Welcome to Paradise

What a difference a year makes. This time last year, I returned to Samoa from New Zealand in a state of melancholy. I’d been living in Samoa for 7 months, but coming back after 10 days in Auckland didn’t feel like coming home. I was wary and a little homesick, and the thick Samoan humidity I felt as I deplaned was a punch to the face. Coming back was a major downer (you can re-read the full account here.)

Getting off the plane today was different. I was a little anxious about getting my case of Guinness through customs, but beyond that, my only feeling was one of relief.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved Hawai’i. It’s a beautiful, warm place, and I had a great time. I drove a car, played cards, and sipped Starbucks. I swam in the ocean, ran along the Ala Wai canal, and ate Brie. Despite all this, walking into baggage claim at Faleolo Airport here on Upolu, I smiled.

Why was coming back so lousy last year and so comfortable this time around? It’s hard to say.

Time-wise, Group 81 is just about 75% through our time in Samoa, and I think we’re starting to feel a “senior year” sort of buzz. There are still 2 terms of school left, and there’s lots and lots to be done between now and the time we leave. That said, the term “home stretch” is becoming more and more a part of our daily lexicon, and that’s always a nice place to be—even with the inevitable culture shock that awaits us in The States.

In fact, returning from that culture shock was also part of the relief I felt getting off the plane. The customs officer threw me a big “Mālō” as I approached the counter, a term that seems considerably less foreign than aloha. I think the cultural difference between Hawaii and Samoa is relatively less severe than the difference between California and Samoa, but I’d say the shock was still omnipresent this past week. It’s a sort of feeling of unquenchable urgency and strange displacement. At this point, my mindset is pretty darn Samoan, and it feels good to be back.

It’s the same sentiment as Green Day’s “Welcome to Paradise,” a song about a boy who moves to an urban slum and writes 2 letters to his mother: the first, written 3 weeks after he moves out, laments the harsh conditions of his new life; the second, written after 6 months, celebrates the same conditions. It’s all about that feeling of ownership and control. Despite the chaos and confusion of my life in Samoa, I’ve grown to enjoy it here, and even feel a little bit of control.

I think we’ve crossed over.

Speaking of the joys of chaos and confusion, my power just went out. My laptop battery ain’t what it used to be. So I think I’ll stop here. See? Look how in control I am.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

The Honolulu Swap Meet. Every Wednesday.

The Aloha Bowl.

Joe and Patty.

Me.

Pineapple field. Or is it Patch?

Me and the Kentucky Fried Chicken Double Down. I actually found the "sandwich" to be bland.

The national flower of Samoa, the Teuila, painted on the column of a local mall food court.

This frame says, "Aloha! Please remove your slippers ... oops! be sure to get your own!"
I saw many of these, word for word, while I was in Hawai'i. What in the hell does than mean?

Odds and Ends Hawai’i

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in 3 or 4 days. There was the night before the GRE when I had to study, the night after the GRE when I had to celebrate its being over, and by then blogging didn’t fit within the vacation routine. Also, I feel like it took my family a couple days to get the hang of being on vacation, but toward the end there we hit our stride. Here are some other odds and ends from my week in Hawai’i:

• The word kai is everywhere in Hawai’i—streets signs, businesses, first names. This word is a profanity in Samoan, so I assume its Hawaiian meaning is different.
  
• On our last day, my parents and I went to Hilo Hattie’s, a store that specializes in Hawaiian print shirts. It’s a bit of a tourist trap, and I feel like in my American life it’s all clothes that I wouldn’t ever wear. But I wasn’t shopping for leisure wear; in Samoa, Hawaiian print shirts are work clothes. I got a green shirt with a floral print.
  
• My dad came down with a rather nasty cold while we were in Hawai’i. I swear it was something strange and tropical that I brought from Samoa. I’m a carrier.
  
• We were able to get a parking space in our building’s parking lot. My parents bought and installed a toilet seat, and we ended up poaching wi-fi from someone else’s router all week. Bottom line, don’t stay here.
  
• At Germaine’s Luau on Tuesday night, I nitpicked the portrayal of Samoa and told my family way more than they were interested about the subtle differences between Hawaiian and Samoan traditions.
  
