It’s Just like Riding a Bike

It feels like I never left. Being here is so familiar that the last three years may or may not have been a very long nap. As I was typing this, Dan said from across the room, “So it’s been three years since I saw you? … Now that I’ve seen you, it doesn’t feel like it’s been long.” Nope. It doesn’t just feel like old times; it feels like the same times. And for the purposes and hopes and dreams for this trip, that’s perfect.

There are marked differences for sure: Dan lives in Apia. Upolu was ravaged by a cyclone that’s left parts of Beach Road unrecognizable. I’m on a MacBook. The owners of the fish market sold the snack bar, and they no longer serve oka or poke. Paul’s getting married. I’m looking down the long end of two weeks rather than two years. My Samoan vocabulary isn’t quite there when I reach for it.

Today Chris and I walked to town, and 5 minutes after we left home, I turned around because I thought I heard a car coming, but it turned out to be an advancing torrential downpour. Marooned under a tree, feeling soggy and slightly defeated, I tried to conjure what I would have done about this situation 3 years ago. But even that seems inconsequential.

Candid Dan pontificating on how things are different now: “Living in town. Having a car. Having mostly friends that are not American. Having more money to have the things I need, and lots of things I want. That’s a good thing. I ‘m not sure I could go back to living on $200 per week.”

It’s true. Financially we’re all more comfortable. And there are lots of freedoms that come with leaving the Peace Corps’s bureaucratic rules. And, aside from Dan who works at the National University of Samoa, we’re here without obligation to teach or work.

But the fact that life here seems to have left off exactly where I left it is a testament to how irrelevant all that stuff is. The best parts and the worse parts remain the same. Life in Samoa ebbs and flows at the mercy of external elements: the environment, the weather, the brutal strength of the flora and fauna, Samoan culture and the rules and obligations therein. And co-existing with these things—asserting oneself in harmony or discord—is what makes life here both difficult and gratifying on a grand scale.

Coming back to that polarity is scary and thrilling, and it makes me feel alive and maybe self-actualized. Those feelings were the greatest part of the Peace Corps. For many of us, those two years were the best of times and the worst of times. Stepping off the plane in Fiji yesterday, I was great to feel that polarity once more.

It’s taxing and hard. But it’s exactly what I was looking for. How do I take it home with me?

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

That hurricane last December was no joke. The cathedral in Apia took on massive damage as is currently being rebuilt. Lots of buildings along the harbour were completely wiped away.

Chris 81 and I had a taro and masipopo picnic under an awning while we waited for the rain to subside.

This new complex in Apia is flashy and modern. Dan 81 worked on some of the construction.

In Samoan, aiu means "greedy".

When my dad came to visit, he set his watch to this clock, which back then was stuck at four minutes to two. But now it's no longer stuck! It tells the right time and chimes on the hour. It's a brave new world.

15 Hours in Fiji

Some might call today a wash. My flight arrived in Fiji at 5:35 a.m. today, and my connecting flight to Samoa isn’t until 8:50 p.m., so I effectively had one waking day to take in Fiji. Consensus from other Peace Corps is Nadi’s not as interesting as Suva, and so I caught a local bus from the airport this morning. As it turns out, a one-way local bus trip from the airport in Nadi to Suva proper takes roughly 4.5 hours. Given the bus didn’t leave until after 7 this morning, and I had to be back to check in for international flight, this left me with enough time to get off the bus in Suva, shop a little, get some Indo-Fijian curry for lunch, and then hop back for the 4.5-hour return trip. Not the most exciting day.

On the other hand, the day was enlightening. First of all, what better way to get a taste of a new place than by driving 90 miles through its countryside? I saw a whole lotta Fiji today, granted from an air-conditioned bus. But the bus was travelling at 18 mph, on average.

Second, on my return trip back to The States I have another 12-hour layover here, and I’l have companions for that one, so it’s not like I’ll never see Fiji again. Also, now I’m all the wiser, and I’ll be able to say, “Guys, let’s not take the local bus to Suva.”

Third, it was a nice way to ease back into the South Pacific. Dan is picking me up at Faleolo tonight, and since lots of people are already in Samoa, tomorrow we’ll hit the ground running. Taking today to re-enter island culture was probably a good thing. Fiji shares many of Samoa’s non-Western tendencies: polychronism, collectivism, conservative traditionalism, etc. It was good to take in a refresher course before jumping into the deep end.

