Our team has done an incredible job of getting projects off the ground. Project setup is always an arduous task, especially in a new culture with different concepts of time. However, the volunteers have managed to get things rolling and the last couple weeks have been really exciting.
Stoves: We built our 2nd stove in the Nabuna Village. This one went MUCH more smoothly than the first. We met with a group of about 15 women and talked with them about the advantages of cooking with an enclosed stove with a chimney. Then, we built the stove together. Luckily, Nabuna has a pond surrounded by clay, so the women had all of the clay ready before we arrived. These women are motivated and proactive, and consistently asked us questions to ensure they understood the construction process. In particular, the wife to the speaker of the village, Calara, was incredibly enthusiastic. She explained that this project was so important to her and her friends, because they can build the stoves on their own, and need not rely on their husbands.
We planned to start our 3rd stove with a women’s group in Tavua Levu this Monday. However, when we showed up we discovered that the clay they had gathered was actually dirt (the word for clay in Fijian is the same word as dirt). I spent most of that day on a treasure hunt for clay around the river, the train tracks, and the site where they used to make bricks. All searching was in vain. Finally, we visited Nabuna Village and asked to use some of their clay. They agreed and we built the stove on Tuesday in about 2 hours.
Business: We are working with small groups of individuals in the villages and in town to start small businesses or improve the small businesses they may have. We have quickly discovered that a major need in Fiji is learning saving and personal finance. Because people are so communal and generous, they often give money as soon as they accumulate it. Therefore, they don’t keep savings in case of hard-times or to invest in the future. Volunteers mold lessons around the participants and then mentor them individually to implement concepts that are taught.
Being in this culture has made me rethink the traditional model of business training. In America, we emphasize self-reliance and individual initiative. However, here those values seem anti-social and greedy. And, I have to agree that the Western model encourages self-interest often at the expense of social values. I am starting to favor more cooperative models that might better fit this culture, where village members would have a stake in the business and the profits could benefit the whole.
Gardening: Nate, Bryce, and Jacob have really become excited about teaching basic gardening techniques. They have done some gardens with the men in Rukuruku Village, who have been really proactive about duplicating the gardens throughout the village and incorporating traditional methods with the new techniques. Nico, an outgoing and fun-loving man, has agreed to come with us to other villages and teach the method.
Health: A lot of our volunteers are majoring in public health and have been able to use their knowledge. People here have been extremely excited about learning different aspects of health (First Aid, family planning, nutrition). Volunteers have been creating lessons based on the participants.
Schools: Maria, Libbie, and Piper are three young girls who have just finished their first year of university. They have absolutely astounded me at how proactive they have been about getting tutoring programs in the schools setup. We work one-on-one with struggling kids, mostly on reading comprehension. They are also talking about implementing short lessons on life-skills (relationships, drug abuse, sex, anger management, goal-setting etc)
Friday, May 29, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Staying Young
Friday night we decided to go to Betham Cottage that the woman had told us about earlier that day. We took a public bus to Rakiraki where we had planned to take taxis to the Ellington Warf. But since the bus driver had run his last route of the day he offered to take us to the Warf for cheaper than we could go by taxi. Being the only passengers on board, our transport turned into a party bus as we danced and sang to a random mix of 90s American pop, Island Reggae, and hip hop.
When we reached the Warf it was dark, raining heavily, and the boats that were supposed to meet us were nowhere in sight. We huddled together trying to shield each other from the rain. Finally, a slender Fijian man engulfed by a yellow plastic fisherman’s coat pulled into the bank on a small motorboat. He was followed by Rob, the six year-old New Zealand hostel manager I had spoken with on the phone. He was also wearing a yellow coat which just covered soaked gray sweat shorts. Rob’s boat was even smaller than the first and fit only Piper, Heather, David, and I. We were offered yellow coats to share and the boats pushed off into the choppy sea. Our boat made painfully slow progress as the motor whined and spat and started over the waves. Rob made small talk and randomly stated that he knew where we were going. He stopped every so often, attempting to pull something out of the engine. In the middle of at forced conversation about Fiji travel, Rob made an announcement, “I have a weak bladder. I just going to slow down the boat and point myself over the edge if you don’t mind.” David squeezed my leg to keep from laughing as Rob turned around and started to whistle.
We were met at the beach by two Fijian women who directed us to wash our feet, showed us our rooms, and made us dinner. We spent Saturday at the resort sunbathing, swimming, and gazing at fish.
