Off to the Village

They left a week late. The training schedule usually dictates the incoming group stays in Apia for approximate- ly 10 days, and then on their second Saturday in country, the newbies leave for the training village. In the past the Welcome Fiafia has been held the night before, so the trainees get one last hurrah before heading out into the cold. But for whatever reason this year, the trainees stayed in town an extra week. And then yesterday afternoon, they headed out.

There’s one other difference with group 83: they have 4 different training villages. While group 81 took the village of Fausaga by storm back in October 2008 with all 13 of us living with host families in the village, and group 82 doing the same last year with the village of Manunu, the 83s have been split into 4 sub-groups. I’m pretty sure the 4 villages are somewhat close to one another—I heard it’s approximately 5 miles from one end to the other—but the 4 villages don’t necessarily border each other.

When the volunteers heard about this strategy, there were mixed feelings. On the one hand, we liked our experience of the group unity that is forged in having a common village experience. After two and a half weeks in a Apia, group 83 knows one another pretty well, and it’s lousy to have to split up. On the other hand group unity is more difficult to achieve with 20 trainees, so it might be less overwhelming for the volunteers and the people in the village to split the large group into more manageable pieces.

Given my residence in Apia and group 83’s outgoing nature, I’ve been able to interact with them quite a bit since they arrived, and I’ve been in limited contact with a few via text message since yesterday. It’s been entertaining reading about their reactions.

I recall in the day or two leading up to my groups first trip to the host village, the Training Director warned us, “Just remember: you signed up for the Peace Corps.” Those first 10 days were spent at an air-conditioned hotel in downtown Apia. Going from there to the training village is a mix of The-Honeymoon’s-over and you’re-getting-pushed-into-the-deep-end. It can be overwhelming at first.

Here are some text messages I’ve received:

• Lots of freakin roosters around me
  
• Survived my first day. Lots of awkward moments but its expected.
  
• I can’t remember anyones names! :-(
  
• All the teen girls boss me around
  
• How long does it take to get used to cold showers...cause that was pretty awful
  
• [All the 83s] i have talked to are fine...still uncomfortable but fine...and actually looking forward to class tomorrow

Reading these feels like listening to one of my cousins talk about high school: I’m not jealous of their situation at all, but it’s mildly entertaining to watch someone else have to go through the same growing pains, and I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic. Being stuck in the training village was lousy. And I miss it a little.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Samantha and Olivia from group 83.

The tall palagi guy who manages Farmer Joe shopping at K.K. Mart.

This was posted on the chalkboard when I walked into my 9.2 class one day last week. Apparently in reviewing for the upcoming Visual Arts exam, the art teacher gave the sample question, "What is Art?" And the correct answer, "Art is life." I found this hilarious.

The next question: "What is the key of art?" So, by extension, what is the key to life?
The answer: "Drawing."
Fascinating.

Group 83

83 is here! Blakey and I were picked up by Peace Corps staff at 6:00 a.m., and we trekked down to the airport to welcome the new trainees, give them ulas, and smile at them to theoretically smooth over their culture shock. We stood around with the training staff and a basket of moso’oi and groggily stood around sipping coffee and waiting for the tell-tale sound of jet engines. And about a half hour after the plane landed, they started trickling out of the customs checkpoint.

This was a slightly new situation for me. The only other time I’ve experienced it was the brief period between when I arrived at the Crown Plaza hotel in Los Angeles for staging and the time our first scheduled session began in the hotel’s conference room: intuitively guessing which random faces in the crowd are Peace Corps trainees. Back in LA, I remember waiting for an elevator next to a short blonde girl, attempting to discern her volunteer-ness through a myriad of indefinable visual cues (Incidentally, the girl at the elevator went to Tonga.).

Picking through travelers at the airport this morning was both easier and more difficult. At least half the passengers on the Air New Zealand flight from Los Angeles were Samoans, and since Peace Corps tends to not send volunteers to countries where they have family, they could be ruled out. But I feel like within the remaining group it was difficult to delineate the Peace Corps Trainees from the German tourists from the American travelers from the Kiwi travelers laying over , etc.