• I met up with a friend from high school in Chinatown on Wednesday evening. “Chinatown is Honolulu’s up-and-coming arts scene. There are lots of young people. It’s hip,” She told me before we met up. “So it’s like the Brooklyn of Honolulu?” I asked. “Yes,” she said.
  
• I taught my family to play Euchre. I’m sure they’ll all be pros by the time I return to The States in December.
  
• I had 2 glasses of orange juice and half a bottle of water before the GRE Tuesday. Mistake! I ended up having to leave twice to use the bathroom while the clock was ticking. It was less than ideal.
  
• Writing a somewhat daily blog is pretty good practice for the analytical writing portion of the GRE. I haven’t seen those scores yet, but I felt pretty good about that section.
  
• Snorkeling in Hanauma Bay was pretty fun. The fish are so docile and lackadaisical. At one point a wave threw me into a school of convict tangs. They didn’t react.
  
• Have you ever noticed the Hawaiian accent sounds similar to a Canadian accent? They’re not completely the same, but they are strangely similar.
  
• I put that Mahalo garbage can in the Hawai’i banner up top, but I don’t think I actually saw any while I was there. Sad.
  
• I could live in Hawai’i.

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

Fish at Hanauma Bay.

School on convict tangs at Hanauma Bay.

Victor.

My dad and me at Hanauma Bay.

Amanda and Victor en route to Germaine's Luau.

Luau.

Victor, Amanda, and my mom at the luau.

Me and Duke Kahanamoku.

Another Day in Paradise

You know that palm tree on the island in the blog header? I’ve been doodling that picture since 5th grade. In fact, the surf board in the current “Hawaiian” edition was developed in for a 7th grade English project. I’ve always been fascinated by tropical landscapes and the ocean and such, and it’s very exciting to be living in the South Pacific this last year and a half. That said, I admit I’m beginning to take it for granted a little bit.

We went exploring around Oahu today, mostly along the southeastern coast of the island. Behind each turn of the winding coastal road was another breathtaking vista, the ocean a thousand shades of blue, the water crashing against stark volcanic rock. We’d stop the car and wander down to the beach and watch the waves wash up along the beach. There was ooohing and ahhhing as we whipped out our cameras and iPhones to try and capture the splendor.

But I admit I don’t get so caught up in the overwhelming scenery the way I used to. As much as Peace Corps Volunteers kvetch about adjusting to life in Samoa, the natural beauty is undeniable. Taking the bus, lunching anywhere on Savai’i, doing just about anything outside of Apia, the beauty is so constant it gets to be a little difficult to be perpetually wowed.

I don’t mean to imply I don’t appreciate the beauty. On the contrary, I love it. And as much as the splendor of the South Pacific becomes an everyday thing, it’s a pretty fantastic thing to see every day. And the nice thing about seeing it with other people who don’t get to see it every day is it serves as a good reminder of how great things are here.

In fact as we were walking back to the car on the way up from one of the beaches today, I started to contemplate applying to the University of Hawaii for grad school. After all, the lower 48 are great, but why would anyone want to leave paradise?

Sorry to brag. I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Koko Head on southeastern Oahu.

We hit up this view from one of the scenic lookout points along highway 61. Pretty great.

Kite surfers and wind surfers along Diamond Head this afternoon.

Culture Shock

Jet lag is lousy. Its effects were on display this morning when all the Californians were up and about at 6:30, 9:30 to them, while I was still bleary-eyed by 8:30, 7:30 to me. Hopefully by Monday or Tuesday we’ll have synchronized our watches. In the mean time I’ve felt a bunch of other shocks to the system since I arrived here, some cultural some not. I talked about a sort of “decompression chamber” in the captions of yesterday’s photos, but that feeling applies to far more than Taco Bell and Starbucks.

Humidity. For some reason, Hawai’i is far less humid than Samoa. Part of this may be because of the ubiquity of air conditioning here; everywhere we go it seems to be on full blast. But even walking around outside, sweating and stickiness don’t seem so inevitable. It’s been windy and cool. My skin, which has adapted to the Samoan climate, is all ashy and parched. My hair is straw-like. My eyes are red and scratchy.

