Kilisou, Chuuk.

Thank you, Chuuk.

It’s been an interesting week. I would say it’s been a bad week, but right now I’m in a predominantly positive mood. Have been all week, actually. Maybe my brain has finally learned how to filter all the craziness and occassional tragedy of Chuuk.

So. I’ll start with Monday. I was eating breakfast (bread and tea, the usual) with my host mom, Stella, when she informed me that a student at our school had passed away the night before. The girl was a 5th grader (not one of my students, and I’d never really met her). Apparently she had started bleeding out of her ears one day, and was dead a week later. How scary and tragic is that? Her family didn’t take her to the hospital; most people here never make it to the hospital, unless they have an identifiable long-term condition or a life-threatening injury (and even that doesn’t always ensure a hospital visit). Not to mention the fact that many families don’t have easy access to a boat to reach the hospital on Weno, or money to pay for the gas. A mysterious symptom like sudden bleeding from the ears is the kind of thing that most people would generally treat with local medicine.

As small as it is, the school wasn’t as shaken by the tragedy as American schools tend to be following the death of a student. Death is kept a lot closer to home here than it is in the States, so even when it comes so suddenly and tragically, it’s still not as much of a shock. The only noticeable impact on the school was that afternoon classes were canceled on Tuesday, the day of the funeral, to allow the teachers to attend.

I didn’t attend the funeral myself, because that was also the day my bowels decided to rebel against me, and I spent probably 80% of the day sitting on the toilet. I wasn’t going anywhere without access to a real toilet where I could sit comfortably and at least somewhat privately to let my intestines express themselves. So, I was stuck at home. It wasn’t as bad as when I had amoebas (no nausea or vomiting this time, just stomachache and major runs), but it was enough to keep me home from school on both Tuesday and Wednesday.

Actually, my staying home Wednesday wasn’t so much from my actual sickness as it was from a run-in with local culture. My host mom had offered to have one of my host sisters, Myleen, prepare a local medicinal treatment for diarrhea for me, and since there wasn’t anything else to be done, I agreed. It turned out to be an interesting cultural experience. The medicine was this brownish, interesting-smelling liquid concoction (I’m not actually sure what it consisted of) mixed in a big bowl-shaped shell. A small stone was heated up until it was red-hot, then dropped into the liquid to make it bubble up and steam. Then I had to stand over it with the shell between my feet and a sheet wrapped around my waist to keep the smoke…well, in. Hey, it seemed like a good direct way to approach the problem of diarrhea…

Anyway, I received this treatment twice on Tuesday: once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. Later that night (when I was feeling considerably better) Stella explained that the treatment required four sessions, to be done in the morning and evening for two days (earlier one of my other sisters, Charolyn, had told me that I’d have to stay home from school all week to finish the medicine, but apparently only two days is the requirement). And then she realized that I wouldn’t be able to go to school that next day: One of the taboos attached to the medicine is that the person is not allowed to touch salt water while undergoing treatment (I think this is a taboo with many, if not all, local medicines; I’ve heard of it on a few other occassions). There are two different paths that lead to the school; coincidentally, both paths have areas that are submerged by the tide in the morning, and one has to wade through a few inches of water to get through (it often reminds me of UE after periods of heavy rain, actually). So, I was pretty much stuck. Sure, I probably could’ve insisted that I don’t believe in such superstitions and gone to school in spite of the taboo, but if there’s anything I learned from all those anthropology courses I took in college, it’s to always show respect for the indigenous beliefs of a culture. And after taking seven anthro classes, Dr. Berry’s voice is eternally stuck in my head (somebody thank him for me). Those of you who know Dr. Berry know how that can be.

I was still feeling pretty crappy — no pun intended — on Wednesday, so staying home was still the best option. But then, Myleen ended up giving me both of my two “treatments” in the morning, one right after the other. Apparently the rules weren’t so strict as everyone had made them out to be, and if I’d really insisted on it I could’ve gone to school anyway. So, the lesson learned here is to always make sure I understand all the stipulations of a local medicine before I agree to any treatment.

And did the medicine work? It’s hard to say. I was feeling as good as new by Thursday morning, but I don’t know how much the medicine had to do with it, or if my sickness had simply run its course. That seems to be the catch with most local medicines, from any culture; undoubtedly there are many that truly do work, but how often is it an extraneous measure for a condition that will simply resolve itself over the course of a few days?

To continue…I was back in school on Thursday, which was actually a really good day. I had a visit from our Chuuk PA, Imauo, along with some of Peace Corps’ safety & security officers — one from Micronesia, one who oversees the whole Pacific region, and one from Washington. It’s always nice having visitors, especially Americans.

Unfortunately Thursday night/this morning didn’t turn out so well. I was woken about 3:00am by the sound of somebody pawing around outside my bedroom window. I knew immediately — nightcrawler. I just lay still, listening. Then the bastard (pardon the language, but I know who the guy was, and he’s a 100% bonafide creep) started whispering my name, and the next thing I know he’s shining a flashlight into my room. My bed sits right up against the window, so he was basically right above me. I jumped up and banged on the window frame, yelling at him as loud as I could to go away, and he took off running.

I went and woke up my host sister and told her what happened, and she woke up my host mom, who was naturally pissed off when she heard the story. Especially when I told her who I’m pretty sure the guy was — Mr. Love-magic, who I wrote about before, who has also turned into the biggest nuisance of my life here. I haven’t mentioned it on here because I haven’t wanted to concern people (I don’t feel unsafe, just annoyed mostly, at least until now), and because I don’t want to give the impression that all Chuukese men are as awful as this one individual. Many of the men I know here are among the most decent people I’ve ever met in my life. However, this one (whose name, I kid you not, is Casanova), is at the top of a whole different list. I won’t go into all the details, but basically he’s been making repeated propositions to me for months and acting like he’s my boyfriend, despite my constantly telling him to back off. My host mom, sisters, neighbors, students, and even a couple of the other teachers have also told him, with varying degrees of politeness, to shove off, but apparently this guy doesn’t understand the word “no” in any language. He even approached my host mom once while we were sitting together in front of the house, after sunset, in an attempt to talk to her about me (while I was sitting right there). Culturally, this was extremely rude; even in actual, consentual dating relationships, everything is conducted in private between the guy and the girl. Parents are generally never involved, unless you’re to the point of a marriage proposal. Needless to say, Stella (bless her heart) told him off very soundly, telling him not to ever talk to her about me; if he wanted to be my boyfriend, he should buy a plane ticket and find my own parents in the States to ask them. (so, parents, if a creepy Chuukese guy ever shows up at the house…)

All that happened about a week ago, and that was the last I heard from him until last night’s nightcrawling incident. (“Nightcrawling” is the term, used throughout Micronesia, for when a guy sneaks around a girl’s house at night to get her to go out for a romp together. Since dating relationships aren’t acknowledged or conducted publicly, this is generally what young folks do to spend time with their significant others.) He seems to be getting more aggressive in his attempts, which I’ll admit concerns me. Let me emphasize that I don’t feel unsafe — I never go anywhere by myself, and my room is completely secure. Nevertheless…before I left to come in to Weno this morning, my host mom said she’d hunt him down today and give him a good public chewing-out. I’m praying that will be the end of it. And how ironic that all this should happen just the night after I met with all the safety & security folks…

So that was my week. I’m in Weno now for a day or two, and am very happy for the break. Other than the series of unfortunate events that most of this week turned out to be, things are good overall. Just hoping next week will be more positive…

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~ by Kirby on Friday, 7 May 2010.