Does she look like she could grow to enjoy cold showers and bug spray? What would his legs look like covered in mosquito bites? Can I see this person “scraggly”? Could this person wear the same t-shirt for an entire week? It’s seemingly impossible to define criteria to answer these questions, but some people seem to look more the part than others.

Some were easier than others. The kid with the curly hair, the girl with the aviator prescription glasses, a couple girls I recognized from their blogs—these were obvious. But a few faces slipped into the crowd and had to be ushered back toward the herd.

The first person out was Nancy, who has emailed Blakey and me several times. Blakey and I recognized her immediately. Interim Training Director Jamie turned to me and asked, “Who’s that?” I think not expecting to hear it was a Trainee.

“That’s Nancy,” I said.

“Nancy who?” She asked.

I rattled off her last name. Jamie was surprised.

“How do you know that?!”

I shrugged. “The Internet.”

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Group 83 on the bus to Apia.

Danny and Chris 83. Apparently Danny's mom frequents the blog. Hello, Danny's Mom!

Blakey and AJ await the morning's 'Ava Ceremony. Blakey was taupo this morning, and in this photo she is already in costume.

Me, Blakey, and AJ at the 'Ava Ceremony.

Jenny 83 drinking the 'ava flanked by Rachael and Chelsea 83. Jenny's mom also reads the blog. Hello, Jenny's Mom!

A bunch of group 83, as well as a bunch of group 81 and Ally 82, stuck around after the ceremony to finish the 'ava.

Group 82's Swearing In

In an effort to further annoy busycorner, Paul and I spent a lovely island morning inside my house with the curtains drawn watching “My Cousin Vinny” today. Paul wasn’t feeling too hot, and I’m on school break and feeling little motivation to get off the couch. I’ve seen the movie many times, but I didn’t remember one particular line when the judge tells a leather-jacket-clad Joe Pesci to “wear a suit—made of cloth.” It made me laugh out loud.

It’s funny how re-watching something can bring new things to light, and make missed details come to the surface. Another example is how watching “The Wire” the second time around is amazing because you can worry less about story and revel in the details. It brings a whole new level of depth to the show.

This idea of the second experience being richer than the first has been my experience with group 82. The deer-in-the-headlights blank-mindedness of the training experience can be rough the first time around, and watching someone else go through the process fills in a lot of the stuff I missed the first time around.

The first time I felt this was at their ’ava ceremony on the day they arrived when the orator was cracking jokes and mocking PCV Benj’s “chee-hoo”. The newly arrived trainees were on edge and too nervous to enjoy the humor, but for those of us participating in the event for the second or third or fourth time, it was a grand old time. There was an element of that feeling at Group 82’s Swearing In ceremony this afternoon.

Swearing In is when you transition from being a Peace Corps Trainee to a full-fledged Peace Corps Volunteer. It’s an awkward moment because you’re mentally exhausted after 2 months of training, you’re elated to be finished, and you’re apprehensive about moving to your permanent site. It’s a stressful time, to say the least, and the hour-long ceremony of speeches and formalities seems like more of an affirmation to the attendees rather than the actual trainees who swear in.

My memory of our Swearing In is a bit of a blur, but it came back as I sat through group 82’s this afternoon. There was a prayer and the training director’s speech and the country director’s speech and the Charges d’Affairs’ speech. Much like a first communion or a graduation, there are a lot of formalities and “things to be said” beforehand, and then the actual central event is extremely short. The kid gets the wafer, the graduate crosses the stage, the trainees stick their hands in the air and read the oath (they didn’t actually stick their hands in the air to swear in, to the disappointment of the many photographers in the room).

PCT Martin (now PCV Martin) gave a short speech thanking the host village and the training staff, and emphasizing the bonds forged in group 82, and how the real work starts now. I think it echoes the speech that Chris gave on behalf of group 81, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. It’s kind of a blur.

I hope you're well.  Pictures below.

Group 82s. Front row left to right: Emily, Martin, Allison, Elisa, Dan. Bill and Kathleen in the foreground. Back row left to right: Jenny U., Rachel, Tiffany, Cassandra.

