Why the lawnmower hasn't made it to Fiji et al

Bula Vinaka friends and family. It has been a long time since I have written; I am still alive--just worn and hearty. Read on, should you choose, and if not, I will never know. Enjoy!

Rotary is going very well and thanks to some of my sponsors from the states, I completed and 8.4 km walk-a-thon last Saturday morning, at 6 am, to raise money to put a new roof on a primary school, here in Suva. I am volunteering, not regularly yet, but I do have a meeting with the headmaster of a small, multi-national school next week. He is "honored" that I am interested in joining their school community. I am also networking a great deal and have many local friends who are teaching me how to be street smart here in Suva--which is more difficult than you may think. For instance--carry two purses and make it obvious that you take your money out of one to pay taxis etc, and keep it nearly empty--that way, when you get mugged, they will go for the empty purse and you will lose only a purse, a few dollars, and still have your dignity and your items! Michael and I have also thrown two dinner parties this week (only because I tracked down some used furniture.) I made delicious American fare for friends from the nations of: Rotuma, Tonga, Fiji, Samoa, England, Cook Islands, and Wisconsin (I know this isn't a nation--but Josh has a funny accent and was a pleasure to hang out with!)

Graduate school seems to be kicking my butt, however I do love being immersed in reading, writing and intellectual discourse. Between the political, economic, and multi-cultural make-up of Fiji, the education here is very disadvantaged and lacking. Just an example: Educated pre-school teachers get paid $3,000.00 fjd per year (that is only $1,500 usd). Those are the ones with four year degrees, never mind the certificate trained ones who are the majority of the work force--they get paid much less :( 

Whatever doesn't kill me here makes me stronger and each day I grow more passionate about helping the world and supporting the children and the teachers and the 'other' and the farmer and 'Joe the Plumber' ;) and the women and the voices that aren't heard. Fiji makes me stronger and this is why:

The art of domesticity in Fiji is not elegant, or ever obvious--it is, shall we say--cutthroat and inventive! I have been working on perfecting 'how to function on a daily basis' since I recovered from my trip to the medical center. Which, by the way, I did not have bug bites, but some strange skin infection/rash which many are suffering from in Fiji. Even Auntie Blue, Lisa's 89 yr-old aunt had to check into the private hospital shang-gri-la for a 3-day stint. I'm happy to report she is healthy as a horse now.

Every morning after my initial 4-5 hours of hand washing my laundry, I wake up and play a game of charades. Have you ever pretended you are a washing machine? If you haven't, please stop and ask youself, "if I were a washing machine, what cycle would I be performing now?" My least favorite cycle is the 'spin cycle'--for obvious reasons and even then, your clothes never dry because the dense, tropical air prevents them form doing so. The next cycle that is less than enjoyable is the rinse and/or 'extra rinse cycle'. At home, in a machine, I always turn the 'extra rinse' off, but here, sadly, when you wash by hand the detergent clings to your clothes and makes a home--nestled deep within the fabric weaves, until you iron the clothes (to get them dry and unwrinkled) and then the detergent makes it's debut appearance--showing up in funny, swirly white patterns, just begging you to do the extra rinse next time.

Alas, I wake up most mornings before 7, or 8 and get jiggy with a game of charades. (I can also do the dishwasher, vacuum cleaner, and the all-around house wife--from the 30's, on the Western frontier. I wash, rinse, spin, extra-rinse, and hang dry my few items from the day before and I wait for them to get to that stage of never-going-to-be-fully-dry and then I iron them. The spray starch I have to use because my whole wardrobe is a convenient, light weight, embroidered, breathable linen--which I purchased from the Indian Festival for $5.00/piece, makes me smell like 'old man.' You know that familiar musky, old-Spice od-our. (No offense to any man in my life that wears that cologne, or starch, it's just not lady-like.) After this I hang and fold my very clean, very cared for items of clothing, but somehow, in the confines of my closet, even with the starch, they will inevitably wrinkle again before I leave the house and I will inevitably have to iron them one more time and begin my day anew. 

