A Much Needed Change

Living with a host family during my first three months spoiled me.  Though I could not eat most of the food, I could always count on having water, bread, and Ramen noodles when returning home.  After my first night in Abaiang, I planned to purchase food at the local canteen.  Unfortunately, I only had a few dollars in my pocket, and the only bank on the island was a good hour’s distance by truck.  Mr. Patrick offered his son’s bike for transportation to the government station.  There, I would meet the other volunteers, pick up my luggage, and receive my stipend from the Island Clark.  There was a two-foot difference in size between his son and me, but with my new slender figure, I had no trouble fitting on the bike.

I made it about halfway to the island council before it started raining. The rain made the coral path slippery, and the strong winds threw coconuts and palm fronds from the tops of trees with great force, damaging whatever lay in its path. To secure my safety, I decided to stop and wait for the storm to pass. After about twenty minutes, I hoisted the bike on my shoulders and proceeded to walk towards the government station.  This attracted great amounts of unwanted attention.  Children swarmed me, screaming, “Hello foreigner, hello foreigner.” Frustrated by all the attention I attracted, the only response I could garner was, “Hello I-Kiribati, hello I-Kiribati,” and continued walking in a hurried pace. 

The remainder of the walk took me through long stretches of mostly uninhabited bush.  In these parts, dogs announced my arrival. One dog’s bark alerted the pack, and soon I found myself running from packs.  Four hours after leaving my village, I arrived at the government station exhausted and wet.  Fortunately, the rain had subsided by the time I reached the steps to the offices.  “Hello?” I stated, hoping for any kind of response.  After a few minutes, I resided to sitting, and drying off on the steps.  A young lady walking by the building saw me sitting in front of the office and asked if I needed something. 

“I am trying to find the island’s clerk, do you know where she is?” I asked.

“Oh I am sorry, but she is home preparing food for her children,” she said.  “Wait here and I will go find her.”

When she returned, she took me to her house, just a few feet from the station, and introduced me to all in the house.  Like before, I was seated at one end of the family bwia, with a cadre of I-Kiribati eyes staring and smiling at me.  This was my first true test: Could I communicate with them? 

An old man on the bwia yelled, “have you eaten yet?”  “No, no… not yet,” I responded.  “Tiiua, go get him some food from the store,” yelled the Island Clark.  This was followed by a chorus of questions from kids in the buia,  “What is your name? Where are you from? Do you have a gun?”

All kids wondered if I had a gun.  They kept throwing questions my way, and my head spun just trying to translate them, and form answers in the Kiribati language.  Soon after I assured everyone that I had no gun, a plate filled with two packs of biscuits and two cold cans of Coke flew in front of my crossed legs.

In almost perfect unison, all said… “EAT!”    

My thumb pressed tightly against the cold can's condensation and my index finger slid under the silver tab.  With gentle pressure, I popped open the can.  It's cold fizz bubbled out of the can, spreading its familiar carbonated smell.  I savored each cold gulp, and each bite like I never had before.  It was as if I was dreaming, but I wasn't.  

After I finished the food, the Island Clark laid a bar of soap, towel, and a change of clothes beside me.  I feared the soap was the Abaiang test Tekaai had warned me about until she said, "you can take a bath if you like.  And, when you are done we will have all of your things ready in the truck to bring you back to Tateta.” 

The truck wasn’t back from it's deliveries when I finished my bath, so I decided to lay down on the bwia.  The sun was setting when I woke.  I rolled over to see the Island Clark sitting in a truck filled with my luggage.   “This is your Peace Corps stipend,” she said waving me over to the truck.  The envelope was full of money.  Pointing to a man on the opposite side of the bwia, she said “Baauro will take you home.  If you need anything else, just tell us and we will do all we can to help.”  Knowing fully well that she did not have to do any of this for me, all I could do was say thanks for what she did.  

This was not the first time in Kiribati that random strangers did more for me than I ever would have thought about doing for strangers back home.  In college, I never reached out to international students.  To me, internationals were different… weird.  They didn’t speak my language, and I didn’t have any desire to learn theirs.  After jumping on the truck, I asked her why she did all of this for me.  Laughing she said, “It is the Kiribati way, and” she paused, “I have a niece studying in America.  If I help you here, maybe someone there will help her if she needs help."

It was a small gesture, but those two Cokes, bath, clothes, food, luggage, money and truck ride back showed me exactly how much I needed to change once I got back to the US.  I was raised with a strong sense of what a good American was, and did.  We fought for our freedom, we worked hard, and we took care of our own.  Going overseas changed this.  All of this.  No longer was I comfortable of just taking care of “my own.”  I needed to take care of others.  In a way,  I guess I vowed to never be who I was again before coming here on that long truck ride… home.

Bwia- Raised platform

Tateta- Southernmost elementary school on island