Eating and Drinking while Standing. These things are taboo in Samoa. I ordered an iced latte at Starbucks tonight and slurped it on the walk home. No one cared, but it felt dirty nonetheless.

No One Speaks Samoan. I don’t have a lot of conversations in Samoan in Apia, but in certain gestures and interactions I always default to Samoan. When I go running and I go between people walking together, I’m quick with a tulou. Approaching a shop employee behind a store counter, I’m used to offering a hearty “Mālō!” In fact most pleasantries like please and thank you and goodbye are gutturally Samoan. In Samoa, these small gestures allow me to say, “I’m familiar enough with my Samoan that you don’t have to treat me like a run-of-the-mill palagi even though the rest of our conversation will be held in English.” Here I still feel inclined to share such courtesies, but this isn’t Samoa. And I have to go out of my way to not speak Samoan.

So Many People. Even in crowded Apia, the great majority of my life in Samoa is solitary. There are kids at school and other shoppers at Farmer Joe, but rarely do crowds in Samoa compare to crowds here. Standing outside Costco today, I left my mom and dad to go stand in an out-of-the-way corner. I did it without thinking, and it took me a moment or two to realize it was my subconscious dying to get away from the crowd.

Tap Water. So gross! I’ve spent the last year and a half filtering well water with what essentially amounts to an über-Brita. As much as Apian water has potential to make me sick, it tastes pretty darn pure. I had a glass of Honolulu tap water today, and I was a little repulsed. No offense to Honolulu—my family couldn’t taste any problem—I think the Peace Corps has counter-intuitively made me a water snob.

But with all this, I’m having a great time.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Foot Locker has a huge USC T-shirt selection. Way to go, Foot Locker.

Ala Wai at night.

I'm in Hawai'i

I'm in Hawai'i. I'm staying with my family in an apartment in Honolulu.  The ad for the place promised wi-fi and a parking spot in the building's underground lot actually has no wi-fi nor any parking spot in the underground lot.  Also, the toilet seat is not bolted to the toilet.

Beyond that, we're all having a great time.

The problem is, for the time being, I don't have much of an Internet connection (I'm stealing wireless from someone's unsecured router right now, and the connection is spotty at best.  Every time I try and upload pictures, the connection is wrecked.).  So I'm worried updates may be a little sporadic the next couple days.  I realize this is poor timing given my lack of posts over the past couple days.

We'll see if I can find a Starbucks where I can connect tomorrow.

Today was low key.  Lunch at Taco Bell, grocery shopping at Target, etc.  I'm getting a kick out of reading Hawaiian words and trying to guess their meaning based on my limited Samoan.  We're staying along Ala Wai Blvd., which I'm guessing might be similar to "Auala Vai" or "Water Road".

It's cold here.  Yes, I've been whining about how Samoa's been obnoxiously hot, but now I'm in Hawai'i and it's in the low 70s.  Might as well be snowing.  Can't there be a happy medium?

Anyway, I'll work on the picture problem.  I hope you're well.

Update! I got 3 pictures up. The 4th refuses. Maybe tomorrow.

Sorry. Coming to Hawai'i from Samoa, I feel like there's a corporate decompression chamber. I had Starbucks at the airport waiting for my sister and Victor to get in.

And Taco Bell for lunch. I know there are those of you out there who are skeptical of my affection for Taco Bell. I don't know what to tell you, except maybe you should check out the Grilled Stuft Burrito with Steak.

English Day

Did you know the French have their own version of “The Office”? The Germans too. America’s got its own, and of course there’s the original British version. Why so many versions of the same show? Because humor is local. Perhaps certain things are universally funny, but so much of humor depends on cultural nuance; you have to know things really well to keep a crowd happy. I didn’t consider this when I agreed to be the emcee for English Day today.

I’m no stand-up comedian, but I can tell a joke and I can punch up dry material. I think my greatest performance was when I was a Resident Advisor in college and I held my “First Floor Meeting”. The meeting was mandatory for all RAs across campus, and we used it to discuss building rules and housing policies and the disciplinary code and consequences and fire safety and blah blah blah. I figured I could a few wisecracks would keep the meeting moving. My entire spiel was extemporaneous, and thus I have no recollection of what I actually said. But I remember I had the room in stitches. I can be funny.

