I made it home, and have been here in New Mexico for 2.5 weeks now. I have been having fun with my my mom, going to museums and banjo recitals and appreciating that creative expression I have so dearly missed. I feel as though I came off of an experience that assumed no particular length of time, moving elliptically and erratically, due to its sheer intensity and otherworldliness. In Fiji, days could feel like weeks, and weeks could feel like days. It was a time warp, with so many life experiences packed into those two years, that having now emerged, am I still 25? Do I have to seriously start a career? But I'm so tired..

That's spawned my latest idea of skipping career and shooting straight to retirement. It's interesting that a few of my friends are emerging from different paths too, having worked intensely in something for a few years, all now arriving in the same spot. Thinking, now what? And to all of us, retirement sounds real nice. Of course, when you spend 4 seconds thinking it through the idea crumbles in impracticality. I guess my generation is lucky we are not necessarily locked into a career upon graduation, and can rather do bits here and pieces there of meaningful and contrasting work.

Adjusting to America is perhaps harder than adjusting to Fiji. They told us, they warned us, and ugh, they were right. A few things I may not have expected:

-Living very rurally for 2 years means that I now feel out of place in the very city I grew up in. I don't know if this will ebb with time, or maybe I have learned that I feel more comfortable going at a rural pace.

-Leaving Fiji meant leaving a family I had grown to love, a cat I raised from a kitten, a routine I had grown accustomed to, a wonderful social network in the other volunteers, an identity I had grown into. Basically, uprooting everything that meant anything to me for 2 years all at once. And I don't know if any parts will remain intact after the transition.

-Struggling with a sense of purposefulness and identity as I figure out what's next.

-Having been through something so intense but so alien. There are no reminders of Fiji here, and it would be easy to forget it even happened. Additionally, no one from America can really understand the intensity of what you've been through.

So those are some things. Like all major transitions, maybe it just takes patience, putting some days under your belt, distracting yourself until it gets easier. However, all that aside, I am excited to live America having lived Fiji, appreciating things more and being physically closer to my family and having easy transportation and communication and freedom and bagels. Lots and lots of bagels.

One month left, oi.

I have exciting news, which is that apparently I am smart at wearing skirts. My PC bosses came to visit, and one of the main things the older men from the village told them was that they were very impressed by my long skirts, and that I am setting a great example for the young girls with my modesty. Clearly this will be my legacy, the tall girl who was really good at wearing skirts. Who needs to run workshops or paint murals when you can have the same if not more effect on your community with your fashion. Especially if you are a woman. If you are a man, I would suspect your fashion wouldn't be scrutinized in the least. Oh, to be a woman in Fiji...haha. Maybe funny haha.

The other exciting news is that the paths are all finished, and the village continues to be thrilled with them. They started and finished a project together, as a community, everyone helping in some way. I feel pretty lucky to have been a part of it all, witnessing them come to life and work so hard.

I have my date of arrival in America: June 26. They stagger our group's departure because we have plenty paperwork to complete at the office right before we go -- closing out accounts, taking a language proficiency exam, exit interviews, signing this and that waiver, etc. I happen to be in the first shipment home, which ensures that I'll be in America for the 4th of July. That is going to be amazing. (I think I've become patriotic. But perhaps another story for another time.)

This week new volunteers arrived, to replace those of us on our way out. They are just starting their training, their language learning, their cultural immersion. Wow. Interesting that of the 32 people that were in my group at the start of it all two years ago, only 21 have stayed to the end. Hm.

I watched spinner dolphins last weekend as part of Nan's birthday at Nataleira Eco Lodge. It was perhaps in my top 3 experiences in this country. They took us out in a boat, and many of us climbed onto the roof of the boat to watch them better. I learned dolphins travel in pods. They are so beautiful to watch. It was one of those moments that puts life into perspective, kicks the power out of anxieties and trivial thoughts. It was good timing, because we're all feeling a bit dazed these days at the enormity of the transition ahead, of saying goodbye to Fiji and hello to America. Of leaving a tropical winter and entering a temperate summer. Not to say I have at least 4 countdowns going in various planners and calendars. But still, it's change, and who can think about huge change without even a sliver of worry? I sat next to Catherine, who is such a calm and peaceful person. We both were watching the dolphins, thinking about the last two years, and said to each other, what just happened? What did that 2 years just mean? One day we would know, we'd figure out how Fiji fit into our lives. "I'll call you on that day," Catherine told me. Our eyes staying on the calm, light blue ocean the whole time.

I'm realizing that my life will soon not be very interesting, and this blog will soon fade. Not like it was an incredible blog or anything. But. Hoping that my 1100 pages of journals, of which about 5 pages of material surfaced in this blog, will find their way into some form of book some day, not commercial, just, you know, for fun. We'll see how that goes.

The sunflower just bloomed in front of my house. it is pretty massive, and obstructively joyful. it's hard to look at it and not smile. The first morning it bloomed, tata stood and talked to it for a good while, wishing it good morning, thanking it for the day, for the weather, for everyone's health. ha.

The first half of the cement shipment arrives in the community hall.

Day one. Here, the elders of the village, including the big chief (far left) pour the first bit of cement into the start of the pathway. This was preceded by a grog ceremony to inaugurate the project.

The boys collect sand and rocks from the river.

action shot!

another action shot!

Big chief sits with his granddaughter on a bench outside his house, in front of a new stretch of path.

Big lunch in the community hall.

A completed section! They used some cement to fix the drainage along the pathway too.

Another completed section!

The village insisted on this stand to commemorate the donors. It is in the very middle of the village. The house behind it is the big chief's house. They said, but Lisa, we should get a nice engraved stone from Suva to place on the top. And I said, can we just carve the names in the wet cement? They said, but it must be nice. Then they pointed out the electrical wire they had draped above with attached lightbulb so that when the generator comes on at night, the names will remain lit up. Maybe a bit overkill, but pretty frickin cute -- just shows how incredibly happy they are with these paths!

I have learned that it is good not to get your hopes up for things. I spent a lot of time my first year getting my hopes up, then getting my villages' hopes up, then being let down, then having to let down my villages. Not a fun cycle. That is why I was a bit covert about this footpath operation, not telling too many people in case it fell through. But now that I have seen 340 bags of cement sitting in the community hall, and have seen completed sections of new footpath under my feet, maybe it's time to get excited!

The footpaths were needed for many reasons. During the rainy season mud makes the paths inaccessible. Some just simply stay home, and meetings, funerals, weddings, and children going to school are all affected. In addition, the mud mixes with animal feces which then enters open wounds in feet, leading to skin infections. Footpaths minimize the villagers' contact with the dirt, making skin infections less common.

Plus, they look cool.

Money came from America, from friends and family and organizations through a PCPP (Peace Corps Partnership Program). I still haven't gotten the list of donors, and a proper thanks will come with time, to be sure. But a preliminary thank you to anyone who contributed to this project!

Turns out, the way to a Fijian's heart is through footpaths. And the way to my heart is through a good lunch. So. These past couple weeks have been excellent. Every day the men work on the paths, while the women cook. Around 1:30, the women carry large pots full of breadfruit and curries and cassava and fish, etc, to the community hall. The women set the floor with food and plates and then tell the men lunch is ready. The men come in and eat, while the women fan the flies off the food and sit near the door. The men then leave to go rest for a bit while the women eat what is left over. Then the men get back to work, and the women clean up and then lie down and tell stories.

I like seeing the whole village working together on the same project -- men and women alike. And the boys are learning too, helping after they come home from school. The village is very happy with the footpaths. And that makes me happy.

Pictures to come soon!

"The tropics are such a gaudy joke: people have to live with every other kind of poverty, but a fortune in flowers, growing out of every nook and cranny of anything. If you could just build an economy on flowers. I stayed in a house that had vanilla orchids growing out of the gutters and a banana tree coming up under the kitchen sink. I swear. There were some kind of little animals too, like mongooses."

(from Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver, p.88)

This most recent project I've been involved in is co-producing a CD to be used in the curriculum of a set of schools in Fiji. These songs all teach human values in some way (you know, respect, devotion, etc) and are to be used in conjunction with other mediums (stories, art, etc) to reach the most amount of kids as possible. This CD is another volunteer's main project, and she recruited musicians to help her put it together (!!).

So. Clearly, teaching about waste management in villages, sometimes sifting through mountains of trash while piglets are running about, is incredibly valuable too. But this project, where I am told to play the guitar all day, think up chord progressions to fit the wonderfully cheesy lyrics of these songs, is kind of like a dream.

We recorded 6 songs this past week, and will get together again in the coming months to make up/record the rest. SO. FUN.

So it's really tropical here. I had forgotten. And in the middle of summer to boot. Quite a shock to come from a cold dry New Mexican wintery wonderland where I wore wool socks every day and night.

