Wet, sick, hungry, but doin’ alright

I did laundry a few days ago and it’s rained every day since. In fact, it’s supposed to rain every day for the next week. I hand wash and hang dry all my clothes, so rain means no dry laundry.

This morning I had to make a business decision to wear wet underwear. I’m down to my last clean shirt as well. Regardless of how cool this shirt looks, it’s at the bottom of my depth chart on the hierarchy of button-up shirts (my entire wardrobe) for a reason. It’s thick and itchy, the worst type of shirt for a humid island climate. On top of all that wet nonsense, I recently ran out of physical money as I often do. Physical money is what I use to buy various small food items from the small fale koloa (house store) across the street from my house. To get more physical money, I must hitchhike to town, on a good day the whole process takes around 60 minutes, one way, and on a bad day, it can be much, much longer. Then, once I’m in town I pray to Sīsū Kaliasi that one of the two ATMs is working. My main source of protein recently has been frozen chicken. Buying raw chicken in America is something I have learned I took for granted.

The ease of buying the chicken and just slapping it on a pan. The process here consists of buying said chicken, de-thawing, pulling off the skin, and removing any left-over heart, guts, veins, etc. from the body. And lastly, removing the meat from the bone; I found that the scissors from my Peace Corps-supplied med kit work best. A lot of instruments go into this process and cross-contamination is something I’ve had a hard time avoiding. At the time of blog post writing, I am bedridden, recovering from food poisoning I suspect was done by just that. Maybe it’s time for a chicken break. Besides, it’s always more rewarding to catch my dinner in the ocean. However, the last time I went handline fishing a sneaker wave got me and swept my line out to sea. I didn’t feel comfortable jumping in to rescue my line because I’d been seeing some bull shark at this spot recently. So, unfortunately, it’s time for me to pay up and purchase more fishing supplies. Faka ofa, am-I-right?

As I sit here in bed, wet underwear, scratchy shirt, empty stomach and all, I can truthfully say that is it moments like this that I joined the Peace Corps in the first place. This month will mark the 9-month milestone, one whole baby! But also, 33% of my service is already ‘osi. I wrote on my application essay, talked about it during my interview, and now I type it on my half-broken computer screen, from my tiny bed, underneath my mosquito net, to the sounds of a monsoon tap-tap-tapping on my metal roof; when I return to America, I want a newfound appreciation for all the mundane.

I read a post recently on the Peace Corps subreddit titled, “How often do you consider ETing” or something like that (ET stands for early termination, which is different than being fired, that’s called administratively separated, or ADSEPD). The comments were surprising to me just how many people were contemplating it. Peace Corps is a choice, you’re not forced to stay, but it is heavily encouraged. It is true what they say about this being “the hardest job you’ll ever love”. I also am aware that life on a tropical island comes with certain perks say volunteers serving in parts of the world that are much, much more difficult. Shout to my friend McKenna who just finished up her 27-month service in West Africa, a part of the world with a very high ET rate, and immediately jumped into PCR (Peace Corps Response) in Tonga.

With the exception of when I’m puking my guts out and dry heaving into my toilet at two in the morning, wondering if I’ll ever trust myself to cook chicken again, I’m aware that I haven’t yet put the idea in my head about quitting, in fact, occasionally I daydream about extending for a third year and moving to a new island (which is something the Peace Corps encourages!).

However, I will say that I do often lay in bed before I go to sleep and imagine myself at a grocery store in America, buying some frozen chicken, perfectly cut, no bones, no hearts, no guts, nothing. Just raw chicken, ready to be cooked, no extra BS. Doing a full load of laundry, drying included, in an hour. I also think about watching live sports eating a hotdog and drinking an overpriced Coors Lite. Going for a walk or a bike ride and not checking behind my back every 10 seconds to see if a pack of dogs is about to attack me; dogs have sent me to the hospital twice so far and my goal is to not make it three. I have a long way to go but this is a cool milestone, nonetheless. On an unrelated note, I’m going to make it a mission of mine to see more of my island. As is right now I would say I average 2.5 hours away from my site every week, all of which are me going to town to get more money and stuff at the market like beans and peppers… also the occasional pisa and Maka, don’t judge me it’s some well-deserved calories. It’s time to go for more bike rides with fewer plans. Perhaps my next blog post will be about me seeing other parts of this lovely island. I dunno. Peace out.

-Kamaloni