Samoa Turns 50!

Nothing philosophical today, no waxing nor waning. This post is dedicated to independence and the activities that a Peace Corps volunteer may (or may not) participate in while in Samoa on its 50^th anniversary of gaining its independence from New Zealand. Happy 50^th Samoa!

Thursday:

I started festivities off with the faotasi race, a giant canoe-like race between villages. A few of us gathered on the sea wall in front of Aggie Grey’s hotel in Apia to cheer on our very own Danny as he raced with his village, Satitoa. Rumor has it Danny was the very first palagi to ever take part in the race. The boats are huge, there’s really no other word for it. These are big boats, seating around 45 buff Samoan men who have been training for about two months. There’s not a whole lot to see during the race; you really just see them take off and come in for the finish. Satitoa came in sixth out of seven boats, taking them out of the running for the finals that will take place on Monday. We were all super impressed with Danny anyway. After a diet of bread and water, Satitoa celebrated with Samoa’s own Chili-Chocs.

Not independence-related, but still part of the day, Book Club was next at Tifaimoana, an Indian restaurant in town. Highlight of this was when a boxer from Australia offered us four free tickets to that night’s boxing match! Needless to say, next on the agenda then became watching some guys punch each other in the face. Besides hoping for a knock-out, why does anyone go to a match? Well, we were not disappointed. Only thirty seconds into the first round, we had a man down for the count. Pun/cliché intended. Then it was off to bed as Friday promised to be a too-early morning.

Friday: Independence Day!!!

5am. Wake up call. Night’s sleep? Not good. Breakfast: two hard boiled eggs. 6am: Peace Corps volunteers report for the official Independence Day “parade.” This is no American style parade. There are no floats. There’s no candy. No clowns or tractors. But there are definitely Too. Many. People. The idea is that all the secondary school students and various organizations around Samoa march, and by march I mean walk, in front of a grandstand of dignitaries. It’s basically hours and hours of standing in the Samoan sun for roughly fifteen minutes of walking. We get there around six after about a half an hour walk to even get to the location and the place is packed. The groups participating are smashed in like sardines and we have to find the American delegation made up of Peace Corps volunteers, a few dignitaries, and a dance crew called Step Africa. To put it bluntly, I was angry and whiny by 6 and trying to find our group was pissing me off. We finally spot the American flag up toward the front of the mosh of people and proceed to walk in front of everyone (keep in mind, nothing has started yet) and literally thirty or so feet from our flag, a female police officer stops us and tells us we can’t walk there and we need to go through all the people to get to our group. Angry, whiny Sam doesn’t like this and kind of argues with the police officer. I make no headway, and thus turned around we get only to embark on an ever-aggravating push through the thousands of people standing on the field. Some people say “turisi” and “palagi” as we walk by (tourist, white person) and this pisses me off too. I stop and say, “Leai, pisikoa. Le palagi.” (No. Peace Corps. Not palagi.) One secondary school boy even tried to hold my hand at one point (very Samoan of him) and he got a stern head shake and “Aua” (Don’t) from me. Finally, we make it to our group. As the speeches start, I all of a sudden get incredibly dizzy. Luckily, the Peace Corps nurse is next to me. “Put your head down. Down.” I almost pass out. I lose hearing for a few seconds. Color drains from my face. A cold sweat drenches my clothes. A fan is borrowed from a nearby Samoan and all I can take in is that someone is fanning me. The dizziness calms down and Teuila, our nurse, sends me closer to the front of the mess of people so I can get more air. I sit on the ground and Filia, a Peace Corps staff member, gives me something to eat along with a piece of candy to get my blood sugar back up. Eventually, my body figures itself out and I stand back up. However, standing for more than five minutes starts making my stomach spasm and contract in not altogether fun ways. Next thing I know, the tribe speaks and I’m voted off the island and will be back in Minnesota in a few days. (That’s a euphemism for Teuila lets me leave and go back to the Peace Corps office.) However, I was lucky; many other people did pass out and an ambulance was even called for some. So after three hours at the parade, I’m sent packing, which was a blessing because the Peace Corps group didn’t finish with the parade for about another three hours.

(Just a side note because it might provide some humor for you, even though it’s embarrassing for me: after walking the twenty minutes back to where I can finally find a taxi, I proceed to get in a car which, no Samantha, is not a taxi, which in my semi-sick phase I don’t realize. But the guy was nice enough to take me to the office anyway. Woops. You should laugh now so I don’t feel like I embarrassed myself for nothing.)

