About two months ago, I was able to witness the slaughter, preparation, cooking, and presentation of a pig. Pigs are only eaten on special occasions, and as Samoa is a culture based n reciprocity, my host father sought to repay a neighbor with a size 2 pig*.

My host nephew, Tuna, woke me during my afternoon siesta to inform me that my host brother, Sefo, was in the process of slaughtering one of a dozen pigs living in the backyard. Hurling towards the Samoan kitchen in the back of the house in my half sleep state, I stumbled upon my host father and brother balancing on a large stick that was placed on the pig's neck, choking the unfortunate thing.

This is the way in which Samoans, without rifles, slaughter pigs. Unfortunately, for the pig, this meant a slow and painful demise. It took a good 10 minutes before the pig finally fell limp. All the while, its icy wide-eyed stare never once blinked and its mouth snapped wide open (I suppose to gather whatever air it could possibly take in.)

Immediately after, Sefo dragged the carcass over a pile of hot rocks to burn off the hair. Whatever hair remained he had removed with a knife. So what was once a black pig was now a pale ghostly carcass.

He then proceeded to gut the carcass. This involved, first, by removing the anus done to reduce the potential for defecation spillage. It is then followed by removing some tube - could have been the esophagus or trachea - who knows. Then, he removed all the organs and flushed out excess blood. This all happened while our two puppies ravaged whatever meat they could scavenger. One dog found the pig's tail while the other found the pig's hooves.

After having gutted the pig, Sefo proceeded to stuff the pig with piping hot stones and leaves. The idea is to simultaneously cook the pig inside and out. After stuffing the pig, he moved it over a pile of more piping hot stones and covered the entire pig with leaves and newspaper.

It is important to note that Sefo did not season the meat. This is true of Samoan food- meat is not seasoned. Something which I will address later, to some, the Samoan culinary experience is exotic and addicting, to others, such as myself, the experience is rather dull. The meat comes out bland and coarse when tasted especially when I know the true free-range organic meat has so much potential!

Anyway, I diverge, after about 2 hour of baking the pig, it turned a bright red and was ready to eat. He placed the pig in a basket weaved out of palm leaves and walked across the street to deliver the pig as a gesture of thanks and reciprocity. We intentionally stayed for a moment before leaving as to avoid receiving a gift in response to our gift. Thus, here is a brief account of Samoa's circle of reciprocity

* Pigs are categorized by their size from 2 to 4. Ostensibly, the best meat comes from the smaller more leaner pigs. Thus size 2 is the ideal size.

I realized that I neglected to explain what my job consisted of here in Samoa. Thus, while it is long overdue, it is important nonetheless.

My primary duty here in Matatufu is to be an English teacher in the local primary school. After years of unsuccessful village-based development projects in the country, group 82 (my group) is the pioneer of the new TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) PC program in Samoa.

My secondary duty here is to continue to the previous unsuccessful project: village-based development projects. All of the projects must be sustainable - meaning volunteers do not contribute solely through monetary means. Instead, the goal is to build capacity in the villages in which people can continue projects on their own without the assistance of a volunteer and perhaps even develop their own projects.

While the Peace Corps designed my job to meet the >40 hour work week, I am really on-the-job 24/7: My behavior will affect my ability to integrate into the culture and work with village counterparts. After a while, the anxiety of always being watched by villagers and always being "perfect" can be exhausting.

So far, these past two months have been a real culture shock. Being the only white female living in the village, I'm constasntly being watched and asked where I'm going. Furthermore, it is culturally insound to be walking alone especially as a female. However, given the responsabilities of my job, I have made it a point to be seen walking/running alone every day. Thus, not only has it been an adjustment for me, but also for the villagers. My presence and daily behavior models a deviating lifestyle that allows for a semi-two-way cross-cultural exchange.

Each volunteer is assigned to their own village in which they will teach and develop sustainable develpment projects. I was assigned to Matatufu (Mah-tah-too-foo) located in the district of Aleipata, in the southeastern side of Upolu the area hit hardest by the September 29th Tsunami. Shaped like a "T" the village is comprised of roughly 500 people covering just over a mile in length. While relatively small, Matatufu has four churches of different denominations making village politics and loyalties quite complicated and thus making my job infinitely harder. Nevertheless, Matatufu has a number of redeeming qualities, including but not limited to a new school building and a remote breathtaking village. It certainly is exciting to finally foresee the new challenges and successes I'll encounter over the next two years.

