A First World Mother: The Rents Come to Vanuatu

Well, I figure many people were waiting for the recap of my Parent’s visit to Vanuatu (because, obviously, I have many die-hard readers) and I am ready to present the epic story now – only about 3 ½ months after the fact, but that is an inevitability of my living situation (possibly my work ethic too). Without further ado, the story of The Rents Come to Vanuatu…

“I heard you almost killed Mom, at least that’s how she made it sound… She is a first world mother!” My brother yelled at me after I had failed to get my Parents to Maewo. He was in the midst of criticizing my decisions over the phone as I sat in the Volunteer Resource Center at the Peace Corps Office in Port Vila. I must concede that he was correct on most every count. Moreover, I was overly optimistic. Surprising that, I never figured that a year removed from my Mother and in the Peace Corps – at the end of the road and the middle of nowhere, but somewhere to somebody – would make me an eternal optimist and forget what most people deem necessities (flushing toilet, air-conditioning, running water, etc.). This is even more ironic because, while many things do work out in the end in Vanuatu, you still face many obstacles and barriers that can break down even the strongest resolve, leaving the eternal optimist lying in the fetal position muttering about the dire need to have a pizza. I can only guess that the constant challenges make any positive success ten-times better and thus, you just start expecting success to forget the negatives and always look for the silver-lining (either that or go insane and start screaming for air-conditioning and that ephemeral Dunkin’ Donut’s Iced-Coffee). My only defense was “she obviously ignored my warnings”, but that is not new, so that defense leaves me standing on shaky ground. I have to say though, I’ve tried very hard to truly convey life in Vanuatu through my blog; these, ostensibly, were completely ignored. Though, I’ve been told, my Sister reads these blogs to my Mom, which they obviously took as fanciful tales from a boy with too much time to think – this is a fallacy and completely untrue. Now, I will state, anyone who decides to come visit, “Heed the blog or suffer dire first world withdrawals!”

72 hours prior to phone call… October 14^th. 2011

I sat on the lava rock beach that is Central-West Maewo, a nice deluge cascaded down on Nic Thiltges and myself. It was 7:15 AM. We were supposed to leave at 7:00 AM, but the boat had not come yet. We were quite surprised, as the boat driver, Basil, a trusted family-member of ours who we always ask to take us to Ambae, was never late – actually, many times he was early; but today he was late. I had called him and failed to reach him. We saw no motion down by the boats in the village down the way. Finally I reach him and he tells me that he is waiting for the rain to stop. Alright, so we wait. At 7:45 AM we finally depart Maewo for Ambae. I’ve now realized that I probably won’t reach the Longana Airport before my Parent’s flight lands. We reach Ambae and without enough time I run to the Post Office, get my packages my family sent months ago, and hand them off to Nic. Next, I run to the bank to withdraw the money for the boat trips. There I wait an excruciatingly long time as the staff does their best not to hurry – not really a surprise, but, in the stress of the moment, my inner-American is coming out. Finally, everything done, I go to catch the truck Basil chartered to take me to the Airport to meet The Rents. I then proceed to wait an extended period of time as the truck driver goes to do something that he describes very vaguely. After some more excruciating minutes we are off and slowly rolling. The roads are 1) destroyed from heavy rains and use, and 2) under-construction, thus we have to take the back-roads to the Airport adding more minutes to the time my Parents have been sitting at the Airport waiting on me, but, finally, we arrive. Hugs and kisses are exchanged, pictures are taken, excuses for tardiness tossed aside in the throes of happiness. We get into the truck and head to Le’ Mousse – the local Wal-Mart – for some lunch.

