tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-111769002024-03-06T10:01:10.113+13:00Matt's Samoa BlogI am a Peace Corps Volunteer in Samoa.Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.comBlogger682125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-2068718764818869462013-09-28T23:59:00.000+13:002013-10-07T13:47:08.323+14:00Don't Believe in Ferries<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVKtCvW5xtGMia9KW3bCiZETdkk5VhG8JevB89PtvnsjFdLm1bSrdlXvoqNkppERklGD-DxG28Xhs0oIVjjsIBUfMLo9ZmuQwzJVYj-D706LfHl1wM2Iwbk0Mz4fsoTOnnjG8/s1600/1Ferry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVKtCvW5xtGMia9KW3bCiZETdkk5VhG8JevB89PtvnsjFdLm1bSrdlXvoqNkppERklGD-DxG28Xhs0oIVjjsIBUfMLo9ZmuQwzJVYj-D706LfHl1wM2Iwbk0Mz4fsoTOnnjG8/s320/1Ferry.jpg" /></a>There was a collective hangover this morning, only partially a result of celebrating Jim and Faye’s wedding the night before. Most of us head back to The States Sunday morning, and with the wedding over, conversation has turned to buying souvenirs, summing up the trip, and figuring out what needs to be done between now and 4:00 a.m. Sunday when we leave for the airport. That’s a sobering transition of mindset, and it cast a dour mood across the group this morning.<br />
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Things grew worse as the morning went on. The taxi ride was bumpy, the 10 a.m. ferry was canceled, and shopping in Salelologa seemed like more trouble than it may have been worth. And then we returned to the wharf.<br />
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They were loading the little boat.<br />
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While I lived in Samoa, I wrote about the little boat (<a href="http://diplomatt.blogspot.com/2010/07/loading-little-boat.html">here</a>). The little boat is an outdated and terrible method of transport, and I imagine it’s only out of frugality and monopoly that the Samoan Shipping Corporation still sees it as a viable option. And that same monopoly is why we had no choice but to get on board.<br />
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Morale was already so low that the impending feelings of powerlessness and anger melted away quickly, and all that was left was comic inevitability. We returned to Samoa to remember old times, and we were about to sail into the gritty.<br />
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Chris and some others didn’t share my amusement. They hunkered down early and tried to sleep in an effort to anesthetize themselves from the loathsome voyage, but Blakey and I cheerfully accepted the challenge. Fools.<br />
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Our entire group started with a rookie mistake: we nestled in along the side of the hull in between some parked cars. So tiny is the little boat that seawater frequently laps up over the sides of the boat, and before long we were all drenched and miserable.<br />
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We moved the entire collection of bags several times during the course of the trip, at first to get them away from the splashing of the sea, and then again later when the rain started.<br />
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The rain was short-lived and maxed out at a sprinkle; it was nature’s only mercy.<br />
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The seas have been unseasonably choppy during our entire trip here. During our stays in Lalomanu and Manase, the ocean has been dappled with whitecaps. AJ was strongly admonished by the Tanua staff for taking a kayak beyond the reef in these conditions. And on the ferry, the listing was relentless.<br />
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I pride myself on strong stomach and my ability to withstand seasickness, but going over the ups and downs yesterday was quite the crucible.<br />
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Paul, Blakey, and I stood in a circle talking for most of the journey. Paul told a story about the worst ferry ride he experienced while living here. We had to cut him off as our own nausea seeped in.<br />
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Blakey pointed out that with many of the other patrons sitting in the tower looking down on us, it might be the biggest audience she’d ever had to watch her throw up. She wondered aloud about the classiest way to conclude that performance. “If it happens, should I take a bow after?” <br />
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I quietly mapped out my own evacuation plan. If the need ever arose, I was fully aware of my shortest path to puke over the side. At one point, Chris crawled to the center of our circle, effectively blocking my access to the boat’s edge. I got up and moved.<br />
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Eventually we passed Upolu’s outer reef, and the choppiness of the ocean lessened. No one threw up, much to everyone’s relief. Eventually we stepped on to dry land, soggy and sun-drenched, exhausted and still trying to make amends with the lingering nausea.<br />
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Even the Savai’i veterans agreed today’s boat ride would rank in their top 5 worst boat rides of all time. Indeed, we sailed from Salelologa, and we arrived in Mulifanua, but most certainly voyaged through hell.<br />
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I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nvrt3Ci1GSdwS-XrsnCMDAYfPcnTfL33YJTlOhrzsmfxJJeLKX068kJ_tfo3Y0wv3E0ddYf7r8Iy1-3KLkdFVhMZ1vSP_1_ZWrM0CvVyeiMjB9L47wZ_7Zyqfdvb_GDe-dHK/s1600/2Beginning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nvrt3Ci1GSdwS-XrsnCMDAYfPcnTfL33YJTlOhrzsmfxJJeLKX068kJ_tfo3Y0wv3E0ddYf7r8Iy1-3KLkdFVhMZ1vSP_1_ZWrM0CvVyeiMjB9L47wZ_7Zyqfdvb_GDe-dHK/s320/2Beginning.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our camp set up at the beginning of the trip.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGNsKruRlPrGRDHFPA4aX_L-OOSKU-yZhPOO2eyhZK8zY6x0SmaqJQOnApsRd8TstxWFPU6ns3wVeWh3uq4SP-BnICT8kyIqmgyeIq9skdwRSKNVqK7RkjZnVnMJUPLW4EvSf/s1600/2CWall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGNsKruRlPrGRDHFPA4aX_L-OOSKU-yZhPOO2eyhZK8zY6x0SmaqJQOnApsRd8TstxWFPU6ns3wVeWh3uq4SP-BnICT8kyIqmgyeIq9skdwRSKNVqK7RkjZnVnMJUPLW4EvSf/s320/2CWall.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">View of the ship's tower from my original position squeezed next to the tire of this truck.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBTHylM9eJoQ1MLfh66sTKa8vAbwDKoncWv-QribqaQsMd_lyaYxnZegn4ZIb5ZUOipsx5zd9gUAYfaLeWV33trEWNmG2CWOkS2aVDO4KOzkPw0lU-976BHkf89mP0-FqEOgQ/s1600/3Dan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBTHylM9eJoQ1MLfh66sTKa8vAbwDKoncWv-QribqaQsMd_lyaYxnZegn4ZIb5ZUOipsx5zd9gUAYfaLeWV33trEWNmG2CWOkS2aVDO4KOzkPw0lU-976BHkf89mP0-FqEOgQ/s320/3Dan.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once the drenching began, Dan moved to this spot, nestled between two cars.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8v-I3hq_Jzz_7WVCWeZKHad-UlxasuLXwd9IHWJVC7mPENY0XBUoZHrYoKnZ4ACZzev9frQH6e5B2jX_TJ6QeRedc2q8Rg-aouUdSffFt37xTdXRylmQM6hI1HtILMpgvZQyL/s1600/4SupyChris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8v-I3hq_Jzz_7WVCWeZKHad-UlxasuLXwd9IHWJVC7mPENY0XBUoZHrYoKnZ4ACZzev9frQH6e5B2jX_TJ6QeRedc2q8Rg-aouUdSffFt37xTdXRylmQM6hI1HtILMpgvZQyL/s320/4SupyChris.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Supy and Chris moved to the boat's bow to try and lessen the splashing and listing.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEili4h6u7JpFf141vGL_SO03kZFx5Upnrzw1T4fDDoqvuq82qV_ishyphenhyphenbz6VTwB1CaBEo90dlFUvfwSsQI0aE1YSCNfYlTD4BRE8Ld-UEpBaIl_uIZQ-DIUzXDFajylVc3lPwpNJ/s1600/5Land.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEili4h6u7JpFf141vGL_SO03kZFx5Upnrzw1T4fDDoqvuq82qV_ishyphenhyphenbz6VTwB1CaBEo90dlFUvfwSsQI0aE1YSCNfYlTD4BRE8Ld-UEpBaIl_uIZQ-DIUzXDFajylVc3lPwpNJ/s320/5Land.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The scene when we finally arrived.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-27876605020653659752013-09-27T23:59:00.000+13:002013-10-07T13:46:30.978+14:00Jim and Faye's Wedding<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjFpbLeZ4twiDdqp6yWdSbkwgugVAT4hp2XLE1ECosEfeG4aTjbCNk-5n0Mhu8b82IYuOERaTzKUqjBUKDoez175GdlxM3Gq2HEZp8TD4EmpakGk8cPohW8jSUNK7TEhqxT9V/s1600/1JimFei.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjFpbLeZ4twiDdqp6yWdSbkwgugVAT4hp2XLE1ECosEfeG4aTjbCNk-5n0Mhu8b82IYuOERaTzKUqjBUKDoez175GdlxM3Gq2HEZp8TD4EmpakGk8cPohW8jSUNK7TEhqxT9V/s320/1JimFei.jpg" /></a>This is a 2-wedding trip; two weddings over two weeks on two islands. Paul's was last week on the south side of Upolu, and Jim's was today on the north side of Savai'i. Paul married an Aussie, Jim married a Samoan. It's globalization at its finest. I could blather on about the similarities and differences and such, but I'd rather just show you the pictures. So without further ado, here pictures from the trip's second wedding. Enjoy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wB0WqLFTZGi05r2yKEiuCeLcRorXA_EfAbdPG-PdSEPJfwg5jtQ6Pn6-YcwK3GgR1FCI5FsxRkVPAi3gfOu0PYl2r_aSK6IEUzdVrPs2qtCQOtM1aLqOGq9T6i-bcrwjXf3r/s1600/2HazelHelen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wB0WqLFTZGi05r2yKEiuCeLcRorXA_EfAbdPG-PdSEPJfwg5jtQ6Pn6-YcwK3GgR1FCI5FsxRkVPAi3gfOu0PYl2r_aSK6IEUzdVrPs2qtCQOtM1aLqOGq9T6i-bcrwjXf3r/s320/2HazelHelen.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Flower girl Hazel and ring bearer Helen.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHUQ8xfhnqrXI69X16DbPWt3-_0B_BVaa5XGj6cem_MknUEIGbehNZB78e4NM8CEeTOjc4XTDiUwPZ1SFm1iRCdZxkk7muUmV9eT1WIXk9mTIdV8wVH4Moaj3jBodf-cEEmcS/s1600/3Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHUQ8xfhnqrXI69X16DbPWt3-_0B_BVaa5XGj6cem_MknUEIGbehNZB78e4NM8CEeTOjc4XTDiUwPZ1SFm1iRCdZxkk7muUmV9eT1WIXk9mTIdV8wVH4Moaj3jBodf-cEEmcS/s320/3Wedding.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The entire wedding party.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUej93B6WdkJZearZG7NhcZHBSP6sOcUkSo_g-tUomeuJtK62jAZM0bVmOCdFEjH6JOeaKGvocO18kEnPduTUSnFzM8zrdTiHoy4t4mQ4yq1lQmUfmU1G6N38x-TX_a18K80s/s1600/4Silhouette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUej93B6WdkJZearZG7NhcZHBSP6sOcUkSo_g-tUomeuJtK62jAZM0bVmOCdFEjH6JOeaKGvocO18kEnPduTUSnFzM8zrdTiHoy4t4mQ4yq1lQmUfmU1G6N38x-TX_a18K80s/s320/4Silhouette.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Artistic silhouette of bride, groom, and officiant. Notice the banana bunch hanging at right.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LrlfXs4qf7wMBNKlxtC4GX0WxunHGhbzELM4iUjasdnGQdQuM740tFewcieqHGCM68wYummg6Jzsh7anhSt7pEkmly3kgk37Qa7bxIcKc9ZIjgIkH6GmRT1BMXL1vyt6FXr-/s1600/5Certification.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LrlfXs4qf7wMBNKlxtC4GX0WxunHGhbzELM4iUjasdnGQdQuM740tFewcieqHGCM68wYummg6Jzsh7anhSt7pEkmly3kgk37Qa7bxIcKc9ZIjgIkH6GmRT1BMXL1vyt6FXr-/s320/5Certification.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Signing of the marriage certificate was included in the wedding ceremony.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGBpvs4xdoQsz8jwaMc-tti_OHaDBsiCQAWmXcHoQ9eBKD6mQ8Qmw9JpTuM520CWB88-ciRXsXm1V-p_fyNxJYQMQgvlFjb8ZY26gf2N3B05gbG-cLRPBCEuXsSPub1GjpJsx/s1600/6Photos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjGBpvs4xdoQsz8jwaMc-tti_OHaDBsiCQAWmXcHoQ9eBKD6mQ8Qmw9JpTuM520CWB88-ciRXsXm1V-p_fyNxJYQMQgvlFjb8ZY26gf2N3B05gbG-cLRPBCEuXsSPub1GjpJsx/s320/6Photos.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wedding photos on the beach.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRjmFGThyTT6Ara5CyC01y_MifoST4tXsXLLywzD9rTGrY2UP2Y-Y9Vug58onZlqj8RPxm5TseBp-XdyumuwaFNBJi1xg_KhbOmcjP0geANhXj7zO3vcqBhytXtldvcPSQWo1/s1600/7SekeDanny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRjmFGThyTT6Ara5CyC01y_MifoST4tXsXLLywzD9rTGrY2UP2Y-Y9Vug58onZlqj8RPxm5TseBp-XdyumuwaFNBJi1xg_KhbOmcjP0geANhXj7zO3vcqBhytXtldvcPSQWo1/s320/7SekeDanny.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Danny 80 and friend-of-the-Peace-Corps Seke wore matching <i>ofu</i>.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEU_h1bfOZI7HtQK8ur-TS_wyaIz_EjAUuXnDmD29k5ItBDeDEXOMMK5WqmfvTfOh0jUmHmsqFgtxsnGCun_zaLgN41UR03GfpmPPVZ8omjqHRelfrxJSg2LL3P5hrySShOgb/s1600/8Toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEU_h1bfOZI7HtQK8ur-TS_wyaIz_EjAUuXnDmD29k5ItBDeDEXOMMK5WqmfvTfOh0jUmHmsqFgtxsnGCun_zaLgN41UR03GfpmPPVZ8omjqHRelfrxJSg2LL3P5hrySShOgb/s320/8Toast.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Trent 80 was best man. He made a bilingual toast.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2aS9zIWyTqAbvdn8nl19Q1601KYrGutBB5O4rdZEEJz11LlruE3XQjkU5YQHgUdidfXCm3HrDTYphkV2S6F1E4F3dwZbsqZMUDvC8vesM2wMNT8W3e1cDSAxI56NhotTFKJw/s1600/9Table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2aS9zIWyTqAbvdn8nl19Q1601KYrGutBB5O4rdZEEJz11LlruE3XQjkU5YQHgUdidfXCm3HrDTYphkV2S6F1E4F3dwZbsqZMUDvC8vesM2wMNT8W3e1cDSAxI56NhotTFKJw/s320/9Table.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wanted to take a picture of one of the long dining tables at Tanu Beach Fales, and this gentleman leaned in and smiled without prompting.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEYglaMDlDlpd-GnNsDkxvsozNL35_Pc556eWNLpaO08Equ0GrMhXheZ9PtG_Pz0u5VuzoXx8muJXhA00CCaMh2eMZQE-oWpY9VMjLWrfNvc25WGAUl_XuTRyeWHlEPB4JNdT/s1600/9zFayeJimSupy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEYglaMDlDlpd-GnNsDkxvsozNL35_Pc556eWNLpaO08Equ0GrMhXheZ9PtG_Pz0u5VuzoXx8muJXhA00CCaMh2eMZQE-oWpY9VMjLWrfNvc25WGAUl_XuTRyeWHlEPB4JNdT/s320/9zFayeJimSupy.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Faye, Jim, and Supy.</div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEshGb4OaQaEp-4vNvHoa1MAI2s5rwkzbCHb8NdEhyphenhyphenfknoGMJT1w4C78r6sESOQxOn_jFUc_mPgrXwcKA3xcojbuRF69fdafg2Ae29wc08H5epEvsoLQYyM2L03midiW98nfD/s1600/9zzzMeCherelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEshGb4OaQaEp-4vNvHoa1MAI2s5rwkzbCHb8NdEhyphenhyphenfknoGMJT1w4C78r6sESOQxOn_jFUc_mPgrXwcKA3xcojbuRF69fdafg2Ae29wc08H5epEvsoLQYyM2L03midiW98nfD/s320/9zzzMeCherelle.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My friend Cherelle and I goofing off.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-3160371436998673382013-09-27T13:30:00.000+13:002013-09-27T13:30:29.120+13:00Supy's Taxi Service<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8eNofizKfn-fDnfDd-tDgCz-wy994qCUA-Xjvc3Bymj17O1n2kCV9qcd5g4W2TmoJflFXodzRVdc7nW28gq-yZoeKw6a6QKmr8RYTnmB3sE-jdItOmCe7Of6I8SqslZSMohA/s1600/1Supy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8eNofizKfn-fDnfDd-tDgCz-wy994qCUA-Xjvc3Bymj17O1n2kCV9qcd5g4W2TmoJflFXodzRVdc7nW28gq-yZoeKw6a6QKmr8RYTnmB3sE-jdItOmCe7Of6I8SqslZSMohA/s320/1Supy.jpg" /></a>Coming over on the ferry yesterday, we rolled deep: eight members of group 81, one from 80, one from 83, plus large contingents from Paul and Bex’s families. Herding around like this has been our M.O. for lots of this trip, which has been pretty great and pretty overwhelming. On occasion it’s been nice to take smaller, more relaxed excursions. So when Supy borrowed Jim’s car to go Foailuga, Trent and I happily went along.</br>
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With Supy at the wheel, Trent shotgun, and me in the back, we set off for Foailuga, about an hour west of the wharf along the south side of Savai’i. Top speed is this country is somewhere around 40 mph, so drives like yesterday’s have a leisurely feel. Trent’s blood sugar dipped a little, so we stopped at a <i>faleola</i> for soda, <i>masi popo</i>, and some ice pops. </br>
