O' lako i vei? (Where are you going?)

We’ve been in Fiji for a little over 3 days, but it already feels like it’s been several weeks. From the moment we stepped of the airplane in Nadi it feels like we’ve been going non-stop. We stopped first in a town called Deuba (pronounced Day-oom-bah) and attended our first sevusevu, or traditional welcome ceremony, where our “chief” represented us before our Fijian counterparts. Our chief was a fellow Peace Corps volunteer named Tony, a silver fox in his 60s with a personality reminiscent of a combination of Don Rickles and Mickey Rooney and a personal history that reads like a character out of a Jimmy Buffet novel…experience ranging from high school dropout to enlisted Navy, then Air Force officer, then lawyer, and then one of the most prominent purveyors of menswear in California prior to retiring and joining the Peace Corps. In Fijian culture they place a strong emphasis on age as a measure of respect. Since Tony was of an age that he probably personally knew the inventor of the wheel (Come to think of it, he does remind me of Mel Brooks’ 2000 year old man…), undeserved or not, he received the status of “chief.” Unlike in the U.S., wisdom is just assumed with age even if in fact you possess the wisdom of a garden slug. Don’t get me wrong, I do sincerely like Tony…he’s one of my favorite people in the group and I have tremendous admiration and respect for him. Nonetheless, I only hope that I’m half as cantankerous and crotchety as him when I’m his age...

At a community hall not far from what would be our night’s accommodations, our new Fijian families treated us to both a traditional Fijian ceremony as well as a traditional Hindi welcome ceremony. The formal sevusevu ceremony is rich with tradition and custom and has an air of solemnity similar to any formal religious ceremony. The guests are seated in the “upper house” or the forward end of the room. Near the center of the room, the hosting chief squeezes pounded kava root in a cloth bag while facing the guests and flanked on either side of the kava bowl by two additional senior village officials. A large braided rope about 6 feet long with large symmetrically attached cowrie seashells extends from the bowl toward the guests. Before entering the room we were issued our Peace Corps sulus (yes, this is the first time Bubba wears a skirt), which consisted of a piece of silk-screened cotton fabric about the size of a large beach towel. We all put on our new skirts…over our clothing of course…at least until we all learn to sit cross-legged without giving everyone a show…it is a family engagement after all. Then we entered the room, removed our shoes, and followed Tony to the head of the room, crouching slightly to show humility and respect before sitting cross-legged in a semicircle behind Tony.

Chief Tony sits immediately before the extended braided rope and the Fijian chief recites a series of what sounds like prayers as other members of the Fijian contingent chant abrupt affirmations that seem to punctuate the end of the chief’s long, methodic hymns. The Fijian chief then offered the first bowl of kava to Chief Tony, who was obligated to drink it all in one fail swoop. Now remember my previous description of kava…muddy water sucked through a dirty sweatsock. The look on Tony’s face was priceless…

We all then shared cups of kava as it was passed around to all the new Peace Corps volunteers. With each cup handed out the recipient was required to ceremoniously clap once before grasping the cup and then clap three times upon passing it back toward the chief. And the clap is important, too…no golf claps or girly claps. The goal is to get a deep, manly, resonant clap by slightly cupping your hands and using your palms more than your fingers. After everyone had received a couple of cups of kava, the Hindi ceremony began with the Indo-Fijian Chief bringing out a tray containing a flammable incense, a colored paste (tikka), and an additional tray of sweets. The incense was ignited and a black, sooty smoke was wafted in a circle around Tony’s face and the colored paste was smeared on his forehead…again, the look was priceless…and everyone was offered a variety of Indian cakes and candies representing the “sweetness” of the new relationship. This concluded our initial introduction to the Fijian way of life less than 3 hours after we set foot on Fiji.

We then attended a training on appropriate dress and some cultural and security concerns…basic things like “watch what the locals do” and, regarding personal security, what boils down to “don’t be stupid.” Actually, those two rules work well in any general situation where you’re trying to fit in, especially the latter.

Later in the afternoon, we had water safety training. (Hallelujah! *angels singing*) Five hours in Fiji and we’re headed for a secluded sandy beach to relax in swimmable water! Coming from Alaska, you have no idea how much we appreciate this considering that any water in Alaska is cold enough to make any man question his gender upon entering…usually you squeal like a little girl and George Costanza’s “shrinkage” is given a whole new meaning shortly thereafter.

