Au lako Mai Merika.

Michelle and I have been placed with wonderful family in the small village of Nabua (pronounced Nam-bua), which is about a 20-minute bus ride capped by a 2-minute boat ride from Nausori. It is a beautiful little village on the Rewa River about a 30-minute boat ride from the ocean. Nabua has a population of about 90 people in the village proper distributed through 27 homes. Our host family owns one of the larger homes in the village which consists of a 2-story cinder block home that is nicely decorated…and, again, far more than what we expected. When we arrived, we were immediately told that we were considered “one of the family”. Ta (Father; first name “Kolinio”) and Na (Mother; first name “Sainimoli”) Tavuki have been incredibly gracious and accommodating since we’ve been at their home. Ta is a 59 year old retiree of the Fijian Army and an incredibly kind and generous soul. Na is a 54 year old school teacher who is just as caring and an accommodating as Ta. Needless to say, we feel incredibly fortunate to have been placed with this family. Also in the house are Paulo and Meke, two nephews in their early 20’s, Emmi, a daughter of 18, and Josaia and Koli ages 8 and 10, two grandsons from a daughter who is currently working and living Rorotonga of the Cook Islands.

Ta and Na have been ensuring that we’ve been gaining weight, serving the best of Fijian cuisine including RouRou (shrimp wrapped in taro leaves and cooked in coconut milk) and, of course, plenty of cassava, taro, and potatoes. And, of course, there have been several “grog sessions” involving kava drinking. Grog is more of a social event than anything in the village, even though traditionally it was reserved for formal occasions that involved only chiefs. For those of you familiar with King of the Hill, the community hall is the men’s “alley” where they go to hang out. I swear to you the other night I heard the words “Io (ee-yo; Fijian for “yep”)…io…io…uh-huh” come out in sequence from four of the men. Now, supposedly, you can get intoxicated from drinking kava, but I think it’s the same way you can get stoned from smoking banana peels or hemp rope…you’ve got to ingest a crap-ton of it to feel any effects. So far, the only effects I’ve felt are mild relaxation (which could also simply be due to the heat and humidity that hangs on you like a pile of hot wet rope) and the need to get up and pee at least 5 times during the night. Needless to say, drinking grog doesn’t make for a restful night’s sleep despite the sedative properties.

The first night drinking grog, I was positioned as the “chief” since I was the eldest male in our village group of Caucasians. I went through the ceremony like I’m supposed to, honoring their traditions and practices…except for sitting cross-legged on the floor for extended periods. Given that I haven’t sat that way since Mrs. Hendrick’s 4th grade class at Polk Elementary, my hips and knees just don’t have the stamina necessary to sit on the floor for longer than it takes to sing, “Mary had a little Lamb”. Anyhow, while I’m sitting there, one of the older men passes me a banana leaf with something wrapped in it and says something that sounds like “Evie nut”, suggesting that I should eat one. Upon looking into the leaf, my first thought was, “dear God, please let this not be what it looks like.” Now, the term “nut”, in American culture, can mean a variety of things, one of which includes a certain part of the male anatomy. I can tell you that the “Ivi” nut looks exactly like that part of the anatomy, only large enough to belong to a large animal. It was then I realized that everyone was staring at me waiting for me to take a bite. So I smiled, took a deep breath, and bit into, thankfully, what was actually a seed from the Ivi tree that is also known as a Tahitian chestnut. It smelled a little like feet, but didn’t taste bad, not that I would go out of my way to eat them given the chance. In part, I think this is because they prepare them by boiling, which for those of you who’ve had boiled peanuts can attest are an “acquired taste”. In any event, it was one of the first steps I took to integrate into the culture that will become mine over the next two years.

Understanding culture and integrating is an important part of the Peace Corps experience. One thing that we’ve all come to understand is the profound impact our own American culture has had on the rest of the world. There is virtually nowhere in the world that you can go today where you will not find American music, fashion, and food. McDonald’s is a great example. The only continent where McDonald’s does not exist is Antarctica, and I hear that they are considering one at McMurdo Station. Now, at the risk of being completely politically incorrect I’d like to use the next story as a teachable moment to demonstrate the sometimes negative impact of globally exporting our culture.

Anyone who knows me knows that, regarding my sense of humor, I am a 15 year old boy trapped in a 37 year old man’s body. The dumbest, most infantile humor can make me laugh hysterically, which is why TV shows like South Park and Family Guy are two of my favorites. Irony and absurdity is comedy king in my book. If you can incorporate a midget, a monkey, and a poop joke, you’ve hit the funny tri-fecta. So, I can easily find humor in many things that others find offensive. I say this as a preface to this story because the story demonstrates how American culture is not immune from the law of unintended consequences, and how what is offensive in one culture may not necessarily be interpreted that way in another.

One of the older volunteers (early 60’s) was assigned to a more urban area. Like all of the rest of us, he got a family profile in advance that described the village, family, and other attributes, including if anyone in the household smokes and whether they have a family pet. So this volunteer is reading through his profile and comes across the name for the family pet. Let me pause to explain that the Melanesians living in the South Pacific have not been subject to the same influences in the states, so when they hear a term used, say, on BET, a Chris Rock comedy special, or a Tyler Perry movie, they assume that it is common practice to use that term. So the volunteer has read the name of the family dog and feels the need to ask the Peace Corps country staff, “Excuse me, but how do I pronounce this?” She responds, “exactly how you think it should be pronounced.”

Now, I will say that if a dog were named “Ni__er” in the U.S. there would almost certainly be a lawsuit, but here in Fiji, even though the Melanesian people have very dark skin and might even be labeled with that epithet if in the U.S., they seem to think that it is perfectly acceptable, because that’s what they’ve heard on American TV. My reaction when I heard this was, of course, shock, but then I couldn’t help but say “oh…my…Gawd!” and laugh at the absurdity of it. Even funnier was the look on the volunteer’s face at the thought of saying “Here Ni__er!” to call the family dog. My next thought was that if The Dave Chappelle Show were still running, this would be comedy gold…

One of the other politically incorrect things I observed this last week was a result of our own American cultural influence as well. It turns out that Americans ship a lot of our secondhand clothes to other places around the world, so it’s not uncommon to see a campaign shirt for a state senate seat in Oregon from 1980 or a T-shirt with such timely phrases as “Where’s the Beef?” when walking around Fiji. The other day, I saw something that I couldn’t help but laugh out loud about, because I’m sure the guy wearing the shirt had no idea about the irony of wearing it.

At the ferry landing across the river, there’s a young man who is missing his legs from the waist down and is confined to a wheelchair. Before you condemn me, I’m not about to make fun of his handicap, but I will make fun of his shirt as it relates to his handicap. He was wearing a T-shirt with an image on the front of Charlie Brown flying through the air after trying to kick the football that Lucy has pulled away at the last minute once again. Now this is not so funny, but on the back, in 5 inch high letters across his back, is the word “AAARRGH!” Now I don’t care who you are, that’s funny…

So, needless to say, not only are we learning a lot about the Fijian culture, but we’re also learning a lot about our own.