As many will know, the second phase of Think Pacific’s work on Moturiki will emphasise the importance of building infrastructure within villages, particularly in the form of businesses. With this in mind Yanuca have got ahead of the game and opened a growing concern. That’s right kids; the KitKat Kasino is open for business. Offering games of blackjack and 3 card poker the unfortunately initialled KKK is the hot destination for those who want to have a good time in Lomaiviti. Any members of Emma Hay’s family reading this may wish to start searching for Gambler’s Anonymous meetings in the Edinburgh area. Similarly, Harri has developed a taste for 3 Card Poker which she can surely not sustain much longer – at the moment she’s up about 25 KitKat fingers but this is surely just a peak before yet another dizzying low. At the moment there is only one permanent member of staff in the casino proper as well as out of hours gambling opportunities in Tomasi’s Kreepy KitKat Klub but there are plans to train Seru up as a dealer so that the business is fully sustainable by the time we leave.
Moving swiftly from the vice of gambling to the virtue of patience below are a few lines about Kindi. For the last week Emma, Laura, Jack and I have been on the Kindi rota. This means singing a lot of childhood songs, playing with crayons and scissors and soothing a fair few tears and tantrums. Liza the Kindi teacher will probably soon be recognised by the Fijian ministry of education as a proper teacher which is great news as she can start drawing a wage from the government. I would suggest she also be recognised by the Catholic church as an absolute saint for her beatific calm in the face of 10 screaming Kindians and 4 fairly hapless volunteers. How she manages when it’s just her is beyond me. All this aside, time in Kindi is great fun. Making paper aeroplanes and flinging them about the room was a high point and when one of the kids finally grasps the difference between “Bloo!” and “Porple!” it’s a lovely feeling. Obviously all the teachers have favourites and the kids each have their appeal; Joe is super cool, Ateca is very sweet, even Foto has a certain cheeky charm. This being said, the attachment that Emma has formed to Savate – a 5 year old boy from Yanuca – is nothing short of disturbing.
Elsewhere the build is all but finished and Big Jack will be leaving very soon. I’ve learnt two things from the HWB*; the first is that if something wont behave in the way that you want just hit it with a hammer, the second is never make a decision on an empty stomach. Vinaka Vakalevu, Jack!
Peace.
Tom Owen
West Inala Panthers JRLFC Under 12s Manager (2005)
*Human Wrecking Ball
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Monday, 14 February 2011
Claydog Millionaire
It is hard to summarise in just a few paragraphs the activity of fifteen people. It’s made harder still when they’re all living and working in a vibrant Fijian village. So instead I’ve decided to focus on one individual, a unique chap who told me not 4 hours ago that rather than writing his own personal trip journal he just plans to copy and paste the blog once he’s back in Blighty. It could only be – my Buddy and your friend – Tom ‘Claydog’ Claydon.
Tom starts his day cursing the name of Sani the Terrible two-year-old who wakes him up with her unique vocal stylings at 3am sharp every morning. At half past seven ‘Top Cat’ tucks in to some breakfast. At 7.31 he reclines for his post breakfast/pre-briefing nap. And kills a few flies. Obviously everyone loves the morning briefing and Tom is no exception. A standard conversation will go something like this:
TC : What did you have for breakfast?
TO: I had papaya and scones.
TC: I had porridge. It was (awesome / rubbish) delete where appropriate.
So after concluding the meeting by examining one another’s infected toes we all head off to our respective projects. After a morning of hard graft there’s nothing Tom likes more than a good bit of food and a quick nap, be it on the build or at Kindi the lunch break is a high point of the day. He’ll also kill a handful of flies with a hefty chunk of breadfruit. Sooner or later it gets round to crossing the water to Moturiki and to school. At this point in the day Tom likes to taunt the Gods of the sea. He does this in two ways, first by refusing to wear any kind of protective footwear over the stony crossing and secondly by ignoring the Assiki-approved pathway. Tom’s feet are frequently cut to ribbons, but at least he showed that bloody Poseidon who’s boss. After school it’s time for an hour of rugby coaching which typically consists of watching Joe our favourite kid in class 1 run in the wrong direction, eat snails and generally act a bit weird.
