Going Blue in Chuuk

Having lived in Micronesia for the past year and a half, experiencing the U.S. elections has proved to be quite a contrast to what it would have been like had I been living at home. Following the news always requires creativity. We are always behind. Chuuk does not get any television stations, so I have never heard Obama or Biden’s voice. It took months to discover that Palin pronounces her name Pay-lin, not Pah-lin. Occasionally we receive news magazines and get to reading them at least a month after they have been published. Usually I get my information relayed through other volunteers who devote precious internet time to news websites. Conversations among the volunteers often address politics and social issues, however, we’re so far removed from the U.S. and so invested in the occurrences on our small island that often our efforts to stay on top of the news seem laughable.

In October I found myself on a reef island no bigger than the White House itself. Lounging in the turquoise water, separated by miles of water from land that has electricity or any means of accessing the rest of the world, my roommates discuss Obama and McCain. We check with each other if we have received our absentee ballots yet, and plan to visit the post office soon. We are in the most isolated place I have ever been in the world, yet we long to be connected, informed.

In November, we contact friends and family to route a mode of communication in order to get the Election Day news as fast as possible. Fifteen hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time, I awaited the election results a full day after the election. From our calculations we expected that the message would get to Chuuk by about 3pm on November 5th. Jessie and Matt kept the phone lines open in case we got a call, and conserved laptop battery so we could check online even if there was no electricity.

We plan that Jessie will call me at work as soon as they find out who won. But by 2:50pm I am at work at St. Cecilia, about to go into my next class and so anxious that I call home just in case they’ve gotten the news. I use the only phone line we have at St. Cecilia and call our apartment. It’s Jessie, she’s yelling and laughing and thrilled with our country’s decision. I deliver my own excitement back, screeching into the phone. I walk outside the office bursting to share the news when I am hit with the realization that I am in a place with no other Americans. No one else will share my interest or enthusiasm. A very lonely and alienated feeling crept into my conscience as I realized just how far away I was from my home on a day America made history.

Still, I excitedly explained to my co-teachers sitting on the rickety benches outside the office that my country had elected a new leader. Some had heard of Obama, some had not. For the next hours to come all I focused on was the commute home and meeting my fellow volunteers to revel in the news. I am greeted at Saramen by Chuukese high school students shaking my hand and offering congratulations. Jessie and Matt had evidently been keeping their students informed of the day’s progress as well. Jessie has hung a huge white sheet from the second floor balcony that read, “President Obama Waiioooo,” a Chuukese exclamation. In our apartment, Peace Corps volunteers and JVs poured in, as an impromptu celebration began. We know that we are far away, but we are aware that something exceptional has occurred.

That evening, after we had gotten the election news, we did not have electricity on Weno. Yet 15 or so Americas sat in our apartment by lantern-light sharing new expectations and hope. We gathered together, sitting on the floor to listen to our friend Alex read Obama’s acceptance speech aloud, which we had used much of our dial-up internet time to download. As our fellow volunteer read Obama’s words, we listened, gripped with utmost attentiveness. We sang and danced for the rest of the night.

Having witnessed an election year from abroad I have been afforded a very different perspective on the American presidency. Through spending significant time outside my home country I have observed how much the U.S. affects the international community through its decisions. The privilege of voting in this election further drives my belief in the necessity of understanding the world outside of America. On election night in Chuuk many of us wished we could be back home celebrating on American pavement. But I was grateful to watch the world from here.

Tidal Wave Day

Last Wednesday was a regular day at St. Cecilia School. The only part of the day that would have been out of the ordinary was my plan to leave work after lunch in order to make it to the bank downtown with Jessie to take out money for the JVs. I had made it to my 5th period English class with the seventh graders just before lunch when Kaspar, our principal, gets on the megaphone outside, leading all of my students to abruptly disregard my teaching and run to the windows to look survey the scene. Kaspar announces that he has just received urgent information about a tidal wave headed to Chuuk, scheduled to hit the lagoon at 2 pm. It was then 12:30. The police officers had been riding around the road in order to announce this with megaphones from the back of their truck. We were to dismiss and evacuate the campus. No students were allowed to walk down to the road, which is on lower ground and right next to the ocean, until their parents arrived to get them.

Immediately after the completion of the principal’s announcement, the school erupted into panic. I quickly ran next door to talk to Sr. Sophie in 6th grade to confirm what I had heard. Lachlan, who was teaching on the other side of my room, and I tried our best to control and calm our 7th graders. I tried to relay the message of the expected protocol, and ask them to calmly pack up their bags, but was acknowledged by very few of the frantic kids. It was clear that I actually had very little control over what was now happening in the classroom. Students began running in all directions, yelling, “We’re gonna die!”

I myself was at first completely skeptical. A tidal wave? Really? I thought we were protected from tidal waves by the reef. My apartment can’t be more than 200 yards from the ocean, will it survive? If a tidal wave hits, will the bank still be open?

I sat down on the concrete in front of the office and watched the students dart in every which way. Nai Nai, one of my 1st grade friends, was jumping up and down yelling, “Upwe no tukken, upwe no tukken!” (I will swim!) I spoke with our principal who was sitting on a bench outside the office, and asked what he knew. He seemed nervous and helpless but confident in conveying the announcement he had heard himself. A big concern was the ability of the government to disseminate the information quickly enough. We only have one phone at St. Cecilia so most kids weren’t able to call home, plus many families don’t have phones in their houses. Soon enough though, parents began to come for their kids, walking up the hill to be greeted by squinting and then sprinting sons and daughters who were anxious to get home.