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I was only halfway through my ice pop when Supy slowed down the car, looked at Trent and me, and asked, “Should we pick them up? Is that okay with you guys?” </br>
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I hadn’t noticed the woman with the baby on the side of the road nor her 6(?)-year-old daughter who had waved us down. Trent and I didn’t care, so I scooted out of the middle and the three hitchhikers climbed in. </br>
</br>
It turned out they weren’t going very far—just one village over—so we mostly drove in silence. The 6(?)-year-old eyed me cautiously. I think the woman was a little surprised to have flagged down a car full of <i>palagi</i>s, but she was very gracious. </br>
</br>
Much of her family was standing out near the street when we arrived at her destination, and we got a couple amused looks. No sooner did she get out of the car then an older gentleman approached Supy’s open window. </br>
</br>
“My son hurt his arm,” he said in Samoan, non-urgently. “Can you give us a ride to the hospital?” </br>
</br>
Trent and I were quietly entertained by Supy having to pay the price for his good deed. Meanwhile Supy balked at the man’s question. The main hospital on Savai’i is in Tuasivi, an hour in the opposite direction. But the man reminded Supy of the hospital in Foailalo. </br>
</br>
“Yeah, okay,” said Supy. </br>
</br>
So I scooted to the middle, the older gentleman got in on my right, and two teenagers got in my left—the boy with the sling sat on the girl’s lap. </br>
</br>
This group was a lot chattier. We rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning. Trent offered the man the rest of his orange soda, which the man accepted. </br>
</br>
Ten minutes later we dropped them at the nearly empty hospital. The man offered Supy a 2-tala coin, which Supy declined. He smiled at us and we were on our way. </br>
</br>
Foailalo is right next to Foialuga (<i>lalo</i> means “down”, <i>luga</i> means “up”), so we headed to Supy’s friend’s place. We stayed about an hour, eventually wandering down to the beach fale resort in
Satuiatua. We said our goodbyes and got back on the road. </br>
</br>
Three minutes into the drive, we passed the old man and his kids walking down the side of the road. Supy pulled over, and they piled back in, the boy and girl <i>sii</i>-ing once more. The man was still holding the now empty soda bottle. The air was thick with nonchalance and the reunion somehow felt inevitable. </br>
</br>
When we dropped them off, lots of people were still out in front of the house. The amused looks turned to laughter this time. We waved and drove off to join the big group once more. </br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below. </br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9XWrtsDOvmOP56VROmDxjhO6IC7gcgCExsaM5u4FgbXSa_i8JlNT5QbkKUPRxKvXyV5hyphenhyphenuoo1iRAiFoJnK1O6hMGwRej9zsqNuhece1d84XrOODjB_wFNOo7UHKDLPlDa9VP/s1600/2Backseat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9XWrtsDOvmOP56VROmDxjhO6IC7gcgCExsaM5u4FgbXSa_i8JlNT5QbkKUPRxKvXyV5hyphenhyphenuoo1iRAiFoJnK1O6hMGwRej9zsqNuhece1d84XrOODjB_wFNOo7UHKDLPlDa9VP/s320/2Backseat.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me in the backseat nestled between fares.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwzNC4VhghLbwItv6RXgaL1oJdfDPIWISN8eHjsiSOZqzVe1gFxpBwMpN3lZm7qk-rbl4yudyU1DEED-rrRPs0IrCdDPqYtuw9kMnTGASbHHQ3Fx_5IfubIy6-uUamc-9bvfB/s1600/3LiseMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwzNC4VhghLbwItv6RXgaL1oJdfDPIWISN8eHjsiSOZqzVe1gFxpBwMpN3lZm7qk-rbl4yudyU1DEED-rrRPs0IrCdDPqYtuw9kMnTGASbHHQ3Fx_5IfubIy6-uUamc-9bvfB/s320/3LiseMe.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Highlight of the day was running into my old student Lise. I had her in my class both years for year 12 and year 13 computers. I followed Supy and Trent into the beach fales, so I was at the back and I saw her from a distance, and I immediately called, "LISE?!" Her face lit up. It was exciting.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJeVtOndqCA3MkrxSGR1PMex4_HPNnefYDsS3xmS8xfnHLCxuKm2U0WjoiUi6vVWc9TXTeQ6vSx2xRbsElUNlAR1IJksBQ4yOrXR_U_QzOurqEd5HaRxw8fmlVWpv2JfcXFYi/s1600/4KekePuaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJeVtOndqCA3MkrxSGR1PMex4_HPNnefYDsS3xmS8xfnHLCxuKm2U0WjoiUi6vVWc9TXTeQ6vSx2xRbsElUNlAR1IJksBQ4yOrXR_U_QzOurqEd5HaRxw8fmlVWpv2JfcXFYi/s320/4KekePuaa.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Breakfast of Champions in Apia this morning: <i>Kekepua'a</i> from Lynn's (the best in the country) and Uncle Johnny's Orange Drink, which is essentially offbrand Sunny Delight.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HkxRLnikHqoteV-LlshJY9Idx9rGUflowS_SWVnBN9pnL7_PaJBG7Hz6R-TUjgCJmL7UEb0obQpbTxvq6LsgJ19bTG7AfZ5hFV-B_r7Nm25_7HFTXY0ChyHlbK5mmlDsZ9ji/s1600/5Dan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HkxRLnikHqoteV-LlshJY9Idx9rGUflowS_SWVnBN9pnL7_PaJBG7Hz6R-TUjgCJmL7UEb0obQpbTxvq6LsgJ19bTG7AfZ5hFV-B_r7Nm25_7HFTXY0ChyHlbK5mmlDsZ9ji/s320/5Dan.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dan has gone full native, using the ferry ride to nap in the aisle.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-87144344541872444562013-09-24T17:47:00.001+13:002013-09-24T17:47:33.454+13:00Back to the Start<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWymwQbgi88EwL6PV3tsBS375OzcQ34jFe1SlUiA6n_UCPTV2CqGpdG7ogvzrNgWr4zy0GikTVmP-P3PNY_7TWGD7YAlVQ_3t0PyOuO7dK_DDSKh9Tm5A4O4oxKRVTB_uI2M3/s1600/1AkaneseMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWymwQbgi88EwL6PV3tsBS375OzcQ34jFe1SlUiA6n_UCPTV2CqGpdG7ogvzrNgWr4zy0GikTVmP-P3PNY_7TWGD7YAlVQ_3t0PyOuO7dK_DDSKh9Tm5A4O4oxKRVTB_uI2M3/s320/1AkaneseMe.jpg" /></a>As I walked up my host family’s driveway, I could see men in the <i>fale</i> out back, none of whom I knew; the dog out front looked familiar, and it reacted to my presence in such a way that it knew who I was, but it wasn’t threatened; I was relieved to see the van was in the makeshift carport, meaning that even though I was showing up unannounced the family was home; and as I rounded the van, Akanese was the first face I saw gleefully sprinting toward me calling my Samoan name, “Mati!”</br>
</br>
Though I’m here for weddings, my biggest indirect priority on the trip was to go back to the training village to see the host family I lived with during the 11 weeks of training in Fall 2008. During my stint in the Peace Corps, I continued to visit them, about once a month on average. Since I lived so close to the capital and didn’t have one cohesive village with which to identify, my training host family filled that niche for me. </br>
</br>
Heading into this trip, I knew there’d be few firm plans, but I spent the most time mentally planning my trip back to the village. I spent a hefty amount on back-to-school supplies and used the bulk of my luggage space with backpacks and knick-knacks and chocolate for my family. </br>
</br>
Supy, Blakey, and I rented a car this morning, and after picking up some coke, chips, and <i>pisupo</i>, we headed back to the <i>nu’u</i>.</br>
</br>
In terms of anxiety, this was probably the pinnacle for the trip. Measuring the time at our permanent sites in years, our neighbors got to know and accept our <i>palagi</i> ways, but the relationship with the training village was different. From a very macro level, it was their job to train us in the ways of Samoa, and in some sense, to program the “American” out of us. They hold us to a higher standard. Whereas most Samoans would smile politely at my mangling of the language, my family still calls me out, “Why is your Samoan so terrible?” </br>
</br>
Supy wished Blakey and me luck as he got out of the car. And I wished Blakey the same when I did. </br>
</br>
Those pangs of anxiety didn’t exactly evaporate when Akanese came sprinting out and calling my name, nor when her little sister, the now school-aged Keleme did the same. But the satisfaction I got from seeing those kids and how happy they were to see me eclipsed that anxiety, and I felt foolish for waiting so long to come and see them. </br>
</br>
My mom and sister greeted me with giddy kisses. They sat me down and chatted me up as Nese and Leme examined the gifts I’d brought. </br>
</br>
The village took a beating from last December’s cyclone. Mele’s 70th birthday party was a success. The new road going through town is much wider. My sister in America got married. My parents are doing well. Filipo wanted to come, but he couldn’t make it. </br>
</br>
There was a verbal reconstruction of time timeline of things. Keleme was born in April 2008. I showed up in October. I moved out in December. The tsunami happened. Akanese started school. Keleme was two and a half when I left. She starts school in January. </br>
</br>
But the real fun came when the adults found things to do, and I got to play schoolyard clapping games with the girls. <i>Popomano</i> (sp?) (at my suggestion), then Chicky-Chicky-Bom-Bom (sp?), then a brief foray into American games when I tried for the millionth time to teach Slide, then finally <i>E Malaki</i> (sp?). </br>
</br>
Asolima turned on one of the DVDs I brought, and I escaped the <i>pisupo</i> I was served by showing Akanese how to work the pencil sharpener and Keleme how to use the refrigerator magnets. </br>
</br>
And by then it was time to leave. </br>
</br>
I regret not seeing them sooner, and depending on the way Saturday works out, I might go back and see them before I leave. When else will I get to play Chicky-Chicky-Bom-Bom? </br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below. </br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8SyU75qo_po6nlQTooXzu6SN9bIXSirib7YP2OIg1AQTlLiOeBjp1IiwIOnLv5WxOs2wwUaDsywCFwmPQZSH4oHYGsO-H_C0U7lFdoA52wWWFhhm0FaYts-X-RSk-A2r9dBd/s1600/2Keleme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8SyU75qo_po6nlQTooXzu6SN9bIXSirib7YP2OIg1AQTlLiOeBjp1IiwIOnLv5WxOs2wwUaDsywCFwmPQZSH4oHYGsO-H_C0U7lFdoA52wWWFhhm0FaYts-X-RSk-A2r9dBd/s320/2Keleme.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Keleme.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzocN8gikt9z0p6Qil29r_jFiGgxU0Jcul8hHvySgYfwXkwhQXBdwa8PlO75_glkogYm-GtZpgs1zyEtUdvac6S4ds3hMpJTtuX9FJf3xCqeFz2XK3jkb1GzT1kbu7LZJpohQR/s1600/2EMalaki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzocN8gikt9z0p6Qil29r_jFiGgxU0Jcul8hHvySgYfwXkwhQXBdwa8PlO75_glkogYm-GtZpgs1zyEtUdvac6S4ds3hMpJTtuX9FJf3xCqeFz2XK3jkb1GzT1kbu7LZJpohQR/s320/2EMalaki.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>E Malaki</i>.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby_ZGm-1iAQxSRJiIAUwjTqIJv1UOTW8i05zb8StjbHccurEj2330LRQpGxer2mLsmBc61QA0UfPQcrIa_F1lIoMTG2PTiQg1ezMCtPV_EGSZdVfNIxmM9hjYFrIGvknGMNcL/s1600/4AkaneseGlasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby_ZGm-1iAQxSRJiIAUwjTqIJv1UOTW8i05zb8StjbHccurEj2330LRQpGxer2mLsmBc61QA0UfPQcrIa_F1lIoMTG2PTiQg1ezMCtPV_EGSZdVfNIxmM9hjYFrIGvknGMNcL/s320/4AkaneseGlasses.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Akanese and I traded glasses briefly.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsD4NFTOd4lK1wZNfDrl1GYgZIHBdoRhVQuSxfX7Wg1bZjRN-7y4V9Fo4aOASW_TVnRFfMYAyemgDmCKXittWvoKwtbdjtLgf1hZwJ-w5Z_UIh_3PyM97w73wx2PB5kvOk0bCJ/s1600/5Family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsD4NFTOd4lK1wZNfDrl1GYgZIHBdoRhVQuSxfX7Wg1bZjRN-7y4V9Fo4aOASW_TVnRFfMYAyemgDmCKXittWvoKwtbdjtLgf1hZwJ-w5Z_UIh_3PyM97w73wx2PB5kvOk0bCJ/s320/5Family.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Family portrait.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2flrxkooDe5bK9sSjjvrzCvqR0zUvTgG5SrhwJft1UUpZV91fsahNXevwzgRdNahwGoTiIUzJv6TaYr4EGeL0crcTrFiepp6Ii-ezr_O3bSkydY-cJILJ7A50JrJV2xethyphenhyphenSa/s1600/6PostIts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2flrxkooDe5bK9sSjjvrzCvqR0zUvTgG5SrhwJft1UUpZV91fsahNXevwzgRdNahwGoTiIUzJv6TaYr4EGeL0crcTrFiepp6Ii-ezr_O3bSkydY-cJILJ7A50JrJV2xethyphenhyphenSa/s320/6PostIts.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Patty, you were totally right about the decorative PostIts. I stuck one to Keleme's forehead and the kids were off to the races.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-78910407849207271872013-09-21T23:59:00.000+13:002013-09-22T17:15:59.274+13:00FOMO and Vagabonds<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTzROg6sGleU-PhnfPGjs49uF_OcD38xoHmNnjgcHetqH49QJihGThbYUSHsRWHo1LgyxAGdXv5MtHT8e81wrXpDbutYkDCkVw_iIeY_XTZ_x1zQ3iiE57nWK84L3yvI65tcN/s1600/1Uno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTzROg6sGleU-PhnfPGjs49uF_OcD38xoHmNnjgcHetqH49QJihGThbYUSHsRWHo1LgyxAGdXv5MtHT8e81wrXpDbutYkDCkVw_iIeY_XTZ_x1zQ3iiE57nWK84L3yvI65tcN/s320/1Uno.jpg" /></a>At the beginning of the marathon I ran last October, I started with a volunteer pacer who was aiming for a time slower than the one I was hoping for. The idea is a little counterintuitive: pacers are typically used to speed a runner up and motivate him or her to finish at a specific time. I used the pacer to slow myself down. My tendency is to plow through all my energy at the beginning of the race leaving my body cramped and exhausted miles before the end. The strategy worked well: everything in moderation.</br>
</br>
But moderation was a difficult state to obtain in the Peace Corps’ carpe diem, limited-time, rest-when-you’re-dead atmosphere. Even more difficult is employing that strategy to this trip. 2 weeks is not a lot of time, and my mindset has been to take advantage of every moment I’m here or else elapsing time will waste away.</br>
</br>
I’ve heard acronym hipsters in The States refer to this as “FOMO”, the Fear Of Missing Out. Upon seeing an issue of <a href="http://www.7x7.com/">7x7 Magazine</a> on my coffee table, a friend told me she stopped reading it because it gave her a FOMO complex. All these people doing all these cool things, and how can I stay in on a Friday night?</br>
</br>
It’s a subconscious calculus that occurred to me in my groggy state this morning. I realized that in my head, I was expecting to go back to my Samoan home tomorrow. I taught at Maluafou College near Apia, and I was looking forward to a quiet return. Except I don’t live there anymore. Tomorrow is one of the free days on the unofficial group itinerary, and I have errands to run around town, people to see, things to do. Also I haven’t arranged accommodations for tomorrow night. As of now, I’m a vagabond.</br>
</br>
Except for Dan, who lives here, we’re all vagabonds for the next 7 days. This is by design: Samoan hotels tend to be flexible, and without strict timelines or reservations, we allow ourselves extra flexibility to combat this Fear Of Missing Out.</br>
</br>
I realize this probably sounds pretty stupid. Hotel reservations were not invented to enclose or restrict, but part of the joy of the Peace Corps is the spontaneity of adventure, and the group’s collective decision-making is more likely to benefit those with open schedules.</br>
</br>
I can distill this quick calculus down to qualitative answers to the following questions (there’s probably more, but this is the list I generated off the top of my head):<ul>
<li>What is the state of my health?
</li>
<li>What is everyone else doing?
</li>
<li>How much money am I willing to spend?
</li>
<li>When is the next time I need to be somewhere?