After recouping at the office, Tele from Taufua meets up with me and we head to Italiano’s for lunch and then over to the government building to watch some of the day’s events and to traverse through the booths. This literally was like being at a fair back home! There were even snow cones. Step Africa was supposed to give a performance, but ended up only performing two dances due to the parade going late. However, I had already seen them perform a few days earlier and they were awesome! So enthusiastic and charismatic. Around 5pm Tele and I head over to good old Hotel Elisa to meet up with the other volunteers to get ready for the night’s UB40 concert. We head down to the hotel’s bar for a while and some little Samoan boy goes crazy taking pictures of all of us. So somewhere in Samoa is a little dude with tons of pictures of some random palagis. Yeah, explain those to Mom. We taught Tele some classic “American” dance moves, such as the sprinkler, the shopping cart, and the cabbage patch. He then taught the boys classic Samoan moves like a little bit of the slap dance. Then off we went to UB40. It was Samoa’s first big concert and it took place in Apia Park. It reminded me of being at a high school football game since it was on a track and tons of people were just milling about. Unfortunately, shortly into the concert, angry, whiny, been-awake-since-5am Sam makes an appearance again causing us not to stay until the end of the concert. Damn you angry, whiny, tired Sam. Damn you.

Fireworks close out the night for the rest of Samoa.

Saturday:

I convince Tele to stay in town for another night, thus allowing me an excuse not to go back to the village also. We went out for dinner at the ever-popular Yacht Club where we ran into a little New Zealand kid that Tele knows. This kid was super funny, even giving Tele a wedgie at one point, thus winning himself a high-five from me. He does, however, need to work on his whispering skills; I’m not sure he wanted me to overhear him “whisper” to Tele, “Is this your girlfriend? She’s pretty.” Thanks kid.

After dinner, we head over to meet up with some of Tele’s friends from New Zealand. After deciding a plan of action for the night and telling the guys why I joined the Peace Corps (oh yeah, change the world, make a difference, give something back, all that cliché but true jazz) Tele whispers to me that one of the guys is the son of a Maori king. Yep, that’s right, I shared a two-strawed jug of some mystery beverage with royalty Saturday night.  

So we head down to the government building once again and find spots to sit on the grass near the stage. Immediately after I sit down some little kid throws a plastic bottle at me. I turn around and say “Aua” and he looks at me like, “Whoa. That palagi can speak Samoan,” and the smile falls right from his face. One of the groups does traditional Samoan dancing and it was the best I’ve ever seen; it was fast and with new moves. Then out came the fire dancers. At one point they had one stick in each hand. Super impressive. Tele can also fire dance and he was even impressed with these guys. Sadly, I didn’t bring my camera out that night.

Then we headed to Y Not for some drinks and then to Club X for dancing. At Club X we ran into Danny. Now, Danny and I are both from Minnesota and there just happened to be some Samoan guy with a MN Vikings hat on. Go figure. The night eventually comes to a close and as we’re heading out of Club X a random girl stops me. “How long have you been in Samoa?” “Over a year and a half. I live here.” “Oh, I thought you were American or something.” “I am American. I’m a Peace Corps volunteer.” Do I really ooze American that much? Another random girl came up to me after that and asked where I got the tattoo on my neck. Well, that would be America too. And the night came to a close at McDonalds. Definitely American. Ahem, happy birthday Samoa!

Festivities are still going for the next two days and school starts again on Wednesday. Back to the everyday of it all.

(I thought about writing some of the Samoan national anthem here, but I probably can’t spell all the words correctly and would only further embarrass myself, so I’ll just say this: Manuia lou Aso Fanau Samoa!!!)



