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

This present life

 One of the things I love about where I live just meters from the water and being on an atoll surrounded by water is the playfulness of the clouds, sunsets and reflections. The sun clocks off most days just before 7pm and I have swapped viewing the goings on in the world, aka the nightly news, to walking out my door and watching the screen that is the  sky.

 A touch of paridise on North Tarawa

Kiribati is a bit of a last frontier. It’s isolation to the rest of the world, it’s small land mass over a wast ocean and the environmental threats from population mass and rising sea levels sit alongside an amazing strong rich culture. With an unknown future, almost no prospects or resources of their own the I-Kiribati people continue to live as they have for generations, in the present. 
Isn't this something that the West spends millions on trying to achieve ! 

I often wonder what the future holds here and it can feel overwhelming and unknowable as to what assistance is of use, other days I am in awe of these peoples ability to live totally in the here and now. Tasks of subsidence living are done just for what is needed, no fishing for more than is required to eat today or cooking for tomorrow, a bus will get you to where you want to go and someone will feed the kids if they are left at the village. 

No planning seems to mean nothing can go pear shaped, therefore no disappointment and no stress.

 The West is a champion of stress and seems to be a champion at thinking everyone wants what we have. With the West comes stress and as more of that is introduced here the stresses will increase, already the health issues from Western influence are staggering. This is a whole other area, for the moment I'll keep with the clouds.

Halo from my front yard

 Over the pig pen

 

Sitting on the rocks watching as the end of the day turns the clouds and reflections into a playground of colour and movement is my moment of being very present and filled with changes every second. Sometimes it may be a soft glow in the sky, a rich bank of clouds, a darkness that captures the moist oppressive heat or a sky filled with layers dancing to their own tunes.

Front yard

Back at north Tarawa

There are many wonderful things about being really present and some that surprise.
Like the difference between feeling the rain or just getting wet, it’s ones thinking and acceptance that can turn a situation from anguish or aversion to a gift or treasure or to just being a moment in time.   
The clouds and I have became good friends, I’m watching them and trying to hold them still in many images. I’m not too sure how many photos are too many, this digital age allows access to trying to capture every one of those changing moments.

I like the idea of capturing these moments and I toy with the idea getting a better camera but for the time being my little point and shoot is doing Ok and is getting a work out.

UP NEXT : Leaving on a jet plane………..and maybe other old songs

"but you are one of us"

Less than a week ago was the anniversary celebration of the Mwaneaba for the Disabled Peoples Organisation (DPO) where I am working  and a performance dress rehearsal. 

A Mwaneba anniversary is a significant celebration for the I-Kiribati people, they are much more likely to know the age and date of these grass roofed meeting places than their own date of birth, age or those of their parents or children.

 Here the organisations sign is being reattached high up in the mwanabea

 

Some of the work I have been doing here has been around project management of a couple of community awareness performances, the Elimination of Violence against Women and the UN Convention on the Rights of People with Disabilities. We, well I, am working on a tight timeframe with other commitments including a delegation of 13 members heading off to Australia in just a few weeks. Early on, my Western notion churned out a project work plan and timeframe, an alien idea for the very present living I-Kiribati people, and it seems there are no local words to try to get us anywhere near the same page. I know these people get stuff done, our cultures just take us down different pathways.

After some time looking and work- shopping the projects topics I leave the knowledge with the group to shape it into a drama/performance that will be taken to the villages of South Tarawa and two outer islands.

As for making a drama I am well out of my depth. But I have been here long enough to know not to worry “too” much about their collective way of working, but I am scratching my head as to how the transformation into a performance is actually going to take place and when. As for my reworked and reworked timeframe and work plan I’m thinking I may as well start using them to make paper planes and consider a career change, pilot maybe !

I am blessed, I am in the presence of an amazing talented bunch of performers, composers and singers who come from a strong oral culture. Story telling and the use of drama and skits are a popular method of communication and awareness, it is the path we take for these projects too.

A script is written, music and songs are composed, lines are learnt, backdrop and stage curtains are made, tee shirts are purchased and bingo we have a production in less that 2 weeks ! Much negotiation took place to select the 14 person cast of which only 8 will carry onto the outer islands due to budget constraints. The performers are all people with disabilities (blind, wheelchair users or those with physical impairments) and are chosen in an equitable manner to allow all  TTM members to have opportunities in participation. (There is a lot for me and all of us to learn from these people.)

