ma’u Ngaue, To’utupu mo e Sipoti” to these parents?) It was also his idea that, the morning of the camp, we go pick up girls at their homes, lest they not come to the camp simply because they couldn’t find a ride.

The morning of the camp, we ended up with 24 campers and 2 junior counselors (campers from last year). We had wanted 25 campers and 2 junior counselors, so we called a couple more of last year’s strong campers and invited them as junior counselors too. And it worked! We made our numbers, and we were even up one!

Since it was only Juleigh, the head country camp planner, and me working behind the scenes at the camp, we were pretty busy. Setting up for the next speaker, running to the Peace Corps office to print something (then our printer breaking on Day 2 and figuring out how to do everything without a printer), reminding workplaces about our field trip, filling in when a speaker was late – yep, we were busy.

Throughout the week, the people who lived next door to the girls’ dorm were having their pre-burial funeral week. In Tongan culture, families often hold a vigil for a few days while they wait for family and mourners to arrive for the formal funeral and burial. While that is usually a quite somber event requiring peace and quiet, they were next to a group of 28 12-14 year old girls. They complained several times about us being “too loud” and disrespectful. (Maybe a peace-making attempt, one day they gave us a bucket of boiled mystery animal and cassava. The girls loved it.)

The final day of the camp, we planned to have a closing ceremony and invite the mothers and female family members to bring food and watch the show the girls had prepared. That, however, would require loud music and a level of gaiety incongruent with funerals. In fact, it is illegal to host a celebratory event in the same district as a funeral on the day of the burial. Well, boo.

Fortunately, two blocks away, the district technically changes. We would have to leave Pangai and head to the suburbs of Ha’ato’u to find a venue for the closing ceremony. One of the high schools wasn’t able to have girls join the camp since their school break was a different week. But we still had good relations with the principal – another PCV is as his school too – and he supported the camp and wished his students could have joined. He graciously let us have our closing ceremony at his school, after we assured him that we wouldn’t be too long so as to be disrespectful to the funeral.

After that closing ceremony and all the girls went home, we finished a bit of clean up and slept. It was the greatest sleep of all time. We didn’t have to finish everything for the next day’s program, nor did we have to get up at 5:30am to set up for the day. We had final meetings over celebratory coffee cake and congratulated each other on what we’d accomplished. Now, a few months since the camp, we’ve finished all the final reports and accounted for all the money those family and friends so generously donated.

It was a really great camp and a really great experience, and now we can close it out check Camp GLOW Ha’apai off our list of “Final Things in Tonga!”

The Rugby World Cup will be starting soon, kicking off with the New Zealand All-Blacks playing the Tongan 'Ikale Tahi. The most famous rugby team in the world will be playing the Tongan Sea Eagles. For the opening game. Though I think we could all place safe bets on that game, Tongans are gearing up to see their kin start the tournament off. With local rugby leagues starting this time of year too, it's a favorite way to liken good players from villages to those who resemble oceanic birds of prey.

The perfect opportunity for that happened today: the opening games of Ha'apai Rugby League 2011. I, as a PCV, joined with the Tonga Red Cross to ensure the players' safety. I had seen rugby games last year. I was asked my Ha'ano's team to be the team doctor - I was the only one on the island with bandaids. The games were brutal. I would hear crunching bones upon collision, channel my mother, and whisper to myself, "That is so dangerous." So when Teisa, a woman from Tonga Red Cross, asked for my help with first aid, I thought it would be a worthwhile endeavor.

Armed with gauze, medical tape, bags of ice, and nothing more, we went to the rugby field to watch the four games of the day. Soon after the first game started, there was a hit, and a player was on the ground. I was on the edge of my seat. "Do we run in now, Teisa?" She told me to wait. Sure enough a few moments later he was up and back to playing. The same thing happened again. And again. I quickly took this lingering on the ground as if near death to be a ploy to rest.

About 15 minutes into the first half, whenever anyone stayed down for a minute, the rest of the team collapsed on the ground too, calling for water from the sidelines. Young eager boys would dash onto the field to revive the enervated players, who would then struggle to their feet. Yet, rather than tag out for one of the substitutes waiting on the sidelines, they would stay in the game. What sacrifice they make! These youth can hardly stand on their own feet they are so exhausted, but they stay in the game for their team!

The couple of times I did run onto the field for players who took longer than the standard rest period, it was for players who were lying, disoriented after a hit. All my past medical training tells me to not move someone who has been smacked by 3 or so rugby players and can't sit up on his own, yet, when I tell his teammates to stop jiggling his legs in an effort to awaken him, I'm ignored. So what is the point of the Red Cross being there?

Perhaps it's to give the audience something to talk about: a palangi or "foreigner". "Ooh, look at the palangi go onto the field!" "Hey, stay down, and the palangi will come help!"

Or maybe it's to give some honor to the league. "Professional First Aid from the U.S. Peace Corps."

To be sure, had something really gone wrong, it's probably better to have Red Cross there than just anyone. (Though the one island group's doctor was a coach of a team, so he was there too...)

I don't know what my real role was there. But, like so many Tongan events I don't understand, I got a costume and some food: a neon Tonga Red Cross vest and a plate of cookies. Gosh, I hope that's how they run the World Cup.

In preparation for our girls leadership camp, Camp GLOW, the whole Ha’apai planning team has worked to get local donations to supplement the international funding we’ve received from our generous family and friends. One of the traditional Tongan fundraisers is a kalapu, a kava-drinking event where all the money is contributed to a cause. Though the “causes” are usually school scholarships or electricity for the town hall, the cause at a kalapu a few weeks ago was Ha’apai’s upcoming Camp GLOW.

Kava drinking is a strictly male affair. Unmarried girls and women can participate, but their role is to serve the kava and banter with the menfolk. The men reply with flirting and often more obscene remarks to the tou’a. This was the primary context for courting in the Tongan days of yore, but now there are few Tongan youth girls who enjoy tou’aing. No surprise there; it’s easy for the kava circle to be a sexist event.

That’s why it’s ironic that, in preparation for a girls leadership camp, we organized a huge kalapu, complete with tou’as.

To advertise our kalapu, we placed an ad to be read over the local radio station. The ad described the camp and what the money was for, but the part that got people interested in supporting us was the line that said, “Camp GLOW’s kalapu will have international tou’as coming!” International tou’as – from America and Japan (a Japanese volunteer friend). The phone number given in the commercial was ringing off the hook with interested kava drinkers. “International tou’as? Really? Will one be at my kava circle?”

As the kalapu was held in the main town, I went in after school on Friday to help Juleigh prepare. The Tongan camp counselors and our Japanese friend came to Juleigh’s for dinner, and then we headed to the kava hall together.

By 8:15, when we arrived, there were already 5 kava circles, each from a different village, and each with its own kava bowl. Each tou’a went to a different circle; mine was from a town right next to Pangai. There were about 20 men, and, by the looks of them, most of them were over 40. But kava drinkers don’t age well. The drink makes the skin wrinkly, scaly, and dry. And as they drink and smoke in the kalapu, men’s faces seem to slow; they can’t move as fast, open their eyes as wide, or speak as coherently. Perhaps these men were only 30, but from years of drinking, they looked like no spring chickens.

Especially one man. He could have had other reasons for his dishevelment, but I like to pretend it was the curse of the kava. When I first saw him, falling out a van, already drunk at 9pm, he resembled a hairy bushman. Swaddled in a huge fur coat. I think he had some kind of a staff. Lucky me, he was from the village I was tou’aing for. He sat behind me, but he would poke me to get my attention, and then shake my hand or make some unintelligible comment. At one point he gave me an orange. Then he disappeared, and I didn’t miss him.

After hours of this – trying to carry on conversation with increasingly poor conversationalists, shifting my legs to keep them from falling asleep, and of course ladling out the muddy drink – the money was collected from each group and counted. We had raised over $600 USD in one night.

Just after 1am, the tou’as retired. We were going to Juleigh’s house to sleep, but there wasn’t enough room in the car. Because nothing would have happened if we didn’t make a decision and act, Juleigh and I decided to walk the 15 minute walk back to her house. The only problem was, she was carrying some of the money we’d raised. “Ok,” we thought, “we’ll take the lit roads, walk quickly, and not talk to anyone. Besides, we know everyone in town. How could they rob us?”

We walked only 100 paces outside the hall, when a man stopped us. When the light hit him, we realized it was Maka (“Rock”), the guy who, months ago, had borrowed Juleigh’s speakers and lost part of them, thus rendering the speakers unusable. He drunkenly attempted to apologize for the speaker incident with one of the few phrases he knows in English, “Sorry for the misunderstanding.” (Yes, that was quite a misunderstanding. Juleigh thought he would return working speakers, whereas he thought she wanted nonworking speakers.)

We continued on. Close to Juleigh’s house there is a section of road without good lighting. As we approached this area, we saw another large, slow-moving man in the shadows. I whispered to Juleigh, “Ok, let’s not talk so maybe he won’t realize we’re foreigners.” As we passed him, he jumped in front of us and shouted, “Hey, I know these girls!” Sure enough, it was a lewd, oafy minister I didn’t particularly care for from my island. We hurried on to Juleigh’s house.

We all spent the night, using Juleigh’s sparse furnishings and emergency relief blankets borrowed from the Ha’apai Red Cross, the coordinator for which is helping with Camp GLOW. In the morning everyone faded away to their homes, and Juleigh and I reexamined the budget in light of our fundraising.

That was about 3 weeks ago. Now, Camp GLOW is happening! Tomorrow! The work is never over (but I took the time to post this blog anyway…), but we’re in the final phases of preparation!

Ready, set, GLOW!

With my end date in December looming, I’ve been trying to makes sure I take advantage of the rest of my time here. I made a list of things I’ve wanted to accomplish and projects I want to try (or keep trying!). Here are a few things of that list, and how they worked out:

- Start an after school program with the kids. Status: Score! At one of our PTA meetings, I asked the parents if they would like their kids to participate in an after school program twice a week to do art, music, and PE – classes that easily get overlooked as the teachers focus on the core subjects. We’ve played with Play-Doh, created mosaics, learned “He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands” (it’s a Christian country…), played volleyball and soccer, and had a great time!

- Organize a program to bring money into the town from tourists. Status: So far so good. I may be jinxing it by getting excited about it, but it could be a good, long-lasting program. This is a two-fold project: first, to get a day-trip organized for tourists from the main island in the island group to see the “traditional Tonga” – see the sights of Ha’ano, learn about the culture, have a traditional meal. One of the resorts on the next island over has even expressed interest in offering the “Ha’ano experience” to customers. Second, to promote selling vegetables and fresh fish to sailboat travelers who often anchor near the island. Last year, during sailing season, several tourists asked about buying vegetables of the island. Though there aren’t many vegetables on the island that Americans would recognize, there are several leafy vegetables that already grow in Tongans’ backyards, and they could easily be sold for a few pa’anga. I’ve talked to the two women’s groups in the community, and both sound interested in doing these things, but they’re busy doing a community clean up this month. Hopefully they’ll still be interested in a few weeks…

- Grow a garden. Status: Fail, but I haven’t given up. Yet. Everything just eats the seeds. First it was the pigs. Then we got a lock for the gate so they can’t come in. But the chickens still come and eat everything I put in the ground. I’ve tried starting things inside, planting in a window box, using different kinds of seeds, and so on and so on. I need to try to get some kind of netting to cover the area, but of course, there’s nothing like that on my island. When I go into town next time…

- Go with the women at low tide to collect shellfish. Status: Not yet. Though I’ve asked the women to tell me when they’re going, they never seem to. Hopefully I’ll be able to go before I finish here – maybe I could pick up my very own sea urchin! Delicious!