But Samoan humor is not one that comes naturally to me. My sense of humor is dry and subtle. My general perception of Samoan humor is it tends more toward over-the-top slapstick. And as much as I’ve lived here for 19 months and I’ve got a handle on the culture, I’m certainly not fluent enough to make references, cultural or otherwise.

Thanpuii asked me if I’d emcee during the morning assembly on Monday. I readily agreed, not having any specific notion of what the job would entail, but I figured I could wing it. But the more I thought about it, the more I had no idea what I’d do. Peace Corps make plenty of jokes about the parts of Samoa we find bizarre—the way guys in the village would borrow a guitar and arbitrarily twist and turn the tuning pegs, the way it’s often clear I’m standing in line but someone will cruise in right in front of me, the way older men roll up their shirts on hot days bearing their large bellies. But it’s difficult to know which things would translate and which would come across as me whining xenophobically.

I began to feel desperate, so I started telling anyone and everyone about my assignment. The guys at Rotaract, the bartender, students who’d texted me because they wanted to know their final grade. “You got an 86. Do you know any jokes?” I’d ask in the same breath. Just about everyone looked at me, thought for a moment, and then shrugged.

So this morning I was standing backstage listening to the faifeau lead the opening prayer, and I still had no idea what I would say. I had made peace with cutting my losses and not even trying to be funny. But it was still expected that I say something.

The time came. I sauntered up to the podium. I began by welcoming the faifeau, the judges, various dignitaries, parents, students, staff. I took my time; one might argue I was stalling.

I talked about how the only reason I was up there on stage was because I speak English, but that my Samoan is pretty terrible. I talked about how the first thing I learned when I came to Samoa was the song “Savalivali”, which is a bilingual song in which each line is effectively the translation from English to Samoan or vice versa. I talked about how music helps us understand and remember. And it’s fun. And that was why English Day was full of singing and dancing and music.

Then I introduced the first act.

It wasn’t incredible or even slightly memorable, but it got the job done. Whatever.

I hope you’re well.

The Savai'i house dancing.

The Manono house dancing.

Teachers Malele and Suasami. I like this picture.

Waxing Poetic

I admit I still don’t understand iambic pentameter. I’ve understand that it’s “da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH,” but I’ve never been able to hear that as natural. But as much as I’m no poetry connoisseur, I know that rhythm and syncopation can be important poetic tools, although I don’t think that specific thought was in my head when I started practicing the poem with the 10.2 class. Mostly I figured having the kids read the poem to a beat would help them stay together. The poem is part of our school-wide English Day competition that will be held Thursday.

In regard to the poem itself, I feel a little ambivalent. Here it is:

Listen Teacher
Listen teacher
Listen to me
Don’t look away
See my eyes they hold messages
That can make you understand me
Hold my hand and your heart
Will warm towards me.
Let me dance and sing you
My own songs which you don’t know,
And you might smile
As you’ve never smiled before
Let me tell you a story
Of my ancient past
And then, maybe, you can see
Another person in me.
- Emma Kruse Va’ai

Bernie was originally going to be in charge of the poem, but he was absent the first day, so I took on the project. The kids had a tough time staying together, so I started clapping a beat. The rhythm we fell into was a staccato “DUH-da DUH-da dutta dutta DUH”. It didn’t work with every line, but we went line by line, and figured out the whole thing. When I heard the finished result, I realized the syncopation was similar to the rhythm we used during training when the guys did the “Slap Dance”, though I didn’t mention this to anyone. I didn’t need to. When another teacher heard it, she said, “Oh. You’re doing a haka.”

The haka is a sort of warrior chant. The Manu Samoa, Samoa’s rugby team, do a haka before each game to psych out the other side. It’s posturing as performance art. “Have them do a haka dance,” she told me.

So I went off with the year 10s to oversee the choreography and coordination of an English haka. Far be it from me to create a dance, so I used the method I learned last year: open up the floor. Students came to the front of the room, suggested a move, and there was a collective decision to incorporate or veto. The result is a weird mix of modern and traditional, but a pretty good haka, if I do say so myself.