Finally, the 9 hours on the bus allowed for some quiet contemplation.

Getting off the airplane this morning, I was struck by the salty humid aroma of the South Pacific. They say scent is the most innate for the senses—my two touchstones are the smell of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland and the smell of my grandmother’s lavender bath soap from the 1980s—and my nose spent the morning reminiscing. At first it was just the air. Then the pungent odor of nearby villagers burning their trash. Then the occasional bursts of flowering plants. Each one, even the trash fire, brought on a warm sense of nostalgia.

I am struck by how nervous I was to come back and, at the same time, what a thrill it is to be here. I spent a lot of time on the bus today trying to reconcile those thoughts.

During training, when I first moved to Samoa, the morning was the hardest part of the day mentally. Waking up, I could feel the weight of the day—the difficulty of getting around, the contradicting urgency and meaninglessness of time, the loneliness of being in a place where I have no social network, no roots. That morning apprehension lessened over time, but it never completely disappeared, and it was fully palpable (but by no means crippling) this morning.

And as sad and taxing as that feeling can be, it’s also a thrill. As banal and eventless as today was, it was unmistakably an adventure. And as with any adventure, there’s inherent room for optimism and the thrill of not knowing what comes next. Even if it’s just another hour on the bus.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Me in Fiji.

I took a candid picture of some other students this morning during a debacle of a side-trip (I'll tell you about that some other time), and these kids asked me to take their picture. So I obliged.

I saw this orange house on the road. I liked it.

The open-air market in Suva.

We Have to Go Back!

I was by myself in the check-out line at Trader Joe’s when the text came in. It was a typical Sunday grocery run during San Francisco’s Indian summer last year. The text read, “Hey Mati this is Paul. It’s been a long time. Anyways hope you’ve been doing well. Rebecca and I just got engaged and we are planning on having a wedding in Samoa around about a year from now and would love to see you out on the dance floor.” And so here we are.

Now that I read it again, it’s unclear whether the dance floor reference is specific to me. I am a shameless wedding dancer, and whether I’m terribly awesome or awesomely terrible, I’ve built a reputation for myself. But maybe it would be great to see everyone on the dance floor?

I admit my first instinct was slight panic. What about the reunion?

At our Close of Service conference at the end of our Peace Corps tenure, Group 81 was hanging out in hotel room, enjoying one of our last nights as a 13-person unit. Someone asked whether I’d be interested in a reunion in America a few years down the line. As the story goes, I felt so passionately about this idea that I made Paul pause the music and then proceeded to very seriously demand that everyone commit to a reunion in Chicago Summer 2013.

That plan was shelved, and now the reunion is happening in The Motherland.

As it turns out, Jim from group 80 scheduled his wedding 6 days after Paul’s, and the double-wedding week was enough to draw a crowd. 8 of the 13 members of group 81 are coming together for the next couple weeks.

The Lost reference above is appropriate. Fans of the show will recall Jack’s deeply rooted urge to go back to the island, while Kate had strong reservations. Similarly, I’m approaching the return to Samoa with great excitement and intense apprehension. It’s always a thrill to heed the call of the wild, but the Peace Corps was a massively difficult time, and I can’t help but feel a little nervous.

And given that I bought my plane ticket back in January, there’s been a lot of time to vacillate between these two mindsets.

Anyway, we’ll see how if I can pull off daily blogging during the next 2 weeks.

I hope you’re well. Photos from Peace Corps mini-reunions from the past 3 years below.

Supy, Me, Ali, and Jenny S sii-ing on our way to Bay 2 Breakers.

At the Rugby 7s Tournament in Vegas.

Jenny S rowing.

Me and some of the 81 guys at the UN.

Scout, the immigrant cat, overcompensating on her first 4th of July in America.

Still Teaching

Videos!

I figure now that I've had real Internet access for nearly a month, some video uploads are long overdue. I didn't shoot much video during my Peace Corps experience, mostly because I was busy taking still photos. But I managed a few. Please note that all of these can be seen larger at my YouTube page here.

I hope you're well. Videos below.

The Savai'i House at Maluafou College in Apia rehearsing their siva for Culture Day 2009.

Akanese singing on the day I met her.

