Rank

“Filipo speaks Samoan much better than you,” the girl told me. I was walking with a bunch of Phil’s family through the host village late one night during training, when his host cousin made this observation. I had 2 immediate reactions to this: 1.) Rude! 2.) Duh! The statement was obviously true, and I couldn’t argue at all, but she said it so tactlessly it stung. I had no idea how to react, so I shrugged.

Comparing one’s progress to someone else’s is important here. Students get a number grade (1 for a great test all the way down to 9 for a lousy one), but neither the grade nor the raw mark seems as important as a student’s rank. At my school, a report card shows how the student ranked within their specific class and within the entire grade level for each subject. A student in the 11.2 class would know the 37/100 she received on her English test puts her at 19th in her class and 64th in all of year 11. At Blakey’s school they report the median mark for each subject to give more context to how a student performed compared to everyone else.

I realize this practice is common in The States; believe me, I should know. I can recite my raw scores for the LSAT and the GRE I just took, but I can also tell you what percentile I fall into for each of those scores. Looking at different grad school programs, some schools tout their current students as falling in the top 5-10% of their undergraduate institution. Nonetheless relative rank feels like a much bigger deal here.

We discussed the topic a little during training. I told the story above—I kinda called out Phil in front of the group, which was awkward—and other volunteers could relate. When we had tests or presentations, our host families would grill us when we got home, wanting to know who did best and worst and where each of us fit on the spectrum between. Our Training Director HP explained it as an aspect of collectivist culture: the community needs to ensure you don’t fall behind. Collectivism is all about being a part of a group and keeping an eye on your status within that group. So people get all excited when this status can be quantified, as with a student’s rank.

On my walk home I was stopped by one of the year 12s who I know pretty well. “Who was first in my class?” she asked. Inevitably, the students who consistently rank highly are the ones who most interested in the rankings. When I told her I didn’t know off the top of my head, she got a little pushy. “I know you know,” she said.

By this time, she’s received all of her tests back; she must know she’s done well this term. But the rank. She was dying for the rank. I looked it up. She came in third.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Blakey's brother Peter and me playing cards on Saturday night. Not pictured: Chris, Jordan, Blakey.

The cat, lacking social skills and a cushion, retired to a plastic bag in the corner Saturday night.

Focus Group

As sung to the tune of the Temptations’ “My Girl”: What can save 3 lives today? / My blood (my blood) / Talkin’ bout my blood... Senior year of high school my friend Melissa was the ASB Vice President, and among her duties was coordinating occasional blood drives on campus. The jingle above was a tongue-in-cheek ploy to recruit student-donors. There was also the Commodores spoof: And it’s once, twice, 3 lives you’re saving...

From what I hear, the process of recruiting blood donors in Samoa is generally more direct than the process in The States. When I lived in San Francisco I’d show up to the blood bank every 8 weeks, go through the process, eat as many Cheez-Its and pretzels as I could, and that would be that. Samoa’s population is considerably smaller than America, and their blood storage facilities don’t have much capacity, so the demand for blood donors only goes up after traumatic events where someone actually needs blood.

For example, there was a big bus crash in the village of Solosolo last December, and shortly after the incident, Joey 81 sent out a mass text asking for blood donors. Joey works for Red Cross Samoa, and is the natural Peace Corps liaison. But often, blood donation is simple and direct: if someone needs blood, often a family member will give a pint. Direct and intimate.

But that’s about to change. Joey and the Red Cross are piloting a program called “Club 25” in which giving blood regularly allows the donor membership in a club that will have fun and exclusive gatherings. I admit I’m short on details; everything I know I overheard after school on Friday.

2 weeks ago Joey texted to ask if I could gather a group of students so he could hold a focus group to garner feedback for “Club 25”. My year 13 class seemed like the ideal size and demographic, so after Friday’s Intramural track and field meet, Joey and the kids met in the computer lab.

I’d promised the kids I’d give them chocolate, and I had my pule remind students to come during his closing remarks Friday afternoon, but 5 minutes after school got out, only 5 students had shown.

Joey and the kids made small talk while I sprinted out to the bus loading area to see if I could rustle up 5 more. Joey asked for good English speakers, so I had to be careful about my choices.

Filifili, who graduated last year, happened to be back on campus to watch the track and field meet, so I made him come. I also spotted year 13 Luana trying to escape under the radar with one of her friends. I told her to go back and bring the friend too. And then, for good measure, I told Vincent from my year 12 class to go join Joey.