I’ve tried to pull out all the stops too. Today I borrowed a pair of sticks from another teacher so I can do the percussion, and I think we’re going to perform it twice through—once normal speed, once fast. The kids really like the fast.

Reception so far has been muted. The other teacher came to rehearsal today, and nodded stoically when the kids finished, but smiled warmly at me when the kids left the room. The kids liked the idea at first, but their pretty over it at this point.

Although there was a telling moment after rehearsal today. We were sitting in the hall while another class was practicing on stage. It turns out they’re performing the same poem. I watched them, but I kept a close eye on my kids to gauge their reaction. The performance was good, but my kids smiled with quiet satisfaction. The other teacher winked at me. Ours is better.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Our "house" learning the song.

Apong playing guitar while the kids sing.

Spelling Bee

I lost with the word “sandwich”. It was first grade, and the bee was held afterschool in room 9, where Ms. Hawkins read the words. Everyone stood up, and we went around the classroom. If you spelled a word wrong, you sat down. The last 5 students left standing went on to the finals. After however many rounds, there were six of us left. I spelled it “sandwitch”. And thus the qualifying round ended. That was my one and only spelling bee. Today I got to be a spectator.

Digicel is sponsoring a 10-week televised spelling bee in which year 10 students from 12 different schools compete in pairs against one another. I’m not really involved, but I ran into Thanpuii after school today, and she invited me to come along. “We’re leaving at 10 after 2,” she told me. “Can you be ready?”

I checked my watch. It was 2:08. “Ehhh... sure,” I said.

We shuttled over to TV3, and after a brief wait in the lobby, we were escorted into a small studio. After a long wait during which we watched one of the “Mighty Ducks” sequels with the sound turned off, there were a couple speeches and the tournament began.

The bee worked like this: a moderator read a school subject, a point value, and then the specific word twice. At that point a team could buzz in to answer. It was announced at the beginning words would not be used in a sentence. All words were to spelled in British English except when the school subject was Samoan, in which case contestants were required to denote komalilius (apostrophes, as in fale’oloa) and fa’amamafas (lines over vowels, as in sē) . Each match was 20 minutes of spelling, which is a long time.

Enforcement of the “don’t ring in til the word’s been said twice” rule was arbitrary. Also, scores were hidden most of the time, which made it difficult for a team to keep a grasp on their progress. My school didn’t play until the second match, so I kept score with my own pen and paper. It was a barn burner.

Here are some words I had problems with:

• Symbols. This came up when the school subject was “music”. I would have spelled “cymbals”, but apparently I would have been wrong. The whole use-the-word-in-a-sentence thing would have been helpful here.
  
• Sow. This came up in the Agriculture/Textile subject. Once again, context would have been helpful. I wrote “sew”.
  
• Network. This word was written on the Digicel logos plastered behind the contestants, as in “Samoa’s bigger, better network.”
  
• Fertilization. Admittedly, the British English thing throws me off more than the students. I would have spelled it “fertilisation”, mostly because I just default away from “zed” whenever I’m spelling Britishly.

Perhaps the funniest part of the two matches was when the word dam came up. The first team spelled it “damp”, so the other team got a crack at it. They spelled it “damn”. Context! Context!

Overall, I was impressed at how well everyone did. There were some tough words: mountainous, farrowing (MS Word doesn’t recognize this word), rhythm, chlorophyll, indigenous, requiem, and epididymis (Word’s shaking its head again).

In the end, my school beat out Faatuatua Seconday, 135 to 130—a barn burner indeed.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Update! Fertilisation is totally acceptable!

Update! Farrowing means to produce a litter of pigs. Epididymis is also a word, but I'll let you Google that on your own.

The control room. Through this window we watched D2: The Mighty Ducks with no sound.

Inside the van on the ride over. The two girls who represented our school are in the far back, Racey and Tinousi. Sorry about the lack of focus. It was that sort of day.