</li>
<li>Will there be a chance to do this again in the next 7 days?</li>
</ul>
What’s considered the “right” answer to these questions changes frequently. Sometimes you want to do what the group is doing, and sometimes you want some time alone.</br>
</br>
Based on this morning’s groggy calculus, I’ll probably get a hotel room in Apia tomorrow night. But rest assured I’ll be up early on Tuesday. I can rest when I’m dead.</br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.</br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeMChWZEKNzGPO9gNb_KirJiSeMjcmHN4Onotdg_JxTc-2sT3gk4wyCM_DuCYLoxkib7OSiASP_d49z2LPpYI-DRTyKnargHrqZJrfj5FYC0-ciJfSCG789ofQz1WU6YYMTeQ/s1600/2Group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeMChWZEKNzGPO9gNb_KirJiSeMjcmHN4Onotdg_JxTc-2sT3gk4wyCM_DuCYLoxkib7OSiASP_d49z2LPpYI-DRTyKnargHrqZJrfj5FYC0-ciJfSCG789ofQz1WU6YYMTeQ/s320/2Group.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The Peace Corp with Bex and Paul. Left to right: Supy 81, Jim 80, Jordan 81, Dan 81, Bex <a href="http://www.ayad.com.au/">AYAD</a>, Paul 81, AJ 81, Chris 81, Blakey81, Trent 80, and me 81.</div><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6kFnh4ebQM1ziS7lpVCwc3PniTqvjMI7UKGPlnZMwJ6c5K7GUPeLY-EbOeSwbQ1zp-wIUZxxPRcomm2i6eLLncjr-CS_x5TIucGOtMeKcmjRzVeH8BQYNs1SRuErUrZTEY17/s1600/3PaulTrentBex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6kFnh4ebQM1ziS7lpVCwc3PniTqvjMI7UKGPlnZMwJ6c5K7GUPeLY-EbOeSwbQ1zp-wIUZxxPRcomm2i6eLLncjr-CS_x5TIucGOtMeKcmjRzVeH8BQYNs1SRuErUrZTEY17/s320/3PaulTrentBex.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Paul and Bex took individual pics with everyone. This one is with Trent. Bex was a good sport about the ocean eating her dress.</div><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccUsSu7wgna1xKyBwOHeGWrEjJPnN_3cs7q0COM7JjjFZ0_DGcgMoME6-THofkkk18v8A3z7zgWQRNmi0Iqc8vFZv-WjBtq40rM0xILmJF-jklNPn0eMUPVvKXGDcycReb0Uq/s1600/4Euchre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccUsSu7wgna1xKyBwOHeGWrEjJPnN_3cs7q0COM7JjjFZ0_DGcgMoME6-THofkkk18v8A3z7zgWQRNmi0Iqc8vFZv-WjBtq40rM0xILmJF-jklNPn0eMUPVvKXGDcycReb0Uq/s320/4Euchre.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Euchre is back in full effect.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-47038883947695545112013-09-20T23:59:00.000+13:002013-09-21T17:44:43.179+13:00Paul and Bex's Wedding<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtGGyXHXqqzZkmqUSodKmdKk6Tn58LvJNvq-QZBS7PAfyEpcZA2XDO4CpCrDzsy2pyiV6SazDWmoz5gUijuh8eY6eroAy9e3wWv6i8RV0l_-lx2Xup5IGv4LC5GtX5jZ-H1WB/s1600/1PaulBex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtGGyXHXqqzZkmqUSodKmdKk6Tn58LvJNvq-QZBS7PAfyEpcZA2XDO4CpCrDzsy2pyiV6SazDWmoz5gUijuh8eY6eroAy9e3wWv6i8RV0l_-lx2Xup5IGv4LC5GtX5jZ-H1WB/s320/1PaulBex.jpg" /></a>The impetus for this trip was Paul's Wedding, which was today, and Jim's wedding, which is next weekend. Rather than writing out an entire post about all this, I'm going to enjoy the festivities and leave you with some pictures from today's events. The wedding was held at the Tofua trench on the south side of Upolu.</br>
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I hope you're well.</br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC35Y0gaNK4dM_m0K7faopg-iOKmOEmgP_g7KZAd4kZT8uzDTr5QhJtizUNV1JX0snYusN315RenOy3Ecn0JymbomNKhnwkiy1lbfJbiU-lj-c-S0APgw94iSm50lmcd5vx4hc/s1600/2BusRide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC35Y0gaNK4dM_m0K7faopg-iOKmOEmgP_g7KZAd4kZT8uzDTr5QhJtizUNV1JX0snYusN315RenOy3Ecn0JymbomNKhnwkiy1lbfJbiU-lj-c-S0APgw94iSm50lmcd5vx4hc/s320/2BusRide.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of the wedding's guests rode a Samoan bus from Apia to Tofua.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5QVv2IVfGo3Q9Q4LO8bvGMDt-ctrGGhDw4UCo37Cd971HjlnLZML-IEylP7FchTTM_5muTYfW-mvMISQFPw285WuZlXYlVcEB_GH2nZ39Oe_p23xLf5K1g4IEZoP_Q_yO8AD/s1600/3BusRideb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5QVv2IVfGo3Q9Q4LO8bvGMDt-ctrGGhDw4UCo37Cd971HjlnLZML-IEylP7FchTTM_5muTYfW-mvMISQFPw285WuZlXYlVcEB_GH2nZ39Oe_p23xLf5K1g4IEZoP_Q_yO8AD/s320/3BusRideb.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chris 81 took the lead in acquiring teuila flowers and decorating the bus.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVGeB-lwQDgvK3JtUE6VA-4ZaqK3HzbGvnhl9hD1kGYNG9Yal768nYvGmtp0MYhJmSaC48GTgJUJJdLTxBOjF0W6puYBrceOtGuLymOe2f2YU6nqb5MRbXZv_8-rjnZu1VaKM/s1600/4DanChris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVGeB-lwQDgvK3JtUE6VA-4ZaqK3HzbGvnhl9hD1kGYNG9Yal768nYvGmtp0MYhJmSaC48GTgJUJJdLTxBOjF0W6puYBrceOtGuLymOe2f2YU6nqb5MRbXZv_8-rjnZu1VaKM/s320/4DanChris.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dan, Blakey, AJ, and Chris.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUf4vOC8Bi8kFaYXLfKWuhjR6cwd9fMxYXvUwgWc8oUQRERpTM7g0jhQv_IRRKYEYcau7KznKuVNM-s9S6aVdkEPLmL4jsECKVysoVAvPt0vLG8zUw8OiQOFoDWgr1TmQIhSFp/s1600/5Reinkings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUf4vOC8Bi8kFaYXLfKWuhjR6cwd9fMxYXvUwgWc8oUQRERpTM7g0jhQv_IRRKYEYcau7KznKuVNM-s9S6aVdkEPLmL4jsECKVysoVAvPt0vLG8zUw8OiQOFoDWgr1TmQIhSFp/s320/5Reinkings.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Paul and his mom and brother.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-zMfq9wcG3HATGRgbRnFUv3QfV6lo4tJIlSKB1at0kzbEQxMc343dF2s0tFj5ZiX_F3DrjXXHWkyJoUQw6bYzaY2GnEVGN6o7Nuqd-7TSbrMfyVV8YRhiLkx3mLy4PcboHCh/s1600/6aAisle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-zMfq9wcG3HATGRgbRnFUv3QfV6lo4tJIlSKB1at0kzbEQxMc343dF2s0tFj5ZiX_F3DrjXXHWkyJoUQw6bYzaY2GnEVGN6o7Nuqd-7TSbrMfyVV8YRhiLkx3mLy4PcboHCh/s320/6aAisle.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bex coming down the aisle with her father.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfC5G_xUN89xV_BXdfZ1zcNFccjxQCAY2-xqaBri_YRI9ElhExTDxHATAhbRWL_dt2pSLjZ-Uhh7iuaphLnbS1G3RRTJE_7WYUFoqyp2CIADNLuXmwrEkF6Ch0yep71kc6XZU/s1600/6Andy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfC5G_xUN89xV_BXdfZ1zcNFccjxQCAY2-xqaBri_YRI9ElhExTDxHATAhbRWL_dt2pSLjZ-Uhh7iuaphLnbS1G3RRTJE_7WYUFoqyp2CIADNLuXmwrEkF6Ch0yep71kc6XZU/s320/6Andy.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Paul's friend Andy read a quotation. Paul and Bex married each other without an officiant, but Blakey served as emcee.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVpC7LhRw6RvZ6tcvwXTQn-EWiSqEZSCfCwDXPPaA_49BUOrsvxELU5wtflhjPd1pFfb3tpMC29YREX6duC0Q_NZ4PzroC5xNK2j6dx1Gel_bZnILocPZZqs2yjG390qGSOcS/s1600/7PaulandBex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVpC7LhRw6RvZ6tcvwXTQn-EWiSqEZSCfCwDXPPaA_49BUOrsvxELU5wtflhjPd1pFfb3tpMC29YREX6duC0Q_NZ4PzroC5xNK2j6dx1Gel_bZnILocPZZqs2yjG390qGSOcS/s320/7PaulandBex.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This picture is cute and surprisingly un-posed.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-SKJbIJpMzfncFSkKv4_S6sQO8k0vOKT9ZrOcMUVd5_ukDZTlFyvjF1qxngJ-NUZjUkUxBeJtzADeS3YtIb5kHzQSypHlCog5MpEoH4KK2QgMXO9BNQEf6jzjbegZLff43am/s1600/8TrentBlakey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-SKJbIJpMzfncFSkKv4_S6sQO8k0vOKT9ZrOcMUVd5_ukDZTlFyvjF1qxngJ-NUZjUkUxBeJtzADeS3YtIb5kHzQSypHlCog5MpEoH4KK2QgMXO9BNQEf6jzjbegZLff43am/s320/8TrentBlakey.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Trent 80, Fei, Jim 80, and Blakey.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTxw6MTxJHuO_oFQ4qcJ3SIqgXLZLLmRL8tFTJzhyphenhyphenmsuHaphTYaBFq7UXLH58opJyrozX8XEqvDLoaXfmjLGt-exCGDn7Th8Kjx4kFNBhEek5IX3cgPub5Pgzj1mhLH9wizxb/s1600/9JordanDan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTxw6MTxJHuO_oFQ4qcJ3SIqgXLZLLmRL8tFTJzhyphenhyphenmsuHaphTYaBFq7UXLH58opJyrozX8XEqvDLoaXfmjLGt-exCGDn7Th8Kjx4kFNBhEek5IX3cgPub5Pgzj1mhLH9wizxb/s320/9JordanDan.jpg" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jordan, Trent, and Dan at the reception.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bwF0kTUNAmamWCxnXTv6rEI_AjDWDXQM4JURprBxV6_ajcnm_s4jj730NX8yhIhA9K-APpWiTRVHXr5KaiQcKFDqO-HVhX-C6J3Ljj3YFtG4vtWqKhJb-olD0kNluWQoRxh2/s1600/9aBouquetToss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bwF0kTUNAmamWCxnXTv6rEI_AjDWDXQM4JURprBxV6_ajcnm_s4jj730NX8yhIhA9K-APpWiTRVHXr5KaiQcKFDqO-HVhX-C6J3Ljj3YFtG4vtWqKhJb-olD0kNluWQoRxh2/s320/9aBouquetToss.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The bouquet toss.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vzOE1b-WS646pC9JcZ_r4gPmyZD_wJmNbnGgYy_D2xEfigRm7gveIzlb9PNlkYDwzIsUEKt9cTUnoIQQD0F6SY6YgFqs_5mVjuihHX7gtLt9lxfbAWB1pRIQ_-jJi_8VLdGH/s1600/9LSiionthebus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vzOE1b-WS646pC9JcZ_r4gPmyZD_wJmNbnGgYy_D2xEfigRm7gveIzlb9PNlkYDwzIsUEKt9cTUnoIQQD0F6SY6YgFqs_5mVjuihHX7gtLt9lxfbAWB1pRIQ_-jJi_8VLdGH/s320/9LSiionthebus.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Paul and Bex Sii-ing on the bus on the way to tonight's festivities.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-88849562285130910862013-09-19T23:59:00.001+13:002013-09-21T17:44:07.961+13:00Odds and Ends Thursday 76<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8JUx033nq0e2KBLajP1pqnf74qMAn-_0ab-nCQME3qkSL_DwNmsTUZ5jW4LTPIDoUAbgipgZL1usuxkbPtH46aGZXtXzrY4mL8IkUIK2EZHPD7vwfALcpNKKIa5-AyEnZ-5W/s1600/1Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8JUx033nq0e2KBLajP1pqnf74qMAn-_0ab-nCQME3qkSL_DwNmsTUZ5jW4LTPIDoUAbgipgZL1usuxkbPtH46aGZXtXzrY4mL8IkUIK2EZHPD7vwfALcpNKKIa5-AyEnZ-5W/s320/1Sunset.jpg" /></a>Dan’s station wagon has been making lots of trips to Faleolo airport picking up Chris then Blakey then Paul and Bex then me, often with a day or two between arrivals. AJ, Jordan, and Trent 80 fly in this afternoon. The car sits 4 comfortably, but we’re all a little pumped for these guys. Supy doesn’t get in until tomorrow, and we’re all going to be on the south side of the island by then, so today’s arrival is sort of the last piece. I think we’re gonna shell out the $60WST for a taxi for the greeting committee. Why not? Here are some other odds and ends from the week:<ul>
<li> Air Pacific didn’t have any window or aisle seats when I checked in at the ticketing counter, but I got called up to the podium while I was sitting at the gate. The lady from the ticketing counter smiled at me. “I got you an aisle seat,” she said slyly as she slid the ticket toward me. Then as I was boarding, she took my ticket and whispered, “The seat next to you is open.” After I was in my seat, she came on to the plane and asked if I was comfortable. Then she wished me luck. Full service from Air Pacific!
<li>Or she had a crush?
<li>In Fiji remixed techno versions of “Crazy in Love” and “As Long as You Love Me” blared on the bus on the way to Suva. Yep. That’s the South Pacific.
<li>Fiji had a lot of pine trees. Weird.
<li>I found Slate Bourbon (blended in Chicago, but only sold in Australia) at the duty free shop in Fiji. First time I’ll have had it since New Years 2010.
<li>The Nokia phone still uses T9, but I can connect to my Gmail and Facebook accounts. It’s a little anachronistic.
<li>Speaking of that, the proliferation of Facebook in Samoa has prompted a phenomenon that never happened my first time around: there’s many more people here in Samoa reading the blog. It’s a little fun, it’s a little spooky.
<li>Taufua Beach Fales down here in Lalumanu has its own WiFi payment system. $20WST for an hour, $50WST for the day. Seems like there should be an in-between step.
<li>Samoa jumped the International Dateline on New Year’s Day 2012. This means that we used to be 4 hours behind, and now we’re 20 hours ahead. So I’m writing out Odds and Ends Thursday on Friday here. It’s kinda weird.
<li>I’ve been conducting some back-and-forth with people in The States, and scheduling is confusing. I’m supposed to talk to a woman at 1:30 p.m. PDT this coming Monday, September 23. In practice, this means I need to get on Skype at 9:30 a.m. Tuesday morning Samoa Time. Wrap your head around that.
<li>Some months ago, the Ah Liki company introduced a new Samoan beer ,“Taula”. This forced Vailima, previously the country’s only brewer, to improve its original recipe and then to introduce 2 new flavors: Pure and Export. Export has an alcohol content of 6.7%, so it’s commonly referred to here as <i>Povi</i> or “The Bull”.
<li>Among Peace Corps, my blogging has been far less controversial. People aren’t as loathe to give me time to compose, type, and post. Is this because we’re older and more patient? Or maybe because the blog has proved as a useful record of our time in Samoa? Or maybe because after 2 years of the incessant time suck that is this blog, they’ve all been beaten into submission?