In the end we got 10 warm bodies at the table with passable English skills. Blood donation was definitely a foreign concept for the group; some were baffled, some were fascinated. At times, Joey had to pull teeth to get them to respond to questions. But on the whole, my kids came through. I gave them chocolate.

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

The kids insisted on taking a group photo once the focus group was over. It was cute.

Phil snickered at the "gluton/yeast free" sign at Lynn's last Friday. But I found the freezer section at Farmer Joe's to be even more snooty. Yes, that's Cornish Game Hen on the left and whole duck to the right. Only the most gourmet poultry for us Apians.

Real Quick

A bunch of us are heading up to the Charge d'Affaires' house to sleep over so we can watch the USA vs. England World Cup game very early tomorrow morning. So I don't have time to write up a whole post tonight. So I'm going to use the little time I have to upload some photos. Enjoy.

Odds and Ends Thursday 55

School’s back in session and we’ve already canceled classes for tomorrow’s intramural Athletics meet. During the teachers’ meeting at Interval this morning Bernie announced staff responsibilities tomorrow. I am “Chief Recorder”. I’m not sure I’ve ever been a chief of anything, so this is pretty exciting. There was a guy at CNET who owns the url “www.excelninja.com”, and I’m certainly not there yet. But I do think I came into my chiefdom through my spreadsheet skills. Here are some other odds and ends from the week:

• I like the photo up top a lot. You can see the yellow clouds in the foreground, the pink in the far background, and the blue in between.
  
• Thank you for your concern everyone, but I can assure you the cut on my knee is not infected. Photography can dramatically exaggerate the appearance of a wound, and this was no exception. The cut is taking a long time to heal, but I attribute that to the size of the cut, the relentless humidity, and the fact the cut is on a part of the knee that requires a lot of movement and elasticity. I’ll keep an eye on it.
  
• My Independence Day uniform fits quite well. The seamstress thought my request for a higher top button was peculiar, but even she admitted she liked the outcome. Having the shirt taken in on the sides also proved successful. If it wasn’t for the gaudy gold print, I’d probably wear that shirt a lot more often.
  
• Koa and I found fresh Tandoori chicken in the butcher section at Farmer Joe for dirt cheap. Believe it or not, the meat quality wasn’t great. Who’d have thought?
  
• I know I’m late to the game, but this oil spill thing seems really bad. Like really really bad.
  
• I was texting Supy in Spanish on Tuesday during our staff meeting, and the teacher next to me called me “ta’a”. This word—derived from the word ta’alo, which means “to play”—is a slang term for “overly playful” or “naughty”. Also, because it’s slang the “k” language is usually employed; thus ka’a. My Samoan ears are well enough adjusted that slang words said in “t” language sound absurd.
  
• Hey tomo, sta tupe.
  
• It’s that time of year where you can go on a bike ride across town and not be offensively sweaty upon arrival, so I finally pumped up my bike tires. Incidentally, even with this cooler weather, you will be offensively sweaty after your return trip.
  
• That photo at the top of yesterday’s post is a bunch of ants at the bottom of a Coke bottle. I must have spent a half hour trying to get the autofocus on my digital camera to pick up the ants through the concave sides of the Coke bottle. Autofocus was having none of it.
  
• Last night I started looking into public policy programs. It seems like a niche I might be well-suited for.
  
• My third electrical fan has finally died, which begs the question, at what point go I buy another? I’ll be here for another 6 months, and while we’re entering into the cooler part of the year, no doubt things will be obnoxiously hot come October. Conventional wisdom says I should buy early to get the most out of my purchase before I leave, but I think I might stick it out for a while before I get a new one. After all, this most recent fan only lasted 4 months. What a dud.
  
• Hey, by the way everybody, I'm going to add a "Favorite Posts" link up top where I plan on showcasing some favorite posts. At the risk of fishing for compliments, do you have a favorite post? If so, contact me directly. Thanks.

That’s all I got for this week. I hope you’re well. I don't have any new pictures to show, but here are some more photos from last week's Independence Day parade.

Teachers Isaia and Papalii mugging.

That girl up front Christina is in my science class.

Teine bashfully laughing because I'm taking their picture.

Apong's 1-year-old son showed up in uniform.

