Currently, the schools on the Mortlocks Islands, Satowan included, are in need of school supplies and youth sports equipment. The list below has sample items that would be of help to the communities and island schools here in the Pacific. Items may be sent most reliably via US Postal Service "flat-rate, priority" mail service. Other USPS mail services (media mail, standard mail) though nominally cheaper, are much less reliable in actually reaching us here in the Mortlocks.
Kindly include a note or letter for me with your address and contact information, as well as church or organization affiliation, for Peace Corps reporting and so that our communities here can be in touch with you. Thank you for being a blessing and opening your heart to the call of service.
School supplies (*not exhaustive*)
pencils/pens/crayons/markers/colored pencils
chalk
paper/notebooks/folders
tape, staples, staplers, pencil sharpeners
scrap paper/post-it notes
youth/young adult-fiction, children's stories/children's books
Sports supplies:
soccer balls
footballs
basketballs
volleyballs
baseballs/softballs & mitts
ball pump/needles
volleyball nets
basketball nets/hoops
I'll be in the Mortlocks again until early July. Look for more posts then. Be Easy - Be Peace - Be Christ to the World.
Alex
Friday, May 15, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Happy Mother's Day
I went to a Mother's Day feast yesterday here on Weno at the family compound of a group of Satowanese who live here on the main island. I was surprised to see the Mayor of Satowan and a colleague teacher in the community house as I walked in, and I shook hands with both saying "Raan allem". The table was bedecked with food - mwelan pula (taro with coconut cream), rice, hotdogs, ohn (turtle), piik (pig - cooked over the fire; I just pulled the meat off the skeleton of the animal), kon (pounded breadfruit), malek (chicken), and punch, cookies, doughnuts, and biscuits. A feast indeed!
After we ate, the program began. As with most family gatherings and events, the traditional Micronesian custom is to have a short (or long) program where traditional and/or family elders speak, give updates, share life lessons, or tell stories. In Chuuk, especially on the outer islands, the traditional leaders (only men) speak: thank the family for coming, thank God for blessing everyone, remind the youth to be respectful and good, & encourage the people to continue working for the community & maintain an air of peace and goodwill. Even though I listen to these speeches and exhortations behind the loud din of a gas generator which is powering the 60W lightbulb and electric fan keeping us comfortable in the equatorial evening heat, there is something else at work here. I can't help but be transported back to a time when the safety and strength of the several islands' communities depended on just these kinds of meetings to bond the people together; it was not really that long ago when life could only be sustained by the very intentional community of the island people. That community was made manifest in a very real way last night.
A few men spoke at the beginning, saying their thanks and praise. Then a few songs, sung by the male youth and also the female youth (youth in Micronesia is between the ages of 14 and 34). But what really struck me happened next. One by one, a male youth would take a flower to his mother, or auntie, or grandmother, or sister, or wife and then stand in front of the assembled community and say why he was thankful for his mother. Three of the youth, the Parks, are brothers, and their mother Asako died back in November, along with their eldest brother. I attended that funeral in November at the very place where we they now stood in celebration of the other Mothers. It was a very emotional moment, seeing them overcome by the memory of their mother, brought again to the fore during this first Mother's Day without her. I shared in their emotion; it was impossible not to.
In a society where family and community are so truly the definition to one's life, celebration & mourning, joy & grief, laughter & crying so often happen together. After they finished, and some mothers spoke to the groups assembled, and I even got to say a quick word (all in Mortlockese!), the youth did imitations of their mothers. And immediately the spirit in the room came back ten-fold; people were rolling with laughter as the boys did their best to make a joke and catch a smile on their mom's faces. Happy Mother's Day!
After we ate, the program began. As with most family gatherings and events, the traditional Micronesian custom is to have a short (or long) program where traditional and/or family elders speak, give updates, share life lessons, or tell stories. In Chuuk, especially on the outer islands, the traditional leaders (only men) speak: thank the family for coming, thank God for blessing everyone, remind the youth to be respectful and good, & encourage the people to continue working for the community & maintain an air of peace and goodwill. Even though I listen to these speeches and exhortations behind the loud din of a gas generator which is powering the 60W lightbulb and electric fan keeping us comfortable in the equatorial evening heat, there is something else at work here. I can't help but be transported back to a time when the safety and strength of the several islands' communities depended on just these kinds of meetings to bond the people together; it was not really that long ago when life could only be sustained by the very intentional community of the island people. That community was made manifest in a very real way last night.
