Isn’t it wonderful when you discover a simple trick in life that makes everything at least 1000 times easier (if not more?). It’s a life changing. It’s miraculous. Sure, maybe everyone already knew about it except for you, but, man, you are really glad to learn it. I think discovering the Copy/Paste function on a computer is a similar sort of discovery. Think back to when you made that discovery. Suddenly, you don’t have to type and retype things. And, if you are like me, you discovered the copy/paste function long before learning how to type, and so moving that paragraph took at least 30 minutes or more. Clearly, discovering copy/paste has saved us all hours upon hours of our lives.

I liken my discovery of the river in my village to the copy/paste discovery. Ok, I must admit, I didn’t actually “discover” this trick. My wonderful, magnificent neighbor came over and, in the kindest way possible, asked if I had just carried yet another bucket of water across the village (I had). She also asked, very tactfully, if I had bathed yet today (I hadn’t). Really, it was perfect timing on her part, as she caught me just as I was scowling at a wet, soapy pile of clothes and a half full bucket of water. It turns out that I had been wasting a lot of time and energy over the last week in Namatakula.

I have been in my village Namatakula for just about two weeks now. The first 5 days, the weather was beautiful, and Namatakula resembled a little piece of heaven on earth (aside from a few waste management issues). The sun was shining, the Pacific was glorious, the palm trees were singing in the wind, and my friend had just invited me to pick bananas and papaya from her trees anytime I wanted. Pure Paradise. Then it started raining. No, it started dumping. Each drop was equivalent to a bucketful of water. The first day, no problem; I baked scones and read a book. This is the life, I thought. The second day, the water in my house stopped working. No problem, I could just get it from the tap outside. The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh days, however, the water on my whole side of the village stopped working, and I had to go across the road to get the water. Because I only had one bucket, I had to make the trip several times a day (or, some unfortunate kid who happened to be hanging out at my house had to make the trip…oh, the joys of being the cool, new person). It was a wet and muddy, very long trip. In addition to the miserableness of that, I had to figure out how to do everything from washing my dishes and clothes to washing myself to flushing the toilet with bucket water; all the while using as little water as possible so I didn’t have to go back outside. Oh, and the water was brown. If you hadn’t guessed already, it’s been a bit of a rough week. I’m bad enough at washing clothes by hand on a wash board as it is, the added concern of trying to save water meant that probably only ¼ of the soap and none of the dirt came out. Plus, because it was raining, my clothes didn’t dry. And bucket showers….I’m not really sure if I have experienced many things much less pleasant than huddling in a cold, grimy shower room (they don’t have tubs here, your shower consists of a small room with a concrete floor, tiled walls, and a shower head) trying to do a decent job of scrubbing off mud. A bowlful of ice cold water in one hand and a bar of soap with marks that suspiciously resemble rat teeth does not make for a happy bathing experience.

You can imagine my glee then, when my neighbor brought me, my bucket of wet, soapy clothes, and a bar of soap down to the river, and showed me the shortcut of the century. I like to call it the copy/paste of Namatakula. I can wash both myself and my clothes in the river! Wahoo! Not only do I not have to cart a full bucket to my house for bathing and then another few buckets for laundry, but bathing in the river is fun! You just wrap a sulu around yourself, grab a bar of soap (preferably without toothmarks) and jump in. No wonder they use the same word for swimming and bathing here. Kids are playing on one side, ladies are doing laundry, the ocean is just on the other side of the sandbar….paradise has returned! The sun is shining again in Namatakula! (no really, the sun did finally come out again.) A word to the wise though, if you happen to be washing underwear in the river, make sure you hold on to it tight. That current will sweep those suckers away and send them straight out into the big blue Pacific.

As my fellow trainees and I were hobbling down the road after class last week, we were chatting about things we which we had done or known before coming to Fiji.  Here are three things we came up with:

1.  Brought earplugs so we would be able to sleep through the nightly dog fights.  There was an especially vicious fight a few nights back that lasted from approximately 3am to 5am, and I now no longer consider myself a "dog person."

2.  Insured our stuff.  I had my things (wallet, camera, 1 day old cell phone) stolen while I was at a bar the other night.  Don't worry, no violence was involved, I was just careless and didn't watch my purse closely enough.  Unfortunately, buying insurance was one of the things that I kept meaning to take care of before I left, but it kept getting pushed to the bottom of the list.  Now I am paying for it, literally. 

3.  And my personal favorite, thought up by a fellow Lauwaki trainee, Porter, was that we should have practiced sitting cross legged before coming to Fiji.  In fact, the reason we were hobbling back from class instead of walking energetically or even just meandering was because we had just spent the last 2 hours in class sitting cross legged.  Before coming to Fiji, I considered myself a fairly flexible person; I think I even sat cross legged by choice sometimes.  This has changed.  I now cringe when I find myself sinking into the criss-cross applesauce.  If only we had known!  Some extra predeparture yoga would have really made a difference, I think. 