Me and Akanese playing Popo Mano.

Akanese and me playing a children's version of Go Fish.

Me and Akanese playing a Chick-ee-Bom (sp?).

Bored with Jenga, a couple of us built a tunnel that Scout inadvertently destroys. Hilarity ensues.

The 10.4 class (my English class) sings Herman's Hermits' "Henry VIII".

The 10.4 class (my English class) sings The Beatles' "Hey Jude".

There Are So Many Cake Shows

Jack: Lemon, that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said.
Lemon: Really? What about 3 years ago when I said there should be more TV shows about cake?

This was the conversation I just watched on On-Demand “30 Rock”. I started clapping. Hey America, why are there so many shows about cake now? I admit they are hypnotically fascinating, but still, it's absurd how many hours of American television are devoted to baking and assembling elaborate cakes. In the three weeks since I’ve been back, I’ve learned that straws inserted into lower cake tiers are used for weight displacement whereas dowels are used to hold cakes in place. A Comcast guide search reveals the following shows: Ace of Cakes, Amazing Wedding Cakes, Cake Boss, Cake Boss: Next Great Baker, (many many episodes of) Food Network Challenge, and Ultimate Cake Off. I’m overwhelmed.

It’s a weird overwhelmed though. I don’t feel hit over the head; I don’t feel the weight of cake shows crashing down on me. It’s a more subconscious phenomenon where, for example, yesterday I watched hours of cake shows for no other reason other than my brain seems extra susceptible to bizarre meaningless American television programming. My brain has spent the last 2 years taking it slow, and now even a lukewarmly stimulating TV show is enough to captivate my brain for hours.

But it’s not just TV. Christmas shopping was insanely difficult this year. Browsing the shelves at Borders one night last week, I walked around the store for an hour and a half. It was a strange feeling though, because even though it physically felt like boredom-fueled aimless wandering, I wasn’t bored at all; in fact, I was enthralled. It was as though something caught my eye, and then I was distracted by a shiny object, and then another shiny object would catch my eye, and then another and another. After shopping for a while, I ran into some friends of mine. I told them quite earnestly, “This store is so big!” They found this hysterical.

People keep asking me about how I’ve been dealing with the cold. But the truth is the cold isn’t all that big of a factor—it’s been freezing, but it’s such an easy thing to remedy, I haven’t minded it too much. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs comes into play, and the things at the bottom of the pyramid, while most pertinent, have been the easiest to resolve. It’s the more ethereal, more subconscious stuff near the top that’s been most difficult to address. I can get myself a sweatshirt or a blanket to deal with the cold, but it’s difficult to even realize how overstimulated I’ve been, let alone try to alleviate the issue.

So I’ve mostly been taking life slow, trying not to overwhelm my brain with unnecessary thought processes. I’ve been enormously unproductive since I got home. Blogging has been out of the question. Sorry about that, but it was a low priority anyway, and assembling 500 words of coherent thought was out of the question.

But now things are settling down a little, and maybe life is getting back on track. I could elaborate, but there’s a cake show on TLC right now, and my attention’s divided.

I hope you’re well. Pictures soon.

I'm Back

There was a moment in the long car ride home last night when conversation with my parents got around to tragic things that happened to people we know so peripherally that it wasn’t important enough to share internationally but now that I’m home I may as well know. “This person’s aunt died” and “The mom of the boy you might remember from little league is in the early stages of dementia” and “That little girl from church who’s at least 8 years younger than you is taller than you.” Most of the ride was cool, but this conversation made me a little tense.

To draw an embarrassing literary parallel, it reminded me a little of the scene from Dan Brown’s latest, “The Lost Symbol”, in which Robert Langdon is drowned in a vat of amniotic fluid. Brown claims it’s a form of torture in the sense that when you come out of your natal relapse, reality is nearly too much to bear.

The Peace Corps provides geographic isolation, and with that comes a certain amount of emotional detachment. There’s also a relief in returning home after the Peace Corps where it feels like something difficult has finished and I felt a small sense of invincibility. And then reality punched me in the face.

It wasn’t just that conversation, of course. Living in the developing world, one occasionally idealizes America, and returning home can definitely bring one back to Earth. America is cold and dry and busy and expensive and not quite the haven of efficiency and convenience I remember.