1) Air-Conditioning and Cold Showers: There's no real practical way of coping with the heat other than sweating continuously and being perpetually covered in a thick film of sweat. As such, cold showers are not the only available shower temperature, but very much anticipated under the hot equatorial sun.

2) The Sun: Fearing the deleterious effects of prolonged exposure to the sun, I vowed to protect my skin lest I return to the US in 2 years looking 20 years my senior. I've been applying sunscreen religiously and walking around under a large umbrella. It is important to note that Samoans do not typically carry umbrellas around. Thus, if being light-skinned and Chinese was not enough to draw attention, a light-skinned Chinese female of incredible small stature wielding a large umbrella that can easily accomodate 5 people surely made me a sight to behold.

3) Mosquitos: I haven't yet coped with this problem. I still loath them with every fiber of my pathetic being. On average, I get bitten 20 times a day and I am willing to bet that before the completion of my service I will contract dengue fever.

4) The Flies: They are everywhere. Aside from their ostensible roles as decomposers in the apparently "efficient" ecosystem process, I could live a day without flies. Moreover, they do exceptionally well to spread disease. This fact comforts me every time I see 3 flies on my morning toast, my feet, and pretty much everything that I've come in contact with.

5) Cockroaches: Every time I see a cockroach, I would seethe, "I despise you." You can sometimes find my silently fleeing from the outhouse trying to be as descreet and cool as possible. Relative to their American counterparts, cockroaches here are quite large, and when squashed they ooze a green goo, which I was told was made up of "cockroach babies." What can I say except that they are everywhere and I can't turn a corner without meeting one. In fact, the other day one crawled into my bed and from the other side of the mosquito net I instinctively squashed the damned thing with my bare hands. I subsequently proceeded to sanitize every surface area of my body.

6) The Ants: Dear Lord, why the ants? If you have food in your room, they'll find it. If you have food in a semi-air-tight container, they'll find it. If you have food suspended in the air, they'll find it. If you have cotton underwear, they'll find it. If you have foam pillows, they'll find it. Get the point?

7) Giant centipedes: I shit myself every time I see one.

Our official swearing-in was surprisingly informal and anticlimactic. After 2.5 months of grueling and painstaking training, and after 3 trainees decided to abandon ship, the remaining 20 volunteers were sworn-in in the one dank conference room faciliated by the US charge-de-affaires clad in a flowery light blue muumuu.

We all sat along the wall and raised our right hands while reading a short statement having smething to do with "defending enemies both foreign and domestic." How ironic it was to swear-in into the Peace Corps on such an un-Peace Corps tone.

Anyway, thus begins the 2-year stint half way across the world. Our service will officially expire December 8, 2011. Until then, there's much work ahead.

The day had finally arrived when training was finally over and we were going to officially swear in as Peace Corps Volunteer. As usual, the night before we left, the village threw a fiafia (party,) and as one might expect, all the Americans provided the entertainment with Samoan song and dance. I mean, why wouldn't we? If I were to choose a group best suited to sing and dance without retraint or self-consciousness, I would definetely choose the Americans.

On the morning of our departure the village performed a formal farewell address, which included the presentation and gift of a wildebeest-sized pig, baskets of taro, fish, corned beef, etc. In return we gave them money and the pleasure of living without 20 culturally insensitive Americans and the inconvenience of having to serve them a *special diet 3 times a day.

In all seriousness, Manunu was the first village and the first family that birthed us into the Samoan culture and for that I am grateful. These past two months was truly a time of experiential learning. I will miss many things about Manunu but on the same token, many more adventures and other challenges lie ahead. So, farewell, Manunu. Thankyou for your patience and your love. It is now time for me to move forward and finally begin the work I set out to do in the first place.

*Special diet = vegetables. Vegetables are pretty much nonexistent in the Samoan diet.

As a self-proclaimed artist, sports are not exactly an acitivity I relate to very well. Thus, with great pride I'd like to share my experience playing soft ball. Having never earnestly swung a bat, I hesitantly walked up to home plate to bat at a game with about 5 Americans and 20 Samoans, all whom have never played soft ball but are surprisingly good at it. I did consider not batting but that would have made me look weak, and even worse, un-American.

