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
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