- Make/Use a solar oven. Status: Half-way there. The solar oven is built according to instructions I found online (using a cardboard box, foil, black construction paper), but it rains off and on so much that I haven’t been free for 4 hours (it’s supposedly very slow cooking) to set up and watch the oven, lest it suddenly rain and ruin the oven.

- Knit something that takes some skill. Status: I’m getting there! With all this time on my hands, I’ve decided to re-take up knitting. Though I’ve tried several times in the past, I’ve usually been confined to squares completed in the same stitch. Now, after receiving a how-to book called “Ready, Set, Knit,” I’ve been able to make a couple of scarves that have patterns. Of course, I should have been taking diligent notes when I tried to learn knitting from my grandmother and aunt, but I guess this book will have to do in Tonga! I haven’t made anything that exciting, but I gave one scarf to a friend here, and she says she loves it. Next up, hats.

- Make my own pasta. Status: Haven’t yet tried. I’ve still got time.

- Work with the island’s clinic to do a community health project. Status: Fail, and I’ve got other things to do anyway. Since the clinic is a 40-minute walk away and I don’t ever just “run into” the nurse, I haven’t been able to find her. I mean, she is working, right?

- Prepare applications for law school. Status: A work in progress. While home for Christmas, I was able to do some research for law schools, find applications, read guides about writing personal statements, and look up financial aid forms. Since I’ll be applying in August/September, from Ha’ano, I’m trying to get everything in order as best I can. I’ve finished the LSAT, letters of recommendations, and a few other things, so I’m on my way, but it certainly won’t be easy to complete!

Those are only a few of the things on my to-do list. I try to keep them in mind especially on those days that seem to just drag on. Those days and weeks when nothing changes but my school lesson, I try to work on something different. I haven’t been successful in projects every time, obviously, but for every frustration I have, I just remind myself to keep on trying here, since in just over 6 months, it’ll all be memories. Phew.

Campers at last year's Camp GLOW Ha'apai

My friend Juleigh and I are planning Camp GLOW in our island group, Ha’apai. Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a week-long sleep-away camp for girls and young women that empowers its participants by:

- advocating a healthy lifestyle,

- providing vital information on sensitive topics,

- teaching leadership and team-building skills,

- encouraging critical thinking and logical decision-making,

- building a network of motivated girls and women,

- and fostering self-confidence and creative expression in a fun, safe, judgment-free environment.

Last year’s Ha’apai camp was a success with 15 campers, and this year we’re expanding to 25 campers. Campers will participate in sessions and classes about everything from money management, goal-setting, and sexual health to tie-dying, healthy cooking, and aerobics.

In Tonga, Camp GLOW is a unique experience. Especially in Ha’apai, there is nothing else like Camp GLOW for girls to participate in. Rarely, if ever, are girls from different schools and churches joined in a fun, community-building environment that encourages and motivates girls specifically. With all-Tongan camp counselors and Tongan-led sessions, the girls get a new perspective and way of decision-making in the Tongan culture.

Juleigh and I are currently working with a Tongan counterpart at the Ha’apai Youth Congress to arrange speakers, camp counselors, catering, and venues. We’re lucky to have these dedicated counterparts to help make this year’s camp a success, and also, hopefully, carry on Camp GLOW after we leave.

And now that you know how great Camp GLOW is, I’ll ask for money.

Though the Tongan community is supporting Camp GLOW through free lodging and community fundraisers, we still need help from our family, friends, and Camp GLOW supporters. To donate to Camp GLOW, please go to...

or

1. Go to

2. Click "Donate to Volunteer Projects" on the left side of the page

3. Type "Burke" into the search field and click "Search"

Note: J. Burke is my co-director for Camp GLOW Ha’apai. There are several camps in Tonga, so please be sure to find ours!

Malo 'aupito for supporting Camp GLOW and all the girls of Tonga!

Despite a rough start in our trip to Fiji, Juleigh and I had a great trip. We arrived on Monday and left on Friday, but we had a wonderful time even in just a few days. Highlights include:

- Air conditioning. Our hotel was decked out with wildly extravagant conveniences such as air conditioning, television, and heated showers. Juleigh and I also enjoyed the pool (and ordering poolside snacks like bruchetta) and the fitness room.

- Amazing food. We had Japanese food, Indian food, doner kebab, and McDonald’s, among others. We also bought foods you can’t find in Tonga, like popcorn, maple syrup, and chocolates. Whenever we PCVs go anywhere, people in the community ask for treats, ie chocolate and sweets, so I also bought kilos of candy and Peeps (just in time for Easter!), mostly for the school children.

- Juleigh getting a class set of reading and grammar books for her students. Finally, they have something to follow that progresses in an orderly and understandable manner! I also bought a few books with reading and activities for my students.

- Seeing a movie in a theater. We ended up at the theater at 6pm, and we picked out our movie by seeing what started at that time. It was a movie we’d never heard of (“Lincoln Lawyer”), but for picking it by the time it started, it was pretty good. And, we had movie popcorn.

- Meeting Fiji PCVs. We were lucky enough to meet some PCVs in the Peace Corps Office in Suva, and we ended up having happy hour and Mexican dinner with them.

- Wandering into stores. In Ha’ano, there is literally no store to walk into. In Pangai, we could walk into stores and choose from their goods: buckets of lard, baggies of mutton, chicken flavored potato chips, piles of flip flops. In Suva, we went into clothing stores, trying on all kinds of things that would be inappropriate to wear in Tonga (because they show shoulders or knees). We also went into a department store, Costco-like store, bookstore, and so on and so on!

- Getting henna done. We found a woman who did henna, so we got our hands done. I knew I would get comments from people around town, since girls with tattoos are so scandalous. My students loved it though, and for the after school program one day, we decorated paper hands with drawn-on henna designs.

Now that I’m back from Fiji, I think I’m in Tonga for the long-haul. December 2011 countdown beginning...

Back in January, Juleigh and I decided to plan a trip to Fiji. We anticipated needing a break from school, the feeling of living in a fishbowl, and giant yams, and so we organized a trip that would happen during our one week school break in April. (Well, technically, it’s only my one week school break. Juleigh’s school, 10 days before break, decided to delay it by two weeks, but, as she had already made travel arrangements, she passed off her lesson plans to a teacher and left anyway.)

We booked tickets on the first flight of the morning from Ha’apai to Tongatapu, knowing that, in Tonga, there is a high probability of things going wrong, and this would give us some room to work with before our afternoon flight to Fiji.

Saturday night, we were printing off our tickets, when we realized the inter-island airline didn’t issue a ticket or confirmation to me. Juleigh had one, but I didn’t. Oh, no.

Juleigh had purchased both tickets in separate transactions, with separate credit cards, back in March, and she emailed one confirmation to herself and one to my email. Since I don’t check my email more than once every few weeks, we didn’t realize that I hadn’t received a confirmation email until 48 hours before the flight. Even better, this was a weekend, when no one is working. “Well,” we thought, “we’ll just take my bank statement to prove I got charged for the ticket, and that’s all we can do.”

We woke up before the sun on Monday and went to the airport, where the only workers were baggage handlers lying on tables listening to island remixes of Akon. So we waited.

When finally the woman who wheels and deals in the airport arrived, we explained the situation, but she said we would have to wait until the Tongatapu office opened at 8:30 for them to approve our situation. Unfortunately, the plane was leaving at 7:50, and it turned out that there wasn’t another plane that arrived to Tongatapu before our Fiji flight left. We needed to get on this 7:50 plane.

The flight was booked – all 8 seats, and only one seat for the two of us. We decided our only chance was to convince someone to take the later flight. The people traveling that morning were: 5 Mormon missionaries just going to the capital for a day for a meeting, a palangi making a connecting flight, and one of us. But there was another passenger. Where was he?

Eventually we realized he was outside. The airport woman approached him, explained the situation, while Juleigh and I looked pitiful. I attempted to build camaraderie by speaking to him in Tongan, to which he replied in a perfect New Zealand accent, “Yeah, maybe I can just call in sick today.” We gave him 50 pa’anga ($30 USD) in thanks and took his boarding pass.

Three minutes before the flight was supposed to leave, we both had our tickets we had booked weeks in advance.

Upon arriving at the airport in Tongatapu, we worked to see what happened in the first place and also confirm our tickets back to Ha’apai. Though we can’t know for sure, this is what we suspect happened:

Juleigh bought her ticket on her dad’s credit card, but the bank saw the transaction and thought it might be fraud, so they didn’t approve it right away. The bank called Juleigh’s dad within minutes and got the transaction approved.

Five minutes after booking her own, Juleigh booked my ticket with my credit card. My credit card did approve the transaction (but I also got an email saying the bank suspects fraud…), but with some fowl-up with the airline’s computer system, my booking confirmation (that always begins with the passenger’s last name) was given to Juleigh, and none was issued for me.

We’re at the airport in Tongatapu now, waiting for the flight to Fiji. With things like the problem this morning happening all the time, we keep telling each other we won’t get excited until we’re taking off for Fiji, lest we get our hopes up only to have some freak cyclone come by. Or the airport workers strike. Or there’s no more fuel in Tonga. Or there’s a funeral on the tarmac. Or a wing falls off the airplane.

They say, in Tonga, things get done, but only at the last minute. Thankfully, it did work out, but why, this morning, did we have to wait until the last three minutes?

It was test-time. The end of the term. Through the two other teachers at my school weren’t preparing tests for their students (that I know of), I wanted to test my kids.

I gave the kids warning. On Monday, I said we’d practice this week for the big test on Friday. Each day we did an exercise like that that would be on the test. There would be no “Pele, I don’t know what this is” –ing, no “Pele, what?” –ing. No excuses like I heard last year. We were ready.

More than that, the incentive program I have with the kids was coming down to the wire. I told them that if, as a class, they got 90 stickers in a term, we would have cake or something else I baked. To get a sticker, they had to pass the weekly spelling test, do their homework, or do well on this big test. Well, as of Thursday, they had 84 stickers. And they needed a 70% to get a sticker for the test. They were geared up.

Six more stickers on Friday, and we’d eat cake on Monday. Then, it’s Sports Day on Tuesday, and we break for a week.

Friday morning, I was so excited. I was ready for these kids to give it their all. They were ready too. Before school, I heard them quizzing each other on spelling words. They were going to get those last stickers, and then we were going to celebrate.

But that’s not how things go in Tonga. Twenty minutes after school started on Friday, I got a phone call from another PCV. “There’s a cyclone heading to New Zealand, and we’re not going to get hit, but we’ll get strong winds and rain. So, school everywhere is canceled.” I couldn’t believe it. I waited to hear it on the radio, hoping it wasn’t true. Soon, it was on the radio. The kids ran home before the storm started.

We ended up having the test on Monday, and we made it work. We always make it work. But can’t something just work out the way I plan? Just one thing?

I don’t teach much in the lower classroom, grades 1-3. English isn’t in their curriculum, but every once in a while, I get to do a little English class with them.

One day, a few weeks ago, though, their teacher went to town for a meeting, so I took their class for a few hours. I didn’t know I would be taking that class, so I didn’t have much time to plan anything. I looked around my house for something to do. The Peace Corps gave us a few picture books to use in class, one of which was “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” Jackpot. Who doesn’t love that book?

