Equatorial Christmas

This week it feels like I’m jumping from the pan into the fire for my first Christmas here on the equator, hot, hot, hot with extra high humidity added for festive discomfort.

 One shop taking the simple approach !

Kids in chrissy deco mode

 

Commercial interests have increased in the time I been here and yesterday I found more evidence, several shops filled with the normal cheap Christmas “crap” found in western countries. I haven’t seen any animals bigger than a pig here but neon reindeers, flashing antlers and even a sheep can now be found amongst USB plug in snow flakes and Santa outfits that would give any diet guru more than a dreary hot flush.  

Cutting & pasting

 

It looks like this year really is throwing the cat amongst the pigeons, not just in free market trading but also in shop identification. For several years there has been a shop (as in one) that had "Merry Xmas" written in neon lights across the front of the building, the lights have never come down, hence it is known as the “Merry Christmas” shop (much easier than remembering where it actually is or pronouncing the village name).

Who knows next year it may be santa shop, the Jesus shop (just opened this week selling lots of Marys) and the new Merry Christmas shops.  Without any post Christmas sales next week I'd suspect any Christmas stock will sit there ready for next year or until some highly paid consultant comes in and suggests having Christmas in July!

I’m not one of those Christmas/Christian bar humbugging types and I don't subscribe to any creation theory but really I wouldn’t complain if Christmas was moved to a bi-annual event.
 But like most people I don’t mind a celebration and reckon goodwill, being merry, showing compassion, sharing meals and time together are pretty good ideas and actions. I’m also a bit partial to the old carol singing, Christmas cake and hand made cards to induce a warm and fuzzy feeling.  

This year I have kept to my normal simple Christmas routine, made a fruit cake with 4 imported ingredients (1 kilo of mixed fruit, 2 cups of prune juice and 2 cups of SR flour & almonds on top), made a swag of cards from recycled materials and 30 odd lanterns (somehow I knew 11 months of loo rolls were going to come in useful !)

 Hmm, prune juice...........

 

Lanterns glowing the way

An absolute delight this week was the brass (well, silver) band turning up at work in 2 trucks, off they jumped all 26 of them complete with home made matching music stands to play carols and whatever other songs they knew.

The dance moves to the Hokey Pokey were a treat as was the amount of coral picked up to hold the music sheets from blowing away in the impending storm.And I loved the big, big drum complete with BYO chair to hold it up.

 Carols, coral & hokey pokey

As for Christmas day, there are about 20 of us I-Matang left here getting together for an orphans gathering. Should be fun, the present giving is the ol’ Kris Kringle, only this one is to bring something from home that you want to get rid of (wrapped spouses and kids optional) or bringing a treasure from the op shop.

On that note, much merriment to all, may the fat man in the red suit find a chimney near you and may the bottle of wine I have finally scored sip slowly through my lips.

Up next : Back to launching a canoe without getting ya feet wet !

Dogs and Gods

Praise the dogs and gods of Kiribati (of which there are many), after 5 nights of no power and water I have now been rescued from being a really, really mad

I-Matang.

It was feeling like a de ja vu or a ground hog experience. No, much more than a feeling it WAS a repeat experience from when I first arrived in Tarawa 11 months ago. 

First the gas run out (I new that was coming) then the power was cut off which means no pump for water. So no gas, power and water for one day then after travelling the length of the island gas was sourced so coffee could be brewed and food that wasn’t going off in the fridge cooked.

A trip to the department responsible for the electricity supply and billing confirmed that yes, the power had been cut off and the outstanding amount due was almost $500 !!! Whilst I needed my glasses to do a double take on the figures I didn’t need glasses to see that an old card file system had resurfaced, one that didn’t have my handwriting on it.  Same account number and house location, just different era!   

Where you go to pay the electricity bill !