When Phil and I sat down in the waiting area at the shipping agent yesterday as the lady behind the desk took care of Scout’s paperwork, Phil and I reveled in the fact that we’d just been assured that this seemingly bureaucratic process that might take forever in Samoa would be taken care of in 10 minutes.

The process took 2.5 hours. Taumafai atili pea, America.

The other analog that comes to mind is one Jim used to lay on us after youth ministry retreats in high school: After the Transfiguration, Jesus looks at Peter, James, and John and essentially says, “You can’t tell anyone about this because no one’s really gonna understand.” It’s kinda like Jesus’ version of the “What happens in Vegas...” tagline.

But the Peace Corps experience is all about that. Even with the blog, even with modern technology and text messaging and Skype and somewhat frequent access to Facebook, no one besides the people who were there know what really happened. We can tell you stories and we can paint a damn good picture, we can show hundreds of photos and perhaps some of you actually came to visit. But even then, you can’t really know what it was like.

I was chatting with a friend from CNET on GChat this morning, and I asked her what I missed during the last two years. She gave me a 20-word response, which was surely informative, but I can’t really say I know what happened. Only the people directly involved can really know.

And that’s a lonely feeling for a returned volunteer: I’m surrounded by people who don’t know. And now it’s the people who do know who I’m texting and Skyping and looking for on Facebook.

Sorry if this is on big downer. Honestly coming home has been very exciting and joyful, and even the 4 hours that it took to get the cat through Customs wasn’t all that bad. My parents setup my bedroom, the cat has adjusted surprisingly fast (save for getting along with the dogs), and the Facebook message board has been all warm and friendly. I swear I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to paint a picture of the experience.

I’m also sorry I’ve been away for the last couple days. I’ll catch you up on the stuff you missed tomorrow.

Finally, if I gave you a business card with my phone number on it, be advised that number doesn’t work. My cellular carrier, who assured me 26 months ago that they’d keep my account on hold until my return, instead decided to cancel my account without informing me (by their admission). I don’t want to say who it is, but I will say that the name rhymes with “Kay Tee and Tee”.

I hope you’re well. Pictures will be posted tomorrow.

Last Supper

We're getting ready to head over to Italiano Pizza for Phil's and my last meal in country. I've run into all sorts of obstacles all day. Maybe I'll tell you all about them someday. In the Resource Room right now is Jenny S. 82, Kaelin, Supy, and Joey. Phil is in the Peace Corps office's shower. I figured I'd use my remaining Internet time to post.

There is a big debate over whether our flight will leave at 11:59 p.m. or 12:59 a.m. tomorrow. Either way, the shipping agent wants the cat at the airport at 8:00 p.m.; the likelihood of us making it there by that time is dubious. And anyway, I don't want the cat stuck in a box for so long.

The training group was in town today. Danny helped me unload the car this morning. I got to say goodbye to Nancy and Jenny and Rob.

There's still a lot that's not packed at my house. And honestly, I don't think the rest of it will get packed. This list includes:

• Bed sheets and pillowcases;
  
• Dish soap and dish drainer;
  
• Mop;
  
• Etc.

We are going to Y-Not for pre-pizza drinks now. Next post from America.

I hope you're well.

Hard Day's Night

Moving out is exhausting. When did I acquire so much stuff?

Less than 24 hours left in Samoa.

I could blog, but I can barely keep my eyes open. Going to sleep now.

The Final Push

I’m late constantly. Senior year of high school I was late to second-period English nearly every day. At eCivis, where management operated like time Nazis, I was often admonished for showing up to work 4 or 5 minutes after the 7:30 a.m. call time. In the training village, every morning was a contest between me, Supy, and Sara to see who would show up last. I have no moral problem with lateness, but I still felt pangs of guilt as I was running late for today’s PTA Luncheon.

I was supposed to be at school at noon, but this morning was busy and by 12:20 I arrived at my house by cross-town taxi, and scrambled to feed the cat and make myself presentable for lunch. And as I nearly rushed out the door, I looked around at my messy house which has only become more chaotic as my days have grown increasingly busy and things have fallen more into a state of neglect.

So I dropped everything and washed the dishes.

It’s difficult to think of the last time life was so busy and stressful. It’s a pitiful moment when you have to test the bounds of acceptable tardiness because there are menial-but-essential household chores to be done. If it’s not a sign that life is out of control, I don’t know what is.