My garden doubled in size, vines growing all up in each other such that it will take one very large morning to sort through through it all. Maybe two large mornings. I haven't had the energy yet, still getting my Fiji legs back.

At night I have been taking my mattress off the bed and putting it onto the floor so that I can feel the breeze from the cracks beneath my misfitting doors. I did this last year, but what is new this year is waking up to frogs jumping on me. They usually don't make it over me, but they sure try. This summer it is a lot rainier and walking down the road around my village I have been noticing miniature frogs, smaller than crickets, jumping out of my way. They. are. everywhere.

You know, as a kid, I loved frogs. I had a big poster full of beautiful poison dart frogs splashed in different neon colors. Driving home sometimes we saw toads hopping across the road after a rain. My mom would stop the car and I would hop out, scoop them up and place them beside the road. They were always these special, mysterious, reverent little creatures to me.

I remember my first dinner in my host village I was shocked to see a frog hop across the floor with neither mention nor regard from my host family. Did they not see this frog? They did, they didn't care, how strange. After slowly getting used to that, one night I saw my little host brother kick a frog across the living room like a soccer ball.

And now. I not only have frogs hopping around my house, having to clean up frog poop twice a day, but I also have them hopping on me at night. And when I see a frog, it is like seeing a grounder in baseball. I dive on it and throw it out of the door in one swift motion (my neighbors once laughed at the sight of frogs flying out of my house, but they are used to it now).

* I meant to say in the last post how much I loved seeing all my fam/friends while I was home. What a wonderful blanket of comfort and happiness and warmth that was. I had such a great time. Love you all! SO MUCH!

I've been home for the holidays, which has been wonderful, and a bit confusing, but overall wonderful.

I walked into my house after 1.5 yrs and the first thing I saw was Rocky, the family cat, who could have eaten my scrawny Fiji cat for a light snack. Actually all the cats looked distorted, like someone had come up to them, grabbed their furry cheeks and pulled them outward. I thought they were sick, and was genuinely concerned, until I realized that it was me who was projecting the distortion, so used to seeing only undernourished, mangy pets running about.

Also, lots of buttons here. For coffee, radio, cars, ovens, microwaves, ice. I don't have to tell anyone that. But man, I have a new appreciation for all of them. The first few days I walked around the house asking if anyone needed to do laundry. I wanted to be the one to press the button, and having been home only for a few days, I hadn't amassed enough dirty clothes for my own load. What a trip. And how easy it is to forget you have started! The clothes just sit there quietly in the washer, waiting to be moved to the dryer, and then just sit quietly in the dryer, waiting to be folded and put away. This is quite different than going to wash dishes and realizing crap the clothes are still soaking in the sink and then scrubbing them and hanging them before you can start the dishes. And then, as night settles in, hearing nana outside reminding you to bring in the clothes off the line because, as she has explained to you in the past, the night wind brings scabies.

People go really fast here, and don't like to wait. And being slow-paced to begin with, it has only gotten worse for me. Hell, I remember one night in Fiji I finished up dinner and just settled into the night, sitting in my chair, watching ants run across my table. It was mesmerizing, how they were individually so erratic but collectively so static. I watched, watched, and maybe read a little bit and bam, time for bed.

Driving. So, I now drive very, very slowly. Maybe because of the whole island time thing, maybe because I don't have a job or appointments I'm rushing to because I'm on VACATION. Also, when I see construction zones, I get excited instead of frustrated because my goodness, there is an active, healthy, organized push toward improved infrastructure. It is incredible.

Grocery stores are so spread out, bright, calm, and plentiful. Especially the produce section. It is less personal, for sure, which makes me miss my jam lady and my onion guy who always offers me a cup of grog after I buy something from him. But it is relaxing to not be constantly watched while you buy things, like, oh look, the white girl is buying mint, let's ask her about it along with why she is in Fiji, what her name is, and where she lives.

Eggs here do not have to undergo the float test. They are always good. And furthermore, since they are constantly refrigerated, the yokes never break when cracked into a pan. Amazing.

I don't have to constantly check expiration dates. Things are so rarely expired.

Pants, pants, pants. The freedom to move your limbs! How fun.

Snacks in America are unparalleled.

The air here. So dry, but crisp and smelling of familiar trees and grasses I have missed. I breathe more consciously. My first breath of New Mexico air was unbelievable, and I might have shouted and hollered a bit, overcome with joy. I hadn't noticed it before, but I noticed it then, how unique and wonderful and clean and fragrant the air is here.

Sometimes conversations here are hard to contribute to. It's like trying to go on a bike ride with friends, and wanting to keep up and notice the things they are noticing along the road, but for some reason, you were given an uncouth pony to ride, and the pony stops at random places along the path to smell flowers and look at random things so you are way behind, all the time. Like, the other day a conversation about refrigerator organization ostracized me, because what am I to say? Am I really supposed to reroute every topic? I could say, well, I don't have a refrigerator. But I still buy things that need refrigeration, sometimes, like cheese, and I make my own refrigerator by putting the cheese in a bowl partially filled with water in the coolest corner of my bamboo house and hoping the night cools off enough to not turn it into a breeding ground for bacteria. No one cares, and a comment like that just makes me 'that girl', and it would get a "hm" and a change in topic. Not always, but a lot of the time.

I guess now that my foot fungus is gone, along with my tan, maybe it's time to go back to Fiji and finish this thing out. What a comfort to be home, and it's silly, but sometimes in the depths of this experience I doubted America still existed, so entrenched in differences and so removed from everything I knew. But it does exist. America is still here!

When I was on my way back to my village, 3 hours into my bus ride, I realized the key to my house was in my ever-elusive backpack. So the rest of the way I patched up a plan: 1. ask tata for spare key 2.see if i can shove one small child inside the house through gap over my door to open side door from within 3.somehow break lock.

I get to house and tata says the spare key to my house is at the school in a locked box. The key to the locked box is with a man named Suli who is cutting sugarcane somewhere near Rakiraki. I looked around for a small child, and while Sinu was willing and able, the crack above my door seemed to have shrunk, and a small baby would be the only thing that would fit. And it would probably just rock back and forth and cry, not open the door from within. Unhelpful. So up came Sisa with a file, and after about 30 minutes, he sawed that lock right off.

I am still putting the pieces all back together, but things have improved a lot.

Also. Do I dare say I love not having a computer? My God, my life is so simple. I just whittle away the evenings in the hammock reading. No longer frantic when and if the generator comes on, not having the self control not to watch a show (just like how i don't have the self control not to buy ice cream in town -- when will i get the opportunity again? perhaps not for awhile). But electronics and Fiji have always been incongruous. Why follow a path that meets so much resistance.

A few days after going through the motions I went outside with my cane knife and started whacking at weeds. I went to a piece of land i often stare at from my window, thinking to myself, that could make a good gardening plot.

The next day I got out the pitchfork and went at it again. I upturned the soil and threw it around, loosening it bit by bit.

The neighbor boys soon came to help me. God they're so sweet. Sisa, the same brother who chopped my lock off, climbed into the lemon tree and started hacking the branches with a cane knife, so that my new garden would get more direct sunlight. Huge branches came crashing down. Avi and his brother Dile got their pitchforks and knives and helped me turn the soil over better. I had to snap myself out of just watching them work. They are so adept with knives. Maybe there is sense in giving the little kids knives to play with. Little farmers in training. They just sweep the grass away like a leisurely frisbee toss. And then we came to roots. Some roots as thick as a few cans of soda. With one whack they cut the thing clear through, and then would delicately lift it like a piece of spaghetti. Meanwhile, I would be wrestling with it, clutching with both hands and jumping backward trying to elevate it.

Planting starts tomorrow.

Today I sat in the Fiji US Embassy waiting for someone to talk to about getting a new passport. I sat in one of many chairs that were spaced as if the office were an airplane. Would someone soon offer me peanuts? In front of me were three framed photographs -- Obama, Hillary, and Biden. Smiley, happy. On the walls were pictures from America. A crowded street, a park, and the beginning construction of the Capitol.

Awww.

Rosy from afar, I know. but i hope i never take America for granted ever again. One thing I love about Peace Corps is that it makes you appreciate things so much. Cheese is a delicacy. Berries, easy transportation, bagels, parks, environmentalists, pizza, political activism, tortilla chips, fast internet, sports, refried beans, hummus. Watching people recreate for the sake of recreation. Libraries, book stores, coffee shops. Even simply sitting in a quiet house reading a book.

Tomorrow, back to the village, and I get to leave big bad Suva behind me.

Today, honesty.