The wisdom and administrative efficiency employed to manage a system held on from British rule had had a dusting and unearthed a previous tenants account. Of course someone has to pay and us I-matangs like to have electricity so let’s turn it off ! It was eventually worked out that no, it’s wasn’t my bill and when asked if I’d get the power turned back on that day the standard answer was given.
"Yes”, which can and often means anything but that !   
So with the next day being a public holiday followed by a weekend it meant five waterless days and candle lit evenings.

Hmm.. the electricity supply

Under a moon lite sky and with the lack of mechanical chill more things started to bubble and brew. Mr Sourdough took the inopportune time to become “active”. I really was feeling heady, hot and sweaty and wanted to try the “not tonight I’ve got a headache” line but know that opportunities need to be grabbed when presented and kneaded with two hands. 

I fell, I stumbled, I scummed to the aroma and fantasy that only a good sourdough can arouse.

Silence, the soft glow of candlelight, a warm balmy breeze AND gas meant one thing, we have rise to this occasion again. Me and Mr Sourdough had the evening together. 

As the morning sun started to sneak it’s rays across the low tide and the neighbours played yet another I-Kiribati song on their mobile phone I stirred with a sense of knowing deep in my heart. 
A beginning was starting to, well, start, this was a new morning, change was occurring and rituals were being challenged.

 Sunrise from my front door 

The big breakfast that I once knew had a new loaf on the block, sweet was being swapped for sour, yolks were big and bright and some greens were added, not just because it was law. (Kiribati must be the only country where it’s law to serve a green when selling a meal!).    

Mr Sourdough has taken my heart

My plate was filled with colour from a treat that couldn’t be washed off, a step along a path to somewhere had been taken, it was a night that deserved a celebration. 

For the time being Mr Sourdough is back in the fridge, next time I'm hoping to take the lead and we'll hubble and bubble to the beat of my drum. 

Up next : Launching a canoe without getting wet !

Death and the sanctuary of home

Ok, sex has been fobbed for the moment (well, personally for more than a moment !), and my observations and thoughts regarding the I-Kiribati and such things has been overtaken by  it’s cousin - Death, and the sanctuary of home.

The last few weeks I have experienced 2 more deaths and another outer island trip. As I have said before death is at my doorstep (2 graves just outside my door) and is a constant reminder of the fragility of life here along with it’s acceptance of being part of life’s journey.

I have now experienced deaths of people aged from 8 months to late 30s, three female and one male, one who took their own life. Apart from the baby whose death occurred early on in my time here I had had shared experiences with each of these people. One I flew to an outer island and back with, one I worked alongside in a mentoring role and the other was at my house the day before leaving this life.

 "Old life"

  

"New life"

 

A cultural thread and response binds the I-Kiribati people and each of these deaths.

The bodies were laid out in their given homes wearing their finest clothes adorned with flowers (artificial) as family and friends gathered. I have heard it said that people going to hospital take a set of their best clothes, they may be needed -and far too often they are.

I paid my respects to each of my friends families and sat alongside three of their bodies. In the process of grieving, funeral and burial arrangements family members and friends sit with their loved ones, they may cry, stroke them, talk to them, re arrange the flowers, or in the case of the baby I watched as the blind father tried putting his daughters hair into little pig tails.

On one occasion I spent 12 hours at the family village (some people will stay for days), many of those hours were alongside the body both sitting and sleeping. 

l cried and cried, how could a woman of such power and passion have died just hours after I has seen her (in hospital), what was done, or more likely, had not being done for something that was so preventable,  why do these people accept the non-acceptable ? My questions and emotions raged at the same time as I heard pigs and chooks being slaughter for the feast, watched the hole being dug for the backyard burial, played with kids including her son, smelt the food being prepared and listened to the voices of angels coming from her people, others with abilities that far outweighed their disabilities. 

It has taken me some months to write of this experience. It’s funny how and what a death does to ones being, offering reflections on past deaths, thoughts of ones that may come at any time and wonder at the cycle of life.

Two days after the last burial a baby was born to one of the people in attendance, I have yet to meet her but on inquiring as to her name was told “Junior Leigh” !

