Strangers in a strange land

June 7, 2009
Sunday
Day Three

I feel foreign and confused. Isaac managed to wake up before the wild roosters that roam the neighborhood by a mere hour. So did everyone else. That was at 4 am this morning. Now the roosters are in full chorus and we’re enjoying the coolest moments of this next day our bodies still trying to fall into new rhythms and our minds trying to make sense of our world in which our twilight is now our dawn, all the letters of the words are jumbled and we are without words nodding and smiling and pointing.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Other people are up and moving too. Whoosh. How do I know? I can see a sliver of the ocean through our bedroom window but what I heard is cars, scooters, motorcycles and the neighbor’s sprinkler—the constant contamination of people’s noise. The rooster and the cars are incongruous with postcard expectations of Tahiti. The roosters sound lost here crowing where they don’t belong. The dull rolling wheels replace the soothing sounds of the ocean waves.

Our house is spacious and wonderful. Benjamin “loves this house.” We have a large patio and yard for playing and it is very comfortable. We settled in quickly and all the suitcases are empty and put away. However, the location next to the main road---the only paved road leading from here to there for most of the island is terrible. It was an impossible decision to make state side and so I’m praying that I learn to accept the constant doppler of the wheels as simple background noise. Whoosh.

Whoosh. Yesterday morning before we even unpacked, we took to the throbbing artery of the island to try to find where we were on the body of the island and see if we could find the heart of it all—the ocean. I pushed Dylan and Isaac in the stroller and Benjamin walked next to Eric. There is a decent amount of clearance on the side so we managed nicely. We walked less than a kilometer. On one side of the road, the houses grab whatever flat land they can find on the streets named for the first predominant family of that area. At the back of these houses, the middle of the island seems to pop right out and shoot straight up: tree and vegetation covered volcanic rock projections keeping us all hemmed here together. On the other side of the road, everything leads out to the ocean. We passed “Fares” (Houses) that had amazing expanses of lawn and palm trees behind which a house and the ocean would peek. Benjamin says the mountains are gorgeous. I wish I could say that I was looking at them as much as he was. I kept watching to make sure some vehicle wouldn’t swerve at us.

I don’t mind the walking and I’m already looking forward to my bike, if only it weren’t for the constant roll of adjacent wheels. By the end of a walk or any day for that matter I feel jostled and juggled and pounded. It makes me even more tired than the heat. It’s certainly no gambol through Blackhand Gorge or Flint Ridge.

That road. Paved as it is, the minute we get Isaac in the car, he begins to get sick. It must be a combination of the diesel fumes, the rough and rumble of a Land Rover and the heat. He’s being a champ about it. I just don’t think I can give him Benedryl every time we go on forays for food and people. He got to pick his very own barf bucket at the Carrefour. Pink, of course. I also gave up on sitting in the front seat. After I saw a baby in an infant seat buckled in the front, I decided to opt for general family sanity over apparent safety. I moved to the back to sit next to Isaac (and point at things with Dylan). Even if I can’t keep Isaac from getting sick, at least I can hold his head. Benjamin is delighted with this turn of events and gladly commands the keys to open our gate and our doors.

Monday
Day Four

In many ways this is what I expected. I didn’t think it would be easy or like being on a perpetual vacation. When we would tell people that we were moving most commonly the response would be something along the lines of a sarcastic, “Wow. That must be tough.” I knew they were thinking, “Hey you’re really lucky to be going to an exotic place with lots of beaches.” I on the other hand would think, “You have no idea how tough it will be and how far the close beach will be.” While I was excited to accept the opportunity of an adventure and embraced the idea of disconnecting from the typical life in suburbia, I had a whole list of fears—most of them centered on protecting and nurturing my children.

I have been foreign before so I know that I will adjust and adapt to many things and I won’t always feel raw and exposed. For now I’ll try to focus on the beautiful flowers and the birds that aren’t crowing. There are several of the true tropical variety that visit our yard and entertain Dylan. I am very grateful to them for that.

We enjoyed telling Benjamin the story of the gorgeous mountains and this island and the birds. How many boys live on a true volcano? We talked about how the volcano erupted long ago from underneath the ocean, rose up and the lava burst down the sides to form the edges on which we and all these lots of other people live. Then birds flew by and dropped their seeds on the black mountain. Those seeds became trees and plants. Then wave by wave came people, animals and living. It is amazing how flame and fury became habitable.

I teased Eric this morning by telling him to enjoy contact with the outside world. Despite our long walks in Ohio in which we would pretend to walk to the grocery store, to church or the beach, all of that is one and a half to two kilometers or more away. With the constant traffic on the main road and no real detours for pedestrians, I’m loathe to venture on expeditions by myself with my little ones. Yet. And we have no phone, no one to call yet, no internet. He said that he would know we were in trouble if comes home and finds the boys naked and their faces painted. Me and my lords of the flies. It’s not too far from our truth today. The boys had a great run in the rain. Gone are the days of running all over by whim in the Caddy to the library and parks. I haven’t seen one slide yet and the library? In our wildest dreams right now.

I’ll see Eric again tonight when he comes. Hopefully he will have news about our boxes that every day are worth more and more to me. I’m glad for every pound and penny of those boxes. When you hear that it will be expensive to buy things and live here is nothing in comparison to looking at the prices at the Carrefour and having your heart skip beats not only trying to find palatable but affordable options for the kids as well—guessing that what you’re looking at in that package is acceptable ham. Checking the dictionary to make sure we really did get butter. Eric and I have decided that all we need and want is gallons/liters to drink. We may spend half our grocery budget on fluid. We’re still not drinking water from the tap. The jury’s out on that and I for one don’t want to add troubles to my troubles. Yet.

