Phrases you won't see in a tourism brochure

Fly dependable Air Marshall Islands.

In-flight, we'll provide you with a handy map of underwater delights,

including planes less lucky than your own!

When you arrive, take a boat excursion to Anemanit island.

Moor at the unfinished jetty.

Lose $50 at the crab fights.

Catch your own breakfast.

Moray eel anyone?

Enjoy exotic fauna.

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Note: No moray eels were eaten in the making of this tourist brochure.

P.S. My good buddy Jim (above) was completely non-plussed by the exotic fauna at Anemanit.

China Syndrome

People are really good at simplifying; exceedingly good. It’s one reason we’ve managed to evolve as a species. It’s helpful to look at a problem and simplify it to find the quickest route from A to B.

People are never quite so simple with the way we treat each other, though. In any culture, people who are different tend to evoke complex feelings.

We’ve all heard about the traveling boisterous annoying American causing people to roll their eyes. Americans tend to leave a huge footprint when they travel because they’re often unaware of the local culture and expect places they visit to operate the way they’re used to.

The Americans and the Chinese may share something in common. A Chinese friend of mine named Perry said that the Chinese are disliked in a number of east Asian countries. China is expanding its influence and is therefore, like the Americans, leaving a big footprint where they go.

That seems to be the case in the Marshall Islands too. There’s a large Chinese population in Majuro, working mainly in retail as shop keepers and owners of supermarkets. Pretty soon the largest private employer in the country will be a Shanghai-run tuna loining plant. It might sound like a positive thing that 600 Marshallese people will soon find employment, but it’s not as simple as that. A lot of the shopkeepers are seen as predators that put less productive locally owned shops out of business. Moreover, a number of the Chinese people seem abrasive to the Marshallese sensibility.

It seems to people here that the Chinese don’t make any attempt to learn the language. Marshallese women are supposed to keep their shoulders and knees covered. It’s considered slutty to walk around in a mini-skirt. So when some Chinese women wear shorts or skirts they are looked down upon.

I myself saw some pretty abrasive behaviour by Chinese people. A guy in front of me at the check-out of the supermarket was rude to the Marshallese cashier. Another example was a Chinese lady who sat in a taxi with Ali and me a few days ago. She spoke so loudly on her cell phone that it sort of hurt the ears. I could clearly see that the taxi driver was annoyed. He glanced at me in consternation, wordlessly saying, “f***ing Chinese, eh?” Thirty seconds into the lady’s conversation, he turned up the volume of the radio. Usually a taxi driver turns down the volume when a patron answers her phone.

The Marshallese reaction is a racist one. The Chinese are seen as an unwelcome addition to the country. I’ve seen taxi drivers give random Chinese pedestrians the finger. Sometimes a taxi won’t even stop and pick up a Chinese person.

A few friends and I were sipping beers at the Flame Tree the Friday that a Pacific Countries that Recognize Taiwan conference was being held. There are seven countries in the Pacific that, in exchange for publicly supporting Taiwan’s bid for independence from China, receive financial aid. In fact, the spanking new conference center hosting the big to-do was a $5 million donation from the government in Taipei.

As I put down my bottle, a Marshallese acquaintance of my friends said, “Don’t mind these chinkos,” referring to all the Taiwanese in town.

I should point out that the Japanese visitors don’t get quite the same treatment. That might be because they mostly consist of young people doing the Japanese equivalent of Peace Corps. Like the young visiting Americans, they learn some of the language, dress appropriately, and teach math as volunteers. It shows the power of forgiveness, and maybe how a new generation puts to rest the feelings of the last. The Japanese were pretty terrible to the Marshallese as colonialists. From 1918 till 1945 the Japanese ruled with an iron fist. The Marshallese were quite thankful when the Americans took over.

The Americans and Australians own a lot of businesses too, but they get a free pass. It’s hypocritical, but one American jerk doesn’t ruin it for the rest. 60% of the government budget, which consists of 40% of the entire GDP, consists of aid from the US government. The Marshallese certainly don’t want that to go away. But a rude Chinese person is generalized as just another a**hole Chinese.

