This week my 8th grade students were asked to write a response to this question: If you were speaking at your graduation on May 21st, what would you say to your teachers, classmates, and family? Here is the response from one of my more colorful male students:
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I would first say thanks to God for helping me, that now I’m graduated. I believe he help me through kintergarden to 8th grade. Thanks from my heart to my family, that the pain of their back helped me to stand here. My special thanks to all my teachers and friends, who helped me, teach me, and be there for me. Sorry for the hard times I gave you, but I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Everyday I come to school, I wonder if I would even graduate! Well thank you God! It is important to look to our past, to once again gain or feel the experiences that we faced. Day by day is an adventure to. Set out to discover that something waiting for. Now I use it. Always will. Don’t be sad my fellow graduates, because this is the day we’ve been hoping to get to it. We will need what we learned in this school. It is true because we are journeying to another milestone. I wish that one day we will make history, that Chuukese were the first to step on Saturn.”
My students will be graduating in three weeks. Tomorrow is their last day of classes.
I tell them that I am graduating with them.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
"Fiin Chuuk" - Chuukese Woman
In addition to my teaching job at St. Cecilia, this year I have also been fortunate to work with the Chuuk Women’s Council. The CWC is an umbrella organization of all of the women’s groups in the state of Chuuk. It has about 400 members and seeks to promote female leadership, organize and mobilize women on health issues, environmentalism, and small business endeavors. I was introduced to Kiki, the president of the organization, in the beginning of this school year and ever since I have been coming back to meet with the women, learn about what they are doing, and help out any way that I can. This usually takes the form of writing grant proposals, which I have absolutely no experience in. It has been a learn-by-doing process for sure. Even through I do the physical typing for our proposals, all the ideas and projects come from the women. Usually my meetings with Kiki involve me sitting at a computer and her dictating her ideas while looking over my shoulder and correcting my spelling. This work has finally been the partnership with the local community that I was hoping for in coming to Micronesia. Using something that I know how to do- speak English and use a computer- to provide some sort of conduit for the women I work with to put into practice their own ideas and agendas. It provides a welcome break from teaching, where I am always asked to be in a leadership position, enforcing the type of education I received as an American, which does not always match up here. Working with the Women’s Council I can be a partner, not strictly a leader.
Kiki is exceptionally motivated and has great ideas that will assist the development of Chuuk, especially with regard to the role of women. Through our work, Kiki and I have developed what has become a very important relationship for me. She relates to me in a mothering way. Her own three children are around my age. She makes sure I eat and always drives me home without my having to ask for a ride. Over meals we talk about her own life growing up in Chuuk. Her mother, who just passed away this January, was a nurse and also the founder of the CWC. When my mother and brother arrived last month to visit me, she and her husband invited us all out for a meal with them.
Our most recent project proposal has been the most exciting and stimulating for me thus far. We are currently creating a project that will confront gender-based violence in the forms of domestic and sexual violence on Weno. These forms of violence are believed to be pervasive throughout the state of Chuuk. Part of the project will include administering a survey to families regarding their experience of violence, so that we might have more concrete evidence. I have been meeting with the leaders of the CWC this week to discuss our course of action; listening to their discussions fascinates me.
This past Monday night I found myself in the midst of a lively conversation with the four leaders of the CWC, regarding the violence that disproportionately affects women here, and what the Women’s Council can do to confront the issue. At one point as they are all talking and interrupting one another, I behind my computer recording, Kiki stops the conversation and looks at me and says, “Cait-leen, what is domestic violence?” To me this demonstrated exactly what the project now seeks to deal with- a lack of a social definition of what constitutes domestic violence and sexual assault. The women’s council members know that there is violence in the homes of many, some even say most here. What to call this violence, how to challenge it, and recognizing it as an infringement of human rights is what we are now working on.
Here is what I have learned after doing some research and participating in meetings on this topic. One research organization in one study reports that at least half of Micronesian women are hit buy there husbands. When talking to a priest who has been living and working in Micronesia for decades, he informed me that he has witnessed a number of brutal killings of wives by their husbands over the past years. Legally, sexual assault and physical assault are condoned between husband and wife. The actual wording of the law defines assault as occurring between non-married persons. Raping your wife is not a crime. Age of consent for sexual activity in Chuuk state is 13 years old. This, for example, makes it within the law for a 40 year old to have sexual relations with a 14 year old child.
In this project the women hope to primarily focus on education, to inform the public on what constitutes sexual harassment and other acts within the spectrum of abuse. No health curriculum exists in the majority of the schools and many consider sex completely taboo to speak about in public, especially in front of both boys and girls together. Therefore we see the education aspect as essential. Simultaneously the women’s council hopes to train its own members to act as advocates for women who have experienced violence and support them in seeking medical treatment and going through the legal process. The project also intends on creating new legislation to strengthen current law regarding sexual and domestic violence.
This plan exists now as just a proposal to the UN in hopes that they fund it. My role requires synthesizing all of the information we have gathered and the plans of the council into a succinct proposal. Sitting in these meetings I have realized that this is where I want to be, and these are the issues I want to focus on. I feel grateful to have the opportunity to put to use skills of my own, to work in partnership, and to confront discrimination against women.
Kiki is exceptionally motivated and has great ideas that will assist the development of Chuuk, especially with regard to the role of women. Through our work, Kiki and I have developed what has become a very important relationship for me. She relates to me in a mothering way. Her own three children are around my age. She makes sure I eat and always drives me home without my having to ask for a ride. Over meals we talk about her own life growing up in Chuuk. Her mother, who just passed away this January, was a nurse and also the founder of the CWC. When my mother and brother arrived last month to visit me, she and her husband invited us all out for a meal with them.
