Grounds for Reflection
- April Airi
- Aug 22, 2024
- 6 min read
Updated: Sep 23, 2024
"Dude! How was the Philippines?!"
I’m sitting with Eamonn in Maya's café, coffee cups between us and laptops open.
"It was really great," I say with a grin. "I got to see my family, I got to see Erich - it was like a dreamland out there."
It's not a trip to Rakiraki without killing a few hours inside these mellow yellow walls.
"Being in here kinda feels like home," I comment sentimentally, watching Maya count change behind the counter. I consider bringing up how the village has been too, but I decide against it.
I take a sip of my watered-down coffee and smile. At least Maya is consistent.
Popping in from the back of my brain, I remember the invite to extend to the boys.
"What do you think about going to Tavua this weekend? Just a day and a half trip, nothing too crazy. I found a discounted room for Friday…"
Eamonn, Warren, and I say our goodbyes at a Kindergarten Celebration and hop on the bus at King's Highway. The driver pulled ahead as the two slid into the seats next to me.
"This was such a good idea." Room booked and the schedule cleared, we’re on our way to the resort.
"Yeah, I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to eat some good food, take a break from these projects, and hang out with some great friends."
"YES, dude - let's goooooo!"
On our left, we pass the road going towards our villages and continue down the highway.
Ea makes eye contact with Warren, "Okay - what if..." and then glides his eyes toward mine. I respond by hiding my smile and feigning annoyance.
"...we stop at the Tanoa to get cappuccinos?”
We all knew what was coming, but that didn't stop the laughter from bubbling over. Our affinity to coffee-induced highs has become quite the punchline for us. It's rare for a volunteer hangout to not include it now.
a cup of instant coffee in town
a cappuccino at a hotel
a french pressed brew at home
a taste of American life to energize conversations and sweeten friendships...
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
Three canned lattes and a pair of PJs packed, I’m already prepared for a little java jamboree.
Back from the getaway, I'm now sitting in church. The vakatawa¹ is sharing his version of the gospel truth and I scribble cursive notes in my pocket journal.
𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒯𝒦
𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝐵𝒶𝒾 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃
𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝐿𝑒𝓃𝒾 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃'𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓅
𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓉
𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓌/ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽
𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒾²
𝓁𝒶𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓇𝓎
𝒻𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔
𝒱𝑅𝒢
𝑔𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝒶𝒸𝒶³...
...
...
...
I look up from my book and catch eyes with Sai. I bury my exasperation and I smile so big that my vision blurs. The morning’s double espresso buzzes through my teeth.
Can she tell my mind is somewhere else? Or sense my anxiety?
Perks of writing in cursive - if anyone asks, I’m taking notes on the sermon.
"Mai! Somi 'i!” I call Suli over as she walks towards my house. She's really good at English and very forgiving of my Fijian. She's one of my best friends here.
"Yadra, Dauve! Sa vacava?" | Hi, sister-in-law! How's it? |
"Sa set 'u! Au sa vakarau'aki 'iko na vale me host-taka e so na vulagi. E ra na vano mai na volunteer ni Peace Corps baleta na dola i Ma'aveikai. | It's good! I'm preparing the house now to host some visitors. Peace Corps volunteers will come here because of the (project) opening in Mateveikai. |
"Ra sa qai moce vei gumu?" | And they'll sleep at yours? |
"Io! E ra na moce vei au e na Lotulevu vei na Vakarauwai. Au nanumia, keimami na kana pizza e na bogi ma'ai. O iko via bulibuliva'a kei au? Na pizza? Kei na keke ni siga ni sucu nei Losana? | Yes! They'll sleep at mine from Thursday to Saturday. I think we'll eat pizza on the first night. Do you want to bake with me? The pizzas? And a cake for Losana's birthday? |
"Wowww! Yes! That's going to be fun! Nice to have a birthday party before you go to Mataveikai. Will you guys drink grog too?"