Yesterday my backpack was stolen from beside my chair at an internet café in Suva. I was talking to my sister on Skype, straining to hear her over the loud bustle and even covering my eyes at times to better concentrate on her words, perhaps thinking by shutting out one sense I would amplify another. I sat calm and motionless as someone reached down to my feet and grabbed my bag containing my computer, iPod, wallet, passport, cash, and walked out the back door. They may as well have taken the chair from under me, watching callously as I crashed to the floor.

I don’t unleash wrath very often. I’m pretty subdued, calm. I was always that kid on the soccer field that tried to break up fights instead of start them. But I unleashed some wrath in that internet café, some pretty good wrath, I think. So lost and confused, at 24 in a strange country that I had known so well, that I had grown to love and trust, that suddenly turned its back on me. That ripped the rug from under me. And this time, as I cursed through the aisles of the internet café, it was the kind-hearted employee who calmed me down, who spoke to me gently, who directed me to the nearest police post.

I don’t know what to say. It’s just stuff. Yes. But I can’t seem to shake the sad disappointment out of me this time. Will I ever trust this place again?

I’ve been to hell and back in this country so many times. It’s just so intense. Culture shock, burnout, isolation, cyclones, floods, homesickness. Blah blah blah. I have had to learn to cope with bad days alone in a house of sticks using nothing but clumsy, newly invented tools. Hell, I learned the guitar. I’ve made up games. I’ve written 850 pages in my journal. I’ve pretty much memorized a book I was sent about mindfulness, gratitude, and peace. All for what? To keep myself sane, to keep myself here, to fulfill a commitment I made. A commitment that asks us to draw a sunset with 3 crayons, two blue and one green. That asks us to hike with a limp, and eat soup with a fork. But sometimes the stretch is too much, and I break a little bit. Sometimes I imagine it as building muscle as I break and re-form. But sometimes it feels like an irreversible strain as I become impatient and absolutely humorless, someone that I don’t know and don’t particularly like.

And sometimes I wake up feeling guilty I am not doing enough. I don’t have hours. I don’t have a separation between work and home. I just am. I wake up slowly with 3 cups of coffee as I do crossword puzzles or read about politics of faraway lands. As my cat jumps into my lap and purrs, I think, man Lisa, you could do more. You could start your day earlier. You could be taking on another project. Just try harder.

I don’t claim to be doing anything more noble than anyone else in this world. I have kept myself alive on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a long time now, and yes, I’m damn proud of that. And up to this point, I have fallen, but have always managed to pick myself up and dust myself off. I don’t think what I do is anything extraordinary, and anyone else in my position would probably do a better job than me. It is easy to make yourself into a martyr as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Who can invalidate your actions? It is easy to make yourself into a martyr on a blog. Who can invalidate your claim? You are your own judge. And what a dizzyingly terrifying role that becomes. Because who are you, who am I, who are any of us to judge what we do.

But you know, I don’t go around robbing people. I don’t wake up plotting crime. I don’t cause harm to anybody, at least not intentionally. But some do. Some have, some do, some will. As I have entered a sometimes masochistic search for truth and certainty, trying to figure out what in this world I can believe in, what I can trust, all the while messing up myself sometimes but dammit trying to be a good person, trying not to hurt anyone and trying to solidify my moral backbone and build a foundation upon which to live the rest of my life, there are and will always be bad people out there countervailing the good.

Do they balance out to static? Is the world just supposed to be stuck in this equilibrium?

Luckily I know more of Fiji than Suva. I have so many positive impressions of this place. And I know that, though it's hard to picture now in my foggy visions of berries and cereal aisles and national parks, there are bad people in America too.

Eh. I usually try to end on a positive note with this thing. But maybe sometimes it's just not supposed to end on a positive note. Like the world, maybe today I could just fade to static.

*disclaimer: my English has gotten bad. My sister tells me this in our gchat conversations. That's not English, Lisa, she tells me. Oh yeah, I reply. But the strange thing is that it's not like my Fijian is improving all that much. Mysterious, I know, and perhaps another conversation for another time.

And so it begins. One simple trip to the hospital, and I return x-rayed and fine, but having learned so much more than why my foot hurts.

My feet are flat (thanks DAD), and apparently walking miles upon miles in Chacos aren't good for them. But there are so many rivers to cross! Running shoes are just impractical. So after several months of the same pain in the same place, I decided to get it checked out.

So I go to the hospital in Suva, which i have never been to before. Actually, I haven't been to a hospital since I was getting the last bits of my medical clearance taken care of back in America for my Peace Corps application. I walk inside, and, my God, it's like I've been transported somewhere else. It is so clean i could make a sandwich on the tiles I am standing upon. The lights! The shiny bins! The organization and order! The absolute lack of chaos! Everything in its right place. And that is just the beginning.

i get really cold in the waiting room. The air conditioning is so uncomfortable and unnecessary. I wait, wait, wait, and then remember, oh yes, I'm still in Fiji, because there is plenty waiting. But I am too distracted looking at people walking in straight lines and making directed, calculated movements that I don't care. There are manicured and meticulous parents wearing logos from Fijian companies sitting next to their groomed and well-behaved children who occasionally cough and flail in their seats. Everyone is wearing shoes, and polished shoes, at that. One Indo-Fijian female doctor keeps walking past with the clickety clack of heels. Heels! I stare, I smile, and I look down at my own calloused brown feet with splatters of white paint from a mural project we are doing at the school. I am slowly learning what stepping away from 16 months of rapid change, so rapid new limbs practically sprout overnight, feels like. In the thick of it, one day blends into the next and life just seems normal, static, ho hum. But when you're removed from it, taken out of your familiar surroundings and plopped into a new place, you get it. I was starting to slowly get it. Finally, my name is called.

I walk into the x-ray room and the whirring of the machine, the faint light emanating from its center, the sheer monstrosity of that piece of science sitting in that dark room, are all so remarkable I want to just stand and gaze. I may as well have been looking at a spaceship. But then I remember I need to walk up to the machine so that I can get my x-ray. I get to step closer! I actually get to sit on the thing!

We take pictures of my foot, and I put back on my Chacos that have caused all this mess in the first place. I go back to sit in my chair, and this time I take a seat next to the television, the moving pictures with sounds. I watch advertisements that I recognize from the radio, but now have faces and movement to go along with them. I didn't realize there was local news in Fiji, but it reminds me of action 7 news or the like from Albuquerque. Local people, talking about sports and weather and happenings. How fun.

I see the doctor, he tells me my foot is not broken (I had an idea that was the case) but that there is a tendon issue there, perhaps. As he pokes and prods my foot I am suddenly embarrassed by how weathered and beaten my feet look. Against the cool white tile, away from the hard village ground and brown woven mats, they look foreign and strange. Are these really my feet?

I get back to the waiting room and wait to reconcile the bill (thanks America!). I want to stay longer, just to observe this new amazing place, but I go, because I am meeting a friend, and I need food, and wow, had 2.5 hours really just gone by? I remember hospitals in America, and I think of my dad, who gets to work inside one every day. How fascinating.

Isa. A sneak peek at how hard readjustment is going to be. Or, how exciting? Like seeing with new eyeballs? We shall see.

I have to mention this place because it was really extraordinary. Especially because recently I've become so rutted in the same sights and sounds and smells of Fiji -- this place was so different!

Eight of us went. We rode a boat for 2.5 hours to Vatu-i-ra Island -- "the bird island." They did not lie about the birds. I was so overwhelmed with the odor of bird $@&* initially that I ran across to the upwind side, thinking my lord, what was I thinking to come all the way here, this is insanity. But then I looked up and nearly collapsed. Hundreds of birds, all frozen in place by the wind. I laid down for over an hour just staring. There they were, gliding, not moving a muscle; there i was, watching, not moving a muscle. We were both flaunting our mortality as if to say, yes, we are so evolutionarily adept, we have so much time on this earth, that we will spend the next several hours ending up no farther from where started. I felt guilty being the lone observer, thinking of ornithologists around the world that would be mesmerized by what I was looking at. Hell, even non-ornithologists would be mesmerized.

Soon Kara joined me, and we proceeded to name all the different species of birds. There were the "batmans," the "ladybugs," "white stripes," "all blacks," etc etc. We got pooped on, to be sure. But somehow, it was worth it.

We camped on the beach, just us and the birds, and I made sure to wake right before 6 so I could race to the top of the small hill on the island to watch the sunrise.

I want to go back.