Step Africa performing at NUS




Jeter, Mika, and Katie watching the Faotasi Race




One of the Faotasi boats




Danny celebrating with a chili-choc



Down for the Count



Me, Katie, Teuila (our PC nurse,) and Dale (our country director)
shortly before I almost passed out at the parade



In front of the government building
...with a snowcone

Tele and I before UB40

UB40 Concert at Apia Park



The concert looked like a high school football game




Tele, Jenny, Jeter, Danny, Me at UB40



Tourists: Love 'Em or Hate 'Em

It has been a while since I wrote a post for my blog. So Captain Obvious has told me. That doesn’t, however, mean that ideas hadn’t been swirling in my mind about topics. The main one was about resentment for tourists. The thesis went something like this: Real Samoa sucks, tourists suck because they get to live in paradise at the resorts and fall in love with Samoa and fall in love with my boyfriend at the same time. Most likely needless to say, the idea for this post came about after my (ex)boyfriend decided to disappear for two weeks with an old tourist fling of his while leaving me worrying that he was dead. While the major sentiment that tourists suck is probably a little harsh, other ideas I would have thrown into the post held more water, such as the fact that tourists who just lay on the beach at the resorts really don’t get any taste for what Samoa is really like.

However today, I would like to devote this post to a group of tourists who have made me rethink the whole tourists–suck notion. As my time in Samoa winds down, I’ve decided to enjoy this place as much as possible, and yes, that includes behaving like a tourist on the beach. Tossing aside an overrated segue or transition as us literary types like to say, I spent last weekend at Taufua Beach Fales in Lalomanu on the southeast side of my island. It was the third time I’ve gone there and the first in which the other tourists were really cool. (The first time we all went there was for our one year anniversary and at one point a group of tourists told some of the other volunteers that they were acting like college kids on spring break. The second time was our year and a half anniversary and Easter in which a snarky tourist scoffed not-so-quietly under her breath, “Americans” when one of us tried unsuccessfully to give a short goodbye speech to a departing volunteer.) However, third time is cliché-fully a charm. Rachael and I went to Taufua with Emily, her friend from home. Taufua does meals a little non-traditionally with everyone sitting at one long table thus forcing you to talk to other people. Our first night at dinner, we sat next to George and Mel, a Samoan woman with her palagi husband. Funny story about them, I had actually met them briefly in front of a bank in Apia once. It took a little jogging but eventually they remembered me too. Our next stereotype-breaking tourists were Alec and Fanny (pronounced Funny). Alec is from Boston, but lived in New Zealand and Fanny was from Germany. They had eloped fifteen years ago and are now staying at the National University of Samoa for a few months. George, Mel, Alec, Fanny, Rachael, Emily and I had much spirited debate over dinner. Next comes Yanir and Yanadan, two Israelis who had just finished their service in the military. They accompanied the three of us to the To-Sua Sea Trench where the current caused all of us to become quick friends as we were bashed into each other and hands were reached out to save someone from being pulled away, while Tele, our Samoan host/friend, just kept bypassing the ladder and jumping straight into the water. Thanks for the hand Tele.


After we recouped from the trench and after Tele saved a little girl from getting hit by a car, Mika, a fellow volunteer, arrived with his mom from America! Shout out to Emily and Mika’s mom; we love when family visits! Ahem, all of my friends and family: take note.


And finally it’s Gabriel and his parents. (How we didn’t find out their names I have no idea.) Gabriel was a little blonde haired, blue eyed cutie, maybe two or three years old. His mother had been an Australian volunteer in Samoa and she and her husband were married on the beach at Taufua. Gabriel stole everyone’s heart, whether it was playing with Yanir in the water, getting pushed in the kayak by Tele, or just camping out under our fale. This exchange is worthy of being blogged: “Gabriel, I’m going to put on my swimsuit now and then I’ll come out and swim. You just stay here,” Rachael. “I suppose this is really the last age at which this kind of thing is appropriate,” Gabe’s dad. A minute or so passes and Gabe is hunkered down under our beach fale and refuses to come out for anyone.  His dad says, “This is rather a father/son moment, isn’t it? He is literally under a house.” …maybe you had to be there.



Take note, Taufua is a cool place and if you are a tourist, go there and enjoy paradise. Just don’t mess around with the guy I’m dating.

And next time you’re in Samoa, don’t stare at the white girl in the puletasi walking down the street in a village. She’s probably just a Peace Corps volunteer and she won’t smile and wave to you like the little Samoan children.




To-Sua Sea Trench.

The boys jumped from the top of the ladder.

 

Yanir, Yanadan, Emily, Rachael and I hold on for dear life.



Mika and His Lovely Mother



Emily, Me, Mika's Mom, Rachael



Gabriel jamming on his guitar during the Fiafia show.



The boys take a go at Siva Samoa.
Yanir and Yanadan







Gabe's mom is on the far left and Mel is on the far right.
I'm in the middle with awesome hand position.