I forgot that the kids just learned about the life cycle of caterpillars until we started, and I realized what luck that I picked that book. We did some pre-reading activities, which went really well since this was all fresh in their minds about caterpillars. One of the things we did was talk about what foods we eat when we’re very hungry. I asked the kids to tell me what they like to eat, and, this being Tonga, I got great answers. “Breadfruit!” “Sea snails!” “Fish!” “Dog!” “Horse!”

Then we read the book together. Since the kids don’t speak English, I translated, or had the kids translate by looking at what happened in the picture. There is a popular song in Tongan and English about butterflies, so we sang and acted it out.

Then came the best part. Someone, back in the day, had donated Play-Doh to the school. It had never been used before, so I took it out, lay down some Play-Doh rules, and let the kids go. We played around with it for a while, then we started making our creatures. We made little caterpillars, pupa, and butterflies.

The kids loved Play-Doh! We had to end eventually, but they all begged to play again tomorrow. I said we’d play again, but I didn’t know when.

At the latest PTA meeting, the parents approved my request to start an after school program. Hopefully when I actually start it next term, the parents will remember how enthusiastic they were at the meeting. Then, maybe the kids and I can do all sorts of things they never get to do in school, Play-Doh included!

...I joined the Mormons in a waltz and it made me famous?

Every year, the Mormon women groups in Tonga organize a dance show. Each church prepares its own dance, and then they all come together to perform. Last year, we square danced. This year, we waltzed.

The Mormon women in Ha’ano worked to pair up people who wanted to join. Pairing up partners was an event in itself. Tongan culture forbids people who are blood-related, even very, very distantly, from dancing together (and watching movies together, and sleeping in the same house, and so on), so there was a lot of shuffling around to find appropriate partners. We ended up with 8 pairs of people – 12 Mormons and 4 others who wanted to join (like me) or were obligated to join because they needed more guys.

A woman in the village did the choreography, and a couple of youths learned the dance to teach the rest of us. We practiced almost every night for two weeks. It wasn’t a waltz like those in the days of yore, but rather a kind of shuffle with some twirls, some Tongan moves, and lots of curtseying/bowing.

Our outfits were exceptional. The men were to wear black suits with ties and shoes. Most men don’t own any part of a suit besides a white shirt, so, after borrowing around, they were appropriately dressed, but with shoes that didn’t fit and ties emblazoned with the seal of another church.

The women were to wear yellow satin, floor-length gowns. I don’t know how Tonga ended up with so much yellow satin (some factory in China probably just sent all the leftovers to Tonga, and that was the only fabric in the Tongan stores for 6 months), but a handful of women in the village whipped out the eight dresses in a couple of days.

The show was on Thursday night, so we went to town after my morning classes. We took two boats, filled with bedding, food, and clothes for one night in town. It was very sunny, and since Tongans do everything possible to avoid the sun, I saw Tongans with baby clothes, leaves, and cardboard boxes on their heads.

There’s a house in town for people who come from Ha’ano and need a place to sleep. It’s a simple house: one room, tin walls and roof, no electricity. That’s where the women slept. But since related people can’t sleep in the same place, the men had to sleep in the kitchen, a separate house.

We ate a feast right before we got ready for the show. Roasted pig, fried chicken, chop suey, sweet potatoes, yam, breadfruit, lu, corned beef, custard pie. Exactly what I want to eat before dancing.

At the show, there were probably about 400 people from 10 different Mormon churches all around Ha’apai. There were different kinds of Tongan dances, a “Hawaiian” dance (did you know Hawaiians dance with pom-poms?), and our waltz.

As we walked out onto the tennis court stage to perform, people cheered for friends, but I heard a lot of “Malie Pele!” or “Go Pele!” I didn’t know many of these people who were in the audience, but word spreads fast when a palangi is doing something with Tongans.

Soon, pretty much everyone there knew who the white girl was. After the dance, everyone was calling me by name, asking me if I am dating my dance partner and when we are going to get married.

The next few days in town, everyone I saw would tell me how great my dancing was and if I had a boyfriend. If someone didn’t know my name, my job, my village, someone near us would jump in the conversation to tell my story.

It was a fun, and funny, experience. And, as pictures are worth a thousand words, I’m trying to get them uploaded.

I’d never encountered any serious natural disasters in my life before Tonga. I’d been in storms, but, as far as I remember, that’s pretty much it. Since being in Tonga, I’ve experienced about 8 earthquakes, 2 cyclones, seen a water spout, and now I’ve been on alert for 2 tsunamis.

As I walked home one night from the Mormon church where we were practicing a dance for a program in town, a girl stopped me. “Pele, did you hear? There’s been an earthquake in Japan, and there will be a tsunami coming to Tonga at about 5 am. If you want, we can go stay at the Mormon church tonight.” I thanked her and said that I’d see what the Peace Corps had to say.

As I walked to my house, my neighbor met me in the yard. “Pele, did you hear?”

As I talked with other PCVs in Pangai to see what the situation was, I got a call from another friend in town. “Pele, did you hear?”

As I made a bag to go to the Mormon church for the night, just in case I would spend the night there, another friend came by. “Pele , did you hear?”

Not long after that, a friend said she and her family were going to stay at the Mormon church for the night. It’s on higher ground and about a quarter mile inland – about as far inland as possible on my island.

About 20 people slept at the church. I took all kinds of things, expecting the worst in a tsunami. We had heard the wave would be 6-8 meters high. I took all my identification, money, my satellite phone, radio, clothes, water, food, my few valuables, and bedding. It looked like Tongans only brought bedding. Not surprising.

We set up some folding chairs for beds, I pulled out my mat and pillow, and I fell asleep pretty quickly. I was up off and on for the night, checking in with other PCVs and listening to the radio. Five o’clock came and went, and then daylight came.

The radio repeated and repeated not to leave safe ground, lest an aftershock sent out another wave and caught people unaware. Fortunately nothing happened. The wharf in Tonga reported a 3-foot wave. The tsunami warning was called off in the morning, and everyone went home.

A couple of days later, I heard people in Tonga were mad at the radio broadcasters. They said the broadcasters scared people too much about the tsunami and nothing ended up happening. Using fear tactics to make things happen. Now where have I heard of that before?

Anyway, that’s my second tsunami story.

One of the best and worst things about Tongan culture is the endless giving. Do I need any cassava? How about a breadfruit?

I’ve tried to reciprocate with little things like cakes or cookies. Tongans love both since they rarely bake anything themselves.

A friend came over last weekend to bake a couple of cakes. We were going to eat one ourselves, and she was going to take one back to her dad. We had one cake finished and the other in the oven when three women (aged 45-55) came over. These women had never been to my house before, not in 14 months. “My, that’s strange,” I thought to myself.

I asked them how they were and what they were up to. “Nothing, just walking around. Ohh, Pele, are you baking a cake?” As if they had no idea. One of the women was my cooking partner’s mom. “Pele, can we just have a taste?” Grown women.

My friend and I went into the kitchen while the women waited in the living room. I offered my friend a knife to cut the cake so the women could have a taste. My friend rolled her eyes and carried out entire thing.

Soon the women had tasted the whole cake. They tell me it was good.

After the women left, my Tongan friend commented on how she didn’t like that the women came to eat our whole cake. I didn’t like it either, but I also wouldn’t have given them the whole cake to eat. I guess that’s just Tonga. Being generous even when you really don’t want to be.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog in which a Tongan friend, Sila, randomly put on a sandal he found on the beach. I thought that was hilarious for so many reasons: it was only one shoe that he put on, why had someone left one shoe on the beach, and so on. (Just today, Sila came over before rugby practice wearing only one cleat. He explained that he only kicks with one foot.) There are many things to be found as discarded and forgotten junk all around the village, but I keep seeing single shoes and sandals.

I know why. Sure, the wear and tear of wearing flip flops to go farming will cause them to fall apart quickly, but, at least for me, there’s another reason. The dogs.

My dog, Papi, used to love to carry off my sandals that I leave by the door. He wouldn’t go far, just into the grass, so he could gnaw on them. Lately though, Papi’s been hanging out with another dog: Gold-Colored Dog. Though this other dog is cute, he seems to be a bad seed. In the past couple of months, I’ve had single shoes go missing. Three shoes from all different pairs. I used to think it was Papi, but one night, I found Gold-Colored Dog happily chewing through the straps of my Chacos.

If a sandal goes missing, I’ll ask my students to search for it. Sometimes, a few weeks later, they’ll find a sandal on the beach, obviously taken by a dog and eventually abandoned. Recently Papi’s collar disappeared, and, sure enough, a week later, a kid returned it to me saying they found it in the sand.

Losing footwear to the sea – yet another thing I won’t worry about when I get back to America.

I haven’t been able to upload any blogs recently, since I either haven’t been to town or the internet was down. Here is a summary of things that are going on around Ha’ano/Ha’apai/Tonga, mostly related to me.

In January, there was a serious cyclone that hit Ha’apai. Peace Corps had me go to town to ride it out. Though it was much shorter (and fortunately so was the time we were consolidated), it was more destructive than last year’s Cyclone Rene. Walking around Pangai, we saw roofs that had been ripped offs, old buildings that had collapsed, and trees that had been uprooted. (PCV houses were all fine.) The long-term impact is that much off the breadfruit fell off the trees, plantain trees were overturned, and the stems and leaves of root crops were broken. In a few months there’ll be a shortage of staple foods in Ha’apai. The Ministry of Agriculture is trying to import potato seeds to grow quickly to make up for the gap.

Tongan friends have been hanging out at my house quite a lot. The biggest draw is my iPod and speakers for them to listen to music during the day (too bad it’s always the same mix of Akon, Celine Dion, Shania Twain, and Eminem) and, once the electricity comes on at night, I’ve got “Glee” on my harddrive. I like having people over, but it makes it difficult to relax or read a book when everyone’s jamming to some Pitbull song or skipping around episodes to find the songs.

A few days before school started, I still didn’t know who would be teaching at my school. As of last year, both of my teachers were transferred and only one new teacher was coming to Ha’ano. But, this is Tonga, and nothing is certain until it actually happens, so a week before school started, I was told that the one guy who was supposed to come to Ha’ano wouldn’t be coming. Up to a few days before school started, I still didn’t have any Tongan teachers at my school. Eventually, 24 hours before school started, one of my teachers from last year, Paula, and his new wife, Veiongo, were dropped off by the Ministry of Education. So far, school’s been going really well. I’m still teaching English, and with the new syllabus for primary schools, my hours teaching have been cut from 13 hrs/week to 6.5 hrs/week. I’ve offered to teach PE and Art classes when those come up in the schedule, but those classes always take a backseat to the core subjects, so I haven’t taught any yet.

People here talk. About everything. And nothing. Here are some things I’ve overheard Tongans saying about me. They aren’t taken out of context. There is no context.

“Hey, look, Pele has a wooden spoon!”

“Where? Oh! Look at that spoon!”

“Yeah! It’s wooden!”

- Two of my students, standing outside my kitchen watching me cook

“Pele’s taking a shower at night.”

“Really? At night?”

“Yeah, she’s showering right now.”

- My neighbor and her mom, at their house which is next to my shower

“Lile asked Pele to come over so Lile could ask her something, and Pele was like, ‘Oh, I have to go over there!’”

- A woman in my village, telling other passengers in the bed of the truck what I’d said an hour earlier

If the most mundane details of my life are comment-worthy, imagine if I did something interesting.

