Christmas time is here!

Chestnuts delivered by visitors (from Asia)
Jack the cat nipping at your nose
Yuletide carols being sung by English students
And folks dressed up in cotton clothes...

Okay, so that's not quite how the song goes, but that's the reality of this Christmas season on the island. I've been busy since returning from my visit to the US, so blogging has gone by the wayside, but for those of you who are interested, here's a bit of what Christmas here tends to look like:

-- Palm trees, fans, and fruit: it's the biggest fruit season on the island now. Lychees are in season, along with pineapples, mangoes, jackfruit, soursop, and more. It's hot and sweaty. But at least the rainy season rains have come early, so we get some relief from the heat during the rainstorms!

-- English club celebrations: although Christmas isn't celebrated by many local people (in fact, you can have lots of fun asking people what day Christmas is), we like to make a big deal about it with our English students. We have parties, share the story of Christmas, talk about traditions, and try to use the opportunity to talk about other ways of life. Of course, a cookie decorating party is a little different when you have to teach everyone how to decorate cookies!

-- Unusual house decorations: there aren't much of any evergreen trees available to bring inside, so those of us who haven't imported our own artificial tree have to make do with other options. This year's tree in my house is green and red construction paper, with cutout candles, balls, stars, etc. as decorations on it... all handily taped/pasted to the wall. Along with the paper tree, we also have paper snowflakes, a leftover Santa Claus advent calendar, and a lonely string of lights I brought from Kenya. No, we don't have a particular theme going on. "Island shabby" is probably how I'd describe my style. 

-- Christmas Day with the team: this varies from year to year, but what's your family-away-from-family for, if not to celebrate the biggest holidays of the year? We'll be doing a gift exchange (drawn names), white elephant, and lots of food. And Christmas carols, 'cause what is Christmas without a lot of singing?

Anyway, that's what this Christmas season looks like for me. It's simple and I enjoy it.

Llama theory

A one-l-lama, that's a priest

A two-l-llama, that's a beast

But I will bet a silk pajama

that you won't find a three-l-lllama.

Alright, the poem doesn't really have anything to do with this post, other than to clarify that this is a two-l-llama we're talking about. The beast.

See, I remember when my neighbors down the road had a bunch of sheep. Sheep are a little stupid and vulnerable to a lot of things, including dogs and coyotes. But the neighbors heard that a llama can protect a herd of sheep. So they bought a llama.

Well, due to circumstances with the folks they bought the llama from, they ended up with more than one llama. But unfortunately, while one llama will protect a herd of sheep, two llamas form their own herd and leave the sheep to defend themselves.

One llama? Runs with the sheep. Two or more llamas? New herd. And people do the same thing.

On our own, we hang out people who are different from us, but give us someone similar and we gravitate towards them, creating our own herd. This is a common struggle when living overseas-- we want to work with the local people, but we also have a team, a herd of our own. We have people who think similarly, who believe similarly, who share a mother tongue with us. It's a comfortable place to hang out. But I have to daily break out of the herd and hang with a different herd. It's less comfortable, but it's what I'm there for.

Can you break out of your herd to reach out to others? In what way are you hanging with your herd instead of breaking away? Do you need to leave your comfort zone too?

Dangerous water

The view over Greenland

As I've written before, travel between islands is often a stressful and unpredictable undertaking. But I haven't really mentioned the international airport in detail. Actually, I won't discuss its details even in this post... but instead I'll talk about a particular aspect of it that I find crazy-making.

You know how, in American airports, you go through security? At security you take off anything metal, remove your baggy of liquids for screening, along with shoes, electronics, and coats. It's a pain, right?

Then you get to the other side of security and are thirsty, but you don't want to spend $2-4 for a bottle of water. So if you're like me, you take an empty bottle, or drink the water in your bottle and carry the empty through to fill up on the other side.

Do you do that too?

Well, you'd better not try doing that here at our islands' international airport. Not allowed.

Bringing an empty water bottle through? Not allowed. They'll happily throw away the bottle for you, but you certainly aren't permitted to bring an empty bottle through security. What if you wanted to take water on the plane?

But what if your water bottle is one that you buy without water in it? (think: Nalgene) Well that's fine. Why this and not that? That's the rule, miss.

Oh, and you want to buy a bottle of water after security to take on the plane? They'll happily take your money, open your bottle of water, and confiscate the cap so you're not tempted to carry water onto the plane.

That dangerous water.

Abundant, or Sufficient?

I remember the headline and my reaction to it:

The Generators Have Arrived. When Will Power be Abundant?

Well, other than the clumsiness of the long title, the idea of abundant power seemed impossible. We'd been having fairly consistent power, and that seemed extraordinary enough. Most mornings we'd get 2-3 hours and every evening we'd get 3-6 hours. With planning and being home at the right times, it really wasn't a problem. 

