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 : 

The stresses of technology

Dealing with technology is not an interest I can spend hours exploring or nattering on about and when I am around people who do my luddite attitude seems to shine rather brightly. Since being in Kiribati I can spend hours trying to work out some of the simplest of tasks to do with computers, printers etc and have gleaned the patience of a saint particularly when waiting for internet access.

I don’t want to relive the challenges and dilemmas faced at work on a daily basis so will stick to those at home, the ones that are vital to keeping in touch with the rest of the world and making life here bigger than it perhaps is.  Even the idea of writing about this stuff  bores me but after the stresses of trying to connect to the world last week for a “live” radio interview my experience has grown,  slightly.

Arrangements had been made for me to be interviewed on Australia’s National radio broadcaster as past of a “meet the listener” segment on one of my favourite programs.  One phone call and a few emails and we seemed to be set, I would get called on my mobile at a given time, chat chat for 10 minutes then it would be all over red rover. Sounds simple enough and I just needed to be conscious of not rabbiting on at this opportunity to be talking to “home”.

I am living in a developing country and should know by now things more often than not don’t go as planned !

 

View from just out the front door as clouds take their position.  

 

I welcomed the rain and especially the cool early morning as I reached for a blanket and cuddled up remembering what winter was like, embracing that feeling and the cool air on my skin whilst listening to the wild seas  just outside my windows. I had organised to work from home so took a leisurely approach to the morning and was enjoying the wettest and wildest days since arriving here. A couple of hours before the arranged phone up I checked the mobile for battery charge but found the mobile service was down and out. This has happened before when a truck hit a pole or something but not an experience I had had due to bad weather. Ok, 2 hours out and no mobile range, I’m thinking no interview or possibly a reschedule. I do have access to a satellite phone (that I was yet to have success using !) and  thought well maybe this is the occasion to get it right. For some reason we can have internet access and no mobile range or vis versa,  (luddite confirmation here) so there’s time to try internet access,  just.

To access the net here I have an external modem that is suppose to sit somewhere inside the house and let Scotty beam us up. Just one problem, no range inside, so the poor little modem has to bare the weather and sit outside in the one spot that seems to connect. To do this there is a small hole in the wire screen from a window in the living area and the wires have been poked through. So each time I want to connect I have to pull the wires through the window, plug into the modem and balance it on the step with support from a shell. After this it’s turn on the power, hold my tongue right and wait for a signal to connect, which can take some time and on occassions not connect at all. Being an indoor modem it’s not really made for weather, that’s where the umbrella comes in, it sits warding off the rain allowing connection to continue. The lovely pink number gets more outings protecting the modem that keeping me dry.  And the other more frequent disruption is dogs or a pig running over the cord and knocking out the range.   

Patience is more that a card game……….

Looking into my front door with the nice umbrella keeping the modem dry, still working on the sewing machine ! And that's a very rusty jaffle iron weighing down the umbrella.

There she is complete with shell for support.

 

So back to the interview, I successfully get internet access and email what I think is the satellite number to the radio program. I take the thing outside and wave it around trying to “connect”, walking around like a woman on a mission, the chooks scatter and the 3 little pigs keep munching away. I get a GPS reading and finally get picked up by a couple of satellites.

Mobile range seems to be back, it’s almost the time for “the call” and I’ve got my hands filled with telecommunication devices. Turns out the satellite number I gave was incorrect and the interview took place on a bit of a dodgy mobile line.

I managed not to rabbit on too much (I think) and can’t believe I forgot why it is so challenging to live here, seems I have got use to only getting 3 varieties of fruit (bananas, paw paw & coconuts) maybe 4 veggies and waiting 4-6 weeks for the boat with supplies to come in. A cask of wine costs $95, there is no transport after about 10pm, no streetlights or TV and the highest point above sea level is about 2 meters. I don’t think I sold Kiribati to be Paradise but you do need to be a resilient being. 

Living here is fine it’s this technology stuff that will do my head in !   

     One chook playing hide and seek others just hanging out.

UP NEXT : not sure yet!