Come On, Supy

This weekend marked my first visit to Supy’s house. We moved into our houses 16.5 months ago, and there are still a handful of group 81 houses I have yet to visit. But Supy’s finally been checked off that list. The one time I visited Supy’s village before this weekend was when my mom and dad visited a year ago, and we went to swim in Supy’s village’s waterfall—while Supy was in Fiji. But now I’ve finally seen the kid in his natural habitat.

First a few words on Supy: everyone loves him. He’s laid back and incredibly social and ridiculously nice. And because of this, it takes twice as long for him to get anywhere because he has to stop and chat with everyone he runs into along the way. This can grow tedious if he’s in your travelling party, but on the whole, Supy is great. But it’s important you understand Supy is everyone’s friend. In fact, even if you’ve never met the kid, rest assured you’re his friend too.

On its own, the Peace Corps lifestyle is based on forging relationships with the people in your village, and most volunteers become village celebrities the day they move in. But Supy is so perfect for this role, he brings things to a new level.

When I first got off the bus and approached the school gate, a man came out of the neighboring house to inquire about who I was and what I was doing there. Supy came out promptly, resolved the situation, made a couple dirty jokes, asked about the car the guy was working on, gave a summary of our plan for the evening, made more jokes, asked about the guy’s wife and kids, briefly remarked on the recent issues he’s had with his plumbing, observed a passing pig, threw in a couple more jokes, and then finally wished the man a pleasant evening. It probably lasted 10 minutes, and I was exhausted by the end. I should add that Supys sees this guy all the time. This wasn’t a conversation after a long absence or “catching up”; this was a routine, everyday. Personally I tend toward briefer, more reserved interactions, but Supy chats.

In fact, while I was there he had similar conversations with his pule, the lady down the street, her sister (separately), the lady who runs the faleoloa, the lady shopping at the faleoloa (also separately), the matai who collects admission at the waterfall, and countless students and soles.

The effect is he comes across as having all the time in the world to chat with whomever, and he is thus beloved by everyone. And this is not limited to his village. Walking with him around Salelologa, the main city on Savai’i, I felt like part of a celebrity entourage. Pedestrians waved, people shouted from cars, all the shopkeepers know his name. After a bunch of random kids walked by and waved and called his name while a bunch of us sat a ways back from the road drinking niu, K8 observed, “Supy’s pretty much the Blakey of Savai’i.” Well put.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Jordan's silhouette Saturday morning.

Supy's shower. The spigot is high enough Supy has to stand on the chair to turn on the water.

Koa and Paul at yesterday's Cinco de Mayo celebration.

Phil and Joey 81.

Trojan getting off the boat Friday afternoon.

Salelologa Transfer

“I hate it,” said Harris. “It’s genius.” Harris was this guy I met near the end of my junior year of college. He was a film student, and he was talking about a scene in the movie “Almost Famous” in which the characters are all on a tour bus, and they’re all angry at one another, and then they slowly and spontaneously start singing Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” I think Harris was simultaneously jealous of Cameron Crowe’s brilliance and annoyed at the simplicity and contrivance. Oh well, Harris.

Spontaneous singing is a special thing in America; not something we experience on a regular basis. I remember my family once started singing “American Pie” during a game of Catch Phrase. There was also one night at the CNET sales conference in 2006 when our party bus of inebriated salespeople broke out into Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing”. Beyond that, I have a hard time recalling any other big musical moments.

I wouldn’t say it’s common in Samoa, but I would say it’s more common. People sing a lot here, and it seems like everyone knows all the words. Our staff party in December was essentially a 2-hour sing-along at a public restaurant in Apia. It was pretty great. But it didn’t seem quite as spontaneous as what just happened on the bus.

I stayed at Supy’s house last night, and he, Jordan, and I took the bus into Salelologa to go to the bank and the Peace Corps office and such. The ride wasn’t too long, maybe 20 or 30 minutes.

I took a seat next to Jordan, Supy sat across the aisle from us.

Last night I whined a lot about the buses that run from the wharf back to Apia, and how I’m not excited about taking that bus tomorrow. So when we got on the bus this afternoon, Jordan asked if there were other things I didn’t like about the bus.