By Saturday night we were back in Tavua and a group of us attended the first birthday of our friend Susana’s daughter. It was an elaborate gathering of at least 150 people, festive mats, multi-colored decorations, balloons, noise-makers, and a huge feast. We sat cross-legged on the mat and ate until the kids came over and got Tori, David, Sara, Natalie, and Bre to dance with them. The women pushed them towards the middle of the mat and they soon became the sole form of entertainment for the night.
Maria and I slipped out with one of the nurses from the hospital who invited us to drink kava at her cousin’s house. I sat next to a gray-hair round Fijian man who kept teasing one of the younger men about his wife. When I asked him what the banter was over he exclaimed, “I’m always funny. That’s why I’m young”. He proceeded to tell me about his life. He had never went to school past the 6th grade because he had to cut sugar cane to support his family of 5 younger siblings and parents who unable to work. He told me he was smart and learned construction and hunting and fishing through observing. He had helped build the fruit market in the center of town. He remembers well the days of colonialism and exploitation. He talked of more recent things and ended his story with some joke about birds or women that I didn’t understand.
When we reached the Warf it was dark, raining heavily, and the boats that were supposed to meet us were nowhere in sight. We huddled together trying to shield each other from the rain. Finally, a slender Fijian man engulfed by a yellow plastic fisherman’s coat pulled into the bank on a small motorboat. He was followed by Rob, the six year-old New Zealand hostel manager I had spoken with on the phone. He was also wearing a yellow coat which just covered soaked gray sweat shorts. Rob’s boat was even smaller than the first and fit only Piper, Heather, David, and I. We were offered yellow coats to share and the boats pushed off into the choppy sea. Our boat made painfully slow progress as the motor whined and spat and started over the waves. Rob made small talk and randomly stated that he knew where we were going. He stopped every so often, attempting to pull something out of the engine. In the middle of at forced conversation about Fiji travel, Rob made an announcement, “I have a weak bladder. I just going to slow down the boat and point myself over the edge if you don’t mind.” David squeezed my leg to keep from laughing as Rob turned around and started to whistle.
We were met at the beach by two Fijian women who directed us to wash our feet, showed us our rooms, and made us dinner. We spent Saturday at the resort sunbathing, swimming, and gazing at fish.
By Saturday night we were back in Tavua and a group of us attended the first birthday of our friend Susana’s daughter. It was an elaborate gathering of at least 150 people, festive mats, multi-colored decorations, balloons, noise-makers, and a huge feast. We sat cross-legged on the mat and ate until the kids came over and got Tori, David, Sara, Natalie, and Bre to dance with them. The women pushed them towards the middle of the mat and they soon became the sole form of entertainment for the night.
Maria and I slipped out with one of the nurses from the hospital who invited us to drink kava at her cousin’s house. I sat next to a gray-hair round Fijian man who kept teasing one of the younger men about his wife. When I asked him what the banter was over he exclaimed, “I’m always funny. That’s why I’m young”. He proceeded to tell me about his life. He had never went to school past the 6th grade because he had to cut sugar cane to support his family of 5 younger siblings and parents who unable to work. He told me he was smart and learned construction and hunting and fishing through observing. He had helped build the fruit market in the center of town. He remembers well the days of colonialism and exploitation. He talked of more recent things and ended his story with some joke about birds or women that I didn’t understand.
Adventures in Stove-Making
Thursday we began building an adobe stove at Rusila’s house in Tavua Levu Village. Since Tori (volunteer who came with me to Uganda last year) and I are the only ones who are trained on the method, we decided to build a practice stove at Rusila’s to train everyone else. In addition, we wanted to work out all of the challenges that would inevitably come with building the stoves in a new culture and climate.
We began digging and sorting clay, setting the banana stock pipes, and filling the stove. As the day wore on, the clay pit began drying up, and we found ourselves running very short on the most essential ingredient. Some of Rusila’s nieces took us to different spots where we might find clay. Finally, they brought us to a pond where they used to make bricks. We felt the mud at the bank, which was stickier than regular mud. Desperate, we waded through lake and start throwing globs of river mud into potatoe sacks. My legs were buried up to my mid-calf in lake mud, holding me steady as I felt for and pulled out the most clayish portions. The young kids jumped in started helping. They would bring the clay to me for quality control before they dumped it into the bag.
The bags were ridiculously heavy and when we dumped them out next to the stove, we all laughed pitifully as we came to the realization that the brown gunk was not clay. The sun was beginning to set, so we sent a group back to the original clay pit to excavate what they could and worked feverishly to finish before dark. In order to the fill the stove we began pulled clay from the sides and regions of the stove that seemed less necessary, literally cutting corners to make the clay stretch further. The sun set with the stove unfinished, and we reluctantly planned to come back the following morning to finish. We talked with the village women who were helping us and asked if they could think of anywhere else that we might find clay. They agreed to take us somewhere new in the morning.