The most fantastic domestic tool here is the 'Ni-sasa.' It is like a broom, but its bristles are two feet long and made out of coarse strands of coconut bark. With a couple of whisks from the left wrist, a whole carpeted room, or tile floor will be swept with precision, or an outdoor verandah, covered in feral dog pee, will be washed, scrubbed and drained--and the final purpose is as a lovely corner piece. A Ni-sasa decorates one's flat with a natural and organic flare. Luckily the Tongans decided to add a 15 inch handle to the end of the Ni-sasa, so that the laborer didn't have to bend down to sweep the floor--the Fijians gladly accepted this improvement and now sell them along the side of the road, or at the market for $4 fjd, or $2 fjd (no handle). I splurged and got the handle!

On thing that has not made it to Fiji is the lawnmower. Entire Rugby fields are cut with  a weed whacker and then raked by hand after--by a team of rakers. And then the bushy-bits, instead of being zapped by a weed whacker, are sliced by a machete and, again, hand-raked. See if you can imagine what it takes to maintain the golf course here.... I have tried and can't quite conceptualize it yet. We had our yard done this last week--it looks like arduous work, especially when doing it barefoot and dressed head-to-toe in a Dickies-type-one-piece, dark blue in color, under the blazing hot sun. But it now smells like fresh-cut grass and I can work on my garden!

The weather report everyday here is as follows: Scorchio with a 20%-80% chance of tropical monsoon downpour (and flooding) and possibly a Tsunami warning. I have started covering my self in baby power, reverting back to my beginnings because functioning here when wet and sweaty and rained on all the time, especially under the nervosa of escaping form a pending Tsunami, is unbearable and a bit stinky. And I'm not so sure deodorant made it into the local culture here and if it did, you can rest assured that anti-perspirant is ineffectual. 

My cheaply acquired furniture experience was kind of like an episode of "While You Were Out" because Michael went away for the weekend and came home to a mostly furnished apartment. The owner, being an 80 year-old English bloke, who has spent his whole life in Fiji and was previously a diplomat and Ambassador, now spends his time going around to yard sales, collecting junk, or 'nice antiques' and sells them to white people like me. I got a good deal off of him though because he liked my mature taste in furniture, noting that most pieces I FOUND were his favorites but everyone else just passes right over them. Fortunately for me mahogany dinning sets were out of my price-range, even second-hand, so with my training in antiques--which was absorbed into my being from living  in my parent's house for almost 20 years, under the watchful eyes of Margie's (my great-grandmother) furniture, I have become accustom to seeing the beauty in simple furniture items. As we speak I am sitting at my beautiful desk, which I bought for $30 usd and looking at Laucala bay. I also had this man fashion me two tables--a low dining table to go with the four pagoda-like stools I discovered and a large, square coffee table for our "zen-den," aka Nina's meditation room.

However because it figures and because we live in Fiji, Mike and I woke up form a nap yesterday and he came to get me and say, "ah, Nina. The tables have arrived because they seem to be out on the verandah, but I think something has gone terribly wrong with one of them!" So I look and of course my 22" coffee table is taller than my dining table. So I must rectify this problem, but until then, we have a monster fort-knox coffee table that most children would love to play under. Anybody have a spare child they want to ship to Fiji?