A few men spoke at the beginning, saying their thanks and praise. Then a few songs, sung by the male youth and also the female youth (youth in Micronesia is between the ages of 14 and 34). But what really struck me happened next. One by one, a male youth would take a flower to his mother, or auntie, or grandmother, or sister, or wife and then stand in front of the assembled community and say why he was thankful for his mother. Three of the youth, the Parks, are brothers, and their mother Asako died back in November, along with their eldest brother. I attended that funeral in November at the very place where we they now stood in celebration of the other Mothers. It was a very emotional moment, seeing them overcome by the memory of their mother, brought again to the fore during this first Mother's Day without her. I shared in their emotion; it was impossible not to.
In a society where family and community are so truly the definition to one's life, celebration & mourning, joy & grief, laughter & crying so often happen together. After they finished, and some mothers spoke to the groups assembled, and I even got to say a quick word (all in Mortlockese!), the youth did imitations of their mothers. And immediately the spirit in the room came back ten-fold; people were rolling with laughter as the boys did their best to make a joke and catch a smile on their mom's faces. Happy Mother's Day!
Monday, May 4, 2009
6 weddings and a funeral...
Since I've been out there, we've had 6 weddings and, just before I left to come here this time, one funeral. Surprisingly, they aren't that different from back at home.
The one major difference, in terms of the weddings, is that they'll do 4-in-1 weddings, or 2-in-1 weddings, or n-in-1 weddings based around the Priest's schedule (in the Mortlocks, there are 2 Catholic priests who island hop). My first wedding, 4 couples were wedded. The feast afterward was amazing, because someone baked a cake using a local oven (a huge oil/gas drum - 55gal - shortened, and converted into an oven - don't ask me how, just believe it can be done). The latest wedding was a 2-in-1, and a colleague teacher got married to another colleague teacher's brother! On the island, you quickly realize that most people are related in some tangential way, so its really quite amazing when 2 people are able to come from the same village and not be directly related.
From what I can tell, there are one or two wedding dresses which circulate between brides; the same goes for one tuxedo. Of course, everything fits terribly, but nobody notices or minds. Which makes me ask, then why do they feel the need to "dress up"? The brides who don't get the big dress for the big day, just wear a local white dress with a locally made white veil - much more appropriate in terms of size and fit.
I suppose that this is one effect of Western culture, absorbed from movies and shows and magazines and pictures. While it wasn't important before, and I daresay it really isn't that important now, the folks out there just like to have the experience - or have some kind of experience - which they perceive to be necessary or appropriate.
The funeral was a sad experience, but I felt myself much more removed and observant than as if I were participating in it - almost like it was on TV. My host father's(Richard) 2nd daughter, Katalyna (aka Nemis), was adopted by his cousin - [in the Mortlocks it's common practice to give your 2nd or 3rd child up for adoption to a relative who has no children or fewer children than you out of love and family bond]. The woman how became Nemis's adoptive grandmother died April 27th. She had come back to Satowan from Weno to convalesce.
That afternoon, I had been walking to Nemis's house (her husband Keipo is my friend and language tutor) when I heard what sounded like cheering. I assumed my ears were playing tricks, and the sound was coming from behind me, where the students were practicing for an upcoming track and field day. But as I got closer to Keipo & Nemis's house, I heard the cheering get louder. Then I realized it wasn't cheering, but crying - and not really crying as much as wailing. And then it hit me: her grandmother had died.
Now, on Satowan, as in all of Chuuk and Micronesia really, when a person dies, it is customary for the men to clear out, and the women from all over the island to converge on the house and begin mourning for hours, and hours, and hours. They cry so hard and for so long that, when they finally stop, most collapse and fall asleep - they've just cried all of their sadness out of them.
The men, not too far off, listen to this, and make small talk amongst themselves, as they prepare the coffin, clear a path, ready the grave, clear the plot, prepare concrete, and drink innumerable cups of coffee. They of course must move fast, because there is no "preparing the body" - its just back to the earth.
The funeral was the next day. People were very tired, of course, from staying up all night. We cancelled school (which you have to do on funeral days, because its almost impossible with the number of teachers and Satowanese students who are related to the deceased in some way). The funeral took place at our home, as did the burial, and then the feast of food which followed. Once the body was interred, everyone just sort of left, and life sort of resumed.