After two poor pitches, I hit the third ball far enough to run to second base. Conveniently, the ball headed towards second base just as I was closing in. As it was raining and I was not wearing shoes, I was unable to stop the momentum causing me to bruise my butt as I fell and slid several yards to safely reach second base. Ladies and Gentlemen, you have just read of Corina's first-ever slide-to-a-base. I felt like Jackie Robinson, but not really. Having always had an unhealthy fear of sliding, this unintentional experience made me feel a little more American and little closer to home.

This year, in lieu of Thanksgiving we had 'Culture Day.' The objective of 'culture day' was to live out a typical day as a Samoan. Essentially, it was a day of hard labor. Throughout 'culture day' we gathered food at the plantation, prepared the food, cooked it, served it to the Matais (chiefs,) watched them eat, and then ate the leftovers ourselves. Indeed, by the end of the day we were thankful for America and all it has to offer including its highest standard of convenience and shameless and unfettered indulgences. Thanksful we were.

My favorite part of the day was working at the plantation. Working at the plantatin is not just a chore or merely a way of life - it is a conglomeration of sustenance and tradition. Each family has one or more plantations in which they plant and gather coconuts, taro, breadfruit, and other such crops that make up the staple Samoan diet. The Samoan way of life has remained intact for thousands of years and Samoans still remain completely self-sufficient. Essentially, the plantation provides a family's entire sustenance.

For some, 'culture day' meant enduring the native way-of-life under the hot tropic sun. For me, it was a chance to carry a machete. n addition to carrying a machete, I chopped a fallen tree to retrieve fire wood, and cracked open coconut shells to retrieve the coconut shavings all with my trusted machete. While I did help to scrap taro and coconuts, weave baskets, carry fire wood, fan food as the matais ate, and slice and prepare chickens that looked all too much like chickens, anything that didn't involve me and my machete simply is not worth mentioning.

*I will add pictures once I get back to capital

Halloween was originally a planned celebration in Apia, the capital, with current Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) that might have included boos and blasphemy. Unfortunately, due to logistical difficulties of being in a rural village far from the capital, we were volunteered to not only stay in the village for Halloween but to also throw a party for the village children.

While initially disappointed at the chore, the Halloween party turned out to be quite entertaining. The party was designed to meet the expected scores of children by designating game stations including: limbo, musical chairs, mask painting, sack races, and the notorious three-legged race.

At one point, the entire village lost power and the room, which was filled to the brim with children, suddenly fell under complete darkness. The first thought that came to mind was that if a fire ever broke out, we would all be goners. Fortunately, no fire ever broke out. The brief electrical suspense instigated an impromptu storytime. Scores of children gathered at the center of the hall to listen and watch Dan (a former Peace Corps trainnee now Peace Corps Volunteer) as he improvised a story that lacked all the elements that comprise a story whether it be a motivating force or even a story for that matter. Surprisingly enough, the story was quite entertaining if not for the kids, at least for the trainees. He somehow incorporated all the PC trainees into the story and made it completely ubsurd and incomprehensible.

By 9 PM the party came to a close as it was bedtime for the village. Here in Samoa the day ends and begins quite early. I often wake up around 5:30 AM to run before the sun rises and scorches my pathetic pale skin. Conversely, I'm often in bed around 9 or 9:30 PM as there is very little to do. The wealthier families, or rather the families that put television watching high on their priority list are more likely to stay up later at night. The thought of what this list might look like simply titillates my under-amused cultured-shocked soul. This imaginery priority list might look something like:

1. 5 kg Taro

2. 7 kg of Banana3. 4Chickens4. 1 TV5. 30 Coconuts6. 1 bar of soap

I digress. Essentially, as most families do not have television sets and can barely afford the high cost of Pacific island electricity, bed time is quite early.

Shortly after our arrival into our training village, Manunu's Women's committee put together a church-sponsored (party) to welcome our 2-month long presence in their village. It turns out that as guests we were 'strongly encouraged,' but really expected to perform, individually, in front of the entire village. As if it wasn't stressful enough in our first week of living with our host families in a culture diametrically different from our own, we were supposed to perform a dance...a Samoan dance. While news and gossip runs more rampant than the plague could even fathom here in Samoa, it's a wonder that we were never clearly informed on our duties as guests for the fiafia - most trainees had nothing prepared. Luckily for me, due to artistic curiosity, several nights before the fiafia, I had sought out a good native dancer to teach me Samoan dance. What I had practiced and what had actually took place during the fiafia night were two different matters.