On Friday morning at 6:00 David, Bre, Kirsten, Sara, Nate, his wife Cami, and I rolled out of the house and back to the stove. Rusila and her nine year-old cousin, John, led us down unused train tracks to a section where large banks of mud had been overturned. We dug through it and found random clumps of clay and filled our bags with it. We had arranged for a truck to come pick up the load, but before it arrived Kirsten left for a vacation she was taking with a group of our volunteers, Rusila left for a trip to Suva, and Nate and Cami left to teach gardening at Yauladrou.
David, Bre, Sara, and I sat on the tracks for at least an hour throwing clumps of mud into puddles and talking about life and Fiji and poverty and relationships. Finally, we realized the truck wasn’t coming and David set off to find some sort of transport for the clay. As soon as he left a women motioned us to come to her home.
It was a lovely place just outside the village which had obviously been landscaped with great care. She had us sit on a damp pink plush cushion and served us delicious mango juice. She was more well-off than the nearby village-dwellers and was intent on us understanding this distinction as she named the white-collar occupations of her neighbors (policemen, nurses, and teachers). She told us about the husband who had left her and the son who had mixed with the wrong crowd and ended up in jail. We finished covering the major events of our lives, just as David called wondering where we were. As we hurried out of her yard she suggested we stay at Betham Cottage, a beach resort on a nearby island that night.
When we got back to the stove, we were glad we hadn’t decided to just finish it the night before. In the light we could see how ridiculous it looked with the random bore holes we had made the night before. With a fresh supply of clay we filled them in and began filling the rest of the stove. Nate, Cami, Tori, Natalie, and Heather joined us as they had finished their work at Yauladrou. Soon after it began to pour rain. Frantically, we grabbed tarps which the kids held at the corners as David, Nate, Tori, and I crouched and packed the increasingly wet clay that the others were tirelessly bringing to us. Nate drilled holes in the frame to drain off the water and we scooped handfuls of water from the top to avoid all our work being in vain.
At last we finished, covered the stove with tarps, and stood in the rain taking inventory of how dirty we were. Someone through a fistful of mud and almost instinctively all of our volunteers began chucking mud at each other. The kids laughed and squealed with excitement and joined in. After some time the kids began running towards the river, pulling us along. Our step crescendoed to a full sprint along the train tracks until we came to the bridge and jumped into the river.
We began digging and sorting clay, setting the banana stock pipes, and filling the stove. As the day wore on, the clay pit began drying up, and we found ourselves running very short on the most essential ingredient. Some of Rusila’s nieces took us to different spots where we might find clay. Finally, they brought us to a pond where they used to make bricks. We felt the mud at the bank, which was stickier than regular mud. Desperate, we waded through lake and start throwing globs of river mud into potatoe sacks. My legs were buried up to my mid-calf in lake mud, holding me steady as I felt for and pulled out the most clayish portions. The young kids jumped in started helping. They would bring the clay to me for quality control before they dumped it into the bag.
The bags were ridiculously heavy and when we dumped them out next to the stove, we all laughed pitifully as we came to the realization that the brown gunk was not clay. The sun was beginning to set, so we sent a group back to the original clay pit to excavate what they could and worked feverishly to finish before dark. In order to the fill the stove we began pulled clay from the sides and regions of the stove that seemed less necessary, literally cutting corners to make the clay stretch further. The sun set with the stove unfinished, and we reluctantly planned to come back the following morning to finish. We talked with the village women who were helping us and asked if they could think of anywhere else that we might find clay. They agreed to take us somewhere new in the morning.
On Friday morning at 6:00 David, Bre, Kirsten, Sara, Nate, his wife Cami, and I rolled out of the house and back to the stove. Rusila and her nine year-old cousin, John, led us down unused train tracks to a section where large banks of mud had been overturned. We dug through it and found random clumps of clay and filled our bags with it. We had arranged for a truck to come pick up the load, but before it arrived Kirsten left for a vacation she was taking with a group of our volunteers, Rusila left for a trip to Suva, and Nate and Cami left to teach gardening at Yauladrou.
David, Bre, Sara, and I sat on the tracks for at least an hour throwing clumps of mud into puddles and talking about life and Fiji and poverty and relationships. Finally, we realized the truck wasn’t coming and David set off to find some sort of transport for the clay. As soon as he left a women motioned us to come to her home.