But new generators for the island had arrived and we were eagerly awaiting the time when they would be put to use. First we waited for the right parts to install them, then for the president to arrive and flip the switch.  The promise of abundant power was elusive. 

The day finally came. Since April we've had almost 24/7 power. An abundance. Do you ever think about the fact that you have more electricity available than you need? The opposite is rather more obvious-- if your phone isn't getting enough hours of power to stay on during the rest of the day, well, that's a pressing matter. Here on the island I've finally gotten used to the idea of not plugging my phone in every time the power's on, because there is more power coming than I need.

Abundance. What a blessing it is!

But sufficiency is oftentimes underrated. I have enough food, but not the choices that I want. Or I have enough water to do what I need to do, but not enough pressure to take a shower. Or enough supply to take a long shower. I have enough technology to call friends and colleagues and communicate back home, but it fails to function at the speed I desire. 

Sufficiency is underrated. Abundance is taken for granted. But both are blessings from above! Today is Canadian Thanksgiving, and, although I'm not Canadian, it's a great day to be thankful for what He's given.

What have you been given a sufficiency or abundance of?

Missed photo ops

This one I did get a picture of

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but sometimes the moment passes too quickly and words are all that's left. Today's post features the "pictures I wish I'd gotten."

How to ride a bicycle: one day while riding in a taxi I came upon a young man on a bicycle. Now the fact that he was on a bicycle wasn't all that unusual. Nor the fact that he was standing on the seat. But instead of coasting along gently, he was being towed by... no, you probably won't guess... a motorbike, and at a rather break-neck speed too. I was too slow to get a picture of it, but I'm sure your imagination can see how it happened anyway.

Rice isn't just for weddings. The other day a lady came up to me and some friends and started pelting us with uncooked rice. At first I thought maybe it was a way to scare off evil spirits. But no, it seems that she was just a little crazy.

King of the mountain: On the way to my team leaders' house I go down a hill that's normally well-decorated with goat poo. I started to wonder just how many goats lived in the area, because I normally only saw a few at a time, but there seemed to be evidence of more. Well, one night I left my team leaders' house and looked up the hill. There next to the road were quite a few large rocks. And every single rock had a goat posed on it. There were other goats less fortunate who didn't have a rock to stand on. But it seemed like someone had decided to decorate the hillside with goat statues, none of the quite-alive goats were moving. I counted them-- more than 15 goats! Well, no wonder the road was a mess.

How to extricate yourself from a fight: This might have made a better home video than just a picture. As I was walking away from my house through the neighborhood recently I came upon a group of girls and young women. A couple of them were obviously in a big discussion (read: fight)-- yelling, gesturing vehemently, etc. Others were taking sides. Seeing as they weren't physically fighting, I chose to walk past. Well, one of the two grabbed me on the way past-- "Abby, I need to ask you a question! Let's walk together." She essentially was trying to use me as a body shield so she could leave the discussion! Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. The other girl called her on it and I ended up in the middle of their "discussion."  Oops.

Count your blessings, name them one by one...

(I was looking back through my drafts folder and came upon this post. This was written in January 2016. Reading it brought back some great memories for me, so I hope you enjoy it.) 

First mango of the season

I remember a family camping trip when I was young. It ended with several inches of water in the tent, at which point we decided to pack up our things and move indoors. That was the only time we ever abandoned a camping situation. As we packed up the sopping wet canvas tent, sorted through mushy bread, and tried to salvage some not-quite-soaked-through firewood, my siblings and I (led by Mom) were singing Count Your Blessings.

Well, after complaining about the cold here, I feel as if I should give you all a list of the blessings I've encountered here in another part of Africa.

1) Borrowed items: I've been blessed with countless sweaters, a nice coat, slipper socks, and gloves as people take pity on my shivering self.

2) Hot drinks: I never stopped drinking hot coffee on Clove Island, but here in "otherAfrica" I'm on an almost constant diet of coffee and tea. Bonus: warm fingers, at least momentarily.

3) Wonderful hosts: all the people I've met here have gone out of their way to welcome me, to ask questions about my life, and include me in their life and activities.

4) Supermarkets: I absolutely love walking through a supermarket and seeing all the things for sale. I don't have to buy them even, nay, the sheer joy of seeing such nice things for sale is enough.

5) Cheese: well, looking isn't quite enough. I'm very happy to consume cheese that's priced normally and buy pizza or sandwiches with delicious cheeses in them.

6) Reading Arabic: it's like a secret code! Granted, I read at the pace of a geriatric snail, yet it's extremely gratifying to sound out words I see on the street and even recognize some of them.

7) Experienced people: I'm learning so much! I get to have conversations with people who have been around the block a few times and love sharing their experiences with me. Why learn the hard way when there's an easier option?

