I came for the yams

A final word

2010-09-23T16:24:00.004+11:00

Departure day - Wearing ceremonial marmars

It has been over two months since I returned to the U.S and I thought I should post a final blog entry. As many of you who know me on a personal level know, concerns about my in-laws health led Wenonoa and I to return to the U.S earlier than expected.

Our last days on the island were filled with both excitement at beginning a new chapter of our lives and sadness over leaving so many close friends. Micronesia is located in the middle of the Pacific somewhat near the edge of the world; it is not a place one might find oneself passing through on the way to somewhere else. Thus, as we looked at the island from the window of the departing plane, we knew it might be our last glimpse of Micronesia.

My first day back I gained an appreciation for what Dorothy must have felt upon waking up post-tornado in her bed in Kansas. I woke up in a Seattle airport hotel room feeling as though the whole Micronesian experience must have been a dream. The Seattle airport had a bookstore (which Micronesia doesn’t) and more dining choices than the whole island of Pohnpei had. Flipping through the channels on the hotel TV and salivating over all the menu choices on the area delivery dining guide it seemed unreal that the last year and half of my life was spent on a quiet little island just over 100 sq. miles in size that lacked so many of the amenities we take for granted.

The next few days back continued to fill us with awe and appreciation. On our first trip to a supermarket we must have appeared to the other shoppers to be recent refugees. We just stared and pointed in disbelief. Never before had tomatoes appeared so big, so red, and so bountiful. The same held true for almost every other fruit and vegetable in the produce section.

Conversely, our waltz down the seafood section was shocking and disappointing. Having gotten use to paying $2 a pound for fresh tuna the amounts being charged for tuna, salmon, and all other fish seemed like pure robbery. Our sashimi days are gone!

As exciting as the supermarket was, my first driving experience was equally as terrifying. Having gotten use to speeds that seldom exceed 30 mph, my fingers tightly squeezed the steering wheel as I accelerated up to 60 mph during my first entry onto the freeway. I can’t recall 60 mph ever feeling so fast and I was certain that death was near. With so many cars flying by and changing lanes I was almost certain that one un-attentive driver either dialing his/her cell phone, sending a text, changing a CD or lighting a smoke would drift into the next lane and an ensuing 50 car pile would result. To my delight and disbelief, we made it off the freeway with no unfortunate mishaps and for the next few days my speed and comfort increases. I am no longer fazed by the freeways and nor expect to see chickens crossing the road.

Of the questions I am asked, two are repeated frequently, “Are you glad you went; are you glad your back?” To the first, the answer is an unequivocal YES for many reasons. To live somewhere else among a culture that doesn’t view the world we do is a wonderful learning experience. To live a different lifestyle provides an opportunity to re-examine our approach to life. For those and many other reasons, especially the friendships I made, I am most definitely glad we went.

To answer the question as to whether I’m glad to be back causes me to stop and pause. I can say this – Life for me was fun in Micronesia – Tuesday night was ultimate Frisbee, Wednesday poker, Saturday scubadiving, and Saturday night bridge night. We worked until 5pm and then responsibilities ended and playtime began. It was fun but it wasn’t always comfortable.

85 degree weather complimented by 85% humidity is not always pleasant, especially if the apt. only has just one window air conditioner. To put it one way, in America housecleaning involves dusting, in Micronesia it involved wiping off the mold that grew basically everywhere. No joke, one night we opened up the box of a board game that had lay unused for a few months and found that mold had started to grow on the playing board.

I can’t really answer the question. I’m back. Certainly I enjoy the creature comforts, the culinary options, the cultural opportunities that are here and I miss what I miss from there. The ending of each chapter leads to the beginning of a new chapter. Without knowing where this chapter will end or how the next will begin, I can’t even begin to ponder whether I’m glad to be back. When asked whether I’m glad to be back I just shrug. After all, to borrow Popey’s famous line, “I y’am what I y’am...”

Machettes

2010-07-09T11:21:00.001+11:00

When I get back to the states, I want to walk down my street shirtless and shoeless, carrying a machette. I’d imagine it would turn a few heads and cause people to make sure their doors are locked and car windows rolled up. Here, the sight is nothing to blink at. It is something I see almost daily on my drive to work.
Machettes are an all-purpose general utility here, sort of the Micronesian version of a pocket knife. Only they don’t fit in a pocket so people, old and young, walk around carrying them to open coconuts, cut down some bananas, and for various other purposes.

The commonness of machettes makes for a few amusing anecdotes worth sharing….
An Australian woman told Wenonoa that when her son was turning seven she asked him what he would like for his birthday. The answer of course – a machette. Some of his classmates had them so he wanted one too. As they were to be relocating soon after his birthday she had to explain to him that it wouldn’t be an appropriate gift for him.

The Aussies live on their own compound, complete with a gardener. One day some other Aussie children, ages 4 and 6, were playing in the yard and for some reason or another required the use of a machette. They asked the gardener if they could use his and being an accomodating individual, he kindly let them borrow it. The mother happened to look out her window and saw her kids using it. She had to explain to him that menwei children aren’t smart about things like using machettes and that the boys would hurt themselves.

It is true. The local kids are adept at using machettes as American kids are at using Gameboys. I often have to ask my 12-year old neigbor friend to open my coconuts for me. I have to hack and hack at it, but he can get one open in seconds.

The most recent 5K fun run was sponsored by Island Food Community. Better known as Go Local, Island Food is a local non-profit that promotes the use of indigenous foods. Rather than giving away prizes of rice and ramen, instead the prizes were intended to promote use of local resources for the production of food. When the Girls 12 and Under category winner was announced she walked to the podium and received a garden shovel. The 12 and Under winning boy was presented with a machette.

A female American friend immediately got upset about the gender difference in prizes; girls get shovels and boys get machettes. I had to laugh because, having all been here a while, none of us gave a second thought to the idea of a machette as being a suitable prize for a 12 and under category, regardless of gender.

A random thought about the positives of life on the island

2010-06-25T13:57:00.001+11:00

Two cars were parked at the side of the intersection on my way to work the other day. Passing by, it looked as though there had been a fender bender. It dawned on me that this was the first accident scene I had driven by in the year and half I’ve been here. By contrast, an ‘intersection accident’ was something I passed weekly, if not daily, in Phoenix. In Oregon, accidents were less common but certainly not rare.

As an ex-pat, I’ve noticed that the things we miss from home come up in conversation much more than the things we are happy to escape from. Similarly, my blog entries may have discussed the negatives more than the positives but there are plenty of positives about living here.

It has been nice living a life that doesn’t include the omnipresent stress, fear and annoyances that are part of everyday life in the U.S. Driving here is stress free and the rate of speed so slow that there is little fear of getting seriously hurt in a car accident. The constant sound of car alarms and cell phones which in the states had turned me into a Grinch-like creature grimasing the words “noise, noise, noise” is gone. The bombardment of advertising and telemarketing simply doesn’t exist. In fact, advertising isn’t really needed at all. When a ship arrives and grocery store is restocked, word gets around.

There is minimal crime on the island and less acts of random violence. Without the media coverage that exists in the U.S. the crime that does occur here doesn’t result in a culture of fear. In fact, fear is replaced by friendliness. As one longtime ex-pat remarked to me, living here he has gotten use to chatting with strangers. When he goes to the states and out of habit starts to strike up a conversation with a random stranger, he is treated with suspicion and mistrust. Parents don’t worry that their children will be abducted and kids in first or second grade can safely walk to school or the corner store alone.

Weno - A study of contrasts

2010-06-22T09:54:00.001+11:00

Written on a recent trip to Weno, the main island of Chuuk State.

The beauty of Weno lies not on the land but on top of and beneath the lagoon that spreads out below and before me. In front of me clouds rise from the horizon in multi-hued brilliance like a canyon wall closing off the outside world. They lay, one on top of another, stacked from the sea to the sky in all shades of blue and grey during the twilight hour. Westward, the sun lingers somewhere behind the wall of clouds. A few strong rays penetrate a layer of clouds producing swirls of a pinkish salmon color that peak through blend with the blue-gray curtain of clouds.

I didn’t bring my camera on this trip and now wish I had. For the last three nights I have sat as the minutes passed by watching the horizon as the sky changed from blue to black. On past trips to Weno I had brought my camera but the lense only focused on the road. Rainfilled potholes as deep as ditches are as prevelant as holes on a piece of Swiss cheese. Dirty water washes into and out of the potholes until the road is covered in a layer of slimy mud. The potoholes are so common and so deep that no one travels more than 15 miles per hour. Every few feet drivers brake so the car can gently roll into the ditchlike potholes. When possible, they turn into parking lots or the oncoming lane to avoide the holes. The joke on Weno is that the way you can tell if a person is driving drunk is if he is driving in a straight line.

When the road is behind me, beauty is in front. Between my 3rd floor hotel balcony and the clouds, the calm lagoon water sits. Digesting and reflecting the color, a purple hue spreads across the surface. The water, disturbed only when a small boats skims the water heading from Weno back to a lagoon island, produces the occasional ripple but otherwise is as still as the full moon at midnight.

Beneath the surface another type of beauty exists. Spread througout the lagoon are 40 Japanese ships sunk in battle during World War II. Nature and time have removed the ugliness of war and few remnants of battle remain. Brightly covered corral decorate the ship’s sides hiding the dull gray steel. Schools of fish now occupy the spaces where sailors once stood watch. They are peaceful, silent, and present everwhere. Their numbers suggest that the lagoon is healthy, vibrant, teeming with life.

Behind me, the opposite is true. There is nothing healthy looking on the island. Litter lines the streams feeding the lagoon. Abandoned cars rust and tin shacks rust on the side of the road and everything seems in need of a fresh coat of paint.

Weno – A study of contrasts.

Beware sleeping drunks

2010-06-01T16:01:00.001+11:00

Not to long ago National Geographic had a one page article on unique warning and other signs from around the world. My favorite, a warning of deep crocodile-infested waters, pictured a wheelchair speeding down a ramp. Another, aimed at teaching rural residents the correct way of using a toilet, had a picture of a person squatting on top of a toilet seat with the universal diagonal red line across the sign.

If I were asked to design a unique roadside warning sign for Pohnpei, it would show a man laying in the road asleep (as indicated by those little z’s used in cartoons to depict a sleeping person) with a half empty botttle of booze at his side. As with most developing countries where the traditional lifestyle is evaporating and many men are unemployed, alcohol is a problem.

I can understand the alcoholism. It’s the falling asleep drunk in the middle of the road that confuses me. I can’t imagine being so drunk that I wouldn’t first move to the side of the road before laying down for my night’s sleep. But it’s true…
Driving at night, especially a weekend night, one must be on the lookout for people asleep in the road. One friend reported that on two occasions, as he turned from the main road onto his street he has had to stop and wake someone up. On a cloudy night a few weeks ago, while driving home on a rural road a different friend didn’t notice a sleeping drunk until it was too late.

If the story is true what happened afterward is even more amazing then a drunk guy lying down in the street. According to the driver, after running the man over, he stopp the car and knocked on a neighbor’s house. The neighbors were aware that the guy was asleep in the road but hadn’t bothered to move him. The police were summoned and my friend then had to convince them that they should take the run-over drunk to the hospital to be checked out. Fortunately, his injuries were not life threatening and the man survived.

Prom

2010-05-19T16:53:00.003+11:00

We recently had the second annual menwei (ex-pat) prom.

To understand prom, one must first understand Super Savers. Super Savers is a second hand clothing store on the island. Due to its odd assortment of clothing, it is assumed it somehow buys full containers of clothes that haven’t been sorted for climate appropriateness. It is very handy for people traveling to cold weather climates, like Australia in July, because no other store sells fleece jackets, parkas, or anything else one would wear in the snow.

Perusing the inventory is like taking a walk down memory lane. The racks are filled with items representative of the last three decades. Last year one of the ex-pat teachers at the college noted that they had a wide variety of 1980s era gowns. Realizing it would be a waste to let those gowns and the bygone eras they represented sit on the shelf, prom was born. It was a small affair last year, attended by about 15 or so people, at a private residence.

Once started, the concept took hold. This year the theme, “Almost Paradise,” was selected and word spread. About 40 or so attended. The party was moved from a private residence to one of the island bars. Following in last year’s example, some looked for the most comical outfits they could find. Others chose to use the occasion to put on lipstick and nice clothes.

Since last year I was voted prom king for my (very creative if I say so myself) printer paper bow tie and cummerbund, this year I went sans costume and gave someone else a chance. Boris found a purple suit jacket and almost matching purple pants at Super Saver and was deservedly crowned king.

The prom was a fitting end to the school year as many of our ex-pat friends who teach at the community college or as part of the WorldTeach volunteer program will be, in a sense, graduating as they leave the island and go on to new adventures elsewhere.

Microneseans in the US Army

2010-05-11T14:04:00.003+11:00

My friend Tony is a volunteer teacher with the organization WorldTeach. He wrote the following which appeared in the online edition of the Christian Science Monitor. The article provides some interesting insights into communicaiton and information sharing on the island. I was amazed by the comments of Pohnpein who volunteers to serve as a recruiter for the US Army.

http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Asia-Pacific/2010/0505/Uncle-Sam-wants-Micronesians-for-US-military

Christian Science Monitor
Uncle Sam wants Micronesians for US military
US military recruiting from the Federated States of Micronesia, per capita, leads all American states. Many see an economic path out of the isolated Pacific nation, but some don't know they might fight in Iraq or Afghanistan.

By Tony Azios, Correspondent / May 5, 2010
Pohnpei, Federated States of Micronesia

The portraits of stern-faced young men on armed forces recruiting posters, hanging from cafeteria walls, seem to gaze down at the mingling teenagers. Below, about 130 high school seniors have gathered to sit for a US military aptitude test required by the school's administration. Several dozen plan to enlist; many more are still on the fence.

The students are from the Western Pacific island of Pohnpei. And the scene is repeated nationwide several times each year – putting the four states that make up the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) ahead of every US state in Army recruits per capita in recent years.

Lloyd Daniel, a talkative senior with a taste for pizza and American slang, will ship out for Army training on June 29. He joined for the same reasons most kids here do: to see the world, get a steady paycheck, and pay for college. Also, Lloyd feels a sense of debt to America: "The US has been here helping out our island in many ways, so I feel that we, as Micronesians, must return the favor."

Liberated from Japanese occupation by US troops during World War II, the FSM were administered by the United States as part of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands from 1947 until independence in 1986, when the two countries entered into a compact of free association. The independent nations of Palau and the Marshall Islands, which also were administered by the US following World War II, negotiated separate compacts and achieved independence at different times but are also visited by US military recruiters. The compact obligates the US to defend these sovereign countries from attack, and grants their citizens permission to live and work in the US without a visa and serve in its armed forces. Non US-citizens can serve but cannot become commissioned or warrant officers.

This has been a major boon to Micronesia, located 2,500 miles southwest of Hawaii. Its lackluster economy averages $2,200 gross domestic product per capita. With a median age of 18.9, the FSM has one of the world's youngest populations; with a 22 percent unemployment rate, however, jobs are scarce. Remittances from enlisted citizens help many families stay afloat, and the promise of education benefits, signing bonuses, and a starting salary of just under $17,000 for a private first class all serve as effective lures.

Some critics, however, see military recruiters as preying upon an impoverished population. "Economically disadvantaged families are filling the ranks of the US armed forces," says John Haglelgam, former president of the FSM. Mr. Haglelgam, who has opposed Micronesians serving in the US military, says most Micronesians share his view, but see the military as their best hope for upward mobility.
An opportunity to advance

"It's very unfortunate that families here are pinning their economic dreams and hopes on the blood of their children," says Haglelgam. "The chance for [extra income] has emboldened families to not object."
It is thought that between 1,000 and 1,500 of the FSM's approximately 107,000 citizens are currently enlisted, with many more veterans now in the US or on one of the nation's 607 widely scattered islands.

But while some Micronesians see the US military as their ticket out, many here are poorly informed of the risks. The FSM has suffered more casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan per capita than any US state, and has lost soldiers at a rate five times the US average. Some recruits sign on unaware the US is fighting two wars.
Hideaki Charley, a high school senior planning to ship out for Army training this summer, lives in an outer municipality where newspapers and Internet access are hard to come by. He only found out that America was at war in one country, not to mention two, about a year ago – weeks after he had enlisted.

'They didn't tell me about the wars'

"The recruiters didn't tell me about the wars," says Hideaki. "They told me about the good things" such as enlistment bonuses and the chance to travel. "But I didn't ask [about war]," he adds.

US forces may also find the remote islands such fertile ground for recruitment because residents have been largely spared from the deluge of media coverage of the years-old wars. A recent study by the Heritage Foundation of US enlistment rates cites "Native Hawaiian/Other Pacific Islander" as the most overrepresented group as of 2005, with a ratio of 7.49, or an overrepresentation of 649 percent.
With three tours of duty in Vietnam and a career with Special Forces, 1st Sgt. Frank Semens (ret.) is one Pohnpeian who does know the risks. Still, in his role as US Army recruiter here, Semens would rather not discuss with potential recruits the dangers they may face.

"I've never tried to explain the risks to [potential recruits] because I don't want to scare them," says Semens. "I tell them about the opportunities."

Semens says that most Pohnpeian parents assume their child will automatically become a sohnpei, or warrior. "Not so," he tells them. Semens stresses to recruits and their families that there are many noncombat positions available that provide training in applicable skills and trades. It's these opportunities, as well as a long military tradition that keeps Micronesians enlisting at such high rates, says Peter Prahar, US ambassador to the FSM. "If we didn't give a [recruitment] test, there would be an uproar," says Ambassador Prahar. "People want to take this test."

Haglelgam also recognizes the popularity of service. "This is a volunteer military, and people should have the right to make that choice," he says. "My hope is that they will have all the information in front of them when they make their decision."

Even when they know the risks, many still choose to serve. "I would still join. It doesn't matter," says Hideaki. For now, what he most wants to discuss is his first trip off-island this summer to Guam, for a medical checkup with the Army.

Diving Truk Lagoon

2010-04-19T13:52:00.003+11:00

On my most recent trip to Chuuk I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to do some diving in the lagoon. During WW II the Chuuk Lagoon (known then as the Truk Lagoon) served as the “forward anchorage” for the Imperial Japanese Navy. After capturing the Marshall Islands, the American forces launched Operation Hailstone on Feb 17, 1944. Over a three day period over 60 Japanese ships, including aircraft carriers and destroyers, were sunk.