When I go grocery shopping here I can't just go to MH, the 'supermarket' here. I have to go to both MHs, the big one downtown and the one near my house. I have to go to the Chinese butcher (who has the freshest, cheapest and most reliable meat in Suva), I have to go to the vegetable stand, and then I go across the street to the Yee-Wah store. A dirty, dirty, little caged in store to buy the freshest-baked bread and farm-free-range eggs, all for a few fijian dollars. I then make my way to Cost-U-Less (cost-me-more), the American bulk warehouse store and the chances are good, on any given day, that all, or some of these places will be out of EVERYTHING I am looking for and so I will come home form shopping all over half the city with next-to nothing from my list. However, now this is okay because our fridge is on 'roids and freezes everything, so our landlord is getting us a new one, hopefully today, since it has been three weeks of frozen food :)

I miss cow milk--real milk, not the kind that lives in a cabinet, but the one that needs to be refrigerated. When I am driving down the road and I see a heifer with utters, I think wouldn't it be nice to own that cow? I wonder is the cow has a name? I wonder if the cow is happy at this farm? Would she produce good milk? I miss recycling. I missed screened in houses that keep out the bugs, birds, frogs, and feral dogs. (all except Alice, the doge we adopted--she is cool, but still flea ridden and thinks it's okay to invite her entire extended family over for dinner. But she is learning, we are training her and she is already starting to protect our house.) I miss walking down the street, or my driveway without the great possibility of being mugged, or profiled. I miss not having to hide all of my electronics and personal items when I leave the house--preparing me for a regular Easter-egg hunt when I return and need to find the 'special place' I put my atm card, or my computer AC adapter. I miss businesses being open after 4-pm. I miss a lot of things. I miss the ease of domestic-simplicity--although once I get the hang of it here, life will be a lot easier and fuller and obviously, without machines, simple in essence. It is a sustainable life here, but coming from the first world to this mix of first--through third world, with a hint of sustainability is just overwhelming. I often think with a little bit of forethought, this would have been great!

Everything and everyone here is very very nice, just inefficient, which is painful to watch and be on the receiving end of. And of course there are exceptions to every rule, but most of the time I struggle to understand. Even the cashiers often disappear from their registers for 5-15 minutes at a time, with a full lane of people, just waiting in the EXPRESS lane. I'm thinking maybe they had a bathroom emergency? Or maybe they are doing their own price check? Or maybe the credit card machine is located in the next building over (yes this is a reality here)--I just can't be sure.

God bless the dairy cow. Donate your used lawnmower to the south Pacific and coo at your washing machine the next time it does a whole load for you, followed by that pleasant buzzing sound.

Hugs & kisses.

Nina

Beach villas and medical centers

I am writing to you, my friends after a long journey into the unknown this weekend....

There is no abstract this time, only the story because it is too good to not read. I found paradise, I got very ill and I managed to squeeze 6 more days onto my existence..read on, kind sirs:

Last week, on a regular Wednesday night shopping trip to the grocery store, more specifically "Cost-You-Less," which happens to be a bulk food item warehouse (like Costco) which exclusively carries REALLY, REALLY expensive American brands, but also quality products--Mike, my roomie, and I got offered a ride home by a very nice Australian Woman.

She had to laugh at us because we were just trying to find a can opener, in a very logical place, and "cost-U-less" was out of them, go-figure. She told us where we could find one, in Fiji, since logical items are few and far between and offered us a ride home. With our mops, and case of Fiji water and jumbo sized Heinz-ketchup and Yellow-mustard and Hellman's--in packs of 3. By the time we reached our apartment, we had made friends and she said you know, "if you have a licence, I am going away for the weekend and I could meet you back in Suva tomorrow, loan you my car and you can stay at my house on the beach for the weekend. It sounds like you need a break. besides, I own a modest back-packers place, so it really wouldn't be that much trouble, and you can stay in my house for free." We, of course, took her up on her offer.

I had spent a few days last week feeling under the weather..nauseous and crampy and tired etc, your basic mosquito-borne virus that goes around here and couldn't wait to get to the beach. We met her (name remains anonymous for now) on Thursday afternoon and drove an hour and a half down the West Coast--coral coast of Fiji. We ended up at the "Beachouse"...her backpacker's place. We were shown to her house, like royalty because everyone knew our names and knew we were coming and we showed into this magnificent eclectic bungalow. This place used to be a reality TV show in Britain, so her and her husband re-did the "camera-run" and turned it into a mecca of art and Buddha and collected antiques and wicker and beautiful plants and beach-rock floors and four-paned-sliding mahogany--french doors and an outdoor shower and a french-bath nook and it was only 10 feet from the pacific, at high tide. This house is the place I go to in my wildest dreams. It is where I am a writer and a lover of nature and the beach tells stories to the mountains and the thunderstorms roll across the sublime country--leaving their mark before the ocean current whisks them away to a foreign shore. It is Heaven on Earth.