On the contrary, I very much enjoy riding the bus. I like public transportation in general. My first time in New York City, my friend Dustin and I packed our trip wall-to-wall with tourist stuff, but my favorite part was the subway. I like moving, I like going places. I like the idea of a bunch of strangers coming together to share the same space.

And it was impeccable because the moment I finished explaining all this to Jordan, we could hear it coming from the back.

At first it was just 2 or 3 guys in the very back row of the bus, all singing—not at the top of their lungs, but not quietly either. It seemed to move like a wave up toward the front, row by row. After 20 seconds, the entire bus might as well have been a choir.

Forgive me, I didn’t recognize the song. But for a moment, the bus was very into it.

And just as quickly as it started, the song and the moment were over.

I looked at Jordan. “Yeah. The bus is cool.”

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

The choir. Me halfway in the frame in my aviators.

The Other Cat Problem

This time next week I’ll be in Hawaii. The two huge issues that need to be resolved between now and then are the computer CAT (i.e. the Common Assessment Test as discussed Wednesday) and the feline cat who lives in my house. On Wednesday I discussed the former issue, so today I figured we could talk about the latter. I have yet to line up a cat sitter, and time is running out.

Scout isn’t particularly high maintenance, but I’d prefer she be:

• Fed 3 times a day; and
  
• Kept inside.

Only two things. I’m fine with her staying at someone else’s house, or with someone else staying at my house. Nonetheless, my circle of contacts whom I’d trust with my cat and/or my house is limited, and I’m running out of candidates.

The Peace Corps provides a slew of possible sitters, but dates are a big problem. I planned my vacation dates poorly. I work at a Congregationalist school, and our break begins a week before the government schools’ break; this is the week I’ll be gone. Most (or all?) of group 82 works at government schools, as do a handful of 81s. So they’re all out. As far as finding a PCV from within the Congregationalist system, Phil has family coming and Koa is also heading off the island.

I’m fine going outside of the Peace Corps. I have before. My friend Ruane and her family watched the cat for 2 weeks after Christmas while I was in Sydney. My neighbor Maengi occasionally feeds the cat when I’ve left town for the weekend. Both of these arrangements worked out very well, but I fear I’d be asking too much from either. I’d rather spread out the cat responsibilities.

Let’s take a time out for a second. Part of me feels like this blog post is pointlessly dragging you through the minutiae of my life. But I also think this problem is uniquely difficult within the Peace Corps lifestyle. I’m well adapted to my job and my community. I have friends, and I’m on good terms with all of my neighbors. But even with being here a year and a half, I still feel like a bit of a stranger; or at least I feel like I’d have a lot more people in The States who I know well enough that I’d feel comfortable asking to watch my cat for a week.

This is another facet of the difference in the way pets are treated in Samoa versus America. The idea of keeping a cat inside, picking up after her, and feeding her 3 meals of dedicated cat food per day is quite foreign to many of my Samoan friends, and imposing the cat on someone might be awkward for that person, or the cat, or both.

So I’m working my way through the Peace Corps. If I can’t find anyone, I’ll talk to the vet and see if they have any suggestions.

Or maybe I should just put it out on the blog. Anybody want to watch my cat for a week?

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

The small island of Apolima with "little" ferry in foreground.

Odds and Ends Thursday 51

We’re in the middle of mid-year exams, which is awesome because work-wise, it’s half days all week. Also, I don’t have to teach. But the other side of that coin is I come home every day with a huge pile of tests to grade. The load isn’t nearly as bad as it was last November, but the final tally will probably be somewhere around 200. Surprisingly, I find grading to be the most loathsome part of teaching. Lesson-planning is a drag, and disciplining students is really annoying, but neither compares to the drudgery of grading papers. What a snooze. Here are some other odds and ends from the week:

• I just finished grading the exams for my year 10 English class. On part of the test students were given a choice of essay topics to write about. Essays on one popular topic, “My grandfather’s birthday,” had a similar progression. They would start with, “I really love my grandfather,” and then they’d go on about his birthday. And then things would take a turn. “And then he died.” Whoa. One kid even wrote, “And then the next day, he died.” Usually there’s at least as much ink about the death as there is about the birthday.
  
• NBC’s “Community” is really funny. I’ve watch 11 episodes in the last 24 hours. I hate grading papers.
  