High Commissioners come and go : It's time to frock up

There are some real pluses about living in a small ex-pat community as we have here in Kiribati, we all get invited to the Australian social functions.

There are about 110 Australians registered as being temporary residents here. Most of these would be part of the capacity building workforce (volunteer, paid and consultants) along with diplomats, Aid agencies and some military support. Whilst some people have 1 or 2 year contracts others are coming and going to oversee projects so the numbers of Australians actually here at one time can often be less. There’s nothing like a good night out of food and drinks to bring the Aussies out of the wood work !

 We have had one Australian High Commissioner finish their term here and another start and earlier in the year was the “big one”, the visit by the Australian Governor General Ms Quentin Bryce. So there has been both a farewell and a welcome dinner in the last five weeks and before that a wonderful luncheon all hosted by the President of Kiribati and his wife in the presidential Mwanabea.

The white card invitations are normally hand delivered to your workplace. There are no letter boxes, numbered houses or street signs here and given you may get your invitation on the day of the actual event then hand delivery is good !

The invitations state dress as “Island formal”, that T/Shirts are not accepted and that short trousers are not permitted if not worn as uniform. I especially looked forward to the first event just to see what the fashions of the Pacific may be and how loose one determines what “island Formal” are !

I was pleasantly surprised, there are men here that do have long trousers in their wardrobe, a few women that actually ware heels and on one event the First Lady looked particularly stunning.

It was the Australian Governor Generals visit that really set the standard and gave us lots to talk about “what will she wear, how will she go with the this heat, doesn’t she always looks stunning” etc. Her visit to Kiribati didn’t disappoint, the visit may have only been about 7 hours but she looked amazing and I hear she had at least one change of outfit. She is one person that a garland really suited and certainly looked more comfortable with flowers in her hair than a couple of her accompanying Federal Police Officers !

 Australian Governer General Ms Quesntin Bryce looking wonderful and the President of Kiribati His Excellency Anote Tong 

Living on a hot and humid atoll mostly means wearing shorts, loose shirts and skirts if you are attending a meeting so I for one welcome any occasions to “frock up”.  I bought two of my favourite dresses with me (both red, one with white spots & the other baby doll) and a couple of non-work sort of skirts but am now the proud owner of seven dresses and umpteen more tops. The op shops here have wonderful hand me downs from Australia, New Zealand, Japan and the US. Seems every country that sends aid here also sends there second hand clothes !

Like many celebrations in Kiribati there is an order of proceedings and formalities. So for these events the President and his wife greet and shakes hands with arriving guests before we find a white clothed table in pole position or far enough away not to be part of the entertainment.

The MC, which so far has been an I-Kiribati women welcomes everyone and introduces the pre-dinner entertainment, several groups of cross legged performers sit waiting for the spot light. First up are the young dancers, the girls are wearing grass skirts & bras (yes, also made out of pandanus), armlets, a sash and shell belts that really highlight the hip wiggle. The males wear a wrap around below knee length skirt sort of arrangement (much like the mats here) and they all wear the beautiful flower garland.

The singing starts with a call and response that to me is like an invitation to dance (well, not me personally but that does come !). For the males there is lot’s of knee bending and loud hand slapping on the skirts/mat around their waists and for the women enough hip wiggling and I reckon would give a hula hoop dancer a run for their money.

From dancing it’s over to singing, a seated male choir that are facing each other in a circle with the guitarist in the middle, such beautiful voices. It seems that everyone in this country sings from an early age, if anything is second nature here it is the ability to sing, in tune and anywhere.

Traditional I-Kiribati dancer

Entertainment part one is over, now it’s the formal speeches. The presidents is out of the gates and heading to the lectern that holds a style of tiffany lamp I haven’t seen at any of the local shops and his written notes. Every I-Kiribati address is opened with some set words and the audience respond with “Mauri Mauri”. Given each of the events I have attended are for Australian guests of honour the speeches have run in a similar vein, ”…. the long standing relationship between our countries, partnerships, challenges, working together, friendship, fishing, our good friend Mr Richard Marles  (Australian Parliamentary Secretary for the Pacific Islands), climate change……………..”