Next is rugby training with the village men. Tom dictates play, cuts some lines and generally makes it rain. Standard. Flies everywhere drop from the air, stunned by his raw pace and natural ability. On arrival back into the village a quick lap of the TP houses is in order on the hunt for bread and jam. After a shower Tom bookends his dinner with a couple of naps, then he kills a few flies and it’s off for the evening’s entertainment. Whether it’s a night of hop-hop or the weekly quiz, Tom gives his all. Often to be found hiding in the back of the grog shed to avoid dancing he is still always quick with a Fijian obscenity or a quote from ‘The Other Guys’. To finish the day Tom smashes a couple of flies from the air with his toothbrush as he brushes his teeth and heads for bed.
PEACE
Tom starts his day cursing the name of Sani the Terrible two-year-old who wakes him up with her unique vocal stylings at 3am sharp every morning. At half past seven ‘Top Cat’ tucks in to some breakfast. At 7.31 he reclines for his post breakfast/pre-briefing nap. And kills a few flies. Obviously everyone loves the morning briefing and Tom is no exception. A standard conversation will go something like this:
TC : What did you have for breakfast?
TO: I had papaya and scones.
TC: I had porridge. It was (awesome / rubbish) delete where appropriate.
So after concluding the meeting by examining one another’s infected toes we all head off to our respective projects. After a morning of hard graft there’s nothing Tom likes more than a good bit of food and a quick nap, be it on the build or at Kindi the lunch break is a high point of the day. He’ll also kill a handful of flies with a hefty chunk of breadfruit. Sooner or later it gets round to crossing the water to Moturiki and to school. At this point in the day Tom likes to taunt the Gods of the sea. He does this in two ways, first by refusing to wear any kind of protective footwear over the stony crossing and secondly by ignoring the Assiki-approved pathway. Tom’s feet are frequently cut to ribbons, but at least he showed that bloody Poseidon who’s boss. After school it’s time for an hour of rugby coaching which typically consists of watching Joe our favourite kid in class 1 run in the wrong direction, eat snails and generally act a bit weird.
Next is rugby training with the village men. Tom dictates play, cuts some lines and generally makes it rain. Standard. Flies everywhere drop from the air, stunned by his raw pace and natural ability. On arrival back into the village a quick lap of the TP houses is in order on the hunt for bread and jam. After a shower Tom bookends his dinner with a couple of naps, then he kills a few flies and it’s off for the evening’s entertainment. Whether it’s a night of hop-hop or the weekly quiz, Tom gives his all. Often to be found hiding in the back of the grog shed to avoid dancing he is still always quick with a Fijian obscenity or a quote from ‘The Other Guys’. To finish the day Tom smashes a couple of flies from the air with his toothbrush as he brushes his teeth and heads for bed.
PEACE
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Lessons in Hop-hop
As another week begins it is all too easy to get caught up in the Fijian way of life; munching on coconuts on the long walk home from school is definitely one of the nicer Monday evening commutes I personally have had to do and there is nothing quite so refreshing on this planet as the first icy bucket of water in the shower after a long day on project. The skies in the Pacific are definitely of the Fern Britton variety – big and beautiful. Whether its star littered inky black or huge swathes of red and amber daubed on a perfect blue canvas the views here would have even the most strident Cubist reaching for his watercolours. Yanuca Island, Lomaiviti is fast becoming as much of a home as the rainy north of England.
Projects are all flying along. Watching the community hall take shape over the last few weeks has been fantastic and racing against the elements to try and nail down the last piece of roofing before the whole thing got wet and became slippier than Alastair Campbell learning to ice-skate was a particular highlight for me. School and Kindi remain a mystery at the moment but seeing the exhausted, frustrated and occasionally elated faces of the volunteers at school tells its own story. Huge respect goes to Emilie and Andy especially who’ve been single handedly taking the lessons for class 5 for nearly a fortnight.