(Pictures: top, view of the shore from the top of a large rock. middle, birds at sunrise. bottom, view of entire island at sunrise with our boat on the left)

My latest efforts. My wonderful village carpenter and I put together this super cool stove using a wood mold and cement, sawdust, and sand. It's about 1 foot by 1 foot by 1 foot. We used a manual that was put together by another PCV, and I added a little somethin' extra to the top (using extra tiles lying around the village). An attempt at infusing my surroundings with some kind of creative energy and spunk. Or something. The stoves are cool because they require less firewood and emit less smoke. And what I love is that they are relatively cheap (10 USD per stove, more or less) and use locally available materials and carpentry talent. So, we'll see how this goes. I gave the first one to nana and she seems to be pretty happy with it. When nana's happy, I'm happy.

I thought about water fountains the other day for the first time in over a year. Wow, water, cold clean water to boot, at the press of a button, in a convenient place. I mean, I guess there are water fountains here sometimes, like accidental ones, when big cane trucks run over the exposed PVC pipe in the road. That doesn't count!

At the end of the day, I have started writing down both something i'm grateful for and also the cutest part of the day. I'm really liking it. Yesterday I couldn't choose, so I wrote down all 5. And without consciously thinking about them, I would've never thought to put them in my journal, and would've likely forgotten about them quickly. Things like nana and I running around the yard together, hollering, collecting my ibes and clothes off the line when it started raining. Or when the new 6 puppies from next door came and visited me while I was making a new cover for my compost, so I stopped to pet them. Or when the fish truck came into the village to sell fish, and I told nana I didn't want fish today, and she said ok, and then she bought me a fish anyway for my lunch. Or when tata came over and asked if I could get a new "globe" because my "globe" seemed to be weighing down the generator. Little things, yes. But it's good to remember these little things.

The finality of this experience is starting to sink in!

To my dearest village,

I am writing today not only because it is clear to me, after a year, that you love letters. In fact, I think you have asked me to write close to a dozen letters on your behalf, asking for this or that or the other thing. And I have written some, but I also have not written others. You will probably still ask me to write some when I get back to you this afternoon. But that is not the point today. Today, I am writing a letter not on your behalf, but to you.

I am sure you think I am very strange. Just yesterday I was walking away from you at 5 o'clock, heading for my friend Kara's village to help celebrate her birthday. I was walking, because I love to walk. The bus went by, and I did not get on. How strange! I kept walking stubbornly along the road, as the sun was setting, away from you. Why was I not preparing the kerosene lantern, taking my bath, and starting to prepare dinner? I know how this must seem, this aimless walking I sometimes do, to either nowhere in particular, or to some far-off destination at an odd hour! I am not sure I will ever be able to explain it, but I want you to know, that I know to you it is very odd.

Remember when I threw my cat into my hamper and rode the carrier to meet two other Peace Corps Volunteers to go to the other side of the island to get our cats spayed? That was a long ways to go in one day to cut open a cat and remove the part of it that makes babies. Why would I spend time and energy and money doing such a thing? When I came back, Papukeni was very groggy and was sleeping on my floormat. She had a bright purple splotch surrounding a big scar on her bum, and your children gathered at my doorstep to stare at her. Just this morning she was running around and playing! Why is she now so sad! And so purple! You see, I didn't want her to have babies because I wanted her to stay healthy and also, when her babies have babies, and those babies have babies, you will be squirming with cats! That would be too many cats. You know, like how you have too many dogs right now, and the female dogs look droopy and tired all the time because they have been having too many babies. I wanted to save Papukeni from this same fate.

You also must know how very much I respect your ways, traditions, and culture. I feel lucky to be able to live within your limits, even though sometimes I appear to not want anything to do with you. I need some space sometimes, some privacy. This is very different, and I know how odd this must seem to you! But I love being completely immersed in your events during the day, only to be able to sit down and retreat in the evenings, sitting in my chair by the window, reading a book or writing or playing the guitar.

Reading, in fact, is one thing I do most of the time you think I am sleeping. I have read so many books in my house, accounts of Sudanese diaspora, of a time-travelling man, of a murder mystery taking place in New Mexico, of a family in America trying to grow their own food for a whole year (which you do, and have done, for quite a long time). You see, sometimes I like to read to take me to another place. Not out of disrespect to you, but as some sort of respite. Entertainment. To see how another person sees the world. Out of curiosity. Out of a desire to know and learn more.

I know this may be hard to believe, but I'm not used to wearing skirts! This is hilarious, I know, because have you seen me in nothing but skirts! Believe it or not, most people I know in America have never seen me in a skirt. How odd! And when you sometimes see me running (again, aimlessly! Where am I going to so rapidly?) along the road in the early mornings, in a skirt, it feels very strange to me! In America, I only ran in shorts. I never walked, let alone ran and trained, in skirts.

I hope that you like having me, because i very much like being a part of you. I am sorry I am not Fijian, and will never be, and that I behave oddly sometimes. But I have enjoyed learning about Fiji, and have also enjoyed teaching you about America through my sometimes eccentric behavior and baked goods and music. I am sorry I am not as good a teacher to you as you have been to me, and know that I am trying, and that I want only good things for you and your future.

Sincerely,

Lisa

Oh hell no. Luckily, I keep most of it in a sealed glass jar. But I had reserves in a flimsy plastic pouch, which it devoured (?). It also chewed through the top of my oil and I found it spilling over onto my bamboo floor. So, it's on. Papukeni is on mouse patrol. I guess that's what I get for leaving the village for a couple weeks, the longest I've yet been away from the village at one time.

But my sister was here! How wonderful to see her. We spent a week in the village -- talked in a meadow, floated down the river, picked fruit, hiked to a waterfall, ate freshly-caught prawns at the top of a mountain, drank plenty grog. Then we spent a week going around elsewhere, ending up at a cute resort in the Yasawas, meeting some very nice people from Israel, England, Australia, NZ, etc. We are such desert people coming from New Mexico and all. But we tried scuba diving! First in the swimming pool, to see if we could hack it, then the actual ocean. What a trip. I had been fearing it for some reason, but really, if you like breathing, you will like scuba diving. So, let's see if I can be somewhat responsible with my money and save up enough to get certified.

Then we had a week-long conference in Suva called MST - "Mid service training." By some curious misfortune, the hotel bookings got messed up such that most of us had our own room in a ridiculously nice renovated hotel for 3 nights until they consolidated us into 3's onto the other not-yet-renovated side of the hotel (that's more like it). What a nice treat those 3 nights were, though. What especially impeccable timing to be able to watch world cup games on a flat screen TV. Sorry taxpayers.

The new group of volunteers has arrived, which is awesome, but that means the old group is leaving. They stagger their departure, so a few leave every week or so. Which basically means this month has been going by in rolling waves of depression. Isa! But they are all eager to be leaving and starting their new adventures, going on with their lives, blah blah. I will still miss them a bunch.

Fourth of July! My goodness, what a day. We Ra volunteers met at John C.'s house and cooked delicious food, took a boat to an island to snorkel, then ate the delicious food, pretty much continuously, over the entire rest of the day. Hamburgers, veggie burgers, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw, chips'n'salsa, other various dips, other various chips, nacho cheese fritos, pecan pie, chocolate cake, cheesecake, ice cream. Best day ever?

Also, it's cold now. I always remember July as the month my mother swore off New Mexico, the yard exploding with weeds, the heat melting our souls, inserting limeade intravenously. Planning an escape north, somewhere, anywhere. But here, in July, I wake up chilly. Like, wool-socks-flannel-shirt-fleece-pants kind of chilly. Soon, maybe August, I'll be able to see my breath in the mornings! How exciting. And yes, I know I have a mouse, but silver lining, the ants cannot maneuver in the cold!

Got back from Suva this week from HIV/AIDS training part II. I brought my village nurse and one youth, and we will get to work shortly on designing a workshop for our area. It was a great workshop -- so informative, so expansive. My village nurse got to sit down and talk with our region's zone nurse, and I think I finally understand how health care works in Fiji. We even came up with a workplan of how to improve awareness/education surrounding HIV/AIDS in the province of Ra. But of course, all Suka (the 40-year-old village nurse) could talk about when we got back to the village is how we went to Traps (a dancing club in Suva). So when I walk around the village, the ladies call out "Traps!" and laugh and I tell them "Shhh! Wara tukunia vei Tata!" (don't tell tata!).

Also. Fiji is unpredictable. I know this, and this is why I no longer make plans. But instead of being a constant frustration, this unpredictability, along with all other quirks of Fiji, are starting to become endearing. Even the kids are becoming cuter. Is it a one year thing?

Like, when my favorite person in my village, Te, disappeared for a couple weeks and I thought he had moved to Dubai. Te was my hopeful new community partner who provided the impetus for the women's group vegetable farming project, who I swapped novels with and corresponded with by letters carried by boys on horses (he lives in a nearby settlement 2 hrs walk away). Our weekly meetings, which often lasted all day, always restored my faith in the world. We would talk about the future of Fiji's economy, the role of the Methodist Church in Fiji, the word "sustainability" and how important a concept it is to understand. He's just so smart. And then he got busy, and in the market one day his mom told me he and his brother had just signed a 5-year contract to work in Dubai for an American company to patrol the Red Sea for Somalian Pirates. So, there I was, feeling a bit lost, missing my talks with Te, and, oh yeah, hoping he wasn't at the mercy of pirates in foreign waters somewhere.