8) Pre-prepared language lessons: After planning all my own lessons for the last two years, it's been amazing to just sit down with a language nurturer who's been given the lesson plan and resources in advance. I just sit and learn! No worries about what to learn next, how to learn something, how to explain what I need from my language helper, etc., I just show up for my lesson, learn, and  practice at home. Spoiled, much?

9) Kids: the other day I went and helped a friend with a creative arts class she does at a local school. The kids there were so great. Even though I didn't understand 98% of what they were saying, they still kept talking to me, showing me their art, and asking me questions as if I understood perfectly. "Oh, you're holding up messy hands with a question tone in your voice? Yes, go wash your hands!"

Well, I could keep going, but that seems like a good start. What are you blessed by today?

Cultural differences

Even though I've been living on Clove Island for awhile now, there are still some cultural differences I find funny. It's not that they're completely unexpected, because I know that people think that way, but when I consider them in light of American norms, well, it's just not the same.

Like, for instance, the issue of body weight. I was recently told "you should gain some weight before you go home so that your family isn't worried about you coming back here." Implication: fat is good and healthy. Skinny is worrisome. So if your family is worried about your health, they'll want to see that you're gaining weight, not losing it.

On a related topic, rice is food. If you haven't had rice in the day, you really haven't eaten, you've only snacked. And an islander portion of rice could feed several American families for a day. No kidding. So what's a great meal? A heaping plate/bowl/pot of rice, topped with some sauce or slow-cooked veggies and hot pepper sauce to taste. You can't imagine the looks of pity I've received when I tell someone I had eggs and bread for dinner. Or pasta. Poor Abby just doesn't eat well enough.

Then we've got the idea of safety. Surprisingly enough, we have a seat belt law and helmet law. People riding in the front seat of the car are supposed to wear a seat belt. The person driving the motorcycle (not any passengers) is required to wear a helmet. But these laws are really only enforced a couple of districts of the city, so you often see a person driving a motorcycle with his helmet in his lap, or perched precariously on *top* of his head, or hanging off the bike somewhere. Driving into the "controlled" parts of the city, people often slow down to put on their required safety wear before continuing on. And after passing through, the restraints quickly come off again.

This last one is related to the picture at the top-- babies and dressing warm. The irony struck me as I was sitting with a friend who had just given birth, admiring her newborn baby. We were fanning ourselves from the heat, but how is the baby dressed? For winter in the U.S.-- and that's normal.

Normal.

A surprise graduation

My classes do a "graduation"

In America expectations are that everyone will graduate high school with only one senior year. Here on Clove Island, expectations are different. Once in high school, each year of school is labeled by the number of years left. The last grade is called “last”, and at the end of the year you have to take a big national exam. Many students will take this final exam several times before passing. After exams finish they announce what day the results will be released. On the appointed day, most radios on the island are tuned to the proper frequency to listen as name after name is read of those who passed. Some pass with high honors, some with honors, some only pass. And then there are those who are allowed to try again with the oral version of the exam. But if your name isn’t read, you’ll have to try again next year.

There’s no graduation ceremony. No Pomp and Circumstance with robes and hats and diploma covers for the end of high school. Nope.

So what do they do instead?

A couple of weeks ago my neighbors forewarned me—“hey, on Wednesday, come for drinks, God-willing!” That was my party invitation. Assuming, of course, that the son who had taken the exam heard his name on the radio.

When the results were announced, the family had every radio tuned to the same frequency listening for one name. The shop in their house had the radio playing, the living room radio, the car parked outside, every radio was listening as almost 1,000 names were read over the air.

And then they heard the name they’d been waiting for. Cheering erupted! “Congratulations!!!” Horns honking and kids yelling, neighbors running down the street to congratulate the whole family. Another son got in the car with the grandmother to go buy pop for the neighborhood. That night there was a steady stream of neighbors and friends coming to collect their pop and congratulate the graduate.

See, a surprise graduation! So if you pass your exam, you are duty-bound to provide pop for anyone who comes by to congratulate you. And if you know that someone passed their exam you are duty-bound to visit and congratulate them. Why have a ceremony, when you can just have a spontaneous party?

So much money...

Wedding season is in full swing here.

Still.

It seems like it never ends.

And my neighbors have even started to comment on it.

"It's just money, money money. Every night we're giving away $25 and staying up until after midnight. And then we work the next morning."

"Maybe when the wedding season is over, I'll be able to study English."

"When wedding season is over we should get together and talk again."

It seems, the higher in society you are, the more weddings you're invited to and the fancier those weddings tend to be. Some weddings you'll give about $1.50 and that's it, but other weddings are the "high roller" ones and you have to dig deep in your wallet or risk being embarrassed.

Wedding favors. We pay the couple, they reward us.