It was a lovely place just outside the village which had obviously been landscaped with great care. She had us sit on a damp pink plush cushion and served us delicious mango juice. She was more well-off than the nearby village-dwellers and was intent on us understanding this distinction as she named the white-collar occupations of her neighbors (policemen, nurses, and teachers). She told us about the husband who had left her and the son who had mixed with the wrong crowd and ended up in jail. We finished covering the major events of our lives, just as David called wondering where we were. As we hurried out of her yard she suggested we stay at Betham Cottage, a beach resort on a nearby island that night.
When we got back to the stove, we were glad we hadn’t decided to just finish it the night before. In the light we could see how ridiculous it looked with the random bore holes we had made the night before. With a fresh supply of clay we filled them in and began filling the rest of the stove. Nate, Cami, Tori, Natalie, and Heather joined us as they had finished their work at Yauladrou. Soon after it began to pour rain. Frantically, we grabbed tarps which the kids held at the corners as David, Nate, Tori, and I crouched and packed the increasingly wet clay that the others were tirelessly bringing to us. Nate drilled holes in the frame to drain off the water and we scooped handfuls of water from the top to avoid all our work being in vain.
At last we finished, covered the stove with tarps, and stood in the rain taking inventory of how dirty we were. Someone through a fistful of mud and almost instinctively all of our volunteers began chucking mud at each other. The kids laughed and squealed with excitement and joined in. After some time the kids began running towards the river, pulling us along. Our step crescendoed to a full sprint along the train tracks until we came to the bridge and jumped into the river.
Getting Started
Our volunteers have been here for almost an entire week. On Monday, all of our volunteers who are interested in health went to the Tavua Hospital (one of the smallest on Viti Levu). Dr. Dasi, the young ambitious Indian woman who is the newly appointed head administrator of the hospital, met us and spoke excitedly about her plans to improve the hospital and how our volunteers could help. She wants our volunteers to plan 6 public health events this summer as well as visit schools in the interior of the island. We also talked with her about building a Square-Foot Garden at the hospital that could supplement the cost of patient food, and act as a model garden. She was very excited about this idea and our Project Lead, Nate, got the work started that very morning.
We were taken to a dense piece of jungle just below the main grounds of the hospital. We got machetes and gloves and began pulling the gigantic weeds out of the ground. The bush was taller the 6 feet in some places and we set a goal of clearing a 10 feet radius that day. Soon people passing by the hospital started to gather to watch the silly Americans try to cut the bush. Some joined in, teaching us more effective ways of clearing. Our group got really into it and the cleared space grew faster than we expected. In the afternoon the hospital staff joined us and we cleared a space of 150ft X 50ft space. Several huge mounds of hospital trash and dried brush accumulated along the sides of the clearing. Curiously, the Health Inspector and the Head Physician lit the rubbish stacks on fire to burn them down. When I asked them about the wisdom of burning the medical waste, the Health Inspector dismissed the thought and began ranting about pollution in America and how no one there could see the sky.
I took volunteers back to Rukuruku and Nabuna villages this week. In Nabuna we met with the women and discussed the stove we will build there next week. When the meeting was over we stayed there, played rugby and danced with the kids. The women gathered around, laughing hysterically at our dancing and pushing their children forward to show Fijian action songs. Then, the men invited us over for kava and we sat with them under a huge shade tree.
Later in the week we met with the men, women, and youth in Rukuruku. I am not sure if it was because the meeting wasn’t ceremonial, or if it was because David wasn’t accompanying me, but I did not feel the pressure to remain silent as I had in the introduction. In fact, I was ushered to the front of the mat and encouraged to address the entire group.
We were taken to a dense piece of jungle just below the main grounds of the hospital. We got machetes and gloves and began pulling the gigantic weeds out of the ground. The bush was taller the 6 feet in some places and we set a goal of clearing a 10 feet radius that day. Soon people passing by the hospital started to gather to watch the silly Americans try to cut the bush. Some joined in, teaching us more effective ways of clearing. Our group got really into it and the cleared space grew faster than we expected. In the afternoon the hospital staff joined us and we cleared a space of 150ft X 50ft space. Several huge mounds of hospital trash and dried brush accumulated along the sides of the clearing. Curiously, the Health Inspector and the Head Physician lit the rubbish stacks on fire to burn them down. When I asked them about the wisdom of burning the medical waste, the Health Inspector dismissed the thought and began ranting about pollution in America and how no one there could see the sky.
I took volunteers back to Rukuruku and Nabuna villages this week. In Nabuna we met with the women and discussed the stove we will build there next week. When the meeting was over we stayed there, played rugby and danced with the kids. The women gathered around, laughing hysterically at our dancing and pushing their children forward to show Fijian action songs. Then, the men invited us over for kava and we sat with them under a huge shade tree.