At this point I tell The Rents the bad news: the boat cannot make the passage to East Maewo; basically, we cannot reach Naviso – my village. To backtrack a little bit, the day before – hell, the whole week before – I sat on the lava rock beach in a deluge, we had nothing but sun; now overnight the rains had come, but this is not what cancelled the trip. Rain might have made the trip unpleasant, but not impossible. What made the trip impossible was that overnight the wind changed. The wind now came barreling down from the North making the waters quite messy. Now the trip from Maewo to Ambae was not particularly bad – I’ve been in much worse – but the passage between Maewo and Pentecost – leading to East Maewo – is aptly described as violent seas during the best of times. This is mainly from the entirety of the Pacific running into Vanuatu and then being funneled between the two islands. I was never expecting a nice trip, but I was expecting it to be possible; this was no longer true. Of course, disappointment was evident for The Rents had come all this way to see my village. I explained that that would not be possible, but we can still go to West Maewo and I would go get everybody from Naviso and bring them back; I was forced to go back because I didn’t plan for failure and thus left my entire luggage for the rest of the trip (Port Vila and Australia) in Naviso. At least this way they would reach Maewo and I could bring my family to come have a look at The Rents – this was not to be, but that part of the story will come. The Rents refused to concede to the impossibility of not reaching Naviso, but I believe they thought the impossibility was due to unpleasant weather and not a life or death situation (not to be over-dramatic); besides, they hadn’t seen the boat yet. After seeing the size of the boat the point was conceded.

Lunch consisted of the great, varied cuisine available in Saratamata (Penama Provincial Center): Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches. I have to admire the irony of bringing my Parents all the way to the other side of the world and eating PB&Js with them. Considering the promise of delicious island food and chicken or pig, PB&Js just ices the cake.

We sat at Le’ Mousse eating while our truck driver once again took off on some ambiguously described errand. Finally, just as we had decided to take another truck and were loading our luggage, our first driver showed up and he ended up taking us back to Lolowai and the boat. Once in Lolowai, we started loading the boat and before long we were off.

“This isn’t so bad!” comments my Mom, disparaging my earlier warnings that the seas are usually rough and the boat ride won’t be pleasant (THE BLOGS!!!). Of course, this comment was made while we were still in Lolowai Harbor. Once we hit the Pacific Ocean my Mom was slammed by a beautiful wave and immediately soaked through with saltwater. After this it was a matter of restraining my laughter. Unfortunately, as soon as I got my laughter somewhat controlled my Mum’s face went deathly white. At this point I went into serious, “try and not kill Mom” mode and started asking what was wrong. She was feeling incredibly nauseated and looked about to meet her maker, breath her last breath, give up the ghost, depart this life – you get the idea. I immediately start asking her if we should turn the boat around. We are probably about 10 minutes, at the most, outside of Lolowai Harbor and if we’re going to turn around, now is the time. “I don’t know” she said. “Do you want us to turn the boat around? Can you make it?” I responded. Not surprisingly, this went on for awhile until finally I got the response “I can make it, but I might die” – now that is not verbatim, but to the best of my memory it was something along those lines. So, we turned the boat around and headed back to Lolowai Harbor and I began formulating a plan because I still had to get back to Naviso to get all of my things. In the end, with the help of fellow PCVs (Megan Burrows, Mac Bradley, Nic Thiltges, Lindsay Templin, and Melissa Burns – Thank you), we took The Rents to the James Bule Guest House, behind Megan’s house, and I headed back, on an evening trip, to Maewo.

48 hours prior to phone call… October 15^th. 2011

6:00 AM. Central-West Maewo. I am waiting for Kato (deep-fried dough – similar to a doughnut – an island donut). Kato that was seemingly ordered the night before, but I am geared to go because I have to get to Naviso, explain the dilemma to my family in Naviso, and then walk back to Northwest Maewo, catch a boat, and get to the James Bule Guest House before dark… There is no Kato… Nic’s Host Papa had sent one his daughters to find the Kato… She cannot be found…

7:00 AM. Central-West Maewo. I am still waiting for Kato. Well, I’m not waiting anymore. I start getting ready to go. I’ll walk to the other side on an empty stomach. Truth be told, I was never planning on eating, but Nic’s Host Family feels obligated to provide food for me and I don’t want to insult them. Still Waiting…

7:15 AM. Central-West Maewo. I’m heading out. I can’t wait any longer. I am prepared to offer insult. Before I get out of sight of the houses, Nic’s Host Papa comes running at me with a plate of rice. I am instructed to eat on the road and just leave the plate on a particular stump. Ale.