It is true however that there are many things that just taste better in places other than the States. I don’t know what we do to yogurt but we don’t’ get it right. Benjamin brought me his vanilla yogurt and wanted to know, “what those specks are.” They were from actual vanilla beans. That is good yogurt. And I haven’t met a juice I didn’t love here. It is all that and so much more.

The evening rush must be starting. There are cars virtually parked on the road next to our house. We had heard about this. Since there is only one road around in and out, it gets packed in one direction of the other in the morning and in the afternoon. We’ve heard three ambulances in the last hour.

I would start dinner in hopes of seeing him soon, but there are no pots and pans to use on the stovetop. (In the boxes) And I still can’t get the oven to work. I had planned to bake a chicken. That plan is on hold. I’m not sure what we’ll feed the kids tonight. We have no car to go anywhere. Walking them somewhere would take a significant amount of sweating and effort. How many meals of sandwiches will they take? For that matter how many meals of sandwiches can I make with my last loaf of bread?

I also can’t get the washing machine to work. I’m desperate for language and appliance tutorials.

I am becoming convinced that we will be dirty and moist for as long as we live here. I put some clothes out on the line to dry today. They’ve been rained on twice and even with their moments in the sun, they were still moist. As am I. There are about five minutes after my shower that I am clean and free of a sheen of sweat. No matter what I try, the boys go to bed with black on their feet. Even when we shower them right before bed. The black of our volcano dirt may just have already stained their little feet.

And hot. It is hot. It makes for short tempers at times and frazzled parents. Perhaps that’s why there were so many admonitions to parents at the stake conference yesterday at church reminding parents not to hit their children.

Fortunately, there are breezes and lots of windows. And ceiling fans. I love, love, love our ceiling fans. I want to put my head under one and never leave, but it’s back to trying to make sense of the washing machine.
Monday
Later

Why do worms crawl onto sidewalks when it rains? I’ve always hated that. Now I want to know why they all crawl up the side of our porch when it rains. Not only does that take a bit of effort, but don’t they know that they will die when the water is gone? Don’t they know that I don’t want worms all over my porch?

Make that a three times my clothes on the line have been rained on today. Not to mention that the clothes line which is perfect in it’s own right has the terrible disadvantage of being placed over a pad of dirt. First I have to manage to hang the clothes on the line without dropping them in the dirt. Then I have to get the dirt off my feet and change shoes before I come in the house to minimize the dirt I track back into the house. The brown dirt under the clothesline becomes mud when it rains. It’s rained three times today. There’s also a rainspout in the corner of the house by the clothesline. As it rains, the wind then blows this water into the clothesline as well and pools into a big puddle at the bottom. The downspout doesn’t actually go all the way down. This is great for little boys who want to cool off in gusting sprays of cool rain. This is terrible when you’re trying to keep the corners of the house dry. So the combination of the rain spout on the corner and the rain and the mud--it all spatters up onto the clothes hanging on the line. Again I say, our clothes may never be dry or clean again.

But I conquered the washing machine. It was running. That is until Dylan moved the knob. Everything seems to be at Dylan’s height. The light switches, the knobs on the stove, the door handles. Everything that we don’t want him to touch. Benjamin has been given the assignment to follow Dylan and turn off that which he turns on.

Since we’re waiting for the majority of our things in the boxes, the boys have spent most of the day doing the sticker book that the Frandsens gave Isaac for his birthday (in February). THANK YOU Ashley. You have no idea how much you and stickers mean to me right now.

Ba-boom-boomp. Thunder? “What’s that?” Isaac asks again. No it’s not thunder, it’s just the sound of a truck. Maybe if we hear it every half hour, we’ll finally get used to hearing it. That beats the alternative.

I meant for my tone to be descriptive rather than grumpy. I’m sure I’ll succeed at that better when I can roast that New Zealand beef that we have in the freezer.

What an adventure! Turns out I’m still not clear on the washing machine. It’s been churning the clothes for an hour now without moving on to the rinsing and spinning. It turns out that the short cycle for the washing machine is 39 minutes. So in theory, the clothes should be really clean when they come out of the washing machine even if it’s hard to get them dry and it’s even harder to keep them clean.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.


From our Family Home Evening discussion:

Benjamin: “I like Tahiti because our house has a gate. It’s nice and hot. I like my new bike. I like the mountains. I like the clothesline at our house. The hardest thing about being here is keeping my puppy in my room. I like the Tahiti bungalows.

Isaac: “I like it when the people play the drums. I like the Tahiti ocean. I like the banana trees. I like playing in the rain.

Dylan: “I like the airplane. And running around in just my diaper. And the ocean. A lot! I like it when it rains. I like hearing the ambulance siren.”

Dad-Eric likes: the beach (added by Benjamin—“being by yourself at work”), work, his extremely patient wife and he looks forward to taking his family to visit all kinds of places in French Polynesia.

Nee-Mom: I like having all of my family under the same roof. I like waking up next to Eric and having him home at the end of the day. I’m proud of the way that Eric has been taking the lead here. He’s been great at talking with people, using as much French as he knows and getting us around. He’s staying calm and nice even while hot. I like our little house and I’m hoping to learn to deal with the noise because I really like our house. I like learning French. I am very grateful for our uneventful and very safe trip here. I’m delighted with our boys who are just running around having a lot of fun and not making too many fusses about things. I’m proud of the way they’ve held up under extreme situations—planes, jet lag, new food, new language, everything looking different. They’re happy. They make it all worth it and keep me smiling and remembering that above all we’re a family and together. I’m grateful for small smiles here and there from people we see. I’m thankful for church and for the great love emanating from Elder Condie as he spoke at Stake Conference. Love can reach out and touch you from even such distances of space and time and it makes all the difference. I love that God gives us the gift to give and feel love.