Later in the week we met with the men, women, and youth in Rukuruku. I am not sure if it was because the meeting wasn’t ceremonial, or if it was because David wasn’t accompanying me, but I did not feel the pressure to remain silent as I had in the introduction. In fact, I was ushered to the front of the mat and encouraged to address the entire group.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Village Meetings
Bishop David and his wife, Flo, have been unbelievably helpful in getting us in contact with village elders. It is very rude to simply enter a village uninvited and all work must be done through headmen. We must first meet with the headmen and ask their permission.
This is done through a short introduction ceremony where we present what is called a sevusevu. I had read about this in one of my travel books, but had no idea how it played out in reality, and that it is taken very seriously.
Tuesday we had our first such meeting with Vailuakulia Village. David, my co-director and I met with Rusila early in the morning and bought special kava that is still in the root form (before it is ground) and get it festively wrapped in brown paper and raffia-like string. We then took a taxi that again dropped us in the middle of sugar cane fields. After a few minutes we reached the village and sat in Rusila’s Auntie’s house where we were to met by the spokesperson and gave him the kava. Once the headmen were ready, the spokesman led us to where they were seated on a grass mat. On the walk over Rusila explained that placement on the mat is very important. Those with most authority sit at the top of the mat and those with less authority and women sit further back. However, it can be tricky to know which is the top. Luckily, one of the men pointed to where we should go. We take off our shoes, and sat crossed legged facing the top of the mat.
The spokesman held out the sevusevu, placed it in front of him, and announced something in Fijian. The headmen chanted something then clapped, which surprised me so much I had to repress a sudden grasp. The sevusevu was then passed to another man that made a different, longer proclamation, followed by more chanting and clapping. The spokesman looked at David and asked him to introduce us. He talked about HELP and the type of projects that we could work on and asked them to explain the needs that exist in their village. The men began asking questions about the business training and small farming. When I tried to answer, the men looked at David and there was an awkward pause. So, David tried calling on me to answer questions. I would give an explanation; the response would then be directed to David, who would either answer or refer to me again. Eventually, one of the women spoke up to ask David questions about 1st aid and English literacy. Once the women began talking, I was more free to answer questions and add opinions. However, I quickly noticed that any sort of assertive tendencies from me were not appreciate and responded to with silence. I tried to lean away from by proclivity to be dominant and speak only when I thought the conversation needed to be steered in one direction or another.
Tuesday night we met with Nabuna Village which we were told was a bit more closed and traditional that Vailuakulia. This time we were accompanied by Flo, Rusila, Tui, Vika, and a few others. Flo sat next to me as we waited to be led to were the headman sat and explained that the village might not accept us. She explained that they are worried that we are a church group that would interfere with the work that the Salvation Army might do in their Nabuna. We had to wait much longer than in Vailuakulia. The long build-up and the fact it was dark, gave the walk to the headmen an almost eerie feel. As we approached the mat, we didn’t know where the top was and there was an awkward break. David was pushed to the top of the mat and I followed Flo to sit behind with the women. There was brief whispering and I was directed to move in front just below David. It is rude to stand completely upright and walk on the mat and even more rude to cross between people. So I had to crouch, walk on the perimeter on the mat and say “Tulo” (excuse me) for each person I passed. I felt ridiculous.
Rusila was asked to come sit between David and so she could translate for him. She giggled quietly and whispered to me that she felt very silly sitting at the top of the mat. The same sevusevu introduction unfolded and David began speaking. After a brief explanation, he waited for response. Being used to American flow of conversation, he began to feel uncomfortable after 30 seconds of silence and begin talking again, then asking for feedback. This cycle happened a couple times until I touched him on the knee and whispered that he should be patient and let the silence settle for a bit. After a moment one of the headmen nodded “vinaka” and small groups broke out into whispers. Eventually, the whispering developed into questions, and the discussion evolved naturally from there. David and I started to develop a better pattern of presenting. I would let all questions go to him first, instead of trying to answer awkwardly. If David wanting me to answer or he could detect I had something to say, he would ask me to explain. I tried to do so humbly, looking at David periodically to indicate I wasn’t taking his thunder. Often I would simply whisper things for David to repeat to the whole group.
The first questions came from the men. They were skeptical about the business training and explained that there has already been a group teaching business training in the village, and what they needed now were loans to start small businesses. The conversation was leaning towards the men deciding they might not need us, when one of the women spoke up. She got permission to speak then meekly asked about the stoves we could teach build and all the women reacted excitedly as I explained the concept. The direction quickly shifted as the women began to explain why they needed stoves with chimneys. The men seemed to nod it capitulation, and it was decided that we would start next week.
