Where Kosrae Meets the World

You know that indescribable feeling you get when you experience something so beautiful and you know that no matter how hard you try to describe it to someone, it just ends up sounding average?

I am having one of those moments tonight.  I am going to try.

Its a HOT Saturday night here in Kosrae, and Tyler is ill on the couch and Ryan is in bed already.  I was about ready to hit the hay myself when I decided to get some fresh air first and attempt to cool down.  I grabbed my Nalgene and pushed open our spring-loaded screen door, walking down the sketchy, way-too-steep stairs to the dark road.  There was fresh air alright, but it was HOT fresh air.  Dodging frogs, I walked down our muddy jungle driveway to the black Pacific Ocean, and this is where the scene hit me.  I stood on a rock on the little sea wall where Kosrae meets the world, and was all of a sudden bewildered and speechless at the surreal beauty before me.  The tide was coming in, and I could hear the low rumble of the breakers far out on the reef.  Every now and then there was a flash of white when the waves would break and foam.  A warm, equatorial breeze hit my bare chest, filled with the smell of salt and ocean and hibiscus.  The dark, cloudy sky had broken to reveal a clear patch of the thickest stars I have ever seen, hanging brilliant over the ocean.  They seemed to illuminate the clouds around, and the sky was pitch black and ablaze at the same time.  Looking up, my view was introduced to a swaying palm frond high above me, carelessly playing in the ocean breeze.

Even as I type this I am getting frustrated, trying to depict this scene like I felt it.

I was almost overwhelmed and was left with a sense of yearning.  I couldn't take it all in, and I wanted to exist forever in it.  Something.  I don't know.  It is unexplainable.

I realized that I was living in a scene that everyone dreams about.  Those long winter nights in Walla Walla studying for some nursing test, or warming up your car on an icy morning just to drive to clinical, or those folks sitting in a cubicle wearing a tie and working the same hours every day, or the kids who spend all of christmas break in their basements playing Call of Duty, or those who wonder if all the madness of society is really worth it in the big scheme of things.  Is there something better than chaos of life and the expectations of others and esteem and all the effort it takes to feel the illusion of success?

And here I was, feeling somehow undeserving of the beauty.  The quiet.  The simplicity.

I was taken by it.

How lucky am I to escape the race of society, the madness of modern life, and the dirt of the city and be standing on the peaceful shores of a tropical island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?  This is the dream of the weary, to feel the salty, humid air blow across your skin, standing under a palm tree and trillions of stars.  To all of a sudden shift from cramming in 6 tests in three days and writing research papers under the clock to waking up, teaching kids, swimming in the ocean until sunset, making dinner, doing the dishes, bidding "fung wo" to the kids walking back to their homes, and pulling back the covers to sleep for another night in paradise.

The beauty has always been here, it just took me a while to see it.

Tonight I feel rather blessed.  God continues to astound me.






Thanks for putting up with my relatively philosophical and "thinking-out-loud-ness".

Peace from the beautiful tropics,


-River

Chaos Ball

We  officially invented a new sport.

Its called "Chaos Ball".  

All you have to do is combine my 3rd & 4th class and Ryan's 5th & 6th class for P.E. and play kickball.  What follows?

Yep.  Chaos.  

The kids don't know that its chaos.  They think it is the greatest thing on Planet Kosrae.  So we did it a second time today, and only had three crying kids this time.  After a few bandaids and lots of lectures, the bus finally appears around the corner and balls come flying from every direction towards me.  

"Here teecha!"

A moment with the catch of the evening.

"Here is your volleyball teecha!"

"Here is your football!"

"Teecha!  Here is your basketball!"

After sprouting three more arms to catch these flying objects, the kids pack themselves into the little yellow bus while I shake off a few more stragglers.

"Teecha!  My lunchbox is in the classroom!"

"Teecha quick!  Guess what? I studied my spelling words!"

"Teecha!  Swing me with your arm!"  

After many hearty goodbyes, fist bumps, and don't-forget-your-spelling-test-tomorrow's, all of a sudden the school yard is silent.  A bird chirps in the distance.  You can hear a wave crash past the road.  The branches in the mango tree above rustle in the breeze.  Sweet silence, but honestly it wouldn't be the same without the collective "jubilee" of children (also known as a "mess"or "tangle" of children).  As much as teaching wears me out, I really do love these kids.