Over the course of a weekend, I did four dives exploring wrecks that were in the shallower (less than 110 ft) water. On Saturday we entered a torpedo hole to explore the inside of one destroyed destroyer and in another ship we saw the remains of a truck chassis, glass jars, bullets, and a machine gun. In a freighter we explored on Sunday, the cargo hold was still filled with torpedoes and warheads.

The lagoon is a one-of-a-kind diving destination and there is a constant trickle of wreck dive enthusiasts and WWII history buffs who make their way there to dive. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint, Chuuk has not managed to develop itself as a major dive vacation destination. The lack of other divers makes for a pleasant experience. On each dive we had the ship to ourselves and enjoyed that wonderful sense of isolation. On the other hand, the lagoon could easily serve as the anchor for a tourism industry and provide the jobs and economic independence that the island needs.

On language and Culture

2010-04-07T11:40:00.002+11:00

While reading a book about language last night, I recalled learning in a sociology class that Eskimoes had several different words for snow - each describing a specific condition. This fact was told to us to introduce the concept of linguistic relativism. This lead me to then wonder how many synonyms Micronesians have for the word quickly.

Micronesians are not known for their sense of urgency. “Island time” is the common term used. It is a frustration shared by many ex-pats tasked with the challenge of professionalizing the workforce and aiding in the country’s development.

In English I might use the words speedily, hurriedly, quickly, urgently, rapidly, swiftly, or hastily. I might even borrow foreign words and phrases that have become part of our language such as pronto or post haste. I might even use the acronym ASAP.

I asked a Pohnpein how many words they have for 'quickly'. She could only think of one but she did add that their language structure allows for descriptive to be added to the beginning or ending of a word but I’m not sure if she just meant that they could say quick, quicker, and quickest.

Kosrae is another island/language in the FSM. It is smaller than Pohnpei and has a longer history of interaction with traders and missionaries. A Kosraen I asked knew of three words for quickly in her language.

The things you can learn about a job applicant

2010-03-24T12:14:00.002+11:00

While the Micronesian government workplace is modeled after the U.S., there are certain differences. For instance, our office is in the process of filling an open position and it is interesting what I can learn about applicants from their completed job applications.

Boxes 10 - 16 on the official FSM government application are for the following pieces of information: age, birthdate, birthplace, height, weight, sex, and marital status. Further along the application, the applicant is asked to check yes or no to the following questions: Have you any physical handicap, chronic disease, or other disability?; Have you ever had a nervous breakdown?; and Have you ever had tuberculosis?

The application does not ask the applicant to state his/her religion but one applicant chose to include it on her resume, along with her address and phone number. Though religion isn't included on the application, church and state are not as separated as they are in the U.S. On the official memo regarding Christmas office closures, the President informing the government employees "... the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ..."

Double Parked

2010-03-15T12:19:00.001+11:00

Friday March 5

Yesterday I had a new first. I asked a president - of a country - to move his car.

Attempting to leave my hotel (I’m in Chuuk this week), I walked out to the small crowded parking lot and behind my dusty little rental car, a bigger dustier car had parked. Looking at the back of the car, I saw that it had government plates. Recalling that as I had walked across the hotel’s back patio, the President and three associates had been drinking coffee. The mystery was solved. I approached the table, waited to be noticed, and then stated. “Excuse me, but I think one of you gentlemen is parked behind my car.”

“That might be mine,” the President replied. I had assumed (and hoped) it was one of his companions.

“It’s a black car with government plates parked on the end.”

“That’s mine,” the President confessed and then explained to me that double parking is allowed at the hotel. I was surprised that he felt the need to explain that he wasn’t violating any accepted practices and more surprised when he continued, “do you want me to move it.”

Culturally, I think the appropriate response would have been to tell him no, it was ok, and that I could wait. However, it was one of those unexpected quick moments where one doesn’t have the time to stop and think of the appropriate response. Being prone to honesty and logic and – let’s face it why would I have gone over to their table if I didn’t want the car moved? - I responded, “yes, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.”

I beat a hasty retreat wondering if I committed a horrible faux paus. I expected that someone would be sent to move the car but a couple of minutes later the President strode up, got into his car, and drove away.

Another Year Has Come and Gone

2010-02-26T08:18:00.004+11:00

Another year has come and gone in this blogger's life. To celebrate, our bridge club had a potluck dinner in addition to the bridge game. I don't feel much older. I'm in as good as (if not better) shape than I was last year which always help. The only thing that really makes me feel older is the fact that I belong to a bridge club. It just sounds so old!

Most people have heard of th game but many don't know how to play. For those midwesterners familiar with Euker, the simplest explanation is that Eukra is bridge's poor country cousin. In bridge all 52 cards are played and points are accumulated over a number of games using a complex system.

Mary, who has come and gone, taught it to us. Things evolved from a random one night event to an scheduled game that occurs two Saturday nights a month. Thank you Mary. You may be gone but not forgotten.

Interest in the game has expanded. The name I gave our group - The Dirty Dozen Bridge Club - is now outdated as there are 14 names on the e-mail distribution list.

Last Saturday was also a 5K race and we ran into several friends that morning. Invitations to the potluck were extended and it turned out to be a very social night. Little bridge was played and at someone's suggestion a post-midnight outing to Club Kantaro occurred (see posting "An odd day..."

Odd days and Odder nights

2010-02-26T08:11:00.002+11:00

From last weekend –

Twenty hours ago the sound of a beeping alarm clock pierced my consciousness and I awoke in the pre-dawn morning to a room still dark. A half hour later as the sky began to lighten, Wenonoa and I headed downtown dressed in our running apparel for the first 10K race of the season.

It’s about a mile and a half drive to the grocery store that serves as the starting point. We rounded a bend in the road and saw a group of four adolescent Pohnpeian males ambling down the street and taking swigs from a plastic vodka bottle that I assume was opened the night before. It was the kind of vodka that can easily be confused with rubbing alcohol, the type of booze that can only be drank by people still capable of drinking at that hour. I had heard that this site was not uncommon on Pohnpei but I’m not typically up and out of the house that early on a weekend to see it.

Farther along the way we came across a friend out for an early morning stroll in trousers and a polo shirt. Still further, we crossed paths with Don, an icon on the island. He is an ex-pat biology teacher at the college who has been here for several years.

Don enjoys the research opportunities available in such a unique island location and it is said that he has discovered more than one species. He accepts that the island has slow internet access which is made slower by other users with whom the bandwidth must be shared. Rather than complain, Don, who by choice does not own a vehicle, cheerfully gets up at what most of us consider odd hours and walks the 5 miles to the college to do his internet research.

This Saturday morning at 6:30 AM Don was walking up main street, the white pillow case that serves as his book bag slung over his shoulder, on his way to the school. From what I’m told, Don was off to a late start. It’s said that he sometimes leaves his apartment at 2 or 3 in the morning.

It may have been typical Saturday morning in Pohnpei but it was an odd start to the day for me. My day ended just as oddly as it had begun. Twenty hours after my alarm clocked beeped, a group of us ex-pats clapped and chanted “Mommasan, mommasan, mommasan” in an attempt to persuade the proprietor of a karaoke bar/brothel to sing the final song of the night.

Mommason didn’t sing herself, but she loves to hear Mike belt out songs in his deep baritone voice. Even though all of us had quit ordering drinks and the police had come and gone, reminding her of closing time, mommason had kept pushing the mike towards Mike to do an encore performance of Kenny Roger’s The Gambler, John Denver's Country Roads, and Journey’s Small Town Girl.. If the market for lawyers dealing with economic and tax issues should dry up, Mike should be able to eek out a living as a lounge singer.

I should explain that by most accounts Club Kantaro is not really a brothel. Rather, it appears that it is just a meeting place for young ladies (of the night) to meet potential suitors fresh off the Asian fishing boats - a spot for true romantics. There are a few private rooms but it did seem that they were just for private group karaoke sessions.

A view from the plane

2010-02-10T12:45:00.004+11:00

Pohnpei from the airplane. Wenonoa took this when she came in June.

Our internet is working a little faster so I'm now trying to add some pictures to the blog. Supposedly, high speed internet will arrive on the island in April. We'll see. At home we have dial up and at work we have a T One line.

Some more scuba pictures

2010-02-06T11:44:00.001+11:00

Scuba Photos

2010-02-02T08:21:00.003+11:00

In November I finally finished my scuba certification class. Soon after, a few of us set up a scuba club and we've been diving most Saturday's ever since. The attached pictures are some that Karien and Boris took. I have pleny of others but because we still don't have high speed internet, it takes a long time to upload pictures. I'll try and add some more later.

The diving has been wonderful. I don't know if its the serenity and quiet one experiences 60 feet below the surface or if its just the nitrogen, but I always return relaxed and at peace.

The softer side of Micronesia

2010-01-18T22:59:00.001+11:00

My blog entries often have a critical edge to them. Micronesia has its share of fraud, waste, and abuse in the government and my workdays are spent in that arena. There is a lot of mistrust between the state governments and the national government. On the individual level, people are mostly apathetic and accepting of the government’s shortfalls.

It’s hard not to be jaded. However, there is a softer side to Micronesia. On the individual level, Micronesians are generally kind and considerate to us ex-pats. There aren’t too many places left in the world where someone would put his 6-year old daughter in a stranger’s car just to help out the stranger.

Last week Boris was trying to find the house of Ancher, a local guy we hire to take us diving on the weekends. After driving to where he thought the boatsman lived, a local resident informed Boris that Ancher lived in another part of town. Wanting to make sure Boris would eventually find Ancher, the gentlemen sent his 6-year old daughter with Boris to show him Ancher’s house.

New Years

2010-01-10T22:23:00.001+11:00

For New Years we left the hustle and bustle of Pohnpei and went to Black Corral Atoll. A ten minute boat ride away, Black Corral is small. If you put a football field on Black Corral, there would be no room left for the bleachers and to be honest I’m not even sure you could fit a football field on Black Corral. It is owned by one of the old families on the island and they rent it out for day and overnight use.

A group of 20 of us rented it out and enjoyed a potluck dinner and campout under a very full moon. New Year’s Day we were treated to a pleasant and delicious surprise lunch. Conrad, out fishing, passed by the atoll and offered us a freshly caught wahoo. Paul swam out to the boat and returned with lunch. He cleaned it and cooked it over the hot coals of a fire. The peanut butter sandwiches stayed in the cooler.

Back on Pohnpei, New Years is an excuse to let out a little exuberance. The local tradition is to pile onto a back of a flatbed truck on New Year’s Day and drive around yelling new years greetings, throwing candy to kids, and banging on various metal objects. We returned mid-afternoon New Year’s Day and saw a little of the festivity and heard even more. Using old oil drums and who knows what else, the banging was actually pretty musical. Floating up the mountainside, it sounded more like steel drum music then I expected and was surprisingly enjoyable to listen to.

Newbies

2010-01-08T16:46:00.003+11:00

Newbies on the island are a source of amusement for us seasoned ex-pats. Confused, they begin many conversations with “I don’t understand why...” or “How come they don’t just…“ Confusion turns to bewilderment and sentences begin with “Don’t they realize how simple it would be to….,” or “but it would make so more sense for them….” Sometimes the rest of us will break out in laughter when a newbie just starts a sentence with the word why.

Sam is a newbie on the island. He arrived fresh faced and full of academic book learning in the areas of economics and political science. I chuckle at just the thought of Sam trying to apply his education here. Sam is joining his wife who has been here for a two full months. He has a lot to learn. Driving to one of the two restaurants on the island with pizza on the menu, Sam’s wife, who had noticed earlier that the supermarket shelves had been restocked but the refrigeration case was pretty empty, remarked that she hoped the restaurant had cheese. Sam’s response was “why wouldn’t they have cheese?”

One does not assume here that a restaurant will be serving all the items on a menu. I look forward to being amused by Sam for the next month or so. For those of you who are curious –Fifteen minutes after placing their pizza order, the couple learned that his wife was in fact correct and the restaurant did not have cheese. They did not have pizza that night.

A tale of two islands

2010-01-04T14:02:00.004+11:00

At the end of World War II the USA was in control over several islands in Micronesia including Pohnpei, Chuuk, Kosrae, Yap, as well as Saipan, Palau, and the Marshal Islands (Majuroa, Kwajelan, etc). In the post war years the US Navy administered the region which was known as the Trust Territory. Eventually, the islands were given the opportunity to choose a direction for their future. The choices included becoming a permanent US territory, operating under a compact of free association, or complete independence.

Opinions differed among the islands as to what route to take and unity disintegrated. Pohnpei, Chuuk, Kosrae, and Yap, though each culturally and linguistically unique and separated by hundreds of miles of ocean from each other, together formed the Federated States of Micronesia and entered into a compact of free association with the US. Palau and the Marshal Islands each separately entered into compact agreements with the US. Saipan, along with two nearby smaller islands, formed the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianna Islands (CNMI) and became a U.S territory.

Wenonoa and I just came back from a 4 night stay in Saipan. What a difference from Pohnpei! Saipan is a true island paradise vacation spot. In fairness to Pohnpei, I must acknowledge that Saipan has certain geological and geographic benefits. Rather than the mangrove swamps that form the perimeter of Pohnpei, Saipan is ringed by beautiful (and public) sand beaches that lead into turquoise water. A walking/running/biking trail parallels the mostly flat beachfront road.

Saipan is also much drier. Pohnpei’s mountain peaks collect clouds and ensure an almost constant flow of rain (the interior of Pohnpei is said to average around 400 inches of rain a year). The humidity on Pohnpei can be stifling. Mold is an enemy that just won’t quit and the almost daily downpours beat up the roads of Pohnpei pretty badly.

Saipan is also closer to Asia. I’m told that it only takes 3 to 4 hours to fly from Japan to Saipan. This last point is important. Saipan has welcomed the tourism industry. Several large resorts are located near the coastline and recreational opportunities abound. Tourists can jet ski, parasail, be taken snorkeling and diving, and even enjoy spa treatments. Pohnpei lacks all of that.

Saipan does have it dark side. Since Saipan is technically part of the U.S., clothing manufacturers were able to set up garment factories, import workers from Asia, and put the ‘made in the USA label’ on the finished product without having to pay US federal minimum wages or be subject to OSHA regulations. The sweatshops have now all been closed down.

Other noticeable differences between the two islands included the general cleanliness of Saipan as compared to Pohnpei, the minimal number of dogs wandering the streets of Saipan, and the presence of a daily newspaper on Saipan.

I left Saipan wondering what Pohnpei would be like if it had become a territory instead of going the compact route. Would a different political structure have influenced the economic direction and outcomes (or lack thereof) that the island has taken? Would the people be better of or worse off?

Tradewinds

2009-12-14T13:19:00.000+11:00

Jimmy Buffet once sang about being the son of a son of a sailor. The song doesn’t apply to me. My family’s relationship with the sea has mostly been limited to days at the Jersey Shore. That being the case, the tradewinds never meant much to me until I moved to Micronesia.

Now, I wait for the tradewinds like I would an old friend coming to visit. There are few sounds prettier than a dry wind blowing through the mango and banana tree leaves. I lay in bed listening to that sound and know relief is coming. The tradewinds are a dry wind and bring the gift of relief from the humidity that at times settles over the island like a blanket on the bed. It is a seasonal weather pattern that usually begins in November or December. This year it waited.

November seemed to be especially rainy and humid which is no easy feat on an island that easily receives over 100 inches of rain in the dry areas (the interior mountains can get up to 400 inches). Hence, we’ve been waiting, first patiently and then impatiently. November drifted into December and still no change.

As the month shifts from beginning to midpoint, the wind seems to have been picking up. The house smells a little less musty. Surf tourists are showing up to surf the world class waves that break over the reef. As I type, a dry wind flows through the house and pillows are outside on the laundry line offering up their dampness to the wind and sun. Hello tradewinds my old friend. Welcome back.

Thanksgiving

2009-12-01T12:29:00.000+11:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Though it is now December 1, autumn is absent. There is no crispness in the air, no sound of leaves crunching underfoot. The weather is much as it has been since my arrival though November seemed rainier than most months. The trade winds should bring drier air and reduce the humidity but so far they have not come.

Though the weather was not autumnal, the autumn harvest festival we call Thanksgiving occurred in traditional fashion. Frozen turkeys were purchased from the grocery stores, cans of cranberry sauce were opened, stuffing was stuffed, and we sat down to enjoy a festive meal.

Steve and Uta, long term island residents who hail from Ohio and Germany respectively, hosted a potluck dinner at their house for the ex-pat community. It has become tradition and I believe this was the 6th consecutive year they extended their hospitality.

Thanksgiving celebrations on the island extended beyond the ex-pat community. Though they often complain that their culture is being taken away from them (I would use the word ‘given’ not ‘taken’), Micronesians don’t want to miss out on a holiday and my young co-workers have all grown up celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving.
The government closed down at noon on Thursday so that workers could celebrate.

Given the history of Thanksgiving and the competing views of its historical significance(should it be called Thanks-giving or Thanks-taking), I found it amusing that Micronesians choose to celebrate this holiday. In fairness to them, I suppose they are more familiar with the religious overtones and context of the holiday than with its symbolism as the beginning of the end for Native American land rights and culture.

Walking on Water

2009-11-19T12:43:00.000+11:00

I finally found out what if feels like to walk on water – almost. The hiking group organized a hike to the Nalap Atoll. Walking may not seem to be the appropriate mode of travel to get from an island to an atoll but during low tide it’s possible. Like many things in life, timing is everything. During the low tide at certain places the water is only knee deep. It wasn’t quite the same as walking on water but I figure it’s as close as I’ll ever get.

A co-worker of mine who grew up on one of the outer islands in Chuuk had told me that his area consisted of several atolls separated by water. Walking from atoll to atoll was common and people just had to be aware of the changing tide so that they wouldn’t get stuck overnight on the other atoll. It sounded a lot like taking the bus from Jersey to NYC and having to be cognizant of the time so as not to miss the last bus out of the city, though I wouldn’t compare the Port Authority to a Pacific Island.

We hired a guide who knew what path to follow (the bottom of the lagoon is not flat) and for 2 hours we walked through the knee deep water which, at times, became chest deep. Eventually we ended up on the little atoll of Nalap which is a ten minute boat ride from Pohnpei. The family that owns the atoll turned it into a beach ‘resort.’ There are little huts that can be rented for overnight stays or people can pay a dollar for daytime access. The family also runs a boat taxi service so instead of trudging back to Pohnpei, we each paid $2.50 and took a boat back.

Losing my edge

2009-11-16T13:00:00.000+11:00

Friday, Nov 13

I’m losing my edge. After 8 months on the island I’m softening up. Things that would have bothered me, I now accept. Sometimes I even chuckle. Today was one of those days.