Volunteering in the Peace Corps, I hear that we PCVs all share certain experiences. Year of service, country of service, job title – despite differences in all these areas, PCVs often have the same feelings just by working in a developing country.

I recently read “Away from Home” by Lillian Carter, taken from the Ha’apai Peace Corps Office’s library. Though she served as a health volunteer in India 1966-1968, her collection of letters to her daughter could very well be something that we PCVs in Tonga say today.

“One thing I yearn for on my vacation – PRIVACY! I doubt that I’ll have that, because wherever I go, a crowd gathers.”

“How I wish you could see India through your own eyes. I know the sameness of my days must get boring, but I do have some experiences here that almost defy words.”

“I’m feeling so damned low and useless! I have been here exactly six months now, and I needed a MORALE booster, so I went out and bought four cans of pineapple juice!”

“We have to go to Bombay for another Peace Corps meeting on whether or not to continue the family planning program. Frankly, I couldn’t care less, and know we will just hear the same old B.S., but maybe they will serve dinner.”

“I’ve been barefoot all day – anyone can go barefoot any time here, outside or inside.”

“Gosh, how the time is flying! The closer the time comes, the more upset I get about coming home. Why? I don’t know but I am. ... How can I stand it, when I bawl at the very thought of leaving them – these wonderful people, for whom I’ve done so little, but who have done so much for me!”

Last week, Misa, a Tongan friend, was over at my house. We were talking about when I first got to Ha’ano, just about a year ago. He was in Tongatapu, but when he got back to Ha’ano in January, he told me he had heard about me, the new Peace Corp.

Pele: What did you hear about me?

Misa: Oh, that you just say yes to everything.

Pele: Haha, that’s true. I just say yes because I either don’t understand their Tongan or don’t have anything else to say.

Misa: Yeah, but you would say yes to things you shouldn’t say yes to. I was on the road with some boys one day, and you passed, and one boy said, ‘Hey, Pele, we’re going to go over there and eat, and then we’ll come over and sleep at your house. Ok?’ And you just said, ‘’Io’ [yes].

The funniest part of this, to me, is that it still happens. A year later. People will still make jokes too quickly for me to understand or to have any comeback. Of course, the joke isn’t whatever I say, it’s whatever the other person says, so my response doesn’t much matter, but I at least wish I could participate a little more.

So in going to America, in just a couple of day, I’m looking forward to understanding pretty much everything that’s going on around me. More than that, being able to respond to it all.

Here are a few other things that I’m looking forward to, just for good measure: no chickens/pigs/church bells waking me up, bagels with cream cheese, understanding how the system works. Oh, and my family. (I didn’t forget you, Mom!)

And in the month I’ll be gone, I know I’ll miss these things: Papi, the people in my community, the freshest fish I’ll ever eat, the Ha’apai PCVs, swimming at sunset, mangoes.

One PCV woke up during her homestay with a cockroach on her face. Another PCV has been bitten 6 times by 6 different molokaus – the highly aggressive centipedes that have a (supposedly) horrendously painful bite. Yet another PCV regularly finds scorpions in his shoes.

Knock on wood, I haven’t had any issues with those pests. For the most part, my house has absurdly large but harmless spiders. Some cockroaches. A bunch of mosquitoes. And the occasional hermit crab. (I found one climbing up my curtain. How on earth did he get there?)

About a month ago, I had a new infestation, rats. I saw them in the evening, crawling on my kitchen shelf and countertop. They would scamper in through the doors and run around, not doing much more than pooping on everything.

A friend who often visits me at night would point them out. “Pele, kuma.” Once, Sila decided to go after them. He pulled out my shelf from the wall and planned to scare them my way so that I could get them. Unfortunately, I didn’t have rat-killing weapons. All I had were hard plastic flippers. It didn’t much matter though, because when he scared out the rats and they ran at me, I threw up my hands, screamed, and jumped around.

For a few weeks they came in and seemed to enjoy hanging out in my kitchen, eating whatever I didn’t happen to wrap up. But then they started getting bold. Late at night, they would bang around in the oven, they would gnaw and scratch through a thick plastic flour container, and they would come into my bedroom and chew holes in any low-hanging clothing. I was getting fed up. From Ha’ano, however, there wasn’t much I could do about it. There aren’t rat traps, rat poison, or sticky traps in the store. So I just got more frustrated and less sleep as they noisily took over my kitchen.

Juleigh brought me rat traps from Pangai. Sila set them up. We set a little peanut butter on them, but the next morning, the traps were unsnapped and peanut butter was gone. For the next few nights, Sila set the traps with different assortments of food – bread, cheese, tomatoes – but every morning the food was gone with no rat body. We were just offering the rats a midnight snack.

One night I woke up to the sound of relentless scratching. It was about 2:30 am, so the electricity was out, and I had to explore with a lantern. All I could do was scare away the rats and go back to bed with ear plugs, but they were so loud that I got up again with more resolve to do something. I tried to move the trap to where the rats were running with the hopes that they would accidentally step on it. Instead, I accidentally snapped my thumb in the trap.

That was a low point. Here I was, on a remote island, alone with the rats. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about them. I couldn’t just go to the store to buy anything to kill the rats. I didn’t get a neighbor’s cat to catch them for fear that a cat trapped in a strange house overnight would do just as much damage as the rats. I had to wait for someone to help me.

For over a week I put up with the incessant scratch-scratching at night a surprise in the morning to see what the rats had destroyed, and then Todd brought leftover rat poison from his own most recent infestation.

Within two days, all was well with the world. The days were sunny again, and, even better, the nights were quiet. I’ve left out the poison since that first infestation. I’ll sometimes see evidence that they visited in the night, and one morning I found a moribund mouse on my kitchen floor. And now, for any future rodent infestations, I’m ready, and I have more in my artillery than snorkel flippers.

Though Tonga is the last remaining Polynesian monarchy, the king is relinquishing his control in many areas of the government. Most notably, the parliamentarians, who used to be chosen by the king and his advisers, now are elected by the people.

Here's some more information about the election.

And here are pictures from the day's voting:

Tongan Elections

Farfum, a PCV in Matamaka, Vava'u, was in Ha'ano last week. Here are some pictures from his visit, along with mask-making with the kids.

Farfum's Visit and Paper Mache

A few weeks ago, a woman who lived in Tongatapu died. Since, somewhere along her family line, someone lived in Ha’ano, she was to be buried in Ha’ano. And so began the story of my first Tongan funeral.

Had the woman, Sela, died in Ha’ano, she would have been buried within 48 hours. Without constant refrigeration, there is no way to preserve the body, so in Ha’ano, they hurry up and get people in the ground. Yet Sela was from Tongatapu, the “mainland,” so the family froze the body, and waited until a good time for the funeral. The secondary school entrance exam was that week, and there wasn’t enough time for proper mourning, so they postponed the funeral until the desired date: October 13.

(A short detour on the refrigeration of the body: A fellow PCV led a lesson on good food preservation practices for her elementary school class. She asked the class, “What do we put in the refrigerator?” She got common answers like fish, butter, ice cream, and then one girl raised her hand. “Grandma,” she suggested.)

Sela’s family and friends escorted the body from Tongatapu to Ha’apai on the Pulupaki, one of the two inter-island ferries in Tonga. The Pulupaki can hold probably 150 passengers and cargo, and it makes its stops in the main town of each island groups.

Except for the morning of October 13. At about 8:30 am, I stood out on my porch looking at the sea. “My, the Pulupaki looks like it’s getting close. That’s weird,” I thought. Turns out, they were bringing Sela’s body and entourage straight to Ha’ano.

Four boats from Ha’ano headed out to meet the Pulupaki just past the reef. The door opened from the Pulupaki, and people jumped from the big boat to the small boat. Eventually they transferred the body too. (I couldn’t see the jumping, but this is standard Pulupaki disembarking practice in the Ha’afeva Group in Ha’apai.)

The boats brought back perhaps 75 mourners and quite a lot of their stuff. The dock was an anthill. Half the people seemed to be preparing the bed of the pickup truck to carry the body from the dock, and the other half of the people seemed to be undoing whatever the first half had done. Eventually the truck was decorated with woven mats, fake flowers, lace, and a large picture of the deceased.

Slowly, the mourners made their way from the dock to the home of the family of the deceased. For the next few hours, I was in school, but I could hear their singing from my house.

School ended at lunchtime for the funeral, and I prepared to go myself. I don’t own a ta’ovala, the woven mats worn for special occasions such as funeral, and there weren’t any spares at my neighbor’s house, so I just wore all black, and headed over to the funeral. There were people everywhere: on the porch at the family’s house, under a tent outside the house, under the mango tree, under the fekika tree, under the food tent, and scattered along the road. I sat with some youth girls, waiting to see what would happen next.

The group of people under the tent at the house was singing songs the whole time. Apparently, sometimes, the funeral lasts all night, and this group keeps a vigil for over 12 hours.

There was a group packed around tables under another tent. This was the eating tent. In a Tongan funeral, the hosts are expected to feed everyone who attends. At this funeral, there were perhaps 150 adults and another 50+ kids, and about 50 of those people were crammed under that eating tent. They looked ravenous, and when the family started bringing out the food, they gobbled it up as if they’ve never eaten before.

The first wave of people ate, then they vacated their seats and a new group swooped in. I was crushed between the town officer and a friend, and the hosts passed out plastic baggies with manioke (cassava), hot dogs, chicken, and a hard-boiled egg. Soon they came around with a sugary-water drink. And after about 10 minutes, we all left, and the seats filled again.

It was time to process to the church. The body was carried out from the house and reloaded into the back of the truck. A long woven mat stretched from the truck out the back, and mourners followed, carrying the mat.

The church was fuller than I’ve ever seen. The bench I was sitting on actually broke from the number of people, but it didn’t break so much that we couldn’t still sit there. There was the usual singing, standing, sitting, praying, weeping as regular church, but this time there was a body in front of us.

After the service, the truck and followers processed to the cemetery. The Tongan cemetery is a small clearing with body-sized lumps of rocks often decorated with fake flowers and blankets. There were tapa cloths and woven mats decorating today’s gravesite. After more crying, singing, and praying, the pallbearers prepared to lower the body into the ground. They took off all the mats and lace from the box, and at this unveiling of the casket, I heard one woman say, “Oh, look, they have a coffin!” A friend told me that often they just put the body in the ground. Then, the pallbearers lowered the body into a shallow hole, all the men picked up shovels or wood, and they covered the box.

The group left the cemetery, climbing over the brambles and rocks to get back to the road. Then they all turned back to the area where we had eaten, sat down, and waited. Pauline said we were waiting to see what they were going to give. Give? To whom? The church? Oh, well, just go with the flow, Pele, and sit there with the Tongans.

After waiting about an hour, men started dragging out large coconut fronds and arranging them in a large circle on the grassy area. Soon, three men carried out an enormous pig on one of these coconut fronds. (These fronds are pretty impressive; the men were holding up a 150+ lbs pig with just the plant!) They arranged it neatly in the center of the circle.

Then they brought out the kumete – the kava bowl. All the most important men in the community – ministers, the town and district officers, and the noble – arranged themselves in the circle. The tou’a and her two assistants sat down opposite the noble. The husband of the deceased called out the actions. First, he called out thanks to people who gave the pig, and those seated around the circle responded. He called the son of the deceased (who is his own son), and the youth came and touched the pig and kava root sitting at the center of the circle.