As school started to clear out, teachers began to head home as well. Carlos, a 5th grade teacher and father of 2 of my students, offered to drive me downtown with his kids. I jumped at the chance, grateful to get out of the chaos and hopeful to still make it to the bank, potentially avoiding a lethal tidal wave as well. Carlos, Berson, Brilliant and I pile in Carlos’ low to the ground car, which bottoms out on the deeper pot holes in the road. I feel relief as we drive until the car comes to a gradual stop on the causeway. I am unsure of what is happening. Carlos turns the key in the ignition, nothing. Again he turns it, nothing. “No gas,” he tells me in English. Carlos quickly hops out of the car and onto a passing truck in order to get to the nearest gas station about 15 minutes away. I offer to stay in the car with the kids until he comes back.

It takes a minute for my thoughts to catch up to me. It is 1:15. I am stranded on the causeway, a very narrow human-made road surrounded by water on both sides; and a tidal wave is coming in my direction. This is where my own panic sets in. My nerves overcome my own skepticism and worry takes over. I guess if a tidal wave takes out this 12 square mile island, I won’t need to go to the bank anyway. I give up on the bank and become concerned with my own survival. What if Carlos doesn’t get back in time? Berson and Brilliant get restless. I try and talk to them but they speak an outer island language, not the Chuukese I am learning, so we can barely communicate. I think about leaving them there and hopping on a truck to make it home in time, but I wont leave these kids here. I get out of the car and start pacing. I see trucks pass with kids on the back heading away from school. I wonder what is happening at Saramen, where I live and where Jessie and Matt teach. Have they evacuated? Are they scared?

What if I die here? Is this seriously happening?

I recognize faces of drivers and children as they crawl past in their cars going 10 mph, the fastest you can drive with the conditions of the road. I look up to see the Saramen school truck. It’s the Saramen principal, Wayne, coming to get his kids from St. Cecilia. He greets me as he drives with a confused smile, wondering what I am doing on the side of the road with random children, but I speak first. “What’s happening at Saramen?” He says, “We sent the kids home, you know it’s just a drill, right?”

A drill. It’s just a drill. “Hey Wayne, does that mean the bank is still open?” He laughs as he nods and drives away. How could the state of Chuuk have a natural disaster drill without informing teachers and administrators? How did no one know? I start to calm down. I convince myself I was never that worried in the first place. Berson, Brilliant and I watch for Carlos on the backs of oncoming trucks. He arrives holding one gallon of gas in a plastic water container. We fill the tank and continue our journey home.

I make it home just before 2. If it hadn’t been a drill I would have only narrowly made it to the safety of my apartment. I walk in bursting to tell the story of my afternoon and am greeted by JV’s, peace corps volunteers, and JOCV volunteers all celebrating the afternoon off. Jessie springs up when I come in and we run to the bank, talking excitedly as we go. We withdraw our cash, feeling relieved that we will be able to eat a nice dinner and pay for our weekend trip to another island. We decide to commemorate tidal wave day with ice cream cones from the store, not unlike hot chocolate on a snow day.

pictures at school

laundromat

Going to the laundromat on my island is always a time that i re-evaluate how much i have incorporated Chuukese culture into my own life, and which aspects of Chuuk i have not chosen to hold on to. Being in a laundromat in it of itself is not exactly abiding by traditional ways islanders wash their clothes. Normally the women would hand wash with rain water, but here on our more modern island with ocasional electricity all the women congregate at the laundromat.

For the most part, only women do the laundry in a family. I join them about once a week in the afternoon after work. I always enjoy the feeling of female community there. I know the women recognise me and sense that im not a tourist from my Chuukese skirts. On a crowded day, I enter and sit on the bench waiting to be called on. This is a part of my laundry routine that reflects how i have adapted. In general in Chuuk i feel very taken care of by the larger community. There is less of a social requirement to be self sufficient, and I find myself relying on others more. In my experience here, if you are hungry someone will offer you food, if you are tired you will be offered a place to rest, and if you are sick someone will accompany you. In the laundromat, i dont need to worry about any sort of line or order or claiming a machine. The women just notice me when i come in and offer me a machine when one is free. If it is a very long line and the wait goes past sunset, I know i can count on an offer to be driven home so i dont have to walk after dark.

Doing laundry offers the opportunity to talk to the women around me, and to practice my Chuukese. We chat about our common experience on the island, the lack of electricity, the road, the rain, my job as a teacher. Sometimes I find myself in long conversations, regularaly I meet a relative of a student. Other days I am so tired from my work day that i just lay down on the bench and take a nap- public napping: also very Chuukese.

With a visit to the laundromat always comes a consideration of Chuukese gender roles. It always intrigues me to go with one of the male volunteers. The only time Chuukese men enter is to carry the huge bins of clothes out to the truck, or to bring in an entire extended family's pile of laundry to their female relative who may be there all day. Since it is the woman's role to clean the clothes, I often feel when i sit next to Matt or another American male that the women look at me and think, "Why aren't you doing your brother's laundry?" Or maybe they are happy to see a male doing their own laundry. I dont think I will ever adjust so much as to believe that I should be doing the male JV's laundry.

My wait at the laundromat always provides time to process, in the presence of my Chuukese neighbors. When my clothes are clean I bring them home wet to hang on the clothes line in our apartment. They always take a long time to dry in the humidity, reminding me again of my unique position in the world.

new picture site

I just linked the Peace Corps picture site to this blog, if anyone is interested in looking at more pictures from Chuuk. It's titled Suzi's pictures. Suzi, Rachel and Michael are the peace corps volunteers here in Chuuk that arrived shortly after Jessie and I. We have all become good friends and our communities support one another very much. Suzi, Rachel and Michael work on outer islands of Chuuk, but also spend a lot of time on Weno. You can find me in some of these pictures.

making payroll

We are two weeks into the beginning of the school year here in Chuuk. St. Cecilia is doing well. The school has a new coat of paint that the faculty and other volunteers worked to apply during planning sessions and Saturdays. It’s a small change but really makes a big difference. This year I am teaching 7th and 8th grade English, I am also the homeroom teacher for one 8th grade section. I am in the classroom 5 periods a day and am running the school library as well. Other changes are the two new volunteers working with me at the school, Lachlan, an Australian volunteer, and Suzi, a Peace Corps volunteer. They are both only temporary, they won’t be with us for the full year, but the opportunity to collaborate is great. It has been helpful to brainstorm with these two and problem solve for our many classroom challenges.