I entered the office and noticed that no lights were on. The electricity was off. It doesn’t happen frequently but then again it’s not uncommon. The staff see it as a reason to stop working even though they all have battery-equipped laptops and there is plenty of light in the office. Usually I’d suggest they do some work or study for the auditing exam they are suppose to take this spring. Today I was tired and complacent so, instead, I went in my office and lay down on the couch.

A couple of hours later the power still wasn’t on and I started to get restless. A call to the utility company provided us with typically vague and non-definitive information. The electricity wouldn’t be on by lunch but they didn’t know when – or if – it would be running in the afternoon.

These things always happen when my boss is out of town and I’m the acting public auditor. What to do? Since the electricity also runs the water system I had to take public health and hygiene issues into consideration. I sent everyone home with the agreement that the secretary would call the power company from home at the end of lunchtime and then call everyone in the office to let them know whether they should come back to work or spend the afternoon ‘working from home.’ To be certain that nobody would not show up in the afternoon (if the electricity was on) and use the excuse that the secretary didn’t call, I made sure they all had the secretary’s number and understood that they were responsible to call her if she didn’t call them.

We all left. Since Wenonoa and I leave together in the morning and she gets home before me, I don’t bother carrying house keys. No problem I thought, my landlord’s wife is always home and they would certainly have a key to our house as all landlords do. Dropped off in front of my house by a co-worker, I walked next door to the landlord’s.

Imagine my surprise when I found out the wife didn’t know where the landlord keeps the key to the house. No problem, it was 11:30 and I assumed he’d be home around noontime for lunch. I went up to our nahs (covered patio) and took out some work I had brought home. The rumble of the landlord’s diesel trunk coming down the driveway didn’t interrupt me at 12:00. It didn’t interrupt me at 12:15 or 12:30 either. I guess he doesn’t come home for lunch every day like I thought.

Being a warm day, as all days in Micronesia are, I had taken off my shirt and rolled my pants up to my knees. Assuming the heat wasn’t good for the fish or beans in my lunch, I decided I might as well eat. Of course, the fork I had intended to use was in my office. The privacy of the nahs provided the opportunity to consider whether utensils are truly necessary or whether fingers bent into the shape of a scoop would work fine. They do.
So there I sat sitting on a table shirtless, pants rolled up, scooping beans out of a tupperware container with my fingers when I glanced up and saw about 30 feet away one of the kittens eating a baby rat. I noticed that the other kitten was eating a gecko. The three of us ate our respective lunches.

I had no faith that the utility company would have the electricity running. They hadn’t identified the problem as of 11:00 when we called and I assumed they would break for lunch. As a result, I wasn’t too concerned that our lunch time ended at 1:30 and I was stranded, locked out of my house, about 4 miles from the office. Still, I thought I should consider my options.

Feeling sluggish from the combined effect of the heat, humidity, and lunch, it seemed logical that I should lie down to consider my options. Fortunately, the work I had brought home was about the right size and almost soft enough to serve as a pillow. It would do. After clearing the table of the majority of tiny ants that seem to call the table home I lay down to do some thinking. About an hour later I woke up.

Since it was now almost 2:00 and Wenonoa gets home from work around 2:30 my problem was solved. I’d wait and then call the secretary to verify that the electricity never came back on. 2:30 passed. 2:45 passed. By 3:00 I concluded she must have decided to stay late and grade papers or use the internet.

Around 3:15 the wind picked up and the temperature cooled down. Some relief from the heat and humidity had arrived! And it brought rain. The rain has a wonderfully cooling effect. However, when the wind blows strong, the rain blows off course. Instead of falling in a straight line down and around the nahs, it gets blown in. It is at times like this that I’ve learned the only reasonable response is just to laugh.

Soon after the rain shower passed over, I heard the car come down the gravel driveway and Wenonoa pulled up. She was a bit surprised when she opened the back door to let the air flow through the house and I was standing there.

“Your home,” she commented with surprise, “no wonder when I called your office the secretary said she hadn’t been able to get in touch with you all afternoon.”

Halloween

2009-11-16T12:47:00.000+11:00

Halloween came to the islands a few weeks ago. I’m not sure when or how it first came to the islands but when I surveyed the younger members of my staff, they could not remember a time when it didn’t exist.

For the ex-pat community, Halloween is a major event on the social calendar and is celebrated at the Rusty Anchor. Most Halloweens I could open up my plastic tub and pick from among the many costumes I’ve accumulated over the years. That tub is back in the states so this year a new costume was necessary. Being that my copy paper cumberband and bow tie had won me top honors as king of the prom back in May, I was motivated by desire to maintain my creative concept costume credentials.

As days approached I waited for my epiphany. Patiently I waited knowing that the idea would come to me in its own sweet time. The days ticked by. I had the idea of being Pohnpei itself. Some greenery, some garbage and a rusted out car and I could double for any road in Pohnpei. Lacking a spare rusty fender and not wanting to collect raman noodle packages or dirty soda cans, I let that idea pass.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday all passed. Saturday afternoon I decided it was time to act. With no new idea, I downgraded my original concept and decided to just stick with the greenery. The bananas leaves were starting to cover the walkway on the side of the house so I decided I’d accomplish two tasks at once by chopping down some leaves and dressing up as a banana tree.

About 4pm I picked up the machette and got to work. I’m no engineer but I’ve learned patience so I spent the next hour working on different ways to cover oneself in banana leaves and still be able to walk. My goal was to go completely camo but the soft leaves bend and flop over, which would require me to have a five foot circumference. I did some calculations and realized that at that distance I would need help ordering a drink from the bar since they don’t have waitress service at the Rusty. Alterations were needed.

The ever helpful Wenonoa and I worked on some modifications. We had the back almost complete when the epiphany hit me. My eyes met Wenonoa’s. It was one of those moments when the same idea hits both of us and we both just nodded knowingly.

The back of the costume was taking shape in a way that it could easily be fashioned into a cape. pringsteen’s 1992 release Lucky Town contains a song titled “local Hero.” The chorus drifted into my head and the costume’s concept became clear. It was superhero time.

Dr. Lois Engleberger is a long time ex-pat on Pohnpei. She runs the non-profit Island Food Community of Pohnpei. Using the tagline Go Local, the organization promotes the benefits of eating a diet rich in local plants and fish. Applying the superhero motif to my collection of banana leaves, Localman was born. Armed with just some packing tape, a pair of scissors, and a pile of banana leaves, Wenonoa and I crafted a superhero costume for Localman.

We went traditional. Having grown up in the era that I did, it would be inconceivable that a superhero would be without a cape or mask so those were the first things to be made. Since a large pile of leaves still took covered the kitchen table, I decided leg and arm coverings would make a nice addition. Sure, the banana leave armored protection wouldn’t protect against bullets or bombs or even a machette chop, but they did look cool.

Staring at the reflection in the mirror there was no doubt in my mind that Localman would be a prize winner. The only question was whether anyone would take the time or effort to organize a costume contest and, if so, whether my costume would stay in one piece long enough to enter.

Fortunately, the Aussies had taken the lead. Not only had they prepared appetizers for the evening, they judged the costumes. By midnight when they announced the winners, my costume had lost a lot of its luster. The arm bands were gone and the cape had come apart in the front but they had seen it in its full glory from when I first showed up. Yours truly was awarded winner of the best costume and received a 12-pack donated by the bar.

Lois, who wasn’t there, was excited to hear about my costume. The Kaselehlie Press dedicates a page of the paper to health and nutrition articles prepared by and about the Island Food Community. The recent issue contained a 3 by 5 picture of me in costume. Me being me, I was amused and excited to see my picture in the paper but slightly disappointed to see that they hadn’t gotten a picture from before the costume started to come apart.

Keeping up with the Jones'

2009-11-04T12:42:00.000+11:00

The escape from the all-consuming consumer society that America has become is a recurring theme in my blog entries. It is one of my favorite things about island life. As an American on Pohnpei, I feel no pressure to keep up with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. In fact, there are no Joneses here. I checked the phone book.

By ‘the phone book’ I do mean “the” FSM phone book. The country has one phonebook. It’s nice and lightweight and doesn’t take up much room. It’s a half inch thick and contains a separate residential (white pages) section for each of the four states. The yellow pages are not divided by state but since each state has its own prefix, it’s easy to tell which state a business is located in. The book is 157 pages long, which includes 32 pages of general information.

Curious to see whether one could keep up with the Joneses if one were so inclined to do so, I checked the Pohnpei white pages. Entries jump from Mr. Tony Jonathon to Ms. Melissa Jose. It was a confusing page and I had to double check that the listings to make sure they were listed by last name. There are 10 listings with the last name Jim, 17 listings under Joel, and 17 more for the last name John. Joseph is the most popular last name on the page with a grand total of 22 entries.

Chuuk, Kosrea, and Yap are also without any Joneses. While the ex-pats enjoy this, I suspect that many of the locals strive to become the Joneses. Such is the nature of life.

A Stress Free Anniversary

2009-10-29T23:15:00.000+11:00

My 5th wedding anniversary approaches. Under other circumstances there might be stress and expectations. What to get? How to celebrate? There is none of that here. The options that can cause that type of stress simply don’t exist here.

For a fancy dinner, there is only one clear option: the Village Restaurant. It has white linen tablecloths and dinner rolls. Ooh ahh. Those two features might not seem special to you but they separate the Village from the other 6 or 7 restaurants in town. The menu isn’t much different from any of the other restaurants but ambiance is everything and the Village does have that.

With its thatch roof and open veranda overlooking the lagoon, it feels jungle-like in a completely touristy type of way. The first time I was there, I half expected Tarzan to swing in on a vine, land at the bar, and order a beer for himself and a banana daiquiri for Cheetah. Tarzan never showed but I still go back when an occasion deserves a little something special. After all, you don’t get tablecloths and dinner rolls just anywhere.

For the last 4 years, every anniversary I have purchased a bouquet of Aziatic Lillies, which served as Wenonoa’s wedding flowers. That won’t happen this year. There is no florist on the island. Oddly, there really aren’t many flowers at all. There is a lot of green but very few tropical flowers.

With dinner location an easy choice and flowers no choice, the last traditional celebratory marker would be the exchange of gifts. That won’t happen. There won’t be any trips to the mall because there is no mall. Shopping here is pretty much limited to the basic necessities. It is really one of the nice things about island life.

There are no newspaper circulars, no telemarketers, no TV infomercials trying to convince you to buy the newest, bestest, shiniest thing that will ensure a life of happiness. I’m not reminded of all the things that are missing from my life and as a result, I don’t really feel anything is missing.

Since this is the age of the internet I could have purchased a gift over the internet, I suppose many of you are thinking. True, I could have but I didn’t. I’m pretty sure Wenonoa didn’t either. If she did, I don’t have to worry. I’m the one assigned to pick up the mail from the post office and I have the only key. On the off-chance she purchased me a gift, well maybe it just won’t arrive…

Mail delivery, which most of you probably take for granted, is a mystery here even though the FSM is part of the U.S Postal Service. On October 15th, I picked up two letters, both mailed from the U.S. One was postmarked Sept 22nd and the other October 7th. You just don’t know when things will arrive here. I’m still waiting for a box of books that I mailed here when I was in New Jersey in June.

I’m told that since it’s a box, it went by boat not airplane. The time estimate I was given was 2 – 4 months. A couple of times a week I play out my own personal adaptation of Waiting for Godot and walk from my office to the post office thinking maybe it will be here today. A boat arrived yesterday, based on the produce that was in the grocery store today, so who knows, maybe my box will be there tomorrow. Now that would make for a nice anniversary gift!

Top 10 Reasons You Know You Are Living on Pohnpei:

2009-10-27T12:12:00.000+11:00

#10 - Your dinner guest comments on the qualty of your water pressure

#9 - You keep your kitchen garbage in the freezer to discourage ants and other bugs

#8 - You know all the geckoes in your house by their size and favorite locations

#7 - Your rental property comes complete with miscellaneous stray cats and dogs

#6 - You classify your flip flops as evening wear, appropriate for work, and casual

#5 - Grocery shopping resembles a scavenger hunt

#4 - You can distinguish between an attractive looking mumu and an unattractive one

#3 - Driving 30 MPH feels really fast

#2 - You don't see dogs with their heads sticking out of car windows - you see little kids with their heads sticking out of car windows

The number one reason you know your living on Pohnpei - When you see a dog on a leash it strikes you as strange.

Credit goes to Wenonoa for coming up with this list. David Letterman, are you hiring?

Weekend on Ant

2009-10-12T12:49:00.000+11:00

September 11th , a solemn day in the U.S., happens to also be Pohnpei Liberation Day. The holiday celebrates the end of the ‘War in the Pacific,’ which is the nice way of saying the end of Japanese control of the island. Regardless of how you say it, the result is that we had a three-day weekend.

Back in the states when a three day holiday weekend rolled around, we’d throw the camping gear in the truck and head for the woods. So what do you do when you live on an island where you can drive the circumference in less than three hours and all land is privately owned? Boat trip!

With food having been purchased, camping gear packed, and sunscreen applied, ten of us ex-pats drove down to the Kitti boat ramp to rendevouz with a hired boat. With the theme song of Gilligan’s Island playing in the back of my head, we small boat took off for Ant Atoll.

Ant is a one to four hour boat ride away. The time it takes to get to Ant doesn’t vary based on traffic. Weather conditions, specifically waves, determine whether one spends a quick easy hour getting from point A to point B or whether one spends four seasick hours praying to G-d and vowing never leave dry land again. We made it there in a just over an hour.

Without getting too technical, it’s hard to describe what distinguishes an island from an atoll. In layman’s terms an atoll is a really small island. An atoll is what makes a 12 mile by 15 mile island like Pohnpei seem big. Very big.
The best description I’ve read on the Pacific atolls is that each atoll is like a string of beads. Ant had a few beads, each separated by a space of water. Some of the beads were more or less connected and at low tide a person can walk from one bead to the next. Our bead had broken off and there was no low tide corral bridge to lead us to the other beads.

With gear unloaded from the point, we stood on the beach and waved goodbye to the boat taxi. There we were, on an unoccupied atoll in the middle of the Pacific – cut off from the rest of the world. It felt pretty exhilarating. The wind picked up and the sky darkened but we managed to set up a tarp in time to save ourselves and our gear from getting soaked by an afternoon rain shower.

It had been a while since I’ve sat on a beach and enjoyed the feel of sand between my toes. I did say beach. As I think I’ve mentioned in earlier entries, Pohnpei doesn’t really have beaches and sand. Little know fact: not all islands have sand. Instead of sand, islands formed by volcanoes have corral - hard, sharp, pointy corral. They also have mangrove swamps but I digress….

So there we were on the sandy beach of an uninhabited atoll a few hours by boat from a small island in the Pacific. It was pretty cool! For 48 hours we snorkeled, played cards, ate, had bonfires, and drank. I’ve done my share of camping in the past. I’ve also done my share of eating, drinking, playing cards, and also some snorkeling. Somehow, it all seems just a little better when done on an isolated piece of land in a place few people ever get to.

Normally, I’d prefer bourbon or scotch to rum, but neither one would taste as good when drunk from a coconut shell. One of the highlights of the weekend – one of the things that made the experience unique – is that we climbed and knocked coconuts out of trees, hacked off the top with our machetes and added rum to the coconut juice inside. Mmm, mmm good!!!

Waterboys

2009-10-08T13:11:00.000+11:00

Thursday Oct 8

Last night was opening night of a 4-night film festival being hosted by the Japanese Embassy. It seems out of place to be blogging about a film festival in Pohnpei but its true. For the next 3 nights a Japanese film will be showing at the local theater.

Last night we saw Waterboys. It was a feel-good film about a group of nerdy high school boys who start a synchronized swim team. For those not familiar with it, synchronized swimming is a sport that somehow blends ballerinesque moves with a swimming pool being performed by a team. Physically demanding though it must be, its an all-girl sport.

What struck me most was that the formula plot and the scripted characters seemed to have been taken straight from America. I had to wonder if the script writer had been influenced by (or was imitating) by American pop film and culture. Given that the Richard Gere movie Shall We Dance was a re-make of a Japanese film by the same name, I had to consider that maybe its American film thats copying Japanese.

Alternatively, maybe people really are the same the world over and the similar themes/characters developed independently but similarly?

No Tsunami Here

2009-09-30T12:41:00.000+11:00

Wed Sept 30

My e-mail home page lists some headlines from the USA Today. Opening up the home page during lunch today, I saw a headline about a tsunami hitting American Somoa.
For those of you who heard of this and are checking my blog to see if we are ok, thank you for your concern. We are fine.

American Somoa is somewhere south of us in this vast Pacific region. I'm not sure how far south it is, but nothing here is close. My guess is that it is at least 2,000 miles away and probably more. We don't have internet access here so I'm not inclined to check the exact distance.

Should a tsunami hit Pohnpei, Wenonoa and I would most likely be ok. Pohnpei is a very hilly island and our house, my office, and the college where Wenonoa teaches, are situated on hills away from the coast. That said, Tuesday night we were in a building that is right on the waterfront but most of the time we are not too close to the water.

On a weather-related note, Monday night the winds were howling as we tried to sleep and Tuesday morning it rained heavily at the house. I learned that a typhoon hit the Phillipines and that our wind/rain were caused by that storm.

PS - If my references to the days of the week seem to be a day off, it is because Pohnpei sits on the other side of the international date line.

The road around the island

2009-09-23T12:54:00.000+11:00

A pig grazes contently by the side of the road in a more rural area of the island

A few weeks ago I finally made the drive around the island. For most people, it’s one of the first things they do after arriving here. I held off.

Robert Frost famously wrote of a path less traveled. On Pohnpei, there is only route to travel. It circles the island. It goes up and down and curves this way and that. After about 50 miles and 2 ½ hours later, you end up back where you started.

Outside of Kolonia there isn't much to see other than the foliage on the side of the road. I counted the number of other cars we saw on one hand. In addition to Kolonia, there are two population centers that contribute to the island’s count of about 30,000 inhabitants. Both Madolenihnmw (go ahead, try and pronounce it) and Kitti can best be described as small bedroom communities. “Blink and you’ll miss them,” as the saying goes.

As I mentioned I’ve held off taking the drive. I like the idea of a frontier, of the great unknown that exists just past the next turn in the road or just over the next hill.

The road has always symbolized the potential. As the man sang, "these two lanes will take us anywhere." Having taken the drive and ended up right where we started, the island now feels smaller. For the Jack Kerouc's among you, stay off the island unless of course the sea beckons. For pirates, sailors, and the such, there is no shortage of ocean here.