Speaking of embarrassed, here's a bit of a funny story for you: weddings consist of multiple events, but there's one climactic event where the bride and groom appear together at a ladies' dance. During the dance all the guests must get up and dance in a line, waving money, which they then present to the bride and groom. Those in the front of the line tend to hold larger bills ($8-25), while those at the back of the line can hold smaller bills ($1.20-5.00). The exact size of bill depends on the wedding, but rest assured that everyone is paying attention to what bill you're holding.

Well, recently I was at a wedding where a lady dancing at the front of the line grabbed the wrong bill. See, the one that's worth $1.20 is pink, and the one worth $12 is purple. So I'm watching this lady, wondering if it was a mistake that she's dancing at the front of the line with an embarrassingly small bill, if I should tell her, but I was too far away. So I just watched, hoping that she wouldn't get too embarrassed. Anyway, not too long after I noticed her bill, a lady behind her in the line saw it too. She motioned to another lady who got the woman's attention. She looked at her bill in confidence, then confusion, then shock. OH NO! A quick flurry of movement and the offending bill was safely stowed with a crisp, new larger bill in hand.

Disaster... averted?

When I'm happy not to travel

It's essentially the ends of the earth, the island that I live on. Although you can reach it by plane, the process of getting from home in America to home in Africa is a several-day, several-plane and often several-problems/delays sort of affair.

To be fair, the problems normally occur only on the last leg of the journey-- getting from the international airport to my island. Other Africa-based flights are fairly predictable and rarely cause problems.

But the islands where I live are plagued by airline issues.
-- the government regulates different airlines differently
-- airlines refuse to pay taxes or landing fees until they're forcibly grounded
-- strikes occur when either government employees or airline employees aren't paid
-- maintenance can't be fully done on the islands, so sometimes a plane is out of country for a month at a time, limiting the possible number of flights
-- the government doesn't have its own plane, so airline planes are chartered at the last moment for official business
-- and then there are weather issues which delay planes.

For awhile we had two airlines that took turns not flying between the islands. Yes, you read that right. They were both supposed to fly inter-island, but it was a guessing game of which airline would be grounded when the time came to fly. One of those airlines, however, has now been grounded since January, leaving us with a single airline on which to fly.

And last week they closed their doors.

Well, okay, they essentially threw a fit. Official letters posted to the government, doors closed on all the offices, they declared that they were done. Those traveling inter-island were forced to take a boat, and the seas in this season are not very pleasant.

Fortunately, they've now started flying again. But that's life on these islands-- you never really know whether your purchased itinerary will be fly-able or not.

I'm glad I'm not going anywhere right now!

Weddings-- are they worth it?

When I think about wedding problems in the US, there are a couple of platitudes that come to mind, "at the end of the day, at least you'll be married." And the second encouraging phrase you often hear is "Nobody will notice. And if they do, they'll forget soon enough anyway."

Here on Clove Island it's not so simple. For a lot of people, they're actually already married before the wedding. The big parties and fanfare really is just that-- for some weddings, the bride and groom have been married for several years already.

And do people forget what goes wrong? Nope. Everything involved with weddings is recorded: what you donate towards the wedding is written down so they can reciprocate with your wedding. If you come cook at a wedding, then they'll come cook at your family's wedding. But heaven forbid that you should not have enough food at your wedding for all the people who come to help cook it.

Or should you fail to...

... give a special guest a flower necklace...

... or have the drum group play loud enough...

... or have the right shoes for every event.

Basically, there are a multitude of opportunities for missteps, and the shame is lasting.

In America, people like to complain about how much work pulling off a wedding is. But really, nothing compares to the elaborate show that weddings here turn into. The family may not have money, but they're still expected to throw a big party. Debts are incurred, favors returned and owed, and what are you left with afterward? A lot of pictures, debt, and the honor of having a big wedding.

Some islanders have refused to do the big wedding, but the greater society is caught up in the system-- you help with big weddings, you get help with big weddings.  Is the interdependence good, or is the debt and shame crippling? I don't know. But as a foreigner I'm expected to show up and give honor to those honor is due.

Waiting

Waiting for the race

Sometimes I wonder what percentage of my time here on Clove Island has been spent waiting. Since most times mentioned for events are not exact, I'm often caught waiting.

Like the other day when I went to watch a friend run in a relay race. We were told that the race would be a 9 AM. At 8:00 we were told that it was for sure starting soon, maybe even before 9. So I hurried down to the starting point to watch. Well, it didn't start before 9. Soon we found out that our friend was running the first part of the race, so we moved a little ways away to wait, excited to cheer her on at the relay point.

Waiting for skits to start

Two hours later, we were still waiting and finally they closed the road for the race. Cheers heard, they've started! We waited for the runners but our friend wasn't in the group. No! Her relay point was even earlier than we'd thought and we completely missed watching her run.