Mike and I lounged all weekend, in the pool, taking walks, swinging into sunsets. We talked to other visitors and we had dinner with this fabulous woman--Alex, who happened to be my study abroad coordinator in New Zealand (small world!) We talked about starting a study-abroad program in Fiji and the difficulties that would face students in comparison to Auckland, NZ and places like London and Grenada--where Mike had studied. We ate and laughed--so hard that I found myself crying a lot, with my stomach in pain--and he played guitar and we sang and took pictures and we wrote and we read books and lounged in wicker-egg chairs and I took naps on the chaise-lounge. I feel asleep every night to the sleep of crashing breakers out beyond the reef and the rustling palm trees. It was an amazingly spiritual place for an individual to learn about the love of life that we all have. Mike and I grew in our friendship and thought it too bad we didn't live on the beach, instead of in hot-hustle-bustle-dogs-barking-doors sticking-hand-wash-laundry-Suva.

The only down fall was that of course I got sick. Really sick. Allergic sick. Venomous bug-bites sick. It all started Sunday, at the Holiday Inn in Suva--you know the five-star resort with a pool nestled on the harbour in Suva. I got about 20 mosquito bites that night, Mike got none. All week I felt off, especially in the morning and late at night. Then Wednesday night--right before heading to the beach, I received about 20 more bites on my hands and arms--in between my toes and fingers. These bites were the little ones though--more like spider bites. They were incredibly itchy, so I scratched them--as sparingly as possible all day Thursday. I was very happy I had brought my Benadryl and hydrocortizone cream and anti-itch stick and Neosporin and more bug spray with me to the "beachouse." Even though Mike was like: "Dude, why do you need to bring all of that stuff with you!" I just knew, I'm always prepared for Armageddon.

This time, however I didn't sleep the first night at the "beachouse" b/c I was so itchy and feeling delirious and had weird dreams. I woke up to find out I was covered in dark colored splotches, huge and swollen--where my little bites had been the day before. I was so miserable and couldn't think straight and my whole inside and outside of my body was feeling itchy, so I asked a few of the staff members what would help me and they all looked at me with a concerned face and said I should go to the doctor in Sigatoka.

Sigatoka was 50 minutes up the coast, further than where we were. Mike put me in the passenger seat and we set off. Me drinking water and staring off into lala land, trying not to itch, or feel the intense discomfort I was in. When we finally got to this large, modern village--where flooding had taken place only several weeks ago, we kept our eyes peeled for a Doctor's sign, or a chemist's sign. We found Doctor first and when I went into the open office, she told me that the doctor actually wouldn't be in for four more hours..would I like to come back? I just looked at her and, nearly crying asked if there was anywhere else to go. She told me to go down the street a couple of blocks and I would see a health center. And I saw it alright...overflowing with sick adults and screaming babies. Very sick people limping and lying on the sidewalk and each had not one family member, but every family member in tow. It was a thousand degrees in the shade and as I deteriorated at the thought of waiting in line, the receptionist asked me my name, wrote down my DOB and my address on a tiny piece of scrap paper and told me to sit outside, they would be with me in about a half an hour and, "Did I want the make doctor, or female doctor?" I just told her I wanted the fastest doctor.

