It’s been six weeks now, since we had our own personal Fijian village move in next door. When this whole project of taking down the house started, we were very familiar with the concept of “Fiji time” and knew that the estimated two weeks would be stretched to be quite a bit longer. I thought, “Ok, double that, and they should be here for about a month”. As it turns out, knowing about Fiji time was not enough. The second rule of Fiji time is that you can’t estimate how long something will take. You just have to be patient and wait for things to happen when they happen. Also, you cannot ask yourself what the reasons are for doing things the way they are done. Western logic will not explain it. For example, I thought our village would move out when they were done with the job of taking the house down. Well, the house was completely down a week ago, and the consensus was that they would be leaving on Monday. Well, then they wanted to stay here this week because there was a special activity going on at church. Then Saturday we’ll have a lovo, Sunday is church, and they’ll leave next Monday. It’s really starting to feel like they have moved in permanently. Wais (one of the guys) asked this morning if he could borrow the truck to get a sofa from town to bring up to the house. I said I would tell Miles about it, but in my head I was thinking “why do you need permanent furniture if you are done with the job and are supposed to be leaving in a few days?”
We’ve had some very good times with our village. They are always very nice, they constantly feed us, we have learned a lot about Fijian culture, language and food, and they keep an eye on Jasper when he plays outside (particularly nice when mama doesn’t want any more mosquito bites). But it’s hard to get away from our American ideas. We are very much American, after all, and we highly value our privacy. We want to be alone, free to do whatever we want and not feel observed or pressured to share everything all the time, as is the norm in Fijian culture. The other night, we were watching rugby, and not five minutes went by before we had the whole village in our living room watching with us. Which was fine—if they want to watch while we watch, we’re not going to say no (that would be pretty silly). The problem for us, is that around nine pm when Jasper is starting to melt down and needing to go to bed, it’s very hard to tell Fijians, “hey, could you guys go now please?” It’s just not done. And since everything is communal, no one bothers to return anything. We gave them a grog cloth (a special bag used to mix kava for drinking), and I have no idea where it is now (along with many other things we have let them “borrow”). Like I said, they are super nice, but the cultural disconnects are starting to wear us down.
Miles took Jasper to Suva last week for three days to visit the dermatologist regarding his skin rashes (I’ll get to that later), and while he was gone, it was clear that the neighbors felt really bad for me, being here by myself (in the village, you are NEVER alone). The first night (Thursday night), I went to bed right before they got home from church. I heard Mereani call my name, but I didn’t want to get out of bed, get dressed, and interact, so I just pretended not to hear. The next morning, she said she had called me because I was alone, and she thought they should come in and sleep with me so I wouldn’t be alone. I’m not kidding-they felt really bad for me. It was a nice gesture, but well, the way I see it, I’m NOT alone. They are sleeping on the back porch, not ten feet away from me. That’s not alone! They didn’t push sleeping in the house with me (though I’m curious if they meant in the bed with me or what), but they did continue to call me out of the house every few hours to eat or drink tea, and to make sure I wasn’t too lonely (I wasn’t).
Sometimes I feel guilty about wanting them to leave. They are so nice, but it is really tiring sometimes (figuratively and literally—they often start hammering on things at dawn/5:30) to feel like you have to force yourself to smile and say good morning and go out and have tea when you’re really feeling grumpy about being woken up at 5 and paranoid about walking around in your pajamas because you don’t want to offend anyone (Fijians are VERY modest—a holdover from very strong, strict Methodist missionary influence). They seem to have no issues with us, though I’m sure they do think we’re really weird (and they are right—white folks are quite weird). They talk about how they will be sad to leave and how they really like staying at our place and comment on how much they will miss us and we will miss them when they go. It’s hard to tell what they think about us actually—they don’t speak much English, and they’re always cheerful no matter what. A few weeks ago over the kava bowl, there was a small argument about whether I looked more like Princess Diana or Mary (as in the mother of Jesus). It was really a toss up, and in the end they compromised and decided that I look like both. Miles, on the other hand, was definitively stated to look like Moses (dead giveaway with that beard!). It was so weird. I kept asking myself if these comparisons meant something, or if they really just had so little contact with “Euros”.