As we left, I asked Tui when and how I should speak. He smiled kindly then looked to David and said, “Ashley should feel free.”
As a liberal, independent, American women- and a particularly stubborn, outspoken one at that- I have to admit that this patriarchal society is a bit hard for me to take. However, in spite their submission in public gatherings, the women here seem to be an empowered, respected part of society. In fact, it is the women here who move things forward. I am trying to study them and discover their subtle way of making things happen. I am thinking that there might be strength to silence. As I have been focusing on what is being heard, rather than what is being said, I have been better able to gage the reaction of participants, and subtly steer the conversation to fit the group.
This is done through a short introduction ceremony where we present what is called a sevusevu. I had read about this in one of my travel books, but had no idea how it played out in reality, and that it is taken very seriously.
Tuesday we had our first such meeting with Vailuakulia Village. David, my co-director and I met with Rusila early in the morning and bought special kava that is still in the root form (before it is ground) and get it festively wrapped in brown paper and raffia-like string. We then took a taxi that again dropped us in the middle of sugar cane fields. After a few minutes we reached the village and sat in Rusila’s Auntie’s house where we were to met by the spokesperson and gave him the kava. Once the headmen were ready, the spokesman led us to where they were seated on a grass mat. On the walk over Rusila explained that placement on the mat is very important. Those with most authority sit at the top of the mat and those with less authority and women sit further back. However, it can be tricky to know which is the top. Luckily, one of the men pointed to where we should go. We take off our shoes, and sat crossed legged facing the top of the mat.
The spokesman held out the sevusevu, placed it in front of him, and announced something in Fijian. The headmen chanted something then clapped, which surprised me so much I had to repress a sudden grasp. The sevusevu was then passed to another man that made a different, longer proclamation, followed by more chanting and clapping. The spokesman looked at David and asked him to introduce us. He talked about HELP and the type of projects that we could work on and asked them to explain the needs that exist in their village. The men began asking questions about the business training and small farming. When I tried to answer, the men looked at David and there was an awkward pause. So, David tried calling on me to answer questions. I would give an explanation; the response would then be directed to David, who would either answer or refer to me again. Eventually, one of the women spoke up to ask David questions about 1st aid and English literacy. Once the women began talking, I was more free to answer questions and add opinions. However, I quickly noticed that any sort of assertive tendencies from me were not appreciate and responded to with silence. I tried to lean away from by proclivity to be dominant and speak only when I thought the conversation needed to be steered in one direction or another.
Tuesday night we met with Nabuna Village which we were told was a bit more closed and traditional that Vailuakulia. This time we were accompanied by Flo, Rusila, Tui, Vika, and a few others. Flo sat next to me as we waited to be led to were the headman sat and explained that the village might not accept us. She explained that they are worried that we are a church group that would interfere with the work that the Salvation Army might do in their Nabuna. We had to wait much longer than in Vailuakulia. The long build-up and the fact it was dark, gave the walk to the headmen an almost eerie feel. As we approached the mat, we didn’t know where the top was and there was an awkward break. David was pushed to the top of the mat and I followed Flo to sit behind with the women. There was brief whispering and I was directed to move in front just below David. It is rude to stand completely upright and walk on the mat and even more rude to cross between people. So I had to crouch, walk on the perimeter on the mat and say “Tulo” (excuse me) for each person I passed. I felt ridiculous.
Rusila was asked to come sit between David and so she could translate for him. She giggled quietly and whispered to me that she felt very silly sitting at the top of the mat. The same sevusevu introduction unfolded and David began speaking. After a brief explanation, he waited for response. Being used to American flow of conversation, he began to feel uncomfortable after 30 seconds of silence and begin talking again, then asking for feedback. This cycle happened a couple times until I touched him on the knee and whispered that he should be patient and let the silence settle for a bit. After a moment one of the headmen nodded “vinaka” and small groups broke out into whispers. Eventually, the whispering developed into questions, and the discussion evolved naturally from there. David and I started to develop a better pattern of presenting. I would let all questions go to him first, instead of trying to answer awkwardly. If David wanting me to answer or he could detect I had something to say, he would ask me to explain. I tried to do so humbly, looking at David periodically to indicate I wasn’t taking his thunder. Often I would simply whisper things for David to repeat to the whole group.
The first questions came from the men. They were skeptical about the business training and explained that there has already been a group teaching business training in the village, and what they needed now were loans to start small businesses. The conversation was leaning towards the men deciding they might not need us, when one of the women spoke up. She got permission to speak then meekly asked about the stoves we could teach build and all the women reacted excitedly as I explained the concept. The direction quickly shifted as the women began to explain why they needed stoves with chimneys. The men seemed to nod it capitulation, and it was decided that we would start next week.