But then, as I was rinsing the last of my laundry yesterday in my sink, I look up, and there's Te. He's back, and never went to Dubai. Furthermore, he has recommitted himself to this vegetable farming project. He and I even got teary talking about how the ladies are really starting to take ownership of the farm; they weeded the field last week, and are raising money through fundraisers for plowing/harrowing/seeds/fertilizer, even though there is a good chance we will get that all funded.

I want to rely on Te, but I know that everything in Fiji is transient, is impermanent. It is hard to rely on anything. And I think that is more natural that way. How sterile and rigid America seems sometimes, with appointments down to the 15 minute interval, highways sturdy and strong, rivers contained, rain diverted into cemented channels. When I sit in the bus and wait for either the washed out road in front of us or behind us to recede so we can cross and I can get home, instead of getting frustrated, I am realizing that I have never lived so close to nature. I like being at its whim, because I think that's how it's supposed to be. What's more natural than a flood? So just like roads, I'm learning people ebb and flow, and all I can do is enjoy someone's presence while they are here in the moment with me. Isa attachments.

Also! I bought a ukulele in Suva last week. It's pink, cutecutecute, maybe even cuter than Papukeni. Only know 3 chords, but more to come...

Going to Suva, the capital of Fiji (yet only slightly bigger than Roswell, New Mexico) is like stepping on one of those electronic moving walkways. Man is life exciting at first, seeing the same scenery but going by so fast. But then you step off, and trip up a bit, acclimating to the village pace once more. But then you get used to it again, and life goes on just fine. It is like straddling two worlds, being in Suva and being in the village. And I do enjoy each world very much. It's just those transitions that trip you up...

Part of the transition back from town to the village is opening the door after being away for so long and seeing which creatures have taken up residence in your residence. This time, just frogs. Well, there are always frogs, but they somehow get more fearless when you aren't there and poop freely everywhere. Which is a much better situation than it could be (i.e. rat, cockroach infestations) although cleaning up frog poop is not like cleaning up cat or gecko poop, because it doesn't just vanish in one wipe. You have to devote some time to it. Glamorous, i know. But these are the kinds of things I spend so much time thinking about and dealing with on a regular basis!

Speaking of glamorous. I also discovered an impromptu ant farm in my parmesan cheese. And even though I find those kinds of things fascinating, not in my cheese. No way. So i spent a good while sifting out the ants, one by one. Man that was tedious, saving my cheese like that, and I'm not even really a cheese person. But it was dealt with, and it's all ok now. (The day the ants get into my coffee...then we might have a serious problem.)

I'm on a metaphor kick today. But I thought of another one while I was in Suva. Life is baseball, and we are on deck to bat. Right now, we PCVs are swinging around a few bats to warm up, and it is a bit clumsy and heavy and ungraceful at times. But that is only to highlight the immensely directed, calculated, swift swing we will have at the plate, with one bat, back in America. Or something.

Potential future purchase I am excited about: ukulele.

Big news this week was Cyclone Tomas, a category 4, hitting Fiji. I was already in Suva for a training on HIV/AIDS outreach with about 10 other volunteers, so we were instructed to just stay put. No major damage to Suva (and if they hadn't said it was a cyclone I wouldn't have noticed!) but better to be safe, right? All volunteers were consolidated to nearby cities, and it only looks like a few sites are affected (although some may be severely affected - still don't know).

We all got pretty stir crazy during the national curfew, in which we would be arrested if we were caught walking in the city. But we made it fun. There were a few computers that were constantly running "ugly betty" and "glee." There was a pool, and we did water aerobics and ran around the perimeter making a whirlpool, only to switch directions and get swept backwards. We had cards and "set." We even made up games. My favorite was the jump/roll bed game, where one person would roll back and forth along the bed and the other would have to jump across them as they rolled, and if the jumper touched the other person, they lost. Another was the Gladiator cushion game, where we took two long cushions, stood two tile hypotenuses away from each other, and whacked each other until someone stepped out of their tile. At the breaking point we started an impromptu drum circle, using whatever we could whack together to make noise. I might have been playing the toaster at one point.

Overall, quite a different experience than the last cyclone. And hey, when did this whole experience start being so fun??

It has gotten to the point where I merely set something down on the table and the ants sense it, walk up to whatever it is, evaluate it as edible or not, and then climb up it or walk away. It could be a hot cup of coffee, or a book. They still check. They are too smart, and I cannot keep up with them. But i have discovered Mortein bug spray, and I definitely decimated close to 4 ant colonies in my floor on Tuesday.

I've been meaning to share this story, because this was a real turning point for me in how i view this place. One day coming back from town, I took my normal 2:30 bus (the only afternoon bus that goes to my village) but got off early to visit Lydia in her village. I left my vegetables on the bus. Damn, considering that’s my one shot at getting vegetables for the whole week. I returned to my village a couple days later, and nana handed me all of my vegetables minus a few tomatoes that had gone bad. Someone on my bus had noticed I had left them, and then, when the bus reached my village, carried the vegetables all the way to my house and gave them to my nana. And my nana kept them safe, in a bowl, awaiting my return. It is frustrating sometimes being so dependent, so reliant, on those around me. But if I allow myself to truly give into it, to just fall back and let the village envelop me, I know no feeling of greater safety, save my home back in America, surrounded by my “real” family. But how rare, how incredible, to have found this feeling on the other side of the world, away from everyone and everything I know.

Turned 24 last month! Thanks mom, for the candy. And Denise, for the wonderful book! And Jess M, for that hilarious card. Conveniently, the day before my birthday, the medical officer called me and several other volunteers, letting us know we had to come into Suva for an H1N1 vaccination the following day. Following the mass vaccination, we all went out on the town dancing to celebrate being done with the shot, being together, and, oh yeah, my birthday. It’s not often things happen like that here. Good fortune indeed.

I slept with a blanket last night, for the whole night. This is huge. This means that the heat is subsiding, the worst is over, and now we just coast into fall. That does not mean that my bure is still unbearably hot sometimes. And, in the time of most dire heat, aka 4pm, I hear the clinking of spoons against teacups. The hottest hour in my village is tea time. Do Fijians have esophagi (?) made of ice cubes? Thermoregulation of steel? Either way, it’s pretty damn impressive, even if I want no part of it.

OK, now deep thoughts by Lisa. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to enjoy the means toward an end. Like, not reading books just to say you’ve read them. Not hurrying up mountains just to say you’ve climbed them. Not cooking a meal just because you’re hungry. If you are too focused on the end, and rush through the process, you have wasted time, because the end is such a minor part of the whole! Instead, relishing each page, each overlook, each chopped vegetable along the way. Finding joy in the way you’re getting there. Because then – does it even matter where you end up? And isn’t life just one huge, long process? Isn’t the Peace Corps one huge, long process? But to find joy in each day, regardless of any outcome in the future – I think that might just be a good way to live.

Fun stories from this week include a swim across the Viti Levu Bay, approx. 2 miles, in which I paddled a boat while 6 fellow volunteer swimmers swam. (Sorry dad, I just didn't get those swimming genes!).

Another fun story includes a wasp attack during an impromptu hike, in which I got bitten about 7-8 times by the same wasp, throwing my body down the hill of sugarcane to escape. Never before have I swatted away a wasp, only to watch it come right back for me, looking for a new place to attack. It was something out of a horror film, perhaps, only it was just one, but man, did it make itself known. And I was in clear sight of my main road. If my village didn't think Americans were crazy to begin with, seeing me flail and scream around a patch of sugarcane has probably confirmed their suspicion.

The best part was that I was on the way to feed the pig at the time. And afterward, I thought I saw a clear shot up to the top of the hill, so I went for it. I'm always looking for a way up the hill behind the pigs, so that I can look out on the valley from a clear, uninterrupted vantage point. But no. The search continues.

And I returned, with an empty bucket, pale and shaky, with cuts on my arms and legs, telling my neighbors that I had returned from feeding the pig.

Am I a crazy American? I am starting to think so.

But good news. I have found a new community partner to work with, who is extremely intelligent (and I have actually swapped novels with!). A few days ago he asked me, "Now Lisa, I just found this out yesterday and it really shocked me. Is Turkey part of the European Union or the Middle East?"

An intellectual challenge!

I told him I didn't really know, and he launched into a discussion about its precarious intersection between Europe and the Middle east...