A Buggéd Life

Not too long after I moved in I developed a healthy respect for the ants in my house, and our relationship since then has been mostly one of tentative roommates. I remember at USC Smadge had a roommate that was caught red-handed eating someone else’s food; I feel my relationship with the ant colony is similar, except when I catch them red-handed I can flush them down the sink. At first life was a battle, but I’ve learned to give them their space, and they seem to agree to keep their own low profile and leave my things alone. Until recently.

I’m not clear on the reasons behind what’s been going on lately, and I don’t remember exactly when things started. All I know is they reached their peak (hopefully) yesterday morning when I came across a trail of ants spanning my 18’ living room. In other words, if these ants were runningbacks, they’d only need another 4 yards to get a first down. I tend to save the bug spray for larger, creepier targets, but the ants had crossed the line.

I admit I’ve been extra irritable lately on account of my knee injury, so you might have to take my ant rant with a grain of salt, but this living room incident is the latest in a slew of ant mischief (Note: I’ve decided to upload a picture of my knee for emphasis and for medical purposes. It’s roughly the size of two American quarters, and quite gross, so I’m only posting a link. If you really want really want to see it, you can click here.).

The ants around the refrigerator have been going nuts for a while. They never work in long, thick trails, but seem to instead pandemoniusly run all over the flat panels of the fridge. I think they may be eating the glue that holds the sealers to the door jamb. The case of Guinness would on occasion make the door pop open slightly, and the tiny bastards would get inside to the food and wreak havoc.

They got into an unsealed loaf of bread and obnoxiously started working from back to front leaving nothing to salvage.

Last week I had a dinner of sapasui (Samoan chop suey) and chicken, and I left the remnant bones, along with a molding niu, in a trash bag to take out before school the next morning. By the time I woke up, the bag was so full of ants there was an audible hum when I agitated the bag.

Of course the worst is when you realize they’ve infiltrated after the fact. Last night—12 hours after I decimated the 6-yard trail—I ate the plate of food I received at lunch yesterday (We got 2 lunches. It’s a long story.). I ate the fried chicken right away, and then heated the curry on the stove and laid it out on top of the bed of cold rice. The curry was delicious, but when I got to the rice I noticed a single ant a couple of layers of grains beneath the top. As I dug it out with my finger, I noticed another. I scooped some rice up with my fork. Sure enough, there were ants in the cold rice.

Way to wreck a meal, jerks.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

This hibiscus inscribed in a circle was drawn on the chalkboard in my 9.2 class when I walked into the classroom this afternoon.

Sometimes when I'm bored I pick the cat up and raise her over my head and walk around the house. The cat goes along with it, more confused than anything else, and I get a fleeting sense of amusement.
Yeah. I live alone with a cat.

Term 2

We finally conquered the school break that refused to end. Technically school started last Monday, and seven weekdays later I have yet to teach a single period of class. All the same, today did feel more official, and my pule announced we would hold regular classes tomorrow. So it’s clear we’re building to something. Also, before we all left for the day, we met with our intramural houses to getting ready for athletics (i.e. track and field). Priorities are in order.

I’ve been keeping a highly visible low profile, hanging out in the secretary’s office compiling grades. Over the last 4 weeks I’ve received a steady trickle of marks—by the time I left for Hawai’i I already had a sizable stack—and I’ve been able to keep up pretty well. At this point, when a teacher hands me a stack of grade sheets I can input it into the computer and a have a report ready to go in a matter of minutes. About 90% of grades have been submitted at this point, so when a form teacher (i.e. homeroom teacher) asks for the results for his/her class, I can give them something.

The only factor slowing the process is the small group of teachers who are lagging in submitting marks. Fortunately most staff seem to recognize I have no control over these procrastinators. I admit I’ve been all too willing to point fingers and name names; it’s win-win for me. The impatient teachers are happy to have someone to blame, and I don’t have to go hunting for missing marks because the impatient teachers take matters into their own hands.

Even with all this madness it felt good to be back in the swing of things. Though we had an official day of school last week, it was tentative and attendance was poor. Nearly all the familiar faces were back, staff and students alike. There were all the normal conversations about “how was your break” and “it’s so cold in New Zealand” and “O fea lou teine?”

It’s strange how pervasive the Peace Corps is here. After school as I was walking back across campus toward my house, one of the year 11s ran up to me. “Matthew, do you know Jim?” Jim 80 lives with a host family on Savai’i. I nodded to the girl. “He’s my brother!” she smiled.