Yanadan and Alec

 
  



Maybe You Really Can't Go Home Again

Sitting around a long table, wearing a wet swim suit modestly covered by a lavalava after an early morning swim, while eating breakfast and discussing the pros and cons of Marmite, a Finnish couple, the man sporting long brown dreadlocks, the woman a meek Scandinavian blonde, laugh when Rachael and I, the two Peace Corps volunteers at the table, say that “we only have six months left.” They scoff, “Only?!”

As I write this, we now have less than six months left on this island, this island that has been both hell and paradise. I’m not sure Dante nor Milton ever visited Samoa, but I think I could add a little to their tales. However, with roughly a week left of the school break, I have already fallen into the don’t-take-this-for-granted stage of my Peace Corps service. Now, instead of marveling over how my ears are being assaulted by someone else’s too-loud music on the bus on the way to Apia, I stare at the ocean waves knowing that this will never happen again. In less than six months it will be November and I will be in Minnesota. Need I say more? Typing this now, sitting beneath my mosquito net, rain drips from my roof and waves crash literally twenty feet from my window. These are the moments. These ones, right now. These are the moments that I will look back on and miss. I have lived through Peace Corps purgatory and Peace Corps Hell and I dare say I have waged battle against Satan herself, but with mere months to go, I can’t let any of the beauty go unnoticed.

With the end bearing down, I can’t help think about after. After Samoa. Six different master’s programs at three different grad schools have my academic mind atwitter. Yet, the excitement that affords and the anticipation of a semi-return to my old life are not what I think about when I think about going home. When you join the Peace Corps you never fathom the goodbyes on the other end. You never expect the pain of saying goodbye here. Good riddance and peace out to some people, but how do you just leave other people who have so influenced your life??? 

Since I came back to Samoa after Christmas my life has been a whirlwind. My host father told me I was a disappointment and he was ashamed of me. Why, I’m sure you all ask? Because I didn’t have relationships with people in the church congregation. Did I mention my host father is the pastor? I was also traveling to other places too much, Savaii in particular. This comment finally made me reveal to him that I was dating a boy, Samoan nonetheless, in Savaii. And cliché enough, he ended up breaking my heart. The details of which I’m sure would have made for great reality television. I was also told in a moment of anger by the person I cared about most in this country (ahem, it might have been that ex-boyfriend) that I was the worst Peace Corps volunteer he had ever known. That moment was perhaps the most ashamed I have ever felt in my life. Being told that you have done nothing for your village, you have had an impact on no one and that what you have done doesn’t matter is not something any Peace Corps volunteer ever wants or imagines of hearing. In a rousing display of her old self, my principal also told me I could only teach for a half an hour a day. Don’t tell her, but I didn’t listen to that. My worthlessness as a volunteer seemingly made clear to me, my year seven girls were there to prove all my skeptics wrong. Not a week goes by where these girls don’t tell me how much they love me, or write me letters, or tell me that they’ll never forget me. It’s for them that I stayed. And it’s for them that I came.

This all being said, blatantly, it will suck when I go home in the fall and the people I care about are here and the thought that I might never see them again and that they’ll be moving on with their lives and will I ever have so much adventure again and was I just another fling-type thing for Tele and maybe something special for a while to Tui but who he hurt anyway? And how will I ever forget either of them? These thoughts tumble in my mind.

And how I don’t know how I’ll move on from Samoa.

How do you say goodbye to something that has had moments of paradise?

I haven’t done much, but I have played a part in some people’s lives. I don’t want to be forgotten either.

What will my life be like when Samoa really is just a memory? When I can’t feel imaginary waves crashing against my legs after a day in the ocean? When I can’t make a sentence in Samoan (not that I'm fluent now)? When my tan lines have completely disappeared? When I don’t find hidden grains of sand in my water bottle? When I can’t text the other volunteers about weekend plans at the beach or at Lusia’s? When I can’t call Samoan friends? When we’ll all be reduced to good old fashioned Facebook stalking?

How do you go back to a life once lived?


2012: The Year of Flash Mobs and Slip-n-Slides

As my second and senior year of the Peace Corps starts, I have now experienced roughly fifteen months of Samoan culture. At this point, any good volunteer starts to think, How can I share American culture a little more? The answer comes like a lightning bolt when rain or a dance club is involved.