Two days before giving  birth to "Junior Leigh" 

The sanctuary of home

There are many things I have learnt to endure, enjoy and love about outer island trips with the I-Kiribati people I work alongside, this includes the joy of returning to my ocean view nest here on Tarawa.

I really am a homebody at heart, it’s where a balance can be achieved for my physical, emotional and spiritual being. After another week of collective living in accommodation run by the local island council, people that have never seen a kitchen sink, experienced a flushing loo (or toilet seat) and can sleep anywhere, my humble home is paradise.

What is it about bodily functions that seem to flow (or plop) much easier from ones own private loo, I’m sure hovering is strengthening for the legs but comfort and contemplation come much easier from a relaxed position.

Planning for the I-Kiribati is not part of their culture (neither is the letter “P”) but many “know” that a trip away means some things are needed such as toothpaste, toilet paper, soap, clothes etc. It’s just the planning part of actually taking them along that gets in the way. Being a westerner I pack these things and more, this includs the only torch and insect repellent in our group and simple food items such as sao biscuits, my version of muesli and powdered milk.  In the interest in having these when needed I keep in my room, the torch did shine the way to and from various kava bars (without me), the saos found a home by someone that recognised them as food and took to self serve, but I did struggle trying to explain what rolled oats were and why I was eating muesli when there was literally bucket loads of fish and rice.

 Outside window to my "Guesthouse" bedroom

One of the joys of being home is the quiet, just the sea, occasional dog squabble, or talking and singing from my neighbours. As much as I love the jubilant, frenetic, and joyful sounds of one or 200 odd I-Kiribati people singing my body can chill and mind can rest from the “OMG, will I have to dance for this one…”. Today it’s no Audrey Auld, Paul Kelly or String Chickens pumping out of my itunes, no white noise or I-Kiribati top 10 blasting out of bass induced speakers. Just the sound of silence.  

My day has been filled with washing in a twin tub where water needs to be bucketed from the kitchen, clothes manually moved from washer to spinner to rinsing bucket and back to spinner before making it to the cutest clothesline this side of the date line.  Meanwhile seven newly hatched chicks and muma hen wander past my door and stop at the water overflow from my kitchen (don’t ask) for a drink and any food scraps and it’s almost 3pm and I’m still in my sleeping attire. 

 A homemade mini hills hoist

This is my day, the breeze is flowing through the open doors, the sky is filled with clouds and the hammock awaits as does another meal of the fish and rice, a yoga session and a real coffee.

Up next : It’s in the lap of the dogs or gods   

Collective living

        This last week I have been thrown  boots (well thongs) and all to collective living.

There are many times when the gulf in our “western” thinking and living is far, wide and poles apart from the collective way of being as lived here by the I- Kiribati people.

I’m sure many others join me in shaking our heads at the way people here share every thing, be it food, clothes, kids, houses, smokes and money, virtually anything and everything appears to be shared. The lack of sense of “I” or “me/mine” for the most is very refreshing, especially from a distance but actually experiencing a collective life was not so simple (for me).

So far much of my experience has been on the edges, now I have slept, snored, ate and sung under the same roof as the people I am here working with.

I have just come back from a 6 day trip as part of a group of 11 people from my work taking a community awareness drama and workshops to an outer island. I have travelled to an outer island with these people before as part of an invitation to a specific celebration. (as written about in an  earlier post). This trip was different in that we were the people running the “program” rather than being the invited, we were there for specific tasks and activities.  

 Performing the drama at a school, curtians are strung up between the trees.

  

Good to know where your cup is. Both these wonderful performers are blind.

Most I-matang (foreigners) who visit outer islands stay in local council guesthouses or hotels. I was quite happy with little knowledge of what these places offered and my expectations were not gleaned from "trip adviser" or worldly travellers. The project budget allowed for each of our group members to stay in a guest house/hotel. Arrangements and negotiations to book accommodation, tee up performances and workshop arrangements were undertaken by my counterpart, sounds simple enough but I have learnt enough to kerb my questions preferring the KISS approach.