Family dinner night

On another note, unfortunately there is negative tension arising between me and the other two SM's.  Before coming as a student missionary, I knew that there would be times that we would not all get along.  As much as we thought we would all be compatible together, we have come across a major barrier that is making it hard to be a working team here on Kosrae.  We are all aware of the situation, but it is hard to fix because of the collective stubbornness between all of us. 

"What was that, River?"

"I'm going to put it in a bag."

"Did you say, 'bag'?  don't you mean 'bag'?" Tyler asks.

"Yeah!  Its not 'bag'.  You say it like 'bag'!" Ryan chirps in.

"What??  Nobody says it like that."

"Everyone does!  Its 'bag'!"

"No!  'Bag' sounds nasty and harsh.  'Bag' is nice and musical," I retort.

"'Bag' is how everyone says it.  'Bag' isn't even a word.  Look up the pronunciation!"

"It's 'bag'."

"No, its 'bag'."

"Bag."

"Bag."

It's two against one.  I will not lose this battle.  

I wish I got notes like this from all my students.

We have been having more frequent power outages.  Last night our whole section of the island went out into pitch blackness.  In moments like this you realize how much light pollution we don't have, hundreds of miles away from anything but ocean.   Tyler and I instantly grabbed out headlamps and ran outside to see what the island looked like in its purest, dark form.  We went and sat on the rocks by the ocean and looked at the stars and dark waves crashing beyond the reef.  It only took about 4 minutes to realize how much of a black blob we were in the middle of the dark Pacific Ocean at that moment, and for a giant land crab to come and attack my flip flop in the blackness. We got the jitters and went back to the school.  

We were informed about an interesting event happening in January.

"We are going to tear down your apartment in January and rebuild it," the pastor states.

Oh, cool.  Awesome.  

"It will take about 4 months to build, and you can all help after school!  But in the meantime, we will have to find a way to build you a shelter to live in until spring when it is done."

For about 2.65 seconds, we were bummed about our home being torn to the ground.  Then our male "fort-building in the backyard" and "Swiss Family Robinson" instincts set in.  We could build the coolest fort on the edge of the jungle to live in with the torn up scraps from the building!  Who needs a sink anyways?  Things are going to get interesting come January, but it definitely will be an adventure. 

Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers.  Good luck to all you Walla Walla peeps starting school, including my sister Sisi as a freshman.  Keep her under control!  When winter quarter comes, we will try our best to post as many pictures of the beach as possible.  

Peace from the tropicals,

-River

Poverty Cheese

"Cheddar."  Ryan's words echoed through the small, narrow isles of the food store.

Time stopped.  The world ceased to spin for a moment.  The two-syllable word echoed through the caverns of my mind, and traveled down to my stomach.

Ryan opens beans "island-style"

Ryan had found cheddar.

Dreams of real, sharp cheddar cheese had filled our minds as we thought of the vast cooking possibilities, from quesadillas to cheesy rice to burritos and many other things.  We all involuntarily teleported to the sketchy little fridge in the dusty corner.  It held a few precious blocks of sharp cheddar, as well as a vast amount of plastic-y, processed American cheese well past its sell-by date.  We looked at the price of the sharp cheddar:  almost $9.00 for the small cube.  Overcome by the craving of cheese, we splurged and spent money for the precious cheddar.  We also picked up a huge, 120-slice pack of the cheap American cheese, not bothering to look at the price because we assumed it was pretty cheap compared to the cheddar.  Walking to the checkout, I heard a little voice.

"Teecha!"


Oh dear.

Here comes little Kokok bobbing down the isle, one of the more adorable little girls in my class.  She was also food shopping with her family, including both her parents whom I had never met.

I looked at myself.  Sweaty wife-beater tank top and basketball shorts, carrying a basket full of cheese and soy sauce.

"Hey Kokok!"  I said.  I looked up at her parents.  "Hi, I'm Mr. Davis, Kokok's teacher.  Its good to meet you!"  I said with as much professionalism that is possible for someone in my current physical appearance.  They smiled and helped me with my groceries.  People are nice here, even if you look like you just walked out of a trailer home in East Los Angeles.


Back at the apartment, something went down.