And, as far as I can tell, life will only continue at this frenetic pace until I board the plane Monday night. There are lots of administrative things I still have to do: close my bank account, close my landline, close my dial-up Internet account, write up my official Description of Service, take the cat for her final vet appointment, take me to my final doctor appointment, get all the necessary cat paperwork to the shipping agent.

Then there are the social obligations, which are arguably less essential, but still obligatory, and definitely more time consuming. Rotaract is celebrating my going-away tonight, Staff Dinner tomorrow night, Host Family Friday night.

And normal responsibilities still carry on. The unflushable blog is breathing down my neck, tomorrow morning I’ll be helping Kaelin edit the co-teaching video, I need to make a CD with all of the files—grade calculating spreadsheet, vector-based logo, letterhead, etc.—I’ve developed for school over the past 2 years.

And between all of this, there’s all the normal trappings of moving out: purging (most) of my possessions, packing up the things I’m keeping, picking up souvenirs for the family back home, etc.

At this point, it’s all a blur.

So maybe doing the dishes this afternoon wasn’t menial or pitiful. Maybe it was just a nice way of taking a break from the warp-speed pace of leaving. Washing dishes made things feel normal, if only for a moment.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

I treated my Year 13s to McDonald's breakfast this morning before we headed to the Internet cafe.

At the Internet cafe.

My pule dancing at today's PTA Luncheon. I forgot to mention above that the PTA Luncheon didn't actually get started until around 1:15. I had no problem showing up 45 minutes late.

Prizegiving 2010

Amanda, me, Tafale.

Standing room only in the Great Hall.

Me with a couple of year 12s.

Suasami and Bernie are also leaving after this year.

Me with a bunch of 11.1s.

A couple of year 11s stopped me outside the hall and requested I take their picture.

Colleen wins best in computers for year 11.

A bunch of the 11.2s.

Staff meeting after clean-up.

Getting with the Program

Though Prizegiving is tomorrow, I was expecting today to be high on the ceremonial side. There are a bunch of teachers leaving, and the year is drawing to a close, and it only seemed appropriate for there to be some intimate acknowledgments of the bonds we’ve formed as a staff and as a school and while tomorrow is a large celebration with pomp and circumstance and family and friends, I imagined today might be a day for some calm before the storm.

But today was all business. The moment I arrived at school the secretary handed me the agenda for tomorrow’s program and asked that I turn it into a booklet handout. I had last year’s design saved, and I substituted some of the graphics with a bunch of vector-based graphics I built for the Peace Corps t-shirt, and by the time morning assembly was over—mark the time, 10:00 a.m.—I had a draft ready for my pule’s approval. I handed him the design as he walked out of the Great Hall. He nodded emphatically, said, “This is very nice!”, and then walked away without waiting for feedback.

I went over it again with the school secretary, who had some changes of her own. She wanted to put the starting time for tomorrow’s event at the top of the agenda, “8:30 – Taimi Amata”. I smiled and nodded and ignored her suggestion.

We’ve been having a talent competition of sorts at my school over the past few weeks, and though the entire agenda was written in Samoan, the talent events were written in English: Soloist Finals, Duet Finals, and “Agapela Champs 2010”. That last one seemed a little ridiculous to me, so I changed the invented Agapela to the traditional Italian-borrowed “A Cappella”. This caused a brief controversy among staff, as many thought I had no idea what I was talking about.

Once we finally started making copies of the program, my Vice Pule asked, “Did you fix fa’aisuaso?” Apparently the word should have been Fa’aiuaso, translation unclear at press time, but no one had told me this until the copy machine had started. I quickly hit cancel and fixed the mistake.

As the day wore on, I made 360 double-sided copies for tomorrow’s program, and after the secretary got sidetracked, I ended up folding about 250 copies of the program in half. The entire project took about 4 hours, and I was all too happy to get out of school this afternoon.

Once I was got out of school I went to the Peace Corps office, picked up the brand new Peace Corps t-shirts, headed to Italianos for dinner, and then went to the airport to see Dan and Jordan off.

I got back to my house around 1:15 a.m., only to be greeted by my pule who emerged from the campus’s shadows. “Can you come early tomorrow morning? The programs are wrong. We need to re-print them,” he told me.