In some ways, out here on the islands, I think death sort of loses its mystical fear, because folks have been dealing with death in their immediate families and communities everyday since their births. Because they are all so closely related, because they see one another so often, that when someone dies, its terrifically sad, but just an everyday part of living. I know that's weird to think about - especially in those terms. But in America, we don't really treat "death" that way - we avoid it, we move a lot, we don't hold the same relationships and connections for all 80 years of our lives, we move out of our parents' home, etc - death comes, but its place in our lives is not as permanent or tolerated as it is here in Micronesia. That's neither good nor bad. It just is. Kinda like a funeral.
The one major difference, in terms of the weddings, is that they'll do 4-in-1 weddings, or 2-in-1 weddings, or n-in-1 weddings based around the Priest's schedule (in the Mortlocks, there are 2 Catholic priests who island hop). My first wedding, 4 couples were wedded. The feast afterward was amazing, because someone baked a cake using a local oven (a huge oil/gas drum - 55gal - shortened, and converted into an oven - don't ask me how, just believe it can be done). The latest wedding was a 2-in-1, and a colleague teacher got married to another colleague teacher's brother! On the island, you quickly realize that most people are related in some tangential way, so its really quite amazing when 2 people are able to come from the same village and not be directly related.
From what I can tell, there are one or two wedding dresses which circulate between brides; the same goes for one tuxedo. Of course, everything fits terribly, but nobody notices or minds. Which makes me ask, then why do they feel the need to "dress up"? The brides who don't get the big dress for the big day, just wear a local white dress with a locally made white veil - much more appropriate in terms of size and fit.
I suppose that this is one effect of Western culture, absorbed from movies and shows and magazines and pictures. While it wasn't important before, and I daresay it really isn't that important now, the folks out there just like to have the experience - or have some kind of experience - which they perceive to be necessary or appropriate.
The funeral was a sad experience, but I felt myself much more removed and observant than as if I were participating in it - almost like it was on TV. My host father's(Richard) 2nd daughter, Katalyna (aka Nemis), was adopted by his cousin - [in the Mortlocks it's common practice to give your 2nd or 3rd child up for adoption to a relative who has no children or fewer children than you out of love and family bond]. The woman how became Nemis's adoptive grandmother died April 27th. She had come back to Satowan from Weno to convalesce.
That afternoon, I had been walking to Nemis's house (her husband Keipo is my friend and language tutor) when I heard what sounded like cheering. I assumed my ears were playing tricks, and the sound was coming from behind me, where the students were practicing for an upcoming track and field day. But as I got closer to Keipo & Nemis's house, I heard the cheering get louder. Then I realized it wasn't cheering, but crying - and not really crying as much as wailing. And then it hit me: her grandmother had died.
Now, on Satowan, as in all of Chuuk and Micronesia really, when a person dies, it is customary for the men to clear out, and the women from all over the island to converge on the house and begin mourning for hours, and hours, and hours. They cry so hard and for so long that, when they finally stop, most collapse and fall asleep - they've just cried all of their sadness out of them.
The men, not too far off, listen to this, and make small talk amongst themselves, as they prepare the coffin, clear a path, ready the grave, clear the plot, prepare concrete, and drink innumerable cups of coffee. They of course must move fast, because there is no "preparing the body" - its just back to the earth.
The funeral was the next day. People were very tired, of course, from staying up all night. We cancelled school (which you have to do on funeral days, because its almost impossible with the number of teachers and Satowanese students who are related to the deceased in some way). The funeral took place at our home, as did the burial, and then the feast of food which followed. Once the body was interred, everyone just sort of left, and life sort of resumed.
In some ways, out here on the islands, I think death sort of loses its mystical fear, because folks have been dealing with death in their immediate families and communities everyday since their births. Because they are all so closely related, because they see one another so often, that when someone dies, its terrifically sad, but just an everyday part of living. I know that's weird to think about - especially in those terms. But in America, we don't really treat "death" that way - we avoid it, we move a lot, we don't hold the same relationships and connections for all 80 years of our lives, we move out of our parents' home, etc - death comes, but its place in our lives is not as permanent or tolerated as it is here in Micronesia. That's neither good nor bad. It just is. Kinda like a funeral.