The guests respond with equal niceties and a few new words, the out going High Commissioner shares a fishing story, but hats off to our new High Commissioner who four days into his time here wraps up his speech in

I-Kiribati with :

“Te Mauri (Health)

Te Raoi (Peace)

 Te Tabamoa (Prosperity)”    

Now is over to some I-Kiribati music and what they call rock and roll dancing. The performers each go and invite a guest to dance, this is done in actions rather than words, the invitee approaches the guest and with two hands facing up at about waist height they invite them back to the dance floor. Depending on your desire to dance (and the wild the better) this is where your strategic choice of seating comes in, those in the tables closest to the action watch out !

I can’t sing to save myself but I am happy to report that I have been given the thumbs up for my dancing so I’m happy to hit the floor.

It’s onto 8.30pm when these formalities wind up and my tummy is normally grumbling so I am happy to have the minister/priest invited to say grace and know that there is some wonderful local food to come.

After the official table we take our turn to the feast laid out.

The night continues with more performances, I-Kiribati R & R dancing, the kava bowl is flowing, the Australian red wine is flowing (doesn’t anyone in this place drink white !) and given the buses will have ended thought go to how to get home.

You can tell the volunteers in this place they have “doggy bags”, but I promise they are for the dogs ! My aptly named “4 legs” didn’t know what to do with a bone when I threw it to him, in Kiribati the animals like most of us eat coconuts.

 This is "4 legs" he adopted me, he's about 7-8 months old and likes coconuts and now bones.   

Up next : The stress of technology, especially when being interview live on Australias national broadcaser for “Life Matters” !

Thriving from an "outer island" experience

It’s taken me some time to recover from this outer island adventure, a week to catch up on sleep and to rest the dancing body then the other time has just flown by. As for thriving from the experience, with a few weeks to reflect, share the stories and many photos and laughs, yes this is a good word to express the adventure.

So back to that turning point from my worst experience (so far) in Kiribati to the best.

On the forth night of my outer island visit exhaustion from sleep deprivation and hours of dancing on the woven coconut palm mats and a coral floor meant one thing, I slept. Welcome relief and after a whole nights sleep I woke at dawn to the sounds of singing (without amplification) and I knew I was going to be OK.   

I was a guest to this mwaneaba birthday celebration along with the 60 odd people with disabilities and their family members. The I-Kiribati people are well practised at celebrations, I have attended a few so am getting to know the format and formalities, but week long celebrations are another thing.

Stamina is needed.

Most mornings on hearing the first whistle blown for the day I would stagger into the mwaneaba, this one was for breakfast and the first of many meal and entertainment sessions that occur each day. I would arrive with my plastic mug and plate and take my allocated spot on the mat along with the other guests and men of the village. The village women had been up well before dawn preparing food for the day, for breakfast this was mostly bread, pancakes, donuts, coconut and maybe some fish and rice and large kettles of sweet black tea. On a couple of occasions I filled my mug with muesli (Kiribati style, crushed weet-bix & rolled oats mixed with any dried fruits or nuts I can get my hands on) and powdered milk and ate this rather discreetly. Fruit along with veggies are very limited here on Nonouti and on most atolls of Kiribati. 

Each day a leader from the community (male) would MC the days proceedings which for meal times would include a story or pray from the local minister and my new best friend (his house had a bucket bath & a western loo). I sort of thought I understood the prayers and would quickly cross myself as a display of knowing what was going on but I don’t actually remember grace taking 10 minutes to recite ! 

This is the largest & oldest (1949) Mwaneaba in Kiribati, it is at Nonouti but not the one I went to the celebrations for.  The one I went to was built about the same time but isn't as big, this one is massive inside, especially since it is all hand built with local materials.  

After being served by the women who would place massive bowls of the food in front of the eager guests everyone would tuck in. I was happy to take small amounts at a time and consider mine a "taster plate" with each offering sitting in it’s own space and set about to mindfully eat my meal. I could (and would) go back for more as desired. Hmm, not quite the Kiribati way, they like to see the plate full or maybe just not see the plate at all. 