ONPA Press Release

2009-09-21T16:29:00.000+11:00

Here is a press release [http://www.fsmopa.fm/new/107.htm] my office issued regarding a recently released audit report:

The Office of the National Public Auditor announces the release of report No. 2009-04 Audit of Congress Funded Public Projects in Chuuk State. The report is available for public review online at the Auditor's website www.fsmopa.fm and copies are available at the Auditor's offices in Palikir and Weno.

The audit was performed with the objectives of determining whether the administration of Congressionally-funded public projects complied with the Financial Management Regulation (FMR) Part X and other applicable laws, policies, and regulations. Congress appropriated approximately $1 million in local revenue funds from Public Law 13-36 (as amended) for the purpose of funding social and economic projects, often referred to as CFSM public projects, in Chuuk State. The audit team examined 39 of the 69 funded projects and focused on fiscal year 2005 - 2008 (thru July 31, 2008) appropriations. The audit was conducted in accordance with Generally Accepted Government Auditing Standards.

The audit team found that parties involved in the selection, management, and oversight of the projects failed to comply with the FMR and other applicable laws, policies, and regulations. Moreover, the overall process from the selection of projects to the payment of vendors was conducted without the benefit of appropriate management controls.

Section 4 of PL13-36 specifies that funding is provided for ��social and economic development projects in the State of Chuuk.� An examination of the projects revealed that 17 projects accounting for approximately one-third of the Chuuk appropriation did not appear to meet the definition of �social and economic development project.� These 17 projects were, in essence, subsidies for municipal operations and the Chuuk Delegation Office. For example, the Chuuk Delegation Office was awarded $40,000 for the purpose of defraying its operating costs and another $20,000 was awarded for a project titled �Chuuk Delegation Office Operation.� Similarly, the Southern Namoneas region received $45,000 for the purpose of subsidizing general municipal operations. Polle, Satawon, and Ta also received funding to defray operating costs.

The audit team found that the project selection process occurred without any documentation as to why the selected projects were chosen, how they would contribute to the social and economic development of Chuuk, or what criteria was used to select projects. To ensure transparency in the decision making process and fairness, other organizations establish criteria for evaluating proposals and then document why some projects are selected and others aren�t. The audit also revealed that neither the Chuuk State Commission on Improvement Projects (CSCIP) nor the FSM Finance Field Office in Chuuk could account for vehicles, boats, and boat engines purchased with PL 13-36 funds. Seven vehicles, four boats, and ten engines were purchased in conjunction with the 39 projects reviewed. However, no boats or engines could be located or accounted for. Similarly, six of the seven vehicles could not be located or accounted for. Though Project Control Documents (PCDs) are intended to ensure that all purchases are for the project�s intended purpose and within authorized limits, the audit team found that not all expenditures were appropriate and/or within the budget. The Chuuk Delegation Office project and the Chuuk Delegation Office Operations project had the stated purposes of defraying operating costs. However, funds were used to pay reimbursements to Congress members and to make contributions to constituents. In essence, these funds were used as representation funds although the original intent was for the operations of the Chuuk Delegation Office. Auditors also found that funds for a fishing project were used to purchase a vehicle and construction material. A total of 21 of the 69 projects reviewed (30%) exceeded the dollar amount appropriated by law. Inappropriate purchases were allowed to be made because the CSCIP did not have a process for reviewing expenditure requests to verify that the purchases related to the project purpose (as stated on the PCD) prior to CSCIP�s submittal of the request to the Finance Field Office. Similarly, the Finance Field Office lacked a procedure for reviewing requests prior to certifying fund availability and making payment.

The audit also revealed that there were no controls to ensure projects were completed. FSM 10.7 requires that the allottee designate a project inspection official in order to ensure proper oversight and accountability. The project official should be listed on the PCD. However, 87% of the PCDs reviewed did not include a designated project inspection official. Moreover, payments should not be approved by the CSCIP unless a project inspection has been completed. Site inspections conducted by the audit team revealed that several of these projects such as sea walls, a pathway, and a meeting hall were never completed. Furthermore, payments for construction materials related to these projects were paid though the materials could not be accounted for because the FSM Finance Field Office did not require submittal of a completed inspection report.

Some of the findings have been referred to the Compliance Investigation Division for further review. The results of the audit were discussed with the Chuuk State Commission on Improvement Projects, the FSM Finance Field Office, and with Chuuk Congress members. The CSCIP, the Field Office and the Congress Members did not provide the customary written response to the audit.

Roosters

2009-09-10T12:46:00.000+11:00

Little Red Rooster

My first night on the island a rooster interrupted my sleep somewhere around 3 AM. Having grown up in suburbia, I had always believed that roosters make their noise around sunup. Perhaps it hadn’t set its alarm clock correctly? The next few nights at various times when the sky was still dark and the moon still high, the rooster chose to serenade me and I assume everyone else in the vicinity. The hotel I stayed in my first week didn’t have a brochure, if it did, I don’t think roosters crowing in the middle of the night would have been listed as an amenity.

My second week on the island I moved from the hotel to an apartment. Away from the rooster that couldn’t tell time, I looked forward to a full night’s sleep. I assumed that any roosters residing near the apartment would be more aware of rooster protocol and wait for the first light of dawn to sound the wake up call. Of course I was wrong. Sometime during my first and every night after, a cockaduduldoo would pierce the darkness.

When I’d mention my perplexity in a somewhat sleep deprived state, my co-workers would just chuckle and tell me I’d get use to it. It just didn’t seem possible to me. I can understand how urban dwellers get use to the sounds of cars, and horns, and sirens. One can tune out a constant background noise but the rooster?

The roosters seemed different. Their noise comes out of nowhere. One minute there is silence and the next minute a shrill sound slides into your ear canal and yells surprise. After a month, I moved from the apartment into a house and, of course, there are roosters next door.

I’ve been on the island 6 months and now I sleep just fine. I hadn’t thought about those early rooster-filled nights until yesterday. A new Canadian on the island asked, in that same bewildered voice I had my first month, if one gets use to the roosters. It was his sixth night on the island. The group of us ex-pats, who have all been here for at least a few months, all assured him that he would.

Football

2009-09-07T12:46:00.000+11:00

Football
My weekly routine now often includes Saturday afternoon football.
A few months ago as I was leaving the house one day, my landlord’s son Boya was outside throwing a football with a cousin. I stopped and tossed a few with them. As we played, a few more cousins came over from their houses and joined us. I didn’t see the football after that afternoon and when I inquired, I learned they had lost the ball.

When I went to Guam I picked up a football at the Kmart there so that we could play again. Now, if I’m around on Saturday afternoon and I see Boya hanging around, I ask if he’d like to play. He yells out something in Pohnpein and within 5 minutes a half dozen kids will appear out of nowhere and we’ll play.

Their knowledge of football is, of course, limited. Amusingly, the one thing they all know to do is to cross into the endzone, spike the ball, and yell touchdown. The game we play is a wonderful mix of football, rugby, and just plain running around but they seem to love it.

I don’t want to take the fun out of playing but part of me can’t help but try and teach them some basics. After running around for a while, I then organize them and have them run passing drills with me as the quarterback. The first week I just had them run a simple pattern. The next week I introduced the idea of a defender and the third week I had them line up with two receivers and two defenders. I’m working on the concept of incomplete passes and a set of downs but we aren’t quite there yet.

Cash Power

2009-08-24T12:19:00.000+11:00

August 18, 2009

“Cash power” as it is called, is a technology I had not seen before I came to the island.
Cash power can be described as the cross breeding of a parking meter with your utility meter.

To sum it up succinctly, cash power is a pay-in-advance system of purchasing electricity. One goes down to the utility company, tell them your name or account number, and hands over some money. In return, you walk away with a receipt that has a number code on it. When you go home, you enter the code into your keypad and the system adds the newly purchased kilowatt hours to the remaining balance.

The box in the picture sits on the wall of our kitchen. It has a display screen that shows how many kilowatt hours we have remaining. Every time one watt is used, a red light blinks. For the very curious or eco-concerned, the flashing red light provides an easy method to see how the usage changes when you plug in an appliance or turn on the stove. The cash power box also has a light that will display either in green, yellow, or red depending on the available kilowatt balance.

Our electrical usage has gone up in stages. When it was just me in the house with only a refrigerator, stove, fan, laptop, and a few light bulbs I used 2 or 3 kilowatts a day. Our shipment of household goods introduced a washing machine, a tv/dvd combo, radio/cd player, and other odds and ends to the electrical outlets scattered throughout the house. A dehumidifier purchased in Guam and a larger (and frost free) refrigerator to replace the small one I started with added a little more usage and we are now using around 5 kilowatts a day.

I spent many an Arizona summer and a few Oregon winters wondering how much a few extra degrees of comfort was costing me. Cash power takes the guesswork away. We are now able to track our usage as it occurs and there are no surprises when the bill comes at the end of the month. The kWH display screen works just as well for those on a carbon budget as it does for those on a monetary budget.

I’m sure the meter readers’ union doesn’t appreciate cash power as much as I do, but think of the business benefits. The utility company gets is money before it provides a service, doesn’t have to worry about late or non-payments, and doesn’t have the expense of reading meters and sending out bills.

On the macro-level, the island produces its electricity through the use of generators that convert diesel fuel into electricity. The residential rate is around 30 cents a kWH. I don't know if the utility corp has or is experimenting with bio-diesel or coconut oil as an alternative to straight diesel fuel.

The European Union has been funding projects to bring solar power to the small outer islands and atolls but I haven’t seen or heard of any large scale solar projects on the main island yet.

The lagoon

2009-08-20T13:27:00.001+11:00

We have a nice view from the back balcony! It comes in handy.

As the season shifted from spring to summer the temperature didn't really change but the trade winds died off and now moisture stays in the air. We've gotten in the habit of hanging our towels outside under the covered area (naas its called locally)of the balcony. So each morning I walk outside to get a towel, come inside to shower, and then go back outside to hang it on the line.

While this sounds tedious, the view helps. The lagoon, protected by the reef, has no waves and the water sits tranquilly beneath the sky. The lagoon view keeps me company as I hang my towel and its a pleasant way to spend a few minutes each morning.

The concrete house absorbs heat during the day if it doesn't rain much. By the time we get home from work or exercise class it can be quite hot and stuffy inside. On those days, we drag the camping chairs out to the balcony and watch the sun set while we allow some fresh air to flow through the house, cooling it by a degree or so.

Lifers and Wanderers

2009-08-20T13:20:00.001+11:00

August 10, 2009
A coyote howls in the distance. Its cry bounces off the desert canyon walls and fills the dark, empty night. Somewhere, farther south, the howl is answered by a second coyote. A third then a fourth join in and the chorus replaces the stillness of the crisp autumn night. I peak my head out of the tent and ten thousand twinkling stars greet me from above and it feels right.

This hasn’t happened to me lately.

The road curves and climbs and curves and climbs some more. The snow gets deeper and soon two walls of white sit on the shoulder of the road blocking the forest. We pull into the parking lot and all around us the clean white snow blankets the Spruce and Fir trees. The sky is blue except where the bright yellow sun sits high in the Oregon sky. The thermometer tells us that it’s a cold January day but we are warm as the sunlight beams down and reflects off the snow. We strap on our skis and glide into the forest and all it feels right.

This hasn’t happened to me lately either nor will it for the remainder of my time in Micronesia. There are no deserts, no coyotes, there isn’t even autumn here. No evergreen forests and no winter wonderland scenery.

Wenonoa came home from the college the other day amazed, having met a few American instructors who have made Pohnpei their permanent home. Life on the island can gently seduce a person. No nightly news reminds you of all that is wrong with the world. Stress and pressure are minimal. As Bob Dylan once sang, “Come in, she said, I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” As one instructor put, "I teach what I want, when I want, and I have plenty of free time to pursue my research interests." Put that way, I can see why he stays.

I don’t mind giving up camping, coyotes, and cross country skiing for two years but I couldn’t imagine foregoing it on a permanent basis. Six months into my contract, I don’t see myself becoming a “lifer” here. I couldn’t be content spending a life here while knowing all that exists past the vast expanse of the Pacific. I’m a wanderer who enjoys change.

The ‘sameness’ here would eventually drive me insane. As I think I’ve mentioned earlier, excitement here is when the supply ship arrives and there is produce and ice cream in the grocery stores. Not even the weather changes. This is the first place I’ve ever lived where the annual temperature graph is represented by a horizontal line extending from January through December. In fairness, I should mention that the daily temperature does fluctuate. The daily highs are around 86 and the lows can drop as far down as 72 degrees.

Some of you might think that this weather is perfect. True, it is nice... OK, it’s downright pleasant, especially when a wind blows the moisture out of air. Arriving from the damp cold of an Oregon winter it was quite enticing. Still, variety is the spice of life and even Phoenix, with temperatures that ranged from hot to hotter, offered the I-10 escape to the high country of Flagstaff two hours to the north.

The four seasons beckon me. Living in Arizona I had forgotten how enjoyable the change of seasons is. Living in Oregon reminded me. I don’t know where we’ll end up next but I’m pretty confident we’ll end up leaving at the end of my contract.

Local Foods and Crafts

2009-08-12T12:48:00.000+11:00

August 11

As you may recall from my early posts, I came to Pohnpei very interested in learning about and experiencing the local lifestyle. Except for an early fishing trip (as detailed in my March entry Fishing, which may be the funniest entry to date), it really hasn't happened.

Part of the reason is that I never really integrated into any local families and part of the reason is that much of the traditional ways have gone by the wayside. Its easier to buy a paper plate than to make a plate. As an American friend who learned how to make coconut milk remarked, "it was fun to do but very labor intensive. I'll probably go back to buying cans in the store and only make my own on special occasions."

Many ex-pats are interested in learning about the traditional ways of doing things and last month an enterprising Micronesian woman put together a Saturday afternoon class to teach us a few things. We learned how to make mar-mars which are a cross between a Hawaiin lei and a headband, weave plates out of palm froms, shuck and open a coconut, and cook breadfruit (a local starch) and whole fish on an open fire.

Wenonoa described the afternoon. Here is what she had to say:

Praise & Melian – two local Pohnpeian women – hosted a Pohnpei Day intended to teach Men Wei (White Men) how to live and eat like locals.

We were greeted with a freshly macheted coconut with a straw. Fresh coconut milk straight from the coconut is delightfully refreshing. After finishing our milk, we were shown how to crack the coconut by hitting the middle with the dull side of a machete. We really have to buy a machete – they are good for so many things. We then scooped out the coconut with our thumbs and happily ate it.

Next we were charged with making marmars. These are traditional flower head wreaths given to newcomers, guests, and those leaving the island. You begin with a circular, slender piece of plastic and, proceeding cautiously, wrap local flowers and greenery around the plastic using twine to hold it in place as you proceed around the circle. You can use any combination of flowers and greenery. Most of us Men Wei made some very bushy marmars – not bad, we were told, for our first time.

Then we cooked breadfruit. This is a large green “fruit” that comes from a tree. It tastes like a potato and is often prepared with grated coconut to sweeten it. As it tastes like a potato, one of my favorite veggies, I am very happy to eat it plain. You score the breadfruit – slightly opening the skin – making four longitudinal cuts and place the breadfruit directly onto the hot coals of an open fire. After about 30 minutes, the skin is blackened and the breadfruit is ready to eat. You then peel all of the blackened skin off and eat as is. I have been told that you can use this local fruit as a substitute for potatoes. It is supposed to be chock full of vitamins.

Next, having nothing to eat off of, we had to make plates. Using a local variety of palm frond, we wove a basket to use as a plate. We covered the woven plate with an additional layer of palm fronds.

Next we chose a fresh fish to cook over the open fire – we placed it directly on the coals. There were several varieties to choose from. One that I had was called bluefish but it wasn’t. A variety that Eric had wasn’t called bluefish but it actually was this beautiful iridescent teal color. After about 10 minutes, one side was done and we flipped the fish with local, long wooden tongs to blacken the other side.

We were ready to eat! Gathering our plates, we chose our fish, some breadfruit and some tapioca sweetened with green banana. Melian offered forks to us as she told us that locals wouldn’t use a fork. Feeling like locals, we declined the forks and dug in with our hands. All of the weaving and cooking had worked up an appetite.

I feel like I would be somewhat prepared if I was ever stranded on a deserted island.

Throughout the day, as we were learning native cooking and weaving, a local fellow was making secaw. This is the local drink which is said to have marijuana-like effects. I haven’t tried it. It is considered rude to refuse it if offered to you in ceremony; however, it is okay to pretend to drink it or ask someone to drink it on your behalf as an honor to that person.

Desert was fresh watermelon; according to Melian, fresh fruit is desert here. Locals don’t really have cakes, cookies, pies, etc. that they eat for desert.

As they afternoon waned and tiki torches were lit all around, a group of local women performed local, traditional dances for us. What a great day to be on Pohnpei!

Guam

2009-08-05T13:33:00.000+11:00

It’s August 3rd. Time flies. I’m back in Pohnpei having spent the last 9 days at a training conference in Guam. If you’re thinking 9 days is a long time to be at a conference since most conferences run Monday to Friday, your right.

Let me explain – To be on Guam Monday morning, a traveler from Pohnpei has two options. He/she can take a plane that leave Pohnpei Sunday night/Monday morning at 1:30 AM and get to Guam around 4:00 AM. While that does leave the traveler time to check in to a hotel, shower, and eat breakfast, it’s a tough way to start the week. The other option means leaving Saturday afternoon, which I did. Getting back to Pohnpei isn’t much different. There is no Friday evening flight nor is there a Saturday flight. 7:30 Sunday evening we boarded the plane and arrived back in Pohnpei around 1:00 AM.

Guam was an experience. I didn’t know much about the place other than that there are a couple of US military bases there. Thus, I expected to find bars, strip clubs, but not much else. They had much else! Guam, which is a U.S. territory, is just a 4 hour flight from Japan.

Guam developed itself into a Japanese tourist destination, complete with resorts, restaurants, and high end shopping. Rolex, Cartier, Coach, and other high end stores lined the main resort boulevard next to places like the Hard Rock Café and Planet Hollywood. For us local Micronesians, our money was deposited at KMart,Ross, and the local grocery store which all supplied items we can't get at home.

The first couple of days, as I looked aroud a little voice in my head kept saying, “Toto I don’t think we are in Micronesia anymore.” The second morning I actually woke up confused thinking that I was still doing freelance work stateside and had just dreamt the whole Micronesian thing. But Guam is part of the region known as Micronesia (the Federates States of Micronesia includes just a few of the islands in the Micronesian region), it just has more in common with the U.S.

Guam has about as much in common with the FSM as a bird has with a dinosaur. Both Guam and FSM were wrestled from Japan and put under American control after WWII and both Guam and the FSM states are small Pacific islands but the comparison ends there.