This week we had a staff meeting with the business manager of the school to discuss the financial situation of St. Cecilia. Chuuk has been affected by the economic slowdown, higher food and gas prices, as well. The school is down from last years’ enrollment of 350 to 260 students this year. Tuition is $35 a month, which can be a lot for most families. Also, there are still many outstanding tuition payments from previous years that the school has yet to receive.

The repercussions of this will affect the staff payroll directly. I sat with my co-workers as they were all told that the school will not be able to pay them their full salaries this semester. In years previous the faculty went without pay for many months as well. The school is working on tuition collection but they are already predicting a lot of financial hardship for the year. We made it through last year with grants from Australian aid banks, but that won’t be sustainable for the school.

It was strange to hear this news having been in Chuuk and with this faculty for over one year. Looking around I could feel that all of the teachers were thinking about the families they are supporting on their salary. I know these teachers well now and I know their families. I can imagine the kind of hardship they will face without getting paid. I felt out of place in that room with the financial security I have- if the school cant pay my stipend JVI will, so I don’t ever need to worry about it. But for the rest of the Chuukese teachers that is not so.

There are many ways in which we as a staff are optimistic for this school year. We are a dedicated group. I know some of the teachers will stick it out without pay for the betterment of their students. We will see if finances improve as the year continues.

request for school supplies

In case anyone reading was interested in helping out St. Cecilia faculty and students, I have compiled a list of school supplies that could be put to use at the school. These supplies are either not available on our island or are pretty expensive if you can find them:

-white chalk
-chalkboard erasers
-markers
-colored pencils
-crayons
-pencil sharpeners
-pencil erasers
-folders
-construction paper
-scotch tape
-masking tape
-duct tape
-blue painters tape
-index cards
-white glue
-teachers' grade books
-teachers' lesson plan books


These are all items that i could easily distribute to other teachers and students. We are not in need of other items such as notebooks, pens, or pencils- the students are able to supply themselves with these. We are also not in need of any reading books, St. Cecilia recieved multiple donations of these last year.

These supplies can be sent to my address:
JVI
Saramen Chuuk Academy
PO Box 662
Chuuk, FM 96942
Federated States of Micronesia

Thank you so much to everyone for your continued support. My co-workers, students, and I will be very grateful for any small amount that you are able to send.

peace,
Caitlin

A History of St. Cecilia

As I am now back in Chuuk and preparing for a new school year at St. Cecilia, I thought this post might be applicable. This entry comes primarily from a long conversation I had in May of 2008 with Sr. Fostina, a Chuukese nun, alumna, and once principal of St. Cecilia School. This entry has also been informed by many other “mwichen mercedes,” graduates of St. Cecilia, who I have met throughout the past year in Micronesia. The following is a short history of St. Cecilia School, in Tunnuk village, on Weno island, where I am a teacher.

St. Cecilia School was founded in 1946 as an all girls diocesan school. The bishop of the Caroline Islands, which includes Chuuk, invited the MMB order of sisters to operate the school. The Mercedarian Missionaries of Berriz originated in the Basque region of Spain, Sr. Fostina, and the sisters who I work with at St. Cecilia today are members of this order. In order to understand St. Cecilia, I think it is important to understand the MMB sisters who are above all else committed to social justice and the liberation of women around the world. Through my conversations with them, and my experiences alongside them, I find the sisters to be incredibly down to earth, progressive, and dedicated women. The MMBs do not wear habits, they live simply in their home, get wet in the back of the truck on the way to work when it rains, and are the most capable and reliable teachers at St. Cecilia.

When St. Cecilia was founded, the school boarded the 5th through 8th grade girls, and was open for kindergarten through 8th grade. There was no tuition collected, as the school survived on funds from the diocese; food was provided by the sisters for the students. Sr. Fostina was a member of the first graduating class of St. Cecilia. She graduated in 1952 with a class of 9 girls.

In 1960 the Mercedarians open the school for boys as well. Tuition began to be collected at $1 a month. By this time the school had earned the reputation as the best school in Micronesia. Students came from other states in the F.S.M. and other Micronesian islands to attend the school. Sr. Fostina described the physical space as “spic and span.” Consistently among all of the alumni who I speak to, they describe the strict policies of the nuns. Alumni also include that the discipline they received, especially with regard to speaking English in order to better learn the language, has been something they deeply value as they have grown older.

In the ‘60s the school grew to include the second building of two floors, which is now the main building of the school. The dorms were moved from the now first and second grade classrooms to the 2nd floor of the main building. Today’s 8th grade classroom was once the dining hall and kitchen of the boarders. What is now an area for picnic tables outside the office, were classrooms at this time.

Euka, an alumna who I worked with this summer, described St. Cecilia as a, “perfect school for traditional Chuukese girls,” because it incorporated Chuukese culture with a valuable education. The school taught mostly in English, giving the students a good opportunity for secondary and higher education, but also functioned within cultural norms. Euka graduated from the school in the 1970’s.

