The Waiting

A week after my penis fiasco, I received a telegraph from Peace Corps - Tarawa.  Mr. Patrick handed the folded, light pink carbon copy to me, as he explained that a transport would arrive early in the morning for me.  Looking at the paper, I read: “Meet at government station tomorrow, 11:00 am –PCK.”  Not sure what or even why PCK staff was coming to my island the next morning, I slept a bit uneasy that night.

I woke to the sound of a truck’s horn at 7:00 a.m.  Jumping out of my mosquito net, I threw on a shirt and yelled “I’m coming” as I rushed to brush my teeth.  Once in the cab, it only took about one hour to reach the airfield.  There I met John, our country director, and Tieraata, our education program officer.  The truck brought all three of us to the government station where we were met by a council member who escorted us into the eerily silent meeting house.

A feeling quickly crept inside the pit of my stomach and it told me that things were about to get serious. As my eyes scanned the perimeter of the room, I saw solemn faces stamped across all present. The room was hot and the air was still as we were shown where to sit in the room.  Like an oasis in the desert, the only source of joy seemed to sit on the floor in the middle of the room: three kettles of tea, three bowls of assorted breads and fruit, and a pile of plastic cups and plates. My mouth began to water. I would take anything to break the silence and fill my stomach with happiness.

After we took our seats, two younger women came in and distributed the food and tea. When they were finished, the emcee offered a blessing for the food and the meeting.  Eating and the sharing of food was always a joyous and social occasion.  Men would talk with other men about fishing, construction, and make jokes while sipping tea.  Women would talk about bingo, village happenings, and the occasional snippet of gossip.  However, none of this joyous banter happened during this time.  We continued to eat in silence for about fifteen minutes before the meeting began.

When it did, John and I remained silent as voices, and seemingly tension rose.  Unaccustomed to sitting on the floor, and largely detached from the discussion, John and I kept busy by readjusting our seating positions whenever a leg or foot would fall asleep.  However, with my limited I-Kiribati I could understand that the meeting was about an incident with a fellow volunteer.  Throughout the meeting there where points when it seemed as if the discussion was over.  Then it would pick back up.  End again.  And pick back up.  The exhausted look on Tieraata’s face coupled with an unusually long period of silence after at least two hours signaled, in my mind, a welcomed end.

When we left the room, Tieraata took us to a secluded road and filled us in on what had happened.  As guessed, the meeting was called to address a volunteer incident.  Several months prior, a volunteer from the northern part of the island relocated to a different house. While in their new location, an incident occurred which immediately forced the volunteer out of the new location.  Ultimately, the volunteer chose not to return their site because of this incident. Tieraata and John came to the island in hopes of resolving concerns over volunteers on the island. 

The disappointed look on Tieraata’s face said all we needed to know about the meeting’s outcome.  “That meeting accomplished very little and resolved nothing,” he said as he sighed.  Hearing this, John’s demeanor turned from calm and hopeful to agitated and distraught.  Saying nothing to Tieraata, he turned to me with the most serious of looks and said, “I suggest you pack your bags, and return with us to the main island.  Until something moves forward with this incident, I think we need to send a strong message to the island’s council.”  All volunteers were vacated from their sites in hopes of making something … anything happen.