I guess the first day of school is always like this. It’s a dark spot on the calendar, and I’ve dreaded it as a student and as a teacher now, but once you get there it feels kinda good. It’s like bringing the old gang back together. Don’t get me wrong—I loathe teaching—but with Jim’s sister smiling warmly and the impatient teachers chasing the slacker teachers, today was a pretty easy day.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Today they started painting the track onto the big field in front of my school. Step 1: Hammer a makeshift post into the ground. Don't have a hammer? Use a rock.

Step 2: Wait for the guy at the far end of the field (the very tiny guy wearing light blue standing at the back of the group sitting on the ground in the distance) to hammer his post into the ground.

Step 3: Paint along the rope that connects the two posts. Don't have a paintbrush? Use a coconut husk.

I Love a Parade

The rooster chorus trumpeted the day. I’d set my alarm for 8:15 a.m., but I woke up early on account of the clamor outside. Also, Scout stood on my chest as she often does, purring preemptively, reminding me it was feeding time. I grabbed my phone and texted a couple volunteers around town, “Where you at?”

Last week the Prime Minister declared today a public holiday to celebrate the Manu Samoa’s victory in the World Championship Rugby Sevens tournament in London the Saturday before last, and there was to be a parade through town this morning, and not having anything else to do, I figured I’d go watch.

There was another parade a month or so ago to celebrate the Manu Samoa’s victory in the Hong Kong tournament, and the one thing I learned about parades in Samoa is the only sure sign the parade will pass by is to go to a spot where there are Samoa spectators; the route printed in the Samoan Observer is a rough estimate, by no means a reliable map. With this in mind, I set out down Beach Road, and only when I saw people standing along the sides of the street did I stop. The method proved itself effective: I stopped when I saw people, and that turned out to be the very beginning of the parade route.

Maintaining a blog demands a constant flow of content, thus I almost always have my camera in my pocket. This morning was no different, but when I went to take my first photo of the day, the battery died.

The police marching band was called to attention. They started playing. The parade was off. Girls through feathers in the path of the Manu Samoa players a la Prince Azim’s palace in “Coming to America”. I witnessed all of this, but caught none of it on film.

Then, as the tail of the parade passed, I saw Rachel and Lily (both of 82) approaching, each with camera in hand. They’d both missed the parade, and I had no photos. Let’s head it off at the pass, we all thought. “Maybe if we cut through the fish market, we can catch it in Mulinuu.”

We sprint-walked past the fish market and the expansive bus-loading zone next to it. Taxis and trucks trying to beat the parade found had also discovered our route, so we had to take oncoming traffic into account as we lumbered down the sea wall.

Finally I could see the front of the parade, and somehow we’d timed things perfectly so when the sea wall converged with the road, our smaller parade would meet the bigger more official parade at the same time.

For Rachel and Lily, this was not enough. “We need to get out in front of it,” they said. So we kept our faster pace, slowly overcoming the strangely quick-paced police marching band. But then I noticed it wasn’t just the 3 of us. Sure enough there were lots of other people walking along the side of the parade route, whether to keep up with their favourite players or to get a better seat at the end of the parade route, I’m not sure.

At one point when the road narrowed I wound up walking with my flow of foot traffic directly next to the rugby players who were actually marching in the parade.

Finally we broke ahead, and we found a spot with a bunch of other spectators where we were able to see the entire parade pass by once more.

I’ve seen many parades in my life. I’ve also marched in a few. But never have I watched a parade, joined it, and then watched it a second time.

It was quite a morning.

I hope you’re well. Pictures (thanks to Rachel and Lily) below.

Super Fans.

The Manu Samoa.

The Manu Samoa again. Mostly I'm just posting this photo because of the Giants cap at right.

This banner is written in Text Message. I really like the use of "FORGET'N" in the top line.

This banner reminds me of an old Conan O'Brien character that used to yell ridiculously long football chants. This is a banner, people, not a paragraph. It makes it seem obvious why marketers started using terse slogans.

The Head of State's motorcade.

Manu Samoa Under Tent with Police Officer in Foreground. Photographed by Rachel.

I ran into loyal blog reader Faautu (sp?) at the event. She usually accesses the blog from her home in Switzerland. It was a pleasure to meet you!