7:23 AM. Central-West Maewo. Rice finished, have no idea what stump they were talking about, drop plate off on side of road.

10:00 AM East Maewo. I made it to Naviso in record time. I have to share the sad story – of why The Rents are not with me – with everyone I pass (a little depressing). Finally, I reach my house and find my Host Family. They’ve decked out my Brother’s half-built house and set-up a dining area for me and my Parents. I sit down to eat the delicious meal they prepared of taro, snake bean, green onions, and diced chicken (DELICIOUS!). I share the sad story again and start packing my things for the next trip. Once everything is ready, I am told that two of my Brothers, Denilson and Pato, will help me carry my things to the other side.

10:40 AM. East Maewo. After a talk with Jennifer at her house, I head back towards the other side. I meet Denilson and Pato on the road and we take off to Northwest Maewo.

1:00 PM. Northwest Maewo. We made it in record time again and are now waiting on Basil who decided he would come at 1:30 PM opposed to 1:00 PM (as I had believed). During the walk over to Northwest Maewo, I asked Denilson and Pato if they wanted to come visit Ambae and then come back the next day (Basil was going to spend the night on Ambae); now, taking two pre-teens to another island and neglecting to tell their parent might be frowned upon in the states, but not so in Vanuatu (hell, it’s practically encouraged) – not to mention that they had never left Maewo before. So, at 1:30 PM we were on our way back to Ambae.

When we reached Ambae, I headed to the store, bought some foodstuffs, and some sandals for myself, Denilson, and Pato. After this, due to a lack of trucks, we made our way to Saratamata with all the PCVs I had mentioned earlier – minus Megan because they were on their way to meet her. Twenty-minutes later we arrived at a store close to the James Bule Guest House, bought some chocolate milk (a must – they have an ice box, that is relatively cold, most of the time) for myself, Denilson, and Pato, and the three of us left the PCVs behind and headed for The Rents.

Once we arrived at the Guest House it was already getting dark and in the porch lights I introduced Denilson and Pato to The Rents. My two Brothers presented my Parents with all the Baskets and Mats that my Vanuatu Family had made for them as gifts. After this we started making preparations for dinner while my Mother proceeded to yell in English at Denilson and Pato (this was a constant theme that I found hilarious, especially because most of it involved telling them how ugly my long hair was).

As my Dad and I cooked the random assortment of food in the Guest House kitchen, we encountered a problem: a can of beans, but no can opener. To my Dad, this seemed to be an insurmountable problem. I assured him it would be alright and when my Mom arrived with Denilson and Pato, I asked them how they would open the can in Naviso. They told me with a knife. They took the first knife I proffered and, with my Mom in shock and a few quick stabbing motions, opened the can in seconds. After this, we ate and relaxed and I was able to put on some movies with my laptop. Additionally, I was able to hear all about my Mom’s observations of Vanuatu – “this place is like a third world country”, “they live so primitive, I just can’t understand it”, “they all just sit around not doing anything” – and experience without air-conditioning, hot running water, and electricity – “you had to shower with a bucket and flush the toilet with a bucket”. To me, this Guest House was one of the nicest places I have stayed on an outer island. If the water had been running, they had hot water and electricity, I would consider it a nice place in Port Vila, but my mind has obviously been tainted.

