no ants orcing around this week
It has been raining really heavily for the last 3 days - almost non-stop. The rain is so heavy and steady that is starts to play like an annoying soundtrack only stuck on track 1. It’s probably because most of the roofs here are tin so the rain has a good sounding board. I’ve been wearing my jelly sandles which are perfect for this weather. Leather shoes just fall apart or come unstuck in an instant. Everyone starts to smell of this combination of sweat and wet and mould. It’s a very distinctive smell and I am not immune to it no matter how hard I try to be. My ‘Mum’ deodorant just not do the trick anymore! My towel has not been fully dry for a few days now. As a result of the rain, our banana tree which has been groaning under the weight of a huge bunch of ripening bananas, collapsed and we were saved the job of having to hack the bunch off. So we now have about 200 bananas to eat our way through. The top row is yellow and ready to eat, so we will have to eat as the rows ripen. I think Robyn and I will have trouble keeping up with the ripening process. The other leftover of the rain is that as you walk down the road once the rain has stopped and the sun is out drying up all the rain, there is the distinct smell of rotting toads which have been plastered along the road.
I have been discovering that I have a green thumb. I have always been interested in plants and flowers (thanks to my mother and her love of them) but have not given them much thought after living in a concrete jungle in Sydney for the past 14 years. My arms, back and hands are aching as I have been in the garden for about 4 hours digging and transporting dirt (mud) to set up a new garden. I go for walks around the area and pinch from all the wealthy Embassy houses all the flowers I want to grow. Today I planted two bouganvillea and some other flowers and vines. Because of the rain, the dirt gets washed away so the garden has only a few inches of dirt and then you hit limestone rock. So I have to build up the dirt with compost and mulch of which there is plenty. I have seen some of the biggest worms today. We must have some good soil as there were worms everywhere. I had to keep telling myself that they are good and I need them for my garden and gee they are lovely and fat while trying not to grimace as they wriggled around trying to bury themselves in the mud before my shovel came down to scoop them up.
I have discovered a few second clothes shops. These shops are full of clothes that come from wealthy Australians deciding they don’t need their Lisa Ho dress anymore or their Country Road linen suit. They get shipped over here, having been squashed and compacted into bales. So ex-patriots drool in glee as they hand over $7 for a Country Road linen shirt or $10 for a pair of Camper shoes ($200 in Australia) or the Lisa Ho designer dress for $7 ($300 in Australia). The funny thing is that these shops are full of ex-pats shopping and getting bargains and who can afford to pay much more while the locals buy at their own shops and pay $20 for a shirt instead. The local shops are full of synthetic fibres which is a real shame as cotton and linens are much better for the tropics I would have thought. You actually have to shop around for natural fibres.
One of the guys at work, his father is a tailor so I got him to make me up a Bula shirt (hibiscus print). The material cost $2 and to make the shirt $10! Bargain! The buttons are made from coconut tree wood. I am starting to look like a local. I also bought a Salwar Kameez (Indian outfit, dress worn with pants and a scarf).
I am a bit hesitant to describe my work or my perception of what I think needs to be done as I should still be observing before making any judgements and leaping in to ‘fix’ things. But I will say that my moods tend to oscilate from despair at the lack of this and that, the lack of education, knowledge, awareness, human rights, access and then moments of complete silliness such as when I get asked over and over again if I have a boyfriend to which I respond “yes I have 5 pairs of shoes I am going out with and they do me fine” or when I get asked how old I am and I respond with “96 and the plastic surgery we get in Australia is fabulous”.
The Fiji sense of humor takes a bit of getting used to. Here is an example: on the weekend I went to see a movie with two other volunteers who are Australian. The Bollywood feature was sold out so we went to a Thai film called “Beautiful Boxer” - it’s the true life story of a man who became the best Thai boxer but who was only doing it for the money so that he could have a sex change operation and become the woman he wanted to be. It was well done, serious and poignant and well acted. But it was hard work actually watching it because the audience were laughing all the way through. It was getting really annoying as they would be laughing at the most tender scenes which were between the boxer and his parents and they were very good at accepting who he was or was trying to be. It was when the boxer would say “ma” that they laughed the most. The Thai word for ‘mother’ sounds like ‘mai’ which in Fijian means ‘come’. Take the sexual meaning of the English word ‘come’ and you have it. This was what was causing so much mirth. Really funny eh??!!!!