Between these rather procedural meal offerings was much discussion, speeches, planning, dancing and music. On several occasions after the evening meal the discussion seemed to turn to the I-matang (me !). Given that is one of a limited number of I-Kiribati words I know I watched and listened as discussion went from one end of the mwanabea (about 30 feet) to the other as each person (male) stood addressed the MC and stated there point. 

First up food, there seemed to be a concern that the I-matang needed different food ! No amount of me standing up addressing “Mr. MC, Mauri” and expressing that I was fine and that I do really like fish and rice (the staple I-Kiribati diet) was going to have them stop worrying about their guest. Of course this had to be interpreted, which means a story is added and what seemed to take me 1 minute to say was now taking 5 plus minutes !

I really was not expecting any extra attention but of course expectations are there to be challenged, so the next day I get presented with a freshly cooked lobster and the following day an even bigger one !

 One of the lobsters I was presented with and a committee member from the organisation I am with, he was also my translator. (I though the shirt & lobster matched nicely !) This is inside the mwaneaba.

Another evening the discussion noted that the I-matang liked swimming (something that I really enjoyed at Nonouti as the water is too polluted for swimming on Tarawa). So between dancing and singing there were talks that seemed to take hours, turns out this was the planning to take me on a “Kiribati picnic”. The best picnic ever and a highlight of my trip.

I was given head position on a flotilla of 5 local hand crafted outrigger canoes that glide on the water leaving little wake to an island/sandbar at low time. They had organised several women to escort me, a couple of wonderful sure footed lads with the balance of well practised yogis and some of the older men who are at home on the sea.  We set up camp on the sandbar and I was into the water wearing shorts and long sleeves along with my new girlfriends.

They had been very keen that I bring my bag, I wasn’t actually sure what I needed in it apart from water and my camera but I was equally keen to know was in their bag, the universal old rice bag.  It didn’t take long and the lads were back with some amazing fish and out of the rice bag came the dried coconut husks that soon became the cooking fire. I tried raw fish that was less than 30 minutes old, and ate some of the best cooked fish I have ever tasted.

This atoll is know for it’s bone fish, seems it’s a fighting fish and rich westerns will pay big money to attempt to catch them. Fish is the staple food of these people and fishing a long held tradition, it was pleasing to learn that the community will not allow this type of fishing (they use nets) and are not interested in selling out to the Westerns ability to purchase what they like. 

 From my canoe to another.

"Kiribati BBQ" 

     On the last night I was there it was decided (by the men) that they would cook and serve dinner and give the women a night off. I had heard this village was traditional and progressive so I was keen to see this touch of role reversal.

Being men they couldn’t actually do it with out a song and dance, so with bare and palm decorated chests the men gave a rather uncoordinated dance to the women who were now sitting ring side and in pole position. Then it was up to the men to serve the massive bowls of food. In my observations Kiribati has many systems and none more than how the meals are presented as the waiting tummies clap along. This is a well-trodden path for the women who have watched (from the back of the mwanabea) as their mothers, aunties and sisters have done this before them but for the men this was foreign territory. They were on new ground as they walked about trying to work out where to place the bowls, the response was priceless and in typical I-Kiribati style, the women (and the rest of us) all laughed. After the meal it was time for the men to invite their wife’s to dance, this country doesn’t appear to show much intimacy between couples but I loved seeing one couple who really did seem to enjoy the moment and each others company.

During my time at Nonouti my confidence was growing with the daily speech giving so on this last night given it was Women's night I took the occasion to have my say. I thanked the women of the village, expressed the importance of the role of women in society, talked about International Women's Day and congratulated the men on acknowledging the role these women have.

The person interpreting for me was an older educated man who was very encouraging of my thoughts but I will never know what I-Kiribati stories were told to expressed my views, I would never had thought such discussion would even take place.  Then the men invited me to be their sister (I have 5 brothers already so a few more wasn’t too daunting) so I reckon I did OK.

 

The following day I was taken to the airport in the same yellow truck along with 20 odd people to say good-bye. It was a 3 hour wait for the plane so there were more photo opportunities !