Wet in Ejit

The Bikinians displaced by the American nuke tests in the 1950s and 60s were relocated to a several places in the Marshall Islands. The island of Ejit is one of them. Two volunteer teachers that Ali and I are friends with both live in Ejit and teach at the elementary school. This past Sunday, some of us walked from Majuro to Ejit, 3 islands away. It’s not that on the holy day we were able to work miracles, though, and walk on water. During low-tide we were able to walk ankle deep across the reef.

Our friends were skipping out on going to church to host us. Ejit’s village has a few hundred inhabitants living in a maze of houses built before urban planning made its way to the RMI. But the village was like a ghost town when we arrived because everyone was in church. One of our friends felt guilty; not going to church leads to gossip among the locals about your morals. In the “big city” that is Majuro, there are enough churches that you can easily get away with not going and no one notices. Or perhaps people care less. But Ejit resembles the outer island communities where going to church is not an option.

So with guilty pleasure we took the long route around the church so as to be less conspicuous. The idea was to go swimming without throwing it in people’s faces.

Before hitting the reef we walked across the Ejit baseball diamond, sporting its very own scoreboard (next to someone’s house).

Then, just as our reef shoes hit the hardened and bumpy coral, the patter of drops began to fall. One of us suggested that we head back, but we were going swimming after all. Our goal was to wade to an island further along the atoll from Majuro.

Before long, the patter turned to a steady drum beat in our eyes. Rather than walk further we decided to just swim then and there, so we found an area between two islands deep enough and got in. By that point we were getting cold and the ocean water felt sublime by contrast.

After 20 minutes or so we decided to make our way back. But none of us really wanted to walk in the rain; the memory of being cold was too fresh. So we tried to swim through the lagoon to Ejit. Making little progress, we finally gave up and walked most of the way. When we got back to our friends’ house, still as soaked as when we were swimming, we decided to pack our bags in white trash bags and walk home.

It was surprisingly fun being wet in Ejit.

Arno: A Tropical Comedy

It was supposed to be a training, not entertaining.

UNESCO was in town to kick off a project to train teachers and MOE staff. In addition to a few meetings to iron out details and set dates, the UN staff was to conduct site visits at elementary schools in Arno, whose teachers would be trained.

You fiends have proven to me that corruption is politics by other means.

Instead, the Saturday visit was scrapped by unrelated events. A political dispute between the mayor of Arno and the Ministry of Education led to cancellation.

You beat your chest and threatened arrest.
Voice buttered by gloat, you forced us to moor our boat.

Indeed, the Arno mayor called the MOE to let us know that a visit was unacceptable and should we set foot on his soil, he would have us arrested by local police. How can this be true? Was not the purpose of the visit to help our children get a better education?

Why must we stoop to this denigration?
Can we not have an enlightened conversation?

It was not to be, and so now, embarrassed, the MOE must consider other locations for the UNESCO project. I don’t claim to understand why this happened. But rather than despair I feign a laugh that doesn’t reach my eyes. This is not fodder for a Shakespearean comedy of errors. It’s more like a comical misfortune that makes you laugh with guilt.

The silver lining is that there’s a November election and maybe this ass will get kicked out of office.

Day in the life

“Woke up; got out of bed; brushed a comb across my head.”
-The Beatles

I’m today writing in response to several requests for an account of a ‘day in my life’.

Shortly after hitting the snooze button once or twice, Ali and I turn on our short-wave capable radio to the BBC’s world news. Living in the middle of the Pacific, I don’t doubt I’m as up to date on the world as anyone back home. Down with military dictatorship in Burma!

Sometimes the toilet doesn’t flush in the morning. Unlike our faucets and shower, it isn’t fed by the cistern tank outside our house. Majuro toilets are fed by a centralized system using salt water. But they turn it off periodically. So after a cup of crappy instant coffee, a bucket flush may be in order. One thing I definitely miss is quality coffee; but Ali and I agreed to put up with it for 7 more months, since we still can get a decent cup at some of the nicer spots in Majuro.

The taxi ride to work takes about 20 minutes. The first half is particularly slow. There’s a lot of traffic. Majuro may only have about 25,000 people, but it also only has 1 road. The fare is a flat $0.75.

The Ministry of Education is on the lagoon side, but only a few offices have the potential for a good view because the building is shaped like a U. I say potential because even the offices with a direct view on the lagoon have air conditioning units that take up much of the window.