Update June 23:
Well, things did not go as stated (did I really think they would?), but we finally have our privacy back. We did not have the lovo—Steven says we will have it at his house another weekend—and Monday everyone went down to the beach for a picnic. Tuesday they moved the last of the construction materials down to Steven’s and Tuesday night, our village returned to their real village. I can’t say I’ve really missed them in the week since they’ve been gone, but I am starting to think more positively about the time they spent here now that there’s some distance between us. I’m sure in a year I’ll only remember it as a funny story that took place during our crazy year in Fiji.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
New Neighbors
After getting used to living outside of town, with only two quiet neighbors (and those are separated from us by a steep hillside), practically in the “bush”, it’s suddenly very different around here. After a long saga involving lawyers and property lines, the house directly next to us (we share a covered breezeway) is being torn down. The folks who have taken on this project, who are friends of the owner of the computer store, are living there while they take it down. Since our house is more window louvers than walls, and the house next door is now missing several walls, there is not much privacy.
It feels like we are living next door to a miniature replica of a Fijian village. There are four men and two women staying there, but several other people come and go as well. The men work on the house, carefully taking it apart and numbering and stacking the materials so they can be used to re-build the house on another piece of land, and the women (as far as I can see) cook for them. They cook with two big pots over a fire they have built on a workbench under the carport. They all get up around (usually before) dawn—no problem for me since that’s when Jasper wakes up too—and stay up late drinking grog (a.k.a. kava or Piper methysticum), which is a bit more problematic. They take a break to rest during the middle and hottest part of the day. We don’t do that at the computer shop, naturally, and so I am really building up a sleep deficit since I’m such a light sleeper and can’t fall asleep while they are laughing and listening to music and drinking grog.
Despite the annoyances of sleep disturbance and constant construction noise, things are very pleasant. The people are very friendly and they LOVE Jasper (everyone here does). They bring him food whenever we are home, and although they say it’s for Jasper, there’s always a ton for me and Miles to eat too. So we are basically being fed traditional Fijian food every day: “pancakes” for breakfast (which are like un-sweetened donuts), and cassava and soup for lunch (made with lentils, noodles, and whatever else is around- prawns from the creek, tinned meat, wild greens, etc). Sunday, a group of people came over for dinner and there was a bunch of traditional food, and of course we were invited. We had cassava, taro (the staple root crops served with everything), fish and some plant related to sugar cane cooked in coconut milk, curried fish, stew and rice, and of course lots of grog. These people, like all Fijians, are so generous. If they have something, it is shared. This is especially true with food. I don’t think it’s possible for them to make food and not offer us some when we are right there. Every time I go outside with Jasper, they offer us something to eat. That happens a lot, since Jasper loves playing with them.
It’s nice to be invited to eat and drink grog with people, but it’s hard too. They speak very little English, and Miles and I speak very little Fijian, so most of the time we just sit there and smile while everyone is talking in Fijian around us. Often I can get the gist of what they are saying, but since I can’t really participate by saying much, they assume we don’t know what they are saying. This is kind of annoying, because they are frequently making jokes about us. Now, I know we are weird kaivalagis (“Europeans”), and there’s plenty to make fun of from their perspective, but it is rather uncomfortable to understand enough to know that people are laughing at you but not be able to say anything, and the whole time, they think that you have no clue. They do try to teach us new Fijian words, which I really appreciate, because I am always trying to add to my vocabulary, but even this can be frustrating. Sometimes it feels like they think we’re really dumb, like when they were telling us the words for “hello” and “thank you” after I had already been using full sentences and asking how to say “he’s in the house” (prepositions are hard in every language!). It’s been fun learning more about the culture and food, and their generosity is amazing, but I’m also really missing our privacy and am getting tired of being laughed at.
Luckily, we are getting a short break. They worked on the house for a week and a half, and they are now spending a week in Labasa for a conference for Jehovah’s Witnesses. If current progress on the house is an indicator, we can expect them to stay for three or four more weeks when they come back.
It feels like we are living next door to a miniature replica of a Fijian village. There are four men and two women staying there, but several other people come and go as well. The men work on the house, carefully taking it apart and numbering and stacking the materials so they can be used to re-build the house on another piece of land, and the women (as far as I can see) cook for them. They cook with two big pots over a fire they have built on a workbench under the carport. They all get up around (usually before) dawn—no problem for me since that’s when Jasper wakes up too—and stay up late drinking grog (a.k.a. kava or Piper methysticum), which is a bit more problematic. They take a break to rest during the middle and hottest part of the day. We don’t do that at the computer shop, naturally, and so I am really building up a sleep deficit since I’m such a light sleeper and can’t fall asleep while they are laughing and listening to music and drinking grog.