In the 1980’s Sister Fostina returned to the school having joined the religious order that had educated her at St. Cecilia. As an MMB sister, she worked as the principal of the school for 4 years. During her time as principal Jesuit Volunteers were working and living at the school. Their residence was what the school office is now. I do not know the exact dates for JV’s work at St. Cecilia. I know they lived at the school for some time, but discontinued at St. Cecilia in the 1990’s until 2007 when I began working at the school.

During the 1990’s the Bishop and one Jesuit priest working in Micronesia, decided to build Saramen Chuuk Academy on Weno. This addition would make Saramen the 3rd Catholic school on the island, along with St. Cecilia, and Xavier High School; St. Cecilia and Saramen Chuuk being the two diocesan school and Xavier being operated by the Jesuits. In order to build S.C.A. the clergy opted to utilize St. Cecilia’s resources as start up funds. As the building for S.C.A. was being constructed, the first S.C.A. classes were held at St. Cecilia in the former dining hall and kitchen area. This year ended the period in which students were able to board at the school, as they no longer had eating facilities. The following year S.C.A moved out to another building in Nepukos village for one year until it began operation on its contemporary campus.

At the time of S.C.A’s startup, Sr. Fostina accounted for $90,000 in St. Cecilia’s bank accounts, the results of tuition collection and fundraising by the sisters. This money was used by the Bishop to pay for the building costs for the Saramen Chuuk campus. Apparently the bishop’s decision created controversy within the diocese and among the MMB sisters who believed the money should be used for St. Cecilia. The MMB sister acting as principal disagreed with the Bishop’s use of the money so strongly that she decided to step down from her role as principal of the school.

Following the MMB’s administration at St. Cecilia a female Chuukese woman from the outer islands named Dolores was appointed as principal and worked in that capacity for six years. After Dolores’ administration at St. Cecilia in 1995 or ‘96, Mariano, the founding principal of Saramen Chuuk, came to St. Cecilia and became principal. Mariano is a Chuukese man who holds a masters degree in education from the University of San Francisco in the U.S.

Mariano was the principal of St.Cecilia School for 11 years, including my first semester teaching there. Early in Mariano’s time as principal, Jesuit Volunteers left the school. During his administration the school was taking money from income tax and social security out of the teachers’ paychecks. The school began accruing debt.

When I entered the school as a teacher in the fall of 2007, St. Cecilia was in $30,000 of debt. The building had fallen into disrepair. Windows go uncovered, chalkboard paint peels off as you write, and holes accumulate in the floorboards. In December of 2007, after discussions with the school board, Mariano stepped down as principal. The vice principal, Kaspar worked as acting principal for the remainder of the school year.

The school faces very different obstacles today that it once did. St. Cecilia no longer is considered the best elementary school in Micronesia. It has the lowest passing rate of all Micronesian Catholic elementary schools into Xavier High School. Sr. Sisca, a St. Cecilia alumna and now MMB sister and teacher at the school tells me about how difficult it is for her to see St. Cecilia today after graduating from there in the 1980’s. She tells me this one story of her and Sr. Fostina visiting the school in the 1990’s during the beginning of its decline. It was the first time she had seen the school in many years and she and Sr. Fostina were brought to tears at the sight of it, noting how carelessly it had been taken care of.

Though St. Cecilia struggles today, there are many people working at the school attempting to bring the level of education back up. The Mercedarian sisters and the St. Cecilia alumni play an integral role in supporting the school. We are beginning the 2008-2009 school year with a new administration…and much hope.

pictures through June

All of my May and June pictures, including graduation, are going up on my photo account today. You can get to them by the link on the right of this page.

"I have a question, Mr. President”

This week in Pohnpei, the teachers of the H.A.P. program took all of our students on a field trip to Palikir, the capital of the Federated States of Micronesia. It was about a 25 minute bus trip outside of Kolonia, the main town. At Palikir we toured the government buildings and offices visiting the Department of Health, Department of Education, and Department of Justice. The highlight of our trip was a meeting with the president of the F.S.M., Manny Mori.

Previously, from my own experiences with the president, I have observed the completely ordinary treatment Manny Mori receives from fellow Micronesians. He is not constantly flocked by security as the American president is. One day in Pohnpei I was eating lunch at a restaurant with other JVs and some Peace Corps volunteers when President Mori walked into the restaurant with his family members. We, the expats, were all a bit star-struck but no one else, including the waitress, even seemed to notice. I have seen him come in and out of church unannounced. One of our Japanese friends, Fumina, was waiting on the side of the road for a taxi one day in Chuuk and was picked up by President Mori who kindly dropped her off at her destination.

President Mori is a Chuukese man. This is significant because of the four states in the F.S.M- Yap, Kosrae, Chuuk, and Pohnpei- Chuuk is often criticized as the most corrupt, and the greatest impediment to progress in the F.S.M. I listened to a Peace Corps volunteer refer to Chuuk as a “failed state” this week. Chuuk also happens to be the most populated state.

At Palikir, President Mori met with our 39 students and 5 teachers for 45 minutes. He advised the students to stay in school, listen to their parents and teachers, go to college, and remain humble. When he asked for questions, our soon to be 8^th graders were very, very quiet. Generally this would be a way that young children show respect to adult men, so we weren’t surprised by their silence. Instead it gave the other teachers and me an opportunity to ask our own questions.

Josh asked President Mori what he thought was the greatest challenge to the F.S.M. in becoming a better nation. President Mori’s answer was education. He called the education system in the F.S.M. a “broken system.” He cited Chuuk specifically, noting the failure of getting students into schools, and the lack of students who graduate high school or college.