Then the son sat down in the middle of the circle, and two men joined him. The two new men proceeded to butcher the pig to pass it out to those at the kava circle. With the first swift slice of the pig, I heard several people in the audience say, “My, that’s a sharp machete!” The continued hacking it up, then the son distributed the pieces. First, the huge torso piece to the noble. Then, the head to the husband. Then smaller chunks for everyone else. After everyone in the circle had received their pig bit, there were some more thank yous, and a member of the families came to remove the pieces of pork before drinking kava.

Since this is far more formal kava than I usually go to (I’ve only seen this kava once before, but it was a mock ceremony; the Peace Corps put it on for us the first day we arrived in Tonga), most of this was new to me. The tou’a used pieces of what looks like raffia to “strain” the kava into a coconut-shell cup. Then, one of her assistants carried the cup to the noble who drank, and the assistant carried the cup back to the tou’a to be refilled and continued around the circle.

After the kava ceremony, the time came for what all the guests were waiting for. They clustered around the back of the truck that was carrying gifts for all the attendees: a bag of frozen chicken and $10 pa’anga. It was the first funeral I’ve been to with party favors.

I asked a couple of Tongan friends why the family passed out cash. Apparently it’s a new practice done by families that feel like they didn’t give enough during the funeral. Maybe this family thought they needed to give more to the guests since they didn’t kill a horse or cow.

Here was yet another example of Tongans keeping up with the Joneses to the point of debt: there were about 200 people at the ceremony. Each got $10 pa’anga and a bag of chicken worth about $4. For those guests, the non-ministers, the family spent about $2800 pa’anga just on the gifts. For the 20 ministers, they each got $20 pa’anga, so that’s another $400 pa’anga. And that’s not considering how much the family spent on the food, transportation from Tonga, casket, and so on. And next Misinale, the church donating event, the family of a deceased is expected to donate several thousand extra pa’anga.

The funeral finally finished after the bedlam of distributing gifts. It was about 6:00 pm. The funeral lasted about 8 hours, soon after the arrival of the body on the boat. Some funerals last all through the night, with singers singing at the house in shifts. For me, the 6 hours I spent in mourning were quite sufficient. I had things to do that day besides wait around for the next phase of mourning. These funerals seem to take up so much of everyone’s time. With all this work that goes into dying, how does anyone have time to live?

Leaving my island is easy. Coming back is the hard part.

Boats leave almost every weekday to go into town, and usually I can just hop on one of those, ride the boat for about an hour to get to a village where someone has coordinated a truck to pick us up, and arrive in town.

The way back is less straightforward. Recently I had a typical adventure in finding a ride back to Ha’ano.

Monday morning, I woke up at the PCV’s house where I stay in Pangai. By that afternoon, I hoped to be in my own home.

7:30 am: I call a friend in Ha’ano and find that, indeed, a boat has left Ha’ano. I even get the names of people to look for. Mission: Find 2 ministers from Ha’ano or the boat driver.

8:50 am: While riding a bike around town looking for these people who don’t have cell phones, I see the boat driver. He tells me to go to the Church of Tonga’s building so I can ask the ministers what time we’ll leave. His directions and my lacking Tongan leave me clueless as to where the building is, so, after riding around a while looking for it…

9:05 am: I ask for directions. With a semi-clear idea of where the ministers might be, I go to the church. Empty. I go to the nearby building. Empty. I eventually find someone who tells me they are in that nearby building I had just searched.

9:15 am: I find someone who is better informed, and he tells me they are in the church building around the corner.

9:30 am: As I sit outside the church waiting for the meeting to end, a different minister than those I am looking for asks me who I need, and he goes inside to tell the Ha’ano minister to come talk to me.

9:45 am: One of the Ha’ano ministers tells me we’ll be leaving when their meeting ends, maybe 10:00 am. He tells me to take my things to the place where everyone waits for the truck to go to Ha’ano. I hurry back to get everything in order, lest I get left as has happened before.

10:05 am: As I heave my bags down the road, I run into a third minister from Ha’ano carrying a handful of tobacco leaves. We go to a different place than I was told to go to catch the ride. (Had I not seen him, I would have been up a creek, waiting at the wrong place.)

10:10 am: I realize that no one is coordinated and we aren’t nearly about to leave, so I go buy a gas canister.

10:45 am: Now with my gas canister, carried by the boat driver, I return to the group. And we continue to wait.

11:15 am: Eventually a vehicle is arranged to take us the 30 minute ride to the dock.

11:45 am: We leave the dock.

12:40 am: We arrive in Ha’ano.

Here’s a quick quiz, with questions from real tests, to see where you can go to high school in Tonga.

1. Which is the opposite of drama?

a. Play

b. Game

c. Song

d. Trick

2. The woman bought ______ flour from the store.

a. many

b. a

c. much

d. one

3. The dog _________ under the table.

a. lied down

b. lay down

c. laid down

d. layed down

Even if you can figure an answer from those questions (and others like it), remember that these Tongan students are taking what is basically a fluency test after only three years of English. Though, obviously, the fluency is fluency according to the Tongans who wrote the test.

Here on my island of 350 Tongans, there isn’t much anonymity for a palangi like me. Correction: there isn’t any anonymity. Back in December, after being on the island only two weeks, fellow-PCV John was in Ha’ano and we took a walk down to the end of the island. Kids who lived on the other end of my island, where I hadn’t been yet, called out to me, “Hi, Pele!” I turned to John and said, “I’m surprised they don’t already know your name too.” Pause. Pause. Then we heard, “Hi, John!”

I don’t think word of my every move travels as fast as back then when I was still a novelty, but people still know far more than I tell them. “You went to the Wesleyan church today?” “What were you doing at Mehi’s house?”

A few weeks ago I went to the little shop in my village. I had used up all my oil, and I wanted to have another bottle on hand, in case I got the urge to do something that required oil. I returned home, oil in hand. About an hour later, a neighbor came over. “Did you buy oil? Can we use some to fry some fish that we (all of us) will eat?” As quickly as it had come, the oil was gone.

In a country the size of Tonga, with only about 110,000 people, there’s hardly anyplace that doesn’t know what everyone else is doing. And they’re especially interested in what the foreigners are doing. A PCV friend who lives in Vava’u on an outer island similar to mine told me how, for about a week, every time he cooked, his neighbors knew. They would smell the food and quickly come over with hopes of being offered some exciting and different palangi food.

My activities are not only well-known on my own island, but also on the main islands in Ha’apai, Lifuka and Foa. People there know less about my day-to-day habits, but they all still know who I am and where I live. The people who work at the bank, the principals and teachers at the high schools, many kids, and people I swear I’d never seen before in my life will ask me how am I, how’s Ha’ano, and am I eating a lot of fish?

The Peace Corps says that one thing that PCVs deal with when they return to America is not being the center of attention all the time. Back in America, who knows if you bought toilet paper today? Who wants to talk about what you ate for all your meals last week? Maybe it will be difficult adjusting to that when the time comes, but sometimes, right now, I’d kind of like to go where nobody knows my name.

A few months ago, I wrote a packing list for new PCVs coming to Tonga.

Now, after spending several nights in the main town of Pangai, I have new additions to the list: ear plugs and eye shades.

Though I have my fair share of ridiculous noises throughout the night (horses, dogs, people yelling at each other), it all pales in comparison to the big "city." In Pangai, there are dogs galore, but also cars, incessant church bells, firetrucks (and they were in action this past week), stereos, not to mention the constant hum of the generator a few blocks away. This all makes getting rest difficult and, after sunrise, just about impossible.

When the churches began their singing at 5:30am, when the baby across the street was screaming at 4:00am, or when the people on my back porch didn't go to bed until 2:00am, I really wish I had those ear plugs. And for the practically daily nap with the sun streaming into my bedroom, I really wish I had those shades too.

In July, my parents came to visit me in Tonga for about 10 days. After their return to America, I asked my mom to be a guest blogger to share her point of view on all things Tonga. Here it is:

In early July, Blair’s dad and I spent a week with her on her outer island in the Ha’apai group in the central part of Tonga . She asked me to give my perspective about our visit for her blog. In case you don’t read the whole entry, the final word from here is that is we are so glad we went, not only to see Blair for the first time in nine months, but also to better understand her living circumstances and the culture, to get to know some of the people on her island, and to meet her best Peace Corps friends. At the end of the trip, we both said that despite the remoteness and lack of some comforts to which we’re accustomed, we’d go back in a flash for another visit. If your son or daughter is in the PC there, I’d highly recommend the trip.

Background Information

Missing Blair over the past many months had led me to try to learn as much as possible about what she might be experiencing. During her first six months in Tonga, she experienced two earthquakes, tsunami warnings, and a level five cyclone which caused her to have to evacuate her island. By the end of cyclone season, I felt I deserved at least a certificate in Tongan meteorology.

Over several months of phone calls, we heard her mention Juleigh, John, and Todd often enough that I knew they were special and started following their blogs too. Here’s a link that shows all the Tonga PCVs’ blogs:

http://www.peacecorpsjournals.com/?showcountryinfo,tn

Since Blair doesn’t have internet connectivity on her remote island, she only uploads her blogs when she’s on the island of Lifuka in the town of Pangai . By following her friends’ blogs, I had much more up-to-date info than if I had followed only her blogs. I also felt like I knew her friends before I met them in person (no doubt a little disconcerting for them!).

Setting the Stage

Ken and I spent three and one-half days in NZ before heading to Tonga. While we were in NZ, Blair called us to say that she was in Pangai and had been trying unsuccessfully for a couple of days to return to her island. She was unsuccessful because no boat had fuel, because the captain of the boat that takes fuel from the capital city to the other islands had died in an accident from the fumes of the boat. (At this point in the call, as we were driving through NZ countryside, I was searching for paper and pencil to take notes on what sounded like the final verse of “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly”.) Apparently, since the captain was the only one who is allowed to transport fuel, no fuel was available to operate the boats which run from Lifuka to Blair’s island of Kauvai .

Blair told us that she would continue trying to get home so she could return to work. However, if she found a boat with fuel and if she got home, she might not be able to get back to Pangai to meet us, and we might not be able to get to her island on our own because of the lack of fuel. Having traveled 9,000 miles to see her, I was certain that even if it required paddling a kayak, building a raft, or swimming with sharks... we would get to her!

As it turned out, another captain came to work, and the islands had fuel by the time we arrived. But the possibility that something as essential as fuel might not be available foreshadowed similar occurrences during our visit.

Visiting Pangai

We arrived via an old Convair 440 (a prop airplane kind of like a DC-6), and had to make a fly-by of the airport because, as the pilot reported, “there were pigs on the runway” (really!). Blair, John, and Juleigh met us at the airport wearing full Tongan dress. Blair and Juleigh gave us gorgeous, fragrant leis which they had made! We hitched a ride back into town on the back of a flatbed truck, a great way to see that part of the island.

We stayed at Evaloni’s Guest House. As Blair had told us in advance, “Don’t expect this to be like any guest house you’ve ever seen." She chose it because it’s where the Tongan central office PC staff stays when visiting Ha’apai. If you stay there, ask for one of the two upstairs rooms. We stayed in both upstairs rooms and preferred the one closer to the front of the house. Both rooms have bathrooms with cold water showers. Bring your own soap and towels (wish we’d known that before the first night!). When we arrived at the guest house, we couldn’t find anyone who worked there. Blair wrote a note in Tongan to the owner explaining that we wanted a “suite” for one night. We left our bags under a desk and headed on foot to John’s house.

