So I just don’t even know where to begin with this blog. I never get writer’s block, but for a week or two I have felt stuck in trying to fully communicate my experiences in Moch. By the end of it, you will probably think “Writer’s Block? You sure wrote a lot!” True- there’s a lot here, but it still just feels inadequate as just words. Anyways, here’s my best attempt to relocate all of you to a small mile-long island in the middle of the Pacific without sinks or running water, internet or electricity, cars or bikes, watches or alarm clocks, forks or spoons, telephones or cell phones, but rather a beautiful land full of sand and coral, the sounds of swift breezes and pounding breadfruits, flies and mosquitoes, coconuts and papayas, plates of breadfruit and bowls of rice, fish and crab, 10-person hammocks and local huts, ukuleles and beautiful voices, breadfruit and coconut leaf fans, volleyball games and 60-meter sprints, smiles and laughter, and hellos and I love you’s.
Two weeks ago, I returned from my 6-week trip to Moch, an island a little more than a 150 miles south of Weno. To say the least, Moch is much less touched by westernization than Weno. To give you a little idea of what I mean, for the first time in a long time, I saw someone carrying around a tape player boom box. A day on Moch begins when the eldest son heads out to fish for the family’s breakfast. Cooking is a big part of the culture because a lot of time is spent sitting in the masoro (cook house), where you cook your food upon the open fire. It’s somewhat like camping everyday. Other than the day 30 + hour boat ride to and from, my experiences this summer were phenomenal. The people of Moch touched my heart in a way that has never happened to me before. I had wanted to go to Moch ever since the first time I heard about it last year. I am not exactly sure what drew me to it so much- maybe some sort of intuition – but after my time there, I know that there could not have been a better place for me to experience this summer.
My purpose for going to Moch was to teach English reading and writing and Math (basically Pre-Algebra) to students who had failed such classes in the 9th and 10th grades, as well as experience full immersion in an outer island. I ended up with about 15 students and while I spoke English 90% of the time, body language became essential to get my point across and a good percentage of what I said was translated into Chuukese by one of the students who understood me at that time. The principal gave me complete independence to choose my schedule and while we started with a flexible 9am-12pm schedule, with a 15-minute break in the middle, it eventually evolved into 9:20 – 12:30 with a 30-minute break in between. Mind you, this is a place where there are essentially 4 answers when someone asks you what time it is. For example, take the hour between 9 and 10. It is either 9 o’clock, past 9, before 10, or 10. So while I tried to start as “on time” as possible, I had cultural forces working against me that weren’t very easy to surpass.
For the first couple of weeks, we played volleyball for a couple hours every day after school. Most of the youth from the village would stroll through at some point to join in a game. Within a couple days of arriving, one of my friends there even built new benches when he found out I was really interested in volleyball. The talent out here in Micronesia never ceases to amaze me, especially when Americans tend to associate the best athletes with those that can spend hundreds or even thousands on the best coaches, leagues, and equipment. Smoking cigarettes and chewing coconut or betel nut is very common out there. For the first few days at volleyball, I thought, “This is crazy - basically everyone was smoking marijuana.” Following Mochese (and Micronesian) custom of what belongs to one belongs to all, I had seen basically all of the male youth pass the cigarette around (which looked like a small cigar or blunt because it was wrapped in dried banana leaf) so each person got only a drag or two. So it wasn’t until my brother was rolling the leaf in front of me that I asked what was inside. I told him I had never seen people pass cigarettes before. He just laughed and said I guess theres just not enough cigarette to go around for everyone to have their own. As well as, there are only a few marijuana smokers on this island and everyone knows who they are (with an air that it is obviously frowned upon). At least everyone thought it was funny and wasn’t offended.
When I first arrived I spoke extremely minimal Chuukese. It is very difficult to learn Chuukese teaching at Xavier, where “English Only” is enforced and our tutor somewhat fell through last year. But after 6 weeks of struggling through conversations, being laughed at (or with) frequently, I finally feel I have a good base in the language. My host family on Weno was impressed when I first visited them and only wanted to converse in Chuukese. Now, they realize I want to keep learning Chuukese and aren’t speaking to me in English as much. But anyway, in struggling through, I have obviously made lots of mistakes. Here’s an example that my family just found hilarious. On Moch, you say “A lei (like lay) la” when people are leaving and it is somewhat like saying, “Ok, you guys go.” Well, having heard it a couple times, I made the bold step of trying to say it myself. So, I was sitting with my Uncle Augustine when my brother and another cousin were leaving and I said “A lo la.” Augustine smiled at me and said, “Don’t say that. That means diarrhea.” Essentially I was telling them to go number 2. Well, I have to say I think people reminded me of that almost everyday I was there, all the way up until I was getting in the boat to come back to Weno. Waving and smiling some of the last words I heard were, “A lo la.”