"Wow, we got a lot of American cheese!  Its a good thing its cheap," I said as I stuffed it in Old Unfaithful (our refrigerator's new name).  "How much was it anyways?  did we check?"
Ryan fishes out the receipt from a bag.  Scanning down the paper, he all of a sudden turns pale.  "Oooooh you guys.  Ha ha ha!"  He stammers with a crazy look on his face.  "That American cheese was $30.00!"

The bus broke down.  Load up the Vanette!

We all start to laugh uncontrollably.  All three of us instantly did the math in our head.  We could have had almost 4 more blocks of heavenly sharp cheddar in place of the rubbery, past-due American cheese.  "We could be dining on tons of amazing cheddar on rice and beans with sides of island fish, but instead we just spent all the money on cheese that poverty America eats.  We just spent $30.00 on Poverty Cheese!"

The name quickly stuck, and now our 120 slices of "Poverty Cheese" must be consumed before it turns green and fuzzy.  Determination between the three of us has never been greater.


*(Disclaimer:  We understand that poverty isn't a joke and that those living in such conditions would probably not find our wit funny, but its things like this that keep things light around here.)


After our "Tasty Bread" and cheese sandwiches, Tyler and I decided that we would go for a moonlight dip in the ocean before bed to cool down.
"Should we take our water shoes?"
"Nah, shouldn't need them."
Grabbing our spears just in case of some night fish, we headed out under the full moon the to ocean.  It was at low tide, which exposed large patches of soggy seagrass and scattered pools with coral and creepy night creatures.
Just then, we think of the worst idea ever.
"Hey, lets walk out a ways and see if any fish are trapped in the pools!"
We started squishing through the thick seagrass and 8 inches of water with our bare feet, dodging the occasional sharp coral.  Just then, we stopped.  Our headlamps picked up a weird, stretched out, see-through snake-like creature stretched across our watery path.  We sweep the area with our lights.  Tons of them litter the reef.  We keep walking, stepping carefully as to not encounter what we later found out where white eels.  After a few more steps, we saw movement in our headlight beam.  A black eel jumps out of a small pool and scurries across dry rock into another pool, just three feet from our legs.  Tyler and I look at each other.  "But we are already halfway..."

Now dodging white eels, jumping black eels, hermit crabs, sharp coral, and other nocturnal sea creatures out to get us, Tyler spots a Stone Fish just feet from his steps.  If you step on a stone fish they will puncture your foot with spikes and sting you, leaving your foot sore for days on end.

As this thought crossed my mind I foolishly took a blind step, right on a sea urchin.  I felt a sharp sting on my foot.  Lifting it up, I saw two bleeding punctures.  My foot started to ache from the sting.

"Pee on it!" Tyler said joyfully.  "It will take the sting away!"

Finally I hobbled across to the dry rocks near the surf where supposedly there was fish.  Except we were too distracted by eels, hidden urchins, crabs, sharp coral, weird sea bugs, and stone fish under our bare feet.  To top it all off, we all of a sudden see two figures emerge from the surf beside us and walk towards us.

"Of course this would happen.  Why wouldn't we expect two people to walk out of the waves at 10:30 at night?"

Now with about 150 yards back to shore, Tyler murmurs a prayer and we charge back, step by careful step.  We made it back fine, and vowed never to go in the ocean at night again without booties.


On a more controlled topic, school is still going pretty good.  Its hard, but so far the kids haven't noticed that I am actually not a teacher.  Walking to class this morning, I see Kokok.

"Teecha!  I saw you in the store last night!"  She says bashfully.  I pull out my guitar for morning singing, and teach them "King Jesus is All".  After a few practices, they are now begging to sing it every morning with ear-splitting voices.  Later in the day during spelling, Nelly-Sonia raises her hand.

"Yes, Nelly?"
"Can I go step outside?  I need to fart."

Wha....

"Um, yes.  Yes you may.  Be quick!"  I reply quizzically.

Unfortunately the deed was not done outside, but on the way back to her desk.  It took me a good 30 seconds to regain control of the class.  After that, the only other odd thing of the day was discovering a termite nest in the binding of Jennelly's math book.  Fantastic.