I was sitting outside when it started to rain, only I was under a tree and didn't notice, so Mike, calling my name, came up to me and notified me that usually people go inside, or under a covering when it rains. But I was so hot and so itchy that I didn't really notice and i didn't want to go. About 40 minutes later I was called in. But by this time, I had my head leaning against the outside door of the dank, small waiting room--not caring anymore that I could catch a disease far worse than what I already had just by being near that room. Tears were streaming down my face and my whole body just shuddered from abandonment of control. 

I was shown into the back room, where a small Chinese doctor attended to me. The language barrier was definitely present, but I managed to communicate with showing her my bites and my tears and talking as slowly as possible. She looked very concerned and said, in so many words, "It looks like you are having a sever allergic reaction. Half of these bites have also turned into infectious boils and all of the toxins are freely flowing in your blood stream." She then decided to give me a fast-acting steroid shot and Prednizone and an antibiotic to help with the boils. She advised that I take Panadol and rest and WEAR BUG SPRAY...HA! Like I haven't been covering myself in bug spray since my first day here..and still I get eaten ALIVE. So The nice doctor gave me a shot in my bum..which really hurt, asked me to sit down, which I kindly declined to do, and wrote out three prescriptions for me on more tiny little pieces of scrap paper. She told me it would be thirty dollars and although my bum no hurt, and this was normal, I could feel the allergic reaction subsiding and was happy to be on my way.

Going to that medical center and being on the brink of desperation was very humbling and scary. It was dirty and dank and small and there were really very, very sick people there. I'm talking goiters and gashes and tropical diseases and puss and pain. It was heart wrenching-and frightening, but I was so sick I couldn't care. I could only be careful and make sure the Dr. used a disposable needle, afterwards deposited into a sharps container and that her diploma looked to be real on the wall.

Going to the chemist was a far better experience because they had a small air conditioner and four people swooned in to help me. To fill my Rxs with very little info, to walk me around and grab whatever products I needed for my exhaustion, diarrhea, bug bites, swelling, imminent   sunburn (caused by Doxycycline my new antibiotic), headache etc. They did not have acidophilous (also needed to take with my new antibiotic) to my very sad surprise, so next on my list of things to do was to find yogurt--in mass quantity, not an easy thing to do in Fiji! My three prescriptions cost $13 Fijian and my OTC items were another $110, added to the $30 doctor's visit--not a bad trip to the ER.

Bread and yogurt--nearly impossible to find in one place, like-I don't know, the grocery store! So I searched for a while, found only yogurt and some liquids and got back in my chariot, poor Mike waiting for me and being awesome this whole time and we drove back up the coast to the beach resort. After of course, I had to buy a new dress and this scantily-clad one-piece black bathing suit with 3 circles of fake diamonds on it. (It actually doesn't look bad on me, but it is so funky that it is more like high fashion and I'm not sure I'll ever wear it, but because I was so sick and was a good girl at the Dr, I bought it for myself anyway.

I slowly recuperated and stayed out of the sun as much as possible, so as not to get a chemical burn from my antibiotic--which was cruel and unusual punishment since I finally was at an exotic beach in Fiji. However, I still managed to have the time of my life and there were plenty of shady trees and hammocks for me--sun hats, and long-flowing outfits. Luckily, in case nothing had changed, I still managed to get more bug bites--one the size of a silver dollar. I got a thorn in my foot (the little tiny ones that you can't see, but hurt like all hell) and have some sort of cut from the coral, maybe, on my toe--on the same foot foot with the thorn. 

We just arrived home in Suva this evening, we were gone Thursday evening to Monday evening and we both had head colds, in the summer, in tropical Fiji. My Prednizone makes me hungry and irritable and my antibiotic makes me sick, but I am happy and have grown milestones over the weekend. I have been able to reflect and heal and explore the depths of my mind. I am slowly becoming more aware that my new roommate is phenomenal and we are very lucky to have found each other. 