I’ve heard it said that success comes from equal parts talent, opportunity, and hard work. Guam by virtue of its closer proximity to Japan and the US military presence had the opportunity to develop its economy, and it has. I don’t know the history of its economic development but when I asked a local about it, he explained that Guam allows foreign investors to own property and the FSM doesn’t. That may explain why Guam has a robust tourist economy complete with 40-story beachside resorts and the FSM doesn't.

I did find myself missing the greenness of Pohnpei. Some places are built around nature and other places replace nature with buildings and roads. Guam's tourist area was more concrete and less greenery. I sat in traffic, changed lanes, and waited for the light to turn green, all things I don't do in Pohnpei.

So which island do I prefer? I guess I'm like Goldilocks, this one isn't developed enough and that one is too developed. I hope to see Palau some day.

Stuff

2009-07-16T22:29:00.000+11:00

July 16

Stuff. Beautiful, glorious stuff. Two big wooden crates filled with our stuff arrived last week. Wenonoa and I are both known to favor minimalism when it comes to household stuff so you may be surprised over my excitement but consider…

For the last two months I have lived an existence that can be accurately described as Spartan. In the three bedroom house we are renting, the sole furnishings were a kitchen table and chairs; a pot, pan, a couple of plastic bowls and plates and assorted plastic cutlery; a yoga mat and exercise ball; and a mattress. I’m sure that there are monks who have more.

For the most part, I was ok with the setup. Except for the bed! It was a loaner until mine arrived. To call it a bed is being generous. Picture a set of springs wrapped inside a mattress casing – that is what I slept on. I’m not sure what happened to the foam or whatever material is generally used to fill a mattress these days but I’m pretty sure that if I cut open the mattress, I wouldn’t find any. If you think I’m exaggerating then consider this one fact: After Wenonoa spent her first night here, when she got up in the morning I noticed a series of indentations running up her back where the springs pressed into her flesh.

The worst part about the bed was that I could have had a nice (or at least decent) one. The standard contract used by the FSM government when hiring ex-pats requires the government to supply a bed and a kitchen table. I could have gone down to Ace Hardware (yes, Ace Hardware) or one of the few other stores that sells mattresses and walked out with a brand new mattress. Given that even a basic twin mattress retails for over $400 here and I generally hate to see money wasted, no matter whose it is, I didn’t.

I thought, “How bad could it be? My bed from home will arrive in a month or so.” So I took the loner and I found out just how bad it could be. For over 60 nights I tried to shrink my body into the narrowest of spaces between the columns of springs. It never worked and I don’t think I got one good night’s sleep in the two month period.

So yes – stuff, glorious stuff! Each time I walk into the bedroom and see our bed lying there, soft but firm with no springs poking up at me, waves of relief and appreciation wash over me.

Second in the list of possessions I truly cherish having is our television set. It’s nothing fancy. It’s a modest 27” or 32” and it’s not a flat screen. Having watched movies on a laptop at the kitchen table for two months, watching a movie on a 27” television screen while sitting in a good old Lazy Boy recliner is now as exciting as the first time I heard surround sound or sat in a theater with stadium seating.

As Huck Finn might have said, “I feel a might bit civilized.”

Wenonoa's writes about her first days

2009-07-06T17:03:00.000+11:00

Arrival in Pohnpei
June 26, 2009
Guest blog by Wenonoa
As we flew over the expansive Pacific Ocean, I was struck by how many shades of beautiful blue existed in this amazing marine environment. Many of the outer islands that make up the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) are actually atolls which are coral rings that form the top of dead, underwater volcanoes. These rings are surrounded by incredible turquoise, green and blue water and are beautiful from the air.

When we left Honolulu, we stopped in two of the Marshall Islands and in Kosrae (FSM) before landing on Pohnpei. As the plane touched down, I was very excited to arrive in our new home. It reminded me of when I first landed in Honduras so many years ago. As you deplane, the tropical humidity and heat hit you. You walk across the tarmac into a small building with wooden booths where you present your passport and answer questions about why you are there. Then you head out into baggage claim. Baggage claim on Pohnpei is a metal shelf facing the open air. A baggage attendant loads a Nissan or Toyota pickup with baggage, drives across the tarmac and deposits the baggage onto the metal shelf where you retrieve it and then go through customs. The pick-up usually makes a few trips.

When we emerged from customs, two of Eric’s co-workers were there to pick us up and give us a ride home. They were bearing a welcome fruit basket with local watermelon, mangoes, pineapples, and papaya. I can’t imagine a tastier welcome.

Right-sided driving
June 29, 2009
Guest blog by Wenonoa
Eric purchased a vehicle through Japanesevehicles.com. You go to the website, choose a vehicle from a database, wire some money to Japan, and wait for your car to arrive by ship. This takes about 4 weeks. As the cars come from Japan, they are mostly right-sided driving vehicles. Pohnpeians drive on the right side of the road just like we do in America; although, with many potholes and other obstructions, you mostly end up in the middle. America should really adopt right-sided driving as it puts the driver on the outside of the road and would reduce head-on collision fatalities (I am postulating here but it seems to make sense). I took to the right-handed driving right away. We have an automatic transmission so it is a lot less complicated than a standard transmission would be.

Driving on Pohnpei reminds me of the Atari game Pitfall. You start out slowly – about 25 km/hr and as you round each corner you brake to navigate around numerous potholes, dogs lying in the road, and slowly ambling pedestrians who expect you to wait until they decide to move to the side of the road. Then, as you pick up speed, a chicken bursts out from the foliage on the side of the road and you have to slow again or you come to a road trench – as I fondly refer to them. These reverse speed bumps are common on the main road and its arterials. On my first day of driving, I dropped Eric off at his workplace and continued onto the College of Micronesia where I will begin teaching in August. A colleague of mine, Mary, who has been here almost a year, accompanied me to show me the lay of the land.

Bureaucracy
July 1, 2009
Guest blog by Wenonoa
Today I decided to get a driver’s license. I needed one and, as it turned out, I had nothing else going on that day. The process would begin with obtaining a social security number. While not as challenging as going to an actual social security office in the states, it provided some unique challenges. I was given general directions - the social security office is directly in front of the Bank of Guam and there is a thatched roof hut in the area in front of the social security office.

There aren’t really addresses here. Fine, I thought, and set out. After several unsuccessful passes through the 1-mile downtown stretch, I still couldn’t locate the bank. Changing tactics, I began looking for the thatched roof hut. That bit of advice proved to be worth its weight in gold as I quickly spotted it and turned into a hilly driveway leading to a 2-story building. I parked in front of a small Bank of Guam sign that was only visible if parked directly in front of it. Luckily that is where I parked so knew immediately that I was in the right place.

I walked back down the hill toward the main road and the thatched hut. A non-descript cement building with 2 brown doors faced the hut. Upon closer inspection (standing directly in front of the door closest to me) I noticed a sign the size of an address label that said simply, “social security.” I went in. After filling out a postcard-sized, one-sided form, and paying $3.00, I was given a social security card. If only the bureaucracy in the states could be so easy… Now on to the police station.

On one of my lost loops through town, I had inadvertently passed where I knew the police station was based on a prior tour so I was certain where to go next. I parked in the lot and tried to decide behind which of the doors facing me might lie the police station. It was difficult to determine based on the ruin-like appearance of the entire complex. I picked the one directly in front of me and it opened into a small waiting area with a couple of “protect and serve” posters on the wall. I surmised I was in the correct place. This was confirmed as a gentleman in a “Charlie’s Pizza” shirt behind the counter sent for someone when I explained that I was there for a driver’s license. After logging my name and information in what can only be described as a century’s old journal on the counter, he asked for my current driver’s license and filled out a short form.

He handed the form back to me and explained that their driver’s license machine was broken but that parts had been ordered. They would issue me a paper license. First, though, I had to take the application form across town to the state finance department, pay the $6.50 fee and either go to Nicho’s, the local printing company, or the library for a photo. I left with the form to find the finance department. Luckily I knew it was in the vicinity of the Peace Corps office which I had already visited.

Upon arrival near the Peace Corps office, I saw two people standing in a line at a window and walked over to join them. There was a paper taped to the side of the window with a list of fees they accepted – I was actually surprised that I had found the right place. When it was my turn, I handed the lady my form and payment and left with a receipt. I then headed out to find the library which I was told charged less for a photo than Nicho’s and was right across the street from it. Without that knowledge, I would have missed the library altogether. I pulled up in front of a building that has seen much, much better days. I got out and went into the abandoned-looking building through a paint bare door. I waited for awhile as someone was dispatched to find the one woman who could operate the digital camera. After posing for the shot, I was given a passport-sized photo and asked to pay $1.00. Then it was back to the police department.

I was getting parched by this time so I stopped at what they call a drive through convenience store (really a pull in, park, get out, and walk up to) for a coke. When I arrived back at the police station some 40 minutes later, the policeman was surprised to see that I had finished all of my errands. I thanked him for his great directions. I then waited while the secretary typed in my information on an archaic word processor, spit out my new paper license, and taped on my photo. She did this all while carrying on what sounded like a very animated phone conversation as the police office looked over her shoulder the entire time. Multi-tasking has arrived in Pohnpei.

After handing me my license, the nice policeman suggested that I get it laminated or it would quickly deteriorate. Back to Nicho’s I went to pay another $1.50 for the lamination. After a full day of finding government offices, I was then pretty tired so I returned home to take a nap and catch up on some reading.

Reflections on my trip to the U.S.

2009-07-06T10:54:00.000+11:00

Sunday July 5, 2009

I haven’t posted an entry in over a month. As planned, I went back to the states in June and Wenonoa and I rendezvoused in Jersey. Now I’m back in Pohnpei. Having returned over a week ago I’m falling back into familiar patterns, only now Wenonoa is with me!

Having only been gone three months, I wouldn’t say I experienced culture shock upon being back in the states but I definitely had a new appreciation for things we often take for granted. Things were wonderfully clean and choices were abundant. On my first trip to a supermarket I fought the urge to drop to my knees and kiss the holy ground. So many vegetables, so many fruits!

The suburbs, though sparkly clean, felt as empty as a ghost town. With no pedestrians, no dogs lying by the side of the road, and no chickens crossing the road (which they do with a frequency here), the life that pulses slowly through Pohnpei was missing. Though the housing structures were magnificent and the green lawns expansive, the burbs felt empty.

New York, on the other hand, was a whole different experience. New York was beautiful. I hadn’t spent much time in Manhattan since the 80s and the place has cleaned up nicely. The subway graffiti was wiped clean, the streets swept of trash, and even the seediness of Time Square was gone.

As an American, I felt a sense of pride during the time we spent in New York. New Yorkers take a lot of slack for being loud, pushy people but they get things done. The skyscrapers, the architecture, even the subway system that exists as a city beneath the city exemplified the ‘can do’ spirit that made America the land of opportunity. Pohnpei, by contrast, seems to lack drive and ambition and I question whether it will ever achieve any level of economic independence.

Most of all, I enjoyed the New York museums. During multiple trips from Jersey, we visited the Museum of Jewish Heritage, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the American Museum of Natural History, and even a folk art museum. Life in Pohnpei is pleasant but it lacks pure intellectual stimulation. Things are as they are here and there is little reason to give consideration to topics outside the immediate environment. The New York museums were a wonderful change from all that.

Our museum trips provided the opportunity to witness African-American school children consider prejudice from a different perspective as they toured a Holocaust display. At the Met we gazed at Greek sculptures among throngs of New Yorkers taking advantage of free admission on a Tuesday night. At the Museum of Natural History dinosaur skeletons prompted us to contemplate life on a whole different scale. Even the folk art museum provided food for thought. Jazz inspired quilts were on display leading one to consider the ways in which music touches us and inspires our own creativity.

Manhattan is now some 10,000 miles away and I’m on back on Pohnpei. Having been back for ten days now, I’m readjusting to the pace of life and the limitations. You may be wondering how Wenonoa is adapting to life here so I’ve asked her to write a couple of guest blog entries to share her first week here.

My Brand New Used Car

2009-07-06T10:47:00.000+11:00

May 27, 2009

There seems to be some magical force that hangs over the island and makes even the simplest of task long and complicated and both frustrating and amusing at the same time. Today the force was with me….

My brand new used car arrived from Japan yesterday so I went to pick it up at the dock this morning. Simple as that may seem, the morning turned into a bit of a scavenger hunt. Luckily I had been forewarned.

The road from our office, which is 5 miles outside of town, passes through town and then heads toward the shipping port area, which is next to the airport. Micronesians seem to take things very literally, so it makes sense that they placed the airport next to the port.

Heading through town, I stop at an auto repair shop a co-worker had recommended to see about getting the oil changed. Who knows when the last time the oil was changed? I find the place, after first stopping at the tire shop next door by mistake, and ask the guy how much they charge to do an oil change.

“$15,” I’m told. That seems too cheap. The cost of labor is next to nothing here, but the oil and filter are still imported goods. Sometimes 15 and 50 sound alike, especially if the listener struggles with accents.

Not sure I heard correctly, I ask, “one five or five zero?”

“One five, $15 to change oil and filter and lube,” he restates.

Since I’m pretty sure I’ve seen oil being sold for $4 a quart and most cars take 4 quarts, this isn’t making sense to me. I just sort of stand there looking confused, trying to figure out what to do next.

Sensing my confusion, he restates, “one five, $15 to change oil and filter and lube.” Then he adds, “Plus the cost of oil and filter.”

It all makes sense now. Micronesians are literal people. I had asked how much they charge to change the oil. Its $15 to change it, plus the cost of the oil.

That issue resolved, I head off to pick up the car. I’ve never had anything imported before so the process is new to me. I’m not sure what it entails in the U.S., but in the FSM this is the process I went through:

Step 1: Go to the transit company’s office with my bill of lading and they stamp it and have me sign that I received the vehicle, which of course at this point in time I haven’t even seen yet.

Step 2- Go to the state finance office where I’m asked whether it’s for business or personnel use. It’s for personnel use so they stamp the bill of lading, no fee.

Step 3 – Go the Custom’s Office. I was told that Customs is in the three story building across from a certain store. I come to a three story building and park. There is no sign out front. I open the door on the first floor and enter a Dept. of Health building. There is no one there so I walk up to the 2nd floor. I open the door and enter another health related office. There is no one there so I walk up the stairs to the third story and enter yet another health related office. There is no one there so I walk down the three flights of stairs and go to the adjacent building, a little one story building.

I ask where the Customs Office is and learn that there is another three story building on the other side of the one story building. Both are across from the store and I had just gone to the first one I saw. The 2nd three story building is set pretty far back from the street so I had never noticed it before. The sign on the door says “National Office of Tax and Revenue”. Close enough. As I walk in, I see there are customer service windows on the right side and on the left. None are marked. I go to the right and am directed to go to the left. I go to the window with the bill of lading and am told I need the invoice. I was expecting this sort of thing so every piece of paper I have related to the car I have brought with me. I retrieve the invoice from the car, return to the window, and pay the import tax (4% of the total cost of bringing the vehicle into the country, including the shipping cost, in case you’re interested).

Step 4 – I’m told to go to the Port Authority. No problem. There is a guard house and gate where the fishing boats dock. The big sign in front says Port Authority. I’ve noticed it before so I know exactly where to go.

I pick up a co-worker who is working on a project in town so that he can drive the office vehicle back to town after I get my car. We head to the port authority guard house and the guard tells me I’m at the wrong place. I need to go to the two-story building next to the airport, which is just up the road a ¼ mile or so. I go to the two-story building (which doesn’t have a sign), pay $11.72 (a formula based on size and weight), and get stamp #4.

Step 5. It’s off to the loading zone, which is only a 100 yards down the road. A friendly guy in the warehouse directs us to the office, which was partially hidden by a shipping container. I pay $30 to the company that offloads freight, get stamp #5, and go back to the friendly warehouse guy. He counts the five stamps, some paperwork is completed, and the car is mine.

The gas gage is on empty and the oil, which I checked, seems dangerously low but town is only around 2 miles away. Fortunately, I have $20 left in my pocket so I can buy 5 gallons of gas. I gas up and drive over to the mechanic’s shop.

No one is working in the shop and the office door is locked. My watch says 11:38. The hours posted on the office door say, “8:00 to 11:30. 12:30 – 5:30.”

No problem. This is actually good. The car only came with one key and I wanted to get duplicates made as soon as possible. I can leave my car at the shop, walk the mile back to where my office car was left, drive the two miles to the hardware store, get the duplicate key made, and return to the shop to let them know which car is mine and to reaffirm the oil change appointment.

I used my last $20 for gas but the bank is between the repair shop and the location of the office car. Perfect, I can get money to buy the duplicate keys, pay the mechanic, and get lunch. Besides, I needed to stop by the bank and see if my checks had arrived yet for the checking account I had opened in March.

My checks weren’t there. I had called in April and they hadn’t arrived. I had called earlier in May and found out that not only had they not arrived, they hadn’t been ordered. They still hadn’t arrived but the nice new accounts rep pulled out her log book and saw that she personally had ordered them after my last phone call. Since, during our previous phone call she had taken the time to investigate why they hadn’t arrived and, in doing so, had found out that they hadn’t arrived because they hadn’t been ordered, I like her.

I’m reassured that they should arrive within a week and that if I need to, they can manually print me some checks. Since I’m out of starter checks and going to the bank requires using up my lunch hour to make the 10 mile round trip from the office, I decide to do the prudent thing. I ask her to print me a few checks. I then learn they are 25 cents a piece. Man of principal that I am, I’m not going to pay 25 cents a check when the reason I need the printed checks is because the bank failed to place the check order.

Though I am a man of principal, I wasn’t a man of either the extra time or the patience it would take to explain how ludicrous it would be for them to charge me the 25 cent fee. Instead, “I’m not paying the fee,” I informed her with no uncertainty in my voice. I add, a little more nicely, “I’ll hold off on the checks for now.”

I still need the cash I originally stopped in to get, so I ask, “Would you please write my account number on a withdrawal slip so that I can withdraw some cash,” I ask. (They don’t have an ATM machine.)

“You can’t use a withdrawal slip for a checking account. You need a check,” she informed me. I could have very easily gotten upset. In fact, some of you (you know who you are) are probably quite surprised that I didn’t explode. I could have easily exploded. The one thing that kept me from getting upset was the fact that she provided me with this information in the most matter-of-fact voice possible.

Her tone intrigued me. We had just had a whole conversation about how the checks were not originally ordered and how the first time I called the customer rep failed to notice that the checks hadn’t been ordered and how I had to call back a second time. After all that, with no hesitation in her voice, no acknowledgement of the irony of the situation, no apology, she simply stated “You can’t use a withdrawal slip for a checking account. You need a check.”