As I have mentioned time and time before, when I first came to the Nesia, I was in no way a fan of seafood. Since I arrived, I made a promise to myself to try as much as I could and give seafood a “second chance.” As well as the first time I ate coconut, breadfruit, and taro, I didn’t like any of it. When I decided to go to Moch, I knew I would have to just accept fish (breadfruit and taro) into my life. Well, call it a 180, but I have finally decided that I have been foolish my whole life to not have liked fish, lobster, and crab. Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, I ate rice, fish, taro, coconut, and breadfruit. Now I think all of it is delicious. There is nothing better than freshly pounded, still hot kon (breadfruit) with coconut milk – mmmm! I am still trying to the convince the newbies of that right now.
Since there is no public power and not really any large generators, things quiet down a lot after dark. Some people will have one light at night that runs off of solar power. But unlike Weno, where I feel confined to Xavier once the sun sets, there is much more freedom to just be on Moch. It is a very safe island (I guess being dry changes a lot of things). So the social event every night was song- keyboard synthesized background music and Chuukese songs – except for rainy days when there wasn’t enough sun to generate power for the light and the keyboard. By the end of my time there I had picked up the lyrics to a couple of the songs, but for the most part I just sat relaxed for an hour or two and listened every night. So at about 9:30, the day would end. So with that king of bedtime, I really didn’t mind waking up with the sun pretty much every day.
I happened to be on island when there was “Appechokul” (Confirmation). I have never seen people practice so much for one Mass in my life and of course, everyone on the island came to watch. It was a pretty neat Mass to witness in the end. There were several processions during the Mass but the coolest had to be for communion when they presented the gifts on a life size canoe. I took a video of it, but I’m sorry - you will just have to wait until I come home to see it. There’s no way I can upload that with our internet speed out here. So if you are wondering why there are pictures of girls wearing all white and the boys wearing white shirts and black pants, it was because of Appechokul.
The church on Moch is St. Ignatius Loyola. And since the feast day for Ignacio was at the end of July, Moch had a huge celebration, with running races and other field day-type events. I ran in the 60-meter, 100-meter, and participated in the tug of war. My village (Piemoch) wanted me to run the 4-lap (lap around the whole island, which I did practically every other day) but I refused because it was only going to guys from all the other villages. If there’s one thing I learned from Ignacio it was that an 8:00 start time really means 11:00 or 11:30. But all in all, great time with back and forth chanting and celebrating.
In between the events for Ignacio, there was a funeral. Being that practically everyone on the island is related somehow and in Chuukese custom to prepare food for the funeral, we postponed the running races to prepare mass amounts of breadfruit and taro cake (unless you are someone that has lived in the Nesia before, I promise you that this is not the kind of cake you are thinking of). Let me try to describe to you what a Chuukese funeral is like. First off, anyone and everyone is invited. It is generally held in a meeting hall. The men typically enter, pay respects, and step outside for the rest of the time, while the women spend hours sitting and singing to the body. Usually there is a basket at the foot of the coffin, in which people place a dollar bill. I guess it’s a way to help support the family for the expenses of the funeral. And this can last for several days, during which people bring mats and even sleep with the coffin. The second and third nights of the funeral on Moch, I joined in the singing. The first night I went with my Mama and probably spent about 2 hours praying and singing with the coffin. The second night, I went with the serafo (youth) to sing from about 9 pm to 1 am. This was certainly my first experience of the Chuukese “spraying.” It is custom to spray people with body spray or lather them with lotion or hair gel if they are singing for you. Well, with the first spray or two, I just thought it was an interesting practice. Then within an hour, I think I had been sprayed by at least 30 different scents, been given so much lotion that it would no longer rub into my arms, neck, and calves. And my hair was more than a grease ball. Of course it was fine because hair is supposed to be slacked back here, but it was just so funny that there was no end to spraying.