Many outer islands don’t have Internet access and phone contact is via a pay phone (as in one physical phone) which is contactable through the local phone provider here on the main land. As far as I have gleaned the phone rep makes the call (to god knows whoever answers the phone) and requests the person sought to be near the phone at a given time, they then tell the caller when to call them.  As in this case arranging phone call/s can take days if not weeks to happen. If that takes a bit to fathom then welcome to my world,  I just know it works but I am really starting to befriend the notion of …

“….the more one thinks they know the less one does know“ !

Part of the planning and communication to the outer island was that the people I was travelling with were happy to stay in a “local” house and on arrival we are shown what was to be our home for 5 nights. A kia Kia (grass roofed raised hut without any sides) for the performers and me in the little stick house right next door, sweet, I lay around with everyone else and start eating fish and rice.

Meanwhile the community is a buzz at the thought of an I-matang not staying at the hotel (which of course I thought I was in). Without any flashing lights, daytime power, signs or any idea how to differentiate between a hotel or any other building I stayed oblivious to the commotion until it was suggested that we all move to the hotel. With a guitar, keyboard, data projector and screen, stage (well coconut tree) curtains and an assortment of bags we head to the hotel and I am directed to one of a few rooms. The room was simple, louvre windows on three sides, a locally made bed, mattress and a mozzie net and located right next to a local bathroom. This was when I was to sleep and everyone else would fill the floor space.

Floor space is floor space, and that means sleeping space, it didn’t take long and I had 3 people sleeping just outside the windows and door of my paper-thin walls.

For 6 days and nights of singing, snoring, smoking and eating I shared the floor with blind people who felt their way around, (one announcing he needed a torch to find the bathroom !) a wheelchair user and others with physical disabilities.

Since a trip to Australia several of the people are now wearing watches, it didn’t appear to matter that the time was incorrect or be of any relevance when attending performance bookings or local invitations. For many people not a lot happens in a day so waiting isn’t a problem, everything that needs to get done will get done at some stage.  As for the never ending eating, it is a cultural ritual, what and when you eat doesn’t seem to have much importance, grace may take 15 minutes to be preformed and it is fish and rice whether it’s 6am or 10 pm.

Sometimes the singing finished not long after the power went off (normally about 11pm) other times it re-started in the wee hours and subsided as the sun peaked through. Given the nocturnal activities sleeping was a popular day-time activity dispersed with smoking and more eating. The Kiribati people are known to be able to sleep anywhere and at any time, I just wish their snoring was a tuneful as their singing !

As a rule I do OK with the local food. I just can’t pile my plate quite as high as the locals do, I like to call mine a taster plate with small selections each sitting alone. One day I asked about papayas, next I’m handed 5 and was then presented with more every meal, they were the only fruit available so I wasn’t complaining.  Noodles come a close second to rice as a daily offering, easy, open a packet, empty the sachets (of scary stuff), pour in hot water, and present alongside the rice, tinned meat, papaya and what appears to be meat from who knows where.  (only pigs live here and they are kept for botakis and special occasions).

 Little pigs that will grow to be big "botaki" pigs

After days and nights of being the roadie, curtain girl, tech geek with the data projector etc and sleeping companion my desire to be part of this collective waned. I declined an evening invitation (of which I learnt it to took a 20 minute speech to convey my apologies and a whole story was given as to what had happened to the I-matang ! ) but I hadn’t missed it all. My morning sense of enquiry as to what was simmering on the kero cooker was taken back a bit when I came face to face with a snarling roasted pigs head. The evenings occasion was a big one, 3 pigs had been slaughtered and offered and they bought one home !

Another meal of papaya was just fine. 