We are now home and we still need a gas tank and furniture. It is hot and not breezy in Suva. There are bugs in my room b/c I don't have screens. The back door only opens from one side--which ever side-you-happen-to-not-be-on-at-any-given-time and I locked it after we got home, not because I needed too, since it is enclosed within a burglar cage, but because I was angry that the dogs were all barking--in unison--dozens of them around the neighborhood and the baby next door was inconsolable and the air was hot. Mike had to come get me a little later and ask me why I had locked the door b/c he needed some clothes from the laundry area--which happens to be in that burglar cage and of course the door was stuck. What ever possessed me, he had to ask b/c we don't NEED to lock the door and it only gets stuck when we do. I fell to the floor laughing at the absurdity of the situation--Mike ready to kill me, or break down the door. It had been a long restful-stressful weekend. He ended up unlocking the padlocks in the front and going outside and around the building and up the back stairs to unlock that padlock and then open the stuck door from the other side. We agreed we should not lock the door again...ever, especially me since I obviously didn't understand the consequences of a catch-22 door. We just laughed it off and continued living in this place.

We decided this weekend that for every amazing, beautiful thing that Fiji is and holds and possesses..there is an equally weighted binary. I have now experienced picturesque Fiji and nothing is more exotic and powerful and I have also experienced the core of third-world Fiji and nothing is more uncomfortable and scary. Even just driving down the road, where people randomly sell one Sasa (a funny looking broom made out of tree branches) and a bowl of 6-15 key limes, which they call lemons here, and one very Charlie-Brown-esque-potted plant. There are speed humps, in which they warn you to go 40kph over, when actually if you don't go slower than 20 kph, you will blow a tire. There are signs that advertise: "24 hour Tyre repair and Kava lounge." (Kava is a mild, narcotic drink--used in traditional ceremonies, offers of friendship and also to pass time, mildly under the influence of hazy-acceptance." I haven't tried this kava yet, but will if I am ever invited to a village.

Essentially, we are in Dante's purgatory. There is a fine line here between Heaven and Hell, Beauty and horror, tranquility and turbulence, sickness and health, clean and dirty, available and inaccessible. 

I see now that each week, each day will be an amazing journey. My goals for this week are to start my service project with the school, work on the apartment and feel better. My immune system is ready to become and iron mule!

Since my Internet is ridiculous..please browse pictures at the following site, they are on my flickr account--it should be easy to browse, but things are not always what they seem!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/35025666@N02/

Adios Amigos

Grind and Grime

Bula vinaka

For those of you who are hurried, I will include an abstract first and then go into some detail for my more diligent followers. The learning curve is slow for me here. I have thus far been on a roller coaster ride in 90 degree heat fluctuating between love for this place, the culture and my new friends, and utter frustration and awe over societal differences. Plus I have spent the last two weeks being slightly--to very nauseous all of the time. A combination of heat, aggravation, and getting used to the water--in addition to my 25 mozzie bites (mosquitoes) and the slight sunburn I received one my one and only lounge day--Sunday Fun Day! My new flat mate Mike, who is also an Ambassadorial Scholar, from Iowa, is my domestic soul mate and my rock here. He has pictures, which I will post next time. I'm lucky to have found him--we are very similar in mentality/preference and style--but also uniquely different.

Abstract: Rotary Club of Suva Peninsula sunset: Rocks! Lisa Apted, who put me up in her house, for not one night, as I had planned on prior to my arrival in Fiji, but two weeks, is an Angel. Timetables/schedules don't exist here. Everywhere here is dangerous--but mostly safe in the day. Our neighbors have barbed wire, while we have 40 keys to all of the doors and pad locks that go to the burglar gates that enclose our impenetrable fortress, I mean flat! I have lived my the ocean my whole life, but only now do I have a top floor veranda and a 270 degree ocean view. There is a squatter settlement at the bottom of my hill. Dogs Pow-wow in the street and move in packs, while barking 24/7 at--you guessed it--not a damn thing! They team up and go out on the prowl--I'm thinking maybe to score some chicks, or see the latest movie???? I just can't be sure. 