    

 The yellow truck and friends seeing me off.

Up next :  High commissioners come and go, it’s time to frock up

Outer island experience

I am happy to report I did get a seat on plane to Nonouti even if I did have to pick it up off the floor and balance it on the frame (which was firmly attached) and play hide and seek to find my seat belt. With my 14 fellow passengers, an aisle filled with Kiribati national bags (20kilo rice sacks that are used to carry everything and anything) and numerous square plastic buckets (another hold all) I knew I was alive as my heart thumped away at our impending departure. At least small planes give you a great view of the cockpit and in this case a distraction included a delightful young co-pilot in his white short sleeved shirt and beautiful skin.

There is certainly more ocean than land in this part of the world and the coconut palm covered atolls just seem to emerge from the shallow lagoons and ocean. Nonouti is in the middle of the 11 atolls south of Tarawa (main atoll of Kiribati) so from our small plane we were provided with some stunning views and as we got closer I had a growing excitement for the adventure about to un-fold. I was looking forward to meeting up with my group of 60 people with disabilities and their families however my sense of wonder of where I was actually going to be sleeping was causing a bit of anxiety. There was nothing else I could do I “knew” I just needed to go with it. (lesson no 1. letting go)

View from my second to back row seat - that's the cute co-pilot on the right !

 Nonouti airstrip and terminal !

 Nonouti has a population of about 1800 people who live in 9 very traditional villages. Transportation for the atoll is made up of 8 or 9 small trucks (which carry anything and everybody) along with motor bikes and lots of push bikes. I was met at the airport by the “yellow” truck and about 20 people from the village, after confirming the return flight and given the front seat of the truck it was off to my first traditional village. 

I was (sort of) prepared to be sleeping in the mwanabea (grass roofed meeting place) with my 60 best friends but had forgotten about the other 120 or so that actually live there too ! These villages get some visiting I-matang (foreigners) and I think this village had had one visit last year, they were very open and keen to have me amongst their guests. To my delight I was provided with a kia kia (small grassed roofed hut) for my accommodation, 8 of the young men moved it over so I could be right amongst the goings on and if they could have got it in the mwanabea I’m sure I could have had centre stage. It had a grass mat inside and by the time I rolled out my yoga mat and added the mozzie net a couple the young girls told me it looked “beautiful”.

 My "beautiful" kia kia in front of the Mwanabea.

 Some of the dogs that took to living under my kia kia,  

just wish they were that quiet at night time !

Unfortunately I or the kia kia didn’t feel beautiful for the first 3 sleepless nights, not a wink. As each night passed I was think “I cannot do this”, counting down the days I still had to go my mind would wander off to what if I’m here for 2 weeks, or have to take the boat. It’s not unusual for flights to be cancelled as they need to fix the plane and the boat that was proposed to take 2 days to get here took 5! With a personal locator beacon amongst my belongings I was figuring even thought it may only take 4 seconds for Canberra (or Japan if they are busy) to receive the notification it would still take days for a boat to come to my aid or a plane small enough to land. These thoughts kept me busy but not asleep. So much for all that practise meditating and work of trying to calm my mind, these monkeys were jumping about and busy and I wasn't sure how that would look on the emergency response report.

  I knew I was coming here for a celebration, perhaps I just hadn’t given enough thought as to what “celebration” may mean and how long these celebrations may go on for. I hadn’t counted on sleeping next to a whirling generator that powered the fluro lights and provided the power source to the band and techno music that thumped out until dawn, or having 4 big male dogs move in under my kia kia that brawled all night or the amount of peeing that was to take place just outside my “beautiful” home or the pigs that would be cooked next to me ! (lesson 2 – be more curious!)

I managed to have some naps during the day, fell sleep whilst lulling in the water swimming and  did my share of head nods whilst sitting cross legged at the functions that went on for hours and hours.

Then it happened, I danced and laughed so much that night 4 I crashed and I slept and I dreamt and I awoke recharged. 

These have been my worst days in Kiribati thus far, but like many experiences I was about to enter my best days.

Up next : Thriving on my “outer island” experience