My work day is something like a solitary one, though that’s been changing slowly as I get integrated. Every month I’ve gotten to know more people on friendly and professional terms. But both the Marshallese and I are shy, so it’s a slow process.

I’m working on 3-5 projects at any given time. This is necessary because I’m highly dependent on others for information. But other people are often unavailable (or not at work). So when I get stalled on one project I gingerly shift to the next one. It’s something of a juggling act that I actually enjoy, since I have a low attention span for things work-related. I dislike focusing on a single task for an entire day; I’ve become great at multi-tasking.

Right now I’m working on the following:

Auditing the transcripts of 41 teachers doing in-service training at the College of the Marshall Islands.

-Writing a grant proposal for a conference of the 84 school principals in January.

-Thinking hard on justifying 3 flights to outer islands. I’m not being paid for this 10 month internship (other than housing), but my contract does include airfares and stipends to the 3 other atolls with high schools (Jaluit, Wotje and Kwajelein). All I need to do is figure out why the Ministry would actually send me. I have 3 ideas so far, 2 of which have good potential.

-Starting up my Masters Degree project, which will be a cost analysis comparing 3 ways the Ministry can go about printing its Marshallese language materials. Click on the “comments” tab at the end of this entry for a more detailed summary.

After work, I play soccer twice a week, read a lot, watch movies, listen to the radio and have conversations with interesting people, similar stuff to back home, but ocean-side… always ocean-side.

Cover Up!

The Marshallese term for ‘white people’ is not straightforward. In Ghana, ‘white’ means ‘obruni’, and that’s what Ghanaians call caucasians.

The Marshallese refer to white folks as ripalles (prounced: ri-BELL-ies). And no, ripalle doesn’t mean ‘white’ in Marshallese.

The original German colonial masters didn’t interfere too much with local customs. They were mostly interested in taking the coconut meat (copra), which is even today a major export. Following World War I the Japanese took over, opened some schools and made the Marshallese women cover their breasts. Since WWII, the American missionaries haven’t dissuaded the practice of dressing “modestly”. So to get back to why the Marshallese term for ‘white people’ isn’t straightforward, it turns out that ripalle means ‘people that cover up’.

Ironically, it’s now the Marshallese that cover up. We should call them ripalles instead. Marshallese women are supposed to keep their shoulders and knees covered at all times. It’s considered very slutty to walk around in a mini-skirt.

Tradition is starting to crack, however. As the wealthier Marshallese kids go to high school in the U.S., some girls come back wearing jeans. Older Marshallese are a little scandalized, but young people are hard to boss around, particularly with regards to fashion. I had an interesting conversation with a wise Marshallese man at the Ministry of Education. He pointed out how odd it is that originally the whites convinced the Pacific islanders to cover themselves more “modestly”, but today it’s westerners that wear things like bikinis and short skirts.

Editorial cartoon by Bill Bates. Originally posted in the Fiji Sun.

Manit Day

This past Friday marked the celebration of Manit (Culture) Day. From late morning till the end of the afternoon, Marshallese kids got to enjoy song, dance and storytelling. I recorded a few videos but unfortunately can't post them yet (they're too huge!). But when I go to San Francisco in November I'll have a fast enough connection to hopefully share the most EPIC tug of war battle in history. It lasted more than a minute and luckily my digital camera managed to capture the sounds! Wow! So stay tuned for Epic Tug of War by the end of November.



Traditional weaving was on showcase in the form of a couple of huts built to give a little shade to some of the kids hanging out at Manit Day.



This next photo is of a hermit crab in a re-telling of the Marshallese story of the "Hermit Crab and the Needle Fish". It was funny because several large ladies spent about 5 minutes trying to get all these kids into position for the telling of the story. It's about a race between a hermit crab and a needlefish. But the hermit crab is sneeky and gets all his buddies to line up along the route of the race. So every time the needlefish, who's obviously a lot faster, calls out to the hermit crab, "Where are you?" - the hermit crab directly ahead of the needlefish answers. So it seems that the hermit crab is always one step ahead and wins the race. Reminds me a lot of our own story about the Tortoise and the Hare... only there's less of a moral to the story (unless I missed something).

And of course, no event in the Marshall Islands is complete without BBQ chicken!