So in American culture, we celebrate Sweet 16s, 18s, 21s, “Over the Hills,” but in Micronesia, the first birthday is the biggest birthday. I happened to be in Moch for my nephew Bero’s first birthday. And there’s no celebration in Micronesia without a freshly slaughtered pig so I witnessed such for the first time. I was just about to go running one day when I heard a loud pig-shrieking coming from outside the house. I walked outside to see about five men holding down our family’s fattest pig so that they could tie its legs together. The next thing I knew, they held a bucket underneath its throat as they slit it open and drained its blood until it no longer screamed. I guess my facial expressions were a cross between frightened and curiously disgusted because my sister, father, and uncle just laughed at me as they watched me watch. Then as soon as all the kids realized that this was not an everyday occurrence for me, they found it hilarious to stick their entire arms into the slit, covering them with blood so that they could come chasing after me. Then they lit it on fire to scrap off the skin and cooked it in a cauldron that I thought only witches used before coming to Moch. Enjoy the pictures! As for some other new experiences, I learned how to wash my clothes with a washboard. I learned how to peel breadfruit with an aluminum can and squeeze coconut milk. I learned how to eat with my hands and how to sit Indian-style for hours. I am also a pro now at showering outside in a skirt.
The Sunday before I left, my family invited the people I was closest with to go to a small island with me for a picnic. About 30 people ended up coming. We set up a volleyball net and played some volleyball while the mosquitoes ate us alive. Since they cook over an open fire out there, the bottoms of pots are pretty much permanently covered in sot. After lunch, my friend Amram told me that everyone that comes to this island has to get their faced covered in sot. I looked at him and said, “Apw! (No)” Well, he didn’t hesitate. He quickly rubbed his hands on the bottom of the pan and came chasing after me. Eventually I gave in as he covered my face with black sot. Of course I had to play the game and act mad, chasing after him and screaming. Within a couple of minutes someone grabbed my camera and took a picture of me. As I saw how ridiculous I looked, I broke down laughing. By this time, Amram was nowhere to be found. I guess I scared him away. So a bunch of people joined in chasing each other and covering their faces. Although somewhat disgusting, it turned out to be really fun. So that’s the explanation for my black face. I guess I passed initiation.
My time in Moch certainly culminated my last couple of days. It was a mystery as to when the boat would actually arrive to go back to Weno. I had my bag packed since Sunday night, but didn’t actually end up getting on the boat until Thursday. Well, it’s Chuukese custom to “sing” people goodbye. It’s called, “Emwirimwir” (Yea, Chuukese is an easy language, No worries.). So my last two nights in Moch I didn’t sleep. The first night, the serafo (somewhat like a youth group or young adult group in the states) of my village came to my house to sing to me – consider it a Mochese going-away party. So for about 3 hours we sang sipping on coffee and eating tempera (similar to doughnuts). There were other people leaving on the same boat as me so we went to 2 more houses after mine. Then at about 4:30am, we all headed back to the Vice President of the serafo’s house. I had gone back to my house to get some water and got held up by the rain for a while so I was probably missing for about 30 minutes. When I got back, there were about 15 people that hadn’t gone to sleep yet, singing and playing guitar in the room. They were passing around a cup and continuously refilling it from this construction bucket. I asked them what it was and they said yeast. That was a perfectly reasonable answer because it is not atypical that people drink yeast here if they cannot afford to purchase alcohol, especially on a remote island where there is no store. I asked to smell it and try a sip. And my cousin said apw (no). Of course my first reaction was to say, “Why? Please, just one sip.” Again, “Apw.” Then one of the guys stood up and started swaggering, playing the act of being drunk. I just laughed at him and a couple others played along. It wasn’t until most everyone had left that my friend Artin asked me, “Do you know why they wouldn’t let you smell or taste the drink?” Of course I said no. Then he laughed and said, “Well, that’s because it was just water. Alcohol is illegal here. They can’t drink in front of me. I am a police officer here and they are some of my nieces and nephews.” Well, didn’t I feel like the dumb American. If there is one thing I eventually caught on to in Moch, it was that Mochese love to lie. I don’t mean harmful lies, but more so playful lies. The next morning I commented on it to my friend Kathy. I said, “I get it now. You all love to lie to me because you know I don’t know when you are joking or not.” She smiled and shook her head yes.