Back and Forth

The race went as everyone had expected. Joey 81 finished in the top 3, Dan and AJ duked it out for second-place Peace Corps, Phil and I felt the burn. We arrived at the starting line yesterday morning shivering and pumped, and an hour-give-or-take-twenty-minutes later we were filling ourselves with niu and one-upping each other with how much we hated life with all of our aches and pains. There were no surprises.

In a way, that’s become our creed. Group 81 has been here nearly 20 months and we no longer raise an eyebrow to the ups and downs and the rolling with the punches. When the government made Monday (tomorrow) a holiday, we raised eyebrows in ambivalence not in protest. When two older ladies pummeled each other in the grandstand of last Thursday’s boxing matches, we stood in awe not in shock. When 4 mosquito bites showed up on my ankles after I turned out the lights last night, I cursed in regret not in disbelief.

To say Samoa is no longer new and interesting would be short-sighted; but the sting of surprise has worn off. We’ve come to expect the unexpected. No longer do any of these throw a stick in the spokes of my day.

Conversely, the yen for all things American has been blunted. The rich flavor of Mexican food, the steadfast wink of a hi-speed Internet connection, the satisfying whirr of downshifting has been dulled by drought. I don’t feel the gaping absence of my old life.

But wait. I also feel the complete opposite of everything I’ve just said.

I can’t wait to return to American with all of her mistakes and marvels. I feel the beckoning of the open road, the call of the spinach salad, the distant ringtone of the iPhone. After spending the past month-and-a-half with Americans who live in America, it’s almost too much to forget about the thrill of waking up fresh and rested rather than hot and sweaty. The In-N-Out Burger is so close I can smell it, if only for a moment, before I remember where I am.

Whereas Samoa’s unpredictability was once cheeky and charming, it is now outlandish and obnoxious. I find myself challenging the taxi-driver who tries to cut me off during my run, preemptively shutting down the vendor who tries to sell me matches while I eat, rolling my eyes at the children who shout “Bye-bye!” from the shop window.

I don’t feel particularly callous, only worn out. With 6 months left, I am beginning to see the end, and I feel my patience growing short.

Over the next 6 months I anticipate these contradictions will grow, creating anxiety and stress, and then will slowly begin to fade into inevitable ambivalent truths. Samoa will never be perfect, America won’t be the Eden I remember it to be, and the only thing true will be the memories of both.

Or neither.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Arriving at the starting line.

The team before the race.

The Peace Corps squad after. Right to left: Joey 80, Phil, Kyle (who overtook me in the final straightaway, and beat me by 30 seconds), Lily 82, Joey 81, Rachel, Dan, AJ, me.

Power Out

Hi everyone. The power was out across Apia this evening, so I didn't have enough battery to blog. But I'll post tomorrow! Enjoy your Sunday/Monday.

Too Little Too Late?

It was at the Peace Corps Cinco de Mayo celebration I agreed to run in tomorrow’s 10k. Phil was discussing his training regimen with Joey 81, and I jumped in. “I want to do it,” I said. And Joey nodded. Joey is the Peace Corps’ liaison with the small sports store, Coaches Corner, that coordinates tomorrow’s races—in addition to the 10k there’s a marathon and half-marathon—as well as the long-distance relay race that will happen again this year on the last Saturday in August.

I have barely trained since. With the heat and the end of Term 1 and Dustin’s visit things have been busy in Samoa this past month. I managed to fit in two jogging sessions while I was in Hawai’i, which were surprisingly easy considering my recent lack of exercise. I also went for a run this past Tuesday, which went okay. Later Tuesday night I fell and injured my knee, and I’ve been warming the bench ever since.

My knee feels much better today than it did yesterday, and yesterday it felt much better than it did the day before, so I think I should be good to go tomorrow morning. In fact, this small immediate problem seems a little inconsequential compared to the whole not-training thing.

The last time I ran 6 consecutive miles was when I ran the San Francisco marathon in August 2008. Even during last year’s distance relay my longest leg was only 3.67 miles. So I can’t help feeling a little nervous about the distance.

Earlier tonight, Phil mentioned his goal tomorrow is to complete the race without walking. “I want to run the whole thing,” he said.

At the risk of sounding like I’m setting the bar as low as possible, I feel like I have no specific goal for tomorrow. I know that I will complete the race no matter what, and given my lack of training, I don’t feel especially motivated to finish in a certain amount of time. Rachel and Lily estimate there will be 45 people running the 10k tomorrow, and I don’t want to finish last. But the race is being advertised as a “run/walk,” so I don’t think there’s any danger of finishing last either.