It's amazing how much cross legged sitting there is in this country.  I believe it's the result of two very frustrating, painful taboos.  First and foremost, it is taboo to point your feet at anyone, especially during formal events.  What's the best way to sit without pointing your feet at anyone?  If you guessed, "by sitting in a chair," I'm sorry, that is incorrect.  Why?  That brings me to my next taboo: you are not allowed to sit above anyone if you are younger or of a lower social rank.  The solution?  Everyone sits on the floor (kind of silly, especially when everyone owns couches).  The best way to sit on the floor without pointing your feet at people, is of course, to sit cross legged.  Now, Fijians are not big on padded carpet.  Maybe this is because of wet conditions, maybe it's too expensive, I don't know.  I do know, however, that no padded carpets means that we are sitting on concrete floors, cross legged, for hours at a time (these meals, parties, kava sessions, and other events can be unbelievably long).  My legs have never been poked by so many pins and needles.  Volunteers who have been in Fiji for a year or two already claim that it gets easier, but I have been here for two months now, and I still find it to be outrageously painful.  The only progress that I do have to show for the last two months are the large, sexy calluses developing on my ankle bones and on the sides of my feet.  Baby steps, my friends, baby steps. 

In other news, training is almost over, and we are about to head to Suva for swearing in.  This time next week, I'll be living on my own in Namatakula! 

I have just returned from a week long visit to the district (tikina) where I will be spending the next two years.  The area is often refered to as the coral coast, though as of late, it is becoming more well known as Celebrity Love Island.  The tikina is right along the southern coast of Viti Levu, and all but one of the 5 villages are located along the ocean.  Don't fret though, the village away from the coast has a spectacular waterfall.  It really is a beautiful, amazing spot-the ocean on one side and mountains on the other.  In that ocean, of course, are coral reefs (once beautiful, now marginal...which is probably what my work will focus on).  It's also a pretty touristy area.  There are several really big, really ritzy resorts in the area; The Warwick, The BeachHouse, and Mango Bay Resort.  I think it'll be an interesting and challenging place to work, being a kavalagi (european/foreigner) and not a tourist in this area.  More incentive to learn the language, I suppose.  My visit this week was great, I got to see all of the projects that Alyson (the volunteer I will be replacing) is working on.  She has done so much in the area; built 6 composting toilets, started an environmental club, started a kindergarten, started a library, and so on.  I have some large shoes to fill in the tikina.  I also got to have a bit of a vacation from training, which has been a bit grueling.  I finally got to go diving, hiked to a watefall, and finally had a beer.  All in all, it was a wonderful site visit. 

So, this area is now being called Celebrity Love Island because a British reality show is being filmed in at the BeachHouse resort.  From what I can gather, all of these C and D list British celebrities came to live on this deserted island (that is, the main island of fiji).  They were flown into Nadi and then helicoptered to Mango Bay Resort.  From there they kyaked over to the Beach House resort.  How they think this is a deserted island, I have no clue; especially because the main highway goes right next to their deserted island compound.  There are about 5 guys and 6 girls on the show, and they are supposed to pair off.  People get voted off the island based on the number of votes they get online (or something crazy like that).  Yup, trashy television at it's best is right in my back yard.  If you want to follow the show, check out the website, loveisland.itv.com. 

It's official....I will be spending the next two years in a village called Namatakula, building composting toilets and teaching about the environment.  (Yes, you did read that correctly, I will be building toilets).  The village is a large one, between 7 and 800 people; and is located along the southern coast of the main island, nicknamed the coral coast (though there isn't much coral left because so many nutrients are being washed into the water causing algal blooms).  My village is right on the water and most people who live there work in the nearby resorts.  I'll be replacing a PC volunteer who will be leaving at the end of September; this week I am visiting the site and her and learning about all of her work.  Truthfully, I can work on whatever project I want while I'm here, but her work has been mostly on composting toilets.  ANyway, that's just a quick update about what's happening in this neck of the woods.  If you want to find where I am on a map, I'm on Viti Levu, about 30 km east of Sigatoka. 

The nights in Lauwaki village can get pretty wild and crazy.  I thought I'd walk you through one of my typical nights, lets make it a monday, to show you what the hot and steamy Fijian nights bring about.  

My nights usually begin at 5 pm, after a full day of language and technical training.  Jeanette, Rhiannon (the other 2 female trainees in the village) and I have joined the Lauwaki Netball team, and go to practice around 5 (meaning maybe by 5:30.  Fiji time, remember?) each night.  Netball, for those of you from apparently the only former British colony to not have picked up this sport, is a women's game that is somewhat of a mix between basketball and ultimate frisbee.  The goal of the game, like in basketball, is to get the ball through the hoop.  The difference here is that the basket has no backboard.  This is a problem for me because the only shot I ever "mastered" in basketball was the layup.  No worries though, because only two people on the team are allowed to shoot, and I am not in the running for one of those spots.  Oh, two other curious rules are that when you shoot, you cannot jump, and you have three seconds to line up the shot.  The game is like ultimate frisbee because you are not allowed to run with the ball, but instead must pass it as soon as you receive it.  I must admit, I am not in love with this game.  It has strange rules (another being, you must stay 3 feet away from the person you are defending).  It is, however, a great opportunity for me to hang out with girls under the age of 40 and work off some of the outrageous amounts of food that I am eating (here, the word for fat-uro-is also the word for sexy).  The team has asked us to play with them in their next game....I'll keep you updated whether the game goes in the W or L column. 