Two hours of waiting, and then not even seeing what we came for.

Sometimes it's just the taxi system that causes me to wait. Recently I invited a friend to go up to a mountain village with me for some English students' final exams. We went to road at noon to catch a bus up to the village. And forty minutes later we caught a bus. During that time period we saw lots of busses, but none of them were going where we were going.

Why didn't you just plan your departure time by the bus schedule? you ask. Well, there is no bus schedule. You just try to leave enough time in your schedule to wait.

More waiting

Yes, I plan my waiting. Instagram stories were made for waiting. While I wait I strike up conversations with nearby people, read on my phone, take pictures, and make plans. I also have a flashcard app on my phone that I use to review new island vocabulary.

But sometimes I just get tired of waiting. Seriously, I could be home doing things, and here I am not knowing how long is left in this course of waiting. Does knowing the end goal make it easier? Maybe, maybe not. But I think we're always waiting for something.

What are you waiting for?

Do you ever get tired of waiting too?

Does he have 9 lives?

This is my cat, Jack. Jack is a handy name because it's so versatile. Islanders are familiar with Jack Bauer, but there are other famous Jacks in pop culture and history-- Jack the Ripper (appropriate kitten name), Jack Sprat (not so appropriate, my kitty loves eating fat), Jack Sparrow, Captain Jack, etc and so forth.

Jack came into my life as a baby kitten. I found him on the street, being shielded from the sun by a banana leaf lovingly placed there by a toddler. After questioning the toddler and other kids who soon arrived about his origins I determined that he'd been dumped intentionally in a graveyard. I also determined that he was not going to survive unless he had a mama. His eyes weren't even fully open and he wasn't very good at walking. How would he survive in the big, bad world?

"sleeping in"

So I took him home and adopted him. He drank powdered milk from an eye dropper, then a syringe, then eventually he learned to lap up milk and eat eggs. An adorable baby, he was easy to take care of, since he couldn't escape from his plastic tub. I'd let him tumble around the house while I was home, then put him in his tub for the night or whenever I went out.

Eventually he learned to escape the tub. He would play in the house and sleep in the bathroom. But my idea was that he'd become an independent adult cat, so I wanted him to get used to being and sleeping outside.

But he's a little cat. So after a few nights spent outside, he got beat up by big, bad neighbor cats.

When it first burst open...

Recovering

He came into the house looking totally worn out, but I figured that he'd sleep it off and be fine. Well, he slept. And slept. And slept. And I was getting worried, because he wasn't really interested in food or anything other than sleeping. Finally, I started force-feeding him with the syringe again. And started him on oral antibiotics (thanks vet friend back home for the recommendation). He was totally lethargic though with a tender rear end.

And then I came home one day and he had a big hole in his rear end, extending up to his belly. The infection had ruptured and he was oozing puss. You could see a ton of exposed leg muscle, as well as internal organs. I thought he was a goner.

But this cat seriously has nine lives! He started feeling better, regained his appetite, and plays around the house, all the time with a gaping wound. The belly portion has all healed now, and the back part of his leg is what's left to heal.

Jack the cat is around to stay.

That month...

It's that time of the year. No, not the season of snow and Christmas carols, although the weather is cooling down considerably. No, it's the month of fasting, that one time of the year that I don't get marriage proposals... well, except for that one.. but really, that's pretty great. Instead, I get another annoying question:  ARE YOU FASTING?

This question comes any time I'm out of the house. I go to the neighbor's shop to buy garlic and another neighbor asks "So, are you fasting?"

I go to exercise with friends and random people on the street ask as I go "did you fast today?"

Or there's my other favorite-- "Are you fasting? You're not able to, are you?" Gosh is it easy to get defensive on that one. But how do you compare fasting for multiple days but still consuming water vs. breaking the fast every night but dehydrating your body every day? Are we racking up points for how "righteous" our fasting is? Father, protect me from spiritual pride....

Yesterday I was in a taxi and a man leaned into the window to yell in my face "Did you fast today?!" The chuckles of the taxi driver reminded me that no, that sort of treatment wasn't exactly normal. Yet it feels pretty normal right now.

These days I don't normally answer the question. For some it's a conversation starter, so I jump into a conversation on fasting and why different people fast. For others it's curiosity-- what's the white girl doing? And others just ask as I wander down the street, "How's Ramadan?" to which I invariably answer, "good!"

For you it's June. For us it's Ramadan. Imagine as you walk down the street today that everyone around hasn't had food, water, or cigarettes since before sunrise. That's the daily reality here.

Was the moon seen?

For most of the Msm world, the month of fasting began on Saturday the 27th. For us, however, it was a bit more complicated.