My question to President Mori asked what he would say to students who do have the opportunity to attend college and are facing the decision whether or not to return to the F.S.M. after the graduate. Often college educated students can’t find jobs that are suited to their level of skill, or pay a living wage. The minimum wage in the F.S.M. is around $1.25 an hour. Much of the cause for the lack of jobs has been the imposition of a market economy on a people who lived and operated a subsistence economy for most of their people’s history. Even so, it had seemed to me that the country would need its most educated citizens here, working for the betterment of the nation.

President Mori’s response to this question was a candid admittance of his country’s inability to provide opportunities for college graduates. He recommended that graduates seek out the best opportunities and seize them even if it does mean moving to Guam, Saipan, Hawaii or the mainland U.S. He acknowledged the F.S.M’s failure to offer adequate health care, employment, or education to its citizens. His honesty surprised me, even though I know his statements regarding the breakdown of the country’s infrastructure to be true. To publicly acknowledge the incapacity of your own government to support its people seems like it must be difficult for a leader. Even so, his openness in discussing the issues gave me hope for improvement within the F.S.M.

President Mori asked that if college graduates could find jobs at home that they please do return and contribute to the country’s growth. He made each of our students promise to graduate college, calling them the future of the nation and reminding them of their responsibility to their islands. Each student upon leaving shook hands with President Mori. When it was my and the other teachers’ turn, we were able to converse for a few minutes. President Mori asked where we were from and thanked us for our service as teachers. We accepted his gratitude, though I think thanks seems completely unnecessary, we should be thanking him for allowing us to be here and learning from Micronesia.

I don’t often find myself caught up in instances of inspiration here. Usually my thoughts are too skeptical to overcome the clichés of teacherly moments. However my interaction with President Mori really impressed me and made me grateful to be a part of education here, which has been identified as one of the greatest needs for Micronesia by its president.

"Sipwe pworuk" - let's dance

My community loves to dance. We salsa, we swing, we meringue, we bhangrah, we Irish step dance, we Mortlockese stick dance, we (attempt to learn) hula. You can find us dancing in our apartment late into the night-clearing space by moving couches, turning up the music, and sweating in the heat. I have never been much of a dancer myself but Lincoln knows swing and taught it in college, Jessie has taken dance classes and done lots of club salsa, and Marcos’ meringue is in his Mexican blood.

Through all of our challenges this year, we have danced. This began very early in the year when Jessie convinced the four of us to learn a dance for the JVI staff members who arrived in Chuuk in November to evaluate our work sites. Our dance was performed in the middle of the Chuuk international airport in order to welcome our guests. We practiced in our apartment to Indian bhangrah music until our quads burned. On the day of Meghan and Chris’ arrival, we brought our music and matching outfits to the airport. When arriving in Chuuk by plane, after you pass through customs, there is a large glass window that allows those welcoming friends and family to awkwardly observe the newly arrived as they wait impatiently for their bags. This was our moment. While the staff watched from the other side of the glass, we cleared a space in front, turned on the music and danced through our laughter. A crowd of surprised and clearly confused Chuukese people gathered around as the Xavier JVs attempted to run and hide pretending not to be associated with us. Our airport dancing was hilarious and ridiculous, and I blame Jessie for all of it.

As the year went by our dancing continued. After dinner some nights the meringue would turn on and Marcos and Jessie would dance as Lincoln and I washed dishes. There was Irish step dancing for St. Patrick’s Day, Lincoln taught us the Charleston to hip hop music, Jessie and I convinced Nai Nai, our Chuukese teacher, to show us some hula after language lessons on Tuesdays. Then came the Philipino events; a strong Philipino community exists in Chuuk, and as fellow outsiders to Chuukese culture, we have become friends. The Philipinos put on entertainment events for their community to supplement the lack of social events happening in Chuuk. As they observed our tendency for dancing, they would call our apartment and ask us to come and dance for them at their next dinner party or dance night. Unable to resist this opportunity for apparent absurdity, our community agreed to create a salsa-swing fusion dance to perform for the Philipino dance night. Jessie and Lincoln co-choreographed, and we sacrificed sleep and shin-splints to prepare.

Our dancing represents something much larger than the simple exercise of movement. Part of the focus of JVI is to build community. Jesuit Volunteers live in what we call “community.” Physically, for us in Chuuk, this is just an apartment of four volunteers, two men downstairs, two women upstairs, some cement, furniture, bathrooms, and a kitchen. But really a community calls for a relationship, one deeper than that of typical roommates. Culturally in Chuuk, only relatives live together, so our surrounding Chuukese community understands our relationship as that of a family. We introduce each other to students and Chuukese friends as brothers and sisters.

Taking queues from our Chuukese hosts, that familial relationship has been what we are attempting to cultivate among the four of us, a kind of unconditional love. For us, it has not been all singing and dancing this year, though there has been much of that. Some days it can seem like all of Chuuk is working against you; bringing that feeling home to your mates can be alienating at the very least. Our relationships have been forged over long conversations on the balcony, the willingness to get up before breakfast to talk to a community-mate before leaving for work, intentionally getting involved in each others’ lives, taking care of one another when we are sick or sleep-deprived, sharing tears over struggles back home or great joy over the success of our students.

For me, dancing with my community signifies the joy, the struggle, the surprises, and the silliness of the past year in Chuuk. It has been our unique way of building community and being present to one another. Our dancing often resulted in hysterical laughter, sometimes injury, and the trust that your partner won’t drop you on the linoleum. It has been one of the greatest gifts I have received this year in Chuuk.

June

Just a quick update for today- I have about 3 blogs i have been meaning to write. Soon i will get them up, but for now, a fast recap.