Given this lack of training and goals, tonight’s pre-race routine feels a little loose. When deciding on a plan for dinner, there was discussion over whether or not to carbo-load. “Given our lack of training,” said Phil, “carbo-loading seems like a fart in the wind.”

“Sure,” I said, “but it can’t hurt, right?” This is also funny because I’ve never been convinced carbo-loading makes any difference.

In any case, we had pasta for dinner. And we’ll have some protein and a piece of fruit in the morning. And we’ll try and get to bed early. But really, I’m not going to put in too much effort. I’m just trying to not come in last.

I hope you’re underwhelmed. Pictures below.

Benj, Casey, and I met today to discuss pictures for a PowerPoint presentation that will be emailed to prospective members of group 83.

Phil found this "Gluton/Yeast Free" sign hilarious.

Odds and Ends Thursday 54

News came through this afternoon: next Monday is a national holiday to honor the World Champion Manu Samoa Seven. The Term That Wouldn’t Begin continues to elude. Teachers from my school met this morning to begin the process of compiling grades. It went well, and we’re almost done, but classes won’t start before next Wednesday—a week and a half after the scheduled start of the term. Here are some other odds and ends from the week:

• After Tuesday morning’s parade, I jokingly mentioned hitting up breakfast at McDonald’s. As it turns out, Maengi is a big fan of McDonald’s breakfast. So we went. Maengi and Thanpuii both ordered bacon egg McMuffins; I went for the sausage egg. The cashier got the order backwards, apologized, and gave us a free sandwich. I was happy.
  
• Dustin introduced me to “Freaks and Geeks” while he was here. I like it a lot. Funny to see how the Apatow gang got its start.
  
• I was pretty pumped when the lady at SouthPac Rentals told me the car was a manual. Although I was a little nervous the steering wheel would be on the left. Would the gears on the gear-shift be in the same place, or would they be mirrored? That is, would first gear be on the upper left or upper right? Fortunately the car was left-hand drive. Later in the week I was in a right-hand drive taxi, and his gears were not mirrored.
  
• The Curry House is probably my favourite restaurant in Samoa. And that seems to be a common sentiment among Peace Corps and Peace Corps visitors. If you’re planning a trip here, make room for it on your itinerary.
  
• Speaking of Peace Corps visitors, there are a lot in town right now. Blakey’s family, Cassie 82’s family, and Kaelin 82’s sister. Koa’s brother just left on the same plane with Jordan’s brother and my friend Dustin. Phil’s family was in the week before that. There’s a bunch I’m forgetting.
  
• For some reason my laptop’s CD/DVD drive is refusing to load the driver CD so I can print from my school secretary’s computer. But then I plugged in the printer cable anyway, and it worked anyway.
  
• I fell and cut my knee pretty bad Tuesday night. It’s not a big deal except for I’m supposed to run a 10k on Saturday, and I’m worried my bruised knee won’t be functional. I brought a nylon knee support sleeve from America, so I’ll probably use that. I’ll be fine.
  
• The scroll wheel on my mouse doesn’t work anymore. You don’t know how integral that scroll wheel is until it’s gone.
  
• I downloaded Jack Johnson’s new album “To the Sea” yesterday. I like “From the Clouds”.
  
• Supy and I stopped and chatted with a guy named Ti who works at Aggie Grey’s on our walk home tonight. The kid was funny, talking up women from his village, Leauvaa, and enquiring about the women of Fiji when he noticed Supy wearing a souvenir t-shirt (Claire bought that shirt for me, says Supy. Give her a shout-out.)
  
• While we were in Hawai’i my mom bought a cat carrier that I’ll eventually use to bring Scout back to America. I’ve set the box out, and the cat’s taken quite a liking. She often uses it as cover, so when you walk by she springs out and attacks your ankles. Ambush.

That’s all I got for this week. I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

The Siva Afi Fire Dancing Competition is going on now. I went tonight with Supy, Jordan, Rachel, and Lily.

Fire dancer.

There was an American from North Carolina in tonight's competition. He wore an American flag 'ie.