Drama rehearsal in the mwaneaba which at the same time is being repaired after a big storm. This is the oraganisations meeting place but also where some of the people with disabilities & their families live.

 

I have learnt that as an I-matang here I am very fortunate as my work is very much on the ground and with the people as opposed to being at a ministry in a public service role.  While most capacity building roles both paid and voluntary are working alongside locals I am right amongst them everyday in daily living; young, old, babies, male, female, single, married able bodied and disabled.  

Back at my welcoming ceremony in January I said Te Toa Matoa were going to be my Kiribati family, this was well before knowing what this would actually mean.  It’s only about a month since I lay next to my co-workers body as she was laid out in her wedding dress and flowers ready for burial. I may have only know her 6 months but her extended family of Te Toa Matoa members and relatives took me in as part of their community and helped me get through that long day.  I had moments overcome with emotion, pain and sorrow that spilled over into tears, no words were needed, they were my Kiribati family and I felt held.

Back to last weeks celebration and performance. My request to invite fellow volunteers to share the evening and these wonderful people was well received. Guests in this culture are very welcomed and treated accordingly. We sat on mats placed in prime position, were treated to a welcome in speech, song and dance and presented with beautiful garlands. I love the flowers in the hair thing, a scented and colourful crown to really give that regal aura. The garland dance started and I counted five garlands, but wait there’s six of us, what’s going on ? 
My fellow friends looked wonderful in their headdress while I disguised my disappointment.  A day later (still holding onto my dropped lip !) I got around to making a joke about being a garland short at the botaki (celebration/feast).  These people are the kings and queens of protocol, this wasn’t an over sight, the garlands were only for guests not for everyone. My suggestion that they had forgottem me was met with laughter and the words
“but you are one of us”.

 Heading off in the back of  truck for the first performance two nights ago.

 Same night, same truck, driving down the airstrip, it's only road without pot holes ! Beautiful skies here at dusk.

 

As of yesterday  I really am feeling like one of them, maybe just not in the way I’d like. I am surprised it’s taken this long, I have kids using me as a monkey bar and hanging off me almost every day. They may or may not have their clothes on the right way or any at all, definitely no shoes, have the biggest of smiles and cheekiness, they also scratch their heads…………………..er yes I have got to middle age and managed to get head lice !  

Pass me the flowers, I'm not feeling so regal.  

Up next : ???

Dealing with death

 My guts were churning, my face blank and I felt every bit of blood pumping through my body. The coffee was set to brew and the Sunday morning pancakes remained unmade.

It’s was early morning here at my home “ocean view” after a wild and windy start.

There is a small distance between me and my neighbours, people I don't  know by name but we kindly acknowledge each other and I give my food scraps to the pigs and bananas to the inquiring kids who shyly come to my opened door. Like all Kiribati families they live mostly a subsistence life with possibly one of the large extended family in some very lowly paid job. Fish caught daily and rice make the staple diet. Dogs along with pigs and chooks are the only animals on this atoll and their main purpose is for a source of protein.

It’s almost seven months since moving to this ocean side living. Arriving in a new small country albeit as friendly as this one it’s nice to make local friends, including the four legged ones. When I arrived amongst the neighbours roaming dogs were two pups of no identifiable breed, just that Kiribati look; short-haired, medium sized, lean and a xylophone of ribs. One of these pups was particularly skinny and the other slightly aloof. Soon the skinniest of the pups was named “Deefa” (D for Dog) and the other kept an eye out from a safe distance. With a few scraps thrown out it was only a few weeks until the skinny one took over in size and took to running with the pack. Second pup moved in.

 Bath mat chewing !

Second pup came to be know as “4 legs”, initially he was shy, timid of me and any visiting I-Matang (foreigner) but showed a very gentle nature. 

The Kiribati people are very physical and rough in most things they do, to humans or animals. Laughter is often accompanied with a endearing slap, and physical contact is a means of communication, albeit not always it in a happy and cheerful way. It’s not unusual to see kids being whacked or their hair pulled, to see them swinging pups and kittens around or men kicking a dog out of the way. Like their masters many of these animals survive on little, whatever left overs are left over and eat coconuts like many privileged dogs tuck into a bone.