Last week, my 8th grade students graduated from St. Cecilia and I completed my first year of teaching. This week the JVs and I are on break until June 7th when the JVI staff and JVs from Pohnpei and Majuro arrive in Chuuk for a 5 day meeting. It is the middle of my 2 year commitment and the end of 2 years for some. After our meeting, on June 14th and 17th the 2nd year JVs will be leaving us in Chuuk to return home.

On June 18th i will be traveling to Pohnpei, another island/state of FSM. There I will be participating in my summer placement. I will be teaching with a program called HAP, that assists elementary school students in preparing for Xavier High School, the Jesuit High School in Chuuk. I will live with Katie and Josh, 2 JVs in my class who live and work at Xavier. The three of us will stay together in the Pohnpei JV house as a summer community. I return to Chuuk on August 2nd when I will begin my 2nd year here. Soon after, Jessie and I will welcome the two male JVs who will live with us and teach at Saramen Chuuk.

That is all the news for now, please excuse the brevity. New pictures from March-May '08 are going up on my Flickr account as I type.

Kinamwe,
Caitlin

eighth grade

My eighth grade students will be graduating in a little over a month. They are definitely the class that i feel closest with and enjoy teaching the most. Here are three small stories from my days with this class. These are brief glimpses into my days as an elementary school teacher.

I hopped on a truck in the morning with 18 8^th grade girls wearing white blouses and pink pleated skirts. We were returning back to the school after a visit to the prison. For most of the students, it was their first time in a prison. They sang songs and spoke words of peace to the men. They were bothered by the smell. The ride home, along the coast, seemed like a relief for them. It was pure luck that Sr. Sophie left her guitar in the flatbed. The girls played in like a ukulele until they asked if I knew how to play. “Ekis,” a little bit, I responded in Chuukese. Though, playing guitar with both hands, while trying to balance on the rim of the flatbed made me weary of losing my balance. As I began to say, no, I’ll play for you later- the girls on either side of me reached their arms around my back and waist so I wouldn’t fall backwards. Aiko handed me the guitar. “Do you know ‘Open the Eyes of My Heart?’” I played for them that way, my students holding me up, all of us singing, as the truck drove on beside the ocean.

Students in Chuuk don’t bring their teachers apples. They bring them mangoes. Mango season has just arrived. I have been waiting for this since August. I ate my first local mango on the back of the Sisters truck on my way home from work. Aita, and 8^th grader, brought it for me. After she showed me how to cut it, I ate it down to the pit. Now, she brings me a mango every day with her lunch.

5^th period is right before lunch. It is noon and blazing hot under the tin roof of the 8^th grade classroom. 8B is restless. They want out. They have just finished their quiz and small Chuukese conversations are bursting out of them, even though they know the rule is silence until I have all of their papers. My head is up as I am walking around collecting quizzes, making sure no one shares their answers. As I walk through the maze of arbitrarily arranged desks, I take a step, there is a loud squeal, pain, I shriek and nearly fall on Theodore. I realize I have stepped on the sleeping stray cat in my classroom. My students laugh at me.

Tiro

The word tiro qualifies as the most commonly spoken Chuukese word in my vocabulary. Meaning “excuse me,” Chuukese people will voice it before walking in front of you, stepping between you and the person you are conversing with, or while excusing themselves from a room full of people. Tiro is coupled with a bow, a lowering of your body from the waist as you walk past. As I have learned, it exists as a sign of respect. However, only women are culturally expected to use the word as the pass by men. The respectful “excuse me” does not apply to men as they pass women.

Traditionally Chuukese gender roles have been born out a call for respect among men and women, especially brothers and sisters. Beyond the simple trio phrase, women are expected to bow or kneel whenever one of their brothers is present in the room. If she desires to get up and leave the room, she walks on her knees or crawls. While walking on the road, I have watched women kneel down as one of their brothers drives past in a car. Additionally, men will often stand as a woman passes in order to alleviate her bowing, yet still keep her head physically lower than the man’s.

This Thursday I observed another manifestation of this cultural practice. At Holy Thursday services in Catholic churches there is usually a ceremonial reenactment of the washing of the feet rooted in the biblical story of the last supper. As I have observed since youth, twelve individuals are called up to the altar to sit in a chair and have their feet washed by the priest. This week in Chuuk, only men were designated to have their feet washed. Apparently, a woman sitting in a chair higher than a priest, a man, who would be washing her feet, would be extremely disrespectful. Women are therefore excluded from this service in addition to the exclusions they already tolerate in the church, such as participation in the priesthood.

So I ask myself, is the tiro culture oppressive toward women? Does it limit options for women? Is a physical lowering of a woman’s body in the presence of a man indicative of the status of women? I believe very sincerely in the value of maintaining and preserving culture, but can we use culture as an excuse for oppression? Is the church participating in this through abiding by cultural norms? Aware of my status as an outsider, I know I cannot judge actions based on my own ethnocentrism. But I cannot desist in asking questions.

Two Deaths, One Funeral

Brokenness is a kind of JVI buzzword that my community tends to often joke about. I drop a ceramic mug on the floor- brokenness. Marcos sprains his ankle, falling in a treacherous pothole on the notorious Chuuk road- brokenness. Though we like to take this concept lightly here, my time in Chuuk has not been without real, deep brokenness. Over the past two weeks I have learned of the deaths of two people in my community at St. Cecilia. One, a student of mine named Jerome. The other, the wife of my co-teacher Jerry, named Cecilia.

Jerome was a 6th grade boy, who, as I learned in school the following day, committed suicide. One of the nuns informed me of the news, and I have rarely ever felt more shocked. Jerome was about 12 or 13 years old. He lived a few minutes walk away from my apartment. He has been left back from the 7th grade at the beginning of this school year and struggled greatly in my class. Jerome was, for the most part, illiterate.