See, the month of fasting starts with the sighting of the moon and ends with the sighting of the next new moon. That gets complicated when the moon is only briefly visible, when it's not visible with the naked eye, or when... wait for it... it's cloudy out.

So on Friday night a lot of people were sitting outside, staring at the dark sky, wondering and waiting to see if someone in the country would catch a glimpse of the moon. If the moon was sighted then the next day everyone would begin their daytime fast.

"If the big religious leader doesn't declare that the fast has started, I'm going to party on the beach with my husband!" Thus declared my next-door neighbor. As various neighbors wandered past, asking the question "was the moon seen? Any news?" she remained set in the opinion that, despite popular opinion, the moon wouldn't be seen and the fast would start on Sunday.

Well, she was right. Although the moon was visible in our region, we never saw it, so only the most religious started their fast yesterday. The rest are beginning today.

It's a significant month in the Msm world. The pace of life changes, the music changes, the dress changes, and the focus shifts a bit as everyone observes (or puts on the appearance of observing) the rules of their religion.

How truth travels

I recently had the opportunity to go to a local night of theater. Now I could comment on how the actual start time was entirely unknown (and we discovered that they were getting going when we heard the music blaring across town from the stadium). Or I could comment on how I felt like I was on the old end of the age spectrum there, the event having drawn the teen crowd out. But what really caught my attention was the content of the skits presented.

The skits were full of exaggeration and catch phrases (which I now hear all over town), but the content was rather serious. The first skit was presented as showing the importance of education and the power of a good mother. So we have a kid who wants to study and a father who doesn't see it as important. The mother circumvents the father's declarations that the kid doesn't need to study by secretly sending the kid to school. Then the father runs into a situation where he needs to be able to read. He comes back and declares that education is important and personally takes his kid to register for school.

Lesson learned? Fathers can be capricious. Education is important. The mother is always right.

The second skit was set on the French island. A family is there illegally and they face various problems. They're scared to go out because the immigration police might find them and send them home. They're scared to go out because there are bands of youth robbing people and beating them up. One day the girl goes out and is attacked, robbed, and comes home upset. Her father doesn't believe her story about what happened, declaring that "if only she'd been properly dressed" it wouldn't have happened.Well, a few days later he goes out and is attacked, robbed, beaten up, and learns his lesson.

Lesson learned? Life on the French island isn't as great as it seems it should be. Just because you haven't seen it doesn't make it true.

I don't know that those are the skits that I would have put on, but they caught the audience's attention and kept them out until long after midnight (I went home early and got a summary of the last skit from a friend).

Not invited

As an English teacher, I get to go to a lot of certificate ceremonies. I also go to other events, ones for weddings, haircuttings, circumcisions, prayers, coming-of-age, and etc. For every event, there are those who attend who are invited, and those who attend who weren't invited.

But the way they attend is different.

Those who have been invited dress up. The ladies do their hair and makeup, and wear nice clothes, down to mile-high heels. The men will wear a suit, a prayer cap, and oftentimes a prayer robe too.

Those who have been invited walk directly into the event. If the event is held outside, it's normally marked off by cloth walls and banners, making the area quite festive. The invited guests see the walls and banners and walk right in, finding a seat where they expect fits their place in society and visiting with other friends who are there.

Those who haven't been invited don't bother to dress up at all, they just stand around outside. Now when I said that there are cloth walls, they normally are only about half-walls, hitting chest-high on me. This makes it so any child in the neighborhood who wants to watch the event can do so, either by standing on a slight hill, sitting on a nearby rooftop, or standing near the entrance. Some kids are big enough to see over the wall, and more power to them.

Guess which ones were invited?

At the beginning of an event, the inside crowd normally outnumbers the outside one, but by the end, well, the outside one can get pretty thick. Especially when it's an English ceremony that involves songs and skits.

I was sitting in a ceremony the other day pondering this thought, about those invited and those not. And so thankful that we're all invited into the Kingdom. There's no standing outside for that party!

They just don't know

"My friends, the community, they just don't know," he said. "They love to talk about my wedding and how great it was, then they ask 'so, is your wife sick(pregnant) yet?' They just don't know."

I've been friends with this particular couple since shortly after arriving on Clove Island.When I arrived, they had gotten married just 3 months previous in a small ceremony and were waiting a few years before doing their big wedding and community celebration. They've now done the big wedding and community celebration, but have yet to give birth.

While some places that might be normal, here it's highly unusual to wait for children and a source of great distress. Many men will marry a second woman just to have a child. Unlike some cultures, where your name changes at marriage, here the name change occurs with your first child. My name might be Abby, but as soon as I gave birth I would be called "mother of (first child's name)." It's an honor thing, and not something easily done away with.