Water safety training requires us to wear life preservers as a mandated protocol. Now, at least they don’t issue us the orange bricks that fit like a public square stockade around your neck, but the ones they do issue are the full vest-type that basically perform the same function as an 800 fill power down ski vest in addition to being a floatation device…keep in mind that it is what has been described to me as “oppressively” hot during certain times of the year here. Nonetheless, we were basically told in no uncertain terms that we were to wear these mobile ovens any time we were on, near, or even thinking about being near the water. One current volunteer described how she was required to wear a life preserver crossing a stream that was 50 yards across and slightly better than ankle deep. We may die of heat stroke, but at least we won’t drown! Ah, the government…

In any event, it was great to get in the water and feel the gentle waves rhythmically lapping against our skin. We went through some basic water safety rules (again “don’t be stupid”) and had sort of a swim test where a small boat took us out about 50 yards and dropped us off to swim back. After learning about some of the dangerous sea creatures in the area (stingrays, stonefish, sea snakes, cone snails, and fire coral…oh, and sharks…lots of sharks) we were allowed to swim and snorkel around the area. At that point I was thinking, “hmmm, I could get used to this Peace Corps thingy.”

After heading back from the beach (which, if I failed to mention, was about 75 yards from where we were staying) one of the volunteers named Sarah offered to conduct a yoga session that evening. Now, I’ve never done yoga, but I decided there was no time like the present to try. So later that evening, as the sun was setting, we went back down to the same beach to participate in a free yoga lesson. Sarah went easy on us, but I definitely discovered that guys named Bubba simply just aren’t made to bend or balance certain ways. Nonetheless, stretching and breathing on a South Pacific island beach as the sun was setting was spectacular!

We then went back to the compound we were staying at to eat for what felt like the 8^th time that day. It turns out Fijians LOVE to eat…and they love meaty, starchy foods that they serve at every meal as well as morning and afternoon teas. They had chicken and fish served along white bread, white rice, and white potatoes. The only green on the entire table consisted of a few peas mixed in the chicken stir-fry. Green vegetables are not very popular here, cooked or otherwise. Furthermore, I asked the Fijian cooks what kind of fish it was and they looked at me and said “fried” as if I had an arm growing out of my forehead.

The combination of jetlag, no sleep on a cramped, stinky, and hot overseas flight, and being stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey led to one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in a long time. Moreover, it’s been a long time since the most important thing I’ve had to worry about is when the travel constipation might subside (the plumbing has since been working smoothly in case you were wondering). There is something truly amazing about being able to unload all your existing responsibilities. It’s like taking that evil monkey off your back, beating the crap out of him, dropping an elbow from the top rope, and tossing the little furry bastard bleeding and whimpering into a gutter…and not feeling any remorse whatsoever. It took about a day, but once I accepted that all my previous responsibilities are now someone else’s (sorry, Heather!) it was incredible how good that felt. No email, no Blackberry, no calendar, no meetings…aaaaahhhhh! Needless to say, I slept like I’d been chloroformed.

The next morning started with a breakfast of Chinese cereal knockoffs that included “Weeties,” “Happy O’s,” and these small bricks of supposedly whole-wheat product with the consistency and flavor of drywall called “Wheat Bix”. I can only hope that these were the “melamine-free” versions (I think that’s an ad campaign for Chinese products now, like “fat free” or “cholesterol free”). We had fresh papaya, too, which was great, but I got the impression that fruit might have been reluctantly placed there on request. On the other hand, there was plenty of white bread…

We then loaded up and traveled another 2.5 hours by bus through Suva to a facility just outside Nausori called the Center for Appropriate Technology and Development, where we would spend the next few days in training. Now, I’m not sure why you would want to put such a subjective term like “appropriate” into your title, but my guess is that people here like the idea of giving it their own individual meaning. What is “appropriate” technology or development? I guess only an attorney would even pick this out…”go with the flow” I have to keep telling myself.

I was actually somewhat stunned by the accommodations we had received thus far, with Michelle and I actually receiving a separate room from the rest of the folks crammed into boot camp style barracks. Not that I regret missing the belching, scratching, snoring, and farting that was surely pervasive in the men’s barracks, but Michelle and I came prepared to actually be separated for the first 7 weeks. Moreover, we both expected much more Spartan accommodations, when in actuality the quarters we received were much nicer than where we would stay if traveling independently. One of the places we stayed while traveling in Honduras we had to ask the staff to please clean the cat poop from in front of our door…before we even paid for our room. Not that I’m complaining, but so far this is not what I expected from Peace Corps. We’re OK with that, though! For now we’ll enjoy the running water, showers, scenic overlooks, and all the greasy, starchy food we can eat. I’m sure we’ll be tried and tested soon enough!