My bag of western determined necessities always includes a plastic bag, a must have if you don’t want to get on a bus carrying your fish by the tail and for gathering any left over foods for “4 legs”. The presidential Botaki (traditional feast) are a treat for more than rice and fish, pig scraps and chicken bones along with breadfruit are eagerly gathered and on special occasions shellfish remains are available.

After some months when going out food was getting less and one couldn’t rely on the President hosting international dignitaries I made the decision to purchase a bag of dog food. It is only the westerners that would feed this to the dogs or be able to afford such an item, it costs 6 times the price of rice !

Such a decision to feed a dog whose life is unknown, spending money on such luxury and what happens when you leave played heavy on my mind. These dogs will come and go, their lives here may or may not out live most westerns stays of a year or two. I knew taking on any such living being would expose my own needs and attachments, I also know it’s tough living here and such an animal offers company and lightness.

I took to a randomness of feeding “4 legs”. Scraps don’t cost anything and I get to use all of the fish I purchase but I wouldn’t feed him everyday. He took to this new life and with a couple of doses of worming tablets kindy sent from a friend be bounced around happily walking in one door out the next like he owned the place. His preferred spots inside include stretching out against the wall under the table keeping his belly cool, chewing the bath mat and sitting on my yoga mat, often when I was still using it. Pet therapy seemed to turn into comparing downward dogs !

 Home comfort

It’s hard to know how long an animals life is here, pigs are prized and valued, they are kept for celebrations and significant events, unfortunately this  Sunday was it for “4 legs”. 
He had spent the night asleep under my table until heading out about 7.30am. The last I saw of him was a bit over an hour later with a gash wound in his neck, blood down his front and being carried off by 2 men and a child, one carrying the knife.

He made it to about 9 months old. 

Om Mani Pade Hum.

Death is in your face and at your doorstep, I have 2 graves just 10 feet from my door and I pass several others before I get to the road just 60 meters away. Funerals and burials of the local people take place far too often, just 2 weeks before this event the 38 year old women I had been mentoring passed away. I will write about the 12 hour funeral and burial and honour her at a later date, at the moment it’s too raw. I am accepting the many questions I know cannot be answered but struggle at a loss that was preventable.

 She along with my 4 legged friend have touched my life.

Stones make out the outline of these and many burial sites, this is just out from my back door.

 A neighbours patch, I pass these everyday.

Some take their passion with them.

Up next : Like living here, it’s unknown

It's Relationship Territory

When I left my Sydney job last year I was rather presumptuous and suggested that my farewell gift could be a care package to be sent to me in Kiribati once I knew what I wanted or was missing. The idea was welcomed and left the organiser off the hook of what to buy this Pacific gypsy.

A heart shaped pond in my oceanic garden

Five months on in this adventure a few needs and wants came to light. Top of the list came undies, er um, this was not something I was about to put into the hands of a dear middle-aged male co-worker, so let’s investigate furthur.

It didn’t take long before my electric tooth brush wasn’t getting out of first gear and preferring not to whirl around my teeth. Knowing I would not be able to find one here that was now top of the list, also on a shopping list before departing Australia was a sour dough starter from a health food shop near work. I am over eating the one choice here of sweet bread, I was in need of some “culture” along with dried fruit and reading materials.

My dear ex-work colleague was happy with the list and went about making the purchases. Aware that the postage costs were probably going to be greater that the goods inclosed I went about seeking options for a courier. Turns out another friend from Sydney and a local I-Kiribati person were attending the same gathering in Fiji, so bingo I have a tooth fairy come international mule.

The parcel makes it to my hands, I munch on some of the dried fruit included and my teeth get a good clean. I love having a letter in my hands to read and pin up at my home at “Ocean View”, now it’s time to tackle the sourdough packet.

My bread making experience is limited and with no knowledge of how to get a sour dough culture started I eagerly read the instructions and take tips from the worldwide web. That’s the easy part, but I’m still yet to find a suitable glass bowl to sterilise or culture jar to keep the living ancient “being” let alone any bread tins !

This is Kiribati, substitutes are a way of life.

The first step know as “awaken your culture” needed military planning so I set about trying to match these steps with my daily life. Theses processes requires the culture to be nurtured, fed and tended to, initially after 24 hours then each 12 hours for 5-6 days (and this is before even attempting to make some bread !).

 Introducing the unawakened Mr Sourdough

No worries, this country was about to head into 5 days of public holidays for Independence celebrations, what better time than to enter this 120 year old chain. Sitting at the table with the ocean crashed just 25 feet away I take to matching the Independence day events I wished to attend and the needs of my new best friend Mr Sour Dough. 

