Tree Climbing

Pohnpei is an island where much of the edible resources are from trees.  Developing a fearless sense of balance seems natural.   And in fact, youngsters do develop a lack of fear and an agility on branches that would test the hearts of mothers back home.

Tree climbing, though is the young men’s arena.

A large mango tree grows in front of our balcony.  These fruit (which are much smaller than other mangoes and tart rather than sweet), have been tempting Laurie.  They have called her name and teased her with their closeness yet still out of reach.  The largest fruits were, of course, at the top.

Last week end the call was too much.  We called for our local “Good Man,” Roswell.  

 

 

 He happily climbed, taking a sack with him.  This is one of the largest trees in our little neighborhood.  In less than 20 minutes Laurie received a plethora of mangoes from the highest branches!

 

 Breadfruit trees are another food stock requiring climbers.  In this case, the large breadfruit is dropped by the climber and assistants attempt to catch  them so they don’t split open on impact.  Jay Jay (our host son) and his friend were the chosen ones!  What became obvious very quickly, is that a breadfruit in the hand is lighter than a breadfruit on the air. . .(er… wing?)

Betel nut attract loads of attention from chewers but climbers are swift and tend to not wait for pictures in their furtive collection of nuts.

 

Of course, in our group of volunteers, we have a particularly talented climber.  Scot has successfully retrieved both coconuts and papayas! This insures him increased job opportunities in the future!

Waste Disposal

 On Thursdays mornings, back home, the question of garbage stands forefront and center with a series of distinctive, warning auditory cues.  By 7:45,  the stress of the previous night’s forgetfulness becomes a potential mal olor, and storage problem, until the subsequent Thursday.

Thursday never comes here on the island.  Smoldering 55-gallon barrels stand sentry duty at entry points to living areas along the roads.  In these rusted, blackened barrels, are the remains of the prolific sea organisms who have been transformed so many times, over so long a period, from living to sediment to hydrocarbon black gold.  Here, in these barrels, they make another transformation to aerosol. Non-burnables, such as cans, slowly accumulate at the bottom, replicating the geological process on a much diminished scale.

An aluminum recycling project had bright projections just 4 years earlier.  The intervening years have darkened the prospect of the 3 R’s.  Fenced cages with their bright and not-so-bright green, red, gold, and silver troves of cans still share duties with the 55 gallon drums.  There are still thoughts of reopening the recycling plant – or so I am told.  Action is slow on the island.  Thoughts. . . are . . . glacial.

Waste food products are the simplest of disposal issues.  What is unwanted or deemed unfit for human consumption becomes feed for pigs.  If a few morsels escape the slop bucket, ubiquitous dog units maintain patrol duty.  Questions of leadership and rank occur when inordinate amounts of perishables are discovered undefended by a sufficiently strong unit. Skirmishes are common.  Rank and file are disrupted, adjusted,  and realigned.  Order is reestablished, sometimes with fatal consequences for the displaced.

 

But what of the big items, those moving conveyances which invariably break down or meet an unmoving object. Walking and jogging about the town, my attention has often been encouraged to develop possible solutions. 

 

 

Along the causeway, a relatively new addition turned up one Saturday, probably a Friday night encounter.  By Saturday morning, the most obviously viable components had been stripped.  By early afternoon, the remains were towed away by a handy trailer.  

Further down the causeway, an experiment in fencing creatively utilized body parts.  

 My name-sake -- another forgotten import.

No dogs patrolled the auto grave yard, though.


 







 
 





 Nothing deters the natural growth, however;  which is really a  positive indication that we humans have a limited detrimental totality to our presence.  We, too, shall pass.. . .

Weekend respites

Entertainment. . . Here in Pohnpei weekends seem to have a different flavor than back home.

Four weeks ago, I took a hike to the radio towers.  No need to drive, the “trail” was at the end of a road  about 1.25 miles or so from my place.  So I left in the morning on my little adventure.  There were views and I took one shot to point out the radio tower (on the right end of the ridge) so you can tell the general direction.

 

Along the way there were dead transportation, a stair case into the undergrowth, and quiet water scenes.  About the time I was wondering how much further, I caught a glimpse of blue through the trees and realized the ridge to was just ahead.  From there it was a short jaunt to the end .

 

That was the clue to the spirits to release a downpour!  Luckily, I had brought my trusty umbrella.  I scooted up to the tower, looked around, climbed the platform for a quick look-see, and headed back down.  Going down was so much quicker!

The next weekend, several volunteers decided to do an overnight trip to the small island of Nahlap.  