The news of a suicide death at such a young age seems much more shocking to me than any of my Micronesian friends. In Chuuk, the rate of teenage suicide is one of the highest in the world. I don’t understand why. I can’t even begin to. Jerome’s death has been some of the darkest news I have ever received.

In addition to the confusion I feel with regard to the causes of Jerome’s death, I also feel troubled by the response. In Chuuk, the Catholic church here has created a rule that no suicide deaths will be recognized with a funeral. Catholic school students are not excused from school to visit the family. No announcement was made at the school assembly meeting to formally acknowledge Jerome. I have many, many concerns with Church policies in Chuuk, which I will not discuss further here. However, I feel that all life, at its end, should be recognized and honored.

The 7th and 6th grade students did discuss Jerome’s death, and recognized it in their own way. I also teach three of Jerome’s cousins who I have been attempting to reach out to. Chuuk State lacks any social service program and the schools are without counselors. The family structure is very strong but I still worry that my students do not have a healthy outlet to express their feelings on matters of death that are so much more eminent here than in America.

Less than one week following Jerome’s death, our acting-principal informed the school that Cecilia, the wife of an 8th grade teacher Jerry, had passed away. I never had the opportunity of meeting Cecilia, but faculty members have told me of her warm and light-hearted temperament. At the age of 40 she died of diabetes. Diabetes, especially type II, also leads to many deaths here usually related to the diet of canned meat and rice. Jerry and I teach the same students, the 8th graders, and he is always the one cracking jokes at our meetings.

Cecilia’s funeral, or what I would in my own culture call a wake, was this past Thursday at 1 pm. The school day was shortened and the 4th through 8th grade students all attended the funeral together. The nearly 200 students lined up in straight lines. We walked from St. Cecilia on the road for about 10 minutes until we arrived at the compound where the funeral took place. From the road you could hear women crying. Women were inside the meeting house where the body was laid out while the men remained outside. When we arrived, all of the students and teachers entered. I sat on the floor, cross-legged with the 8th grade students. The principal greeted the family, a student read from the Chuukese bible, and we sang. Following this we exited the meeting house where Jerry was waiting to shake all of our hands and thank us for coming. The viewing can go on for a few days until the funeral mass which will also be held in the meeting house. Burials here are on the family’s property.

The opportunity to participate in Cecilia’s funeral granted me a greater perspective on how Chuukese people deal with death. The reaction of the school and attendance of the funeral gave me hope. However, the juxtaposition of the response to these two deaths was stark. I wish that Jerome’s life could have been honored, his family could have been visited, and the students might have had some venue for bearing in mind the death of their classmate.

Pictures Dec-March

Hey! I just posted new pictures this week on my and Jessie's Flickr account. The link is to your right. The pictures are from December to March. Enjoy.

Siis

The past two weekends I have been able to travel to two other islands within the Chuuk lagoon. A trip off Weno is a welcome break from the bustle of “city” life here. I often consider Weno and all the other islands in the Chuuk analogous to urban and rural poverty respectively. Weno is crowded, dirty, and noisy. Garbage is strewn about without a proper removal system. There is a visible tension between the island lifestyle and looming westernization. In my experience on other islands outside of Weno- the scenery is more beautiful, unobstructed with trash, rusting cars, and noisy markets. The pace of life is slowed, though people have less access to resources like electricity, internet, and stores.

Jessie, Lincoln, Marcos and I were invited to Siis by Kiki. Kiki is a Chuukese woman who teaches at the high school where my community-mates work. She is one of the most welcoming and cheerful women I have met here. I was very grateful for the opportunity to see her home island and stay overnight with a Chuukese family. We left Weno Saturday afternoon and returned on Sunday. Siis holds about 900 people, but it seems like less. Kiki’s cinder- block home stands about 25 yards from where we park the boat. The family can look out on Fefan and Uman from their front door.

Part of our visit was to prepare music and sing with the Saramen students from Siis at their mass on Sunday morning. Saturday night, after dark, students and their younger siblings began to arrive at the house. Marcos pulled out his guitar and our singing practice went on late into the night. Chuukese are phenomenal singers with seemingly inherent abilities to create harmony. After practice, we took the guitar outside to sit under the bright equatorial moonlight and sing some Chuukese pop songs for Kiki’s neighbors. Finally we made it to bed, on the floor as the Chuukese sleep.

The next morning we were greeted with tons of kids who showed up at the house to escort us to mass. I was led by the hands of two small girls, maybe 6 and 8 years old, who wore mumus. The hand-holding and the sense of trust I had that these girls were leading me through a place they felt proud to call home reminded me vividly of Machakos, Kenya. The music at mass was wonderful; and after changing out of my hot sticky mumu, we all ran to the end of the island to go swimming at the beach.

Our visit to Siis was filled with hospitality and peace. For this, I am continually thankful.

Peace,

Caitlin

maybe one hour

Today I had an interaction with a few of my 8th grade students that i thought might be indicative of the landscape in Chuuk. After school I was sitting by the side of the road with a few of my female 8th grade students. After asking me if I was happy in Chuuk, the girls asked me to tell them a story about my life in America. So I thought for a minute and I told them that over the summer before I moved to Chuuk I spent one month driving across America with my best friend and 2 of our friends. I told them that we drove from New York to California and that since the U.S. is pretty big, it took about one month. "Wow!," was their response. "A whole month? Did you stop to eat?" Yes, Jenesha we stopped to eat but we spent a lot of time driving.

Jenesha thought for a moment and took a look at the single road that wraps around most of the island which was in front of us. "In Chuuk that would take...maybe one hour."

After 6 months

I’ve passed the 6^th month mark of my time spent in Chuuk, so I thought I would share some thoughts on my teaching job at St. Cecilia.