Brand-new Crayolas

Kosrae is beginning to feel like the home that I was hoping it would be at some point.  I still miss the U.S. and the people I treasure back at home, but I can exist here for a while off the grid and still feel happiness.  It didn't seem possible 3 weeks ago, but there is happiness in the little things.  Yeah, its cliche, but it is a beautiful thing to find out that your kids are delighted to see you in the grocery store, or that I am steps away from the great Pacific Ocean, and that I can learn a lesson in simplicity when I watch the excited smiles on my kids when I pull out our one new box of crayons to share.  And what made Kokok's mom (whom we had never met) help carry our groceries to our truck for us?  Its a simple little life here on Kosrae, but sometimes I think that's how it should be.



Peace from the tropics,

River

Tension Arises Between the Missionaries and the Rooster

An excerpt from our exhausted, post-teaching conversations back at the apartment.

"You know, maybe the rooster is the one that is calling us on the Mysterious Phone of Mystery," Ryan pointed out.

"That would explain the weird hours."

"Yeah, he probably has a secret phone somewhere so he can wake us up, just in case his crowing at 5:30 AM on our porch doesn't do the trick."

"That is definitely it."

"We need to eliminate the rooster.  And the Mysterious Phone of Mystery."

"What else is new?"



As you can see, today was exhausting for all three of us.  Here is a picture I snapped of Ryan the instant he stumbled through the door after teaching today.



Peace from the tropics,
River

We Are Big Babies

The meal of rice and lentils was done.  It was bedtime.  But we weren’t going to bed.  Uncle Larry sat on the saggy couch across from us, sprawled out like he just ran 26 miles.

“Is it late enough to go now, Larry?”

“No, they are still awake.  They are like men, milling around until they are tired.  Then they sleep.”

I sharpen my spear with a whetstone, while Ryan whittles his down with a file to create a better tip.  Larry is studying my rubber sling, which is far more inferior than his hand-made spear gun.  Soon it is 11:00 pm, and we decide the fish are sleeping now.

We walk down the road and pass Kiyus’s mom. 

“You are spearfishing?” She asked curiously and somewhat suspiciously.  “Make sure and come back before midnight, or they will come and get you.”

We all look at each other.  We quickly established an unspoken agreement that we would be back before midnight. 

The ocean was dimly lit by a half moon, and we could see a storm brewing on the northern horizon.  All of a sudden we felt much less brave than we did when we were talking back at the apartment.

Tyler speaks up.  “What if this is a big local prank?  Like they say that the fishing is best at midnight, and they are all hiding under the water waiting to scare us now.” 

For some reason, this seemed rather logical at the moment.

Our catch of the night.  Slow progress is still progress!

We could see the dark motion of waves breaking past the reef hundreds of feet out, which marked our destination.  Tyler had his one waterproof light, but its beam almost made it worse by illuminating the swaying seaweed and creepy sea cucumbers under the water.  We waded out farther and farther, and finally decided to don our snorkels. 

“You have to go under first.”

“You’re the one with the light, you go.”

“I’m not going first, you big babies.”

Finally we all submerged our masks and looked out under the inky black open ocean.  Somehow we all started laughing in our snorkels, and popped back out from under the water.

“What are we even doing right now?  This is definitely a local prank.”

Despite our timid-ness to the black ocean, we loaded our spears and closely followed the one beam of light.  We saw some shady fish were leaning up against an old scummy rock, smoking cigarettes and shooting the breeze.  Some were scowling at us and slurred foul language.  There was a nightclub playing loud music under a nearby rock, and fish were drunkenly stumbling out and whistling down an eel to take them home. 

The ocean is a different place at night.

Ryan thought that chilled underwear would be refreshing

Finally we spot a lone fish swimming slowly under a rock.  I load my spear and nail it, just as a breaker hits me and washes my away.  I frantically swim back to it, and after a few seconds I get it out of the water, strung through my spear.  Tyler swam a few feet ahead and accidentally kicked a sleeping fish.  They both shared an awkward moment, and Tyler loaded his spear and got his fish.  Sauntering back proudly to the school, we carried our catch and fried them up that night.  We had conquered the dark ocean and its sketchy nocturnal inhabitants. 

This morning we had big plans.  We got up late, slowly made breakfast, had a post breakfast nap, and then finally got our act together.  Armed with our machetes, we set out on another brave and dangerous endeavor, one that only the manliest men could accomplish.