<li>I got lost in Moata’a <b>again</b> today.</ul>
That’s all I got for today. I hope you’re well. Pictures below.</br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3jSL-pUI17eKLq7vQuwehE9wG7M0vP0r0RIU4RxtCsUxjA2ss05Nhdcm5AIivHL7OMOIKuqNTy7TH37zcpQ_v-kCjJToiCI52Dhtv3AH9F62MWFIyvETw7pTt6yqLasmDIKT/s1600/2SanFran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3jSL-pUI17eKLq7vQuwehE9wG7M0vP0r0RIU4RxtCsUxjA2ss05Nhdcm5AIivHL7OMOIKuqNTy7TH37zcpQ_v-kCjJToiCI52Dhtv3AH9F62MWFIyvETw7pTt6yqLasmDIKT/s320/2SanFran.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Saw this shirt displayed in an Apian storefront. <b>Never ever</b> call it "San Fran".</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WHzOYOCS03wKkUkud3etfohUSC2-ad9VoILfY4IGXJTjCX3zCXr7XFLmgzOdr7Tz1vT4jp04wgfTwQ9NK5VNa6gv2qtsUTbFAikWAbW926lFm6UQG9TekxDhD87Yx5Ykq15p/s1600/3AmericasCup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WHzOYOCS03wKkUkud3etfohUSC2-ad9VoILfY4IGXJTjCX3zCXr7XFLmgzOdr7Tz1vT4jp04wgfTwQ9NK5VNa6gv2qtsUTbFAikWAbW926lFm6UQG9TekxDhD87Yx5Ykq15p/s320/3AmericasCup.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Speaking of San Francisco, they're showing the America's Cup here. New Zealand is faring very well.</div></br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMQuuAJgtQbrFKODTgtw1_duggI38X9mHunHGrrnnOOBdczEoo1EhjLHQQDhuMUPKRAJZ11IBlRUzXXSptduslaYUA6SZeTrlD8VdwQHZ5J2mjuM3nprcmFs2tT4QSc9gn-jx/s1600/4Hangover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMQuuAJgtQbrFKODTgtw1_duggI38X9mHunHGrrnnOOBdczEoo1EhjLHQQDhuMUPKRAJZ11IBlRUzXXSptduslaYUA6SZeTrlD8VdwQHZ5J2mjuM3nprcmFs2tT4QSc9gn-jx/s320/4Hangover.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For some odd reason, Farm Joe has tips for getting rid of a hangover prominently displayed just inside the store's entrance.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-78116266607816833472013-09-19T23:59:00.000+13:002013-09-20T10:00:50.673+13:00Mo Money Mo Problems<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7T_1Y7V0MtdXgHLKnblevImGaFxtAU4LHjghJBbkNTDCOyK1r2iGDVIWMJeq5bi1s330546Eb0fNKSZgI8qodFC2FKNxwehXYWEl4CkucopPL0RJkeWL1zqWW-n9AWkiJt3S/s1600/1Chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7T_1Y7V0MtdXgHLKnblevImGaFxtAU4LHjghJBbkNTDCOyK1r2iGDVIWMJeq5bi1s330546Eb0fNKSZgI8qodFC2FKNxwehXYWEl4CkucopPL0RJkeWL1zqWW-n9AWkiJt3S/s320/1Chicken.jpg" /></a>Samoa and I have come a long way in the last 5 years. When I walked into the Digicel store in October 2008 to buy a cell phone, I didn’t have much money in my pocket, and Samoa’s fledging cell phone industry was still in its nascent stages. I chose a basic Nokia out of the 3 or 4 options available, filled out a little card with my name and some personal information, handed the cashier $50WST and that was that. I went through that process again yesterday and ran into lots more red tape.</br>
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Annual inflation here is a little crazy. In an <a href="http://diplomatt.blogspot.com/2009/07/allowance.html">old post</a>, I quoted annual inflation as between 1 and 3%, and based on anecdotal evidence since I arrived, that actually seems a little low. I was looking forward to the cheaper cost of living, and relative to San Francisco, things have been okay. But my brain’s pricing estimator is still programmed with 2010 prices, and grocery store trips have been jarring. $12WST for Weet-Bix? $4WST for a quart of milk? Oof.</br>
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As the amount of capital increases, investors and investor attention increases. That simple cell phone transaction above has a lot more eyes on it.</br>
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First of all, I had to wait in a really long line. Pricing schemes have allowed cell phones to become widely available across the socioeconomic spectrum. And after SamoaTel was de-regulated, the market was flooded with cell phone data plans. Just after I left Samoa in December 2010, I started to receive Facebook friend invites from students attending the school where I worked. Cell phones reached ubiquity while I was here the first time around, and they’ve only added to that.</br>
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Side note: just as I reached the counter, I looked over and Filifili, one of the kids I’ve kept in touch with the most, was standing 10 feet away, waving patiently.</br>
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I told the man behind the counter I wanted a Nokia 111. He scoffed a little. “Do you have Samoan ID?” </br>
</br>
Whaaat?! </br>
</br>
Aside from passports, I’ve never seen nor heard the phrase “Samoan ID”. Further, how could he tell that I wasn’t Samoan? What gave it away? And finally, why does it matter? </br>
</br>
“Our policy is to only sell to people of Samoa.” </br>
</br>
I was forthcoming in admitting I did not have a Samoan ID, but I claimed I was moving here and needed a phone. After much pleading, he told me I’d need to bring in Samoan ID or a Samoan passport or I would need to find a Samoan who could “vouch for me”.</br>
</br>
After hearing this last part, my brain whipped out its internal Rolodex. Peace Corps? Other teachers? Old students? Filifili! </br>
</br>
I turned across the room and shouted his name. The cashier cried, “<i>Uso</i>!” The impatient man behind me in line joined in. One of us made the elongated kissing sound. Filifili’s ears perked up.</br>
</br>
He vouched, and now I have a phone.</br>
</br>
One last story before I sign off: </br>
</br>
I drove Dan’s car home tonight by myself. Dan’s house is located at the end of a maze of roads in Moata’a, and I have said to Chris and Blakey several times over the last few days that I wouldn’t be able to find his house on my own.</br>
</br>
But there I was, driving through the streets and backroads of Moata’a, realizing this situation was difficult for 2 reasons:<ol>
<li>I never drove during the Peace Corps, so knowing how to get to places off the bus route was all about being on foot; and
<li>We were all teachers, and most of us lived on school compounds rather than private residences, so our spots were centrally located within the community. We were easy to find back then.</ol>
</br>
Eventually I broke down and called Blakey to get clearer directions (none had been written out; I’d mostly been relying on visual cues). Oh well. Technology only complicates. Until the country gets GPS.</br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.</br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYylwWYBru76T18Z3eJSM1jPhxJIZo6Ev63flavccbqzYPE0m86IGZQaSk2QYy7CP1UHsUTpa0mibQ_Ffm8M_JeQlYRrCqFW1h2dVJBOTvBWbmY1dY6hobMU3fWA9GOlHA6BjR/s1600/1MeFilifili.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYylwWYBru76T18Z3eJSM1jPhxJIZo6Ev63flavccbqzYPE0m86IGZQaSk2QYy7CP1UHsUTpa0mibQ_Ffm8M_JeQlYRrCqFW1h2dVJBOTvBWbmY1dY6hobMU3fWA9GOlHA6BjR/s320/1MeFilifili.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me and Filifili. I took him to lunch today.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2oQzaPfdj88tkY-6O2IdlVpQWZZu2PqetKh9lYRcw7yxx65vXM3PbzeIxZLU7wM7FZ0sasAxusEM0xHPwaGn4OjU8pjI7US5hWMvykJHbiCyEQmD_t52k-bVke8Jr5cQOTzxU/s1600/2Coasters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2oQzaPfdj88tkY-6O2IdlVpQWZZu2PqetKh9lYRcw7yxx65vXM3PbzeIxZLU7wM7FZ0sasAxusEM0xHPwaGn4OjU8pjI7US5hWMvykJHbiCyEQmD_t52k-bVke8Jr5cQOTzxU/s320/2Coasters.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Many of you have probably heard my rant about how Samoa needs coasters, and lo and behold, they got them! But... they're laminated. That green part isn't absorbent, which kinda defeats the purpose of the coaster all together. Two steps forward, one step back.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFEFCEiEOX2Orh9ESoOGm9w2Z9KzNWLOqusdnP_uZJgp_MTE6X_MNl7n7gRTzFEAQSEb6z7S1dfC2uah8klZNuyRW9W1hazaoJICIzTImc36oyc2-t3Q1SK_7KCKr8ai8Bi_B/s1600/3Pinatis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFEFCEiEOX2Orh9ESoOGm9w2Z9KzNWLOqusdnP_uZJgp_MTE6X_MNl7n7gRTzFEAQSEb6z7S1dfC2uah8klZNuyRW9W1hazaoJICIzTImc36oyc2-t3Q1SK_7KCKr8ai8Bi_B/s320/3Pinatis.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pinati's Samoan street food got a huge facelift. But don't worry. Jesus is still up on the wall.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv33URuK7OA62WUwQYcFKKAqpe_nQYbfUhB1XGM68zvMuDhZ2RdS8_iTa4p7PLYt9GfHsxdZX-GiPeRW6O6WJydl9iukrfBeac_9MkKS5nVNuqlBWW2djsYG9n8IqjC5monLTa/s1600/4Nachos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv33URuK7OA62WUwQYcFKKAqpe_nQYbfUhB1XGM68zvMuDhZ2RdS8_iTa4p7PLYt9GfHsxdZX-GiPeRW6O6WJydl9iukrfBeac_9MkKS5nVNuqlBWW2djsYG9n8IqjC5monLTa/s320/4Nachos.jpg" /></a>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A new restaurant in town, The Edge, serves Samoan nachos made over taro chips with Samoan veggies on top. Delicious.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-36449002047108388792013-09-18T23:59:00.000+13:002014-03-27T12:21:34.451+14:00It’s Just like Riding a Bike<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE3GOs9NWYsf-fJkvuitjgq66PSRDS5_5hjYPXvN_gWmjXrZvCn8oPnMgHeLAg2MYvjxzBE94nUT2e4FdILRTtnDM9urUDRhzVDwjCCuYSAv8jgAekEmxvwEY8GJEl7yricx5/s1600/1Me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE3GOs9NWYsf-fJkvuitjgq66PSRDS5_5hjYPXvN_gWmjXrZvCn8oPnMgHeLAg2MYvjxzBE94nUT2e4FdILRTtnDM9urUDRhzVDwjCCuYSAv8jgAekEmxvwEY8GJEl7yricx5/s320/1Me.jpg" /></a>It feels like I never left. Being here is so familiar that the last three years may or may not have been a very long nap. As I was typing this, Dan said from across the room, “So it’s been three years since I saw you? … Now that I’ve seen you, it doesn’t feel like it’s been long.” Nope. It doesn’t just feel like old times; it feels like <i>the same times</i>. And for the purposes and hopes and dreams for this trip, that’s perfect.</br>
</br>
There are marked differences for sure: Dan lives in Apia. Upolu was ravaged by a cyclone that’s left parts of Beach Road unrecognizable. I’m on a MacBook. The owners of the fish market sold the snack bar, and they no longer serve <i>oka</i> or <i>poke</i>. Paul’s getting married. I’m looking down the long end of two weeks rather than two years. My Samoan vocabulary isn’t quite there when I reach for it. </br>
</br>
Today Chris and I walked to town, and 5 minutes after we left home, I turned around because I thought I heard a car coming, but it turned out to be an advancing torrential downpour. Marooned under a tree, feeling soggy and slightly defeated, I tried to conjure what I would have done about this situation 3 years ago. But even that seems inconsequential. </br>
</br>
Candid Dan pontificating on how things are different now: “Living in town. Having a car. Having mostly friends that are not American. Having more money to have the things I need, and lots of things I want. That’s a good thing. I ‘m not sure I could go back to living on $200 per week.”</br>
</br>
It’s true. Financially we’re all more comfortable. And there are lots of freedoms that come with leaving the Peace Corps’s bureaucratic rules. And, aside from Dan who works at the National University of Samoa, we’re here without obligation to teach or work.</br>
</br>
But the fact that life here seems to have left off exactly where I left it is a testament to how irrelevant all that stuff is. The best parts and the worse parts remain the same. Life in Samoa ebbs and flows at the mercy of external elements: the environment, the weather, the brutal strength of the flora and fauna, Samoan culture and the rules and obligations therein. And co-existing with these things—asserting oneself in harmony or discord—is what makes life here both difficult and gratifying on a grand scale.</br>
</br>
Coming back to that polarity is scary and thrilling, and it makes me feel alive and maybe self-actualized. Those feelings were the greatest part of the Peace Corps. For many of us, those two years were the best of times and the worst of times. Stepping off the plane in Fiji yesterday, I was great to feel that polarity once more.</br>
</br>
It’s taxing and hard. But it’s exactly what I was looking for. How do I take it home with me?</br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.</br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1extZBI9YfgHwmbrvLo4KsNFGdosdSnU-W1qqblzM_pZOFekw8PYvnOPmQ36N6e0iGWBFGxWH-fSwmhImvVO-42EiuZKsbuhJ4dkLJ3ooZtqwBfVliRRmrrVnhSxwzRJMU0KE/s1600/2Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1extZBI9YfgHwmbrvLo4KsNFGdosdSnU-W1qqblzM_pZOFekw8PYvnOPmQ36N6e0iGWBFGxWH-fSwmhImvVO-42EiuZKsbuhJ4dkLJ3ooZtqwBfVliRRmrrVnhSxwzRJMU0KE/s320/2Church.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That hurricane last December was no joke. The cathedral in Apia took on massive damage as is currently being rebuilt. Lots of buildings along the harbour were completely wiped away.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW49eAvvWgpnB8nvlGpTCSt4pv3whKRVjggkw3Wyr0q0GlKzdqx9AoM8a_gYclIO-hasbYQVWXSdkT9fQegFuW81DSkoMUKSyAcusk6VxfDCScElqky6538tCHW62qROstpWfH/s1600/3Picnic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW49eAvvWgpnB8nvlGpTCSt4pv3whKRVjggkw3Wyr0q0GlKzdqx9AoM8a_gYclIO-hasbYQVWXSdkT9fQegFuW81DSkoMUKSyAcusk6VxfDCScElqky6538tCHW62qROstpWfH/s320/3Picnic.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chris 81 and I had a taro and <i>masipopo</i> picnic under an awning while we waited for the rain to subside.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMom-cEXtoZTkK4isq9SGtgDX583680JIOoxWMe15oswBDKUODDjS4L2i0_2ov7veY7-QWrT_1P1Rj1d_CMfEEuy0O8gTNBe-rWAqDDoAQRr4mQiUwfY3h_032kpByXV6UJII0/s1600/4Apia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMom-cEXtoZTkK4isq9SGtgDX583680JIOoxWMe15oswBDKUODDjS4L2i0_2ov7veY7-QWrT_1P1Rj1d_CMfEEuy0O8gTNBe-rWAqDDoAQRr4mQiUwfY3h_032kpByXV6UJII0/s320/4Apia.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This new complex in Apia is flashy and modern. Dan 81 worked on some of the construction.</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsHoCq0aXXcusuq05Jas0LJ0xu30B4z5xnTcIiPiQhNjdJLbGu8tMOFjJAjRNMtXUw8vT_CJyP5DYeMn83ESZsBFWQ4mUHtfB6FqTFLEKPvdxyQD8OhJATh1S577qrmmOGRcEt/s1600/5Ayu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsHoCq0aXXcusuq05Jas0LJ0xu30B4z5xnTcIiPiQhNjdJLbGu8tMOFjJAjRNMtXUw8vT_CJyP5DYeMn83ESZsBFWQ4mUHtfB6FqTFLEKPvdxyQD8OhJATh1S577qrmmOGRcEt/s320/5Ayu.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In Samoan, <i>aiu</i> means "greedy".</div></br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWxuMNhNKee61cxubjWLtVhfcx-OafohbiN7nJNSAxGjnFYbWuNSBH7HjX9CWuzMkvIjF5k2QkCOkggIwDtkgnZDO7_UOisevyuYuxoEAt_UjipJKy9nyZdOHr1IvAttE8nbn/s1600/6Clock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWxuMNhNKee61cxubjWLtVhfcx-OafohbiN7nJNSAxGjnFYbWuNSBH7HjX9CWuzMkvIjF5k2QkCOkggIwDtkgnZDO7_UOisevyuYuxoEAt_UjipJKy9nyZdOHr1IvAttE8nbn/s320/6Clock.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When my dad came to visit, he set his watch to this clock, which back then was stuck at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBvTRvoLXHY">four minutes to two</a>. But now it's no longer stuck! It tells the right time and chimes on the hour. It's a brave new world.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-69688030505167727982013-09-16T20:00:00.000+13:002013-09-17T19:55:10.196+13:0015 Hours in Fiji<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOI-mRZnLDgQ3_C5QZZhbP1C-_qraqP5muBpE6cpIuC1765FceHbQGqHLl30bC4TJf58XhoA1vSeTBAPELpT0RHrDRJBOBr5B1KwF9yTjmwXFx5saDJj8U1-BrOBTl05dcu77z/s1600/1Kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOI-mRZnLDgQ3_C5QZZhbP1C-_qraqP5muBpE6cpIuC1765FceHbQGqHLl30bC4TJf58XhoA1vSeTBAPELpT0RHrDRJBOBr5B1KwF9yTjmwXFx5saDJj8U1-BrOBTl05dcu77z/s320/1Kids.jpg" /></a>Some might call today a wash. My flight arrived in Fiji at 5:35 a.m. today, and my connecting flight to Samoa isn’t until 8:50 p.m., so I effectively had one waking day to take in Fiji. Consensus from other Peace Corps is Nadi’s not as interesting as Suva, and so I caught a local bus from the airport this morning. As it turns out, a one-way local bus trip from the airport in Nadi to Suva proper takes roughly 4.5 hours. Given the bus didn’t leave until after 7 this morning, and I had to be back to check in for international flight, this left me with enough time to get off the bus in Suva, shop a little, get some Indo-Fijian curry for lunch, and then hop back for the 4.5-hour return trip. Not the most exciting day.</br>
</br>
On the other hand, the day was enlightening. First of all, what better way to get a taste of a new place than by driving 90 miles through its countryside? I saw a whole lotta Fiji today, granted from an air-conditioned bus. But the bus was travelling at 18 mph, on average.</br>
</br>