Slathering on bright red lipstick to match my new red puletasi (traditional female Samoan attire worn on special occassions) I walked into the fiafia only to discover that they called up each person onto the stage to answer rudimentary questions - in Samoan - to then be followed by a solo Samoan dance performance. Mind you, we have lived in Samoa for a total of 2 weeks, one of which we spent in the city cooped up in a hotel. Samoan dance was not exactly at the forefront of everyone's mind and most certainly speaking Samoan was not exactly something we were adequately prepared to do.

My name was finally called and my host grandmother led me up to the podium. I whispered into the mic as the emcee asked me a number of questions about myself. As I did not have adequate skills to answer some of his questions, I'm pretty sure I responded with a "yes" to a question inquiring about what my family fed me that night. To be fair I was not yet equipped to answer that question; We haven't yet learned the past tense!

After a minute of complete and utter blur, I finally ended up on the dance floor to perform my own dazed rendition of Samoan dance. If you asked me what happened on the dance floor, I couldn't exactly recount the minutes as I believe my mind, which was maimed in the process, took part in a popular process called selective memory. Even to this day, I have no recollection of those fated minutes.

Here are some of the pictures captured that night. In one of the pictures you'll find my host sister and grandmother cheering on as I stumbled through my performance.

Samoans pride themsleves in how they treat their guests whether it be an offering of gifts or showing off their newest linens and utensils. For my first meal with my host family, I was seated in the front portion of the house away from where the rest of the family typically eats - in the back. I proceeded to eat my dinner while my host mother silently fanned my food and watched. As I felt quite uncomfortable eating in this fashion, I shoved my dinner down my throat as quickly as anatomically possible to cease this incredibly awkward moment. Furthermore, knowing that the rest of the family would not eat until I had finished, I almost induced acid reflex from all the stress of eating.

It wasn't until a week later, after having gotten to know my host family better was I insistent on eating with the rest of the family. In retrospect, this was perhaps one of the better decisions I had made thus far in training. I wasn't until then was I able to feel adequately integrated into the family.

A Comment on Samoan Culture

Samoans have a deeply ingrained hierarchy which rules each individual in each household and each village at large. On the familial level, the young adults tend to high-intensity household chores which include cooking and gathering talo (taro), popo (coconut) etc. Women typically weave, cook and attend to other household chores. On the other hand, Village elders, that hold matai (chief) titles, typically males, tend to familial disputes and village matters. As they lead rather sedentary lifestyles relative to their younger counterparts, these elders tend to be more of the buxom kind, satisfactorily agreeing with my own stereotypes of Polynesians, which, thankfully, is the one familiar aspect of Samoan culture I can cling to in my overstimulated and overworked brain.

Pictured above is a picture of a typical quantity of talo in a given meal feeding a family of 10.

Pictured above is the juxtaposition between what the family eats for lunch - pork and sauce - and what I eat - tuna sandwiches and ramen.

Below are several pictures of my home during training.

My Bed: My fabulous sleeping nook is located in the family's living room where about three other people sleep at night, including my sisters. Privacy is not a luxury that Samoans commonly enjoy. Houses are not compartmentalized - everything is shared and everything is known. If you like to esat rice, someone across the village will know. If you tripped and fell on a rock, people will know. If you defecated, they'll know.

The view from my bedroom window.

My grandmother's faleo'o (Small Samoan-styled house.)

My family's Samoan-styled kitchen.

I was accosted off from the Ava ceremony*by my new, and very large, host mother. As my Samoan skills were elementary at best and were as useful as shock collars are to feral dogs, my host mother and I walked silently, and needless to say, awkwardly to our home across the malae (field) to a brightly painted green home. Thus began my excruciating birth in Samoan culture.

*A traditional Samoan ceremony conducted for special guests wherein there is usually an exchange of gifts and ava is ceremonially served.

After 2 months of interminable training, all 20 of us have emerged from the foray that is training. With only a day left before we swear-in and become official Peace Corps Volunteers, I have been trying to wrap my head around what exactly has happened these past 8 weeks. Initially, I thought it would be best to describe everything as it had occurred in real time, accounting for all anecdotes in chronological order. However, to better encapsulate the experience it would be best to summarize a few memorable moments to illustrate it all in the most convenient and efficient manner.