 

I was happy to get back to the main land, albeit more that half of our group stayed on as we couldn’t all fit on the plane and I’m still trying to find the projector screen. It made it to the aisle of the plane but didn’t get unloaded when we arrived back. Last I heard it’s gone to another atoll in a totally different direction but have been assured it will be back for the next trip (in 3 days time !).

Hope is a wonderful thing, it certainly beats stress but maybe I’ll cross my fingers too. 

Up next :  Time to talk about sex

Culture shock called Australia

It was an early morning rise, a trip to quarantine with a locally made mat and crafts, a few hours hanging out at Bonriki International airport and I was on one of the twice weekly flights to Fiji for a slow release to Western culture. 

Leaving Tarawa - she's a thin slither 

This trip off Tarawa, an atoll bobbing away in the middle of the Pacific ocean had been filled with excitement, anticipation and some trepidation. Having spent the last 9 months living a laid back village life just meters from the ocean with pigs, chooks and locals for neighbours I had been wondering how I was going to fit back into a fast paced city life in Australia. Fears of looking like a middle aged feral islander woman ogling at shop windows filled with the latest 5 minute fashions,  stuff that most of us don’t need and knowing the difference between a soy double shot cappuccino and an afforgato may not have been keeping me awake at night but certainly had me had me wondering if dropping back into western civilisation was going to knock my socks off.

I am very happy to report I survived and come back home happy and refreshed after spending time with my family and dear friends.

(A big thank you to the person who said I looked 10 years younger, that complement feels more real than the blind person that thought I was 35 years of age ! )

There are some lovely and interesting people here, locals and I-matangs like me passing though for a year or two, but there is nothing like the unspoken conversation and time spent with people that know you, that shared history of experiences, loves, losses, joys and laughter that takes years to shape.

First stop was a gentle awakening of the senses in Fiji. 
Treats abound, markets brimming with more that 2 fruits and 3 veggies as available on Tarawa, Indian delights to taste, smell, admire and barter and every level of accommodation had hot showers ! 

Meeting up with family members and tagging along on the tourist trails was delightful.

I doubt that Captain Cook ate as well as we did on the named cruise or those who undertook  tribal killings where I was standing over looking the Sigatoka valley ever wondered if the world was flat. 
I reckon my house is 18 inches above sea level at high tide and with the highest point on Tarawa (aptly known as Mount Tarawa) standing  2-3 meters above sea level I stood and marvelled at this mountainous view. There was distances, ups, downs, valleys, wind turbines, roofs and locals cantering their horses bare back laden with market goodies. It was marvellous, like looking down at a forgotten world that was born on the day height was up for grabs. 

  
Could be anywhere but it is on a hill in Fiji !
  

 My legs were taking me to the supermarket and my hands gathering all (well some) of the things that would be must haves back here in Kiribati. Roti bread, a veggie peeler that may work, matching coffee cups, stemmed glasses, and look how cheap they are……………It reminded me of the day  in Tarawa when I decided I’d waited long enough for the dream of drinking wine out of a stemmed glass, 4 dry months had been  long enough the old glass tumbler was fine. I put the stemmed glasses back on the shelf.

Travelling sole

 

In Australia I had my toe nails painted, a haircut, filled my belly with wonderful food and bubbly and felt right at home at the new “in” eating/home/life emporium in Sydney that is so cool it just has a doorway with no signage (had to have 2 visits and was ready to move in).

Sydney, such beauty

 

21 days off an atoll was wonderful, a visit to the Qantas lounge in Sydney before departure was my last luxury and my 31 kilos of luggage made it back all intact. I have dried fruit for a Christmas cake, enough nuts to set up a pot holed road side stall, pickled ginger and udon noodles so I can make my own sushi train and “fruit chocs”, a South Australian childhood favourite to feed my inner brat.

Second day back it was onto the bus of smiling faces and mad music, it didn’t take long and I too was smiling knowing this really is the place to be right now. On arriving to work I was greeted by children running, calling my name and climbing all over me, such joy and delight (and hopefully no head lice !). 