 OMG, this is a serious commitment I feel like I am heading into relationship material. I haven’t considered myself desperate and dateless in Kiribati but this is serious stuff, taking on the responsibility of “awakening” this ancient sourdough from Germany (maybe just good marketing but that’s what is written on the packet) then the pressure of keeping this relationship alive and well.

Keeping in touch with family and friends is important to me and takes some dedication from this outpost. Several years ago I joined the social networking phenomena and for the most this communication has worked well, especially with my techno savvy friends and “x” generation family members.  In my online profile I had never bothered with identifying my relationship status (mostly due to my luddite ability) but with this growing sour dough commitment I decided to “come out” to this relationship. Nothing like giving the family something to talk about and an opportunity and to test if anyone actually reads my postings. 

It’s time to go from no comment to “in a relationship”, oh what fun.  

Several days later and without internet access at home I visit down the road for free wireless and an afternoon of catching up on the outside world. I have done it, found that profile page ready to edit. “It’s complicated” sounded to complex, I know this relationship is going to have some rises and possible failings but it’s time to cement this commitment and take aim, I’ve gone the whole way.

“In a relationship”

He he.....

OMG, in less than 30 minutes 10% of my friends have liked or commented already. What are they doing ? It’s mid afternoon on a working day in Australia ? Looks like catching up on social media (especially anything gossipy) is the new smoko/tea break.

I’m up for a warm and toasty relationship and will spill the beans (or sesame seeds) when I get to first base !   

UP NEXT: Dealing with death

Swimming : legless and blind

I would like to say that I go swimming in crystal clean waters teeming with colourful marine life and refreshing cool swells on a weekly bases, sadly that is not the case. The waters surrounding the atoll of Tarawa are lovely to look at, the lagoons stillness and colours can take your breath way and the ocean can be very powerful and dominating.

An atoll such as Tarawa is created by coral growing along the slopes of a sinking old oceanic volcano. Basically sands collect on the shallow reef  (the rim of the old volcano) that sits about sea level, seeds blow in and over time a impressionable ring of flat, narrow islands of sand, coral and some trees (in this case mostly coconut) all surround a shallow lagoon. Tarawa gets some protection from the erosive action of open ocean waves by an outer reef.

There are quite few such atolls sitting in the pacific, Kiribati has 33 but only 8 of them are populated and Tarawa is the most populated taking the title of being “the most densely populated piece of land in the world”.

 Welcome to Tarawa - East to West is South Tarawa, North to South is North Tarawa

 

Surrounded by water unfortunately does not mean swimming. The population and lack of sanitation sees the lagoon being the bathhouse for over 45,000 people and Westerns are advised not to swim in it while the reef on the ocean side drops off several 100 meters and posing a dumped or suffering from coral cuts at least.

Opportunities to get away and swim are grabbed quickly. My most recent adventure was with the people from my work who were hosting a couple of visitors from Australia. So into a truck went the wheel chairs, eskies, rice bags carrying everything and anything and about 25 people including babies, those who are blind, have artificial legs, able bodied or covered in sun screen (the 3 westerners). After renegotiating the pick up time (it was Saturday and 6am is a bit too early in my books!) off we set along the increasingly pot holed road to meet a boat and venture to Broken Bridge on North Tarawa. (a road bridge that has been broken for  some years, the story is that government couldn’t find the funds of $10,000 or the willingness  to fix it !) The bridge joins two smaller atolls and has water coming from the ocean into the lagoon, lovely fresh, cool clean water with the added excitement of jumping from the bridge and floating along.

I have only been to one water based Kiribati picnic before and I thought that was a treat, this one had it all. Women set about weaving mats for the picnic rugs, setting up a camp kitchen for preparing chicken and cooking rice while the men climbed coconut trees for fresh drinks, and more palm fronds. Then out come the crème le crème of entertaining cooking utilities, this was a real BBQ.    