The Training Village: Manunu

Manunu is perhaps the one ideal village in all of Samoa to hold training. Situated in the mountains (safely tucked away from Tsunami paranoia) between a Mormon village, which is home to the most spectacular waterfall I have ever seen, and another village which does not affect life in Manunu and really is not worth mentioning.

Manunu is designed so that the entire village, including its church (Congregational Christian Church of Samoa) encircles an enormous grass field where people, chickens, and dogs congregate throughout the day. With about a total of 30 households in all of Manunu, the village is small relative to other Samoan villages. While only about 350 people inhabit the village, you would be pleasantly surprised to discover that Manunu is anything but tranquil and untroubled. For example, within the first 2 weeks, the Matai council (a leadership committee present in all villages) nearly banished a young man from the village for disorderly, and most shockingly... drunken behavior. Furthermore, a week later at a family-sponsored fia fia (party) wherein young adults from surrounding villages were invited to attend, I was groped on the dance floor which initiated another Matai meeting the following morning. As the transgressor was not a resident of Manunu, the council decided to take the issue to the village council to find the culprit and have him banished from his respective village. In fact, upon closer inspection village life is anything but simple and placid. Indeed, we all conveniently learned through social faux paux and other rather entertaining blunders, as I have just detailed, that this was going to be no vacation.

Disclaimer: Admittedly, as an ethnocentric dunderhead, much of the accounts are, needles to say, partial based on the meager years of experience and mostly based on my unsophisticated intellectual palate.

(Reported on 10/17/09)

Manunu is a village located in the northeastern mountains of Upolu. Sandwiched between the tallest mountains on the island and a Mormon village containing a picturesque waterfall, Manunu is perhaps one of the most beautiful villages in Samoa.

The village's setup is unique in that all the fales (Samoan-styled houses) in the village as well as the village church encircles an enormous field. During the day, you will find the chickens and dogs roaming about, while during the late afternoon drones of children and young adults hang out and play rugby.

It is here, in Manunu, where I was birthed into Samoan culture. So far, it's been awkward, confusing, frustrating, but more importantly, it's been entirely too entertaining.

I will follow this up in two weeks with some fun and lengthly stories and pictures.

Somewhere in my frantic and befuddled mind I had no idea, coming into the Peace Corps, that there would be a 2-month training period wherein if I failed to meet Peace Corps' expectations I would be sent home. Little did I know that I would receive numerous examinations assessing my competency and potential for success.

While the examinations are by no means difficult, the inconvenience of being constantly monitored compounded by helplessly integrating into an entirely different culture made things rather entertaining. That is why I, along with 19 other Peace Corps Trainees (PCTs) were quite literally dropped off in a village, far up in the mountains of Upolu, to integrate into Samoan culture and train for our 2-year assignment.

Much to my disappointment, I will NOT be blogging for the next four weeks. I will be be departing for a village in Manunu (located up in the mountains) to resume further training. Naturally, I will not have internet access and as such I will resume blogging mid-November, when I return to the city for two weeks.

A female PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) experienced a seizure while aboard the boat to our scuba dive. I remember the incident quite vividly so much to the extent that I wish I could expel it from my memory.

As we were making our way over to the reef, Amanda, who was just a few feet away from me on the bow, fell back onto the boat. Her sunglasses flew off and I immediately looked into her eyes - it was as if she had just seen ghost. While violently convulsing, all the surrounding people screamed out, "Help!" Her eyes glared into the bright sky and I couldn't help but stare into her eyes and think that this beautiful sky was perhaps the last image her mortal body would see. Fortunately, after some time, Amanda was able to come out of the seizure unscathed. However, the memory of her eyes seared into my brain and to this day I wish I could forget it.

Unfortunately, this past Monday she experienced another seizure. As she also experienced a condition similar to the stomach flu the first week in Samoa, this became grounds for a medical separation. Due to her untreatable ongoing medical condition and as well as the liability this imposes on the Peace Corps, Amanda will be returning to the US indefinitely to obtain a diagnosis.

I've attached some photos of the Tsunami wreckage 2 weeks after the disaster. While a lot has been cleaned up, the lack of resources and labor has dramatically slowed down the recovery process. Also, if you look closely at the landscape you can see the water level at the time of the Tsunami by the brown colored soil.