I sit here at Ocean View with the seas lapping nearby, look at another 4 legs that has taking up residence, eat more tuna and take joy in the breeze and warmth that fills the days and evenings.

Dipping my toes back into Western life was wonderful and I have much appreciation to the care and nurturing I received but I am happy to be here and feel ready for more delights and challenges from woop woop.

Through my door way at Ocean View (about 22 feet away at high tide!)

Up next : Not sure !

Leaving on a jet plane.............

The I-Kiribati people love their music and hanging on buses is nearly always a mind changing event. One, because you are glad to have got a bus after a long wait and once you get on the bubble gum music can only put a smile on your face, well my face at least. I’m sure there’s a PHD here in the effect of music on everyday life and everyday people just waiting to be researched. Musical influences seem to come far and wide with songs freeing Nelson Mandela, wanting an African man, doing the zumbo, and Kiribati versions of Western songs. 

A bus without music blasting out is a bit odd here, some buses have created extra seating in the aisle by laying down a whooping big speaker. Too much base does wonders for the bottom !  A favorite activity of mine is a bit like “spicks and specks” with a twist, trying to remember the name of a western song being sung in Kiribati. It’s funny how those tunes imprint on the brain but trying to remember the name of the song is another thing, or trying to forget the name of the song at 3am after it’s taken up residence for the last 15 hours is equally maddening.

I’m sure in 1963 or was it 1966 when John Denver penned “I’m leaving on a jet plane” he wouldn’t have even know where Kiribati was, er, maybe he still doesn’t. This country doesn’t make too many peoples travel bucket lists and I suspect it’s not on his either. But just imagine he could sell out Betio stadium and he wouldn’t have to worry of he forgot a few words they all know them. 

There has been an increase in international flights into Tarawa in the last few months, there are now 10 a month instead of 8, competition has hit the pacific skies with “our airline” flying in twice a month. Mind you in my research trying to make a booking on them is another thing.  But I have now joined the Wednesday excitement and waved people off on the plane. Just a couple of weeks ago 13 people from my work, people with disabilities packed their bags (no one had over 10 kilos and half of them were under 5 kilos !) and made their way to Australia for a training fellowship. Assisting the group included getting 2 wheelchair users onto a totally inaccessible plane, no air-bridge here, one was piggy backed on board and the another pulled herself up the handrails, then directing 5 blind people with the first one holding onto the shoulder of a sighted person whilst everyone else tagging on, meanwhile the others with physical disabilities sorted themselves out. They are an amazing bunch of people who really do make the most of their abilities and just get on with doing whatever needs to be done and achieved. 

It seems every Kiribati person or group here travels with an esky or plastic fish box, these people were no different and this box was filled with their grass skirts (different ones for different dances depending how much hip action was needed) and other accessories for their national dress. Along with these were a couple of the wonderful woven mats which no doubt someone is sleeping on until they find there new owners and other handicrafts to be shared as gifts. Of course the whole quarantine procedure was a bit concerning, especially someone actually declaring the goodies and getting them into Australia. 

It was busy 3 hours at the airport that morning getting everyone away. It had been hard to get across what it may feel like to be cold (their arrival temp was just 15 degrees), and living here in a constant 28-32 degrees, I too am wondering what cool weather is like. 

 I am very happy to report everybody, all the bags and the handicrafts made it safe and sound through to Melbourne. 

Arriving in Melbourne. 

Seems some were tired, they only left with 2 in wheelchairs !

This week it’s my turn to leave on a jet plane, I’ll leave the musical buses, yellow fin tuna and my ocean view for a few weeks to hit some R & R in Fiji and Australia, yahoo here I come. I’ll take along a couple of woven mats as gifts, see if I can find something with long sleeves to keep me warm and take the biggest suitcase I can find. It may not be filled to the brim leaving here but it will be maxed out coming back after I stock up on dried fruit, nuts and the odd bottle of wine !

Cheerio

Up Next : culture shock called Australia