Clearing our garden plot

We were making a garden.

After tons of hacking in the muddy tall grass, fighting off biting ants, and watching Uncle Larry yet again show us up in machete skills, we formed a patch of dirt that will soon be a vegetable garden.  In the humidity, we probably each sweated three Nalgene’s worth, and were covered with mud.  But it was nothing a good dip in the ocean couldn’t fix.

This evening was the going-away potluck for the evangelistic speaker.  It was a classic Kosraen feast, with lots of rice, soup, fried fish, salad, cucumbers, pies, coconut biscuits, papaya, fried rice, fried chicken, noodles, island pizza, potatoes, and other delicious things.  After the feast, we began a ceremony that included the giving of gifts from the women, and some songs and regards by the locals.  They gave them their heartfelt thanks and gave the speaker’s family the best they could offer.  Crafts, a feast, songs, and genuine words of thanks, and a special prayer where we all held hands around them and sang a song to bid them farewell, and that we may meet in heaven again.  Namy, one of the church elders, came and sat next to me.

becoming one with our machetes

“You know, we will do this for you when you leave.  A big feast, lots of gifts, and everything!  My brother is getting ivory stone to carve for you as a gift when you all leave.  Do you want a dolphin or a manta ray?  And I will have the women sew skirts for the girls in your family if you like.  Just let me know how many!”

 At the same time, a local came and dropped a heavy bag of tangerines at our feet, as well as some fresh bananas for us to take home.  Some of the 1^st graders were jumping on my lap, wanting to play “Trot Trot the Boss” again, laughing as I tried to speak in Kosraen to them and sticking a leafy branch in my face every time I messed up.  The evening was festive, and the Kosrean hospitality was in full display.

How am I going to do this.

How will I be able to leave?  These people are becoming my family.  

I looked over at Uncle Larry in the corner, merrily singing along to the music.  This man has shown the most selflessness out of anyone I know.  From the moment we arrived nervous and shy, he has invited us full range to his tangerine and coconut trees and would stop his work to show us how to make palm baskets, and always invites us to eat with him even though food is expensive.  He gave us a plot of land to make a garden with, and stops whatever he is doing to come and swim with us in the evenings.  He wants to make sure we have everything we need and is always willing to help with anything we ask.  The most amazing thing is that it is all done with a bright smile.  He WANTS to do it.  He never asks for anything in return. 

Reminds me of someone.

Peace from the tropics,

-River

Falling Up

The long awaited final friday bell rings.  School is out for the week.  Tyler, Ryan, and I all clomp upstairs and rip our shirts off.  I choose to open the freezer for no reason, just to feel the cold air on my body.

It is hot today.

Uncle Larry magically appears in our doorway, which is becoming a common theme for the locals here.  We are caught somewhat off guard as we are frying pancakes and piling bananas, ice cream, and the last of the peanut butter on them.  

"Ah, pancakes and ice cream and peanut butter!  Its like a Big Mac, yeah?" He proclaimed.  

"Uh, yeah!  Sort of I guess!"

After going through a whole box of pancake mix, we trundled over to Larry's place to pick some more the famous green tangerines.  We passed the pastor on our way.

"You climbing to get the tangerines?  Remember to fall up, not down!"

There was a communal chuckle.  Falling up is impossible. 

Uncle Larry was lounging on a tractor tire when we arrived.  "Take any tree!  I'll watch and catch you when you fall.  And remember to fall up, not down!

Déjà Vu.

Uncle Larry is a master tree climber.  Last time we got tangerines, I was expecting that we would maybe need to climb a few feet on the sturdy branches to reach them.  Turns out, the best tangerines reside on the top leaves of the tree, so an expedition must be made by climbing out precariously on the flimsy limbs while hanging on to a branch and faith itself.  I looked over a Larry.  He is hanging upside down by his legs, reaching out to pick tangerines below him.  

Three bags of plump, delicious tangerines later, we ran back to the apartment to get swimming gear.  It was time to fish!  Tyler and I swam out with our spears, and spent way to long trying to nail the quick fish.  It started to get hard, because for some reason I had noticed that we were being pulled by some kind of current.  I popped my head out of the water to look for Tyler, and found that we were in the middle of a big rain storm.  Sheets of rain and wind were blowing down, and we could hardly see the shore anymore.  Although we could still mostly touch the coral, the seas had gotten very rough and big waves were making it hard to stay steady in the water.  But fishing was fishing!  We moved a bit closer to shore and ended up both spearing our first fish.  