We get back from practice around 6:30, and then it's time for a shower.  Those of you who have lived with me might scoff at the idea that I take quick showers here, but you better believe that in the land of cold showers, it's amazing how quickly you can soap up.  I never knew I could condition so fast!  Also, I must admit, I lied about the hot and steamy nights thing, which makes the cold shower that much more difficult.  Lately, the weather has not been so hot or steamy at night.  To we Americans in the village, the nights are comfortably cool, and we are grateful that Fiji is not an island oven like we were expecting.  To the rest of the villagers, however, the coolnights are similar to weather in the Alps during January.  I come home from practice, and my family is wearing knit caps, sweaters, socks, and anyother warm clothes that they can find.  This is downright comical to me, as I don't think the temperature has dropped below 70 degrees.  It is a bit concerning, because if they get this cold when it's 70, just how hot does it get during the summer??? 

Right, so after the shower, it's dinner time.  Sometimes I help cook (I made eggplant curry the other night), but most nights it's done before I get a chance to help.  I help set the table and say grace (a must before every meal here-I forget sometimes and dig in and the meals get a little awkward).  Dinner ranges from chicken soup or fish (yum) to ramen noodles with canned corn beef (yuck).  After dinner I help clean up, and then it's time for tv, reading, or studying.  You better believe the nights are this wild and crazy...and it's only 7:30 at this point!  At 8pm, the village drum sounds, signalling the start of the church service for the youth group.  Luckily I have been able to avoid this service thus far (I think once a week is all I can take of sermons in a language I don't understand), but from what I hear from my friends who were not so lucky, it is a very long 2 hours where you sit cross legged on the floor and understand nothing. 

At 8:30, my hostmom's favorite tv program comes on, and we always sit down together and watch it.  Wild, I know.  Apparently every woman in Fiji watches this show.    The show, direct from New Zealand, is called Shortland Street.  It is a horrendously cheesy, terribly acted, outrageously acted show about a group of people who work in a hospital.  Think General Hospital.  I think part of the reason it's so fun to watch is because it's so incredibly bad.  This week, the big story is that TK, the young, hot doctor was just arrested.  You see, he was trying to help his friend Mickey kick his meth addiction after Mickey was beaten up by his dealers for owing them too much money.  TK used to have quite the meth habit, and owed Mickey's family a favor because they helped him rehab a while ago.  He took Mickey to an out of the way cabin where he could detox and recover.  But Mickey, the scoundral, hadn't quite finished with his evil ways.  He called his dealer and told him that TK could make meth to repay his debts.  Of course, then, the undercover cop popped out with the rest of his squad and arrested them both.  It's a mixed up, crazy world on Shortland Street, and  I haven't even gotten into the married lesbians having an argument, the secretary who almost married a gay man, the daughter who stole the mother's promotion, or the prisoners who took the nurses hostage to protest the subpar prison conditions. 

After the show, we'll drink tea and I'll either stick around for more tv or hit the sack.  Sure, it might only be 9pm, but you can see how nuts my night has already been.  It'll wear a girl out.  And anyway, the nights aren't that easy to sleep through.  Anyone who has complained to me about noisy nights has never spent the night in Lauwaki Village.  Nights in the village are far louder and more rediculous than simple car horns or loud neighbors.  It starts with a dog chorus around 10pm that devolves into a William Wallace style battle by 11pm.  That dies down as the dogs become too maimed to fight anymore.  Around 2pm, though, the tide changes which for some reason sets off the roosters.  Wait until sunrise?  That's so midwest.  Here in the south pacific, roosters march to their own beat.  Once that's over with, there are a few hours of solid sleep until the neighbor begins praying very loudly at 6am.  At that point, I just try to stay in bed until my bladder won't hold out anymore.  Then it's time to get up and greet the new day. 

Ok, so I suppose the nights here really aren't all that crazy or wild.  They are really pretty relaxed and low key.  Being a youthful 23 year old, I thought that these quiet nights would be an issue when I first got here.  But now, after a month , I really cherish them.   I love having the time to exercise and spend time with my family.  I get more sleep than I have since turning 10, and still have time to read magazines (we get a subscription to Newsweek).  Sure, every once in a while I get youthful pangs longing for some sponteneity and a night out, and so every now and again, the trainees meet up and hit a resort bar.  All in all though, the quiet nights of Fiji have really grown on me.