Second, on my return trip back to The States I have another 12-hour layover here, and I’l have companions for that one, so it’s not like I’ll never see Fiji again. Also, now I’m all the wiser, and I’ll be able to say, “Guys, let’s not take the local bus to Suva.”</br>
</br>
Third, it was a nice way to ease back into the South Pacific. Dan is picking me up at Faleolo tonight, and since lots of people are already in Samoa, tomorrow we’ll hit the ground running. Taking today to re-enter island culture was probably a good thing. Fiji shares many of Samoa’s non-Western tendencies: polychronism, collectivism, conservative traditionalism, etc. It was good to take in a refresher course before jumping into the deep end.</br>
</br>
Finally, the 9 hours on the bus allowed for some quiet contemplation.</br>
</br>
Getting off the airplane this morning, I was struck by the salty humid aroma of the South Pacific. They say scent is the most innate for the senses—my two touchstones are the smell of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland and the smell of my grandmother’s lavender bath soap from the 1980s—and my nose spent the morning reminiscing. At first it was just the air. Then the pungent odor of nearby villagers burning their trash. Then the occasional bursts of flowering plants. Each one, even the trash fire, brought on a warm sense of nostalgia.</br>
</br>
I am struck by how nervous I was to come back and, at the same time, what a thrill it is to be here. I spent a lot of time on the bus today trying to reconcile those thoughts.</br>
</br>
During training, when I first moved to Samoa, the morning was the hardest part of the day mentally. Waking up, I could feel the weight of the day—the difficulty of getting around, the contradicting urgency and meaninglessness of time, the loneliness of being in a place where I have no social network, no roots. That morning apprehension lessened over time, but it never completely disappeared, and it was fully palpable (but by no means crippling) this morning.</br>
</br>
And as sad and taxing as that feeling can be, it’s also a thrill. As banal and eventless as today was, it was unmistakably an adventure. And as with any adventure, there’s inherent room for optimism and the thrill of not knowing what comes next. Even if it’s just another hour on the bus.</br>
</br>
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.</br>
</br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWzOzANNO-0qtjZt4A-FH_KEpIW_FuuV5SAWFqjXa9C5t2ayd4zDNiifj_QGJmkWfOV5cedQcWtsa-voxz9ZPTEvRKpudV4TlY7L6QNTgL02nodt-Y2VpRaY4icBHnhEw02y4/s1600/2Me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWzOzANNO-0qtjZt4A-FH_KEpIW_FuuV5SAWFqjXa9C5t2ayd4zDNiifj_QGJmkWfOV5cedQcWtsa-voxz9ZPTEvRKpudV4TlY7L6QNTgL02nodt-Y2VpRaY4icBHnhEw02y4/s320/2Me.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me in Fiji.</div></br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7JkROz6xDDwo6PzKO_pCecQ36wgHNhg6AwtCja50hLGJmK4g23eJcJu7THDKqB4W8YwaPqQRz3ifNvZmz3rM5VbhxDSCtUala9eYy2DQVtLtIu6jaPeEIWpIxddshR0NaREP/s1600/3Students.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7JkROz6xDDwo6PzKO_pCecQ36wgHNhg6AwtCja50hLGJmK4g23eJcJu7THDKqB4W8YwaPqQRz3ifNvZmz3rM5VbhxDSCtUala9eYy2DQVtLtIu6jaPeEIWpIxddshR0NaREP/s320/3Students.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I took a candid picture of some other students this morning during a debacle of a side-trip (I'll tell you about that some other time), and these kids asked me to take their picture. So I obliged.</div></br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5oy_n8KEanX6ngb-5W_oIP7J04tPwa7SfQ_RaucFjUdti5vAh5KbyTyaxp4x7zAmi5_MTkP4KeEYEXukWHw9Qa3fsVEQsypbi1CnC-cavQA0cXWI6xb5kJgJw9fEGhZRjSWPr/s1600/4OrangeHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5oy_n8KEanX6ngb-5W_oIP7J04tPwa7SfQ_RaucFjUdti5vAh5KbyTyaxp4x7zAmi5_MTkP4KeEYEXukWHw9Qa3fsVEQsypbi1CnC-cavQA0cXWI6xb5kJgJw9fEGhZRjSWPr/s320/4OrangeHouse.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I saw this orange house on the road. I liked it.</div></br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ao7BnlOolmQKzDIFMTJHR2PfPj7UYEJmKd61VpUAMObC2WR4qNoy6mIEA6hy9CPdqb3D1SxBOswf5yYUSUyFNpWuIP_n_dwrv7nsugK_AQlLpGjS3jLQ8qBN8Fgcpe0S3Ltu/s1600/5Market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ao7BnlOolmQKzDIFMTJHR2PfPj7UYEJmKd61VpUAMObC2WR4qNoy6mIEA6hy9CPdqb3D1SxBOswf5yYUSUyFNpWuIP_n_dwrv7nsugK_AQlLpGjS3jLQ8qBN8Fgcpe0S3Ltu/s320/5Market.jpg" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The open-air market in Suva.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-19789728401258412992013-09-16T18:51:00.001+13:002013-09-17T20:07:25.556+13:00We Have to Go Back!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXmbTMTDfi2dISesh0E3C1Ia9YKF1H7-WBOlFI8wQSh-2BON9UW2V0t-mgnWHyvOWwwGsnGhn3V_7L_IfpFNnefA9zqh57Ip3M_k0ehJVNkEyEYgcNg4Nbqjp21yDthzrEdha/s1600/we-have-to-go-back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXmbTMTDfi2dISesh0E3C1Ia9YKF1H7-WBOlFI8wQSh-2BON9UW2V0t-mgnWHyvOWwwGsnGhn3V_7L_IfpFNnefA9zqh57Ip3M_k0ehJVNkEyEYgcNg4Nbqjp21yDthzrEdha/s320/we-have-to-go-back.jpg" /></a>I was by myself in the check-out line at Trader Joe’s when the text came in. It was a typical Sunday grocery run during San Francisco’s Indian summer last year. The text read, “Hey Mati this is Paul. It’s been a long time. Anyways hope you’ve been doing well. Rebecca and I just got engaged and we are planning on having a wedding in Samoa around about a year from now and would love to see you out on the dance floor.” And so here we are.<br />
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Now that I read it again, it’s unclear whether the dance floor reference is specific to me. I am a shameless wedding dancer, and whether I’m terribly awesome or awesomely terrible, I’ve built a reputation for myself. But maybe it would be great to see everyone on the dance floor?<br />
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I admit my first instinct was slight panic. What about the reunion?<br />
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At our Close of Service conference at the end of our Peace Corps tenure, Group 81 was hanging out in hotel room, enjoying one of our last nights as a 13-person unit. Someone asked whether I’d be interested in a reunion in America a few years down the line. As the story goes, I felt so passionately about this idea that I made Paul pause the music and then proceeded to very seriously demand that everyone commit to a reunion in Chicago Summer 2013.<br />
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That plan was shelved, and now the reunion is happening in The Motherland.<br />
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As it turns out, Jim from group 80 scheduled his wedding 6 days after Paul’s, and the double-wedding week was enough to draw a crowd. 8 of the 13 members of group 81 are coming together for the next couple weeks.<br />
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The Lost reference above is appropriate. Fans of the show will recall Jack’s deeply rooted urge to go back to the island, while Kate had strong reservations. Similarly, I’m approaching the return to Samoa with great excitement and intense apprehension. It’s always a thrill to heed the call of the wild, but the Peace Corps was a massively difficult time, and I can’t help but feel a little nervous.<br />
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And given that I bought my plane ticket back in January, there’s been a lot of time to vacillate between these two mindsets.<br />
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Anyway, we’ll see how if I can pull off daily blogging during the next 2 weeks.<br />
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I hope you’re well. Photos from Peace Corps mini-reunions from the past 3 years below.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PLxeIAPlKx5TBFeS0Ay6lH3Qw1QtkKkE0pXtDLJ4n5oECzDM9V1SnUxBJSpsZz9r2VO8p9taaVbUShQCB7mvx_QWfKZAQNX1e5a8yOnuqmG4_P95d139URqmOOiBMkdbdZ38/s1600/IMG_0541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PLxeIAPlKx5TBFeS0Ay6lH3Qw1QtkKkE0pXtDLJ4n5oECzDM9V1SnUxBJSpsZz9r2VO8p9taaVbUShQCB7mvx_QWfKZAQNX1e5a8yOnuqmG4_P95d139URqmOOiBMkdbdZ38/s320/IMG_0541.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Supy, Me, Ali, and Jenny S sii-ing on our way to Bay 2 Breakers.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDDBKj3BGQ7gRL3MEZ1Zi-41ZhydHUQ0WR4ACwkXXTOFLVZItzSxAVPnXY3CUukwfnkQ3E0MXJKGmpCZoh-npOclrnw2au7IrqQTgrr6QIluH-3OMo4yFDrjN4Z3Of8BvEdUj/s1600/IMG_0932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDDBKj3BGQ7gRL3MEZ1Zi-41ZhydHUQ0WR4ACwkXXTOFLVZItzSxAVPnXY3CUukwfnkQ3E0MXJKGmpCZoh-npOclrnw2au7IrqQTgrr6QIluH-3OMo4yFDrjN4Z3Of8BvEdUj/s320/IMG_0932.JPG" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the Rugby 7s Tournament in Vegas.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56TFrjjfF_7yYC1HT0PHBDe1eCcKYJm7zJMvjbaItTi5dkpjDQ1SiQUWQ4_raFtlVQgIt22nbVJ3P70btA_9e2OQgD0HuK6VQVroy2xHkUctlyVyq2nA56yQnkKjHqJ3xCOy_/s1600/IMG_1146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56TFrjjfF_7yYC1HT0PHBDe1eCcKYJm7zJMvjbaItTi5dkpjDQ1SiQUWQ4_raFtlVQgIt22nbVJ3P70btA_9e2OQgD0HuK6VQVroy2xHkUctlyVyq2nA56yQnkKjHqJ3xCOy_/s320/IMG_1146.JPG" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jenny S rowing.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFAVzdEc3lOoVwjSYd1X37SRWQiqcXw144hdolZoVGadFn0-6SzJISJ9WZ0cqGXeXXXyqUMdw3vxjGyUqQsEUWEaDTV7-BLJgPiS9R_oYYh7uLXNVDLcPwV1VBKYO03I_G8TQ/s1600/IMG_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFAVzdEc3lOoVwjSYd1X37SRWQiqcXw144hdolZoVGadFn0-6SzJISJ9WZ0cqGXeXXXyqUMdw3vxjGyUqQsEUWEaDTV7-BLJgPiS9R_oYYh7uLXNVDLcPwV1VBKYO03I_G8TQ/s320/IMG_0037.JPG" /></a></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me and some of the 81 guys at the UN.</div></br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrraXm9XGcTLYyxfdL9RvBu4kvMD_O81gWKuEmknG9tn4O_gDfAoAs1MFuzWhJLIp_BntAkrxV14oD41Ei4nEt4O6v3dpp1XN2xuEumicna-ir0GMxP7o5n2ewvL5dk7yRmKl2/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrraXm9XGcTLYyxfdL9RvBu4kvMD_O81gWKuEmknG9tn4O_gDfAoAs1MFuzWhJLIp_BntAkrxV14oD41Ei4nEt4O6v3dpp1XN2xuEumicna-ir0GMxP7o5n2ewvL5dk7yRmKl2/s320/IMG_0207.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Scout, the immigrant cat, overcompensating on her first 4th of July in America.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-49741637631002498362012-08-28T11:59:00.003+13:002012-08-28T11:59:56.743+13:00Still Teaching<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPN9zP5PgAyufUJN171F7uoIk563W2nsuTQaNBkMMsqrh3v4nVF1jOQmCdgXFkyVFx17avMcLUGAed8qYlzYzbk7Y83qLcyc6OXrirVwyX7lVxdnP8fcVxnzE3KL2py-n1wnYT/s1600/Amanda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPN9zP5PgAyufUJN171F7uoIk563W2nsuTQaNBkMMsqrh3v4nVF1jOQmCdgXFkyVFx17avMcLUGAed8qYlzYzbk7Y83qLcyc6OXrirVwyX7lVxdnP8fcVxnzE3KL2py-n1wnYT/s400/Amanda.jpg" /></a></div>
Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-10030197320202745702011-01-03T01:29:00.002-10:002011-01-03T01:36:45.921-10:00Videos!I figure now that I've had real Internet access for nearly a month, some video uploads are long overdue. I didn't shoot much video during my Peace Corps experience, mostly because I was busy taking still photos. But I managed a few. Please note that all of these can be seen larger at <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/samoablog">my YouTube page here</a>.<br />
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I hope you're well. Videos below.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Savai'i House at Maluafou College in Apia rehearsing their siva for Culture Day 2009.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Akanese singing on the day I met her.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me and Akanese playing <i>Popo Mano</i>.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Akanese and me playing a children's version of Go Fish.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me and Akanese playing a Chick-ee-Bom (sp?).</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bored with Jenga, a couple of us built a tunnel that Scout inadvertently destroys. Hilarity ensues.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 10.4 class (my English class) sings Herman's Hermits' "Henry VIII".</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 10.4 class (my English class) sings The Beatles' "Hey Jude".</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-7820639532967689332010-12-26T23:59:00.002-10:002010-12-27T00:55:42.194-10:00There Are So Many Cake Shows<i><b>Jack</b>: Lemon, that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.<br />
<b>Lemon</b>: Really? What about 3 years ago when I said there should be more TV shows about cake?</i><br />
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This was the conversation I just watched on On-Demand “30 Rock”. I started clapping. Hey America, why are there so many shows about cake now? I admit they are hypnotically fascinating, but still, it's absurd how many hours of American television are devoted to baking and assembling elaborate cakes. In the three weeks since I’ve been back, I’ve learned that straws inserted into lower cake tiers are used for weight displacement whereas dowels are used to hold cakes in place. A Comcast guide search reveals the following shows: Ace of Cakes, Amazing Wedding Cakes, Cake Boss, Cake Boss: Next Great Baker, (many many episodes of) Food Network Challenge, and Ultimate Cake Off. I’m overwhelmed.<br />
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It’s a weird overwhelmed though. I don’t feel hit over the head; I don’t feel the weight of cake shows crashing down on me. It’s a more subconscious phenomenon where, for example, yesterday I watched hours of cake shows for no other reason other than my brain seems extra susceptible to bizarre meaningless American television programming. My brain has spent the last 2 years taking it slow, and now even a lukewarmly stimulating TV show is enough to captivate my brain for hours.<br />
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But it’s not just TV. Christmas shopping was insanely difficult this year. Browsing the shelves at Borders one night last week, I walked around the store for an hour and a half. It was a strange feeling though, because even though it physically felt like boredom-fueled aimless wandering, I wasn’t bored at all; in fact, I was enthralled. It was as though something caught my eye, and then I was distracted by a shiny object, and then another shiny object would catch my eye, and then another and another. After shopping for a while, I ran into some friends of mine. I told them quite earnestly, “This store is <b>so big</b>!” They found this hysterical.<br />
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People keep asking me about how I’ve been dealing with the cold. But the truth is the cold isn’t all that big of a factor—it’s been freezing, but it’s such an easy thing to remedy, I haven’t minded it too much. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow's_hierarchy_of_needs">Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs</a> comes into play, and the things at the bottom of the pyramid, while most pertinent, have been the easiest to resolve. It’s the more ethereal, more subconscious stuff near the top that’s been most difficult to address. I can get myself a sweatshirt or a blanket to deal with the cold, but it’s difficult to even realize how overstimulated I’ve been, let alone try to alleviate the issue.<br />
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So I’ve mostly been taking life slow, trying not to overwhelm my brain with unnecessary thought processes. I’ve been enormously unproductive since I got home. Blogging has been out of the question. Sorry about that, but it was a low priority anyway, and assembling 500 words of coherent thought was out of the question.<br />
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But now things are settling down a little, and maybe life is getting back on track. I could elaborate, but there’s a cake show on TLC right now, and my attention’s divided.<br />
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I hope you’re well. Pictures soon.Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-8600510169533674582010-12-08T23:59:00.002-10:002010-12-09T01:19:01.930-10:00I'm BackThere was a moment in the long car ride home last night when conversation with my parents got around to tragic things that happened to people we know so peripherally that it wasn’t important enough to share internationally but now that I’m home I may as well know. “This person’s aunt died” and “The mom of the boy you might remember from little league is in the early stages of dementia” and “That little girl from church who’s at least 8 years younger than you is taller than you.” Most of the ride was cool, but this conversation made me a little tense.<br />