Our most recent project proposal has been the most exciting and stimulating for me thus far. We are currently creating a project that will confront gender-based violence in the forms of domestic and sexual violence on Weno. These forms of violence are believed to be pervasive throughout the state of Chuuk. Part of the project will include administering a survey to families regarding their experience of violence, so that we might have more concrete evidence. I have been meeting with the leaders of the CWC this week to discuss our course of action; listening to their discussions fascinates me.
This past Monday night I found myself in the midst of a lively conversation with the four leaders of the CWC, regarding the violence that disproportionately affects women here, and what the Women’s Council can do to confront the issue. At one point as they are all talking and interrupting one another, I behind my computer recording, Kiki stops the conversation and looks at me and says, “Cait-leen, what is domestic violence?” To me this demonstrated exactly what the project now seeks to deal with- a lack of a social definition of what constitutes domestic violence and sexual assault. The women’s council members know that there is violence in the homes of many, some even say most here. What to call this violence, how to challenge it, and recognizing it as an infringement of human rights is what we are now working on.
Here is what I have learned after doing some research and participating in meetings on this topic. One research organization in one study reports that at least half of Micronesian women are hit buy there husbands. When talking to a priest who has been living and working in Micronesia for decades, he informed me that he has witnessed a number of brutal killings of wives by their husbands over the past years. Legally, sexual assault and physical assault are condoned between husband and wife. The actual wording of the law defines assault as occurring between non-married persons. Raping your wife is not a crime. Age of consent for sexual activity in Chuuk state is 13 years old. This, for example, makes it within the law for a 40 year old to have sexual relations with a 14 year old child.
In this project the women hope to primarily focus on education, to inform the public on what constitutes sexual harassment and other acts within the spectrum of abuse. No health curriculum exists in the majority of the schools and many consider sex completely taboo to speak about in public, especially in front of both boys and girls together. Therefore we see the education aspect as essential. Simultaneously the women’s council hopes to train its own members to act as advocates for women who have experienced violence and support them in seeking medical treatment and going through the legal process. The project also intends on creating new legislation to strengthen current law regarding sexual and domestic violence.
This plan exists now as just a proposal to the UN in hopes that they fund it. My role requires synthesizing all of the information we have gathered and the plans of the council into a succinct proposal. Sitting in these meetings I have realized that this is where I want to be, and these are the issues I want to focus on. I feel grateful to have the opportunity to put to use skills of my own, to work in partnership, and to confront discrimination against women.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
running in a skirt
St. Cecilia had its track and field days this week. Two days of too much sun and a lot of small children running. It’s always an exciting time for the students. The staff and students divide up the school into 4 color teams: red, yellow, blue, and green, and compete against each other in sprinting, relays, tug o war, etc.
For me, track and field brings to light some experiences in Chuuk that, after being here so long, now seem like I grew up with them. For example:
1-At sporting events mothers of participants often dance outrageously in front of the crowd to express support or approval for their kids. This is often cheered on by the team.
2-All children run barefoot.
3-Girls run in skirts, sometimes two skirts, with shorts underneath.
4-Adults wear long sleeves in tropical weather, use towels, pieces of fabric, and cardboard to shield them from the intense sun.
5-Everyone and everything is covered in mud. No one complains.
Track and Field included all these things for us this year and it felt familiar. So did the expectation for me and all women to constantly wear a skirt. Chuukese women are always expected to wear skirts- sleeping, swimming, running, cleaning- it all happens in a skirt. For me, this expectation physically represents a more pervasive limited mobility of women here.
I wear a skirt every day. I can wear shorts inside my apartment but if I am going outside, even if it is only to the store, I put a skirt on. Last year for track and field I remember asking the some Chuukese faculty if I could wear shorts. “Oh yes, Cait-leen, you can wear them under your skirt.”
So again this year for track and field I anticipated my skirt over shorts wardrobe. When it came time for the staff relay I joined by co-workers, kicked off my sandals, and ran barefoot in a skirt with the rest of them.
For me, track and field brings to light some experiences in Chuuk that, after being here so long, now seem like I grew up with them. For example:
1-At sporting events mothers of participants often dance outrageously in front of the crowd to express support or approval for their kids. This is often cheered on by the team.
2-All children run barefoot.
3-Girls run in skirts, sometimes two skirts, with shorts underneath.
4-Adults wear long sleeves in tropical weather, use towels, pieces of fabric, and cardboard to shield them from the intense sun.
5-Everyone and everything is covered in mud. No one complains.
Track and Field included all these things for us this year and it felt familiar. So did the expectation for me and all women to constantly wear a skirt. Chuukese women are always expected to wear skirts- sleeping, swimming, running, cleaning- it all happens in a skirt. For me, this expectation physically represents a more pervasive limited mobility of women here.
I wear a skirt every day. I can wear shorts inside my apartment but if I am going outside, even if it is only to the store, I put a skirt on. Last year for track and field I remember asking the some Chuukese faculty if I could wear shorts. “Oh yes, Cait-leen, you can wear them under your skirt.”
So again this year for track and field I anticipated my skirt over shorts wardrobe. When it came time for the staff relay I joined by co-workers, kicked off my sandals, and ran barefoot in a skirt with the rest of them.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
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.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
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
-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
Friday, August 8, 2008
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.
Monday, July 14, 2008
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
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.
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.
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,
Monday, June 30, 2008
"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.
As the year went by our dancing continued. After dinner some nights the meringue would turn on and Marcos and Jessie would dance as
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.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
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
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
Thursday, April 17, 2008
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 8th 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 8th 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.
5th period is right before lunch. It is noon and blazing hot under the tin roof of the 8th 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.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
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.
Friday, March 21, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
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.
Friday, March 7, 2008
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
Our visit to Siis was filled with hospitality and peace. For this, I am continually thankful.
Peace,
Caitlin
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