 

We got tiny – and I do mean small – cabins or huts on the beach for $10.  The entire island is perhaps ¾ of a mile long.  There were about 20 people altogether staying overnight – including the proprietors.  At night, the waves crashed under the floor and rain hammered the roof – not the quietest rest, but delightful, nonetheless. Sunrise  and sunsets from the movies. . .

The following weekend, all the volunteers gathered at our fearless field leader’s place to put together a memorial scrap book for one of our members who died in a tragic accident.  We spent a number of hours together scrap booking our pictures and memories for the family of our friend.  In many ways, this was a capstone, a resolution, a closure for our experience of shared loss.

We ended our scrap book with an outdoor feast with a taste of Guam.  Kate's neighbor is from Guam and he insisted that we have an evening of flavor sensations! Two tables, heavily laden with chicken, fish, sushimi, beef, rice, marinated cucumbers, fruit, AND fresh, thick brownies!  Ah, the gorging. . .

Reflecting on the types of weekend variations for this month, perhaps there is little difference. . .

Lesson plans, Pwihks, and Community funeral help

Another week flew by.  I measure it’s passing in algebra lessons, and my success by the ease of their presentation.  Currently I must prepare each lesson individually and review my notes before and during the class.  I didn’t realize how stressful this could be – or I had forgotten.  Now I find myself studying the material and weighing the order of topics, the method of presentation, and the choice of appropriate applications.  Nothing just flows.  Gone are days when I could look at the book for a few minutes on the weekend and I would know what I would do for the coming week.  Perhaps the 2^nd semester, when I repeat the class, I will recapture that flow. . .

This week the two pwihks gave birth to 21 piglets.  In the 1^st batch, one was born dead, but the other 8 were fine.  The 2^nd mother has delivered 12, all healthy.  This makes about 28 under 1 month old.  There will be some good eating come Christmas!

 Our neighbor’s father had been in the hospital off-island for heart treatments.  He and his wife have been gone for several months.  His condition worsened and he died at the beginning of the week.  So the entire neighborhood and most of his relatives have spent this week in preparation of his return.




The neighborhood has been busy cleaning and making room for a large group of relatives and friends who will be coming for a funeral. 


 
 The ground in front of the house was cleaned.  Crushed rock and coral were delivered and spread.  Awnings were raised.  Cinder blocks were used for the crypt.  Lots of food was prepared and sakau was pounded and shared with all.



Everyone, including the young, has been pitching in; some moving gravel, some raking, some cooking. . .

 

The mourning and the recognition of his life will not be held until he and his wife arrive by plane and he is prepared for burial.  This will be next week.  Until then, no member of the family is alone.  There are cousins and uncles, aunts and grandchildren, and friends and friends of friends, all helping, or supervising the helpers. . .

Fish, Pigs, and Cats,

Large scales make easier cleaning. . .

Friday afternoon Papa Waltes visited the market and returned with fish.  Our host mom, Maryanna (Waltes’s daughter) carried them up to our porch to clean them. 

Pohnpei displays a wealth of blues and greens so it may not surprise some that such hues are reflected in the fish (Mwamw).  

Maryanna  deftly scaled and gutted the reef catch and served them for dinner.  Delicious!

 

   

Saturday morning -- no school!

Morning  is usually a rush to prepare for classes, but this is Saturday,  so Laurie and I decide to visit the pigs (pwihk) and walk the road below our house. It wraps in a circle that is about a quarter mile.   

We must first navigate past our trusty guardians, promising them treats later. 

 

 

Chickens (malek) roam free, some with chicks following their hen.  Every morning, half a dozen roosters let us know that morning is coming -- starting at 3 a.m.

Just behind our house is the pig house (Imwen Pwihk).  Here are housed over 20 hoofed pwihk, at various stages of growth.  Some are pregnant, some are feeders.

Two pwihk are due to deliver in another week or so.

The young ones are dinner any time after 4 months. . .

 This is the retaining wall at the back of the Imwen Pwihk.


Stepping down from the pig shed we look back to see our porch, but the trees obscure most of it.

 You can see the roof our 2 story house behind the trees.  Our apartment is on the 2nd floor.















Our apartment is above the stream which  runs high most days. 

All along the dirt road, which wraps around our neighborhood block and back to our house, are fruit trees.  Papayas, banana, mangoes, and breadfruit are everywhere.

We rarely walk anywhere without being greeted with curious looks and shy smiles by the neighborhood children (seri).  