• Cheers to SamoaTel for fixing my phone line in an extremely timely fashion. I filed a complaint yesterday, thinking it would take weeks before anyone showed up to correct the problem. The guy showed up today. It turns out the problem was with the switchbox far from my house. I can use the Internet from home once more. Hooray!
  
• I was sitting out in front of Lynn’s faleoloa tonight eating a chicken curry pie (Never had one before. They are delicious.) waiting for the rain to stop. A wall of torrential rain moved down the street. It was like you could draw a line between where there was downpour and where there was sprinkling. Rain here is amazing.
  
• A year 13 from last year came into my house without knocking on Tuesday to ask me to help her sister with calculus homework. Thank goodness I was clothed.
  
• While proctoring tests the last three days, I’ve had to confiscate one student’s test each time because s/he was talking. Each time I’ve then waited for everyone else to finish and leave the room, and then handed the test back to the student to finish. It’s been a pretty effective tool.
  
• I watched “The English Patient” tonight. That movie’s great. It seems to get better with age.
  
• I did the New York Times crossword puzzle for April 29. I haven’t done one in a long time, but I did pretty well. Joey 81 through in a little help. The clue was “______ metabolism” and he figured out the answer was “basal”. Thanks Joey.
  
• I lost the key to my computer lab. I’ve been using my pule’s key, which means I have to ask him every time I want to go inside my classroom. I think I might start using my own padlock. I have an extra from when I moved in. What did I do with my key?

That’s all I got for today. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I hope you’re well. No pictures today.

Wrestling with the CAT

Jordan texted me with the news yesterday. “Did you just get a call saying they changed the cat date?” I texted back asking for the new date, but in my heart, I knew the answer. May 7. I’m not usually one to channel Murphy’s Law, but I guess scheduling my trip to Hawai’i the week after the first CAT was scheduled was an invitation for conflict. Oh well.

I should clarify. This year the Samoan Ministry of Education has decided to combine what have in previous years been the first two common assessment tests (CATs): file management and word processing. On one hand this makes sense since both of these skills are pretty basic, and it’s difficult to flesh out an entire test based on one or the other. On the other hand, they are two very different skills, and preparing for the test has been awkward.

In any case, the CAT was originally scheduled for May 7, but at the teachers meeting it surfaced this date was inconvenient for the Congregational schools (and I think the Methodists, as well?) on account of our breaks being earlier than the government schools’. We collectively decided to move the CAT to April 30, and the Ministry agreed. Perfect.

But now it’s back to May 7. I will be in Hawai’i. And though students are technically required to show up to school, with exams and English Day over, many of them won’t be showing up either. This is problematic.

Until this morning, Jordan was the only one who was officially informed of the date change, and Koa and I crossed our fingers it was just rumor. But during Interval, a teacher approached me and said, “I forgot to tell you. The Ministry called yesterday because your test is re-scheduled.”

So after school today I marched over to the Ministry’s headquarters (conveniently located right across the street) to give them a piece of my mind. I practiced my speech. I wanted to start with an emphatic “I’m VERY upset” said with a respectful Samoan lilt.

When I walked in the room, there were two boys being castigated for who-knows-why by the testing director, but their lecture stopped so I could come in and chat. Now that I had an audience, I lost my nerve and settled on, “The new dates for the computer CAT are very inconvenient.”

Friends back home know that I can get overly testy when I have a bone to pick; this often works to my own detriment. But today I stayed cool, calm, collected. I reasoned and invoked my students and observed how the date change put them at a disadvantage.

It was surprisingly effective. I was told I might be able to administer a different CAT prior to the test. Yeah, that works.

When I got back to my school, my pule was just getting off the phone with the Ministry, and he and I discussed the matter. We’ll administer the alternate CAT if they let us. If they don’t, I think PCV Jordan will come to my school and administer the CAT on Friday, May 7.

I think I’d be more aggravated, but you know, I’m going to Hawai’i. I’ll cut my losses.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

I took a team portrait for the school magazine.

These girls asked me to take their picture after I took the team pic. The one on the right is one of the goofier (and higher achievers) in my year 9 science class.