The man was explaining to me some of his woes, things that he was having a hard time with. Former soccer teammates who married at the same time ask him what his "father-name" is, and he has no answer. Students ask him if he's married, then ask about his children, and sometimes he just tells them he has children because it hurts too much to say the truth. His wife doesn't want to go out in the community anymore and is depressed because everyone who sees her will know that she's not pregnant.

"My wife, she had a visa and scholarship to travel to France and study. But when I asked to marry her all her friends told her how lucky she was to have me. And she stayed to marry me."

"I would never marry a second woman, I love my wife. But her family keeps telling her that if she doesn't get pregnant I'll start looking for another woman."

"She's so worried about making me happy. I love children so much, and she does too. But I can't sleep at night knowing that she's depressed over this."

"We want to get some sort of medical treatment, but the closest specialists are in a country that doesn't easily give us entry visas."

 This isn't exactly my area of expertise-- married, unable to have children-- but it's a common story here. And I talk regularly with people who yearn to bear children of their own.

Could I wrap this story up in a nice package and a pretty ending? Maybe. But I think that does an injustice to the pain in this world to finish a story that's far from over. I pray for them to have peace, to have children, to find the Author of peace and Source of all good. Would you pray too?

That class

For the last few months I've been teaching a class in a town about half an hour away. Of course, by the time I wait for taxis and deal with all the stops along the way, I have to leave at least an hour for travel time, but that's not really the point of the story...

This class has been a long-term frustration.

First, I didn't plan on teaching the whole class. I planned on teaching the first session, then a session later on. But somehow my amenable self got roped into teaching the class once a week, which meant every other lesson. So it was more of a commitment than I planned.

Then the students were consistently showing up late. At class time I would have maybe one student, but by 15 minutes into the class time everyone would be there. After three weeks of this behavior (and reminding the students every time to arrive on time), I finally asked the students straight up why they were never on time. And it turns out that the administrator scheduled the class to start at the same time as their other classes finished. And it takes a few minutes to walk between classes. So once we got that sorted out, we set the start time 15 minutes later and the students have been arriving on time. Amazing!

But then the other teacher quit teaching regularly. So I would often find out on the day of the class that the lesson I'd prepared wasn't what they were ready for. And they hadn't studied since the class I taught the previous week, so their English was quite rusty. It's hard to teach effectively that way.

But sometimes he'd teach, and the class would progress. So when is enough, enough?

I've felt pretty discouraged about the class. Because of their inconsistent attendance, distraction level, lack of consistent classes, and general lazy attitude towards studying, my assumption was that 80% of the class would fail the exam when they went to take it.

But this week was the review session before next week's exam. And they studied!

They were producing good sentences in English.

They were having discussions in English.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll pass their exam!

Whatcha scared of?

Meet Jack, he's not scared of anything

A couple of months ago I started hearing a phrase everywhere-- on the streets, in class, in taxis, and yelled by my neighbors. And it always seemed to garner a reaction, maybe a little embarrassment on the part of the person questioned, while others would invariably laugh. A "gotcha" moment.

"Whatcha scared of?" - they ask.

It's interesting how language evolves and catch phrases develop. Word has it that the phrase  originally came from a radio host. It was adopted in relation to a new telecommunications company in town: what are you afraid of, to buy a SIM card with the new company?

But language changes, and the catch phrase came to apply to a number of things. Like crossing the street. You can hardly pause a moment to check traffic before an interested islander will yell "whatcha scared of?" at you. What are you afraid of? Certainly not being hit by a car....

There are a lot of situations where it can be used:
-- you arrived at a shop and haven't asked for your desired item yet - "whatcha scared of?"
-- a friend asks a question and you pause to think - "whatcha scared of?"
-- a random acquaintance asks for your number - "whatcha scared of?" 
-- I've even found it to be handy comic relief in the English classroom, as I ask different students questions - "whatcha scared of?"

Motorbikes leaving a soccer match

And legitimately, a lot of people have reason for caution. We'd be foolish to encourage those crossing the street to ignore the risk of oncoming traffic. A pause before replying to a question can show thoughtfulness on the part of the person answering. In the majority of situations, caution is to be admired and emulated.

Just as J- mentioned, the king going to war must consider if he can win with the troops he has. Saying "whatcha scared of" to him is likely to win you an admonishing look.

Or the person choosing to follow J. Choosing to follow without counting the cost and measuring the reward against the risk is simply foolhardy. And those of us who are waiting for the decision might be tempted to rush it, asking "whatcha scared of?" But a measured decision is far better than a rushed one. 

So, while I'll continue to join in the gentle teasing of the island catch phrase, I'll be remaining mindful of those decisions which require careful consideration first.

When what you really need is coffee

This face brought to you by coffee

In trying to start writing on my blog again, I started thinking about those things that make a difference.