PCT/V Corina sings a song with one of the language trainers, as the dignitaries look on. At the table left to right: MESC representative, Charge d'Affairs Robin, Country Director Dale, Manunu Faifeau, Assistant Country Director Fata.

Group 82s. Lili in foreground. Jenny in red in the back, Dana in blue, Matt looking into the camera.

Blakey, Dan, and Koa chilling outside.

Group 81's Swearing In where we did indeed raise our hands. We also had to walk to the village. Uphill both ways. Kids these days. Get off my lawn.

Crossing the Line

Near the beginning of training, our Medical Officer Teuila showed us a graph somewhat similar to the one at left. I can’t find the actual one she showed us, and mine is a terrible reproduction, but it captures the essence of what I took away from hers. According to my ears, the overarching point was the Peace Corps is an emotional rollercoaster that has ridiculous ups and downs at the beginning, but which evolve and become more elongated as time goes on. And any time you cross the x-axis, your chances of going home early become higher. At Volunteers en Masse events, we often recall this chart and talk about how accurate it was.

Teuila’s chart also had a more specific timeline. There are specific moments in the life cycle of a volunteer when most cross the line: the first couple weeks of training, after 1 month, after 3 months, after 6 months, after 12 months, and after 24 months (I’m reciting all this from memory, so take it with a grain of salt.). And as group 81 has passed each of these milestones, we’ve noticed the collective mood swings.

I bring this up because this morning I made arrangements to hang out with two people, one midday and the second for dinner, who are having particularly difficult times crossing the x-axis at their respective points. The back-to-back scheduling was a coincidence, but I worried a little about what this one-two punch would do to my psyche.

The first was a fellow member of Group 81. My group just hit our one-year mark, and most of us should be crossing the x-axis in the next couple months. We’re at the point when a lot of factors are coming to a head: our first year of school is coming to a close, many volunteers are going home for Christmas, stuff is starting to feel re-hashed, the excitement of new things has dwindled. Though we’re just about halfway through service, there’s a feeling of culmination in the air right now sort of like the kicking a field goal right before halftime, or bringing down the house just before the end of Act 1. And people are getting antsy about coming back after intermission.

Conversation went as well as can be expected.

Dinner tonight was with an outgoing member of Group 82. I’d say the first 4 months of the Peace Corps are the most difficult, as is demonstrated in the frequent ups and downs in the graph. The days are so long, and going to bed with the satisfaction of getting through the day is erased the next morning when facing another day is daunting. There’s adjusting to the new place and the new climate and a new set of friends. Then adjusting to the host village. Then adjusting to training and having your hand held. And when you’re finally adjusted to all that, you’re kicked out of training and there’s a whole new round of re-adjustment at your permanent site. All feelings are tentative, and the ups and downs and loop-the-loops can be nauseating. It’s not uncommon for people to want off the ride.

Once again, conversation went as well as can be expected.

The encouraging thing was the two conversations forced me to assess my own situation, and it seems like I’m doing okay. I like my job, I like my site, I like Samoa. There’s a constant feeling that any state of mind in the Peace Corps is temporary and tentative and that line-crossing can come any time, but today things were good.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.















Jordan and Briony laughing at Lynn's faleoloa.
















Luke McGrath and his posters advertising Punjas Breakfast Crackers are all over Samoa.  Dude isn't listed in Wikipedia nor on the first page of "Luke McGrath" hits on Google.  He is wearing goggles in the picture and by googling "Luke McGrath" AND swimming, I found out Luke McGrath is a reasonably talented ocean swimmer from Fiji.

Group 82's Fiafia

I’ve always enjoyed the behind-the-scenes perspective rather than being a member of the audience. I sympathize with Toto: while everyone else is focused on the wizard, I’d rather be the one pulling back the curtain. And so it was last night I much preferred performing in the fiafia to sitting in the crowd watching the spectacle. Then again, I think most volunteers are quite happy to not be in training anymore.

