The Storm

The rest of the week's activities revolved around intensive language training, sporadic village tours, and constant lessons on how to live on an outer island.  Surprisingly, adjusting to life without electricity and running water was not as difficult as I had imagined it would be.  The most challenging part was getting fresh water.  The most basic thing I took for granted back home was now the most challenging thing to obtain.  Fetching water from a well required a good amount of patience, practice and strength. To understand why, I had to learn about how the island formed and evolved to this state.

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Over 95% of Kiribati’s populated islands are coral atolls.  These ecological structures are remnants of ancient barrier reefs that once surrounded and protected high volcanic islands.  Circular in shape, and rising only a few feet above sea level, they maintain a naturally occurring filtration system which produces fresh water for terrestrial survival.  Since fresh water lenses are thickest beneath the center of an atoll, most wells were located near the middle of the atoll.  Each well had a large empty tin with some string next to it.  I-Kiribati made fetching water seem easy.  I found it anything but. 

Successful water retrieval first depended on making the tin land upright on the surface of the water.  A quick jerk of the tin’s string would tip it, and within seconds fill with water.  My bucket bounced all the way down to the water’s surface when I tried to do it.  Twice, the string fell into the well.  Fortunately, for me, I had several small onlookers who were more than willing to climb into the well to retrieve the tin. After several attempts, I re-filled my bucket and carried the 20+ pound bucket back to the house.  By the end of my service, fetching water was a routine task I performed at least three times a day.  After only days, I had gained a humbling new appreciation for indoor plumbing and 24-7 access to fresh water. 

As I developed an appreciation for water, I also learned about the furious wrath the ocean possessed on our last night. Our last dinner was interrupted by one of the most terrifying storms I had ever lived through.  The winds howled like the sound of a fast moving freight train. The seas roared as though they were Poseidon’s rage. My hand searched for the flashlight. I picked it up. Flicked the switch. I poked the flashlight through the coconut spines. What I saw I could never forget— true fury being unleashed. We saw waves rising up and crashing down. Rain flying in every direction. Waters rushing in as though its sole mission was to flood and destroy. And then that’s when we felt it. The winds. The house. All going up and down, up and down. Whoosh. Up. Whoosh. Down. The four of us had never felt this way before. We laid out on the raised platform, praying that our combined weight would keep hold the house down. Dogs and cats took shelter under our bodies, and I am sure the rats found shelter next to the soap dish in the bathroom.  

At sunrise, we emerged from our hiding spots to find numerous houses missing walls, roofs and uprooted coconut trees laying all around them. One school building lost its entire roof.  Fallen coconut trees laid across the school’s field and large portions of the school’s roof were missing. By 10:00, we headed to the lagoon to board our canoe to the main island.  On the way to the lagoon, I saw many families working together to repair the damages to their houses.  Men were collecting coconut spines and women and were weaving new thatch. Boys were on top of roofs installing new thatch, while girls swept the land clean of debris.  In such an interdependent society, it should have not surprised me to see such cooperation and care for others’ well-being… but it did.  The village’s resilience taught me about the power of collective action in the face of an immeasurable destructive force. This was yet another lesson that I strove to never forget.