There is no recycling here, which pains me--I won't even tell you about the litter that is everywhere. Apparently sea foam green and Salmon pink are desirable colors b/c my flat exclusively sports these fab tones--along with many other buildings in Suva. Quality and follow through are disregarded for fast and cheap. Every office, or errand involves taking a number ticket like the DMV and waiting until your hair turns gray before you get to the front of the "cue," so that the friendly employee can tell you to come back another day, or go stand in another line and take a new ticket before you come back to their line. Air conditioning is not a necessity here, but a very rare and blessed occurrence. Buses are actually moving night clubs, with a .50 cent door charge. I am a minority and thus I am treated as one, especially when purchasing expensive items like beds, or trying to apply for a saver card at the grocery store. Taxis are plentiful and cheaper than walking, since you sweat so much, laundry is counted as a monthly bill here. Broccoli is $25 dollars per 1/2 head, but all local veggies and fruits--if you can locate them are $2 per bushel. I'm actually wondering if I moved to Fiji, or Little India...leaning towards the latter since my flat smells of curry every morning. I have been here over two weeks and haven't gone to the beach, but found the Holiday Inn pool side ($5/day), of all places, to be refreshing and gorgeous--really, five star resort. I am addicted to books/reading/pens and my upcoming research on the ineffectual policy of "No Child Left behind." I miss home, but find myself laughing a lot here b/c the people are great and living in a third world city is an art in itself. It rains here when the sky is blue--and rainbows appear randomly. I am either greeted warmly because I am a Kaitani ("Ky-langi"-white foreigner), or I am taken advantage of--but always receive nothing less than a smile and some sweet talk. I love life and living abroad. I miss you all and I do think of everyone all of the time because this place is so magnificent and different and wonderful and scary and new. If I didn't have my home network, I would have no thoughts and memories to ground me in what I accept to be true as a member of the global community.

Story:

Everyday I wake up and chuckle at my life. I laugh because if I were to get angry with Fiji time, I would get no where. Life here moves at a very slow and laid back pace. It is definitely third world, but deceiving b/c of technology and the global community. Toyota's numbers are still doing well here in Fiji. It is weird because there are seemingly regular first world amenities everywhere you look, but they are inconsistent and may disappear at any moment. Items may, or may not get re-ordered at grocery stores. A store may, or may not expect you to pay the price on the price tag and will swindle you because of your skin color--it is all about who you know.

It is not an easy place to navigate and finding a flat was very hard due to safety and the standard of living here. Places were either too cheap here (with 10+ roommates), or way too expensive. Plus since I am not of Indian decent, I got hung up on a lot when I called to inquire about certain rentals. 

My first two weeks here were both exciting and depressing. Luckily I was staying with Lisa Apted and her beautiful family. She has two young boys--Connor (6) and Toby (3) and a wonderful husband (Brad) and three wonderful house girls: Ana, Salina, and Venina. I have struck up lasting relationships with them and was exposed to rural, village Fijian culture and food, and also to the dangers of a third world country and luckily was housed in a first-world house--which helped to ease me into my flat. 

My new top floor flat (a necessity to ward off an infestation of creepy-crawling-critters and low-light)  has a beautiful view of Laucala Bay, in addition to a front yard, a garden, wild green beans (which are a foot long), a relatively safe neighborhood (none are safe here, even the upper class ones due to obvious reasons); a neighborhood overflowing with the laughter of children and barking of dogs and the squealing of tropical birds and a rooster crowing and curry-cooking and baked-goods baking. My flat also has burglar bars on every window, a key chain with 30+ keys--going to every door and the assorted, rusty padlocks on all of the gates. Our carpet was so dirty from the last tenants, it turned our feet black when we walked on it. The shower is beautifully tiled and the size of a walk in closet--but was covered with black mold (not the dangerous kind, just the musty kind). The toilet room was the same way, along with the walls, which I have washed the dirt off of. The hot water didn't work--and hot water was one of the selling points of the apartment (most places don't have that here). I was almost asking too much when I asked Champak, my awesome landlord and fellow Rotarian, for a refrigerator to complete the kitchen. (Unlike at home, people move with their refrigerators here.) We spent hours wiping out all of the cabinets--freeing them of dead cockroach bodies and grime, so we could spray them with cockroach spray, that will lure and kill about 10 different kinds of bugs for up to 6 months...with the occasional one that gets away. And we are hoping to paint over the sea foam green trim and doors, and the salmon pink walls to bring out the simplicity and beauty of our flat. P.S. the other day, while some workers were bringing in our fridge (which sounds and alarm every couple of hours telling you that the freezer temperature is off) a feral dog ran into the apartment, growled at me as I tried to shew it out the other door, peed in my hallway, growled a few more times and then left my flat..I proceeded to clean the rug.