I have actually talked to him about the Fijian tendency to expect Peace Corps volunteers to give them free handouts (eg. brushcutters, sewing machines) and how unsustainable it all is. He agrees that it is unsustainable, and that is not my job, and we are both thinking of ways to supply this community with income-generating projects that could, if these communities wanted in the future, buy them 15 brushcutters and sewing machines if they so desired. Talks of backpacker's resorts, vanilla planting, and money management workshops. We'll see where it all goes...

School restarts next week, and life will once again move like it did in the end of November. I'm excited for that. I'm excited to dedicate a full year of myself to do whatever I can to improve my villages. I'm ready.

Right now though the days are hot and long. Fiji right now is an unexpected and never before experienced amount of tough. The water shuts off multiple times every day, and sometimes for more than a day. The heat is so bad at times you wipe your brow every 15 seconds, thinking of ice cream, dreaming of snow-covered mountains. Life continues to move back home, without you, and visitors remind you that you are being slowly forgotten, and not on purpose, but because life just moves. It's just the natural progression of things.

I am slowly realizing what a family I have here, though. The volunteers around me are an endless supply of laughter and diversion and fun. Without them, I am not sure I could stay and do the things I am trying to do. What an amazing group of friends I have here. How lucky am I!

I have not mentioned the cyclone, which happened mid-December. It shook me up beyond belief. Without dwelling on it, safe to say, I do not like cyclones. And, with 8 more scheduled to rip through the South Pacific this season, I may have to change locations for a few months to ensure that I never have to experience that ever again in my village. My location is particularly vulnerable, as the river flooded and I was trapped to weather the storm in a tin house that could have easily been crushed by a tree or had its roof blown off. And nearly did.

One thing that has surprised me recently is thinking of religion in a new way. Not as the root of all evil, and as a way to justify persecution, like I unfortunately used to. But rather as a source of strength and help when life is too sad, or too hard. Having never before even considered religion, this is a huge realization for me. But I've always felt there is too much sadness in the world to not believe in something higher. Perhaps I've never before been driven to places so dark as to really seek it out, to need it. But I am starting to really see its value. It gives people hope, and sometimes, that's all you could ask for.

Everything will be ok. And I still, despite it all, would not want to be anywhere else. I am having an amazing experience. Here I am, making my way in Fiji, trying to do something good in the world. That can't be all bad.

Parents! They made it here all right, after stopping off in New Zealand for a bit, tramping and shearing and sailing and whatnot. I never told them, but I spent the whole day before their arrival cleaning my bure and making “practice pancakes.” Pancakes are kind of a big deal in my family, and while mine will never compare to my dad’s, I wanted to keep our pancake tradition alive and thus tried my best with what I had. I shared them with my neighbors, who said, “Lisa! You are too smart at pancakes!” (The joke-that-never-gets-old among us PCVs is that Fijians use the word “smart” when they mean “does well.” I have been told I’m also too smart at weeding tavioka, eating Fijian food, and feeding the pig.)

Anyways, so that was Sunday. Monday morning, the morning they were to arrive, I thought I’d give them a tiny laugh and put on my most obnoxious red jiaba-sulu. So I walked out on the road to intercept their taxi in my full-on Fijian apparel. I purposely walked just outside the village because I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to handle seeing them again after so long, and didn’t want to be entirely overwhelmed by having the villagers swarming around to meet them to boot.

I’m not sure I can quite express the happiness I felt seeing the taxi emerge from the sugar cane fields, seeing dad’s face in the front window, rushing to the taxi to give them both hugs. So much comfort after so many months of discomfort! Not so much discomfort, but newness and differences and irregularities. Finally faces that were so familiar that made me remember who the hell I am and where the hell I come from!

They did great. Mom even tried the grog, which is the Fijian ceremonial drink that comes from pounding the roots of the kava plant. Although it did take her quite a lot of sips to down one coconut shell-full, to her credit, it does taste like dirt water. I made them lunch (Chaana masala), someone brought us pineapple, someone brought us cow’s milk, and then we were invited to my Fiji family’s house for special dinner and a meke (dance).

After the dinner, but before the meke, mom remembered the reading glasses she had brought from America. After I told her my “tata” really needed some new reading glasses, asking if she could bring an extra pair when she came, she took it upon herself to solicit more from friends. I keep hearing about them even now, how happy they have made the village. So, thanks mom! (And Denise, and everybody else!)

The next morning I made the pancakes with “Peace Corps Syrup” (sugar, water, vanilla) – I think they were a hit – and then we headed out to Rakiraki, my nearest town. I gave them the grand tour which took about 15 minutes. Then we headed to a hotel.

How interesting (and backwards) to see the country from the side of tourists. My favorite was at one of the hotels, every night at 6 o’clock, a man draped in nothing but coconut leaves ran around yelling “Bula!” (hello!) to every table as he lit the tiki torches. Mom and dad asked me if that happens in the village every night at 6 o’clock too. Of course.

Before I knew it, they were gone, and I found myself at a Peace Corps-sponsored workshop on “project and design management” with all the other Viti Levu rural volunteers on the Coral Coast. Their visit seemed too short – but wouldn’t any length feel too short? But how wonderful to be surrounded by some of my favorite fellow volunteers for an entire week – it made the departure of mom and dad much more manageable. Now the village wonders when "sister chessika" will visit.

Mom and I feeding the pig.

Ladies do a "meke" (dance) for mom and dad.

Crossing the river out of the village to catch the bus.

Some of my village faves with mom and dad.

Dad's not too sure about picking up a box of un-refrigerated Mixed Chicken Pieces at the Rakiraki supermarket.

Dad talking with some of my uncles.

Mom meets Papukeni.

Mom (slowly) sips the kava.

Ok. We're in paradise. Now what?

Right? Right? Come visit.

I am busy! My goodness. Every day is a day full of something. In some ways I wish I were less busy, so I could relax a bit more and read more books. But I don’t want to stop the momentum, because my whole area is really excited to start working. So, I guess I will keep going.

I realized an upside to visiting so many areas within a given week. Each village or settlement is vying to give me the best lunch. They ask me what I had at each place earlier in the week, and, to remain diplomatic, I tell them that their village, of course, has the best food. I think part of them thinks that if they serve me the best lunch, they will keep me coming back, and I will in turn help their community the most. In reality, I will, with or without lunch, invest in all of them equally. But I won’t tell them that. It’s kind of like learning you should never interrupt someone while they are complimenting you. Why stop such a good thing!

Watched Gilmore Girls last night for the first time in a very long time. I realized that trying to understand rapid Fijian is excellent practice for understanding the entirety of the dialogue in any given episode. Before I would only pick up about 50% of what was said. Now, almost everything! Well, at least about 80%.

Parents come in 4 days! They will sleep here in my bure on Monday night. Then we’ll venture off to visit the rest of the country. I am extremely excited for their visit. I will be sure to take lots of pictures and post them here.

The past couple of weeks have been busy! And somehow I've found myself in the strangest situations. I wish I had pictures to go along with the stories. One day I'll get better at this.

I was writing one day, in my house, listening to music, right around dusk. I noticed it was getting a little warm. I look outside my window, and see huge flames. The sugar cane field, which starts about 10 feet from my (very flammable) bure, is on fire. I go outside and watch in amazement. Fire is very contained and well-behaved here, though, and so while I was concerned, the village wasn't. I took a lot of pictures, might've prayed to Jisu a little, and then waited for it to settle down. It was started on purpose, of course, (and with no warning, of course) because the sugar cane had just been harvested. It was very Fiji.

I went to see Lydia's village (another PCV) -- she lives right on the coast, and is only accessible by boat. So we waited for the tide to come in, got on the boat, and ventured out there. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Later that visit, we hiked atop a nearby mountain to see the village in context of the Viti Levu Bay. From the top of that mountain, overlooking the incredible expanse of water underneath, high enough so that bats circled below us, and coconut trees were mere toothpicks, I thought of the Grand Canyon. Different scenery, of course, but the similar feeling of total admiration of and respect for nature. And, also not truly believing what I was seeing was real. It was overwhelmingly beautiful!

A nearby Fiji RPCV (returned Peace Corps volunteer), who was a volunteer in the mid-80's and who now lives in Fiji, took a few of us current volunteers out in his boat to an empty island. It was the kind of beach you see on desktop backgrounds -- complete with coconut trees, a white sandy beach, and no other humans around. We had coconut and papaya as snacks, went snorkeling, and wandered around looking at the creatures living along the beach. My favorite were the large, vibrantly blue starfish that we were able to pick up and admire from up close. It was an incredible day, followed by an incredible hot shower and an incredible lunch at their house. And an incredible sunburn. (I thought I could handle the sun -- I'm from New Mexico after all! -- but Fiji sun is (duh) worse. I learned my lesson. And I learned the PC gives out Aloe for free.)