I asked her to print a check. Still amused by the absurdity of the whole situation, I decided to give her the lonely quarter sitting in my pocket rather than make her fill out whatever paperwork the bank would require to reconcile the non-collected fee of 25 cents. About 25 seconds later she came back, having gone to the back to type my name and account number on a blank check. She was very thankful when I gave her the quarter, adding that she was just going to pay it herself.

Cash in my pocket I left the bank to complete my walk to the office car. It started to rain. Hard. My co-worker from earlier this morning had just driven past in his car going in the opposite direction. Nice guy that he is, he turned around and gave me a ride to where the office car was.

To the hardware store. Getting a duplicate key made is usually a pretty simple process. Duplicate keys are made from specific master keys. There are different master keys for different car makes and lock models. The hardware store had between 25 and 50 master keys. They were out of the one I needed. No problem, there is a second hardware store in town. The second hardware store was also out of the master I needed. (Note: I later found a second key in the glove compartment).

It was now 12:30 so I went back to the shop. After explaining and re-explaining and just plain begging the mechanic not to lose the only key to the car I had, I surrendered the key to the mechanic.

That was my morning. The mechanic did not lose the key and I was able to pick up the car after work.

Postscript: Tomorrow I will need to get a license plate for the car. This is a much shorter process that involves only a trip to the police station where they verify ownership papers, do a vehicle safety check (horn, lights, blinkers, etc), and give you a form to take to the state finance office a ½ mile away. After paying the license plate fee at Finance, a person just needs to return to the police office, show proof of payment, and pick up the plates.

Sounds simple, right? Across the street from the police station there is an empty lot. Next to the empty lot there is a small hotel and conference center. An American guy I know had to go to a conference at the center so he parked his car in the empty lot, as people often do. When he came out his car and all the other cars belonging to non-locals that were parked in the empty lot had parking tickets.

Since there was no “No Parking Sign” he walked across the street to find out why they were ticketed. He was told that the lot belongs to the Police Dept., that no parking is allowed there, and that the Police Dept. is saving up to buy a No Parking Sign. The ticket was later dismissed.

I can’t wait until tomorrow. (Postscript: The registeration process was completed in a quick, efficient manner).

Back on the Island

2009-06-30T08:16:00.000+11:00

Hello. I'm back on the island after a three week trip to New Jersey. Leaving and returning gave me a fresh new perspective both on life in the U.S. and life in the F.S.M. I look forward to sharing my observations and reflections and will try to get them posted shortly.

Another 5K

2009-05-27T16:06:00.000+11:00

Saturday May 23rd

I ran another 5K today. I cracked the top 10, finishing in 8th place (22:23). Prizes were given to the top ten finishers and so I got to take the walk of glory up to the podium. In this case, the walk was the three steps from the parking lot to the entrance way of the sponsoring grocery store, but that made it no less glorious. My prize was a $25 gift certificate to MedPharm Clinic & Pharmacy. Thank you , Palm Terrace Grocery Store and all the other sponsors for your support of physical fitness on the island.

Last month, the race was sponsored by the local college so instead of prizes to the top ten finishers, prizes went to the top 10 college finishers. I’m not sure what place I finished in last month; I think 11th or 12th. Though I like to bask in glory when I feel it’s deserved, I don’t like to take credit when it’s not earned. I’m pretty sure a few of the students who beat me last month weren’t there this month. Their absence may have been the reason I cracked the top ten.

Ironically, on an island where most people are poor and unhealthy, the Medpharm gift certificates were awarded to some of the healthiest (if running ability is any indicator) people on the island. I heard a few people joking that they should have been awarded to the last ten finishers instead.

The choice of awards for the top male/female finishers in each age category is either equally as puzzling or a sad reminder of the link between poverty and unhealthy food choices. The top finishers in the adult age brackets were awarded with 20 pound bags of white rice and the juvenile winners with a case of ramen noodles. I’m not sure if the kids got ramen because it’s a lot lighter and easier to carry than 20 pounds of rice. Rice and ramen are about the cheapest foods a person can buy and are two of the dietary staples here. Unfortunately, white rice turns to sugar during the digestive process and is probably a reason why almost everyone here has diabetes. Ramen has an incredible amount of sodium (I think between 600 and 1200 milligrams depending on the brand and type).

On a positive note, while only the fastest of the fast get the rice and ramen, local bananas were available to everyone and the local ‘local foods’ organization given the microphone and few minutes to remind the crowd of the health benefits of local produce.

Note: For those of you who hang on my every word, have really good memories, and are into running - you might recall that last month I ran a 24:12. The weather gods were kind today. It was a cool, overcast day. Last month was hot, humid, and sunny. The course this month was also different. Last month featured two short but steep hills. This month, the first mile was a long but gentle hill that helped beat back the flip flop brigade and keep my pace in check.

A week in review

2009-05-18T13:41:00.000+11:00

Sunday May 17

On a slow Sunday back in Oregon, I would often tune the radio dial to NPR and listen to the news from Lake Wobegon on a Prairie Home Companion. Today, instead, I’ll write the news from island Pohnpei….

Another week has passed on the island of Pohnpei. Though things remain much as they are, there is a sense of change in the air… and of stillness. The trade winds have gone to do their trading elsewhere, having begun to die down towards the end of April. As a result, the air is more still and humidity hangs about. The clouds gather and with no wind to push them past the island, more rain begins to fall.

The change in weather marks the beginning of the end of the school year. For the 8 volunteer teachers here through the WorldTeach program, their time on Pohnpei draws to end. They will be gone in June. In August, fresh new faces will appear.

For many of the ex-pat instructors at the College of Micronesia (COM), summer is a time to return home for a few months. Like migratory birds, they fly off to the land beyond the waters. The yoga instructor is one of those teachers.

As the saying goes, ‘When one door closes, another one opens.’ With no Monday night yoga class I have joined the soccer crowd that gathers almost nightly to play pickup soccer. Saturday afternoon, after a full and active week that included pickup soccer games on Monday and Tuesday nights, exercise class on Wednesday, a good track workout Friday, and a trip to the gym Saturday morning, my aging body said, “enough, its time for a break.”

Late Saturday afternoon, while engaging in the simple act of throwing around a football with the neighborhood kids, I pulled a muscle in my leg. Perhaps there really is a valid reason why mothers tell us not to play in the rain?

With hopes of a quick recovery in time for next Saturday’s 5K, the last of the season, I passed on today’s hike. Instead, today will be a day of rest, recovery, and reflection.

The week had its fill of excitement for your’s truly. Heavy rains on Thursday caused the cancellation of the weekly ultimate Frisbee game so instead I decided to go grocery shopping. As a child, I remember trips to the ‘grocery store’ but somewhere in the passage of time grocery stores were replaced by supermarkets as the aisles got longer, the sides of the stores expanded, the choices multiplied.

Supermarkets, as you know them, don’t exist in Pohnpei. The term grocery store more aptly describes the venues located along main street Kolonia. Both they types and choices of goods are limited. Each store here carries nearly the same basic supplies as the others, but there are just enough variations in selection that a trip from the west end of the main street to the east end is usually needed. For example, the Blue Nile, the westernmost store, is the only store that carries a generic bran flake cereal modestly priced at $1.85 as compared to all other brands which are in the $5 - $7 range.
If you want bread to go along with your morning cereal, you would need to continue east to Palm Terrace, the only store with its own bakery. Palm Terrace also has some dried beans but you need to go to Yoshi’s for lentils.

One day, I felt like baking bread and so I set off on a shopping trip that felt more like a scavenger hunt. My quest for yeast took me to the Blue Nile, Palm Terrace, Wall Mart (named for its proximately to the Spanish Wall), before I found some at Yoshi’s the next to last stop along the road.

My Thursday night shopping trip brought with it a thrill that reminds me of how we can cherish the simple pleasures of life. As I rounded the aisle at Palm Terrace, my eyes swept past the usual selection of potatoes, onions, and garlic and came to rest upon vaguely familiar small reddish circular shaped objects. Tomatoes.

I hadn’t heard that the ship had come in. I’m still not quite dialed in to the coconut wireless communication network so pieces of important information can bypass me - like hearing that the ship came in. Every two weeks are so, a cargo ship arrives and the grocery stores are re-stocked. Usually a limited supply of produce has survived the long voyage, ripening (somewhat) along the way.

Life is often a lesson in learning to be appreciative, of learning to see the glass as half full rather than half empty. I often struggle with this but looking at the small reddish (but still somewhat greenish) tomatoes I felt appreciation. Appreciation and saliva as my mouth began to water at the thought of tomatoes.

These tomatoes lack the heady aroma of vine grown tomatoes fresh from the backyard garden. Having not fully ripened, they are not fully flavorful. Yet, the glass is half full and these tomatoes can add a little something to the typical dinner.

I went to bed Thursday night looking forward to Friday night, the excitement of which would involve cutting these tomatoes into small pieces and adding them to a jar of Pregu spaghetti source. There is no Little Italy section of downtown Kolonia, no Italian Bistros on main street, no mediteranean influence on the local cuisine. Pregu spaghetti sauce spruced up with semi-ripe tomatoes, and maybe some pepper and garlic, spread over macaroni satisfies the occasional craving for an Italian dinner.

I didn’t expect anything more exciting than the appearance of tomatoes in the grocery store to happen for the rest of the week. However, early Friday afternoon, as I looked forward to my tomatoes and the rest of the weekend, I was notified that we (my boss, the chief of our investigative unit, and I) were being beckoned to the President’s Office. Having shaved that very morning, I felt well prepared to make my first trip across the street to the Presidential Office.

Our office was seeking an amendment to an existing law and so had requested that the President submit the proposal to Congress. The paperwork must travel from our office to the Attorney General to the President and we had been forewarned that the A.G. would recommend that the President speak to us if we wanted more information. Hence, I had dutifully shaved each day that week even though it didn’t seem that the paperwork was traveling any faster than the many local drivers who dutifully obey the island’s 25 mph speed limit.

Protocal being protocol even in the small country of the FSM, Haser (my boss) informed Sophia and me that we should let him do the talking. For those of you who know me, I am quite generous when it comes to sharing my opinion. For me to sit quietly through a meeting would be quite unnatural. I mentioned as much to Haser so that he would at least be prepared when I interrupted, as surely I would.

During the course of the meeting I added my two-cents to the discussion and then maybe another dime’s worth. In a world where lobbying is both sport and mercenary activity, I must say it was very satisfying to look a President straight in the eye and speak earnestly from heart, with voice full of conviction and belief that the proposal is in the country’s best interest.

The meeting went well and our bill has been forwarded to Congress.

That’s the news from Pohnpei.

Some pictures from a recent hike

2009-05-12T08:52:00.000+11:00

The pictures are from a recent hike up a mountain. Micronesians are very sure-footed people and rather than use switchbacks to make their way uphill, the path just went straight up the side.

All land here is private land so in order to hike, we must first acquire the services of a guide and then pay an additional couple of dollars to the landowner.

My first interntational road race

2009-05-08T08:36:00.000+11:00

When I first saw the banner proclaiming that a 5K fun run/walk was scheduled for an upcoming Saturday morning I was quite intrigued. A few locals walk at the track but I had never seen a Micronesian out for a morning or evening jog. As a general rule, the Micronesian body type isn’t built for running. To refer to them as stocky would be kind.

The parking lot was already full and people milled about when I arrived for the 7:00 AM race. Perhaps there were 150 people, its hard to say – my perspective on what constitutes a crowd has undoubtedly been altered during the time I’ve been on island.

Many people take the term ‘fun run/walk’ literally. Others use the event as an opportunity to forget that years or even decades have passed since a high school coach barked encouragement from the side of a track. I fall into the latter category. I always expect the simple process of lining up at the starting line to take inches off my waist and put hair back on my head. It doesn’t.

As I looked right and left I saw a mixed crowd that included the very young and the very old. The race was sponsored by the local college so a smattering of youthfulness was mixed in. Just like what often happens in races in the U.S., pint-sized participants clogged the starting line. They are a road hazard worse than potholes and cause one to run gingerly for the first few hundred yards until the crowd thins out and the risk of tripping over one of them decreases.

At the quarter mile mark a few of these munchkins were still running surprisingly strong. Generally, this can be a little demoralizing to the over-the-hill jock like myself. To make matters worse, the sound of these kids running is the all too familiar thumbing sound of flip-flops smacking the pavement. Yes, some of these kids run in flip flops (or zorries as they are called locally).

Zorries are the national shoe of Micronesia. They are worn everywhere. I wear them to work. Old ladies in dresses wear them to church on Sunday. I even once saw a kid wearing them while snorkeling. If Micronesia ever sends a man to the moon, that astronaut will be wearing zorries. A magical substance keeps the zorries firmly attached to the bottom of a Micronesian foot and, as a result, they can perform any task without having the zorrie slip off the foot.

Five or so minutes into the race the zorrie parade finally started to recede which lifted my spirits considerably. For the next two miles I only had to contend with the gravitational forces of the equator. I have found that gravity is stronger near the equator and therefore it takes considerably more energy to lift a foot and push it forward. Gravity plus the heat and humidity, which was probally in the 80 to 90 percent range, presented their challenges but I plodded my way towards the finish line finishing in a time of 24:12 which I think placed me about 15th among all competitors.

Only the first place finisher in each age category was recognized and I was competing in the large and tough 18 to 49 age bracket. My bracket was won by an American who just three seasons ago was still running on his college cross country team.

Some prizes were raffled away after the race and each prize was really two prizes. For example, someone won a cell phone and a 20 pound bag of rice. The grand prize winner won a television and a 20 pound bag of rice. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, rice is a staple of the Micronesian diet.

Geckos

2009-05-05T13:10:00.000+11:00

This little guy didn’t react when I slipped a ruler up the side of the door and then snapped a picture of him lazing on top of the door. I had been wondering if the geckoes were as big as they seem from a distance and now I know. This little guy was a medium size one, definately not the longest or fattest I've seen.

Saturday May 2nd.

The other day while writing about my life in general, I mentioned both geckos and chuckles. In case you didn’t read it, I mentioned how several geckos occupy my house and how, unrelated to the geckos, every week some funny little incident will happen that will keep me chuckling for a few days straight. Friday the geckos were responsible for my weekly chuckle.

Wondering if the temperature was cooling down outside, I swung open the balcony door, peeked my head out, and then shut it. As the door swung closed, a brown blur passed by the corner of my eye and I felt something soft bump into my shoulder. Instinctively, I jumped back and looked down just in time to see a gecko run to the wall and then up into the window frame.

As far as I could recall, it was the first time I’ve ever had a lizard fall on me. They’re pretty surefooted but the quick movement of the door must have knocked it off. The gap between the top of the door and the door frame ranges from ½ to ¾ inches – just the right size for a lizard to hide.

Saturday I got on a chair and peeked up into the gap and was surprised to see that a differnt gecko had occupied the spot on top of the door.

2 months on the island

2009-04-30T08:03:00.000+11:00

Camera shy Fat Charlie hurries back to his hiding spot

April 29, 2009

It’s Wednesday night and I’ve just hobbled in from exercise class. The instructor is an ex-marine and an ex-gymnast. To say the class is tough doesn’t do it justice. A Jacuzzi would be nice now but instead, a glass of scotch will have to do. Johnny Walker may not be a licensed masseuse but tonight he has the job of soothing my aching muscles.

Two months have come and gone since I first walked off the runway. Things have settled into a routine. Work fills the weekdays. After work on Mondays I go to yoga class which is taught by one of the ex-pat college instructors from 5:30 to 6:30. On Wednesday, its exercise class. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I usually head to the track and run.

After the class or the track, I head home for a shower and dinner. Given that roaches thrive in tropical climates, a thorough post-dinner kitchen cleaning is in order to ensure I haven’t left any inviting crumbs on the counter, floor, or table. By the time the kichen is cleand, only a couple of hours remain before bedtime and they are usually spent reading or writing.

All and all it’s pretty pleasant. I don’t have a phone yet but even if I did, I’m sure no telemarketers would be using it to pester me. I don’t have internet connection at the house. It keeps me from checking this or that fact and uploading my blog entries but on a positive note, in the past I would waste away hours tracking down meaningless trivia just because I could. Like everything else, having a TV can be both good and bad. I did learn a lot when watching PBS at home but I also spent hours getting getting caught up in the make believe lives of fictional people.

The weekends have their own routine. Saturday mornings Edwin and I go to what passes for the local gym. Afterwards I go to the office and use the internet connection to skype Wenonoa. Saturday afternoons and evenings seem to drift by like the clouds in the sky. Sunday afternoon I meet up with the ex-pat hiking club and we go on an excursion to here or there.

In this way the two months have flown by. I am excited that on Friday I’ll change the calendar page and be able to tick off the days of May. On June 1st I’ll leave the island temporarily and be relocated with Wenonoa. I’ve always admonished others for wishing their lives away whenever they express a desire for Friday to come but I would gladly give up the month of May and fast forward to June if I could.

I could not imagine enduring this two month separation without the constant contact that e-mail and skype provide. Of all the technological advances I’ve lived through, the ability to communicate in real time with no real expense amazes me the most. In 1984-5 I lived abroad. Back then e-mail didn’t exist and a call to the U.S. was over a $1 a minute. Even if cost were no issue, those were the pre-fiber optic days and a call was a frustrating exercise of trying to understand each other when you could only hear half of every word and there was a pause between each syllable.

Wenonoa and I e-mail daily and skype when the bandwith here allows us to. Still, the on-screen camera is a poor substitute for being in another’s presence. Though I am grateful for skype, at times it can make my heart ache. On screen I see Wenonoa sitting on our office chair. She is so close and in a place so familiar that I feel as though I can reach out and stroke her cheek – and I do. I put my finger on the screen to touch her but of course the element of human contact is missing.

My own personal experience of seeing my wife on screen but not being able to touch her leads me to ponder the more global issues of a world in which much of our human interaction now takes place in cyberspace. I spend time pondering this and other issues. The distractions of the internet, television, telemarketers and the such occupy no place in my little world (I should note that internet and cable TV are available on the island – I just don’t have them). When I don’t feel like reading or writing, I’ll spend my couple of post-dinner hours just pondering.

As the weeks flow by, this and that keep me amused and smiling. Little things happen that keep me chuckling to myself, sometimes for days on end. Last week it was the surprise visit of a stealth kitty.

The day was particularly hot so I had opened the front and kitchen doors while I was cooking some tuna. Screen doors have been ordered but haven’t arrived yet and usually the doors stay closed lest some roach, rat, or other unwanted visitor mistake the open door for an open invitation. Like a spectator at a tennis match, my head rotated back and forth as I tried to keep an eye on the doors as I cooked.