 Back at our apartment, Laurie, who must tolerate my obnoxiousness, has little tolerance for our  resident “Mamma Cat.” 

 

 Momma Cat has one baby whom she has carried to 5 different locations in its short 2.5 weeks of life.  Her latest move is back into our apartment.  This is the second time she has moved into the apartment while we were busy with distractions.  I have tried to explain to Momma Cat that so much moving at such a delicate age might  stress and possibly lead to maladjustment  in her baby.  Momma Cat merely rubs against my leg, reassuring me that I am mistaken.  

Laurie is adamant, on the other hand, that Momma Cat and baby need to seek shelter elsewhere.  This may become a contest of wills and wiles.  Right now I think Momma Cat has the upper paw.  She has hidden her baby in a deep cubby, into which we can not follow. . .

Community Service with a deeper meaning

On a bright, sun-filled Saturday, we, the volunteers, met for one more outing before separating to teach in different parts of  Pohnpei.  This Saturday’s destination was a local waterfall, really a double one.  The upper one falls into a pool  before sweeping over into the 2^nd one and falling  twice, almost triple the distance into the 2^nd pool.  It was a glorious trip that ended with heart and soul wrenching shock and loss.  It is not the circumstance, the details, or the pain  I wish to write of; rather, it is the response of the community which has provided  insights into cultural  and social values.

Each evening, the host mother has held a vigil beside the morgue doorway at the hospital.  Prayers and hymns are offered as comfort to our lost friend.  Community members, many of whom never met our friend, patiently come each night to offer their soothing comfort to the host mother and to our friend, who must wait until she can return to own family in the States. 

Initially, perhaps because I am callus and jaded or perhaps because I am slow to recognize the good, -- whatever the cause, I failed to experience that first vigil as a positive. I shamefully admit my crass doubts.  Our friend was Jewish and here we were offering Christian songs;  Our friend was young and prayers spoke of God’s love and mercy.  Needless to say, in my heart, I was as cold, callus, and unloving as the arctic.  As the vigil ended, the community members offered their condolences – which I perfunctorily accepted.   I approached the host mother to exchange my own empty statements.  Within my embrace, this small, fragile-appearing woman radiated a warmth and strength grounded in loving sorrow. 

How could I resist this woman?  The hollow emptiness I was projecting on the vigil was all within me.  Water spilled down my cheeks and the words I muttered  turned to petals.

The next night, and the next, and each night throughout the week, we attend the vigils.  For each of these services, members of the community come to share their voices and their company with our friend.  And it is a Service – for the living and for the dead.  I appreciated the music for the intention: a sharing of joy, sorrow, comfort.  We laugh a little and we share tears.  On the fourth night, I shared in the singing: mangling pronunciation, but no one objected, and we laughed .

There will be more vigils until Becky returns to the States and to her parents.  The service takes an hour or two each night.  The Host mother and her friends always provide an offering of food to all who come.  This is significant in a region of limited resources but it is not considered a drain or a sacrefice.  Food is a joy to share and we share it with the body and spirit of our friend.

I am learning how miserly and mean-spirited  I and my existence has been.  Perhaps I would have eventually recognized Pohnpean generosity and the fundamental comfort of sharing community.  Who can say what a year can do?  I do know that a few hours a day spent keeping my friend company is part and parcel of friendship.  And I owe a life-long debt to a small, wise, gentle woman who understands ‘community.’

First couple of Weeks. . .

Half a world away from my home with 3 and ½  weeks of warm days, fresh ocean breezes, torrential rains at any moment, and I learn that the human heart is open, generous, and loving regardless of location and culture.  I am not suggesting that I thought my previous ‘home’ had a corner on the humanity market; far from it.  Rather I am confronted with goodness each day. . . in the commerce of eye contact, head nods, and  ready smiles.

My host family is delightful.  I am thrilled that my butchery of phrases in Pohnpean entertains my teenage ‘sister’.  My host mother patiently repeats sounds which I mutilate into unrecognizable combinations.  Even the 2 dogs have difficulty with my communication.  Luckily, they have been quick to comprehend that I am ‘Best Momma #2’ for scraps.

We volunteer teachers (there are 9 of us*) have language lessons during orientation.  My auditor y skills are stretched beyond their comfort zones, which, in turn, highlights my lingual ineptness.  This leads to my first observation about open hearts  --  and open laughter.  Thanks to the universe and the powers that be, I am familiar with laughter and am comforted that my mangling efforts at communicate so easily elicits it from my family.  There is a warm, gentle acceptance in laughter.