Lets just say that they look bigger under water.  "River, I got one!" I heard Tyler yell over the rain.  

"I got one too!"

We compared our fish, and they were about the same size.  About 4 inches.  A little sheepish, but stoked on our first hits, we fried them up to accompany our lentils and rice.  I think Tyler got half a bite out of his.  But soon we will be spearing Moby Dick!

Peace from the tropics,

-River

Teacher: 0 Question Mark: 1

“Ok.  So let’s look at this.  We need a punctuation mark at the end of this sentence.  What do you think we would use?”

I received a blank stare in return. 

“Ok, Mitchigo.  Lets look closer.  Is this sentence asking a question?”

She thought for what seemed like months.  “No,” she answered.

I shifted.  “Actually, yes.  Yes it is.  Its asking a question.  So what punctuation mark would we use?  We have four options up there on the board.”

She looked at me with another deep, soul-crushing blank stare. 

“Don’t look at me, look at the board.  Would we use an apostrophe?”

“Yes.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  I could feel my blood vessels tightening. 

“No, you wouldn’t.  Those are to show possession, not to end a sentence.  Can you think of what you might use that ends a question?”

Another long, blank stare.  Finally she uttered, “exclamation point.”

My eye twitched.

“Alright Mitchigo, what if we used a question mark?  Would a question mark work?”

She shook her head. 

“Are you sure?  Would it make sense for a QUESTION mark to go at the end of a QUESTION?”  I could feel my body quivering as I tried to stay calm. 

Blank stare.

Writing Thank-You's for the books from Mom!

I have a new appreciation for teachers everywhere.  My class of 15 students are giving me a run for my money.  From the moment the bus comes to dump them all off at the school to the moment they all magically disappear in the same bus at 3:00 pm, they are a test of strength and character and common 4^th grade knowledge.  As routine goes, I leave our apartment above the school at 8:00, carrying a full Nalgene, my bible, my music journal, and a tangerine.  I make the short journey down the stairs into a sea of children, praying silently for strength and for the wisdom to be the teacher that I am most definitely not.  The bell rings, and the chaos begins.  The echoic classroom makes my 15 pupils sound like 150 as Nelly begins to yell “Teecha!  Are we playing spelling basketball today??” and as Holter is dust-mopping his body on the floor, and as Awee is using her scissors to cut up a flower into tiny pieces on the ground. 

I think that God only gives me just enough strength to teach exactly one day at a time.  When school gets out and I sit back at my desk, I am done.  But somehow I get through another day, and then another, and then another.  Maybe this is to teach me trust, the trust I will ultimately need to make it through the good times and bad times during the 9 months on this island of Kosrae.

Lesson plans for days

Ryan was a bit disappointed that I had to use the directions on the back of the spaghetti pack the other night.  Cooking is still survival, but we are learning.  Fried rice is becoming a staple, because we know how to run a rice cooker, put rice in a pan, and turn a dial.  Just recently we added some revolutionary lettuce and basil!  The Pastor will sometimes stop in and watch intently as we try and cook.  After my first egg rolled off the counter, I looked sheepishly at the pastor as I fetched another egg from the fridge.

“Just pour some kerosene around it and light it!” He suggested. 

We shared a laugh, which was a good distraction from my searing pan burning the rice.  We need a mom.

Freezing bananas

Fried rice is getting better...

Tonight our sink decided to join the cult of mysterium, just like our phone did.  Because of heavy rain all day, our sink and toilet water have a nice brown silt quality to them.  While washing dishes in the brackish water tonight, the faucet mysteriously stopped giving water.  This is extra mysterious when the water supply is gravity fed from a river up the mountain.  I backed away from the sink and sat on the couch for a while, talking about something probably super useless with Ryan and Tyler when all of a sudden the sink sputtered to life in the corner, merrily pouring water from its faucet.  “What is this witchcraft?” someone muttered.  In fact, just this moment as I am writing this I heard a strange sputter from the bathroom (A place where sputters aren’t usually good), and Ryan exclaiming some mild words of disgust directed towards the sink.