I had closed the doors and was sitting at the table enjoying my tuna when a small cat jumped onto one of the kitchen chairs. Not having a pet, I was not expecting to see a ball of fur fly through the air so imagine my surprise. As forcibly as the cat jumped onto its chair, I jumped off of mine. It seems logical to me that I was surprised but why the cat seemed surprised by my reaction beats me. When I jumped out of my chair, it jumped off its and headed down the hallway like a thoroughbred coming out of the gate.

With the doors now closed it took a while to get the cat out of the house. When I followed the cat into the bedroom it ran back to the kitchen before I could open the door leading to the balcony. When I followed the cat to the kitchen, it ran back to the bedroom before I could open the kitchen door. I was a little hesitant to leave the kitchen door open while the cat and I retreated to the back of the house(who knew what else might wander in, especially as my tuna and dirty pan were still out) but eventually I relented to in order to save the window screens from the cat’s claws.

The cat was a temporary visitor. The geckoes live here. They startle me every now and again but I’m getting use to them. After repetitive contact with a few of them I decided the only polite thing to do was to name them so that I can greet them formally when we run into each other.

Fat Charlie lives in the kitchen above the cabinets. He (or she) is impressive in both length and girth. Coach Potatoe Paul lives underneath the couch in the living room. He (or she) is just a twig of a thing. The couch is a little too dirty looking even for my taste so Paul will have to relocate when I have the landlord remove the couch. Bathroom Betty is the anti-Cinderella. Rather than spending time staring at the bathroom mirror, she (or he) spends her time behind it. Every time I swung the medicine cabinet door open, Betty and I would be face to face (face to whole body, actually). I’ve since learned to keep the cabinet door open and I’m not sure where Betty’s new home is.

So last week a cat gave me my laugh of the week, a couple weeks before that it was a young dog. I had stopped by someone’s house and, prior to entering, took off my zorries (flip flops to you Americans) as is the local custom. When I left a short time later only one zorrie was still there. Two friendly dogs had greeted me upon arrival and the younger of the two was immediately identified as the likely culprit. Since the dogs generally considered a three-house radius to be their home territory and since it was a dark and rainy night I had to consider the zorrie lost and hop to my car. It was a cute dog so I didn't take the loss of my zorrie personally.

My chuckle for the week hasn’t happened yet, but its still just Wednesday.

A century and a half of foreign occupation

2009-04-29T13:47:00.001+11:00

The Spanish Wall was erected in 1887, during the time when Spain claimed ownership of the island. Back then it was a wall to protect the town from invaders. Today it is the right field wall of Kolonia’s main ball field.

Pohnpei (and much of Micronesia’s) history is a story of foreign rule. The Spanish claimed the island of Pohnpei in the 1850s and sold it to the Germans in 1899. The Germans ruled until 1914 when the Japanese forcefully took the island. When Japan lost WWII, it lost Micronesia.

Neither the Germans nor the Japanese would be categorized as kind rulers. Forced labor was a way of life under both and I’ve heard that starvation was common during the Japanese rule.

At the end of World War II, the area was put under the control of the U.N. which passed it along to the U.S. Under U.S. rule, the area was treated as a trust territory. The islands of Kosrae, Pohnpei, Chuuk, and Yap formed a country, the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), and a compact of free association was signed with the U.S. in 1982.

True independence still has not been gained. Though a country in name, with its own passports and membership in the U.N., the FSM is as dependent on the U.S. as a baby is upon its mother for food. Roughly 70% of the government’s budget comes from U.S. aid.

The history of Micronesia has given me reason to contemplate how history shapes us. Micronesia’s history of foreign occupation and domination explains a lot about the Micronesian personality. As a people, they seem very accepting of whatever life throws at them – their typical reaction lies somewhere between complacency and apathy.

I’m told the government workers haven’t gotten a raise since the 1990s. In France they would have gone on strike. Here they just shrug their shoulders and go about their business.

In Chuuk the main road is in such a state of disrepair that it is hard to believe it has never been bombed. The electricity goes out nightly. In most democratic countries, protests would have turned violent and the leaders forced to resign. The Chuukese just shrug their shoulders, laugh, and go about their business.

Micronesia’s history is a different from the U.S’s as night is different from day.
When I close my eyes and think of American history as it was taught to me as a child, I see the story of a people blessed with righteous self-determination, moral superiority, and action.

As a young schoolboy, I pledged allegiance each school morning and spent at least an hour a day studying this history. The books taught us a lot. We learned more than just the names of generals and the dates of battles. In a sense, the history taught us how to approach life.

We were taught that ‘taxation without representation is tyranny’ and the proper thing to do is revolt. In 1812 we whipped the British again when they dared to cross the Atlantic. As a Yankee boy, I learned, with pride, of the sacrifice made by Northern soldiers to free the slaves and of their success in doing so (Textile taxes and states’ rights may have gotten a brief mention but those issues certainly couldn’t capture the imagination of a grade school boy – at least not in the North.).

Turn the page, skip to the next century, and Americans are crossing the ocean to bring peace to a continent at war. Turn the page and a picture of American soldiers being cheered as they entered Paris stares back at you. We entered World War II to make the world safe for democracy and we defeated our enemies. America’s battle for freedom is never over and so my grade school days ended with America in a cold war, holding off an evil empire that would happily nuke us all to hell if we gave them the chance.

I’ve been thinking about my American history and how it has influenced the way I look at life. From the Pilgrims to the Pioneers, from the wagon trains to the world wars, I was brought up to view life is a series of challenges and obstacles that must be faced and overcome - one at a time with conviction and action.

American history has molded me and is so ingrained in me that I often fail to consider that my approach to life may be a learned behavior and not a natural instinct common to all people. As a result, at times I struggle with the patient, accepting attitude of the Micronesians.

When my dear Wenonoa reads this, she will likely think of Pedagogy of the Oppressed. It is a book that influenced and impressed her. She wanted me to read but it never made the journey from the bookshelf to my hand. As is often the case, I should have listened to her. Though I understand on a basic level how a country’s history shapes the worldview of its people, perhaps on a deeper level I would understand Micronesia.

Though at times I am critical of the Micronesians tendency to accept everything from their diabetes to the country’s dependence on the U.S., there are also many positive things to say about their cultural tendencies. These, however, are the ponderings for another night.

Local Foods

2009-04-20T08:07:00.000+11:00

April 19, 2009

A yellow fin tuna caught yesterday by one of the local fishing boats, some local spinach, and some imported margarine and garlic, and I sit here feeling blissfully content. Estoy satisfecho!

The meal is satisfying for two reasons. Prepared and eaten after a strenuous afternoon hike, the meal satisfies a basic hunger. And, if I say so myself, was quite tasty.

Secondly, the local source of the food satisfies my environmental conscious. Having settled into the job, the house, the ex-pat community, it is now time to turn my focus towards my diet.

In Oregon, Wenonoa and I had adhered to the ‘eat local’ philosophy as much as we could which, in Oregon, was not that hard to do.

Food on Pohnpei can be broken into two categories: local and imported from America and Japan. The majority of food falls into the import category. Rice, chicken, ramen noodles, and sugary snacks seem to be make up the four basic food groups for most Micronesians I see. Spam and eggs, which I thought only existed in the minds of the Monty Python troupe, is an item I routinely see on the breakfast menu. Not surprisingly, and not unlike America, diabetes seems to be of epidemic proportion on the island. High blood pressure and heart disease, I’m sure, are also prevalent.

There is also an economic and environmental irony to the importation of many foods. Bizarre as it is, the grocery aisle is stocked with imported items like canned tuna and canned coconut milk. Even imported bottled water – and remember Pohnpei gets between 200 inches and 400 inches of rain a year – is sold throughout the island.

A Go Local campaign is underway to teach people of the nutritional value of many indigenous foods and I do see diabetes awareness posters at several locations. I have started my own campaign to find and learn how to prepare more of the local foods.

I was excited to stumble across the fact that there is a local egg producer on the island. While buying eggs (which cost about $4 a dozen) at the grocery store, I noticed that someone had taken a magic marker and wrote “local” on many of the California egg cartons. On my next shopping trip, the store was out of local eggs but the produce/fish market across the street had. When I asked, I found out they sell the local eggs. So now I know where to go to get local eggs.

On a quiet Easter morning, the produce cashier looked bored so I took advantage of the situation and learned a few things about their selection. The bark I have seen sold there can be put in boiling water to make tea. I’m sipping some now and the taste seems to fall somewhere between cinnamon and chai.

Coconuts are another local product. I found that they aren’t as tough as they look and my all purpose kitchen knife easily cuts into it. A chilled coconut can, with just a knife and straw, be turned into a cool, refreshing beverage.

Bananas come in several varieties. I’ve had several delicious coconut/banana dishes and I’m ready to start experimenting on my own.

2009-04-14T08:03:00.000+11:00

The picture above is of the studio apartment I stayed in my first month on the island. In many ways it left a lot to be desired (such as the garbage system which was based on having tenants leave bags of garbage in the hallway and in the entrance way for the cleaning lady to pick up on the days she showed up) but in other ways it was o.k.

As a studio, it had a certain coziness and simplicity about it. I wouldn’t have wanted to entertain guests there but for a solo occupant, it compactness allowed for a certain efficiency. Had the air conditioner been of this decade or last (when did White Westinghouse go out of business?), one could have kept the place cool at a minimal cost. Certainly, it didn’t require much time or energy to clean.

I’m sure over time it would have begun to feel a bit confined but for my first month on the island, the small scale helped keep everything manageable. The studio had a small balcony and that is where I spent most of my time. The balcony provided both an escape from the heat and entertainment.

The apartment, like the house I’m now and like most buildings here, is built from concrete. One downside to building with concrete is that it soaks up the heat from the sun during the day and then slowly releases it during the evening. Passive radiant heating is, I believe, the term used in the green building industry. It’s a great concept for locations that enjoy a cold but sunny winter but its not so good for the tropics.

Why do they build that way here, then? The answer is simple – termites. But I digress –

As I was saying, in addition to an escape from the early evening heat, the balcony replaced the television set and provided me with my nightly entertainment.

Across the street was a big yard upon which sat an unoccupied building. The yard served as the local café for some neighborhood chickens that would appear regularly both for the morning special and the early bird dinner. The mother and her chicks would make their way hurriedly around the yard pecking away at whatever bugs they found, hurrying because soon a rooster would show up and bully them into leaving so that he could feast on the remaining bugs. The pickins must have been good because the chickens would all repeat the scene at dinnertime.

After the chickens would leave, a pair of puppies would show up for a twilight romp. It is always enjoyable to watch puppies play. The innocence and the energy. A simple coconut husk would often serve as a toy. Sometimes the game would be tug-a-war and other nights a game of catch-me-if-you-can.

Watching the battle for the bugs and the coconut husk Olympics provided me with a local version of reality TV.

2009-04-09T17:16:00.000+11:00

Wed April 8, 2009

“In this great future, you can’t forget your past.”
Bob Marley – No Women No Cry

Chag Pesach. Happy Passover. I say it with forced bravado as, truthfully, my Passover holiday lacks a certain festive liveliness.

I may be the only Jew on Pohnpei. I suspect that there must be one or two more but my attempts to locate them have been unsuccessful. New to the island and just starting to get to know the ex-pat community, it felt strange to make inquiries of a religious nature but I last week I started to.

“Hey, ummm, I’m Jewish and the Passover holiday begins next week. It would be nice to find some other Jews to celebrate it with. Do you happen to know of anyone else here who might be Jewish?” I found myself asking a Peace Corp worker.

“None that I know of but I’ll ask around,” she replied, “I know there is a lawyer here named Ira, he might be.” The benefit of growing up in New York, she knew the telltale signs. It turns out Ira wasn’t and her other inquiries revealed no hidden members of the tribe.

“Listen this is going to sound like an odd thing to ask but since your name is Jonathon and you’re from New York, I was wondering if you happened to be Jewish. See the Passover holiday is beginning and….” I asked a guy I met at the bar Saturday night. He wasn’t. I suspected as much when I found out he was from Albany but it was worth a shot.

So, the single bulb burns diligently (yes, I really should buy more but I can’t bring myself to buy CFL bulbs at $5 a piece and I’m less inclined to buy standard bulbs) providing a minimum amount of light. The ceiling fan throbs and squeaks dutifully. The house is empty and I sit here by myself typing away at the kitchen table.

Still though, I find no reason to permit my self-imposed exile on Pohnpei to hinder me from observing the holiday. The primary symbolic element of the holiday is matzah and the essence of the holiday is the concept of liberation/freedom. So tonight I’ll recognize the holiday in a different way.

With Bob Marley ‘singing songs of freedom’ in the background, I’ll bake my own matzah and spend the night contemplating the essence of freedom.

Won’t you help to sing, these songs of freedom
Cause all I ever have, redemption songs, redemption songs, redemption songs

Emancipate you selves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds

Won’t you help to sing, these songs of freedom
Cause all I ever had, redemption songs
All I ever had, redemption songs
These songs of freedom, songs of freedom
Bob Marley – Redemption Song

Pohnpei Cultural Day

2009-04-08T08:14:00.000+11:00

Tuesday March 31

Today was Pohnpei Cultural Day. The day was marked by a celebration downtown. Dancing places an important role in the cultural heritage. I enjoyed watching the dancers though the meaning behind each dance was lost to me. There was one dance where the dancers pantomimed a canoe trip and another that suggested a story dealing with gardening.

Its been four weeks

2009-03-28T12:25:00.000+11:00

Saturday March 28, 2009

Yesterday I completed my 4th full week of work. Time flies. In some ways I feel like I’ve been here longer but in other ways I still enjoy the surprises and discoveries that come with being new. Today I learned that they do sell limes (which they call local lemons) at the produce market. I never new this because they are kept out of sight behind the counter. Now I know that if I want locals lemons I just need to ask.

If you asked me how much the produce is, I couldn’t tell you. I could only say, inexpensive. Prices aren’t marked. One brings the produce to the checkout counter and the counter person puts it on a scale, punches some numbers into a calculator, records it in a ledger, and then repeats the process with the next item. I could ask, but I don’t. Today I bought a big bunch of small bananas and 3 Japanese eggplants for $1.65.

At the time I was hired as audit manager, a second American was hired as a supervisor. He and his wife arrived this week so I am no longer officially the newbie. In fact, I felt like an old timer as I found myself in the role of sharer of knowledge and giver of advice.

It was hard to decide what information to share. The scale that balances the joys of discovery with frustration and anxiety can be a tricky one. While I didn’t want to take too much of the fun of being new away from them, I also wanted to reduce the amount of stress they’ll experience as they adjust.

Each week I feel as though I learn a little more about life on the island. This week I learned that there is a ex-pat yoga class on Mondays at the local college. It felt great to be back on the yoga mat. Its amazing how much flexibility can be lost in a month.

At the yoga class I learned that there is also a pilates class on Wednesdays. At the pilates class I learned that there is a hiking group that meets Sunday afternoons. Who knows what I’ll learn Sunday?

Mahi Mahi

2009-03-28T12:16:00.000+11:00

Friday March 27, 2009

Today we had a real treat for lunch. I thought yesterday’s lunch was a real treat because the college was serving mashed potatoes and rice for side dishes instead of just rice like they normally do but that doesn’t even compare…

Today the office shared a mahi-mahi that Hacer caught last Saturday. He brought it in frozen and whole yesterday and Jimbo brought it home to fillet. Today, Jimbo returned with some wonderful looking steaks along with butter, limes, sea salt, and Pohnpein pepper. He cooked it up in the office kitchen on a little George Forman grill.

Hacer had also brought in some lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and celery (the boat arrived earlier this week so produce was in stock) which Aisi made into a salad. Some rice was cooked and we had ourselves a tasty tasty lunch.

The pohnpein pepper is worthy of its reputation. My guide book had said, “Pohnpei’s black pepper is thought by many to be the tastiest in the world.” I can understand why. I am by no means a connoisseur of fine foods but even I find myself writing, "the flavor of that pepper danced delicately and playfully across my tongue for the remainder of the afternoon."

A Waterfall Day

2009-03-27T08:16:00.000+11:00

Sunday March 22

It was a slow weekend and I was feeling pretty lonely so I headed down the street to the Seventh Day Adventist School. I had met John (an American whose wife works there) and he said often on the weekend he and teachers (who are American college kids taking a year off to volunteer) go for a hike in the afternoon.

John wasn’t around but a young student and the school’s principal invited me to wait. They were sitting outside in the shade, boiling some taro root. Taro is one of the 4 local food sources grown here (the others being tapioca, breadfruit, and of course yams).

Taro and yams share the common trait of both being roots but the comparison ends there. Taro, as my guidebook describes it, is an ‘elephant-eared plant cultivated in freshwater bogs.” How could one even compare it to yams – a food so special that most Americans only eat it on the Day of Thanks.

Taro isn’t bad if it is prepared with some coconut milk. Served by itself, taro provides no culinary delight but I have been told it is incredibly nutritious.

It felt nice just to sit and chat while the taro slowly boiled its way into tenderness. Eventually John returned and plans were made to take short trip to one of the nearby waterfalls. Pohnpei boasts waterfalls like Paris boasts restaurants.

The interior of Pohnpei averages 400 inches of rain a year and the exterior, though less, still gets an impressive 200 inches.

John, Mikey, and I took a drive a waterfall not for from town. It felt good to be in a pickup truck on a dirt road. It had been too long. It felt good to be surrounded by nothing but trees.

All land is privately owned here but access it made available for a price – but a very reasonable price. We each paid the $1 per person fee, hiked down a short path, and found ourselves just a short leap away from an inviting pool of water.

If I had to list the differences between Oregon and Pohnpei, somewhere on my list would be the words ‘the streams aren’t fed by snow melt.’ It had been a while since I’d been in water that didn’t take your breathe away and make your feet go numb. As I wrote earlier, ‘a warm gentle rain falls...” and it makes for a comfortably warm swimming hole.

Saturday Afternoon

2009-03-22T11:23:00.000+11:00

March 21 Saturday

A warm gentle rain falls lightly while the sun still shines from behind the clouds. A few minutes ago the rain came down hard but its fury quickly ended. It started just as I headed to Edwin’s apartment to see if perhaps he wanted to go for an afternoon swim. There is a place, not a beach, just an old pier of sorts from which one can swim. Edwin wasn’t home anyway so I went to the vegetable/fish market instead.

According to a Dept. of Health poster I have seen around town, there are 12 types of local bananas. The market usually just seems to have one or else many of the twelve are so similar looking that I am not distinguishing between them.

