A fish and a fowl

There are some things about living on an island in Vanuatu that are as surprising as they are simple. The small things are the things that never fail to catch me off guard and remind me of what my life actually is here, on Tanna Island. For example, recently I started my morning off in the same way I have been starting many of my mornings off for the past year and a half that I have been living in Vanuatu. I went for a run. It was a very regular run, with lots of people calling out to me as I ran along, as they do every time they see me running. They especially love to call me fatfat (bislama for fat), which makes me feel just wonderful, but I have learned to smile and return the favor, calling them fatfat too. Nothing seems to bring more joy to a conversation than a little roundtable fatfat talk. Anyway, I was in the final stretch of my run, along the beach, about a mile or so from my village when a guy called out to me from the sea, greeting me in local language as most people do. The next thing I knew he was yelling “Becky” over and over again, which I’m assuming comes from my given custom name “Nasweyu Becky,” even though most people either call me “Nasweyu” or Laura. I’m still not sure who this guy is. He then proceeded to run out of the sea waving a dead fish over his head. So I stopped running and stared at him, since staring is the natural response to any sort of situation here. He then came up to me and told me to take the dead fish. It was a foot long “flying fish” with a good amount of meat on it. I had to accept it, as it is extremely rude to deny something someone gives you, and also because it was a fine looking fish. So I thanked him and then ran the rest of the way home with a dead fish in my hand. There was just one little string attached. In taking the fish I was accepting something from a youngfala man, which means I might as well call him my boyfriend now. It is customary that when a guy gives a girl something, or takes out her trash, or carries something for her (my host family still jokes about the time my tawi/cousin named Jeff carried my taro about 20 yeards from the road to their house my very first week on Tanna), that the two could one day soon be married. Just like that. One day you get a fish, and the next you find yourself married. A pretty simple process that I won’t be adopting into my own lifestyle anytime soon. And I won’t be calling the fish guy my boyfriend. I’ll just think of the fish as a great reward for an 8 mile run! And after scaling and gutting the fish, a fellow peace corps volunteer and I made a great, high-protein meal out of it.

The other animal I was given this week was a live chicken. I went to visit 2 teenage sisters who had babies a month apart last year. I never gave presents to the moms or the babies during the babies’ first month, as is the custom here, and so was a little behind by giving gifts to the babies at 5 and 6 months old. But of course the family was more than enthusiastic and grateful, as they handed me one of their chickens in return. (If you receive a gift here, the custom is to give something back.) Then we agreed that they would look after the chicken, which they insisted belonged to me, until I wanted to come and roast it. We then planned to eat the chicken together when it was coming close to my time to leave, which sounded like a pretty good deal to me. And so, I’ve been living here a year and a half and yet the simple things like swapping baby clothes for a fowl, and getting a fish handed to me during my sweaty run, are still surprising me and reminding me that this place is truly a special place. And I am reminded of how often there are strings attached to our actions. And how the basic actions of giving and receiving are so important in any place. But especially in this place, this special little world in Vanuatu.