There, we met Todd, the fourth member of Blair’s close-knit group, and were impressed with the culinary talents he provided in the dinner preparation. John, who has become quite adept at spear fishing, had caught 3-4 good sized fish earlier in the day which he, Juleigh, Blair, and Todd turned into a delicious curried stew. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought these four PCVs had been best friends forever. Being foreigners, dropped on two small dots of land, in the middle of the largest ocean on earth, has a way of quickly creating strong bonds. They clearly recognize how fortunate they are to have such a supportive foursome that genuinely enjoys each other’s company. We also thoroughly enjoyed our time with all of them.

Visiting Kauvai

The next day, riding on the bow of a small wooden boat, we traveled 45 minutes to Blair’s island. The seas were calm and just like the ride in the back of the flatbed, it allowed for uninterrupted viewing.

Although Blair will roll her eyes when she reads this because her dad repeated it so often, she really does “have a good set-up” on her island. Her house is quite spacious. She has a kitchen sink with running water and a back porch overlooking the ocean. Looking out on the Pacific, it could have been million dollar ocean front property, but looking inland, the poverty was obvious. Since her house is located on the school grounds, it takes less than a minute to walk to her class. The school grounds are surrounded by a rock wall with a gate near her front door which keeps the pigs out of her area most of the time. Because she’s so close to the ocean, she often gets breezes when others on the island do not. Being on a remote island, there’s no light pollution to interfere with the incredible view of the southern hemisphere’s stars.

The Tongans we met were warm and giving. They genuinely seem to care for Blair (locally known as Pele since the letters B and R do not exist in the Tongan alphabet) and to have accepted her as part of their extended community family. Her students appeared eager to learn, and they hung on her every word. It was easy to understand why Tonga is referred to as “the friendly islands”.

But it’s not paradise. Blair has electricity only between 7pm and 2am. The electricity also went off momentarily every night at 8:30pm, which can be unnerving while showering at night in an outbuilding when the water pipe also breaks and begins flooding the toilet next to your shower. No electricity means no refrigeration, which limits the life of leftovers. The running water is not drinkable. Drinking water is carried by jug or bottle from a cistern located next to the school. We boiled water in an electric pot each night while the electricity was on. For coffee and tea the next morning, some water went directly into a thermos.

As she had told us repeatedly before we arrived, very few things are available for purchase on her island. We didn’t fully appreciate that fact until we started to prepare food, repair her gutters, fix her leaking toilet, fix latches on her outhouse doors, and build some shelves (so Blair could get her clothes/books/papers off the floor). We would have been much more successful with a Safeway and Home Depot down the street. Fortunately, she had a supply of duct tape, which played an important role in all the projects. Her house came with a table, which she uses as a desk, and one useable chair. We sat on the floor on mats or floor pillows we had sent her. She has a kitchen stove fueled by a propane tank which must be refilled on another island and transported by hand in a boat to her island. Her toilet is behind her next door neighbor’s house (her principal lives next door). There were often people sitting right in front of the outhouse doors (which led to the repair work to latch the doors when occupied!).

On our first night at her house, she turned on the fuel to light the stove to cook pasta, but quickly decided that there must be a problem with the connection hose because the smell of gas was too strong. After trying to make some adjustments, the pasta idea was abandoned. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of no dinner (and every other difficulty we encountered). Now we better understand why.

Soon her Tongan friends began arriving. One brought us dinner, while another brought a kiekie (a woven belt with woven strips hanging down from the belt) which her friend had made for me. During our stay, friends and neighbors supplied us with prepared food delicacies as well as fresh fish and coconuts. Three of our meals were eaten with different families, and each time we experienced the warmest welcomes imaginable. The food was good and abundant, whether served in their homes or delivered to Blair’s house. Many also gave us gifts.

We had taken gifts for Blair’s Tongan friends, but we received so much from so many, we felt we should have taken more gifts for them. In reality, there’s no way we could have given as much to them as they gave to us, and as Blair said, they didn’t expect anything from us in return. Gladly sharing whatever they had with others, even if it meant they had nothing left after sharing, was one of the most touching parts of the trip. It’s something on which we’ve reflected many times since returning home. It’s more than taking soup to a sick friend or having a grieving neighbor over for dinner. Although I can’t see giving the last of my food or my possessions to someone else, our brief encounter with a society which actually shares everything as a way of life was quite inspiring.

Our brief Tongan encounter also has made me even more aware of how much of what we send to the land fill would be considered valuable in poor countries. Shortly after returning home, I saw in our neighborhood that people had placed pieces of lumber and shelving out on the curb for the rubbish truck. I kept thinking, “If we had found that much wood on Blair’s island, we could have built so much more furniture.”

Ken and I always knew that Blair was a pretty amazing daughter. But seeing how she has accepted the constraints of the culture and living circumstances, has been accepted by the people, learned the language, learned how to gut and clean a fish, used her creativity and resourcefulness to overcome obstacles, and not the least significantly, learned how to deal with creepy-crawly things that would have sent her into orbit back at home (you have no idea...). We were (and are) so very proud of her.

If you’re a parent of a PCV in Tonga , I hope you get to visit your son or daughter while they are there. If you do, I hope you enjoy it as much as we did. Those who say the young adults of the millennium generation require too much “care and feeding” have not seen the PCVs in Tonga . They are awesome!

Misinale 2010

Every year, the churches have a big money-donating festival called Misinale. Members of the church sing while each family is called up to the front to make their donations. Here are pictures (and some videos at the end!) of the Misinale in the Free Church of Tonga.

Charissa's Visit

Juleigh's friend from home, Charissa, came to Tonga, and last week they came all the way up to Ha'ano. Then John and his neighbors, Lina and Meaka, came too, and we all went to Nukunamu for the day. The pictures of enormous fish were taken the week before.

A group of PCVs came up to Ha’ano for the weekend, and we went to a beach on the other side of the island for a picnic. As this was a Tongan picnic, the girls brought the root crops to boil, and the guys went spear fishing for some fish to grill. After a delicious, fresh meal, we started back to the village.

We were with a Tongan friend too, and he, like many other Tongans, doesn’t always wear shoes. The tides forced us to walk especially sharp volcanic rocks, and our friend Sila delicately made his way over the stones. At one point, I look over at him, and he’s putting on a shoe he found on the beach.

Did the sandal fit? No. Was it even a whole, working shoe? No. But he was so glad to have that one.

The past couple of weeks have been great whale watching in Tonga. Most tourists go to Vava’u, but I think they should have come to my house a couple of weeks ago. For about a week, I saw at least one whale every day from my porch. Sometimes they were close enough to hear their breathing through the blowholes, and other times they were just sleeping in the sun it seemed. There might be a couple of boats filled with tourists chasing the whales to get a good look, but it was mostly the whales, Tongans, and me.

One day, I went into town with the rugby team to watch their game. Just as we arrived to Pangai, it started to pour. Fortunately, I had my raincoat, so I and the other PCVs just watched from under our hoods. Most Tongans just stood out in the rain, unfazed. One guy, it seems, was a little more concerned. Instead of standing out in the rain like a sucker, he covered up… with a bucket lid. He walked up and down the sidelines following the game with a bucket lid on his head. I can’t say that did much to stop the torrential downpour.

Cast:

Pele

Saia

Masi, a guy in Ha’ano, and good rugby player

Setting:

Rugby field as the team is practicing

Saia: Pele, did you see the game yesterday? What did you think?

Pele: Oh, it was good.

S: Yeah. What do you think of Masi’s playing? He’s good, isn’t he?

P: Yes, he is.

S: And he is really strong too. Look! (Goes to Masi. Tries to get him to flex. Masi refuses.)

S: Masi’s really fast, isn’t he? In the game, he ran so fast, then he hit that other guy.

P: Yes, he did.

S: It’s because he’s so fast. And strong.

P: Yep.

S: So, do you wanna date Masi?

Cast:

Pele, me

Saia, a good guy in my village and the dad of several of my students (married)

Sila, friend in Ha’ano, general good guy, and moas with Suli (A moa is a chicken. Or a boyfriend/girlfriend. Here it is a boyfriend/girlfriend. But the dual meaning can lead to some great jokes.)

Suli, aka, Juleigh, PCV in Pangai whom all the guys in Ha’ano love

‘Aisea, a guy in Ha’ano (married)

Setting:

On a boat from Ha’ano to Pangai.

Situation:

Pele, Sila, and Suli had tried to go to Luahoko during the week-long school break, but the seas were too rough so the plan was changed and they ended up going to a different island. Sila must have shared this information with others on the island, that the palangis, Pele and Suli, were disappointed that they couldn’t go to Luahoko. The other Tongan guys then jokingly offer a boat to take them to Luahoko another day.

Saia: So, Pele, are you, Suli, and I going to go to Luahoko next week?

Pele: Yeah, let’s go on Friday.

Saia: Will Sila come too?

Pele: No, Sila can stay at home and sweep.

Saia: Good, so we’ll all go and have a picnic. You and me, and Suli and ‘Aisea.

‘Aisea: Yeah, Suli and me. I’m better than Sila, right? Suli likes me more than she likes Sila?

Pele: Of course.

(‘Aisea’s phone rings and it’s his wife.)

Sila: So I don’t get to go?

Pele: No, you can’t come.

Saia: Sila’s a bad guy. He’s a minister, but you know those big coats they wear? He keeps a knife in his pocket.

Pele: I know! He’s always trying to cheat people.

Saia: Did he cheat Suli? I bet he cheated her.

Pele: No, I’m protecting Suli. But Sila’s a bad dude, so he’s going to stay in Ha’ano while we go to Luahoko.

Sila: Pele, don’t say that, or I’m going to cook your dog.

During this exchange, Suli is talking to another guy in the front of the boat. They had a pretty extensive conversation, and later Suli was recounting the events to Pele.

Suli: Tevita said he went to Tonga High School. Is that true?

Pele: Who’s Tevita?

S: That guy I was talking to on the boat.

P: Tevita? That dude’s name is Mohenoa.

S: So, he lied. Ok, so probably not true about Tonga High then, either.

As I’ve surely said before, Tongan churches and their ministers wield great power in Tongan society. There are parts of this religious power structure that I think are alright, on the other hand, there are parts that make me roll my eyes and wonder how much Jesus would appreciate this.

One of the best things about religion on my island, and presumably for other parts of Tonga as well, is that it gives people something to do. The churches – Wesleyan, Free Church of Tonga, Church of Tonga, and Mormon – all organize activities for the members. The Mormon church is especially active with their quarterly women’s group preparing a program about a month before the event, putting on dances for all members of the community, and encouraging youth to study and prepare for their mission. Other churches prepare activities like choir concerts, too, not to mention the daily church services to attend.

Sometimes the church is supportive of kids’ education, paying school fees or buying uniforms. Though almost all the main churches (Wesleyan, Free Church of Tonga, and Mormon) have their own church-sponsored high schools, the Mormon church, backed by their coffers in Utah, have an incredible, opportunity-filled high school. The students stay on campus in dorms (absolutely unheard of to not live with your family!) and have access to computers and internet. Many of the classes are taught by native English speakers, so usually students who complete the course of study (through Form 5, or 11th grade) have great working English. Then, a number of students get scholarships to go to BYU-Hawaii.

Despite some great things the churches in Tonga do for their members and their communities, there are other times that I wonder if society might be better off without them. After just attending Misinale, the annual money-donating event, I feel especially averse to the way churches handle money. The amounts that members donate is announced to the whole church, which inevitably created a “keeping up with the Joneses” situation. Sure enough, families were donating hundreds, if not thousands of pa’anga. Families who had a member who died in the past year are expected to be especially generous. As if the passing of a loved one weren’t traumatic enough, they were then supposed to give $3000 pa’anga to the church!