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To draw an embarrassing literary parallel, it reminded me a little of the scene from Dan Brown’s latest, “The Lost Symbol”, in which Robert Langdon is drowned in a vat of amniotic fluid. Brown claims it’s a form of torture in the sense that when you come out of your natal relapse, reality is nearly too much to bear.<br />
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The Peace Corps provides geographic isolation, and with that comes a certain amount of emotional detachment. There’s also a relief in returning home after the Peace Corps where it feels like something difficult has finished and I felt a small sense of invincibility. And then reality punched me in the face.<br />
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It wasn’t just that conversation, of course. Living in the developing world, one occasionally idealizes America, and returning home can definitely bring one back to Earth. America is cold and dry and busy and expensive and not quite the haven of efficiency and convenience I remember.<br />
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When Phil and I sat down in the waiting area at the shipping agent yesterday as the lady behind the desk took care of Scout’s paperwork, Phil and I reveled in the fact that we’d just been assured that this seemingly bureaucratic process that might take forever in Samoa would be taken care of in 10 minutes.<br />
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The process took 2.5 hours. <i>Taumafai atili pea</i>, America.<br />
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The other analog that comes to mind is one Jim used to lay on us after youth ministry retreats in high school: After the Transfiguration, Jesus looks at Peter, James, and John and essentially says, “You can’t tell anyone about this because no one’s really gonna understand.” It’s kinda like Jesus’ version of the “What happens in Vegas...” tagline.<br />
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But the Peace Corps experience is all about that. Even with the blog, even with modern technology and text messaging and Skype and somewhat frequent access to Facebook, no one besides the people who were there know what really happened. We can tell you stories and we can paint a damn good picture, we can show hundreds of photos and perhaps some of you actually came to visit. But even then, you can’t really know what it was like.<br />
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I was chatting with a friend from CNET on GChat this morning, and I asked her what I missed during the last two years. She gave me a 20-word response, which was surely informative, but I can’t really say I know what happened. Only the people directly involved can really know.<br />
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And that’s a lonely feeling for a returned volunteer: I’m surrounded by people who don’t know. And now it’s the people who do know who I’m texting and Skyping and looking for on Facebook.<br />
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Sorry if this is on big downer. Honestly coming home has been very exciting and joyful, and even the 4 hours that it took to get the cat through Customs wasn’t all that bad. My parents setup my bedroom, the cat has adjusted surprisingly fast (save for getting along with the dogs), and the Facebook message board has been all warm and friendly. I swear I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to paint a picture of the experience.<br />
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I’m also sorry I’ve been away for the last couple days. I’ll catch you up on the stuff you missed tomorrow.<br />
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Finally, if I gave you a business card with my phone number on it, be advised that number doesn’t work. My cellular carrier, who assured me 26 months ago that they’d keep my account on hold until my return, instead decided to cancel my account without informing me (by their admission). I don’t want to say who it is, but I will say that the name rhymes with “Kay Tee and Tee”.<br />
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I hope you’re well. Pictures will be posted tomorrow.Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-83290815259144913512010-12-06T17:45:00.000-10:002010-12-06T17:45:09.379-10:00Last SupperWe're getting ready to head over to Italiano Pizza for Phil's and my last meal in country. I've run into all sorts of obstacles all day. Maybe I'll tell you all about them someday. In the Resource Room right now is Jenny S. 82, Kaelin, Supy, and Joey. Phil is in the Peace Corps office's shower. I figured I'd use my remaining Internet time to post.<br />
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There is a big debate over whether our flight will leave at 11:59 p.m. or 12:59 a.m. tomorrow. Either way, the shipping agent wants the cat at the airport at 8:00 p.m.; the likelihood of us making it there by that time is dubious. And anyway, I don't want the cat stuck in a box for so long.<br />
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The training group was in town today. Danny helped me unload the car this morning. I got to say goodbye to Nancy and Jenny and Rob.<br />
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There's still a lot that's not packed at my house. And honestly, I don't think the rest of it will get packed. This list includes:<ul><li>Bed sheets and pillowcases;<br />
<li>Dish soap and dish drainer;<br />
<li>Mop;<br />
<li>Etc.</ul>We are going to Y-Not for pre-pizza drinks now. Next post from America.<br />
<br />
I hope you're well.Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-61643606563515953172010-12-05T23:59:00.000-10:002010-12-06T01:50:33.276-10:00Hard Day's NightMoving out is exhausting. When did I acquire so much stuff?<br />
<br />
Less than 24 hours left in Samoa.<br />
<br />
I could blog, but I can barely keep my eyes open. Going to sleep now.Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-62924733059489892192010-12-01T23:59:00.000-10:002010-12-02T09:41:03.691-10:00The Final Push<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdpPHPMu1zMUJRpzEdXHg2D80jESElp5NlJtrpzBE79YDPuhOBeoNc_jAoq3Jq0zGwmZCrydbVxsBrLbjieKQ5ypWk-JYCfA4oPYEsnQaAfCjruOd60rlAVFfa7PeKpUL__0o/s1600/1Dishes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdpPHPMu1zMUJRpzEdXHg2D80jESElp5NlJtrpzBE79YDPuhOBeoNc_jAoq3Jq0zGwmZCrydbVxsBrLbjieKQ5ypWk-JYCfA4oPYEsnQaAfCjruOd60rlAVFfa7PeKpUL__0o/s320/1Dishes.jpg" width="320" /></a>I’m late constantly. Senior year of high school I was late to second-period English nearly every day. At eCivis, where management operated like time Nazis, I was often admonished for showing up to work 4 or 5 minutes after the 7:30 a.m. call time. In the training village, every morning was a contest between me, Supy, and Sara to see who would show up last. I have no moral problem with lateness, but I still felt pangs of guilt as I was running late for today’s PTA Luncheon.<br />
<br />
I was supposed to be at school at noon, but this morning was busy and by 12:20 I arrived at my house by cross-town taxi, and scrambled to feed the cat and make myself presentable for lunch. And as I nearly rushed out the door, I looked around at my messy house which has only become more chaotic as my days have grown increasingly busy and things have fallen more into a state of neglect.<br />
<br />
So I dropped everything and washed the dishes.<br />
<br />
It’s difficult to think of the last time life was so busy and stressful. It’s a pitiful moment when you have to test the bounds of acceptable tardiness because there are menial-but-essential household chores to be done. If it’s not a sign that life is out of control, I don’t know what is.<br />
<br />
And, as far as I can tell, life will only continue at this frenetic pace until I board the plane Monday night. There are lots of administrative things I still have to do: close my bank account, close my landline, close my dial-up Internet account, write up my official Description of Service, take the cat for her final vet appointment, take me to my final doctor appointment, get all the necessary cat paperwork to the shipping agent.<br />
<br />
Then there are the social obligations, which are arguably less essential, but still obligatory, and definitely more time consuming. Rotaract is celebrating my going-away tonight, Staff Dinner tomorrow night, Host Family Friday night.<br />
<br />
And normal responsibilities still carry on. The unflushable blog is breathing down my neck, tomorrow morning I’ll be helping Kaelin edit the co-teaching video, I need to make a CD with all of the files—grade calculating spreadsheet, vector-based logo, letterhead, etc.—I’ve developed for school over the past 2 years.<br />
<br />
And between all of this, there’s all the normal trappings of moving out: purging (most) of my possessions, packing up the things I’m keeping, picking up souvenirs for the family back home, etc.<br />
<br />
At this point, it’s all a blur.<br />
<br />
So maybe doing the dishes this afternoon wasn’t menial or pitiful. Maybe it was just a nice way of taking a break from the warp-speed pace of leaving. Washing dishes made things feel normal, if only for a moment.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8nvgbVMdbJzRGhjYKKatToHHwKmYxSl3HAZ-qt8npjTq1As0YWhtFhq6nM3JZufq3z59GAEQFGQoDa7zU6oVEAs9RD-GkxPO9oSK7ZGWS0l35yJV3aQrJqSkY-ojiQaqlID-/s1600/2McDonalds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8nvgbVMdbJzRGhjYKKatToHHwKmYxSl3HAZ-qt8npjTq1As0YWhtFhq6nM3JZufq3z59GAEQFGQoDa7zU6oVEAs9RD-GkxPO9oSK7ZGWS0l35yJV3aQrJqSkY-ojiQaqlID-/s320/2McDonalds.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I treated my Year 13s to McDonald's breakfast this morning before we headed to the Internet cafe.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ECjq_hdYtNgwd6VD7J5qzzU36-HbcYqUmG2x9tTFn12MG4X0p3JY8gJ-3yHrrpxP7sj8eljqyqvRpR_aJD9n0uIHN6Dx7k1aRVIano8snV3IYUosY1ZwwrSE7AO-hE0wfP-k/s1600/3InternetCafe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ECjq_hdYtNgwd6VD7J5qzzU36-HbcYqUmG2x9tTFn12MG4X0p3JY8gJ-3yHrrpxP7sj8eljqyqvRpR_aJD9n0uIHN6Dx7k1aRVIano8snV3IYUosY1ZwwrSE7AO-hE0wfP-k/s320/3InternetCafe.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the Internet cafe.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdgOg3iWTzMS78b-5ph5E_t4-z9s4eSt5hq4HCVoakSz5kHQSuaN1IGYkqWQAqgxP6lHKwBMxp_lF1DLDsnCws6QOFM0SQR6JZx_9pLpSIZlfW2bw_QHsukBpY1L_EhqtRHt1/s1600/4Dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdgOg3iWTzMS78b-5ph5E_t4-z9s4eSt5hq4HCVoakSz5kHQSuaN1IGYkqWQAqgxP6lHKwBMxp_lF1DLDsnCws6QOFM0SQR6JZx_9pLpSIZlfW2bw_QHsukBpY1L_EhqtRHt1/s320/4Dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My <i>pule</i> dancing at today's PTA Luncheon. I forgot to mention above that the PTA Luncheon didn't actually get started until around 1:15. I had no problem showing up 45 minutes late.<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-9556951397457526432010-11-30T23:59:00.010-10:002010-12-01T10:52:46.273-10:00Prizegiving 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA3cUcJLSHLpuzH7MoqsvM6xm4-u2rMXsFA3ck5K6tV_Y1hYhnm846oVjD8gukd-VYP_lz_UYhE6KcjrsqnlG5clY4ggDucdH0xcZgJmqBsJUXZBJWQJTM-sUGmNedTLJRyGa/s1600/1AmandaMeTafale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxA3cUcJLSHLpuzH7MoqsvM6xm4-u2rMXsFA3ck5K6tV_Y1hYhnm846oVjD8gukd-VYP_lz_UYhE6KcjrsqnlG5clY4ggDucdH0xcZgJmqBsJUXZBJWQJTM-sUGmNedTLJRyGa/s320/1AmandaMeTafale.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Amanda, me, Tafale.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzhif8sXR7Oy_lY786tz_RaR5Rduwz36Lo1cjrid_grHVEekL_KOdU-qH7EUKPybDXKG0IP6rnr4Duu4r4LNRSEToyugmbE1jAzvWBhVPW87fNJB0iU7vdKb1GKiabgzwFOex/s1600/2AssemblyHall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzhif8sXR7Oy_lY786tz_RaR5Rduwz36Lo1cjrid_grHVEekL_KOdU-qH7EUKPybDXKG0IP6rnr4Duu4r4LNRSEToyugmbE1jAzvWBhVPW87fNJB0iU7vdKb1GKiabgzwFOex/s320/2AssemblyHall.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Standing room only in the Great Hall.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIojZlp_PP8nPgY_vCM9jlpZMUMlI5iaKZkwvGw2No654dlv2tr6WIq0lPxZsCLT-RzDrXlX_CDSQHmPQ0AZYqWjLsfhsTIgCYB7jp5MTak0XNIbr9YiV1-0zHGSq6xrb38XF/s1600/3MeHiromiGirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIojZlp_PP8nPgY_vCM9jlpZMUMlI5iaKZkwvGw2No654dlv2tr6WIq0lPxZsCLT-RzDrXlX_CDSQHmPQ0AZYqWjLsfhsTIgCYB7jp5MTak0XNIbr9YiV1-0zHGSq6xrb38XF/s320/3MeHiromiGirl.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me with a couple of year 12s.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATHPiiQ37I5H-mflcVjAAR7n3t-KJT0vGY9UwvaQ0LTBBFMY9UAJs8KR5wLyICgnGNEKXRUgnkXHvAosK8_pWb3bpeTWW2V7Qe9BfokeigfplT24J8rCC2793xYoSEXbwg-68/s1600/4SuasamiBernie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgATHPiiQ37I5H-mflcVjAAR7n3t-KJT0vGY9UwvaQ0LTBBFMY9UAJs8KR5wLyICgnGNEKXRUgnkXHvAosK8_pWb3bpeTWW2V7Qe9BfokeigfplT24J8rCC2793xYoSEXbwg-68/s320/4SuasamiBernie.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Suasami and Bernie are also leaving after this year.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGBg8v9BEv-dyufLjf-MC5sfUiyJKhsBZrlRHmraNReQH9fOTrQe45tsBH1Rp8yVBalYgKs1aatPEUKkIpZ3ltmJpwX0HoB39aAard_7gdUaz5vnD5wArw9HhCpgkCggDR37q/s1600/5MeEleves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGBg8v9BEv-dyufLjf-MC5sfUiyJKhsBZrlRHmraNReQH9fOTrQe45tsBH1Rp8yVBalYgKs1aatPEUKkIpZ3ltmJpwX0HoB39aAard_7gdUaz5vnD5wArw9HhCpgkCggDR37q/s320/5MeEleves.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me with a bunch of 11.1s.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_vsnEnfmV0hiI6tJh0tASxORR4o3OKw9n91SzwJ4CHbo664Se8dZodGSz377Qwq52EHmw1pyQH-eoCHdxtkA35rICL2RtwiZriB3TahKkwUG6PCoZvunqYpwSheE4fbYjSt5/s1600/6Year9s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_vsnEnfmV0hiI6tJh0tASxORR4o3OKw9n91SzwJ4CHbo664Se8dZodGSz377Qwq52EHmw1pyQH-eoCHdxtkA35rICL2RtwiZriB3TahKkwUG6PCoZvunqYpwSheE4fbYjSt5/s320/6Year9s.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A couple of year 11s stopped me outside the hall and requested I take their picture.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-ilG7Zz8fQ1ceCAAOXT9vaAsppzV6ws0Buh5ydsgr3CDNQmxYpp2nnNz48-_4AMQgT7bg0Lb50esVYlIeuls8U3imr-geeuYHLCUPLXHn1zGlSua1JAtS96uzorZ9PHBgtYb/s1600/7ColleenWins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-ilG7Zz8fQ1ceCAAOXT9vaAsppzV6ws0Buh5ydsgr3CDNQmxYpp2nnNz48-_4AMQgT7bg0Lb50esVYlIeuls8U3imr-geeuYHLCUPLXHn1zGlSua1JAtS96uzorZ9PHBgtYb/s320/7ColleenWins.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Colleen wins best in computers for year 11.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlk-MQY5ZZVXvG4KH-Qj2-6PKTLAAcSNEBeY6He9d5OgZIV5nAYqPXvjB9qv-pvFwfCEaVRGII_WJxo6Mx9JJY1BgDcdINwheh5uproPszTQ3L80KT9_Nfw-U-WShZbFL3uaYk/s1600/8YearEleves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlk-MQY5ZZVXvG4KH-Qj2-6PKTLAAcSNEBeY6He9d5OgZIV5nAYqPXvjB9qv-pvFwfCEaVRGII_WJxo6Mx9JJY1BgDcdINwheh5uproPszTQ3L80KT9_Nfw-U-WShZbFL3uaYk/s320/8YearEleves.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A bunch of the 11.2s.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3gHVAGqziUAscpIIyjiXC5kdV2SSCjxsXoH72senMtKYv9Oj4zod44sSva2JtJaoaKVzb8DABW3ANAhIjquzjCsYQJuKc19i_Ert_K-Y2tBr9X2DL3IuRh8GvCFBblu_tpsXM/s1600/9Staff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3gHVAGqziUAscpIIyjiXC5kdV2SSCjxsXoH72senMtKYv9Oj4zod44sSva2JtJaoaKVzb8DABW3ANAhIjquzjCsYQJuKc19i_Ert_K-Y2tBr9X2DL3IuRh8GvCFBblu_tpsXM/s320/9Staff.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Staff meeting after clean-up.<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-7074880873051085952010-11-29T23:59:00.003-10:002010-11-30T04:04:11.390-10:00Getting with the Program<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPQ_Wl8oeHLXsG9g57m_RRbEDG0SsPjNdA8x0bFC9EvuciFTWqbANa9uQ0fBlXtBNGGeCzaJBtzKD09iqJpXFwTL1JMIs-nDB5jMgHbiMShKcAwxCiWW1kLoHXVOsxnnXIinb/s1600/1MeCopyMachine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPQ_Wl8oeHLXsG9g57m_RRbEDG0SsPjNdA8x0bFC9EvuciFTWqbANa9uQ0fBlXtBNGGeCzaJBtzKD09iqJpXFwTL1JMIs-nDB5jMgHbiMShKcAwxCiWW1kLoHXVOsxnnXIinb/s320/1MeCopyMachine.jpg" width="320" /></a>Though Prizegiving is tomorrow, I was expecting today to be high on the ceremonial side. There are a bunch of teachers leaving, and the year is drawing to a close, and it only seemed appropriate for there to be some intimate acknowledgments of the bonds we’ve formed as a staff and as a school and while tomorrow is a large celebration with pomp and circumstance and family and friends, I imagined today might be a day for some calm before the storm.<br />