The word Fiafia means happy, but it also used as a noun to mean something similar to a fiesta. It’s a party. A happy party. Most of the fiafias I’ve been to have been a sort of entertainment exchange. Group one performs a song or a dance or a song and dance for group two, and the group two performs for group one, and then back to group one. It’s sort of a like a we’ve-got-spirit-yes-we-do-we’ve-got-spirit-how-‘bout-you kind of thing. At our fiafia with the women’s committee in the village, there was much back-and-forth. And when the Kiwi girl’s school came to visit my school, it was the same.

The problem with the newbies is they haven’t known each other long enough to have a coordinated song and dance prepared. So the Peace Corps Welcome Fiafia tends to be a little one-sided, which is cool. We can handle it.

As is often the case, being in the show rather than watching the show, it becomes obvious the degree to which the entire production is haphazardly thrown together. There were small pockets of preparation—Blakey had a working set list, Trent did a lot of background research to figure out the haka, I put together the slideshow—beyond that, everything else was practiced and put together in the 24 hours leading up to the event.

Thursday night a bunch of people got together to collectively remember the sasa since most of us haven’t gone through the motions since training ended in December. The sasa is a modified slap dance performed sitting on the floor. The dance moves mimic the making of pe’epe’e sauce, which includes climbing the tree, husking the coconut, and adding salt to taste. I missed practice, but I got up and performed the sasa at the fiafia anyway. One nice thing about the sasa (and the guys’ slap dance) is the entire dance is performed once at a medium tempo, and then the drummer speeds up and the entire dance is performed again. I say this is a nice thing because anything that’s rusty the first time around you immediately get to fix the second time—or you can screw up twice in a row. It’s up to you.

The guys’ slap dance was cool save for the fact I slammed into a chair during the second go-around. I was kicking my feet up to slap them, and WHAM! into the chair I fell. Who put an effing chair there? I like to think that I stayed in character and pushed the chair off to the side with much machismo. I lightly bruised my foot in the incident, but mostly I hurt my pride.

Also of note in the injury department was the part of the evening in which Casey climbed on Dan’s back in a fit of temporary bravado. Dan and Casey had both lathered themselves in coconut oil for the event (as had the rest of us) and while Casey had enough momentum to ascend Dan’s body, he was too lubricated to stay. The crowd gasped when he fell, but he came away unharmed.

With the exception of some spacing issues, the girls’ dance went over just fine. We brought in professionals for the fire dance, and my slideshow seemed to pass muster with the group.

And so another Peace Corps fiafia is in the books, the last for groups 79 and 80. It’s weird to think next year’s fiafia will be group 81’s last. How quickly time passes.

In any case, I hope you’re well. Pictures below.















Guys lathering up in the office before the event.















Koa, who missed the group lathering, attempts to glean some coconut oil from Phil.















Guy's dance. Me at far left then Phil and AJ. Front row left to right: Trent, Benj, Joey, Casey, Supy, Paul.















Rosie's Taupo dance.















Group 79 saying goodbye. Standing left to right: Erik, Hanna, Cale, Sara, Matt, Rosie, John the Welder. On the floor: Max, Ryan, Lissa.















Siva afi on the poolside.

Group 82!

The first day is lousy. The only flight from Los Angeles to Samoa gets you in at 5:30 a.m. local time. You’re jet-lagged and bleary-eyed and confused and Peace Corps Samoa is really excited to see you. It’s overwhelming, and more than anything, you want a nap. But no time for napping. Before sleep comes, the day is filled with introductory sessions and informal tours and information overload. After a while, it all sounds like Greek. But it’s not Greek. It’s Samoan.

The Samoan might just be the most torturous part. Before you have time to unpack your toothbrush, you find yourself sitting in front of a large group of strangers for the ’Ava ceremony.

Your first ’Ava ceremony is intense in many different ways. First, the tone of the Orator Chief tends to be gruff and urgent. To the untrained ear, it can sound alarming, and you definitely feel put in your place. Second, the Peace Corps stresses the importance of abiding by cultural customs, which at the ’Ava ceremony translates to sitting cross-legged for the duration of the meeting. When was the last time you sat with your legs bent for an hour? When was the last time you sat on an airplane for 9 hours, soaking in the DVT, only to cut off circulation to your poor feet for another couple hours?