My last night on Moch the serafo from another village came to sing goodbye to me. After song, my mom told me that I could go anywhere on the island that I wanted. Without having to think very hard, I knew I wanted to go to leicha (the beach area) one last time. There is nothing better than sitting on one of the giant hammocks with the breeze blowing past you, looking out into the water. So I went with one of my friends and all I wanted to do at that point in time was sleep. So we napped for maybe an hour and a half and then headed back to the house. We sat on the peias (graves) talking and taking pictures until about 4am when we started cooking the food I would take on the boat. Saying goodbye was pretty sad. My mom started to tear and told me she loved me. My sister TerryAnn (probably the person I was closest to) also began to tear and told me that she would be very lonely without me. They placed a mar-mar on my head and then waved to me until I could no longer see them in the boat.
By the time I reached the boat, I was exhausted and I guess in some ways ready to sleep through the next 30 some hours when I would be practically curled up in fetal position. A few Peace Corp volunteers were on the same boat as me going back to Weno and I guess after almost 20 hours of sleeping, I finally woke up. They commented, “Wow, Steph, we were wondering if you were dead.” I just said, “No, but I actually hadn’t slept in 2 days.” They thought I was exaggerating when I first got on the boat, but then they believed me. As I said before, it’s hard to put into words how incredible my time in Moch was. It was a great opportunity to step back and see how differently, happily, and peacefully other people live - to be a perfect stranger and be treated as a member of the family.
While this blog focused on my summer in Moch, a lot has also happened in the last three weeks since I returned. A bunch of new people have joined the Xavier and Saram families bringing new energy and enthusiasm. The five new JVs had a great welcome to Chuuk, all coming down with diarrhea, vomiting, and fevers on their second day here. Somewhat ironic, seeing as I am sick with a fever and a sore throat as I write this right now, but honestly, sickness that knocks you out for a minute really isn’t very common here. They also had a good introduction to the status of Xavier vehicles. On a trip back from Saram in the black truck, the truck got a flat tire within about 2 minutes of driving away. No big deal, our drivers are pros at changing tires (seeing as they do it every day). Then about 20 minutes away from Xavier, the truck started to overheat. So we stopped to fill some hole under the hood with lots of water. I am pretty sure that in any other case at home we would stop driving the car at this point in time, but not at Xavier. Our drivers are miracle workers. So when we went to start the car, it just wouldn’t. About 5 attempts to push start it later, we finally were on our way. (In case you don’t know what a push start is, ask somebody who knows about cars – It’s a cool skill to know in the event your car gets this run down) - Haha only to have our one working headlight go out in the darkest part of the island. So what did we do? Me and another volunteer stood on the back of the truck and reached around the side of the truck to hold out a headlamp (you know the small personal ones cavers, miners, hikers, etc. use). We were only going about 5 miles an hour where there is really no traffic, but still all in one car ride! Really?! I’m exhausted!
We have also had the chance to climb Witipong mountain again – this time being a much more enjoyable experience than last year. The rain pretty much held off for us, as well as we were a little smarter about where we slept. I guess we learned last year that sleeping on bare mountain rock with all its ridges and grooves doesn’t make a good recipe for comfort. We even managed to “get lost” and find a new route to the mountain that takes about half the time. To get to the mountain you have to walk through fields of grass that are probably 7 feet high at points – an easy way to loose your sense of direction. Well on the way up we had basically created our own path through the grass, meaning we left scratched up and occasionally fell into unforeseeable trenches. On the way back we found a nice path through the grass so we decided it couldn’t hurt to take it. Eventually it dumped us into the jungle and again we were working to create our pathway home. Thank God for Sammy (new JV) who at one point looked over and said, “Is that the million gallon tank?” There are 4 million gallon tank reserves on island. My first gut instinct was there is no way that this is the one right by Xavier’s campus. We had only been walking for an hour, many of which was backtracking or debating which way to go. It had taken us 2 hours to walk there and that was when we had a pretty good sense of where we were heading. Plus the look of the tank was so different than what I had seen countless times before. Well, Sammy and Sam (new independent volunteer) decided to cut through the forest. When they got to the other side, they found a person who was willing to direct us to Xavier. Well, we must have looked like idiots. We were literally a 3-minute walk from Xavier at that point. So not only did we get lost, but we found a shortcut!
I’ll stop for now. I think we are both tired. Next time I’ll fill you about the trip to Tol and lots more. Enjoy the pictures as well! I miss you all and hope that you are enjoying your last few days of summer. School starts Sept. 1 and I am psyched to be teaching biology, chemistry, and now college counseling for the juniors and seniors. We just got new Chem textbooks, so I am beyond happy. Don’t forget to keep in touch. Peace.
-Steph
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