Gleeful that Suli is in on the joke, I smile in preparation for what I say next.
"I don't think we'll drink grog, but we'll probably drink coffee." We erupt in laughter before she digresses.
"Man! Ua and I finished the coffee you gave us last week - we shared it with Bu Lara - and we didn't know how much we needed to mix with the water..." She can't tell the story without chortling.
"When we drank it, it was SO STRONG! We kept on laughing and laughing!"
"Sa gaga?" | Was it intense? |
"Sa gaga sara ga! | It was super intense! |
"It was like we were getting drunk!"
Paired with the irony of a fresh cup in our hands, that got a hearty laugh out of me too.
"Coffee just makes things so fun!” I chime. ”I get happy when I drink it - I love it!"
Ahhh - my converted drinker of roasted-bean water; a participant in a successful cultural exchange project if you ask me.
"So how's the project going?" She brings me back to the real reason I’m here.
"For the youth or for the women?"
"Both?"
It's been a month and a half since I came back from the Philippines. The men are out of the village now for sugar-cane cutting season, and I've been staying in the house a lot. (The village has been… chilly.)
"I don't know. We're just waiting on Tutua Bai to tell us when he can work. TK said to leave it to Tutua and let him know if we need his help."
"And the youth?" What about the material list at Haroon's?
“How much of the money is left?
"Wait, who said what?...
"The delivery came when?...
"And who signed that paper?"
I've had this same conversation a couple of times now. The line of questioning rarely brings out new information, but the sigh of disappointment and head-shaking seem to always happen on cue.
I take a sip from my mug. This one has a vanilla-flavored syrup I've been experimenting with for a couple of weeks now... It's nearly perfect.
Softens the acidity a bit.
A cup of joe a day, the time comes and goes.
Project openings and fundraisers.
"When will you guys finish the kitchen?"
Church services and community meals.
"When will the construction start again?"
More and more hours inside my house.
"Iko sa 'auvima'e?"
Now it’s two cups of joe a day, and the time still goes.
Nativi's been facing a drought this week. We’ve been taking baths in the river and walking around the village for water tanks that haven't been emptied yet. It's been a good reason to get myself outside.
Today, I went across the road to a group of women sitting in the shade. I sit down and make small talk about the water, the weather, and anything else I could semi-rehearse in my head. Bu Vara didn't take long to offer her family's water tank for me to use regularly. (She's always been extremely kind to me.)
As the conversations continued, the cadence sped up to the point where I couldn't contribute as easily. I'm okay with that though - it’s been a while since I just enjoyed the sunshine and mountain valley breeze.
My eyes scan the village from right to left - the old canteen, the kindergarten, the dogs by my house, and – oh, Sisi!
A very cute 4-year-old trots up and sits right next to me. Her eyes twinkle with joy, anticipating how I’ll entertain her today.
Perched on the ground, it’s a perfect time to play with the dirt in front of us. Drawing hearts, making houses, cooking edible brown things. In our own little world, the two of us giggle about "eating chocolate cake" when I hear a question directed towards me.
"Can we still do another project after this one?
I meet the 3 pairs of eyes and feel some caffeine reach my ears. Out of practice, I struggle a little more than I should to communicate in Fijian.
"Yes, we could, but we don't have a lot of time left. It takes a while to write a proposal, get it approved, and then actually start. At the latest, we should probably apply by the end of October, but..." A little dejection sliding through, "we have to finish these projects before we can start anything else."
And there we press play on our greatest hit - a harmony of comments, a chorus of frustrations about how this project should've been done months ago. To my chagrin, I’ve been hearing my voice in the choir too.
The tingle travels from my ears to my eyes. I turn away from the women and I look down at Sisi still entertained by the dirt.
Dark, rich, and coarsely textured - I smile at the resemblance of coffee grounds and soil.
vakatawa - church steward for the Methodists
soli - community fundraiser
yaca - directly translates to "name," but is also used as a nickname for namesakes
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