24 hours prior to phone call… October 16^th. 2011

The following morning involved waking up to the sun – inevitable in the South Pacific without air-conditioning. I then spent the following hour trying to learn when Nic was going to Lolowai, so I could take Denilson and Pato to the boat with him. Of course this seemingly simple task is complicated by the ever-changing programs of the truck drivers (these distractions can range from transporting patients from the hospital to the airport to stopping to eat and sleep). When Nic finally arrived I got about 5 seconds of notice – this involved a phone call where he stated “Where are you? The truck is here.” Well this put me in a little bit of a panic has I had been waiting on his “the truck will be there in 5 minutes call” to get everything ready, so I quickly grabbed everything and herded Denilson and Pato towards the truck. After running the necessary errands in Lolowai, I walked back to Saratamata and thus began the final trial on the outer islands: the truck ride to the Longana Airport.

While in Lolowai, I had asked Joe, a local truck driver, if he could take me and The Rents to the Airport in the afternoon. He gave me the affirmative, but added that another passenger on the same flight had already chartered him, so he would pick them up first and then proceed to get us. With this guarantee, I went back to the guest house to pack and await our trip to the airport and the air-conditioning of Port Vila.

The trouble began when a fellow guest at the Guest House, who also was on our flight, took a truck to the plane much earlier than I had planned for our pick-up. There seemed to be a disagreement about the check-in time and thus the departure time – the other guests believing the plane was leaving earlier. As you can imagine, this can create problems, especially with my Mother’s insistence that she get off the island: “I am not going to miss this flight Nik.” Affirmative Mom. She might have threatened my life too, but I can’t be sure – she at least would have made my life rather unpleasant. Anyway, I stuck to my guns and assured them everything would be alright – though I was now a little apprehensive.

On a tangent, in my experience, this happens quite frequently – people stating that their flight is an hour earlier then what it says on my ticket – Judging that, usually, one plane comes to Ambae – when it does come – it is impossible for them to have a flight one hour before mine. It seems as if people don’t ever read their ticket or they don’t have one – only having a booking number for check-in – and are going off memory, but without fail I have yet to be wrong on the time because every time I look at my ticket.

Thus, we waited… And waited… Waited some more… And waited some more. The more we waited the more death threats I received from my Mom (not really, but she definitely was undermining my confidence). My apprehension wasn’t helped when Mac (fellow PCV also on our flight to Port Vila) called me and asked where we were – she had already arrived at the Airport. All this while I was repeatedly calling Joe and beginning to feel like I was annoying him. Probably because he kept telling me he was 5 – 10 minutes away; but I failed to see or hear his truck – on an outer island, it is pretty easy, with the lack of any significant background noise, to hear a truck. This went on for an unpleasantly long time and then Joe finally arrived: his truck was fully loaded – well how the hell am I going to get my Mom on that. With unflinching audacity, my Mom walked straight to the cab and tried to get in, seemingly unaware that a woman was already there. As she opened the door she was told that the woman was sick and had to ride in the front. That left only one option: riding in the truck bed. Well this was going to be interesting, but, apparently due to her desire to get off Ambae and back to air-conditioning and running water, she didn’t question it and tried to get in the back of the truck. With my Dad pushing from the back she tried getting in. In hindsight, I realize that the other occupants of the truck were incredibly unhelpful, going against the general character of Ni-Vanuatu, but I blame this on spending too much time in Provincial Centers and being used to the more adventurous type of tourist visiting Ambae. In hindsight because I was too busy listening to my Mother’s frustrated tirade directed at my Dad and me. Some unflattering things were said before my Mom made it into the truck bed, but before I was able to jump in who rolls up but another truck – with no one but the driver. I immediately go and ask the driver if he can take us. With an affirmative, my Mom gets out of the first truck – a much easier task – and into the big, double-cab, air-conditioned, brand-spankin’ new truck (owned by one of the Cooperative-Stores of East Ambae). It always works out in the end – there’s that damn silver lining. We are off to the Airport and Port Vila.

Thus ends this narration. The best word to describe the Maewo attempt would probably be disaster – I used that adjective quite frequently in the following weeks. This outer island trip resulted in the most stress I’ve experienced in more than a year -- that’s the accumulative stress of the past year. Of course, much of this cynicism is in the interest of humor – I can’t think of any people that I would want to experience a mental breakdown with more than The Rents…