Life in the Classroom
Back again until May 16th; second phase training came earlier than expected. I plan on being back in again in July for a conference.
I thought it might be interesting to share what a typical day looks like for me in the classroom, so here goes. [As you know, I teach 11th and 12th grade English writing and reading].
6:30a - My watch alarm beeps, waking me up (though, if I'm honest, I've been awake for 35 mins, off and on, because the sun has been up that long). Shower, breakfast [crackers & coffee], brush my teeth, sit & wait.
7:45a - In a perfect world, the bell would ring and I would then walk to school - which is about 1 min from my house.
8:00a - In a slightly less perfect world, the bell would ring and I would then walk to school.
8:07a - The bell rings. 12th grade reading begins, with approximately 12/30 students present. My attitude, at this stage ambivalent, begins to go sour.
8:15a - I'm done waiting for stragglers, take attendance, and begin the lesson. Stragglers will arrive until the bell rings; I will not admit most, but remind them instead they lost their class points.
8:45a - Bell rings; reading class has lasted all of 30mins. 11th grade writing (section A) begins. Attitude improves markedly.
9:00a - At this point in the lesson, a student will generally address a question to me in Chuukese. I will stare at him/her, my mouth open in gaffaw, and slowly point up to the wall, where it reads: "STOP! English ONLY Zone" Students will laugh; I will ask for a rephrase. Since April, the student will generally attempt to say it in English. Before April, there would be no hope; hence my translator, Harrison.
9:49a - No bell yet, so I'll tell one of the students sitting outside (not in class, because his/her teacher did not show up - an everyday occurrence that at least 2 teachers are absent) to go ring the bell; we pound it with a hammer. [The bell is an old empty gas cylinder, like the air tanks used to go diving, left over from the Japanese during WWII]
9:52a - Bell rings; end of 2nd period; 3rd period - 12th grade English Writing
10:00a - Most (if not all) of the 12th graders are present. At the beginning of the year, I would lecture them on how important it is to attend the reading class, remind them that they are losing points everyday by just being absent, and wring my hands at how little they appeared to care about school & my presence there. By and large, this is/was/has been/will forever be the most stressful and difficult part of my job: battling ambivalence towards education.
10:15a - 12th graders have snapped out of their spunk, my attitude has skyrocketed, and we are accomplishing some learning: practicing essay writing, writing narratives about their local stories [island folklore], journaling, translating, joking, etc - the part of the day I live for.
10:45a - 3rd period ends; 4th period begins - 11th grade writing (section B). At times, I think B section is my favorite section. However, I think this is only because after long mornings, I'm ready for lunch, and after 4th period, it comes.
11:00a - I recycle the 2nd period lesson, and usually do it better than I did it for 2nd period, having worked out the kinks. At this time, I begin subconsciously worrying that I'm giving an unfair advantage to B section, whereas A section has to suffer through my mistakes, false-starts, and just general akwardness. This feeling of melancholy quickly passes into joie d'vivre as I realize that the language barrier has probably prevented them from absorbing most of the lesson anyway, and so my mistakes really haven't hurt anyone. Plus it's time for...
11:45a - LUNCH! Basically, I shoo everyone out of the room, and then skip merrily back home to lunch. I had been eating at the cafeteria with the students, until the school cafeteria ran out of food. The Dept of Education sends food for hot-lunch for all students; plus breakast and dinner for the boarding students. They didn't send enough, or the cooks increased the portions exponentially. Either way, in March, the students began eating only rice 3 meals a day. UNACCEPTABLE! Back at home, I usually eat canned tuna & rice (with Frank's RedHot hotsauce, care of my parents).
12:30p - 5th period - last class of the day. We always start late because the students are lazy and full of rice and they saunter back to my classroom as if expecting nothing other than afternoon siesta.
12:40p - I am fanning myself desparately because I always wear long pants when I teach (as opposed to shorts...or a skirt), and the 1 minute walk really works the body up. Equatorial heat; enough said.
1:30p - Bell rings and I'M FREE! Actually, I usually stick around and do my lesson planning for the next day, and/or grade papers, and/or rearrange the desks, clean the chalkboard, or ask the 12th grade boys from Kuttu to come sweep out my classroom (I ask the Kuttu boys because they stay in the dorm, and on weekends, they usually loiter around the room if I'm working, so I give them menial labor to help them pass the time. They're good conversation, too.)