Finally the whole trio is here!  Tyler arrived neat and clean with a fragrant flower necklace, greeted by his fellow SM’s wearing sweaty tank tops, straw hats, and four days of beard.  His class of fourteen 1^st and 2^nd graders will also be a doozy.  Right now he is sitting at the table, eating out of the rice cooker and struggling about what he should call his blog. 

Tyler arrives! 

Peace from the tropics, and thanks for the care packages Mom and Haley!

-River

Tons of rain today

White Folk

"Psst!  Ryan!"  I whispered excitedly.

Ryan looked up from his plate of rice, cucumbers, and a sketchy chicken wing.  

"Look!  White people!"  I pointed to the bleachers next to us. 

 In the midst of a crowd of island-skinned Kosraens, there were two young-looking white folk around our age, one guy with red hair and a sweet beard and a girl wearing an island skirt and had the appearance of someone who was obviously not in their normal climate.  

Kun giving us a Kosrean-speaking lesson

See, we were at the last day of the Liberation Day games, and we had spent the morning watching different events and races put on by the different Kosraen Villages.  The first race we witnessed was strange, and it is still puzzling us to this day, spending many sleepless nights tossing and turning trying to figure it out what the purpose was.  The race went like this:  The man over the loudspeaker jumbled something in Kosraen, which prompted a number of elderly people to emerge from the stands.  They all lined up, and when the race started, they all just started walking.  They walked around the whole track, just like it was a sabbath afternoon and they were just getting fresh air.  The crowd was going nuts, and one of the men finally picked up and ran to the finish.  The crowd went crazy, and he went and laid down on a blanket that was set out before him on the field as they poured a bottle of water on him.

I looked at Ryan.  He had the same bewildered look on his face.

Soon after, we went the tent to look at the fruits and crafts people had brought.  Uncle Larry won many prizes for his breadfruit, mango, taro, and lettuce plants, so he was beaming with pride the whole morning. 

But back to the white people.

Doing laundry with my new palm basket

After the championship baseball game between villages Malem and Walung had started, we spotted the white people.  First let me say that there are no white people on this island, especially not Americans.  If there are, they are usually Australian.  

"Ryan, I'm going to go talk to them!"  

I went over to where they were sitting with Ryan following, and introduced myself.

Hi!  I noticed that you were whi....I mean, I just thought I'd come say hi, since there aren't many of...um...our kind here!" I stumbled.

He laughed.  "Good to meet Y'all!  Where you from?

Ah, yes. American! 

I miss this girl very much.

"Spokane, Washington!  We are a long ways from the Northwest." I replied.  We are student missionaries, teaching at the SDA school for a year.  You?"

"Peace Corps!  We're here for 2 years teaching also.  There are about 6 of us on this island.  We got our training in Hawaii, so they taught us in the language, teaching skills, and everything else we would need to know.  Where did you guys get your training?"

Ryan and I looked at each other.

"Well, actually we basically arrived here and started teaching two days later.  Not a lot of training." 

He was amazed.  "Heather, did you here that?  They didn't even have any training or anything, and they had to just start teaching basically when they got here.  And they have to teach all their subjects for their classes!"  

We talked for a while about the island and the people, and ended up exchanging emails.  It is amazing how simply talking to another American can make it feel like home, taking on the same challenges and experiencing the same change from comfortable United States to the wild island.  

Drinkin' coconut at Utwe Beach

Things are going good here.  My fever has subsided, and I feel much better, although nights have been lacking sleep lately, partially due to waning sickness effects, WEIRD dreams, and the occasional interruption by the "Mysterious Phone of Mystery" at 1:00 AM last night.  I woke up this morning, and my bed sheet was on the living room couch, where last I had it was under my covers when I went to sleep.  Maybe soon the nights will get more normal.  

It is the evangelistic series this week, so our speaker and his family came from California.  More Americans!  The meetings every night still seem to operate on island time, however, and we find that learning about the seven horns and the fires of Revelation can be a bit much for 2 hours.  

It is now time to make lesson plans for this coming week, and perhaps attempt to cook up some spaghetti for dinner!  You use the oven for that, right mom?

Peace from the tropics,

-River