The Scuba Dive

It's ironic that as a Miami native, who has traveled to all sorts of tropical lands, I have never gone scuba diving. While the 23 of us boarded a resort boat, Shilo II, and made our way to the reef, I confidently considered how easy this scuba diving experience would be given my extensive experience in and around ocean waters. However, the discrepancy between what I imagined and what actually transpired proved to be quite great. Clad in a bathing suit, board shorts, scuba fins, and a face mask, I plopped into the warm Pacific, placed the tube piece into my mouth and took my first breath. If you would have seen me from the boat you would have seen a thrashing seal-like pale thing coughing up sea water while helplessly trying to stay afloat, breath, and juggle with cumbersome scuba gear. Moreover, I consumed so much salt water that the stomach pains I had at the time had been cured by the end of the day. In fact, for those of you who have never taken liberal gulps of salt water, it's akin to chugging a bottle of soy sauce. While I am compelled to continue writing about the incredible amount of salt water I consumed that day, I unfortunately lack the creative ability to think of metaphors that adequately depict this experience.

Our Bus

This past Monday, our training day was devoted entirely to learn, hands-on, about marine safety. From 8 AM to 6:30 PM we visited two beach resorts and the southeastern coast of Upolu - the very place that was hit by the September 29th Tsunami. In fact, what was originally planned to be an 8.5-hour trip to select locations around Upolu ended up as a 10.5 hour road trip around the entire island.

We hired some locals to take us around in one of Samoa's popular public buses for the day. The bus amazingly appeared to come out of some 8-year old's imagination. In fact, if an 18th century whaling vessel bus ever existed - this would be it. Its interior is entirely comprised of wood and its glassless windows have a peculiar resemblance to those small round windows that appear along the side of old ships. I'm also quite certain that the same child that designed the bus's exterior also had some input on the bus's mechanical makeup: the bus produced more pollution than an EPA violating plutonium-producing energy plant. Moreover, the convenient absence of shock absorbers proved to be quite trying after hours of traveling around the pot-holed streets of Samoa.

As a way of detering speeding, the government of Samoa placed speed bumps all over the island. So what should have been a 4 hour drive actually took us 6 hours, and it certainly didn't help that our bus maxes out at a speed of 35 mph. Also, it is worth mentioning that our bus driver thought that a 9-song playlist would be adequate for our 6-hour ride. However, the bus driver liked only 4 out of the 9 songs and as a result he replayed those 4 particular songs throughout the ride. The bus driver especially enjoyed a Samoan rap song, which he played relentlessly. By the end of the 10-hour bus ride I dizzily stumbled off the bus feeling beaten after having endured the hard wooden seats; the thrashing about in our shock absorber-less bus; and the mind-numbing vibrations emanating from the massive subwoofer that lay next to my feet.

While some people have a natural distate for detailed and intimate descriptions of bodily ailments, I'd like to warn those of you with this particular sensitivity to avoid a new segment I'm launching on this blog entitled, "Health Watch." In light of my current medical "situation" I thought it would be entertaining and education, but mostly entertaining to document and track any and all of my travel-related ilnesses. In case it was not clear - I do get quite graphic.

Health Watch - A Welcoming Malady

It has been two days since I first experienced severe abdominal pain. On October 9th around 5:00 AM I awoke to strong stomach pains. As the pain was not completely incapacitating I continued with my day thinking nothing of it. It wasn't until the following day did I see the manifestation of this pain - after both breakfast and dinner my stool was runny and watery. In fact, it had the same sensation as if one were urinating but from a different exit cavity. Let's just say there was an explosion of sorts. Also, it certainly didn't help that for my second bathroom "experience" of the day I was about 3/4 of a mile from the nearest bathroom. As I uncomfortably scurried my way over to the hotel, a popular MAD TV skit came to mind of a truck driver and his daughter. While on the road, the daughter turns to her father and explains her urgent need to defecate, "Daddy..." she says, "...it's prairie doggin'!" As I thought about this, I tried to laugh but I only managed to produce a cringed smile as I tried to hold everything in. Soon I began to sweat quite profusely as I dragged my feet across the dirty road as heat and humidity pounded my poor helpless soul. Fortunately, for me and my accompanying peers, my soul made it in time.