Twenty mile per hour winds, a pounding rain, and an open porch can only lead to one thing at a Peace Corps volunteer’s house in Samoa. You guessed it: a makeshift, but ever-pleasing Slip-n-Slide**. A sudden and unrelenting rain forced three of my year seven students to take refuge under my porch yesterday afternoon. The fact that they were already soaked didn’t deter them from trying to prevent any further drenching. Ina, Lumepa, Josephine, and I quickly realized that the puddles forming around the edges of my porch were creating a river headed straight for my bedroom door. Most Samoan fales come equipped with stylish blue tarps that can be pulled down to block such river tributaries from forming. We decided to pull mine down. However, my blue Samoan tarp inexperience led to a slight malfunction. Instead of carefully unrolling the tarp which has a piece of lumber nailed to the bottom to hold it down, I just let the tarp drop, causing the wood to rip out of the tarp. The three girls looked at me for a second; their expressions said one of two things: “Wow, Sema, that was dumb,” or, “Oh no, we’re going to get sasa-ed [hit].” My laughter, while outwardly expressing bemusement, was really masking the universal thought for such situations: “Shit.” After jerry-rigging the tarp to stay down with large rocks, the girls discovered that they could run and slide on my soaked porch. You could call it Samoan ice skating. After slipping and sliding around on my plastic-wood ground covering (pisikoas, you know the fake flooring I’m talking about), the girls quickly realized that the falling that is inherent in such a game isn’t so conducive to non-bruised knees. And of course, that’s when the rain stopped and the wind ripped the tarps from under the rocks, which only led me to put the tarp up as quickly as I had taken it down, thus bringing to an end a moment of good ol’ dangerous fun.

I now implore shower-singers and dancers-in-the-dark the world over, what is a Peace Corps volunteer to do during breaks in our Mid-Service Conference except learn a dance called The Wobble? Part of this dance could be likened to a gorilla swinging its lanky arms behind its back. And why wouldn’t we want to do such an ungraceful move in front of numerous Samoans? The answer escapes me. Clearly the new Club X would be the perfect place to perform our monkey-like maneuver. Friday night came and Club X was calling. That’s right Samoa, well, those of you who caught a glimpse of choreography out of the corner of your alcohol-influenced eye and were entertained enough to watch, you just witnessed a flash mob danced by some very coordinated, sweaty white people.

Whether it’s at a night club with semi-inebriated Samoans, some of whom tried to join in with moves of their own, or on my flooded porch, we here at Peace Corps Samoa take every opportunity to share American culture. Any volunteer would now ask, “Can I put this on my VRF?” **

*  For the Slip-n-Slide deprived, this probably overpriced but cheaply manufactured toy is simply a glorified piece of plastic (or trash bag) that is laid on the ground and covered in water. Children, teens, and overzealous fathers then proceed to run onto and semi-gracefully slide the length of the garbage bag, ahem, Slip-n-Slide.

**The VRF, or volunteer report form, is a universal fa’alavelave that every Peace Corps fills out to record what activities you have done in recent months. It also helps volunteers feel like they’re accomplishing something.

A Speck on the Map- The Postcard Project

"A nun."

This is the most original answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" that I've gotten from a Samoan student.

When I've asked students what they want to be when they grow up, most of them don't really have an answer. "A job," is usually their reply. Their bland answers are not due to an English ineficiency. They're just never asked this question. Often one wonders what makes American culture and answers are usually hard to come by since our country is a mosaic of other cultures. However, asking children this question about their future is something very American (if not just very un-Samoan.)

Not only are kids not asked this question, but they often lack the ability to imagine a creative answer because they simply aren't aware of the outside world. When asked if they would ever leave Samoa, a lot of my students say, "No. I want to stay here. In my village." They are also baffled when I tell them I don't know the people on "American Idol."

"But, you live in the same country."
"But it's such a big country!" Then I pull out the world map and try to explain how big the world is. (Poor grammar here, I know.)

One way to give these kids an idea about the rest of the world is the Post Card project. So here's the pitch:
If you read this blog regularly or if you just stumbled upon it, send us a postcard from where you live!!! Write a short message about whatever you want, speak to the students directly or talk about where you live, but make sure the picture on the front shows something about your neck of the woods, as we like to colloquially say here in Minnesota. Write the message in English, but a greeting in the language of your country would be wonderful. (Most likely, I'll use the postcards with my Year 7 class- roughly ages eleven to thirteen.) Address postcards to me:
Samantha Maranell, PCV
Peace Corps
Private Mail Bag
Apia, (Western) Samoa
South Pacific

As postcards come in, we'll put pins on a world map of the places we get postcards from. Let's make these kids a little more worldly.