No One Knows What to Do with Themselves

As with most holidays in Samoa, the day after Independ -ence Day is also a holiday. The day after Christmas, the day after New Year’s, the day after Easter: holiday, holiday, holiday. The common term for such days is aso malōlō, a day of rest. Essentially it’s like the holiday is the Saturday and the each therefore has its corresponding Sunday. Given volunteers’ capacity for celebration, a day of rest is all too welcome, but after 2 or 3 weeks of vacation, on days like today no one knows what to do with themselves.

I woke up at 10:30 this morning and watched a bunch of episodes of Arrested Development before I decided today might be a nice day to sit poolside at one of the hotels in town. Living in the South Pacific, Samoa inevitably becomes a tourist destination and despite our day jobs as teachers in the developing world, on weekends there’s sometimes a tendency to cool off at one of the nearby resorts.

So after prolonged preparation and a fair amount of dillydallying, I headed off to the nearest hotel to malōlō. And, wouldn’t you know it, I couldn’t get a deck chair because the 4 poolside were occupied by Peace Corps Volunteers.

Serving in the Peace Corps in the South Pacific, there’s a lot of internal controversy over our reputation as “Beach Corps”. We do a lot of work, but we live in a place where sun and surf can clearly become a distraction. On the one hand we often live and work in the same place, and we immerse ourselves in that work. On the other hand, when school’s out of session and there’s no work to be done, what is one to do?

Most of us brought books, although a couple of volunteers have family in town so they chatted and played catch-up. I splashed around for a bit and talked to a few volunteers I haven’t seen in a while.

A couple hours later I came home.

It wasn’t the most interesting day, but that’s how things go on an aso malōlō.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

My staff at the parade yesterday. I'm in the back row, far right.

The 3 ladies that look like police officers are actually employees of the Samoan Ministry of Revenue. Imagine if the IRS wore police uniforms. Check out the chevron on her.

Blakey's parents and her brother Peter are here. Lily's already giving him the PC Samoa straw-up-the-nose treatment.

Independence Day

Our call time was 6:00 a.m. I woke up at 7:20. I’m not clear on why we were supposed to be there so early. Rolling in 2 hours late, there was still a whole lot of nothing to do. I stood under part of an umbrella most of me still exposed to the rain for the good part of an hour and a half, waiting patiently for our chance to march in the parade. At one point I turned to Maengi and said, “We should have showed up later.” She agreed.

When I was in high school, my school’s marching band was invited to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. Though I had no part in marching band or the colorguard auxiliary, I maintain bragging rights. Most schools need to submit an audition tape; we were invited. In any case, I’m not sure the magic of this morning compared to marching down the streets of New York in a nationally televised parade. Nonetheless, excitement was in the air this morning of Samoan Independence Day.

I missed last year. I flew in from New Zealand on the evening of Independence Day after all the festivities had ended. As much as I was assured by my fellow Peace Corps that I hadn’t missed much, I still felt a twinge of guilt, and so I was quite happy to show up this year, in style and on time.

I probably would have shown up earlier had it not been for the Indian missionaries. Maengi and Thanpuii had originally tried to get out of showing up all together with the excuse they hadn’t sewn their togigas, their uniform, yet. My principal’s reaction, “Don’t worry about wearing the uniform! You can come and march in whatever you like.” They came out of the meeting and told me I could share a taxi with them.

They figured we wouldn’t be marching until 8:00, so we wouldn’t need to leave until sometime between 7:00 and 7:30. I was brushing my teeth when Maengi called to me from the front of my house, “Matt! Are you ready? We’re calling the taxi!”

It’s a sad truth I try not to think about, but I from anywhere in my house I can easily shout and be heard by someone standing outside my front door, “Yeah. I’ll be ready!”

Traffic heading into tiny Mulinuu (translated literally: the end of town) was dense, and eventually the cab driver suggested we get out and walk. It was raining and, getting out of the taxi, I regretted not brining my umbrella. Thanpuii and Maengi both brought umbrellas, albeit very small ones. Thanpuii shared with me as best she could during the walk. By the time we arrived, the right side of me was drenched.

The “parade route” was extremely short. We all lined up at the back of the field and then marched about 100 metres past the grandstand, and that was it. There were all kinds of VIPs and the Head of State looking out, so I wouldn’t call the event anticlimactic, but as I said, it was rather short.

Walking home, we realized we still had time to make McDonalds’ breakfast. The Egg McMuffin was the highlight of my morning.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Hoards of people waiting to march.

The Prime Minister and Head of State. Pardon the blur.

My school briefly met after the march.

Boats in the harbour Monday.