Despite the annoyances of sleep disturbance and constant construction noise, things are very pleasant. The people are very friendly and they LOVE Jasper (everyone here does). They bring him food whenever we are home, and although they say it’s for Jasper, there’s always a ton for me and Miles to eat too. So we are basically being fed traditional Fijian food every day: “pancakes” for breakfast (which are like un-sweetened donuts), and cassava and soup for lunch (made with lentils, noodles, and whatever else is around- prawns from the creek, tinned meat, wild greens, etc). Sunday, a group of people came over for dinner and there was a bunch of traditional food, and of course we were invited. We had cassava, taro (the staple root crops served with everything), fish and some plant related to sugar cane cooked in coconut milk, curried fish, stew and rice, and of course lots of grog. These people, like all Fijians, are so generous. If they have something, it is shared. This is especially true with food. I don’t think it’s possible for them to make food and not offer us some when we are right there. Every time I go outside with Jasper, they offer us something to eat. That happens a lot, since Jasper loves playing with them.
It’s nice to be invited to eat and drink grog with people, but it’s hard too. They speak very little English, and Miles and I speak very little Fijian, so most of the time we just sit there and smile while everyone is talking in Fijian around us. Often I can get the gist of what they are saying, but since I can’t really participate by saying much, they assume we don’t know what they are saying. This is kind of annoying, because they are frequently making jokes about us. Now, I know we are weird kaivalagis (“Europeans”), and there’s plenty to make fun of from their perspective, but it is rather uncomfortable to understand enough to know that people are laughing at you but not be able to say anything, and the whole time, they think that you have no clue. They do try to teach us new Fijian words, which I really appreciate, because I am always trying to add to my vocabulary, but even this can be frustrating. Sometimes it feels like they think we’re really dumb, like when they were telling us the words for “hello” and “thank you” after I had already been using full sentences and asking how to say “he’s in the house” (prepositions are hard in every language!). It’s been fun learning more about the culture and food, and their generosity is amazing, but I’m also really missing our privacy and am getting tired of being laughed at.
Luckily, we are getting a short break. They worked on the house for a week and a half, and they are now spending a week in Labasa for a conference for Jehovah’s Witnesses. If current progress on the house is an indicator, we can expect them to stay for three or four more weeks when they come back.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Volukaka and Kana
Well, this wasn’t supposed to be a chronicle of Fijian medicine, but I keep getting sick, so there you go. This time around, I had something I wouldn’t call a flu, but it had muscle aches, headache, stomachache, nausea and diarrhea as symptoms. Once again, Eseta was concerned for my well being, and told Miles when he dropped Jasper off that she would pick some leaves for me to use. She also reiterated that I really need to be careful about being out in the rain. If I get caught in the rain, I need to wash it off. When I went down there today to drop Jasper off, she told me this again, and I said that I couldn’t remember being in the rain at all recently, and she said it happened when I walked home the other day. I said I didn’t think it was raining, and she replied “only a little bit, it’s still not good.” Maybe there was a slight drizzle. Being from Oregon, I couldn’t remember feeling any rain. This time, she gave me leaves from the volukaka or Simple-leaf Chastetree to pour boiling water over and inhale the steam. This time, I couldn’t find any good information online; even Wikipedia was not much help, but I went ahead and tried it anyway. I didn’t really notice any difference in how my stomach felt, but it did seem to help my head, and it felt refreshing. Good enough for me.
Yesterday we received a feast from Eseta’s family. A complete lovo meal (food cooked in an earthen oven with heated volcanic rocks), with two kinds of fish, dalo (taro roots), lolo (coconut cream sauce), palusami (dalo leaves stuffed with onions and lolo), chicken, lamb curry, and chop suey. Every time they have a lovo, they really load us down with food, enough for several nights’ dinners. This particular lovo (or more appropriately "kana" or feast) was in honor of Asenaca’s (Eseta’s next youngest sister) getting her first period and her transition into womanhood. There were probably fifty people over for dinner at the Waqa’s, and I have no idea how many others they gave food to. These people know how to throw a party, and I think it’s really awesome to celebrate this particular life transition in such a beautiful, life affirming way, surrounded by friends and family. What a gift to give to your daughter.
Yesterday we received a feast from Eseta’s family. A complete lovo meal (food cooked in an earthen oven with heated volcanic rocks), with two kinds of fish, dalo (taro roots), lolo (coconut cream sauce), palusami (dalo leaves stuffed with onions and lolo), chicken, lamb curry, and chop suey. Every time they have a lovo, they really load us down with food, enough for several nights’ dinners. This particular lovo (or more appropriately "kana" or feast) was in honor of Asenaca’s (Eseta’s next youngest sister) getting her first period and her transition into womanhood. There were probably fifty people over for dinner at the Waqa’s, and I have no idea how many others they gave food to. These people know how to throw a party, and I think it’s really awesome to celebrate this particular life transition in such a beautiful, life affirming way, surrounded by friends and family. What a gift to give to your daughter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)