I spent Tuesday morning wandering around in a bee suit. There was a beekeeping workshop in my village put on by the same RPCV mentioned above, and having never seen bee hives, I tagged along. I learned that bee suits are hot. But also -- beekeeping is fun! You don't have to do much work, and in return, you get a delicious snack. There is a push to lift Fiji's dependence on sugar cane export, and honey is a likely alternative because of its minimal work, huge demand, and incredible profit. So I may find myself in a bee suit again soon!

The waste management campaign is going really well. We have now built rubbish pits and compost bins in one of my villages, and are learning to sort out the tins, PET plastics, glass, and aluminum. (The other village is going slowly -- it is just such a big village! But I know we'll get there one day too!) On the horizon, which we may start next week, are soakage pits. Instead of having greywater (water from the sinks and showers) run into the river, we will intercept the drain and plant banana trees in a circle. The banana trees, which are very good at absorbing large amounts of water, will be able to turn once potentially harmful chemicals into delicious fruit.

My parents are visiting in about a week and a half! I am very excited to show this place off to them. I'm hoping it will ground my current experience in some sort of reality! (Often I feel like I am dreaming..)

Been a couple months. Man I’ve been horrible at blogging. Sitting down to recount the enormity of even a day is daunting, let alone a week or a month (or two!). But. I will have to ignore the fact that I will not be able to cover it all and just dive in. I do have a lot to say!

Finally establishing a rhythm here. I have shifted my focus from integration to starting work. It feels, to me, the right time. The Peace Corps says to wait 3 months before starting projects. But really, it’s ultimately up to you and varies from person to person depending upon their village. There is a lot of sense to waiting, because you really need to understand the context of the village in which you live before you go in and try to change its course. There are protocols, power struggles, traditional gender roles, familial taboos, and other seemingly hidden village dynamics that are necessary to understand before undertaking any project involving the entire community. In addition, they have to get to know and trust you, and you the same. It takes time. And while it was not an easy three months, it was incredibly necessary, and now, at this point, I feel incredibly prepared and motivated to start work!

I have found the time similar to raising a child, I would imagine. The relationship has to be cultivated carefully. And there is a lot of doing things that you do not necessarily want to do, but should for the sake of investment and fostering of the relationship. Like caring for runny noses, instilling discipline, taming untimely crying, maintaining patience when not understanding, dirty diapers, and no time to yourself. But then! Your child grows and starts displaying those characteristics you hoped God it would. Like being considerate of others, cleaning up after themselves, respecting authority, etc. And I am not sure who is the baby in this analogy, me or my village. Because a lot of the time I feel they are raising me. Maybe we are raising each other. In any case, we are affecting each other, it is clear, and, I think so far, the exchange has been wonderful and positive.

My first project is waste management. In Fiji, there are no guidelines or regulations for trash. It is thrown in the rivers, into the ocean, out of buses, into the drainage ditches, onto the roads, within the forest, etc. What isn’t dumped into nature is put in a pile and burned. Everything. Tins, plastics, paper, diapers, batteries, cardboard, etc. The piles of burning trash, which are always left unattended, are in the middle of towns, villages, and settlements. Needless to say Fiji is very smoky. This is the way of life here, and in all fairness, what are you to do with trash on a teensy island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? However, what I am starting to tell my village in our community meetings are the following:

1. Stop burning plastics!

2. Compost!

3. Stop littering!

4. Recycle!

After visiting the primary school and having a great conversation with a surprisingly receptive head teacher, I returned one week later to find a “waste disposal area” all set up with signs indicating the compost, plastics, tins, bottles, and incinerator. I was very impressed by the initiative of the teacher, and while it isn’t perfect, it is a great start.

My two villages are following suit, as they have now all seen the waste disposal area at the school. We have begun village clean-ups in which the whole community collects, sorts, and disposes of trash found around the villages. There are now big pits in both villages, and hopefully, in time, there will be less burning, and more thought as to where to put what. It is hard to teach proper waste management, because it is a rather murky subject that has no clear solution. Choosing to either burn or bury is picking between the lesser of two evils. Both aren’t ideal. But, as far as I can tell, burning plastics, which emit harmful toxins, needs to stop, and the amount of smoke in my village is unbearable. So, I chose to preach “bury.”

Now that waste management is underway, I am looking ahead to future projects. Water, certainly. Fiji is probably thought to have the most pristine water in the world, because of the success of Fiji Water. In reality, many people of rural Fiji still lack clean, reliable drinking water. In one area of my village, eight houses share one single pipe of water which runs continuously into a bathtub in the middle of the road. People come here to wash dishes, do laundry, bathe, and collect water for cooking. Another area of my village, including the school (about 500 people affected in total), currently uses water that is being contaminated by a settlement above the dam. Runoffs from pesticides, soaps, piggeries, human waste, and trash dumps all end up in the water.

So those are projects.

Another thing on my mind is the reality that Fiji has since lost its new and shiny quality. It has become rather monotonous and cramped in its scope, lacking a certain creative energy and expansiveness in thought. Never before have I been somewhere as exciting and dull as this place. Wild horses, tsunami warnings, and erratic buses, sure, but at the same time, each day is remarkably similar to the last. The rhythm of the village is monotone. The roles of women and men are seemingly unalterable. All the music is rhythmically and tonally identical. The belief in one God is omnipotent. Even though there exist alternative spices and ingredients in the supermarkets, food remains static and bland. For girls, there is netball, and for boys, there is rugby.

But it’s sustainable. Every day, you get up and do just as much work that is required so that you can get up and do the same tomorrow. No more, no less. In this way, no one ever gets ahead of themselves. This lifestyle, which is harmonious, yes, and certainly breeds a stress-free environment (I don’t think I have yet seen an argument in my village), the westerner in me wonders if there can be more. Not more money or things or materials, but more creativity and exploration and discovery. More expansive ideas and ingenuity. The knowledge that each person holds an incredible amount of potential that could, if cultivated, become anything, do anything, understand anything.

So. I have tried to think of ways to infuse my community with this attitude. As much as I would like to start a revolution, I think it’s against Peace Corps policy. But I do want to shake things up. Make people’s eyes open to the potential, size, and possibility of our world. Maybe this is a typical idealist PCV attitude that will fade alongside my service. Maybe I’ll realize that no, it’s impossible, and this is the way Fiji is and will always be. But I do see incredible potential here that is untapped. And it is overwhelmingly exciting.

I have not mentioned my cat! Papukeni remains cute. She now wears a flea collar, and ever since her fleas have been controlled, she has been much more tolerable to be around. She is definitely a village cat, and everyone knows her and feeds her and brings her back when she ventures too far away. She is incredibly loving, and while I try to keep my distance (you never know what could happen), she has become a pretty sturdy companion. She follows me when I leave for the day, but luckily, I choose the path with the goat in the middle of it, and while she is relatively fearless as far as cats go, she is scared of goats. So I’m able to go on my way.

My house during training in the village of Mokani.

The Mokani guitar club. Lydia and I started a little guitar fad in the village!

All the girls of Mokani in our matching jiabas.

Nadave. Where some of our training was held.

Nadi La (center) with Save (left) and Una (right). Nadi La was my aunt in Mokani and who sewed me all my jiabas! Save was my little brother. Una is Nadi La's daughter. On our way to the end-of-training celebration!

Me and Save during our last night in Mokani.

The meke the ladies in our village performed for us! Vula is on the left, my mom is in the middle, and Nadi La is on the right.

At the swear-in ceremony at the US Ambassador's house. Me with our language instructors who lived in the village with us for 2 months. Aliti is on the left, La is on the right. They were AMAZING!

The bure! Made of bamboo, coconut leaves, and other natural materials from the surrounding mountains.

A little glimpse inside the bure.

Looking up inside my bure.

My toilet/shower/sink/clothesline.

Papukeni! My new kitten. Papukeni means pumpkin in Fijian.

Well! Lots to update about. Sworn-in and at been at site for almost 4 weeks now. I live in a beautiful village in the interior of Viti Levu (the main island of Fiji). I am surrounded by mountains and have to cross a river (no bridge! But the water is only up to mid-calf) when I come in and out of town. I am about 1 hour from RakiRaki, where I go on Thursdays to stock up on supplies, have lunch with the other 6 volunteers who live in the area, and eat lots of ice cream. The closest volunteer to me is about 25 minutes by bus.

I’m staying in the middle of about 5 houses of one family that has sort of “adopted” me. So I have a mom, dad, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, etc. My mom (nana) and dad (tata) give me food and are helping me integrate into the village, which has been extremely helpful.