As we left, I asked Tui when and how I should speak. He smiled kindly then looked to David and said, “Ashley should feel free.”
As a liberal, independent, American women- and a particularly stubborn, outspoken one at that- I have to admit that this patriarchal society is a bit hard for me to take. However, in spite their submission in public gatherings, the women here seem to be an empowered, respected part of society. In fact, it is the women here who move things forward. I am trying to study them and discover their subtle way of making things happen. I am thinking that there might be strength to silence. As I have been focusing on what is being heard, rather than what is being said, I have been better able to gage the reaction of participants, and subtly steer the conversation to fit the group.
Yauladrou
On Monday we woke up early and met our friend Rusila. We are going to hire Rusila as our cook, but she has also offered to accompany us during this first week to introduce us to people and translate in our initial meetings. We took the bus to Yauladrou and got off in the middle of the sugar cane fields. We walked up the hill of a long gravel road and found a small house made of randomly-fit pieces of corrugated metal. It sat on a small, tidily-kept plot of land that had been gardened with flowers, blooming fruit trees of every kind, and haphazardly placed rows of vegetables. In front stood a small, but sturdy man with a toothy grin. He greeted us “Bula vinaka” and welcomed us inside, where we were shortly met by his wife who sat with us and offered us the most delicious lemon juice I have ever had. David and I practiced our Fijian phrases awkwardly as the room slowly filled with community members.
This was a group of 9 houses that are part of the Fijian government’s social welfare program. They receive $30 US per month from the government, which they rely on almost entirely. Almost all are widows and many had some sort of disability. Most of the women were Indo-Fijian except for our host and a women named Elesi and her niece.
David introduced us and we explained the purpose of our organization and the projects we might be able to work on together. We asked them to explain their needs to us. All of this was translated into Hindu and Fijian, and the room hung in silence. After a few minutes, Elesi started to tell this story, which was translated and added to by other people in the room: Several years back an NGO came to the community saying they would bring running water and build toilets in each of the homes. The women were extremely excited to have access to water and sanitation in their homes, not least because of their various immobilities. They were told that they needed to open a bank account and save 1000 Fijian Dollars before the work could begin.
They had weekly meetings for four years, in which members were expected to contribute as much as they could. Finally, they reached 1000 and the organization came to install the promised water and toilets. The community was overjoyed as the first 3 homes were finished. Then suddenly the organization said they ran out of money and left. They left 4 homes unfinished. Looking at the problem, we found that all that was keeping these women from receiving their water was a few feet of piping. The toilets and water systems have now been sitting unused for 2 years, for lack of about $20 and an hour of work each.
This tragic shirking by the NGO, is frustratingly common. It points back to one of the major pitfalls of non-profit organizations: the is no accountability. Unlike for-profit businesses that are paid by the beneficiaries and have incentive to deliver quality goods and services, non-profits get paid by granting organizations and fundraising and have incentive to be good fundraisers, and all too often, not good service providers.
What was even more disturbing about Yauladrou is that the women there had no sense of empowerment. They relied on the government, outside organizations, and William (the small sturdy man who had welcomed us). As we began discussing possibilities of starting a cooperative business or teaching backyard farming, they seemed reluctant. They explained that they had tried businesses before, but they were too much work and didn’t produce profits. We tried to apprehend why the efforts had failed, but the conversation became overrun by complaining about how they hadn’t been visited by the government or NGOs in such a long time and what they really wanted was their toilets, water, and other new home repairs. I explained that didn’t want to just give them things, but wanted to create a way for them to be more self reliant, so they didn’t have to rely on organizations to come by to improve their lives. They nodded and said “vinaka” (thank you), then began explaining the hardships of starting a business without a husband. We went in circles like this for some time, then decided to come back next week when we would decide together what projects could be done.
Even though this Yauladrou government housing settlement includes some of the most needy people, it is hard to see a sustainable way to help them. First people must feel empowered, capable, hopeful, and eager to work, before any real change can be made. Maybe we can do that, or maybe the expectation left from years of ineffective aid will be too much for us to tackle.
This was a group of 9 houses that are part of the Fijian government’s social welfare program. They receive $30 US per month from the government, which they rely on almost entirely. Almost all are widows and many had some sort of disability. Most of the women were Indo-Fijian except for our host and a women named Elesi and her niece.
David introduced us and we explained the purpose of our organization and the projects we might be able to work on together. We asked them to explain their needs to us. All of this was translated into Hindu and Fijian, and the room hung in silence. After a few minutes, Elesi started to tell this story, which was translated and added to by other people in the room: Several years back an NGO came to the community saying they would bring running water and build toilets in each of the homes. The women were extremely excited to have access to water and sanitation in their homes, not least because of their various immobilities. They were told that they needed to open a bank account and save 1000 Fijian Dollars before the work could begin.