I was without a team here on Clove for about 2.5 months, but now my team leaders have returned. "What good is a team?" you might ask. Well, sometimes it's just those little things that make all the difference.

These last couple of weeks I've been running long days with little margins of spare time, and a lot of the work has been highly brain-intensive. The first couple of days I drank coffee before leaving home, then had instant coffee while working. But it just wasn't doing the job. We were all dragging.

And my team leaders weren't involved personally with the project, but they offered to help in any way we needed.

So I asked them to make coffee.

And faithfully, every morning, they did.

Lord bless the coffee makers of this world.

Is there someone you can be making coffee for this week?

Hiking on Clove

Rain!

When I was a kid, I hated hiking. The idea of climbing hills and sweating a lot in order to see a view that others had already seen didn't really appeal to me. But I changed and these days I like hiking. I like the peace of getting away from people, the joy of exertion that is rewarded by nice views and fresh breezes. I like the freedom of just walking, putting aside other cares for awhile.

But hiking on Clove Island isn't always like that. Yes, it still involves sweat and hills, but peace and quiet? Maybe not.

Awhile back, I went for a hike with a (white) friend.

Our goal: the top of a big hill.
Our outlook: positive.
Our timeframe: I needed to be home midday to prepare for an English certificate ceremony.

It was a trail I'd taken before, so we headed out without any local friends to guide us. We walked past the airport, then along the beach, and saw dark clouds over the hill we were about to climb-- oh no. Rain!

Well, not to be deterred, we kept walking. Now on Clove there are really no private places. Anywhere you go you'll run into people. By this point we had a couple of people walking with us and they took shelter from the rain under a large tree. So we joined them, waiting for the rain to let up.

But it didn't. Nope, 15 minutes later it was still pouring rain, so... we all started off walking again. We were already drenched, so what's the harm of walking in it? Leaving the beach, we started up the hill, but the rainstorm had turned our path into a fast-moving stream.

And our companions weren't about to leave us wading up the mountain alone. So we chatted, sharing stories and ideas, explaining what we believed and why we weren't planning to adopt the local belief system any time soon. Those conversations happen pretty naturally here on Clove.

Eventually we reached a T-intersection and our companions went a different way.

Total time hiking: 3.5 hours.
Total time hiking without extra companions: 1 hour?

But that's the way the culture works. They're inclusive, not exclusive. They feel responsible for white people wandering around. They make connections everywhere they go. And I can't begrudge that. But sometimes I have to remind myself of that when all I really wanted was some peace, quiet, and good views.

Wedding talk pt 2

  (Note: normally I don't talk about this on the blog, but my financial needs have gone up due to rising insurance rates in the US. If you feel led to increase support, start supporting me financially, or direct a friend my way, you can find more information on my support page: http://abbysturner.blogspot.com/p/support-info.html. Thanks!)

Besides lots of cooking every day and making flower necklaces for the big events, weddings mean a lot of discussions and a lot of dancing. The former creates stress, the latter relieves it.

From an outsider’s perspective, every wedding is the same. It’s not like you have to rehearse all the motions and figure out where everyone will stand. But here are a few details that have to be figured out:

-          Who will dress the bride and do her hair and henna?

-          How will everyone who helps out be fed?

-          How much food do you send to the groom?

-          Who’s going to dance right behind the bride and who will go to the wedding separately?

-          What container will you provide for wedding guests to put the money in?

-          What if it rains?

-          What if people forget what day the wedding is?

-          What about the music? What if it’s too quiet?

-          What about chairs, will there be enough?

-          And gift bags, are there enough?

And on and on. In this case, the bride’s mother has lived on another island for many years, so instead of helping take the work load off the bride, she was increasing the work load. Another women (actually from the groom’s side of the family) was the mistress of ceremonies at the bride’s house. Oh, and here on Clove Island, the bride isn’t supposed to leave the house during the days before the wedding, and her house has very bad cell reception. So from her rooms she had to constantly send out messengers and wait for word on what was happening.

But at every event there’s some sort of dancing that relieves some of the stress.

And at every event people want pictures with the bride.

Or just with the white person.

On the last day, when the big event was for all the women, some of the bride’s family started taking matters into their own hands, making decisions and doing things without checking with the bride. And… fighting ensued. “Never in my life have I seen people acting this way at a wedding!” declared the “mistress of ceremonies.” The family alternated between berating the poor bride and then telling her not to cry. 

Dancing!

Meanwhile I was there, trying not to get in the way and to help however I could.

But after all the decisions were made and we confirmed that the wedding event had indeed started, we took some time for the bride to calm down… and danced the night away.

What better way to welcome in the New Year than dancing with friends, taking pictures, and celebrating a wedding?

That practiced photo look...

A good friend

Bride and groom with the groom's mom

Blocked by a baby!