The language hurdles of a new home

It always happened at night.  That feeling when I was alone and I would think about home.  I would dream of water fountains, chicken wings, and family.  I would remember how easy it was to communicate with people, and friends.  I had friends back home.  But here, I didn’t want to bother anyone with my own problems.  Knowing full well that my neighbors would hear any sobs I made, I tried hard to keep quiet while my tears ushered me to sleep that night. 

A-a-A-a-RoOoOooooo  A-a-A-a-RoOoOooooo   A-a-A-a-RoOoOooooo

The chickens that lived on the compound alerted me to the approaching rays of sunlight that would eventually slip through the holes of my thatched roof.  Once up, I heard what I assumed to be chickens or pigs or dogs, walking outside of my window.  I rolled over to avoid the sun, and saw six pairs of eyeballs staring right at me.  “He’s awake,” said a small voice from the outside.

Begrudgingly I whispered, “Good morning children…” 

They all replied excitedly, “Hello I-Matang!  Hello!”

When I sat up, all of the eyeballs vanished as they ran back to their homes.  The fishbowl effect I thought I had left in Maiana clearly found me in Abaiang. I wondered if this was real.  Was I really here?  As I flicked off a dead scorpion from my mosquito net, I answered myself, “Yup, I really am...” 

I heard an airplane flying overhead, and once again, thought about home.  But instead of wishing to be on that plane headed in that direction, I thought I would try and start making Tateta my home.  After using my roki and brushing my teeth, I headed out to the local canteen determined to buy tins of food, fresh bread and kerosene.  The store was a quick walk from my house.  As usual, my presence was announced by the sounds of animals and children when I entered the southernmost village on the island.  It was more than obvious that the store had an I-Matang customer by the time I reached the window.  

After I made my purchases, the owner and I had a brief conversation.  I needed this so much, as it not only boosted my self-confidence, but also helped me feel more than welcomed in the village.  Once again, children swarmed around me. But this time, I shrugged my shoulders, purchased several packs of gum, and shared it with all of them as they accompanied me back to the school compound.  I felt great about my small accomplishments and my new found friendships with a small army of local bodyguards.  Tateta began feeling less lonely with each hour that passed.

Local kids from the village

I started unpacking more items I had in my luggage.  I hung up pictures, made a place for my clothes, stored my toilet paper and filled my stove with kerosene.  The house really started to feel like a home as the day progressed. 

Later, my neighbors invited me to their house for dinner and playing cards.  While we ate on the bwia, winds picked up and rain fell down.  Looking into the lagoon, you could see another storm approaching.  It sounded like a slow moving freight train traveling across the ocean.  Soon after it began, the rains were once again falling hard and coconut fronds were flying across the school compound.  The storm lasted less than one hour, but the debris in the middle of the school compound suggested it lasted for the whole day.  Most of the teachers and their families went out to the compound to clean up after the storm.  I too joined the cleanup efforts before turning in.

The storms returned at midnight causing more damages to the compound, classrooms, and houses.  My house was directly under two coconut trees, and these rounds of storms knocked loose several fronds and coconuts which landed on my roof.  Their impact created several holes which only got bigger as the night progressed.  To stop the rain from pouring in, I tried to cover the holes with duct tape and several Ziploc bags.  Surprisingly, the duct tape and plastic bags seemed to work for a while.  However, the patchwork eventually gave way to the weight of the water, making the holes in the roof even bigger. 

By morning, the roof had four gaping holes in it, and my house was soaked.  During training, I learned the words for ‘hole’ and the preposition that would turn a noun into a verb.  I wanted to try to ask for help in repairing my roof.  So, in my best I-Kiribati, I went looking for Mr. Patrick.  When I could not find him, people began questioning what it was that I needed.  I tried to tell them what had happened to my roof that night, but I could tell that I was not being clear in what I was saying.  They seemed confused and pointed me to another house. So I knocked on the door and told them what happened. Laughter spilled from their mouths, and confusion spread across my face. So they pointed me to another house. I walked over. Same laughter, same confusion. They pointed me to another house, and then another house.  I moved from house to house asking for help and found it odd that no one wanted to help me.  I-Kiribati were the most considerate, kind, and helpful people I had ever met in my life.  But no one wanted to help me, and choruses of laughter continuously erupted whenever I would speak.

I feared I was now the butt of some kind of joke.  I must have visited at least five different houses before I found the school carpenter who spoke some English.  I explained my problem to him with a mix of both languages.  Like everyone else, he laughed at me before telling me I needed to practice my I-Kiribati. 

“Mike, your thinking is good, but your words are bad.”  He explained that the Kiribati word for hole is bangabanga, and by placing the preposition ka before it, does not mean ‘to make a hole.’  Rather, the way I was using it, meant penis.  Immediately I laughed so hard as I thought about all the houses I went to asking for help. It made perfect sense why no one wanted to help me fix my holes.  But thanks to Tom’s understanding, I finally found a brave soul to come to my house and help me.  And we continued to laugh the entire time while mending those darn penises.

Thatched Roof Repairs