I thought it might be interesting to share what a typical day looks like for me in the classroom, so here goes. [As you know, I teach 11th and 12th grade English writing and reading].
6:30a - My watch alarm beeps, waking me up (though, if I'm honest, I've been awake for 35 mins, off and on, because the sun has been up that long). Shower, breakfast [crackers & coffee], brush my teeth, sit & wait.
7:45a - In a perfect world, the bell would ring and I would then walk to school - which is about 1 min from my house.
8:00a - In a slightly less perfect world, the bell would ring and I would then walk to school.
8:07a - The bell rings. 12th grade reading begins, with approximately 12/30 students present. My attitude, at this stage ambivalent, begins to go sour.
8:15a - I'm done waiting for stragglers, take attendance, and begin the lesson. Stragglers will arrive until the bell rings; I will not admit most, but remind them instead they lost their class points.
8:45a - Bell rings; reading class has lasted all of 30mins. 11th grade writing (section A) begins. Attitude improves markedly.
9:00a - At this point in the lesson, a student will generally address a question to me in Chuukese. I will stare at him/her, my mouth open in gaffaw, and slowly point up to the wall, where it reads: "STOP! English ONLY Zone" Students will laugh; I will ask for a rephrase. Since April, the student will generally attempt to say it in English. Before April, there would be no hope; hence my translator, Harrison.
9:49a - No bell yet, so I'll tell one of the students sitting outside (not in class, because his/her teacher did not show up - an everyday occurrence that at least 2 teachers are absent) to go ring the bell; we pound it with a hammer. [The bell is an old empty gas cylinder, like the air tanks used to go diving, left over from the Japanese during WWII]
9:52a - Bell rings; end of 2nd period; 3rd period - 12th grade English Writing
10:00a - Most (if not all) of the 12th graders are present. At the beginning of the year, I would lecture them on how important it is to attend the reading class, remind them that they are losing points everyday by just being absent, and wring my hands at how little they appeared to care about school & my presence there. By and large, this is/was/has been/will forever be the most stressful and difficult part of my job: battling ambivalence towards education.
10:15a - 12th graders have snapped out of their spunk, my attitude has skyrocketed, and we are accomplishing some learning: practicing essay writing, writing narratives about their local stories [island folklore], journaling, translating, joking, etc - the part of the day I live for.
10:45a - 3rd period ends; 4th period begins - 11th grade writing (section B). At times, I think B section is my favorite section. However, I think this is only because after long mornings, I'm ready for lunch, and after 4th period, it comes.
11:00a - I recycle the 2nd period lesson, and usually do it better than I did it for 2nd period, having worked out the kinks. At this time, I begin subconsciously worrying that I'm giving an unfair advantage to B section, whereas A section has to suffer through my mistakes, false-starts, and just general akwardness. This feeling of melancholy quickly passes into joie d'vivre as I realize that the language barrier has probably prevented them from absorbing most of the lesson anyway, and so my mistakes really haven't hurt anyone. Plus it's time for...
11:45a - LUNCH! Basically, I shoo everyone out of the room, and then skip merrily back home to lunch. I had been eating at the cafeteria with the students, until the school cafeteria ran out of food. The Dept of Education sends food for hot-lunch for all students; plus breakast and dinner for the boarding students. They didn't send enough, or the cooks increased the portions exponentially. Either way, in March, the students began eating only rice 3 meals a day. UNACCEPTABLE! Back at home, I usually eat canned tuna & rice (with Frank's RedHot hotsauce, care of my parents).
12:30p - 5th period - last class of the day. We always start late because the students are lazy and full of rice and they saunter back to my classroom as if expecting nothing other than afternoon siesta.
12:40p - I am fanning myself desparately because I always wear long pants when I teach (as opposed to shorts...or a skirt), and the 1 minute walk really works the body up. Equatorial heat; enough said.
1:30p - Bell rings and I'M FREE! Actually, I usually stick around and do my lesson planning for the next day, and/or grade papers, and/or rearrange the desks, clean the chalkboard, or ask the 12th grade boys from Kuttu to come sweep out my classroom (I ask the Kuttu boys because they stay in the dorm, and on weekends, they usually loiter around the room if I'm working, so I give them menial labor to help them pass the time. They're good conversation, too.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)