<br />
But today was all business. The moment I arrived at school the secretary handed me the agenda for tomorrow’s program and asked that I turn it into a booklet handout. I had last year’s design saved, and I substituted some of the graphics with a bunch of vector-based graphics I built for the Peace Corps t-shirt, and by the time morning assembly was over—mark the time, 10:00 a.m.—I had a draft ready for my <i>pule</i>’s approval. I handed him the design as he walked out of the Great Hall. He nodded emphatically, said, “This is very nice!”, and then walked away without waiting for feedback.<br />
<br />
I went over it again with the school secretary, who had some changes of her own. She wanted to put the starting time for tomorrow’s event at the top of the agenda, “8:30 – Taimi Amata”. I smiled and nodded and ignored her suggestion.<br />
<br />
We’ve been having a talent competition of sorts at my school over the past few weeks, and though the entire agenda was written in Samoan, the talent events were written in English: Soloist Finals, Duet Finals, and “<i>Agapela</i> Champs 2010”. That last one seemed a little ridiculous to me, so I changed the invented <i>Agapela</i> to the traditional Italian-borrowed “A Cappella”. This caused a brief controversy among staff, as many thought I had no idea what I was talking about.<br />
<br />
Once we finally started making copies of the program, my Vice <i>Pule</i> asked, “Did you fix <i>fa’aisuaso</i>?” Apparently the word should have been <i>Fa’aiuaso</i>, translation unclear at press time, but no one had told me this until the copy machine had started. I quickly hit cancel and fixed the mistake.<br />
<br />
As the day wore on, I made 360 double-sided copies for tomorrow’s program, and after the secretary got sidetracked, I ended up folding about 250 copies of the program in half. The entire project took about 4 hours, and I was all too happy to get out of school this afternoon.<br />
<br />
Once I was got out of school I went to the Peace Corps office, picked up the brand new Peace Corps t-shirts, headed to Italianos for dinner, and then went to the airport to see Dan and Jordan off.<br />
<br />
I got back to my house around 1:15 a.m., only to be greeted by my <i>pule</i> who emerged from the campus’s shadows. “Can you come early tomorrow morning? The programs are wrong. We need to re-print them,” he told me.<br />
<br />
Even though I’d received his cursory approval, the thumbs-up from the school secretary, and my vice <i>pule</i>’s (late) blessing, my principal wants me at school at 5:30 a.m. to redo the program. How fun.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7RKLS4OttNsfA8IUfOWx45O3WU_I50g-tyBeWsCvazvG0eh7DeOY5e9qaKb0nChFkhQPJVVs2uFRPCV89iAcz18ZAHGQ13JpwJePBJGGk1FLCLfAksK6rFkLle-1nVgssq4_/s1600/2DuxTrophies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7RKLS4OttNsfA8IUfOWx45O3WU_I50g-tyBeWsCvazvG0eh7DeOY5e9qaKb0nChFkhQPJVVs2uFRPCV89iAcz18ZAHGQ13JpwJePBJGGk1FLCLfAksK6rFkLle-1nVgssq4_/s320/2DuxTrophies.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In order to make a big show of the Dux award (in America we'd call this the Valedictorian), my school gives the winning student 4 different trophies, all of which must be returned next year so they can be awarded again. In order to document the 4 trophies, the Prizegiving Committee asked me to take a photo of them today. I suggested Ms. Peteru be in the photo. She happily agreed.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NZqEUor9wqLh7Lkst4IGSnd2Kr_fO7SABUi1euuP0-N4sDmJwEkqrjfNul_6r4FirbhRRMJkAvHSCG2OKKwutZxaBB_8yDV1HXP3ytsXnucaGIjsa-tm-QBiSmxcscvx1PY8/s1600/3FoldedPrograms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NZqEUor9wqLh7Lkst4IGSnd2Kr_fO7SABUi1euuP0-N4sDmJwEkqrjfNul_6r4FirbhRRMJkAvHSCG2OKKwutZxaBB_8yDV1HXP3ytsXnucaGIjsa-tm-QBiSmxcscvx1PY8/s320/3FoldedPrograms.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My folded programs in the foreground. All of which must be discarded.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiguT2f8JsbtobvIrOKRXlEYC4VYrAD7DhI08aJeznNTVLtzu_Q1NyPZl-J-rsM5xW6xvMSpaJGOpcMA47k7nOjZlAaaDlrAaUaAG0f1kcW44c7X0Yv5hciCWU5GldkxRJbxj/s1600/4BlakeyMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiguT2f8JsbtobvIrOKRXlEYC4VYrAD7DhI08aJeznNTVLtzu_Q1NyPZl-J-rsM5xW6xvMSpaJGOpcMA47k7nOjZlAaaDlrAaUaAG0f1kcW44c7X0Yv5hciCWU5GldkxRJbxj/s320/4BlakeyMe.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Blakey and me out for Dan and Jordan's going away this evening.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-91041707234915028772010-11-28T23:00:00.008-10:002010-11-29T02:14:40.878-10:00Thanksgiving III<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eR3K36PR0v5f0iRpWAxN1q1h_yS_waKhtOGnbytE7wOSEccEERq3Xvq3IdwPMna-XDo4KbxNTEAxZndqP0OHpo4hzAjjYAZ12CyIEHMoxIK6gitMb6c5UFX9STVnKDGlFWcQ/s1600/1Party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eR3K36PR0v5f0iRpWAxN1q1h_yS_waKhtOGnbytE7wOSEccEERq3Xvq3IdwPMna-XDo4KbxNTEAxZndqP0OHpo4hzAjjYAZ12CyIEHMoxIK6gitMb6c5UFX9STVnKDGlFWcQ/s320/1Party.jpg" width="320" /></a>Wednesday marked the third year in a row I missed my family’s annual Martha Stewart viewing. The night before Thanksgiving every year, we invite friends over to watch the same Martha Stewart Thanksgiving Special, circa 1987. For most major holidays our family would go to someone else’s house to celebrate, but we always hosted Thanksgiving, so it’s always strange to spend the holiday without home-field advantage. But I must admit, part of the benefit of staying in Samoa for my school’s Prizegiving was it meant I’d get to spend one last Thanksgiving with the Peace Corps.<br />
<br />
As I’ve said a thousand times before on the blog, we go all out for American holidays here—Thanksgiving, Halloween, and the Fourth of July tend to be big, jolly affairs. And yesterday was no exception.<br />
<br />
Our monthly stipend provides more than enough for food, and certainly none of us is hungry, but it’s still a rare occasion to have a large American-style meal served. Sitting with a bunch of trainees from group 83 who are still used to either American-sized portions or the luxury of training itself, many of them filled their plates with small, sparse piles of mashed potatoes and turkey. You eat like a bird, group 83.<br />
<br />
At the other end of the spectrum were those of us who’ve been out in the cold for 2+ years. Looking around at the other picnic tables, I saw a bunch of group 81s gorging themselves on plates of food piled to the point of absurdity.<br />
<br />
After last year’s failed garlic mashed potatoes, I went in on a bowl of Poor Man’s Macaroni and Cheese—i.e. macaroni shells with parmesan cheese—with garlic-infused olive oil. It was not the most appetizing side dish on the table, but it at least it was served this year.<br />
<br />
There was college football on TV, but few volunteers sat inside to watch. After dessert was served a bunch of us threw on our trunks or two-pieces and took a dip in the pool. A rather intense game of Three Flies Up ensued—the kind that ends in tears and broken fingers. It was a good time though. At one point I decided I was done and began to climb out of the pool, only to have my third fly land directly in my arms. It was cool.<br />
<br />
Though the party was set to end around 7:00, the 83s were scuttled away at 5:30, which was sad.<br />
<br />
The rest of us sat around chewing the fat until it was time to go.<br />
<br />
Yeah. Third Thanksgiving is in the books. Bring on the Christmas music.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U7wFwP4l3RSDiakzdH5bx70ZjDjrJdsVMN5zvmabjujyL_KgglLejJU-Wr148OD4i1vF52SAW5nNZlQC2qvITbY1MbiSIF5octWSQNQxGXgx9oV_4SRYYAeTAGtS4L2vEX4I/s1600/2DeniseAndCo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2U7wFwP4l3RSDiakzdH5bx70ZjDjrJdsVMN5zvmabjujyL_KgglLejJU-Wr148OD4i1vF52SAW5nNZlQC2qvITbY1MbiSIF5octWSQNQxGXgx9oV_4SRYYAeTAGtS4L2vEX4I/s320/2DeniseAndCo.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Admin Officer Denise dines with Supy, Paul, Otis (her husband), and Phil.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qca1lTATf_vUF0z6fzxySmwmTql3mm893my0qNLd5jBJ2GD42zmI0OkPfgOYEZnLHDSZ6u5iKj6ZDhBnnscXzsD09JlDIxYXVySSpmckzNypqiavKGslZTt7T4Jx8-uSdJeH/s1600/3JennyLindsMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qca1lTATf_vUF0z6fzxySmwmTql3mm893my0qNLd5jBJ2GD42zmI0OkPfgOYEZnLHDSZ6u5iKj6ZDhBnnscXzsD09JlDIxYXVySSpmckzNypqiavKGslZTt7T4Jx8-uSdJeH/s320/3JennyLindsMe.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lindsey, Jenny 83, and me.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkqm4g-TNanCXEjRdYeC_zKu_LxuCOYl93IC733-js-Y-hSudwcykm1kXkjcQDvba5EreHkNtVnYC5yrgIvqZRsmeDBm3CFCued2In0khv3jJRboEmcyZRrqNC20IFdRwl9LV/s1600/4KyleMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkqm4g-TNanCXEjRdYeC_zKu_LxuCOYl93IC733-js-Y-hSudwcykm1kXkjcQDvba5EreHkNtVnYC5yrgIvqZRsmeDBm3CFCued2In0khv3jJRboEmcyZRrqNC20IFdRwl9LV/s320/4KyleMe.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kyle and me. Kyle went to Notre Dame. Congratulations, Kyle.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjwkGvDY9qvI7cWVFLcNMqDkQ9ab2n7htHJuOCgSyx2BJMIlGKIJsVM8CXcQVOZQKV828TuZx-ifafxNA3XOjVpMayolxqm1OrNFtQRdW2Z-dKG94AlezmZ99_fATTSRb7fqU/s1600/6MeJenny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjwkGvDY9qvI7cWVFLcNMqDkQ9ab2n7htHJuOCgSyx2BJMIlGKIJsVM8CXcQVOZQKV828TuZx-ifafxNA3XOjVpMayolxqm1OrNFtQRdW2Z-dKG94AlezmZ99_fATTSRb7fqU/s320/6MeJenny.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me and Jenny S. 82.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHyvhg2lb4WgYLL69Qy6yq7Y-4iQgoPpwCIXfUGazhDutIN1w2Lsbwsv0PZpgOzvvsro-MC4560Txp3hII125iHkTWmJPe_0pAQ5Gp03QgQr0E0cQEmhl9gfFpA_ll3sRSdQR/s1600/5Pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHyvhg2lb4WgYLL69Qy6yq7Y-4iQgoPpwCIXfUGazhDutIN1w2Lsbwsv0PZpgOzvvsro-MC4560Txp3hII125iHkTWmJPe_0pAQ5Gp03QgQr0E0cQEmhl9gfFpA_ll3sRSdQR/s320/5Pool.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Joey and Mika dive for one of my Three Flies passes.<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-47031792018392343502010-11-26T20:00:00.000-10:002010-11-26T20:00:04.794-10:00Movin’ Out<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-sTPVhD8uolkNzR8_neMsF2To5CY0plnuyU3-lwxeY51YTvy5U-9PDMnCO5KqWiJxvlGGK8_AZVvhmaQVlgZw3uY_SIwj-ePS3_VcZKE6o-J8BF7N_cMFAc8AgP63AHMpjtA/s1600/1Closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-sTPVhD8uolkNzR8_neMsF2To5CY0plnuyU3-lwxeY51YTvy5U-9PDMnCO5KqWiJxvlGGK8_AZVvhmaQVlgZw3uY_SIwj-ePS3_VcZKE6o-J8BF7N_cMFAc8AgP63AHMpjtA/s320/1Closet.jpg" width="320" /></a>The night of my college graduation, Sara and Jen came to my RA suite to help me pack up my possessions. Even though my room was furnished and I had no kitchen, I had somehow acquired a lot of stuff, and it was a headache packing and loading everything in the car. Moving apartments after college was even more of a headache since by then I had kitchen stuff and a futon and furniture and the like. But moving out of my house in Samoa is a whole different animal since I can only keep a suitcase or two.<br />
<br />
My goal is one suitcase. Air New Zealand charges a whopping WST$140 for a second suitcase, and since I’m already paying to register the cat as cargo, I’d just assume keep the baggage cost minimal. One suitcase after two years is certainly a challenge, but I think it may also prove to be a good way of separating the wheat from the chaff.<br />
<br />
I still tell people that ideally my house will burn down the day before I leave, and I won’t have to lug any of my junk home. There are things here that I like, but very little that I honestly need to take with me.<br />
<br />
I plan to take as few articles of clothing as possible. According to RPCV Cale, the nicest clothes he had in the Peace Corps didn’t hold a candle to his clothes in The States. The Peace Corps lifestyle is rugged and unforgiving to clothing. I brought my OA uniform from college and my lucky USC football t-shirt, and last night I started mulling over whether or not I should bring those back to America for sentimental reasons. Right now I’m leaning toward no.<br />
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Books are a little perplexing. On the one hand, they are some of the easiest stuff to unload since the Peace Corps has a healthy library and volunteers tend to have nothing better to do with their time. But then I have a couple books on my shelf that I actually want to read, and it seems silly to get rid of them only to return to America and go through the trouble of buying/borrowing the same book again.<br />
<br />
Besides moving out, the one other major problem facing my exit is I have a lot of gift-giving to do: teachers, students, the host family in the training village, the Indian missionaries, etc. My hope is these two problems will cancel themselves out. If I give everything away, I won’t have to worry about getting it to fit in the suitcase.<br />
<br />
I think this will work without too much difficulty if I keep an eye on things. I’ve invited people to come “shopping” at my house.<br />
<br />
PCV Kyle asked how much I wanted for my cinderblock bookshelf. I told him if he was willing to pay to move it, then it was his for free.<br />
<br />
Just get it out of her.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPhnoviZMNrLeXS0A1R5hIXoYLdnSR5cCn0dph_4fzHYPdNo08MTjBd0loM0cXZNfYVLzuE3_6Gg7RC3ISNUZATg2-rtixcz026zKGwECucAhFJkT1Nt4pICRY7uOE2bQiB4E/s1600/2Bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPhnoviZMNrLeXS0A1R5hIXoYLdnSR5cCn0dph_4fzHYPdNo08MTjBd0loM0cXZNfYVLzuE3_6Gg7RC3ISNUZATg2-rtixcz026zKGwECucAhFJkT1Nt4pICRY7uOE2bQiB4E/s320/2Bag.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bag of clothes by the door ready to go to the Peace Corps free box.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFbROcwsX65mdhw8uxizNWquYeLKQb6DmZqk3OzzG8KFco7i4O-uD5YuHhqqsRYiAPqz1d_TkCtkGFUKFYIzs3P_0uRDjuTByMMsZPos84J2nsohIG2u0-Q2Q13IETOmmysNy/s1600/3Kitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFbROcwsX65mdhw8uxizNWquYeLKQb6DmZqk3OzzG8KFco7i4O-uD5YuHhqqsRYiAPqz1d_TkCtkGFUKFYIzs3P_0uRDjuTByMMsZPos84J2nsohIG2u0-Q2Q13IETOmmysNy/s320/3Kitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's so much crap in the kitchen. Hey Samoan readers, anybody want anything?<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-29957514927565014862010-11-25T20:00:00.000-10:002010-11-25T22:34:28.638-10:00Odds and Ends Thursday 75<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUbhrbm99862T4OTzde2b_ogIssY2SqUCihH-L6am_OV0PqGH-fGqI5NWa-3ycxMagaaAgQ8brb-eqCUEWPSOH1g84AXEMX-tKqc95Eb089wtotpX8Q3P-ttZ4vGA8Nu2j-Yl/s1600/1Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUbhrbm99862T4OTzde2b_ogIssY2SqUCihH-L6am_OV0PqGH-fGqI5NWa-3ycxMagaaAgQ8brb-eqCUEWPSOH1g84AXEMX-tKqc95Eb089wtotpX8Q3P-ttZ4vGA8Nu2j-Yl/s320/1Sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a>Last year I remember talking to Cale and Sara around the time they had 2 weeks left, and I told them they should think of it as essentially a 2-week tropical vacation before they returned to America. Presumptuous fool. This last week has been just as busy as the rest of my time here, and the rowers show no sign of slowing. I will be busy all the way down to the wire. Here are some other odds and ends from the week:<br />
<ul><li>The phrase “interpersonal politics” from Sunday, November 14’s blog post caught on for a hot minute among group 81. I think Dan used it 19 times the day after the post went live.<br />
</li>
<li>Blakey, in addition to housesitting, is watching a kitten. Everyone swears this kitten is more well-behaved than Scout, but I beg to disagree. Scout’s manageable.<br />
</li>
<li>Oh by the way, I’ve been using my old camera that I broke during training. The viewfinder is still broken, so the photographer doesn’t have an exact idea of the photo (s)he is taking, but it still takes photos. Yes, mostly I am the photographer, but I figure at events like Prizegiving and such where I’m asking people to take pictures of me, this will be more of an issue.<br />
</li>
<li>The other fun part of this is that this is the first camera I used when I arrived in Samoa, and now it will (hopefully) be the last. Full circle. Book ends.<br />
</li>
<li>Finishing the Peace Corps is really expensive.<br />
</li>
<li>Finishing the Peace Corps involves <b>a lot</b> of paperwork.<br />
</li>
<li> I finally finished “Six Feet Under” today. I can understand why fans and critics enjoyed the series finale so much, although I must say in the time leading up to then I really hated just about every character except for Keith, Maggie, and Federico. And Nathanthiel, who I think was the best character for the entire 5 seasons.<br />