 The hands and beautiful work of a young blind women making a picnic mat

Locals don’t seem to worry about the effect of the searing sun here and swimwear along with any other clothing range do not exist. Lava lavas (like a sarong) and a tee shirt are the universal apparel for all occasions, swimming is no exception. With domestic duties accomplished and BBQ kings cooking and keeping the coconut husks burning it’s time to take to the water and explore the bridge. Artificial limbs and walking aids are left to hold themselves against a tree, blind people tag onto a person ahead and it’s into the briny we go. The kids quickly use any person taller than themselves as a human floaty and we all lull about in the aquatic playground. I can only imagine the range of feelings and senses that change for a blind person or someone not having to bare the weight of an introduced limb when they take to this activity. The fresh water was offering me a new freedom, the joy and smiles on the faces of others seemed to suggest the same. 

The Kiribati BBQ (carried on site by a boat and a truck)

 

Swimming, eating, laughing, singing, a batch of anzac biscuits and a few speeches made up the program.  The BBQ and feast served us well, a quick shower of rain washed the pots, another swim and it’s time to board the boats and skim the lagoon back home.

Forget money hungry cruises and tiresome schedules this was real Kiribati hospitality and a treat to be part of.

UP NEXT : It’s relationship territory 

Life administration : there's nothing like hanging out in the bank !

Administrative tasks and functions that bought us such things as the ink jet printer and newspaper bills may contribute in keeping the world going round but they don’t just disappear when living in a developing country.

My life living in a big city was quite simple, I attempted not to get too caught up with annoying life admin tasks or duties and no more so than those with regard to telecommunications and financial "stuff". 

Keeping the dept collector away, the fridge full or the power going wasn’t too challenging or consuming, here, getting enough food to have a full fridge can take a day with all the stopping and starting at the road side sellers or a trip to the west end of the atoll to the supermarket. However, it’s a recent trip to the bank that takes the cake for administrative process, entertainment and

"what the f…" moments.

There is one flavour of bank here, it has Australia in it’s name but is a different “product” the one we know back home ! The one brand bank has two branches and four ATMs on the atoll. These provide a banking service to almost 50,000 people, the government and the vast number of global aid providers that are here. Credit card facilities and internet banking haven’t made it here yet so it’s pretty much a cash and coconut system. 

Kiribati became independent in 1979 but has yet to produce it’s own currency, Australia is a major aid supplier hence it runs under this dollar and the link to the bank with 3 letters.   

 Well used coins and a $2 Kiribati coin celebrating 10 years of  Independence  in 1989

A trip to the bank is normally a planned and considered adventure, the most recent trip was in response to my landlady asking to have the rent paid in advance. I may be paying more rent here for a small besser brick house on the most densely populated piece of land in the world than I paid in a “fashionable” Sydney suburb but OK I can do this for her. What I wasn’t expecting was to take 2 steps inside the bank door and not be able to move. It’s about one on a Thursday afternoon and I joined the other 100 or so people also attempting mostly simple transactions and as I breathed in and tried to assess the situation I found I had gate crashed a queue. Using my best ski lift shuffle and an I-matang look of bewilderment I joined the rush hour and hoped it would take me to the right counter before sunset.

 Just about to make it to premuim front row seating

When I first arrived in Kiribati the bank had the simple system of collecting a number and waiting to be served in order, simple, logical, civilized and appeared to work. One could take a guess at how long before your number would come up and go off doing other chores and come back. I’d like to know what high earning consultant flew in and came up with this new “efficient” system or “customer service” strategy, I bet they never actually did any banking here.

Waiting is good for the mind right ? It’s a good teacher of patience huh.

“Patience is not about how long someone can wait, 

but how well they behave while waiting” 

I found this quote recently and it’s got me into observation mode, 2 hours waiting in a bank provided much fodder to chew on. Starting with my own patch it seemed to take me half an hour to stop shaking my head and loosen that grip of disbelief. Next it was counting and number crunching, the number of people waiting in the queue in front of me (31), behind me (25) another queue (45, and hoping I wasn’t suppose to be in that one !),  and a personal favourite the number of people wearing shoes (this is a vox pop that I have taken up, reckon it’s about 45% sole less, or I should say thong less).

My maths has me aiming to get served within 2 hours (almost correct) and 20 minutes until I graduate from shuffling to a seat. The prize of scoring a seat comes with having to move along one as each person gets served and has my bottom (and everyone else’s) gracing all 27 seats !

 More people waiting to get inside the bank

I depart the bank alive and intact and battle through the queue of people still trying to get into the officially closed bank. Maybe like me they don’t wear a watch and apart from the bank closing time and the two flights to the big land this place feels like it ticks to it’s own timepiece.

Up next :    Swimming with the blind & legless :