Even though I’d received his cursory approval, the thumbs-up from the school secretary, and my vice pule’s (late) blessing, my principal wants me at school at 5:30 a.m. to redo the program. How fun.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

In order to make a big show of the Dux award (in America we'd call this the Valedictorian), my school gives the winning student 4 different trophies, all of which must be returned next year so they can be awarded again. In order to document the 4 trophies, the Prizegiving Committee asked me to take a photo of them today. I suggested Ms. Peteru be in the photo. She happily agreed.

My folded programs in the foreground. All of which must be discarded.

Blakey and me out for Dan and Jordan's going away this evening.

Thanksgiving III

Wednesday marked the third year in a row I missed my family’s annual Martha Stewart viewing. The night before Thanksgiving every year, we invite friends over to watch the same Martha Stewart Thanksgiving Special, circa 1987. For most major holidays our family would go to someone else’s house to celebrate, but we always hosted Thanksgiving, so it’s always strange to spend the holiday without home-field advantage. But I must admit, part of the benefit of staying in Samoa for my school’s Prizegiving was it meant I’d get to spend one last Thanksgiving with the Peace Corps.

As I’ve said a thousand times before on the blog, we go all out for American holidays here—Thanksgiving, Halloween, and the Fourth of July tend to be big, jolly affairs. And yesterday was no exception.

Our monthly stipend provides more than enough for food, and certainly none of us is hungry, but it’s still a rare occasion to have a large American-style meal served. Sitting with a bunch of trainees from group 83 who are still used to either American-sized portions or the luxury of training itself, many of them filled their plates with small, sparse piles of mashed potatoes and turkey. You eat like a bird, group 83.

At the other end of the spectrum were those of us who’ve been out in the cold for 2+ years. Looking around at the other picnic tables, I saw a bunch of group 81s gorging themselves on plates of food piled to the point of absurdity.

After last year’s failed garlic mashed potatoes, I went in on a bowl of Poor Man’s Macaroni and Cheese—i.e. macaroni shells with parmesan cheese—with garlic-infused olive oil. It was not the most appetizing side dish on the table, but it at least it was served this year.

There was college football on TV, but few volunteers sat inside to watch. After dessert was served a bunch of us threw on our trunks or two-pieces and took a dip in the pool. A rather intense game of Three Flies Up ensued—the kind that ends in tears and broken fingers. It was a good time though. At one point I decided I was done and began to climb out of the pool, only to have my third fly land directly in my arms. It was cool.

Though the party was set to end around 7:00, the 83s were scuttled away at 5:30, which was sad.

The rest of us sat around chewing the fat until it was time to go.

Yeah. Third Thanksgiving is in the books. Bring on the Christmas music.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Admin Officer Denise dines with Supy, Paul, Otis (her husband), and Phil.

Lindsey, Jenny 83, and me.

Kyle and me. Kyle went to Notre Dame. Congratulations, Kyle.

Me and Jenny S. 82.

Joey and Mika dive for one of my Three Flies passes.

Movin’ Out

The night of my college graduation, Sara and Jen came to my RA suite to help me pack up my possessions. Even though my room was furnished and I had no kitchen, I had somehow acquired a lot of stuff, and it was a headache packing and loading everything in the car. Moving apartments after college was even more of a headache since by then I had kitchen stuff and a futon and furniture and the like. But moving out of my house in Samoa is a whole different animal since I can only keep a suitcase or two.

My goal is one suitcase. Air New Zealand charges a whopping WST$140 for a second suitcase, and since I’m already paying to register the cat as cargo, I’d just assume keep the baggage cost minimal. One suitcase after two years is certainly a challenge, but I think it may also prove to be a good way of separating the wheat from the chaff.

I still tell people that ideally my house will burn down the day before I leave, and I won’t have to lug any of my junk home. There are things here that I like, but very little that I honestly need to take with me.

I plan to take as few articles of clothing as possible. According to RPCV Cale, the nicest clothes he had in the Peace Corps didn’t hold a candle to his clothes in The States. The Peace Corps lifestyle is rugged and unforgiving to clothing. I brought my OA uniform from college and my lucky USC football t-shirt, and last night I started mulling over whether or not I should bring those back to America for sentimental reasons. Right now I’m leaning toward no.