On the weekend, Robyn (my flatmate) and I were invited to the home of the printer that our organisation uses. They wanted to thank Robyn for her work before she goes back to Australia next month. The custom here seems to be to chat for a good 3 hours, have some nibbles and beer and then have dinnner by which time it is about 9pm and I am fainting from hunger! Anyway we chatted and met this fellow’s wife and two children and all was well. Then he offered to drive us home. This was the conversation which was directed at me:
Man: How old are you?
Me: 96, do you like my plastic surgery?
Man: (delayed laugh) I am 38. How old are you?
Me: 34.
Man: Are you married?
Me: No.
Man: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No.
By this time we are at my place. Robyn interjects with information about how once she goes another family will be coming to stay with me.
Man: Now I know where you are staying I can come and visit.
Robyn: With your wife and children.
Man: Would you like me to visit?
For most of this conversation I had asked the man to repeat himself several times at each question. He was impossible to lipread. I dared not turn on the car light as I had a feeling I did not want to encourage further conversation. After asking him to repeat himself 3 times I turned to Robyn:
Me: Help me Robyn.
By her silence I knew that she the question he had asked was awkward.
Robyn: Bye thanks for the lift.
Me: Bye.
Man: No problem!
At first I was so surprised by the direction of his questions because he had spent the night extolling the virtues of prayer, fasting and loyalty that I wondered if it was the Fiji way of getting to know someone, but I have been assured it is not! I won’t be giving him the next print job our organisation has!!!
On the weekend I had my first lovo (pit oven). It was in honor of Robyn who is leaving soon. The Deaf community wanted to thank her as without her there would not have been a team at the Deaf Olympics in Melbourne. The lovo is cooked by the men. The women serve it up. Pork, chicken, dalo (like a huge potato) and fish steaks (inches thick) in coconut milk are cooked wrapped in banana and coconut palm leaves and then cooked in the pit oven. The food has a lovely smokey flavour to it. They also serve raw fish marinated in coconut milk, chilli and lime. The food was sublime. I was very happy. A true Fijian feast.
Fiji is a 4WD country. In Australia I was always railing against 4WD, You hardly need them with the state of the roads in Sydney. But here, even in Suva, I can see the necessity. Every taxi driver in Suva knows our street as it has some of the worse potholes in the city. A few taxi drivers have even missed the turnoff to our street because said they were busy thinking of how much damage the potholes will do to the car and how they will navigate the street. With enough rain, I will be able to go swimming with the toads in these potholes. The 4WD are probably less polluting than the buses churning out plumes of diesel.
Loloma (love) to you all.
Kate
I have been discovering that I have a green thumb. I have always been interested in plants and flowers (thanks to my mother and her love of them) but have not given them much thought after living in a concrete jungle in Sydney for the past 14 years. My arms, back and hands are aching as I have been in the garden for about 4 hours digging and transporting dirt (mud) to set up a new garden. I go for walks around the area and pinch from all the wealthy Embassy houses all the flowers I want to grow. Today I planted two bouganvillea and some other flowers and vines. Because of the rain, the dirt gets washed away so the garden has only a few inches of dirt and then you hit limestone rock. So I have to build up the dirt with compost and mulch of which there is plenty. I have seen some of the biggest worms today. We must have some good soil as there were worms everywhere. I had to keep telling myself that they are good and I need them for my garden and gee they are lovely and fat while trying not to grimace as they wriggled around trying to bury themselves in the mud before my shovel came down to scoop them up.
I have discovered a few second clothes shops. These shops are full of clothes that come from wealthy Australians deciding they don’t need their Lisa Ho dress anymore or their Country Road linen suit. They get shipped over here, having been squashed and compacted into bales. So ex-patriots drool in glee as they hand over $7 for a Country Road linen shirt or $10 for a pair of Camper shoes ($200 in Australia) or the Lisa Ho designer dress for $7 ($300 in Australia). The funny thing is that these shops are full of ex-pats shopping and getting bargains and who can afford to pay much more while the locals buy at their own shops and pay $20 for a shirt instead. The local shops are full of synthetic fibres which is a real shame as cotton and linens are much better for the tropics I would have thought. You actually have to shop around for natural fibres.
