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Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Maiana's Introduction

The clocks began chiming at 5 am.  Was I ready for this? I thought to myself as I rolled up my pillow and sheet.  We slowly gathered our belongings and made our way downstairs to the awaiting transports.  The air was cool, and the road was empty.  Nei Matangarei, our hired cargo ship, was waiting for us at the end of the sparsely lit wharf.  There you are now, said Tekaai, it will be about three hours on the sea before you arrive in Maiana.    

Stumbling off the transport, we heard a tone of urgency coming from the ship’s deck.  Hurry up!  We can’t wait, the tide is going out! Get your assignments and get on. The boat has many more stops after it drops us off! 

Before jumping on, each volunteer grabbed their village and family assignment.  I was assigned to a village called Bubutei Meiaki (Boo-boo-tay May-akee).  My Father’s name was Tateka, my mother’s name was Beretia, and together they had three children, Ageiti Ngao, and Tawita.  Jumping from the dock to the ocean, I was becoming part of a new family for the next three months of service.

I swallowed the government issued Dramamine and made my way towards the rear of the ship where I found the perfect resting place between the captain’s stairwell and several rescue boats.  Spreading out my lavalava and using my life preserver as a pillow, I slept through the entire trip.


I woke as the ship pulled into the lagoon.  Maiana’s clear blue waters revealed an abundant amount of sea life.  Urchins and fish scattered, as the ship pulled closer to the reef’s shelf.  It eventually came to a halt, and small skiffs were used to transport people and supplies to shore.  The first things to go were the training supplies, followed by the Peace Corps vehicles and eventually us.  Correctly timing the tide was essential for getting all of the transport completed within one day. 

Once all people and supplies were on dry ground, Tekaai shuttled us to our villages in one of the Peace Corps trucks.  Due to its close proximity, volunteers in the northernmost village were dropped off first.  Since my village was the most southern village, I had a couple of hours to readjust myself to stable ground with other volunteers.  The truck returned just as the sun began to set for the six volunteers moving into the southern village of Bubutei (Boo-boo-tay).  

OK, Bubutei Volunteers! Yelled Tekaai, Your turn!

Tateka and Ngao were waiting by the road as we approached.  Tateka, my host father looked as if he were around 50 years of age. Ngao, my host brother, looked as if he were my same age.  Jumping off the truck, I greeted both with a firm handshake and a feeble Mauri (Hello).

My kiakia by Ngao Tateka

The full moon illuminated the walk from the truck to the kiakia (key-a-key-a).  Its walls were constructed from coconut spines, and its roof was made of pandanus thatch.  Attached to the underbelly of the roof was a florescent light bulb, which was powered by an old car battery.  I had no idea where my family got this from.  I can only guess that perhaps Peace Corps informed our families that Americans liked to read at night and he took the idea to heart.  He was more than excited to show off this amenity.  With the flip of a switch, he lit the small room revealing a small white scorpion pointing its stinger directly at my face.  Inside I felt like screaming and running away.  Instead, I froze.  I felt a rush of wind snap me out of fear’s grip.  It was Tateka’s bare hand, flying straight towards the scorpion.  Whap! I gasped.  His fingers scooped the dead creature and brought it to meet my face.  “Scorpion” he said.  I nodded and muttered a faint thank you.  

I was left to unpack my things.  From inside, I could hear my new family gather on the bwia (boo-yah).  Serving as the household’s living room, front porch, bedroom and dining room, the bwia is the center of household social life.  Once finished unpacking, Ngao took me to the bwia to meet my new family. This family was easily seven times larger than my nuclear family in the states.  What was worse, was that I could not communicate with them beyond basic greetings and my name.  I felt like a voicemail that repeated “leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”  This was magnified by the thirty pairs of eyes staring at me, listening intently to every utterance I vocalized. 

After about ten minutes of polite smiles and nodding, I asked to go to bed.  Lying in my mosquito net, I heard the family continue their conversations, laughing every now and then.  In that moment, I wished that I could have been a part of it all. Laughing, talking, listening and understanding.  More than anything, I wanted to convey my gratitude to them for including me in their family.  All in due time, I thought.  

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