All you give is returned
And if life seems absurd
What you need is some laughter
And a season to sleep
And a place to get clean."
~Bright Eyes, "Cleanse Song"
Something amazing happens when you travel to a country half way around the world, especially when that country reciprocally sends people to the exact place that you came from. There is a growing number of volunteer teachers, professors, medical practitioners, etc. on there way to Micronesia. Conversely, Micronesians (Pohnpeians especially) have been booking e-tickets and searching for seat 27-C aboard Continental flights to the good ole U.S. of A. The amazing thing that happens is a simple act of reaching out. There are families that welcome you with open arms and open doors as if you were the Lost Son returning after losing everything.
It seems to be an episode of "Trading Places" or more appropriately "Life Swap." The humorous thing is that many locals here cannot comprehend why in the world you would actually want to live in Pohnpei. Their thought is that America is still the hunting ground for manifest destiny. That may be, but I am looking for mine about six degrees north of the Equator.
I spent close to a week in an Wone, which is located in Kitti, an outer municipality of Pohnpei. Usually, I stay in a small apartment in "downtown Pohnpei." This melting pot of Philipino, American, Australian, Fijian, Chuukese, Kosraean, Yapese, and many other nationalities is known as KOLONIA. Kolonia is a very beautiful place. There is internet that allows me to contact my family and put blogs on this site. There is air conditioning in some buildings that gives my sweat glands a rest. There are also good doctors that prescribe high doses of antibiotics to counteract the many boils I have encountered. Most importantly, there is a very strong Church and local community that supports my efforts as a teacher and a lay person at the Our Lady fo Mercy Church. For these reasons, Kolonia is comfortable. And I thank God everyday for this comfort.
Comfort is a deceiving thing. It can often times leave you stagnant, relying on the familiar. In these cases, one is not challenged and can miss opportunities to learn. I have found these opportunities not to far from Kolonia. I have found a second home amidst my confusion on this island. The best place about a home is family.
The Pohnpeian word from family is "peneinei." (pronounced panaynay) That should explain the title of this post. I have many different support systems on this island. On most days, I feel very fortunate to be able to turn to my three roommates for advice, knowledge of Pohnpei, or a simple conversation. On other days, I turn to the Jesuits. They are a unique family structure as it is. A structure that have really formed the island that I inhabit. Their knowledge of Micronesia and the Catholic faith have been great resources and aides in my time here. However, there is something to be said for family. Family was the hardest thing I have ever had to leave. I have been blessed by bi-weekly skyping, countless emails and unending support. I go to sleep at night content with the knowledge that I have an amazing family to return to at the end of my service.
But, that end of service is still over a year away. Through the planning of Fr. Cav and the second-year JVIs, I have found an amazing local support system: my peneinei. The immediate family consists of Sother, Veronika, Vangelene, Evangelene, Ivangelene, Junior and K-Con. The spelling may be off, but Pohnpeian names are tricky like that. I was blessed to spend my Easter with all of them.
Wone (the village where my family lives) is hard to explain. It is a place of retreat, it is a place of confusion, it is a place to experience, it is the Pohnpei I dreamed of before I came to this island. In a lot of ways, it is my sanity. It is my place to go when live seems absurd. And there is plenty of that in my ministry here.
I have been blessed by a home away from home.
I spent a lot of time during March reviewing the Stations of the Cross with my 6th grade Religion class. I admit that our pamphlets cannot compare to the tradition in Wone. I joined more than one hundred other Pohnpeians on the street of Wone for a walking Stations of the Cross. We headed out Friday afternoon to start the trek. Luckily, one of my friends on island was there with his camera. Thanks for the photos Dana.
Pohnpeian harmonies and vocals filled the air as the sun reminded me how close it was to Micronesia. My palm joined that of my youngest host brother K-Con. I felt a sense of belonging that is hard to find when you are one of two white people in the village.
Good Friday Mass was followed by a "mehla" (funeral) for a neighboring infant who passed away. Sother, my host father, invited me to join him. "Different" cannot begin to describe the process for Pohnpeian funerals. For starters, they last 4 days. On the different days, family members and friends bring pigs, sakau, yam and some other items to represent their compassion and respect for local tradition.
I think it safe to say that I am an outgoing person. Throw me in the middle of a group of people that I don't know, and I "work the crowd." Not here. Not in Pohnpei. Especially not in Wone.
There has been a forced transition from outspoken to reserved. This transition has happened because of a simple but definite language barrier. And I think I like it. I sit for minutes, sometimes hours, at the nahs, a local meeting place for ceremonies, without talking to anyone. Yes, there are genuine head nods and big smiles. But, my language skills here are limited to discussions about work and if I am hungry or thirsty. It has almost become a nice break, a nice time to just sit and watch something unfold that I have never known. I wish it happened more often. Sometimes you just need to learn how to be quiet. That's just one of things my family has enabled me to learn.
The other things are very tangible: cutting grass, fishing, drinking sakau, cooking. I don't care how many hours I spent behind a Lawnboy in my mother's backyard, I was ill-prepared for local grass cutting. Instead of an engine driven blade under the lawnmower, the blade is a 14-inch machete swung at the base of indigenous plants. I was proud to be the swinger.
Unfortunately, I am not a very talented machetist (I made that one up). After every 10 swings, I would usually sink my machete into a rock. This create a symphony of swish, swish, swish, swish, DING, swish, swish, swish, swish, DING. Of course, the rest of the Pohnpeian men made comments I couldn't understand that they got some good laughs out of.
Later, that day, it was off to fishing off the island of Penio. Net fishing to be exact. Something, once again, I have no experience with. I sat my happy self in the boat just getting a sunburn. The same sunburn that led to the nickname "Pink Panther" at school. But at least I had a good excuse. Peneinei is hard to come by.