They had weekly meetings for four years, in which members were expected to contribute as much as they could. Finally, they reached 1000 and the organization came to install the promised water and toilets. The community was overjoyed as the first 3 homes were finished. Then suddenly the organization said they ran out of money and left. They left 4 homes unfinished. Looking at the problem, we found that all that was keeping these women from receiving their water was a few feet of piping. The toilets and water systems have now been sitting unused for 2 years, for lack of about $20 and an hour of work each.
This tragic shirking by the NGO, is frustratingly common. It points back to one of the major pitfalls of non-profit organizations: the is no accountability. Unlike for-profit businesses that are paid by the beneficiaries and have incentive to deliver quality goods and services, non-profits get paid by granting organizations and fundraising and have incentive to be good fundraisers, and all too often, not good service providers.
What was even more disturbing about Yauladrou is that the women there had no sense of empowerment. They relied on the government, outside organizations, and William (the small sturdy man who had welcomed us). As we began discussing possibilities of starting a cooperative business or teaching backyard farming, they seemed reluctant. They explained that they had tried businesses before, but they were too much work and didn’t produce profits. We tried to apprehend why the efforts had failed, but the conversation became overrun by complaining about how they hadn’t been visited by the government or NGOs in such a long time and what they really wanted was their toilets, water, and other new home repairs. I explained that didn’t want to just give them things, but wanted to create a way for them to be more self reliant, so they didn’t have to rely on organizations to come by to improve their lives. They nodded and said “vinaka” (thank you), then began explaining the hardships of starting a business without a husband. We went in circles like this for some time, then decided to come back next week when we would decide together what projects could be done.
Even though this Yauladrou government housing settlement includes some of the most needy people, it is hard to see a sustainable way to help them. First people must feel empowered, capable, hopeful, and eager to work, before any real change can be made. Maybe we can do that, or maybe the expectation left from years of ineffective aid will be too much for us to tackle.
Moving In
After driving the circumference of the Viti Levu twice, scoping out locations to base our projects, we finally decided (and got Board approval) to move to Tavua. We have found a 3-bedroom house with a large living room which can be portioned off to make a 4th bedroom. There is a large bathroom with a shower, bathtub, and toilet. In one of the rooms there is a toilet and sink. There is a patio in the front and back of the house as well as eggplant bush, mango tree, lime tree, and banana trees. The house is on a hill that overlooks all of Tavua and the sea.
On Saturday we conducted an army of Tavua volunteers that came to help us purchase supplies, scrub the floors, and carry in and put-together 7 bunkbeds. On breaks we would sit and eat the wi (a green sour fibrous apple-like fruit) that grows on one of our trees in the backyard.
Sunday we went to the LDS ward in Tavua. I sat in on an Fijian-speaking Sunday school class in which they would look at me every so often, give a few word English description of the topic, and ask to hear my thoughts. When the entire congregation came together we realized we were lucky enough to be there on the first Sunday of the month. This is the Sunday that instead of having prepared talks, audience members are invited to stand at the pulpit for a few minutes and talk about their testimonies.
In every Mormon Church I have previously been to, the content of these mini-speeches tend to vary widely and tend to include melodramatic stories of trails or convoluted stories of semi-miraculous occurrences. But the testimonies given in this meeting were honest, terse, and fairly similar to each other. People talked about believing God, following Christ, and how they loved each other. And they did all of this is about half the time and church ended early!
On Saturday we conducted an army of Tavua volunteers that came to help us purchase supplies, scrub the floors, and carry in and put-together 7 bunkbeds. On breaks we would sit and eat the wi (a green sour fibrous apple-like fruit) that grows on one of our trees in the backyard.
Sunday we went to the LDS ward in Tavua. I sat in on an Fijian-speaking Sunday school class in which they would look at me every so often, give a few word English description of the topic, and ask to hear my thoughts. When the entire congregation came together we realized we were lucky enough to be there on the first Sunday of the month. This is the Sunday that instead of having prepared talks, audience members are invited to stand at the pulpit for a few minutes and talk about their testimonies.
In every Mormon Church I have previously been to, the content of these mini-speeches tend to vary widely and tend to include melodramatic stories of trails or convoluted stories of semi-miraculous occurrences. But the testimonies given in this meeting were honest, terse, and fairly similar to each other. People talked about believing God, following Christ, and how they loved each other. And they did all of this is about half the time and church ended early!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)