Last, you get a solo. In Samoan. The Peace Corps sends you your line in advance: Lau ‘ava lea le atua. Soifua, but pronunciation is unclear, and memorizing phonetic sounds with absolutely no context is baffling. And there’s the matais glaring at you and your fellow trainees who barely know you and the volunteers who know you even less and your legs are dying and all you want is a nap. And so you say ridiculous things that are not even close to Samoan and you feel like an idiot. And through your tired eyes, it sucks.

But through my well-rested, only-slightly-better comprehension of Samoan, respectful-of-but-not-nearly-as-intimidated by Orator chief perspective, it’s hilarious. Not in a mean-spirited schaudenfreude way, but more in a pitiful I-remember-being-in-your-shoes kind of way.

But today there was a tsunami evacuation, and at that point, it stopped being a benign form of hazing, and we all just felt sorry for the poor kids. But it certainly makes for a good story, and what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?

Meh. They’ll be fine.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

3:15 p.m.
During lunch this afternoon, Apia was evacuated following the 2 earthquakes in Vanuatu. Group 82, who'd been in country all of 8 hours, were whisked up to the Country Director's house.

Rumors are flying right now. Someone told me a miniscule tsunami hit Savai'i. Someone else said there was no tsunami, but the sea level rose. Spencer 80, who lives pretty far out on Savai'i, is actually sitting next to me right now. So I can vouch for his safety.

When I asked what happened, he shrugged and said, "Ehhh... nothing happened."

So it's much ado about nothing, perhaps.

It's all a big campaign to keep 82 on their toes. Welcome, freshmen.
















Koa and Sara strategizing photographs.
















Rosie as Taupo.
















Spencer handing out the 'ava.
















Amanda, Casey, and TESL Trainer, Janine.

Countdown to the Newbies

In addition to The Road Switch and Swine Flu, one of the most common topics of conversation at recent Peace Corps gatherings is the anticipation of Group 82. As far as any of us can guess, they are expected to arrive on the first Wednesday in October (i.e. October 7), and unlike any group since the 1990s, we estimate they will have in the ballpark of as many as 24 members. Everyone seems pretty pumped for new blood.

Working at eCivis, which was always in the midst of mass hiring (because of their sadistic love of mass firing), I was hired with Gower and was there for a month before Sebastian and Vanna were hired. At CNET, I came on in the first week of November, and I think I had to wait until just after the first of the new year before Andrew and Christine were hired. A month or two seems pretty par for the course for having to endure “new guy” status, but we in group 81 are coming on 10 months now, and we still feel a bit like the new kids on the block (the figurative kind, not the washed-up vocalists from Florida).

Last night I got to the movie theatre—I went to see “I Love You, Man” with Paul Rudd and Rashida Jones—just before the scheduled showing. There was a long line for the box office, and the feeling was very similar. It’s lousy to be the last one in line. Having someone behind you validates and elevates your place. It feels good to have someone following you—to follow in your footsteps, tread where you tread.

Just the same, it’s empowering to have some semblance of seniority in an organization—to be forced to hide your insecurities in order to assuage (or exploit?) the insecurities of those who come after you. We can’t know that a relay runner has done a good job until she passes her baton. It gives us purpose.

More than that, they’ll probably have cool toys and crazy stories to tell us about what America is like in 2009. Sure, we communicate with people from back home, and Blakey and Phil are going home for a couple weeks in September, but these new guys will undoubtedly be able to tell us about the future. And hopefully they’ll come bearing hard drives loaded up with new movies and new seasons of television.

But really, more than physical goods or purpose, they will bring freshness. By my unofficial count, there are 34 Peace Corps volunteers in Samoa right now, and a planeload of 24 more is bound to stir the pot and change the flavor.

Colonel Sanders had 30 herbs and spices that went into his recipe for fried chicken, but in The States we’re bombarded with so many options and flavors, it’s difficult to isolate or appreciate each one. But here in Samoa with only 34 people to know day in and day out, each one counts. And 24 new flavors is going to be monumental.

So the countdown is on.

I hope your chicken is finger-lickin’ good. Pictures below.















Hanging out at the faleoloa.















Koa doing a little dance.