Literary Recommendations from a Literary Snob

I've been called the literary snob of Peace Corps Samoa and as I gear up to travel back to the island after a rejuvenating Christmas break at home in the USA, I once again find my suitcase with, perhaps, a few too many books. Over the past fifteen months, I've read many a book; here are what I think were the best and the five worst.

The Best:
-Stiff by Mary Roach
-The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
-Columbine by Dave Cullen
-The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the OED by Simon Winchester
-Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (You cannot go wrong with this book.)
-The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins
-The short story "Fantasy for Eleven Fingers" by Ben Fountain (Found in the book Brief Encounters with Che Guevara)
-Life of Pi by Yann Martel (!!)
-The Reader by Bernhard Schlink
-Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
-The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possibly by AJ Jacobs
-Ishmael by Daniel Quinn (!!)
-The Help by Kathryn Stockett (The movie does not do justice to this amazing book; two thumbs down to the movie; two thumbs up to the book.)

The Worst:
-The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larson (Ok, so it was published posthumously, but wasn't the editor aware that the first and last one hundred pages of the book were completely unnecessary?)
-Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen (The three person love triangle was genious in Sophie's Choice and this book was a sad attempt. Just rent the movie.)
-The Romance Reader's Book Club by Julie L. Cannon (It's as bad as the title implies. You take what you can get when on an island in the middle of the ocean.)
-The Other Side of Haight by James Fadiman (Ken Kesey, if you hadn't had a positive review on the book, I wouldn't have picked this up at all. Damn you Ken Kesey.)
-Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay (Genocide and Holocaust studies fascinate me, but I really don't see how books that offer nothing new to literature in general or the genre in particular still get published.)

For anyone considering the Peace Corps, here are a few recommendations from the 15 month book list:
-The End of Poverty: Economic Possibilities for Our Time by Jeffrey Sachs (Aid is clearly the answer.)
-The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good by William Easterly (Aid is clearly not the answer.)
-Dead Aid: Why Aid is Not Working and How There is a Better Way for Africa by Dambisa Moyo (Perhaps not the best book on the subject, but one of our Peace Corps staff members said this book "changed her life.")
-American Taboo: A Murder in the Peace Corps by Philip Weiss (The true story of a 1970 murder of a volunteer by another volunteer on the nearby island of Tonga. Face it, it can be dangerous at times. -This book may never have been published; we have an editor's copy going around Samoa. I recommend looking up the case if really interested.)
-Dear Exile: The True Story of Two Friends Separated (For a Year) by an Ocean by Hilary Liftin and Kate Montgomery (This epistolary Peace Corps book is a quick read with many relatable moments.)
-Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal by Ayn Rand (Altruism vs Egoism. Personally, I consider both to be very legitimate reasons for joining the Peace Corps. In fact, if I didn't have egoistic, or selfish, reasons for joining, I might have quit long ago. The cliche is kind of true: I feel like I'm getting more out of it than those I'm supposed to be helping; if I had purely altruisic reasons, why would I have stayed?)
-The forward, introduction, or whatever it was to the book Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road by Donald Miller (For anyone who may be hesitant about leaving their pre-Peace Corps comfort zone, this book's forward will motivate you to get out there.)
-Ishmael by Daniel Quinn (This book will make you question everything.)

365 Days of a Samoan Summer

I write this on the eve of our one year anniversary; when it’ll make it to blog form is unknown. I’m not sure I’m willing to offer any great abstract concepts at the current time about what one year stuck on an island in a foreign culture has taught me. I’ve learned things about myself as well as lost things (or perhaps they’re just dormant for the time being). I’ve wished I hadn’t come here while already knowing what I’ll miss, while already dreading a few goodbyes at the airport, already knowing there will be people I will never see again, but who I will miss for a lifetime.