St. Cecilia exists in a time of great transition. Last quarter the board of the school announced that Mariano, the principal of 11 years, would be leaving at the end of the semester. To the general public, Mariano resigned, but from speaking with administration I know that Mariano was asked to leave after money from the school’s fundraising efforts went missing. This loss of funds has plagued the school for many, many years resulting in the school’s $30,000 of debt. With this change, the school is slowly crawling out of debt. Eventually the faculty hopes that their meager salaries will rise. In previous years teachers went months without being paid at all. This year, everyone gets paid, but in dramatically small amounts. If the school can continue moving toward financial health, faculty salary is next on the agenda.

Now that Mariano is gone, Kaspar, the Vice Principal works as acting principal while the school searches for a new principal. Finding a qualified school administrator is not an easy task on a small island that does not offer higher education beyond an associate’s degree. We are hoping that the new principal will be in place next year. For now, the school remains in a state of semi-organized chaos. Here are some examples:

Keys. The office of the school does not control or hold keys to any of the classrooms. Each teacher is responsible for holding the key to his or her own classroom. I keep the key to the library. This proves problematic in a school with serious faculty attendance issues. On any given day, you can expect at least one faculty member to be absent. Sometimes teachers don’t show up for weeks at a time. This leaves the students of that teacher locked out of the classroom, playing outside unsupervised for the entire day. There is no organized teacher substitution, so when a teacher is absent, kids have nothing to do but run around and climb the walls of the school...literally. I have on more that one occasion witnessed teachers manually breaking in to classrooms of teachers who are often late or absent. They just break the chain off the door with a hammer.

Curriculum. There is none! No teachers are given guidelines for what they should be teaching. The administration does not evaluate teachers’ lesson plans. As a brand new teacher I was never informed of the level where the students were, never told anything other than “reading and language arts” as to what was expected of me to teach. I could be teaching nothing but yoga to these kids and no one would know. This is hard on the teachers, yes, but worse for the students. Due to the lacking expectations in reading and writing in both Chuukese and English, some students pass through grade after grade without ever acquiring faculty of either language. No one knows the grade level at which students should be reading by. I have students who are illiterate in two languages.

Teaching at St. Cecilia is probably the craziest thing I have ever taken on. Most days I go home from work questioning whether or not I should be here. Whether or not it makes a difference and whether or not Chuukese people actually want American teachers in the school systems. Watching days pass as students are locked out of classrooms or sent outside for 3 consecutive periods of unsupervised PE (ie-volleyball or basketball) frustrates me beyond words.

However, beyond the chaos, there are small glimpses of relationships I am forming with students that I am hoping will make this all seem meaningful in the end. Today during 8^th period Monsa came to visit me in the library as I was grading. Monsa is a 7^th grader who transferred to St. Cecilia this year and is failing my class miserably. She can’t read, but no one ever noticed this because they admitted her into the school without taking the entrance exam. They placed her in the 7^th grade based on her age, when she should be in 5^th. While Monsa can’t read, she can speak small bits of English, this is true for many of my students and helps them get through grade to grade. She comes to visit carrying a cd player and headphones. I ask her, “What do you have?” She responds, “…(she is translating in her head)…music!” she says with a smile. So she sits next to me and we listen to the Chuukese keyboard music in her cd player.

My 8^th graders have discovered that I am slowly learning Chuukese. This proves to be incredibly amusing to them. Students constantly yell Chuukese phrases at me, now expecting to respond. I tell them, in the classroom, we speak English, but outside the classroom, Chuukese it is. Aita, a female 8^th grader, has made herself my Chuukese tutor. She and other students visit and frequently laugh at me as I stumble through vocabulary. I am an awful language student, but my lessons allow me to laugh with my students, and if nothing else, that makes it worth it.

Peace,

Caitlin

Island Christmas, Chuukese New Year

Happy Holidays all! Since the end of the school semester I have been enjoying a two week break from work. We have recently had many visitors including Lincoln’s family and the 3 JV’s who live and work in Pohnpei, another state in the FSM. I have very much enjoyed the Christmas season in Chuuk, though I do miss cold weather. Hot chocolate isn’t as satisfying in 100% humidity.

We celebrated Christmas in our village on Christmas Eve by attending mass with the Chuukese community. We had a delicious dinner and after mass sang Christmas carols in our apartment. On Christmas day we woke up early to open the small presents we got one another. My community had a $1 Christmas gift exchange; and we opened presents sent from our families. Thanks Mom! We then attended English-language mass with the Xavier community of JVs. I sang with the choir that Marcos directs, which provides music for all the English masses. Following mass we all headed up to Xavier for lunch, a very muddy/barefoot soccer game, and dinner with the community there. Christmas wasn’t the same as being with my family at home, but I very much enjoyed the opportunity to celebrate my first island Christmas.

Chuukese New Year was probably the most unique holiday I have observed in Chuuk in my 5 months here. Basically, the idea is that after midnight everyone makes as much noise as possible for the next 24 hours at least. The JVs spent New Years in the adjacent village dancing to the band Marcos plays in. When we drove home at 2am we passed loads of people out on the street drumming on any piece of available metal or banging on pots. We headed to the roof of our building to participate and later realized that our percussion skills are not as advanced as the majority of Chuukese people. I was awakened at dawn the next morning to parades of people outside my window banging on things and yelling, “happy new year everyone,” in Chuukese. The noise continued to accost me from my window all day long. On New Years Day evening I was out on the road and invited to join a group of maybe 20 people carrying a sheet of tin roofing and pots to ring in the New Year. Everyone was out on the road- old and young, whole families together. It was a very noisy New Year and a completely different way of celebrating than anything I have experienced.

Kinamwe,

Caitlin