The bananas account for 80% of the space on the produce side. Besides bananas, there are a few small bins with onion, garlic, and a small variety of eggplant. A leafy green that may have been lettuce was also on display and some type of green beans were also available. There were also a handful of papayas, not quite ripe.

I walked out with a few of the small eggplants and one papaya. Tonight, for dinner it will be sautéed eggplant and onion with rice.

It was the widest selection of produce I had seen on display since arriving on the island. There were no yams, however. There never are. I don’t know why. Perhaps the yams are too respected to be treated like some common vegetable: put on display to be poked, prodded, and purchased by anybody with a dollar in his/her pocket?

I tried asking a co-worker once. He talked excitedly about the importance of the yam and its use at ceremonial feasts. He didn’t, however, explain why I can’t seem to purchase one at any of the produce stands or grocery stores I’ve visited.

Fishing

2009-03-17T17:40:00.000+11:00

Saturday March 14, 2009

[Note: Last weekend I had stopped by my Filipino co-worker Edwin’s house around noon time and asked him he wanted to take a ride out the point to go swimming. “Now?” he asked incredulously. Edwin has lived on the island several years. He explained, “The sun is too strong now, we must wait until 5:30 PM.” He is a wise man, Edwin.]

Not much more than twelve hours after returning from happy hours, by boss Haser, his friend Pannie, and I left dry land in a small motor boat, my stomach wasn’t quite feeling 100%.

Heading off in search of yellow-fin tuna and mahi-mahi with two men whose ancestors subsided from the bounty of the sea, set off a surge of excitement within me. We sped out of the lagoon towards the open waters that lay beyond.

There are no trees on the water and the clouds had taken the day off. It wasn’t long before my excitement was visited by Edwin’s voice repeating itself inside my head, “Now? The sun is too strong now; we must wait until 5:30 PM.”

Less than an hour into the trip, the sun had crawled its way under my shirt. The heat sucked the energy from my flesh. I was no match for the early afternoon equatorial sun. Drinking water was plentiful but it didn’t sit well in my stomach. I would have gladly thrown in the towel and conceded defeat, a man beaten by the elements, only my towel was far away on dry land.

Seasickness was a secondary concern. The up and down motion of the swells certainly didn’t help my physical condition but it didn’t seem too bad except for when we had to stop the boat to change lures. It was then that my stomach played upon an imaginary seesaw while the rest of my body only craved shade.

I didn’t know how long the outing was scheduled to last but the cooler of food sitting in the boat suggested that I wouldn’t have wanted to know. The thought of asking to be returned to the launching pad, from I could have easily called a cab, occupied my thoughts. I’m sure they would have, but I didn’t want them to waste either time or fuel.

One searches for fish by searching for birds. Sea birds feed on small fish just like bigger fish do. The type of bird indicates the type of fish. At a point when we seemed closer to the lagoon than we had earlier, I was about to ask to be returned to dry land. Before the words could leave my mouth, a flock of black birds was spotted. In hot pursuit, we eagerly turned away from the lagoon.

After I short while I knew that defeat had come. The heat delivered its knockout blow. Had there been a fat lady on the boat, she would have burst into song. Instead, the next sound to be heard was that of me throwing up over the side of the boat.

As my head hung over the Pacific Ocean as if it were a giant toilet bowl, a mahi-mahi seized the moment to strike. I felt the line I held in my left hand go taunt in a way it hadn’t all day (we fished just with lines, no rod and reel). I turned my head and saw
Pannie standing at the back of the boat pointing excitedly in the direction of my line.

In a sequence of events I don’t really recall, my line was transferred to Haser.
I returned to my prior activity as hand over hand Haser pulled the line in. The next time I lifted my head, my eyes fell upon a nice size mahi-mahi flopping around in the boat.

I’d like to say my story ends here. It would a nice spot to end. A happy ending one would say, unless, of course, if one were a fish. But my story continues, my experience not quite complete.

As you may have experienced in your own life, vomiting is often accompanied by the need to empty one’s bowels. I was on a motorboat! With my new boss! Not coming from a boating background, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Coming from a different culture than my companions, I wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject. The Micronesians seem to be polite people, and I wasn’t quite sure what was the correct noun to use to describe “#2.”

“I feel a little better," I announced as my head returned from the outside of the boat, “but I could really use a bathroom.”

“No problem,” Haser informed me, “Pannie will come sit up here and you can go back there and balance yourself over the edge of the boat.”

As Pannie and I switched places and the boat gently rose and fell, I could only reflect on the fact that the Spivak family has never been known for its coordination and balancing abilities. We Spivaks can take a certain amount of pride in our cardiovascular capabilities (running and biking and such) but balancing is another thing. Had we been a circus family of tightrope workers and trapeze artists, the family line would have surely died out long ago.

I can balance a checkbook. I can balance work and family responsibilities. I can even balance my diet pretty well. I wasn’t so sure if I could balance on the balls of my feet with my backside handing over the boat’s back side as we rolled in the gentle waves.

As Haser and Pannie sat facing forward enjoying a snack, I said a short prayer asking that the ocean stay calm and that my boss not have to pull me, with shorts around my ankles, back into the boat. I fumbled with my drawstrings and firmly planted my toes.

Let me just end, dear friends and family, by saying that if you have the opportunity to take a yoga class and if that particular yoga instructor is inclined to incorporate balancing poses into the yoga routine, one should seriously consider taking it. As I learned today, it can come in handy in situations that you never would have expected.

Fate was more kind to me then it was to the mahi-mahi that shared our small quarters. Both the wind and the water stayed still.

To Mary and Sue, my yoga instructors for the past year and half in Salem, I say, “Thank you from the bottom of my heart but not from the bottom of the ocean. In dry clothes and with a body once again centered in the boat’s interior, thank you and Namaste.”

I invite you to invite me...

2009-03-15T11:36:00.000+11:00

Friday March 13, 2009

Sokeh's Rock (left/center view from the Balcony bar)

This week at work I was explaining my success in meeting some ex-pats. Mike, a co-worker, from the island remarked that I should also try and meet some Micronesians and not just spend my time with ex-pats.

“Mike,” I replied, “I tend to agree with you but from what I’ve read Micronesians tend to socialize within their families and clans and it is hard to breakthrough that barrier.”

The next day I cornered him between cubicles and let him know that I had thought more about what he had said and that it would be a shame if I missed out on the cultural experience of interacting with Micronesians, gaining an appreciation of their lifestyle, etc.

“Mike,” I informed him, “I’m putting you in charge of the project. You are now responsible for making sure I have a full social life. 90% of your performance evaluation will be based on it.”

Mike reports directly to me, so I could do this.

At the office staff meeting on Friday morning, I stood up and reiterated my conversation with Mike to the staff and concluded it by saying, “therefore, I invite you to invite me to your family feasts, to go with you on fishing trips, and on other social outings.”

My boss Haser, to his credit, stepped up and invited me to join his fishing trip planned for the next afternoon.

As Friday afternoon came to a close, we headed off for happy hour. The destination was typical in that it was located in a building I had driven past but that I had never noticed. Situated in an industrial looking complex down a long driveway from the main road, The Balcony had only a small sign (not visible from the road) to alert one of its presence. Of course, here everybody knows where everything is so signage is only an issue for newcomers like me.

The Balcony, though simply named, was also accurately named. We went up an outdoor staircase at the side of the building and I found myself on a covered balcony looking out at the water. Three small islands lay a ways out in the water, the view on the left was of lush jungle foliage, and Sokeh’s Rock (a familiar landmark) jetted out on the left side. Wow, I must say it was spectacular.

Late afternoon is a wonderful time on the island. The trade wind blows a gentle breeze and the clouds dance across the sky. Sashimi accompanied the beer and I enjoyed getting to know my co-workers. Twilight turned to evening and happy hour turned into happy hours. I went home not drunk, but with more beer sitting in my stomach then it’s had in a long time.

Two full work weeks have passed. I'm still in the honeymoon period but as of right now, I am feeling comfortable here, I am excited about what a great staff I have, and I'm enjoying the yams.

I went to sleep happy and looking forward to tomorrow’s fishing trip.

What a difference a week makes

2009-03-15T11:28:00.000+11:00

Saturday March 7, 2009

The Rusty Anchor (see 3/10 entry "In Search of Ex-Pats" for the signifance of the exterior of this bar)

As you may recall, last Saturday (my first on the island) I went to a bar known to be popular with ex-pats with the hopes of meeting a few. Less than 6 people populated the bar, only two of the Anglos and not very extroverted at that.

I heard that at 9PM this Saturday a band would be playing and all the ex-pats would show up. It was a good lead, from a young American medical student doing a 30-day rotation here, so back I went.

When I arrived at 8:45 the only people in the place were a small group of Anglo woman were shooting pool but band equipment was set up in the corner. Now, it has been a while since I approached strange women in a bar but some things in life are like riding a bike. I ordered a beer, and with intentions purely platonic, wandered over to introduce myself.

They were Aussie woman, I learned, whose husbands were here as naval advisors (FSM has a small fleet that patrols its waters for illegal fishing vessels). Fortunately for me, the pool table sat at the front of the bar so that the players congregated near the front corner, a convenient place for their drinks. If you ever find yourself in a bar, trying to meet the ex-pat community, station yourself at the corner of the bar nearest the entrance.

As we chatted, as on cue the place began to fill up as the 9:00 hour drew near. Mike, an Irishman on contract with the Dept. of Education who has only been here a month himself, and I was introduce to him. Mike, in turn, then introduced me to several others. I was encouraged by the number of people he already new in the short time he’d been here.

After Mike excused himself, Paul, the Aussie Naval Officer, came over and took me under his wing. He invited me out to Aussie compound and also introduced me to many others. Within an hour I’d met the guys who operate the local surf tour company, the man who published the island’s bimonthly newspaper, the guitar player in the band (a fellow Jersey native) and a few others.

Overloaded with new names and faces, I retreated to the corner to take in the scene. The band of ex-pats played classic cover tunes just perfect for a local bar. The crowd was a mixture of young college students taking a year off to volunteer at the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) school; Peace Corps volunteers, just slightly older then the college students; folks like myself here on contract assignments, and old ex-pats who had made Pohnpei their home after perhaps a stint as SDA teachers, Peace Corp volunteers, or contract workers.

I went home relieved and encouraged. What a difference a week makes!

In search of ex-pats

2009-03-11T07:48:00.000+11:00

Feb 28, 2009

I was on my own for the weekend. Saturday morning I took a walk through town in an attempt to get my bearings. The walk yielded a preliminary understanding of where a few major roads connect and I found the turn I had missed on Friday. What I didn’t find were signs of an ex-pat community. No used bookstore, no white skinned people, no sounds of English coming from a small restaurant.

Saturday night came and there I was sitting alone in my hotel room. I decided to make another effort to find the ex-pat community (if you wonder why I sought out ex-pats rather than Micronesians, it is because my research indicated that Micros are very clan and family oriented and that it is hard to break into their inner circle).

I asked the hotel clerk to recommend a place and to call a cab. A little while later the cab deposited me in front of a sign-less, windowless building that upon passing earlier, I had assumed was a project that had never been completed. It was a cement goliath of a building perched on the side of the main road towards the edge of town. Light shined through a small side door that was open and a young man sat on a chair out front.

Was he another passenger waiting for a ride? Had the cabby clearly heard my destination? Not sure, I asked, “Is this the Rusty Anchor?”

“Yes,” she said, “It’s in there.”

In most other countries, in most parts of the U.S., a cold sweat would have started to form on the back of my neck if a cabbie had taken me to an abandoned building on the edge of town. But this was FSM so I asked, “Where is the door?”

“Oh, you’ve never been here before. Go in that door and downstairs.” She then said something in Pohnpean to the boy on the chair. I could only hope it was “show him where to the bar is.”

The little doorway with the light opened onto a large open staircase that curled downward to another open concrete area. At the bottom of the stairs another hallway lead to an open door. Light and noise drifted towards me so I followed the path and found myself in a large thee-walled bar that opened towards the ocean. Complete with a few pool tables, dart boards, and a patio, it had the comfortable look of an island hangout. Two Anglos and half a dozen Micronesians occupied the place.

Not wanting to be intrusive, I smiled, nodded and took a seat near but not next to one of the older Americans. A little while later a younger Micronesian came over and said hello. After I told him I was new to Pohnpei and came here to work for the government, he asked if I was Eric. Imagine by surprise. It turns out he works for the quarantine office and had processed Scout's paperwork. I was indeed in a small town on a small island.

We had a nice chat but between the background music, my hearing challenges, and his soft voice (all Micronesians seem to talk softly) I had a lot of trouble understanding him. The soft voices have been a challenge for me a few times already. Their words seem to get lost in whatever background noise there is.

Searching for housing

2009-03-10T18:25:00.000+11:00

Friday 2/27/09:

My second day on the island was spent looking at available housing. One often hears of ex-pats living a life of comfort in developing nations that they could not afford back in the states. Those ex-pats did not live in FSM. I’m not sure exactly what I expected to find. Perhaps a little villa within walking distance of the town square? Perhaps an apartment complex with little Kiwis, Aussies, and American kids playing in the courtyard while adults drank beer and swapped stories of adventure from around the globe. That’s not what I found.

Zoning doesn’t seem to exist here. Interdispersed with the few modest houses I saw were Structures that seemed to combine elements of tin shacks and park ramadas appeared with alarming frequency. They didn’t quite look like homes but many had clotheslines out front, brightly patterned garments hanging in the noonday heat, suggesting a domestic presence. Not sure how to broach the topics of housing conditions without possibly offending my new host, I kept my curiosity to myself.

We headed down the main road and then veered up a sharp incline , angled left, passed a large pig in a small enclosure, angled right and went up another sharp incline and stopped in front a horizontal building that didn’t know the word ‘repainted.’ The building, which had about 5 apartments, was the color of an old white t-shirt that had never been introduced to bleach or hot water. A single bulb hung from the high ceiling in the living room and a few feet of grass kept the jungle vegetation at bay.

Next we looked at the Ocean View apartments, a building that lived up to its name. An elaborately tiled open staircase led up to the second story. At the top of the stairs I stopped to admire the view and enjoy the breeze that flowed through hallway. The apartment, I was told, faced the street and not the ocean. Not perfect but acceptable, especially as entrance required one to ascend and descend that magnificent staircase

I walked through the front with hopes held high. What I saw in front of me looking oddly reminiscent of the hundreds of hotel rooms I’ve stayed in. The front door opened directly into the bedroom. “Odd,” I thought. My hopes dropped like a roller coaster as I scanned the room for a doorway leading to a kitchen or perhaps another room but found nothing but wall. I had been shown a hotel room and not an apartment; the apartments were all occupied.

We looked at two more apartments, the second more drab than the first. I left the office with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. To make matters worse, I missed a turn, got lost, and didn’t make it back in time for Wenonoa’s scheduled phone call.

I went to bed that night with the assumption that things would have to get better.

A mail order bride arrives

2009-03-10T18:04:00.000+11:00

Thur 2/26/09:

When the pilot announced we would be landing soon, I was as nervous as a mail order bride landing in a new country to begin a new life with a man she has never met. The reason was simple, I was landing in a new country to begin a new life. Not as a bride, but as an employee. I had two advantages over a mail order bride – I had met my new boss, though only once, and my commitment was only for two years, not life.

My first impression of Kolonia, the main population center, was that it came and went quickly, as we drove from the airport to the office in Paliker.

Dogs that looked semi-domesticated at best roamed freely through the streets. In fairness though, I should add they looked amicable enough and some even sported collars.

Pedestrians were everywhere. Not like one sees in pictures of India or China but there was always a few in sight. They ambled along with a proprietary sense of ownership of the narrow road. Cars were given nary a glance and the expectation was that they would manuver around. After all, why have a steering wheel if not to steer. The international law of tonnage did not apply here.

We drove up a winding, narrow road to Paliker, site of the national government offices. "This will most likely be the road I’ll travel daily for the next 2 years," the thought formed in my head and then fluttered downward to my stomach and settled there with the heaviness of a rock.

The flight from Honolulu lasted ten hours and included two stops in the Marshal Islands and a stop on the FSM island of Kosrea. I had traveled too far to turn back and, besides, I didn’t have a return ticket.

Prelude

2009-03-10T17:46:00.000+11:00

February 24, 2009:

There is a sign on the highway four miles north of my home. It reads, “The 45th Parallel -halfway between the Equator and the North Pole.” I’ve always liked that sign; it provides a perspective. The words ground me in the center of the Northern Hemisphere with all but 60 miles of North America spreading out before me to the east.

The 45th Parallel sign also reminds me that one can travel. The hemisphere reaches out both north and south and we are situated exactly in the middle, the perfect spot to start a journey in either direction.

Flip a coin. Heads travel north and tails travel south. The travel gods flipped the coin that holds my fate. It landed on tails.

My journey south begins by heading north. I pass the sign as my wife takes me to the airport so that I can begin my voyage. With each passing mile the present faded into the past. All that had become familiar in the last three and a half years disappears in the rearview mirror.

My destination is just a speck. A speck on the map in a sea of blue, a mere 6 degrees north of the Equator. To get there I traveled so far west that I am now on the eastern side of the map. Not so far east as to be in danger of slipping off the map, but close, at roughly 150 degrees longitude.

Scuba enthusiasts might know of the Trukk Lagoon, which serves as a graveyard for Japanese naval ships sunk during WWIIs Pacific Front. Sociology students might vaguely recall reading about the giant stone coins that served as currency on the island of Yap during earlier times.

They are both islands, and states, of the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM). I am on neither. I am on, Pohnpei, which serves as the capital of the FSM and is home to 34,000 of FSM’s 110,000 residents.

Micronesia literally means small island. It was aptly named and not by one prone to exaggeration. Pohnpei is the largest of the islands in the FSM. It dimensions appear to be roughly 12 miles by 15 miles at its widest and longest points. Its not a perfect circle but within its perimeter lay 129 sq. miles of land.

129 sq. miles may not seem like a lot unless you consider that the total land mass of FSM, is just 270 sq. miles. The country is more water than land. I read that 1,000,000 sq miles of ocean resides within its borders. The distance from its western most island (Yap) to its easternmost island (Kosrae) spans 1,550 miles. The 4 major islands of Yap, Chuuk, Pohnpei, and Kosrae, are not alone. There are 603 smaller islands dispersed in the sea – the outer islands they are called.

Why I am here? Why would a person bypass Polynesia, famed for its beauty and beaches, and bypass Indonesia, reknown for its culture art, and come to Micronesia? Why, I’ve come for the yams of course.