One of the guys at work, his father is a tailor so I got him to make me up a Bula shirt (hibiscus print). The material cost $2 and to make the shirt $10! Bargain! The buttons are made from coconut tree wood. I am starting to look like a local. I also bought a Salwar Kameez (Indian outfit, dress worn with pants and a scarf).
I am a bit hesitant to describe my work or my perception of what I think needs to be done as I should still be observing before making any judgements and leaping in to ‘fix’ things. But I will say that my moods tend to oscilate from despair at the lack of this and that, the lack of education, knowledge, awareness, human rights, access and then moments of complete silliness such as when I get asked over and over again if I have a boyfriend to which I respond “yes I have 5 pairs of shoes I am going out with and they do me fine” or when I get asked how old I am and I respond with “96 and the plastic surgery we get in Australia is fabulous”.
The Fiji sense of humor takes a bit of getting used to. Here is an example: on the weekend I went to see a movie with two other volunteers who are Australian. The Bollywood feature was sold out so we went to a Thai film called “Beautiful Boxer” - it’s the true life story of a man who became the best Thai boxer but who was only doing it for the money so that he could have a sex change operation and become the woman he wanted to be. It was well done, serious and poignant and well acted. But it was hard work actually watching it because the audience were laughing all the way through. It was getting really annoying as they would be laughing at the most tender scenes which were between the boxer and his parents and they were very good at accepting who he was or was trying to be. It was when the boxer would say “ma” that they laughed the most. The Thai word for ‘mother’ sounds like ‘mai’ which in Fijian means ‘come’. Take the sexual meaning of the English word ‘come’ and you have it. This was what was causing so much mirth. Really funny eh??!!!!
On the weekend, Robyn (my flatmate) and I were invited to the home of the printer that our organisation uses. They wanted to thank Robyn for her work before she goes back to Australia next month. The custom here seems to be to chat for a good 3 hours, have some nibbles and beer and then have dinnner by which time it is about 9pm and I am fainting from hunger! Anyway we chatted and met this fellow’s wife and two children and all was well. Then he offered to drive us home. This was the conversation which was directed at me:
Man: How old are you?
Me: 96, do you like my plastic surgery?
Man: (delayed laugh) I am 38. How old are you?
Me: 34.
Man: Are you married?
Me: No.
Man: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No.
By this time we are at my place. Robyn interjects with information about how once she goes another family will be coming to stay with me.
Man: Now I know where you are staying I can come and visit.
Robyn: With your wife and children.
Man: Would you like me to visit?
For most of this conversation I had asked the man to repeat himself several times at each question. He was impossible to lipread. I dared not turn on the car light as I had a feeling I did not want to encourage further conversation. After asking him to repeat himself 3 times I turned to Robyn:
Me: Help me Robyn.
By her silence I knew that she the question he had asked was awkward.
Robyn: Bye thanks for the lift.
Me: Bye.
Man: No problem!
At first I was so surprised by the direction of his questions because he had spent the night extolling the virtues of prayer, fasting and loyalty that I wondered if it was the Fiji way of getting to know someone, but I have been assured it is not! I won’t be giving him the next print job our organisation has!!!
On the weekend I had my first lovo (pit oven). It was in honor of Robyn who is leaving soon. The Deaf community wanted to thank her as without her there would not have been a team at the Deaf Olympics in Melbourne. The lovo is cooked by the men. The women serve it up. Pork, chicken, dalo (like a huge potato) and fish steaks (inches thick) in coconut milk are cooked wrapped in banana and coconut palm leaves and then cooked in the pit oven. The food has a lovely smokey flavour to it. They also serve raw fish marinated in coconut milk, chilli and lime. The food was sublime. I was very happy. A true Fijian feast.
Fiji is a 4WD country. In Australia I was always railing against 4WD, You hardly need them with the state of the roads in Sydney. But here, even in Suva, I can see the necessity. Every taxi driver in Suva knows our street as it has some of the worse potholes in the city. A few taxi drivers have even missed the turnoff to our street because said they were busy thinking of how much damage the potholes will do to the car and how they will navigate the street. With enough rain, I will be able to go swimming with the toads in these potholes. The 4WD are probably less polluting than the buses churning out plumes of diesel.
Loloma (love) to you all.
Kate
posted by kate at 10:03 pm
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