Now it may be the case that since packing your loved one off to Fiji and avidly following their exploits online the phrase ‘hop-hop’ has entered your personal lexicon. And it may seem as though we’re doing it quite a lot. What is not so clear is what exactly a hop-hop entails, so what follows is an effort to make that grey area a little more monochrome.
Hop-hop, simply put, is dancing. Usually quite gently. Usually to one of the same ten or twelve Fijian songs that everybody in the village knows. And very often it is done against one’s will. Usually a hop-hop will start as a peaceful grog session but as soon as the ladies of the village appear it’s time to put on your dancing flip-flops. Probably best described by Tomos as “like Dad dancing at a wedding”, Hop-hop is a chance to bust some old school moves – the cheesier the better. More is more seems to be the general rule of thumb in Fijian life and this applies double on the dance floor. There’s no shame in copying something you’ve seen on TV, the Fijians probably won’t have seen it but they will find it hilarious all the same. There is a much gentler option to the standard ‘freestyle’ which involves two partners walking backwards and forwards with their arms round one another’s waist, roughly in time with the music, the plus side of course is you’ll conserve energy but sadly nobody gets away with doing this one for very long. You can’t escape it, you can’t hide from it by sitting near the grog bowl, the ladies won’t take no for an answer, and in the end the rhythm is going to get you.
I’d like to finish with something that should be familiar to Daily Mail readers everywhere: a full retraction and apology. In a previous blog post it was implied that a Miss Jones and a Miss Hobbiss were romantically entwined. I am assured by both parties that this is not the case and that they are just good friends.
Moce, Tomo
Projects are all flying along. Watching the community hall take shape over the last few weeks has been fantastic and racing against the elements to try and nail down the last piece of roofing before the whole thing got wet and became slippier than Alastair Campbell learning to ice-skate was a particular highlight for me. School and Kindi remain a mystery at the moment but seeing the exhausted, frustrated and occasionally elated faces of the volunteers at school tells its own story. Huge respect goes to Emilie and Andy especially who’ve been single handedly taking the lessons for class 5 for nearly a fortnight.
Now it may be the case that since packing your loved one off to Fiji and avidly following their exploits online the phrase ‘hop-hop’ has entered your personal lexicon. And it may seem as though we’re doing it quite a lot. What is not so clear is what exactly a hop-hop entails, so what follows is an effort to make that grey area a little more monochrome.
Hop-hop, simply put, is dancing. Usually quite gently. Usually to one of the same ten or twelve Fijian songs that everybody in the village knows. And very often it is done against one’s will. Usually a hop-hop will start as a peaceful grog session but as soon as the ladies of the village appear it’s time to put on your dancing flip-flops. Probably best described by Tomos as “like Dad dancing at a wedding”, Hop-hop is a chance to bust some old school moves – the cheesier the better. More is more seems to be the general rule of thumb in Fijian life and this applies double on the dance floor. There’s no shame in copying something you’ve seen on TV, the Fijians probably won’t have seen it but they will find it hilarious all the same. There is a much gentler option to the standard ‘freestyle’ which involves two partners walking backwards and forwards with their arms round one another’s waist, roughly in time with the music, the plus side of course is you’ll conserve energy but sadly nobody gets away with doing this one for very long. You can’t escape it, you can’t hide from it by sitting near the grog bowl, the ladies won’t take no for an answer, and in the end the rhythm is going to get you.
I’d like to finish with something that should be familiar to Daily Mail readers everywhere: a full retraction and apology. In a previous blog post it was implied that a Miss Jones and a Miss Hobbiss were romantically entwined. I am assured by both parties that this is not the case and that they are just good friends.
Moce, Tomo
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)