I live in a Fijian bure. They all laugh at me when I tell them that people back home don’t know what a Fijian bure is. It is made purely of things growing around me – bamboo poles as the frame, matted bamboo as the floor and walls, and interlaced coconut leaves as the ceiling. The ceiling is perhaps 15-20 feet high and converges at the top similar to a teepee. It smells like I am in a tropical tree. I guess I sort of am. Bures are known for staying very cool – and compounded with being in the interior of the island at a higher elevation, it can get very cold at night. In fact, one morning this week I could see my breath! (It is winter here, after all.)

My bure has no electricity except for when the generator comes on from 6-9pm once or twice a week (never the same day of the week so it is always exciting and keeps you on your toes!). It is all one room, although the the back half is raised by a step and there are curtains separating the two sides. My nana always jokes that it is the “stage” and when she comes over to visit we always tell each other to “laga sere!” (sing a song!) on the stage. The kitchen is in one corner and consists of a double burner propane stove raised about 6 inches off the floor. I have a wonderful table, which also doubles as my desk. I am waiting on shelves, which tata says he’ll build one day. The wood has been sitting outside for about 3 weeks now, but hey, no rush. My toilet/shower combo is outside about 5 feet from my house along a concrete walkway. There is a double sink attached, which is perfect for washing clothes and dishes.

This job does require lots of patience. Things just come incredibly slowly. In fact, it took me about 3 weeks just to figure out how to walk in and out of my bure without repeatedly running into the coconut fronds and getting tiny pieces of tree in my hair. But beyond that – how do you keep things without a refrigerator? How do you keep things from molding? How do you keep ants out of everything? How is everyone related to each other? Things that are seemingly mindless to Fijians – but require much explanation to Americans. And, when explanations come in rapid Fijian, you have to take a deep breath and realize that today you won’t get an answer. Maybe tomorrow.

Right now I am doing a lot of “talanoa.” Which basically means, lie down and tell stories. Usually after lunch, the ladies all bring out pillows and we all lie down together on the floor mats. After one or two hours you fall asleep, and when you wake up, you tell more stories and then it’s time for tea. It’s really fun. There is something inherently trusting about napping in somebody else’s house around people you don’t really know. So, once you emerge from your nap, you feel closer to the ladies around you. You go from strangers to best friends in a matter of hours! It’s one of the cuter parts of Fijian culture.

I got a kitten! Still unnamed – hasn’t hit me yet. She curls up on my lap and purrs while I cook. She sometimes curls up on my ear when I sleep, but since she is so small and it is so cold, it is like a little earmuff and it is wonderful. There is a kitten-sized opening in one of the bure walls so when I leave for the day she can play outside and come inside if it rains. Fijians don’t have pet cats, and see them more as rat catchers. I don’t know how not to treat cats like pets, so when my neighbors come over and she curls up on their laps and purrs, they look at me, visibly uncomfortable, and I say “vosoti au!” (I’m sorry!) and grab the cat and give them a look as if I don’t know where that cat is learning its manners.

Lots more to say, but I’ll save it for another time! Sending lots and lots of love from Fiji.

It is hard to believe that we all swear-in in 10 days (??). They've managed to keep us so busy that we don't have time to really process where we are and what is going on and, as a result, the weeks just fly. Life in the village is so comfortable right now, and training has become so predictable, that I'm a little anxious to have it all uprooted in 10 days. However, life must go on, and I am excited to move into my new Fijian bure (!) and start anew.

Oh, and my chamba count is now at 9. My host mom kids that I'll have to buy a new suitcase just for all the new dresses she's made me!

Anyways, too many stories to relay in too little time. One day I'll become better at this..

My host brother Save is so wonderful. He is only 12 but so thoughtful, interested, and considerate. When it rains, he is sure that he covers me with the umbrella. When we eat, and he finishes first, he asks me if he can leave the table. When we read from the Fijian bible at church, he moves over each word with his finger to show me where we are. An exceedingly sweet kid. So when we came back from a neighbor's house the other night and a frog was hopping across the living room floor, I was pretty shocked when he ran up to it and proceeded to kick it as far as he could.

Still trying to process this. But I couldn't get mad. I just ran up to it, picked it up gently, and placed it outside. Save then said, "oh you like froggy? I'm sorry" (I don't think it was even injured!). I said that yes, I do like frogs. I know that he has such a big heart -- but, like lots of Fijians, that just doesn't extend to animals. It's insanity. But, at the same time, does he think it was insanity that I went through so much trouble to catch the frog and take it outside? If it was an American child who did that, I would have absolutely lost it (as much as I am capable of losing it) -- how could anyone raise a child that does that? But since I am in a new place, I'm not really in a place to pass judgment, even though my thoughts on the matter are pretty defined. I know Save is a sweet kid that was raised well. Just another interesting cultural disconnect that I haven't quite resolved...

In other news, my aunt has now made me 3 dresses. Of course they stick the kid who never wears any dresses with the host family who loves making dresses. I tried explaining to my host mom that at home, some of my friends have never seen me in a dress. They laughed and laughed, of course, and the next day, I had another new dress. Maybe they think they are making up for lost time. It is very sweet. But I do miss pants. And ice cream for that matter.

My host mom at lunch today de-husked and cracked a coconut in about 25 seconds. It was incredible. She first slammed it against a sharpened piece of re-bar, then held the inner cocounut in her hand and whacked it with a huge knife, caught the coconut juice in a cup, and whacked it once more to cut it cleanly in half. It was probably the most impressive thing I have yet seen here in Fiji. She tells me she'll teach me how one day, but we shall see. Amazing.

So here I am! Don't really know where to start, so I'll focus on a few areas I've been thinking a lot about since I got here.

My host family is wonderful -- my "mom" Adi Sala, and three boys (ages 12, 14, 16) who are really helping me with the language. There is also a woman who lives there, and am still not entirely sure how she is related to the family, but she does most of the cooking and spends the days weaving floor mats (ibes). My first night was great. At dinner at the house, they asked me what state I was from, and I said "New Mexico." Then they said "Mexico? You have swine flu?" A few minutes later a frog hopped across the kitchen floor (totally normal). Then they handed me a cracker with ants crawling across it and I could only graciously accept, flicking off some of the ants (I've gotten really used to this!). I had cucumbers and lettuce, and they handed me the "tomato sauce" (ketchup) and insisted I use it as a kind of "dressing." Even a few days later this all seems pretty normal. I'm surprised how fast it's taken me to get comfortable here.

Pets don't really exist here. All animals are, for the most part, treated like animals. My host family has "va pussy lailai loaloa" (4 black kittens) but they do not feed them. As my host mother Adi Sala explains, cats can catch their own food (dogs can't, and are thus fed). Certainly the house is free of rats and lizards (unlike many of the other houses in my village). However, the cats still look emaciated and underdeveloped. It is hard to step back and realize this is not my problem to fix. It helps to try to view the cats within the Fijian cultural framework -- after all, people are most important, and certainly Fijians take care of each other very well. It also helps to think of my three overly loved and overly fed cats at home. That's not to say I don't sneak them some fish when no one is looking...

I saw my first pineapple plant! It rises from the center of long sharp spear-like leaves. Actually, it looks like someone just tossed a pineapple into a yucca. There are also many cool plants that grow along the roads through my village -- papaya trees, banana trees, mango trees, casava, taro, coconut trees, chiles, etc etc...

Two nights ago my host mom brought the tailor over to the house and took my measurements for a "jaba" because she knew I was going into the city the next day (a jaba is a two-piece decorative floral dress that all the older ladies wear!). The next morning, she was up at 6am ironing it for me (!). So, I wore it that day into town (the day we meet with our entire group plus all staff, and also the only day we can be more relaxed in what we wear). I was definitely the only one wearing a full-on jaba but I did receive lots of compliments! I was really touched she did that for me.

Running out of time here at the cafe -- I'll try to post more soon.

Sending much love!

Like, in the middle of the ocean, right? I guess I'll find out soon enough.

I'm trying to figure out the best medium to share this experience with anyone who wants to keep updated.  And blogging is so hip.  So, I'll try it for awhile, and see how it goes...

At the moment, I'm trying to push all logic and reason out of my head and instead try to focus on the tiniest, most minute details of now.  Like how the sun is hitting the grape vines out the window, leaving little delicate shadows on the ground.  And how I can faintly hear Jim Lehrer echoing around the kitchen.  Because, if I don't, and skip even one second ahead, the enormity of the moment escapes me, and I feel so lost!  

But isn't it comforting to think of life in such microscopic moments?  How each day is just an opportunity for new smells, tastes, sights, sounds, and surfaces to touch? How change is constant, and not something to fear.  How it should be embraced!  Change is new material to digest.  A chance for stretching our little eyes and ears and brains in new directions...