</li>
<li>I briefly mentioned the Avanoa Tutusa Health Fair in Sunday’s post. I want to briefly mention it again and say that it was amazingly successful. Props go out to Joey and the rest of the Avanoa Tutusa crew.<br />
</li>
<li>Samoa is obsessed with Brad Paisley/Alison Krause’s “Whiskey Lullaby”. Many of my students know how to play it on guitar. No one seems to know and/or care it’s about severe alcoholism. Oh well.<br />
</li>
<li>Tomorrow night is the Peace Corps Book Club’s second meeting. I ditched the first on account of not being interested in the book. This one I’m going to have to miss because I never acquired the book. I’m still going to have to pay for the book. I’ll read it once I get back to The States.<br />
</li>
<li>Apong was dying to buy my laptop off me, and in the end I’ve held out to sell to Suasami and her Ecumenical Women’s church group. Unclear on whether or not the latter will actually come through with payment. Worse comes to worst, I’ll have to bring my laptop back to the United States.<br />
</li>
<li>I only voted for one student award during Tuesday’s meeting: Best All-Rounder. It came down to Fou and Lanuola, and while I don’t know either that well, Lanuola just seems like a nice person. So I voted. She lost.<br />
</li>
<li>One thing I didn’t realize was we delineated between “Most Reliable Student” and “Most Honest Student”. I think Most Honest might be syntax error. Just a thought.<br />
</li>
<li>The furniture at Blakey’s housesitting house is right out of “The Golden Girls”. Check out the photos below for proof.</li>
<li>My school is getting a JICA volunteer to replace me in March! I'm so excited!</li>
</ul>That’s all I got for this week. I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dAV_JACvzgW0itisU2860N8t67DTIvefUUERCbCflfpVgwJcr6uOVCCbw6BjzTeucJW-GPfCusM4NOfYb1Mr-D81DnMyN2zbY2pAXhMBc1k7yubrU2RsIPl5go67dyqovUzU/s1600/2Miami.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dAV_JACvzgW0itisU2860N8t67DTIvefUUERCbCflfpVgwJcr6uOVCCbw6BjzTeucJW-GPfCusM4NOfYb1Mr-D81DnMyN2zbY2pAXhMBc1k7yubrU2RsIPl5go67dyqovUzU/s320/2Miami.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Blakey's Golden Girls furniture.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhc5Cqxq1volX6BcXYbPzmz6yrgSlzCVBumO-sJvrPmiX6dI5DDhCdbv5sSBwPjDDicvXzHdk0DrFWyiDl_FzqdYRsAx-VdXWwV5Jvbaw3sy50u8BePNDpi3CCy3SEv0My4Wbf/s1600/3Dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhc5Cqxq1volX6BcXYbPzmz6yrgSlzCVBumO-sJvrPmiX6dI5DDhCdbv5sSBwPjDDicvXzHdk0DrFWyiDl_FzqdYRsAx-VdXWwV5Jvbaw3sy50u8BePNDpi3CCy3SEv0My4Wbf/s320/3Dance.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The boys dressed up as girls dancing for the school.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx54NG2xSY0gn00IoXLT2_83oHMlmSawYKGZeLjzdJu5JrA6z-1itZ7U2XKemXUHWEVizJiBQwXUvEQXOpPfXkmQy-A1qSQ8JlOrJMVW4ka1HBRCsbRE95FSVm4jZXYxquo2r7/s1600/4Duet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx54NG2xSY0gn00IoXLT2_83oHMlmSawYKGZeLjzdJu5JrA6z-1itZ7U2XKemXUHWEVizJiBQwXUvEQXOpPfXkmQy-A1qSQ8JlOrJMVW4ka1HBRCsbRE95FSVm4jZXYxquo2r7/s320/4Duet.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Christina and Umuafu from my 9.2 class sing a duet for the school.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9VYieRMGtimuwlqZv3ALY6zQXBBMUhDhboNwnDI4i6f28Th4v_gboWqiTnwGC6Nj7_h3OCFlnnWrYRkIHoXjjifQ7zD3r-1G1deyIlRmBzI3r8X3Vfz88HX6_nO8jFj0UGYt/s1600/5Duet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9VYieRMGtimuwlqZv3ALY6zQXBBMUhDhboNwnDI4i6f28Th4v_gboWqiTnwGC6Nj7_h3OCFlnnWrYRkIHoXjjifQ7zD3r-1G1deyIlRmBzI3r8X3Vfz88HX6_nO8jFj0UGYt/s320/5Duet.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Losi and Akari sing their duet.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMyewSLmyGhyphenhyphenlC18JENGDJwsd7-9A3YaOdY7AJNmLUbwfTZDLMqzzCg1v3apqGic7pPFiLl2kd2GuQC1Z2-2kaD0_NVf7FevNVv393cfSKt77JZApDEDCfXzPFtwlt1woK084/s1600/6Year13s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMyewSLmyGhyphenhyphenlC18JENGDJwsd7-9A3YaOdY7AJNmLUbwfTZDLMqzzCg1v3apqGic7pPFiLl2kd2GuQC1Z2-2kaD0_NVf7FevNVv393cfSKt77JZApDEDCfXzPFtwlt1woK084/s320/6Year13s.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The year 13s put on a show.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEIc5ItdGnYr64id5WWWW0QODSs7_6MV8h0l3aJY-JkEjv7QqB9j1lHMiozznFVttrzZkQEtsAg-Mxade7UOliWBsJGDLF21OLvZV29WUX8OmYPpWGW8g4uuPzWmaJQ3u41hS/s1600/7FiaScout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEIc5ItdGnYr64id5WWWW0QODSs7_6MV8h0l3aJY-JkEjv7QqB9j1lHMiozznFVttrzZkQEtsAg-Mxade7UOliWBsJGDLF21OLvZV29WUX8OmYPpWGW8g4uuPzWmaJQ3u41hS/s320/7FiaScout.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Blakey's obnoxious kitten Good Times.<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-68778657804143380892010-11-24T23:00:00.001-10:002010-11-25T00:32:14.007-10:00Tea for the Tillerman<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlYC0EeEDo0sUlOO_o_banR0mIS8um-ayckTToG-Yk8B7pTE7xT0JwtB8vAZluuiTCDUgh9yNJXIsJDVJIqkhvKsRssUPN1udlx-kDD8M1iA-fHzrZD6gz4mT5VpYtuAEYt7d/s1600/1Tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlYC0EeEDo0sUlOO_o_banR0mIS8um-ayckTToG-Yk8B7pTE7xT0JwtB8vAZluuiTCDUgh9yNJXIsJDVJIqkhvKsRssUPN1udlx-kDD8M1iA-fHzrZD6gz4mT5VpYtuAEYt7d/s320/1Tea.jpg" width="320" /></a>In addition to our principal, there are 4 staff members leaving at the end of this school year. The head of the Commerce department prematurely resigned his position when he received a verbal job offer from the Ministry of Education that didn’t pan out, one of the Samoan teachers received a scholarship to attend a Masters program at the National University of Samoa, I am returning to The States, and Suasami—the English teacher I sit next to at Interval most days—is retiring. The Commerce HOD has stopped showing up to school, and the Samoan teacher isn’t really leaving per se, so Suasami and I are in a club of our own. And today we bought tea.<br />
<br />
As I’ve said many times before on the blog, most schools don’t have tea. If teachers want to drink tea at Interval, they have to buy it. And most schools certainly don’t offer a small pastry with daily tea. But my school, with all of its functional money management, is able to offer staff members a cup of tea and a <i>panepopo</i> or a scone or a muffin for just about every day of school. But now that we’ve essentially reached the end of the school year, and the tea committee has set off for India, daily tea has become less of a guarantee. So Suasami and I stepped up to the plate—errr—the saucer.<br />
<br />
Celebrating your own special occasion by buying stuff for others is how things are done in Samoa. When Apong’s son was born he bought lunch for the staff. When the secretary got married she bought lunch for the staff. For my friend Dev’s birthday a few weeks back he bought rounds of drinks at the bar. And it was somewhat obligatory that Suasami and I would buy tea in observance of our own leaving.<br />
<br />
Had I been going it alone, I would have bought Pinati’s for the staff. Pinati’s is sort of like Samoan Taqueria food; i.e. voluminous and cheap. But it still works out to between $3 and $4 per person, and Suasami thought that too expensive. She suggested we get cinnamon bread from some bakery she likes in Mata’utu, <i>panekeke</i> from the same place (deep-fried balls of dough somewhat similar to doughnut holes), and Sky Flakes crackers.<br />
<br />
As the non-Samoan half of the duo, I decided to stay out of the decision-making process. Whatever she thought best was cool with me.<br />
<br />
We went to the bakery this morning. “We have to wait until nine o’clock,” she told me when I arrived on campus. As it turns out, the bakery needed a couple hours to come up with 80 balls of <i>panekeke</i>. In fact, they needed until ten o’clock.<br />
<br />
But we rolled in an hour early, so we killed time browsing the shop next door. Have you ever been really bored so your mind fixates on things to read even though they’re not particularly interesting? I read the warning label on the packaging for a bath mat, and I think Suasami was ready to buy it for me. I had to talk her down.<br />
<br />
In the end, the bakery worked out just fine, and we got back to school with lots of time to spare. Once tea was served, art teacher Kolenio did the traditional Samoan announcement that is said when someone provides a meal. Ears perked up when my name was called out, and many staff members came to thank me and shake my hand once the meal was over.<br />
<br />
Ehhh. I do what I can.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kBGJQ8FVeBqjsX10AamS_ONb1Zmzjz202xLVPKhekyhj4NJzivzNwTXYGIzEE_gClW_Q4j-h-D5zd0YaL3vf70Zu9_qDZbGrDsKH_KBfqOxf61UoBwykOMvcXW9uWbotKPRn/s1600/2ToneKoneTafale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kBGJQ8FVeBqjsX10AamS_ONb1Zmzjz202xLVPKhekyhj4NJzivzNwTXYGIzEE_gClW_Q4j-h-D5zd0YaL3vf70Zu9_qDZbGrDsKH_KBfqOxf61UoBwykOMvcXW9uWbotKPRn/s320/2ToneKoneTafale.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Business Studies teacher Tone, Art teacher Konelio, Tafale, and Lofale.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhnJUTX80fSpI1piHa0cfz4h3zwk8fTKTQR4pIo6UBpxHTTJEG1kHJ0K3AD3cjwbfyel78cK2wDyKlJd2Wj_4kBB38AlDiec1gENSwPBYP_JDnFAe8tUxz2nUbp1WgFgyc3Ld/s1600/3Cleaning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhnJUTX80fSpI1piHa0cfz4h3zwk8fTKTQR4pIo6UBpxHTTJEG1kHJ0K3AD3cjwbfyel78cK2wDyKlJd2Wj_4kBB38AlDiec1gENSwPBYP_JDnFAe8tUxz2nUbp1WgFgyc3Ld/s320/3Cleaning.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today was a cleaning day on campus.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0vR15i5mF5hOAb8Vh33uNxl4lBPC5TFbL3NqbgBV5zxR7u7jDMP15kPBjRqSMrN09S75GzMSlSzwM4PN8sLsWD5nwaemk3KHqammiMxFPetZIrWDQZS_UPWHRtBbk_up6pIm/s1600/4Dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0vR15i5mF5hOAb8Vh33uNxl4lBPC5TFbL3NqbgBV5zxR7u7jDMP15kPBjRqSMrN09S75GzMSlSzwM4PN8sLsWD5nwaemk3KHqammiMxFPetZIrWDQZS_UPWHRtBbk_up6pIm/s320/4Dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dance practice was held after school as everyone gets ready for next Tuesday's Prizegiving.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOvM3K40_pxKYmJrdkrvLprOZvErSZ9Y6jPKcpju-EVlZhI1Z5Ko4YdxrCv3_yDZoVdLV43LWxCwe8uQhtoDOI7ancPIv-lKJ9tCCYjqWSBFaypsFOH9iS-OMS8snayCVQz59/s1600/5MissSamoa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOvM3K40_pxKYmJrdkrvLprOZvErSZ9Y6jPKcpju-EVlZhI1Z5Ko4YdxrCv3_yDZoVdLV43LWxCwe8uQhtoDOI7ancPIv-lKJ9tCCYjqWSBFaypsFOH9iS-OMS8snayCVQz59/s320/5MissSamoa.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This billboard went up near my house a couple weeks ago. Tonight I realized Miss Samoa's sash is written in Monotype Corsiva.</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11176900.post-79922641067051228012010-11-23T20:00:00.001-10:002010-11-23T23:34:12.955-10:00Meeting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJdvUThfrraPYubqZ4nMhEtGmIcRCqhri-fBRbl5erDtjWsG9GPdIqWuq42NYwPtymrQKQwRuIfTM2YQzKCC8IHqq5aeWRqoRIv-gv5tXbvVy8b7JPOV60GQxQ8jFlNCjg2Wg/s1600/1Staff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJdvUThfrraPYubqZ4nMhEtGmIcRCqhri-fBRbl5erDtjWsG9GPdIqWuq42NYwPtymrQKQwRuIfTM2YQzKCC8IHqq5aeWRqoRIv-gv5tXbvVy8b7JPOV60GQxQ8jFlNCjg2Wg/s320/1Staff.jpg" width="320" /></a>I assumed too much. Students Filifili and Marie from last year’s graduating class wanted school magazines, and I proposed meeting up for lunch, and we’d all agreed to meet at noon today at the fish market. Yes, the school day typically ends at 1:30 p.m., and even by Peace Corps policy I shouldn’t be off school grounds until that point. But given the lackadaisical nature of the last two weeks on which no day have students and staff dispersed after 11:30, I figured making a lunch date for noon would be no problem.<br />
<br />
Murphy’s law. I sat down at 11:00 a.m., well after other teachers had gathered in the Staff Room for Interval—I’d been printing colour photos on the vice <i>pule</i>’s machine because hers is the only colour printer in the school that still has ink. We sat and ate buttered <i>masipopo</i> and drank tea for a while before my <i>pule</i> started the meeting.<br />
<br />
This has happened before. I’ve gone through the blog archives, and I can’t find any other mention of it, but it’s certainly happened enough times, as soon as the meeting started, in my gut I feared the worst.<br />
<br />
There’s no warning. In my text to Phil, I used the word “ambush”. Most staff meetings last 20 minutes, if that. But every once in a while—often on the rare occasion when I have somewhere else to be—a staff meeting will go on for 2+ hours.<br />
<br />
At 11:57 a.m., I asked the teacher sitting next to me if she thought the meeting would go on much longer. She laughed in response and said, “Maybe two more minutes.”<br />
<br />
Yeah. Right.<br />
<br />
It’s true, I should have seen it coming. Prizegiving is next Tuesday, and since there’s probably not going to be school on Friday, there’s a lot of logistics to work out between now and then. In addition to forming committees and working out what teachers will wear and who is in charge of what, there’s also the rather obvious issue of what students should be awarded which prize.<br />
<br />
It was sophomore year of high school when I first heard the quotation, “The worst part of democracy is that everyone gets a voice.” We sat there as a staff this morning, collectively mulling over which students should receive awards like “Best Sportswoman,” “Most Reliable”, and “Best All-Rounder”.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Note</b>: When I made the label for the Best All-Rounder trophy, I typed out </i>Best All Around<i>. Both the Samoans and the Indian Missionaries thought this was hilarious. What a fool I was. Clearly the award should be titled </i> Best All-Rounder<i>. Whatever that is.</i><br />
<br />
There were long discussions with debates that went on and on. For Most Reliable, there was a tie in the voting, so arguments had to continue. <br />
<br />
During all of this, I’m receiving text messages from Marie and Filifili wondering where I am. At one point I feigned receiving a phone call as an excuse to leave the room to go pack up my laptop so I could get the hell off campus once the meeting finally ended.<br />
<br />
I finally ended up leaving at 12:45 p.m., nearly 2 hours after the meeting started, and 45 minutes after I was supposed to meet up with my lunch party.<br />
<br />
But at least we’ve all had input on who should be awarded Best All-Rounder.<br />
<br />
I hope you’re well. Pictures below.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64C2QMM0tUzniGql7U21qoW5sO5ZjYonvFWKjQq3VZDFinluXfe-0NdFyN7yFRaO-zd-NY7QYwYjl07PkX52klPAwQ1m8oeDW35V-PHTmaKWBUUr2hB_M9VXuFtTiw0x7Zegx/s1600/2Mamea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64C2QMM0tUzniGql7U21qoW5sO5ZjYonvFWKjQq3VZDFinluXfe-0NdFyN7yFRaO-zd-NY7QYwYjl07PkX52klPAwQ1m8oeDW35V-PHTmaKWBUUr2hB_M9VXuFtTiw0x7Zegx/s320/2Mamea.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My <i>pule</i> mid-meeting.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxx7J6n-vTHExmYu3vJDmXoOe-eII-rWlvVdplQuUE-o_fB8t2cT6Podw_LcttbbfMAJr6AD3YnP0rFtAAN2cjrnMMW5q1eZOTKH-QkEDS0N6XURzosAPx9H01r7J7uN8x35d/s1600/3FiliMarieGuy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxx7J6n-vTHExmYu3vJDmXoOe-eII-rWlvVdplQuUE-o_fB8t2cT6Podw_LcttbbfMAJr6AD3YnP0rFtAAN2cjrnMMW5q1eZOTKH-QkEDS0N6XURzosAPx9H01r7J7uN8x35d/s320/3FiliMarieGuy.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Filifili, Marie, and Marie's friend (he told me his name, but it escapes me now).<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9haZkUNGo37zUSTC7JOo34zia9SJBTIqLEylSJyg8a7YlBbjM18geGhW_ys6gUmeiw0KnsbB3D36UrjzqEhyphenhyphenL8ngTOKnk-MNCd67Q-dhQEdewh4Il4g3QStK1AeALMDn4vKQ/s1600/4MeMarieFili.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9haZkUNGo37zUSTC7JOo34zia9SJBTIqLEylSJyg8a7YlBbjM18geGhW_ys6gUmeiw0KnsbB3D36UrjzqEhyphenhyphenL8ngTOKnk-MNCd67Q-dhQEdewh4Il4g3QStK1AeALMDn4vKQ/s320/4MeMarieFili.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me, Marie, and Filifili.<br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLIIuzMDnAzGHTbXI14BSOcMyk5L2sojyBrdFqoGg5SBlnSkv_wBgeV69ReIJlmsgYtUH5GSVzE44i9cvuOHs33-Dm5-DK_Y7ubyJJaCCBgWRhenoXfy-lWxuBzl5wv30pcAl/s1600/5BlurryMarie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLIIuzMDnAzGHTbXI14BSOcMyk5L2sojyBrdFqoGg5SBlnSkv_wBgeV69ReIJlmsgYtUH5GSVzE44i9cvuOHs33-Dm5-DK_Y7ubyJJaCCBgWRhenoXfy-lWxuBzl5wv30pcAl/s320/5BlurryMarie.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Marie, in true Matt's Samoa Blog style, couldn't resist a blurry self-portrait.<br />
</div>Matthewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01655804806593732227noreply@blogger.com1