I remember the story of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Pangai:

A Tongan asked for $200 pa’anga because he was broke, and, I think with the expectation of being paid back, the PCV gave him the money. A week later the same Tongan asked the PCV for another $2 pa’anga to buy bread. When the PCV asked what happened to the $200 pa’anga, the Tongan replied that he had to give it to the church.

I was sitting in church a few months ago with a fellow PCV when a mini-Misinale happened. Families gave money, and the church announced how much each one gave. My PCV friend who was in my village for the weekend quickly flipped to the appropriate Bible passage:

Matthew 6:3-4

“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

It’s impossible to truly “live by the Bible,” though Tongans have told me they do, but the way the churches function often seems blatantly contradictory to the Good Book.

I’ve tried to rationalize why Tongan churches do things the way they do, especially Misinale. Maybe many years ago, they were worried about corruption, so they wanted everyone to know how much people gave to be sure the treasurer wasn’t keeping any of it. Or perhaps it’s simpler than that, and Tongans just like to know everyone’s business. Thus telling everyone how much everyone else gave just saved people the trouble of talking about it.

I understand the value of religion in a place where there isn’t usually a lot of hope. In a place where life is static and people are inured with this lack of progress, their religion is the place where they can anticipate something better. Though sometimes the hope of reaching a paradise in the afterlife can seem like a way to evade work now, if the Tongans can say they are satisfied with their churches and God, what can I do? So I’ll go to church. And I’ll sing those hymns like nobody’s business.

I also got to meet up with a Tongan friend who recently moved from Ha’ano to Nuku’alofa. I went over to Mele’s house after gorging myself at the Wesleyan feast.

She soon offered me more food, which I declined, and then she suggested we go rest. (That’s typical Tongan: have a guest and then encourage them to sleep.) I ended up falling asleep, and I awoke to Mele screaming into her cell phone.

A friend who is still in Ha’ano just called to tell Mele that another friend, Suli, had up and gotten married to a guy in Ha’ano. Suli and Sesi didn’t tell anyone beforehand; they just went to Pangai and got hitched. I’m not sure how many people knew the two were dating at all.

Mele was beside herself with this news and told everyone in her house. Most people responded with, “Suli who? And Sesi who?”

Suli was Wesleyan. Moreover, she was one of the women who was “ordained” to give the sermon herself. That qualification meant, however, that she wasn’t able to dance. Ever.

Sesi is Mormon. Mormons can’t do a lot of things: drink alcohol, drink caffeine, smoke, etc. And they have to go to church for three hours on Sunday.

Traditionally, after marrying, the woman changes to the man’s church. Thinking about this, I thought, “Oh, poor Suli! Now she’s Mormon and can’t do a lot of stuff!”

On the other hand, a Tongan who heard Mele telling the news said, “Oh, good for Suli. She can finally dance.”

While John and I were in Nuku’alofa waiting for our flight to leave to New Zealand, we took advantage of being in the big city to get some work done for projects we have planned in our communities. John talked with the hospital about an outer-island health education program and I worked to get supplies to paint a map of Tonga in my school.

But I also got to have some fun in the city. It was the start of the Wesleyan Church’s annual conference, and the minister in Ha’ano invited me to come to the feast and eat with his family – and about a thousand other people.

I walked to the location of the feast by myself, and, as I was swamped by people on the streets surrounding the feast, I wondered how I would ever find anyone I knew here. Then, amid the throngs of bodies, I see Kimami, the minister. We duck around the masses and enter the tented eating-grounds.

This was more food than I’d ever seen in my life. There were dozens of tables lined up and then piled high with food prepared by the family seated at the table. This isn’t like an American Thanksgiving feast. This is literally plates on top of each other, teetering between the roasted pig and my lap. I cringed as I thought of how much saran wrap, foil, and styrofoam would be burned after this lunch.

I must have been late to the festivities because most people at my table were replete and in a food-coma daze, moving piles of food to find a place to rest their arms. As soon as I sat down, a teen girl jumped up, found a clean dish, and began piling it with foods I might like. She passed me the plate and a coconut, and then she proceeded to offer me food that was individually wrapped in to-go boxes: sweet and sour chicken, sapsui, crab salad, canned vegetable mix.

After eating more than my fill, the table asked me to take some food with me.

Me: Oh, I couldn’t, I’m so full!

The Table of Wesleyans: No, please. Want pork? How about some chicken?

Me: Ok, I’ll take this and this. Thank you for finding helpful things. (That sentence sounds better in Tongan.) I am so full! I’m going to go sleep because I’m so full!

Table: Good! So, do you want to come to the feast this evening?

Late June marked the halfway point of my first school year in Tonga. All schools took a two-week break after the first two terms, and John and I took that chance to go to New Zealand. This was our first trip out of the country since arriving last October, and I was very much looking forward to it.

My spirit isn’t crushed by Tonga. I don’t feel overly stifled by the conservative society, nor do I constantly pine for western comforts of restaurants and hot showers. Even so, the little things I took for granted in America were the things I looked forward to in New Zealand: stores with things I actually wanted to buy, a bar where I could get a mojito, a place where I could show my knees and not offend anyone. (Though it was winter in NZ, I wore my shorts with tights, but that was close enough for me!)

We started in Wellington where we saw the Beehive, toured the Te Papa museum, and ferried around the harbor. But more exciting to me was the sensation of being in a city. The first day there I stopped in almost every store I saw. (I’m sure John loved that.) That night we went to a grocery store to find dinner. I wandered up and down every aisle, savoring the near-endless choices and fantasizing about how I could make a DIY yogurt machine work in my Ha’ano home. (Alas, I couldn’t think of a way, so the yogurt maker stayed in NZ.)

In Ha’apai, my island group, there are a handful of stores that are big enough to walk into. The rest of the stores are only storefronts, and we ask and point for the goods behind the counter. Everything in these stores is almost always the same. It’s big news among the Peace Corps Volunteers when something new comes in. “Blair, there’s a new chip that isn’t chicken flavored. It’s great!” Those treats never make it up to my island though, so I can only dream of the plainly flavored potato chips as I eat neon-colored, chicken-flavored chips called Bongos.

We drove from Wellington to Napier, on the east coast of the North Island. I was the first to drive the rental. I wasn’t nervous about (1) driving at all after 9 months or (2) driving on the opposite side of the road than I used to drive on or (3) managing roundabouts for the second time ever. I wasn’t nervous, but I was awfully concentrated on that road.

We made it to Napier, the Art Deco Capital of… New Zealand? The world? We took a wine tour to 4 vineyards, enjoying a sampling of 6-8 wines in each place. John made out well on that excursion, since I don’t really like wine and wouldn’t usually finish my tasting. The pictures from that day progress from our normal selves to those with droopy eyes and purple-stained teeth.

We went on to Lake Taupo in the central thermal region of New Zealand. We walked around the thermal hotspots, checking out gurgling mud and steamy lands. A few months ago, while lying on my bedroom floor in Ha’ano, I told John I was thinking about doing something crazy in NZ, like skydiving or bungee jumping. We kept that in our minds around Taupo, but upon seeing the height of the bungee bridge, I quickly withdrew my plans to “do something crazy.” Instead, we went mountain biking, which, I discovered, is not my forte. I more enjoyed the massage and thermal mineral pools at our hotel.

On the way from Taupo to Auckland, we took at detour to visit the Waitomo Caves, home to thousands of glowworms. Sure enough, when we got into the caves, there were thousands of glowworms.

In Auckland, we again enjoyed all the trappings of a city. In Wellington, we had gone bowling – something that was on John’s list to do. In Auckland, we did karaoke – my list, of course. We did other things that wouldn’t be on any list of mine in America: getting McDonald’s and Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s not that I really wanted either of those things. But they were both drastically different than anything in Tonga, and thus they were both delicious.

At one point, John said something like, “The best McDonald’s in the world is in New Zealand. The best Indian food, Thai food, Mexican food – they’re all in New Zealand. The best massage is in New Zealand. The best television is in New Zealand. Know why? I’ve been in Tonga for 9 months.”

I can only imagine how exciting America will be.

Tongans readily give each other whatever they have. Just last Saturday, I was on the beach watching a fisherman pull his catch from his net, when another fisherman who had gone spearfishing came ashore.

The spearfisherman had about eight or so medium-sized fish and a sea urchin. A friends and I went up to him to see what he had. The fisherman, who has his own family to feed, tells us to take this fish, that fish, and the prized sea urchin. After all that work, he’s just going to give a lot of it to us.

My friend had told me earlier how hungry she was today. “No good food today,” she had told me. Now, with a fish in hand, she promptly ripped off the head and took a nice bite. I delicately gnawed at my fish, not wanting to end up with half a tooth or the Tongan gold cap. My friend tells me to wait and cut it up at home, and, oh, just take this fish too.

Any time a Tongan asks for something from a palangi, it always begins with a long spiel. “Pele, I’m so sorry for my request!” “Oh, I apologize for coming to ask this!” And only after apologizing profusely do I find out what they’re actually here for.

A few nights ago, a guy who’s often at my neighbor’s house came over. He began by apologizing for a while, then asked if I had any tea. I always have tea in the morning, so I definitely had tea to share with them. I took the box from the shelf and opened it in offering to him.

He gently pulled out two tea bags, shaking them out a little. I said he should take three; the bags are so small. He declined, thanked me again, and left.

I thought tea sounded nice, so I opened the box again to get myself a bag. I looked in the box and, to my horror, saw a cockroach right there with the tea. Maybe it was dead? Nope. It crawled around.

I saw Finau the next day, and, laughing, I asked him if he saw I had a cockroach in my tea! He said no... and smirked. That didn’t stop him from coming back though. He came over again the next night for cockroach tea.

A few months ago, I went to Pangai with people from my village to perform a square dance organized by the Mormon women’s group. These women, the Fine ‘Ofa, have quarterly activities – the square dance being one. Last Friday was the next quarterly activity: a discussion on health, enjoying a balanced meal, and then exercising.

Though this activity, the Balanced Meal they called it, was for only the Mormon women in my village, I was still invited to participate. (Any time there’s food, I’m always invited. And this one involved a balanced meal! How could I refuse?)

I went to the Mormon church that night and listen to a very brief lesson on healthy foods and why healthy foods are important, then it was time to eat.

I had doubted the healthfulness of the food I would see. At Tongan eating events, there are usually root crops the size of my leg and pigs glistening with fat. What would Tongans do to a healthy meal?

The eating was on the basketball court. Each family would sit together around a little piece of fabric and eat whatever food they brought themselves. As I walked to my friend to eat with her, I saw plastic to-go boxes of, honestly, quite healthy foods. I saw bananas, apples, papayas, chicken, and modest size chunks of root crops. Though I’m sure it was prepared by one family for themselves, someone still gave me a box.

It was delicious! The chicken was cooked flavorfully with peppers; the traditional Tongan foods were lacking their usually dehydrating amounts of salt; and everything was in moderation.

As I enjoyed one the box of food, other people from other families brought me some of their food too. I got baked papaya, whole baked coconut, octopus, shellfish, and all kinds of other things. They were all pretty healthy it seemed to me, though now I felt obligated to eat a lot of each one of them, which threw portion control out the window.