Books are a little perplexing. On the one hand, they are some of the easiest stuff to unload since the Peace Corps has a healthy library and volunteers tend to have nothing better to do with their time. But then I have a couple books on my shelf that I actually want to read, and it seems silly to get rid of them only to return to America and go through the trouble of buying/borrowing the same book again.

Besides moving out, the one other major problem facing my exit is I have a lot of gift-giving to do: teachers, students, the host family in the training village, the Indian missionaries, etc. My hope is these two problems will cancel themselves out. If I give everything away, I won’t have to worry about getting it to fit in the suitcase.

I think this will work without too much difficulty if I keep an eye on things. I’ve invited people to come “shopping” at my house.

PCV Kyle asked how much I wanted for my cinderblock bookshelf. I told him if he was willing to pay to move it, then it was his for free.

Just get it out of her.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Bag of clothes by the door ready to go to the Peace Corps free box.

There's so much crap in the kitchen. Hey Samoan readers, anybody want anything?

Odds and Ends Thursday 75

Last year I remember talking to Cale and Sara around the time they had 2 weeks left, and I told them they should think of it as essentially a 2-week tropical vacation before they returned to America. Presumptuous fool. This last week has been just as busy as the rest of my time here, and the rowers show no sign of slowing. I will be busy all the way down to the wire. Here are some other odds and ends from the week:

• The phrase “interpersonal politics” from Sunday, November 14’s blog post caught on for a hot minute among group 81. I think Dan used it 19 times the day after the post went live.
  
• Blakey, in addition to housesitting, is watching a kitten. Everyone swears this kitten is more well-behaved than Scout, but I beg to disagree. Scout’s manageable.
  
• Oh by the way, I’ve been using my old camera that I broke during training. The viewfinder is still broken, so the photographer doesn’t have an exact idea of the photo (s)he is taking, but it still takes photos. Yes, mostly I am the photographer, but I figure at events like Prizegiving and such where I’m asking people to take pictures of me, this will be more of an issue.
  
• The other fun part of this is that this is the first camera I used when I arrived in Samoa, and now it will (hopefully) be the last. Full circle. Book ends.
  
• Finishing the Peace Corps is really expensive.
  
• Finishing the Peace Corps involves a lot of paperwork.
  
• I finally finished “Six Feet Under” today. I can understand why fans and critics enjoyed the series finale so much, although I must say in the time leading up to then I really hated just about every character except for Keith, Maggie, and Federico. And Nathanthiel, who I think was the best character for the entire 5 seasons.
  
• I briefly mentioned the Avanoa Tutusa Health Fair in Sunday’s post. I want to briefly mention it again and say that it was amazingly successful. Props go out to Joey and the rest of the Avanoa Tutusa crew.
  
• Samoa is obsessed with Brad Paisley/Alison Krause’s “Whiskey Lullaby”. Many of my students know how to play it on guitar. No one seems to know and/or care it’s about severe alcoholism. Oh well.
  
• Tomorrow night is the Peace Corps Book Club’s second meeting. I ditched the first on account of not being interested in the book. This one I’m going to have to miss because I never acquired the book. I’m still going to have to pay for the book. I’ll read it once I get back to The States.
  
• Apong was dying to buy my laptop off me, and in the end I’ve held out to sell to Suasami and her Ecumenical Women’s church group. Unclear on whether or not the latter will actually come through with payment. Worse comes to worst, I’ll have to bring my laptop back to the United States.
  
• I only voted for one student award during Tuesday’s meeting: Best All-Rounder. It came down to Fou and Lanuola, and while I don’t know either that well, Lanuola just seems like a nice person. So I voted. She lost.
  
• One thing I didn’t realize was we delineated between “Most Reliable Student” and “Most Honest Student”. I think Most Honest might be syntax error. Just a thought.
  
• The furniture at Blakey’s housesitting house is right out of “The Golden Girls”. Check out the photos below for proof.
• My school is getting a JICA volunteer to replace me in March! I'm so excited!

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

Blakey's Golden Girls furniture.

The boys dressed up as girls dancing for the school.

Christina and Umuafu from my 9.2 class sing a duet for the school.

Losi and Akari sing their duet.

The year 13s put on a show.

Blakey's obnoxious kitten Good Times.