Taxis cost between 1.50 Fijian and 3.50 Fijian--divide that by two and you have a girl who will be taking taxis everywhere b/c it is dangerous for her to walk anywhere alone--definitely at night, sometimes in the day and the buses are a little bit of awesomeness. People, including myself--who seems to be suffering from mild heat stroke every afternoon--just have sweat seeping out off all pores, at all times of the day and this is normal and accepted. (Thank goodness.) There are hardly any Americans here in Fiji and when you hear an accent, you get excited and have made a life-long friend. In fact there are hardly any white people either and being of a liberal mind, and someone who fights segregation/racism and believes in post-colonial concepts of "the other," I find myself discriminated against at least a few times a day because of my skin color. It is something I am getting used to and have now figured out that if I go somewhere with a local, I am more apt to be treated fairly. It is not that people are mean to me, they just don't notice me, purposefully make me wait, hang up on me, or charge me a considerable higher price for goods and services. So I need to "go native...."

I am learning Fijian in my spare time from a quirky older English professor. Most Fijians in Suva say he is more Fijian than they, themselves. He is funny and I am already finding it easier to learn this second language since I am surrounded by it all the time. People speak English here, but they only do it when they need to. And Fijian English is just a tad different and faster than American English. So the communication barrier is up a lot of the time. In addition, we should throw in Hindi and all of the other Pacific island languages...it's like one big Charlie Foxtrot of language and culture. But instead of forming a hybrid culture, like America's melting pot, all of these cultures and people remain segregated. Not in a violent way--just in a we will maintain our own culture, separate than yours. 

The food is plentiful and people want to feed me all of the time--even walking up stairwells, strangers will offer you snacks. At first I was eating a lot and tried everything that came my way. A lot of Chinese food and curry and Fijian leafy greens, root veggies and fish--lots of fish. Fish soup, fish head, fish bones, fish broth for cooking the veggies etc. But recently, the last week, I really haven't been feeling 100%, so I am not eating as much and am trying to stick with plain and familiar food. Everyone says that in a month I will be used to the water and climate here--I hope so. In addition Mike and I went to the Rawaqua (Rye-wanga) health center the other day and got 10 pills each to ward off the possibility of Elephantitis--and mosquito-borne illness. Luckily the pills are taken all in one go, after dinner and make you sick with all of their side effects--the usual like vomiting, nausea, aches, restlessness, diarrhea etc..and if you already have parasites in your body--these side effects will be much worse, but they only last for about eight hours and then I am protected against parasites for a while! We are looking forward to taking those on Wednesday night, since we have nothing to do on Thursday. Also, since our carpets are being cleaned, we will be having a sleep over in the living room because it is so humid here, our bedrooms will be out of commission for a few days.

So I guess what I am trying to say is Fiji is humbling me and although I want to be the independent go getter I always have been, I must have patience. I must embrace this culture and soak it in, while being aware of the differences and dangers. I evolve as a person.

Cheers mates...coming attractions on my blog: Fijian phrases and pictures--also since I now have Internet and a place to live, posts will be more frequent and shorter in length!