I’ve been to four of Samoa’s ten islands (Upolu, Savaii, Manono, Namu’a). I’ve tipped a dug-out canoe…twice…by accident. I’ve swum under a freshwater waterfall. I’ve heard the ghosts of Samoa singing under moonlight. I’ve eaten palolo and sea urchin; I’ve declined fruit bat. I’ve been stung by one giant centipede and killed a dozen more. (As I write this, there is a dead giant spider on my windowsill.) My possessions have been gnawed on by rats. I’ve been to the national hospital and three different clinics. I have not gotten typhoid or ghiardia, two of the weight-loss programs Samoa offers. I’ve been to a circus and a hip hop dance competition. I have frequented YNot, VBar, On the Rocks, and EvaEva, but I have yet to step foot in Crabbers. I’ve been proposed to and I’ve climbed a coconut tree (just kidding, the coconut tree is a lie.) I’ve opened a coconut with a machete, strangled a chicken with my bare hand, and failed to weave a palm leaf basket. I’ve been to Samoan fa’alavelaves: weddings, funerals, riding the bus. I’ve been on a bus that broke down and another that blew a tire. I’ve been awoken in the middle of the night by a drunk guy wanting me to come outside (he was then fined $1000 tala by the village –nobody messes with the Peace Corps). I have “gone local,” dating two Samoan boys, one of whom has become my best Samoan friend. I’ve tried to impress people with my Spanish when my Samoan wasn’t good enough. I’ve marched in the Samoan Independence Day parade. I’ve performed the “Hungarian Pastoral Fantasy” by Franz Doppler on national television. I’ve met a Minnesotan who played under Dr. Nimmo. I led the flute section of the National Samoan Orchestra at the Fourth of July celebration at the ambassador’s house. I’ve been very rudely asked to leave the ambassador’s house (some people would call this being kicked out). I’ve learned the dance to “Thriller” with members of the orchestra. I’ve danced a Samoan taupo, a sasa, and a dance to the song “Fa’amalolosi.” I’ve lost a grandmother. I’ve said goodbye to another volunteer. I’ve missed the births of new family members, and the wedding of a cousin. I’ve watched children be hit with hands, rocks, sticks, and pipes. I’ve wanted to hit children. I haven’t hit any children. I’ve read sixty-four books, and watched almost two seasons of “Glee.” I thought I was going to be trampled at the wharf Easter weekend. I have run and jumped off a very high dock numerous times at the legendary Peace Corps hangout of Lucia’s (best stress reliever in Samoa). I requested a village transfer. I’ve been told “You are doing more harm than good.” I’ve been told how pretty I am, that I have cat eyes. I was among the last people on earth to say goodbye to 2010. I had my very first truly snowless Christmas, but my twenty-fourth birthday did not disappoint. I’ve gotten used to everything not going as you expect it to.

Warm showers are a luxury. Bingo paper, no matter what some people do, will never be toilet paper. Ants can and will go everywhere. The mosquito net is your friend. Rain pounding on a tin roof is a sound of relief, of renewal. Brown-bottle Vailima is better than green. The rhyme “I love you, I love you, I love you, I do, but don’t get excited, I love monkeys too,” is always a hit. Teaching every subject in English when half the class doesn’t understand still doesn’t make sense to me. Taro will never be as good as a potato. Always wear blue when Manu Samoa plays. Always. Getting a package or a letter will make any day better. Always clean the leaves out of your yard. Always. McDonalds is a guilty pleasure and the Yacht Club is the best restaurant in the country. Fish and chips is its own food group. Cereal covered in ants is not to be thrown away. The Peace Corps medical manual and kit are saviors. You can never smell too good. You can never have too much phone credit, but don’t let anyone know that. CCK rocks. People you’ve never seen before will know your name and what you had for dinner last night. Everywhere you go there will be someone who knows you. The world is not small; this is just an island. Do whatever you want on Sundays (after you go to church), just don’t let anyone know you aren’t sleeping. People do not eat grubs, contrary to the episode of “Bizarre Foods.” The current season of “Survivor” was filmed on my island. As much and as often as you clean up those little effing millipedes, there will be more in the morning. Mortein will kill cockroaches in a blink and probably an entire country, but it still won’t kill those tiny brown ants. What’s up with that?

And now for my very serious and honest one-year-in advice to Peace Corps prospective. You will not change the world in the Peace Corps. If you’re lucky you might make a difference. You will win no cultural battles; you won’t even be able to begin to fight them. But when it comes to your everyday life, you must never be a push-over. This is an experience unlike any other; it will throw every challenge at you that it can, and more. Survivor Samoa. Who knew?

One year in and I still can’t put my lavalava on right.