I should have known that, even if the food would be healthy, it wouldn’t be in modest amounts: I saw one family bringing their food in by wheelbarrow.

I was sitting with a friend who had cooked her own food too, though. Of course, she shared this with me. But, I don’t think my friend really appreciated the healthy aspects of the meal, since she brought basically all the regular food I see in Tonga: fatty pork, fried chicken, sapsui, and those limb-sized root crops.

After eating enough to make even a healthy meal unhealthy, it was time for exercise. All the women (all 10 of us) stood in a circle ready to begin. The group leader then said, “Ok, Pele, go in the middle and lead exercises.” I had a look of horror on my face, I’m sure, but I got in the middle and did a couple of things before gradually slipping back to the outside of the circle.

Another woman took charge and led the women in toe-touches, jumping jacks, and a kind of body-twist that I’ve never seen Jane Fonda do. The music was blasting, and I noticed that our entire workout lasted less than a song. That was probably about all the women could take; they were huffing, puffing, and “oiaue”-ing within 3 minutes. (Oiaue is a Tongan exclamation for just about anything: excitement, surprise, sadness, and, as was the case here, general exhaustion.)

I got sent home with my to-go box and other bits of food I’d acquired throughout the dinner. After that it was time to lie down. That was the healthiest Tongan-prepared meal I’ve probably ever had in Tonga, but I still felt like I had just eaten Thanksgiving dinner.

I’d performed a ta’olunga, the traditional Tongan standing dance, during my homestay last October, but that was with another Peace Corps Trainee on the stage with me, and a bunch of Peace Corps friends in the audience. Then I performed the traditional sitting dance, the ma’ulu’ulu, for our Swearing-In Ceremony, but again, that was on a stage with other palangis and in a room filled with a sympathetic audience.

Though I knew the audience at my school’s concert wouldn’t be critical, it was the first time I was on the stage by myself with dozens of people watching just me. Moreover, they were all great at this kind of dance, whereas I was far from decent.

My principal and neighbor, Pauline, taught me the dance over a course of two weeks. I practiced all the time – by myself during the day and with the music when there was electricity. I’d borrowed the dancing costume from the only girl in town who is about my size. I’d bought the baby oil that ta’olunga dancers slather on their bodies so money sticks to them. I was as prepared as I could be.

The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. I began my dance. All was going acceptably well through about two and a half verses of the song. Then, following Tongan tradition, people started coming up to stick money on my baby-oiled body.

It all fell apart from there. I got so distracted by the people who donate money by crowding around me and slapping bills on my oily skin that I forgot the moves. I must have had a look of “oh no! What comes next?” since there was a little chuckle through the audience.

Pauline, the principal-neighbor-dance instructor, was on stage too, so I look to her for help. Her reply: “Oh, just disikou.” Yep, that’s a cognate for disco, and, to Tongans, that means just dance however you want. No way! I had practiced this dance and I’d worked hard at this dance, and I wanted to be able to perform it.

Pauline eventually got me back on track. I finished the dance. I was somewhat embarrassed that I forgot half of the moves, but no one in the village seemed to care. The rest of the night and the next day, everyone who saw me told me how wonderful my ta’olunga was. Surely they were lying, but having a palangi try to do a Tongan dance must have been pretty amusing.

I always hear stories about the Peace Corps Volunteer who was here before me. “Kalani once did this.” “Kalani once did that.” Maybe in a few years they’ll be saying, “Pele once did a ta’olunga for the school koniseti.” And then maybe they’ll laugh and say, “And she forgot half of it.”

June - School Koniseti

A koniseti, or concert, is a traditional way to raise money in Tonga. Schools have concerts every semester or so, and my school’s concert was last week. This was the first Tongan concert I’ve been to, and even more, I was going to be dancing in it! (More about my personal ta’olunga adventures in a separate post.)

A good general glimpse of a koniseti is: loud music blaring, a kid standing on the stage swaying somewhat to the music, and people from the audience come to tuck bills (usually 1 or 2 pa’anga, but maybe a parent donates 10 pa’anga or more) into the kid’s clothes. And then it’s repeated with the next kid.

There are 22 kids in my school. This is what happened for each one of them. My principal had a different idea a few years ago, and while it was the same basic “come give money to the kid moving to the music,” she enhanced it a bit. The kid on stage would call to someone in the audience to come and “buy” his necklace to ticket to a dance. Then the person would come up and tuck a few pa’anga in the kid’s shirt and maybe take the necklace or ticket. Then the rest of the audience would come up and give a few pa’anga too.

Most kids called to their parents, but some kids would call to someone else, and the more creative, unexpected calls (to the shopkeeper, the crazy old lady, the whole Ha’ano youth group) usually got laughs.

After each kid, the PTA money collectors announce how much money was raised from that kid.

The classes 4-6 also did a ballroom dancing-like dance. There are 8 kids in that combined class, and they’re all boys. That meant that half of them had to be girls for the dance. As I’ve said before, Tongan’s love to cross-dress. There were wigs, panty hose, and make-up. The pictures I put up don’t do them justice.

After several hours, the koniseti was over. The PTA announced that we had raised almost 2,000 pa’anga. Not bad for an evening’s work.

After many setbacks in projects I’ve tried to get started in my village (a school garden, a map of the world, a regular library class), I’ve finally begun a computer class. I had planned on giving the class to Class 6 (grade 6), but the principal suggested those students focus only on the Secondary School Entrance Exam which happens in October.

Unwilling to let all my preparation for this class go to waste, I suggested starting the class with Class 5. I got the green light, so the principal announced the start of the class at the latest PTA meeting. The parents seemed to like the idea, and one of them even asked if I’d do the class with adults too. I said sure, of course.

The first class would begin at 10am on Saturday. There’s only electricity at night and on Saturday, but every school night, the kids have class to prepare for the Secondary School Entrance Exam, so I decided Saturday was the best bet.

My class of two arrived at my house at 8:15am, ready to start. I reminded them that class started at 10, and they said they knew. They hung out at my house, every 15 minutes saying something like, “It’s still not 10 yet!” Finally, 10 o’clock arrived like Christmas morning for these boys, and we started class.

They were more enthusiastic than I’ve ever seen them in anything else. We did simple things, like talked about the rules for the computer, naming the parts of the computer, and turning the computer on, but they got excited for every part of it.

After class, when I walked around town, a couple of adults asked me if they could join too, and could I teach them how to use the internet and set up a Bebo account. I said I’d do my best, but without internet, it might be difficult to explain how a social networking site works.

So now, how does one set up a computer class without, you know, computers, plural?

I found a sample keyboard online and printed copies for anyone who came to class. Since my class will be mostly focused on typing, we’ll use the paper sheets to practice from a book I made.

The school has one computer, printer, photocopier, an extra keyboard, and an extra mouse. If there are only the two kids in my class, they can both use real keyboards, but if there are more people, we’ll use those sheets.

All the parents thought it was hilarious when they heard that I’d found the paper keyboards to use; they all said they want to use the real thing if they came to the class. They’re worse than the kids!

Many Peace Corps Volunteers in Tonga have bicycles. They seem like a ton of fun. One basket, one Peace Corps-mandated helmet, two wheels, and a whole lot of freedom.

I decided not to get a bike, though. My island is perhaps two miles long, and there are few instances when I need to go to a village that might merit a bike ride.

A month or so ago, one such instance arose. The store in my village ran out of phone credit, and the only other place to buy credit is about a 20 minute walk away. My school principal also wanted to buy credit, so she suggested we get bikes and ride over.

We walked around our village. Pauline pointed to a bike she saw in someone’s yard and said, “Hey, ask him if you can borrow that bike.” This is the way to get things in Tonga, it seems. You see something someone else has, and if they’re not using it (and even if they are using it, but you really want it), you just ask for it. So Tomasi gave me his bike. “The seat is broken, though,” he warned.

Sure enough, that seat was broken. All the cushioning that is so essential for protecting one’s backside on a bike was gone. Tomasi’s solution was to stuff coconut husks between the pole and the seat cover. I can’t say it worked well, but I surely didn’t want to try the bike just on the pole. We rode on that rocky road to the next village and back, and my rear end felt sore for the next few days.

A few weekends ago, the second instance arose. I was sitting in my yard, enjoying the view and reading my book, when a couple of high school girls who came back for the weekend stopped by. As we were chatting, they asked me whose bike that was, propped up over by the fence. I said I didn’t know, but I joked that I was going to steal it and go ride around. We laughed, but after the girls left, I thought that might be a fun thing to do on a lazy Saturday – go on a bike ride. I’d have the wind in my hair and my dog chasing as I blew down the island. The fact that I didn’t know the owner of the bike didn’t seem so important.

I asked my neighbor if he knew who the bike owner was. Did my neighbor think the owner would mind if I took his bike? I got the same answer I get every time I ask for something here in Tonga: Sure, no problem.

Just as I was heaving the bike over the stone wall and onto the road, a guy passed by on a bike. He suggested I take the bike he’s on. “It’s much better than that bike,” he said. I said the bike I had was fine, but thank you and I mounted my bike for my freedom ride.

Tour de France it was not. I felt like I was on the first bicycle ever built in the history of bicycles. The gears were so stripped they hardly gripped the chain, but when they did grip the chain, they would lock up. It was impossible to get any speed, but that’s probably a good thing, since the brakes didn’t work either.

I laughed to myself (and perhaps a little aloud too) as I clunked down the road. A brisk speed walker could have probably passed me, but I was enjoying the ridiculousness of the situation too much to not continue on my adventure.

As I rode through the bush, I passed a handful of people. Two people from different groups made fun of the state of my bike. I told them it was brand new and cru-cru-crunged on my way. I’d never felt more Tongan.

I returned that bike too, of course. I never saw the owner, so hopefully he wasn’t worried about the theft of his precious antique. Of course he wasn’t worried. It’s never really stealing in Tonga; it’s just borrowing for a shorter or longer period of time. And my borrowing took all of about an hour, but it was still my little hour of freedom.

One Friday this month, the primary schools celebrated some kind of multicultural day. The school radio program had told everyone in school to dress up in the traditional clothes of some culture. Rather than dressing in the obvious Tongan traditional attire, many, if not most, students came dressed as girls. Of the 22 students in the school, 17 of them are boys, so there was a lot of wig/lipstick/dress-wearing.

As for the girls, they wore other ridiculously matched clothes. And there’s Tongan multiculturalism.

Here are pictures from that day. My principal and one of two other teachers, Pauline, asked me to take a couple of pictures of her too.

At the end of the album are a couple of pictures of what the kids do during the hour-long radio broadcast for teacher every Friday: nothing. The younger kids sit in their desks while the older kids keep them quiet. It's a productive hour, as you can see.

May Ha'ano

I'm used to having all kind of animals making noises around me. Most common are dogs barking and fighting and the geckos chirping. Next most common would be pigs snorting and digging holes in their search for food. Less frequent, but still almost daily, I'll hear chickens, cats, and cows.

Then, last night, I was sitting in my house, reading my book, enjoying the silence of the night, when I heard a goat. It's not a goat off in the distance; it's a goat in my backyard.

My village doesn't have goats. There are goats in the village on the other end of the island, but not here in Ha'ano, and certainly not in the school compound.

Even so, there most certainly was a goat in my backyard. Who knows how it got there, or why.

It continued screaming for several hours. The goat didn't bleat. It screamed. It's voice was cracking from straining so hard. I think at one point it even said my name.

Then suddenly, it stopped. And the next morning, there was no sign of a goat.

So it goes.