After the incident with the pig, the 19 of us and our
co-ordinator Terry piled into two mini buses the next morning. Leaving anywhere
in Vanuatu means hugging your way through a village. Everyone, mamas, papas and
siblings, lines up to say goodbye and you are paraded down the line, shaking
hands and having your cheek kissed.
Baggage has different meaning to both the Ni-Vans and Air
Vanuatu. None of us were travelling light really, we all had at least one
hiking pack equivalent and a backpack, with a large number of us having second
bags, all full of school supplies and other such goodies. The locals who were
on the flight to Santo, in comparison, had maybe a basket or a cardboard box.
Amusingly, bush knifes are allowed in carry on.
At Santo the six girls who were off to Ambae had a quick
flight change and were gone barely after we landed. I still think we looked
like a school group in our blue island clothes, that dress is one of my
favourites. The next few hours passed with us reading books, looking at photos
and talking.
Our flight to Pentecost was on a Twin Otter. Twin Otters
have exposed propellers on the wings, seats 19 and the front row seats are
basically in the cockpit. To get the 13 Pentecost volunteers and all our gear
on board that week’s mail was apparently left off the flight. It was loud on
board and for the whole half hour flight, my knuckles were white. We were
flying so low I could see the islands and the ocean beneath us. I thought that
flight was going to be the scariest thing I would do in Vanuatu. Looking back,
it’s not that scary at all.
Coming into Pentecost was a sight to behold; we circled the
airfield twice, blue ocean below, amazed by the natural beauty of this island. I
imagine the islanders were amazed when we all got off the plane. Our bags were
dumped straight off the plane into the mud and we had arrived. Courtney and I
pulled ourselves together, grabbed our bags and lugged the three big ones over
to the concrete building that serves as an airport in one hit. Super human
effort really. Our dad was waiting for us, not that we knew who he was at the
time.
We were loaded into a truck and pulled out of the airport.
In my journal I wrote “We rode in the back of a ute yesterday! Standing up,
holding onto the bar behind the cab going at questionable speeds given the
condition of the roads around the place. We laughed most of the way.” Riding in
the back of the truck is one of the best things I did. I loved it, it feels like
flying, your skirt streams behind you, your hair is a mess, branches have to be
ducked, leafs and twigs slap and catch on you. The only thing that is not fun
about truck rides is having to sit down when you get travel sick. The last half
hour of our trip took place in the rain and cold and by the time we arrived at
the school, I felt like throwing up.
Every child on the school station was there to greet us.
They all watched with big eyes and the adults talked and talked. Now is a great
time to introduce my family. I’m lucky enough to have two. The family I ate
with consists of Dad Michael, Mamie Colin (said Colleen), my sisters Kay, Virana,
Nellie and Musiro, the adopted brother Leona and assorted kids who board at the
school, Jineth, Faylina, Kesia and Basil. There was also the year two teacher,
Kerina and the year three teacher Roger. My family who lives in the village is
Daddy Ben, Mamie Annick, my brother Hensley, my sister Firenze and my baby
sister Nikki. She’s named after one of the first volunteers to Level.
All of that mad family watched us unpack our bags. There is
nothing like being watched while you unpack your knickers to get to know the
locals. Excellent family bonding if you ask me, you have nothing to be ashamed of
after that.
We ate in the big island kitchen, sitting on raised seats,
surrounded by people. We had corn, freshly picked and cooked, my first run in
with taro which I described as “tastes good and is kinda like a potato”, along
with beans and meat. I didn’t know that I would fall madly in love with taro
and the like that day, but it was only a matter of time.
There was a thunderstorm that night. The thunder was so loud
I could have sworn there was a cannon next to my bed, the lightening light up
my bamboo house brighter than the sun. Dad Michael came and checked on us in
the middle of the storm but we were so tired that aside from that, the two of
us slept like logs.
Sunday morning, bright and early, we headed up to church,
sliding everywhere. Church was hard to understand as it was in three languages,
only one of which I spoke at the time. I got a few of the Bislama words but the
language part of the service was lost on me. Courtney and I were given flowers
and shook hands with everyone again. The church service saw me sitting on
wooden plank with some sisters while my backside went numb.
We spent the afternoon walking down to the river pack Wosak
Village, where my Mamie Annick lives. She gave Courtney and me these beautiful
fans, woven diamonds with some of the strips dyed pink and purple. They served
us well. Our sisters, and little Sorina, the daughter of Mr Kelly, went to the
river with us, feeding us nuts and shouting to the village kids about us. The
river was beautiful and cool, although the climb back to the station was hard
work and I think I might have been sweatier when I got back up the hill than I was
before I went down there.
The first weekend at Level was not truly what I expected, but then again I don’t know what I expected. It was fun, after I had warmed up and gotten over my disgusting travel sickness.
Love from Me and My Backpack
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