Currently on my third of day of stomach pains, I am still experiencing severe cramping. In fact, the cramping has intensified but with greater frequency. However, I did manage to get my hands on some Pepto-Bismol an hour ago. For those of you whom have forgotten the taste of Pepto-Bismol, it tastes like bubble gum that was first liquified and later mixed with plastic and plutonium. With that, I shall end today's blog and later write about the outcome of this particular episode. Until then, I hope to eat without having to think about what it might look or feel like on its way out.

In order to better understand our first day in Samoa, for your convenience, I've created a timeline of events that occurred that day:

5:30 AM Arrival into Samoa

6:30 AM Arrival to Pasefika Inn

10:00 AM Practice for the Ava Ceremony

10:30 AM Ava Ceremony

11:30 AM Lunch

1:30 PM Unplanned Tsunami Evacuation

3:30 PM Language Lesson

5:00 PM Dinner

8:00 PM Sleep

The two most memorable events of our first day in Samoa were the Tea Ceremony and the Tsunami evacuation. While the Ava Ceremony was, by nature, comical, the Tsunami warning and evacuation had quite a different tone. Nevertheless, after a 10.5 hour flight from L.A. into Samoa, these events that would have otherwise appeared more or less dull were, in total, quite overwhelming given our jet-lagged state of mind.

The Ava Ceremony

I am unfamiliar with the origins of the Ava Ceremony and its actual purpose even though I have tried to gather some information from native Samoans. To my knowledge, it is used to welcome special guests and to commence Matai (Samoan chief) meetings. Other than that, I was simply told to memorize a phrase that I would be asked to perform during the ceremony:

"Lau Ava Lea le Atua, Soifua" (This is your Ava God, good health!)

Apparently, and I'd like to stress my surprise, around 50 people attended the Ava Ceremony in which everyone would sit on mats in a large circle. This consisted of about 50% Peace Corps trainees and 50% Samoans and Peace Corps staff and volunteers. Although sleep deprived and disoriented, we were all expected speak...nay...perform our first Samoan words in front of a crowd of 50 people.

After about 30 minutes of hearing speeches, in which the Samoan speaking people present would intermittently laugh at the inside jokes we were helplessly unable to understand. One of the Peace Corps volunteer leaders, known as "Benji," clad only in a lava lava (a traditional male Samoan skirt) ran within the circle carrying large dangerous sticks and placed them around the circle. Later, Benji and another volunteer served Ava tea one by one to each person in the circle, who would then have to perform said phrase.

I was finally served the Ava tea, and as I held the ava-filled coconut cup in my hand, my entire arm shook violently as I said something along the lines of, "loo ava...ava...le delicious tea, soifua." Meanwhile, I poured some of the tea onto the mat (as it was part of the ritual) but as as my hand shook beyond my control, a more than significant amount of tea ended up on the mat. In fact, of all the people around me, I was the only person who had a standing puddle on their mat.

I'd like to interject here with a little known fact of Samoan culture- Samoans value humor and thus use it a lot. During the ceremony, a significant numbe of PC (Peace Corps) trainees butchered the short phrase. As expected, the Samoans laughed quite violently given the circumstances as esach nervous PC trainee butchered the phrase.

Tsunami Warning

Early in the day, Samoan officials recieved reports of an 8.5 magnitude earthquake near the island Vanuatu. As such, all surrounding islands recieved a Tsunami warning and proceeded to take the necessary steps to avoid the tragedy Samoans experienced last week.

45 minutes into my impromptu nap during lunchtime (After the grueling ceremony,) Jeanin, our TEFL trainer burst into our rom screaming, "Tsunami, tsunami warning! leave your room immediately...NOW!" In own swift Bruce Lee movement, I jumped out of bed, my book bag containing my passport, and left behind my computer and 1000 dollar camcorder. Indeed, I need to work to improve the assessment of my valuables in a timely fashion. Not to mention, in that instant, the Tsunami warning sirens went off thus providing the soundtrack to the latest Micheal Bay action film...in my head. About 15 PCTs packed into the back of a tight Toyota pick-up truck while the rest of us (about 7) packed into an air-conditioned PC SUV.

During that time, I was given the rare but thrilling opportunity to "struggle and succeed in a time of great pressure" (a scenario common to all hero action genres.) I thrust the back dor open as the car's main cabin was already full. Unfortunately, the back seat was held up by a hook to which I successfully managed to pull loose...at the last minute. In retrospect, fortunately for all of us, the Tsunami warning was merely a scare and nothing more.