The Feast

Kosreans love to feast.

They all have this built-in genetic radar that allows them to simply "know" when a feast must happen.


"Boys, there is a feast tonight.  Please come and join us!"

"Sure!  What time should we come?"

"Tonight!"

"Yes, but what time tonight?"

"Um, around dinnertime."

"....dinnertime?  What time is dinnertime?"

"Oh, its tonight!"

We have also grown accustom to the absence of time here.  When the feast is "tonight", it simply means that they will start whenever enough people show up.  I baked some banana bread using some bananas that were given to me on my way home from fishing and tried to coax the oven to bake faster.  Thinking we would be late to the feast, we walked down the muddy road to Ben Cooper's house.  We knocked on the door, and saw that the house was mostly empty.  Oh no, did we miss it?  I looked at my watch.  7:00 pm.  Its definitely "tonight".  

"Akaywoh!" Mama Sepe comes out from the house.  "You are too early!"

Ah, of course.  Too early.

Feeling foolish that we tried to show up on time to a Kosraen event, I walked under the tin roof of Mitchigo's shack.  Her mom was frying chicken over a fire, and some babies were playing in the dirt next to her.  Chickens clucked around the structure, picking bugs and bits of food scraps off of the muddy ground.  Mitchigo was playing with some marbles, watching her mother cook.

I plopped down beside her.  Pulling out my iPod, I took a picture of the scene, thinking it was rather "local".  Mitchigo instantly was drawn to the glowing screen like a magnet.  She leaned in and whispered bashfully.

"Teecha, um....do you...what....do you have any...games?"

I looked around, feeling guilty about potentially spoiling the local primitive environment around me.

"Um, I don't know.....fine.  We can play ONE game," I agreed.  I pulled up "Hill Climb", a game where you have to drive a little cartoon jeep over bumps without crashing.  Mitchigo got her game face on, and concentrated with amazing focus.  When her little jeep crashed, she squealed.

It was then I felt a presence.

Looking behind me, I found there to be a whole stack of locals peeking over our shoulders at the game.

"Can I try?"
"Can I try?"
"Can I try?"
"Can I try?"
"Can I try?"

I quickly "closed up shop" and put my iPod back in my pocket.  Time to be local again.


"Lets go eat!" Mitchigo decided.  She grabbed my hand and towed me into the house where there was a long table laden with bowls and dishes and platters of Kosraen delicacies.  I saw bins and bins of rice, fried fish, sashimi, boiled breadfruit, tapioca, fried chicken, boiled tuna soup, pickled papaya, chicken curry, spicy rice noodles, cucumber salad, banana bread, sushi rolls, sweet rolls, pound cake, and fresh coconuts with straws in them, ready to drink.  The room was absent of furniture, so we took our place on the cool tile floor.  Sizzling and clattering accompanied the chatter of gossip from the kitchen as the women prepared the last of the meal.  One by one people arrived, climbing through the doors and windows and coming out of seemingly nowhere.  Ryan begins to get tickle-attacked by some of our students, and Mitchigo and I watch with great pleasure as Ryan is submersed in crazy children.

Finally, one of the elders spoke in Kosraen.

"Missionaries, you go first," he announced afterwards in English.
We finally gave in and grabbed out plates.  With kids filing behind us in line, I loaded my plate three layers high with the delicious food.  I ate and ate and ate, drinking my coconut intermittently.  When the bottom of my plate finally appeared, Rolingson calls out to me.

"River, why did you stop eating?  Get some more!"

I took a deep breath.  I went in for round two, as to not be outdone by the Kosraens.  When I was so full I thought I was going to explode, I stepped outside of the house for a moment to feel the fresh air.

The scene was marvelous.  To my right, I could hear the waves breaking far out on the reef.  The tide gently splashed against the rocks beside me and the stars began to come out.  The rumble of the sea mixed with the festive laughter of the feast, and the light danced from the windows onto the roots of the tangerine trees outside.

I smiled.  I pictured myself zoomed out on the earth.  I saw Kosrae as a tiny, dark dot in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean, but with a tiny light shining out from a window from a certain jubilant feast.  I imagined hearing the laughter and chatter traveling over the dark waters to distant shores, mixing with the laughter and chatter of Pohnpei and Majuro and Australia and Japan and the Philippines and Peru and America.





It sometimes seems there is little that connects us on this big, lonely planet.  But that night I realized that some things remain.  Radiant joy is universal, no matter if you are Kosraen or American or Japanese or Iraqi or Bolivian.  These things tie us together, and I feel honored to be a part of it.  It makes me feel like I am home.

The crowd faded, the food disappeared, our bellies were full.  Dodging frogs and potholes on the way home, we said goodnight to the island and let the sound of the waves lull us to sleep.






Joy from the tropics,

River