Marci McPheewas a WorldTeach Marshall Islands volunteer during the 2009-2010 school year. In this blog post she recommends a book written by a fellow WorldTeach Marshall Islands alumnus, Peter Rudiak-Gould, while also identifying a few discrepancies between the anecdotes in his book and her own experience. Skip to her post below.
Sarah Lipson was also a WorldTeach Marshall Islands volunteer this past year. In her last blog post she looks back on her experience and expresses a sense of sadness and fulfillment as she says her goodbyes. Skip to her post below.
"Surviving Paradise: One Year on a Disappearing Island," by Peter Rudiak-Gould
Marci McPhee
Interested in a book about life in the Marshall Islands? A new one just came out – an easy beach read (no pun intended). Peter Rudiak-Gould was a WorldTeach volunteer on an outer island in 2003-4. He’s written a terrific, funny book that really captures a lot of the spirit of this place, without ducking the tough issues (Bikini nuclear testing disaster, grim global warming predictions, etc.). He’s now an anthropology grad student with an interest in linguistics; both of these disciplines feature prominently in his highly readable, witty memoir.
My experience is slightly different from Peter’s, for at least two reasons. One, I live on a rural island next to one of the two large population centers of the Marshall Islands, while Peter was on one of the remotest outer islands. Two, he’s male, and was therefore included in a lot of canoeing and spearfishing that were not available to me. Taking women on fishing expeditions is considered bad luck. Some Marshallese will break tradition to take a ribelle, but being a non-fisherman, I wasn’t particularly interested in breaking a cultural taboo on this one.
A few things that Peter writes about that don’t match my experience: I haven’t noticed any of the mistreatment or ignoring of children he talks about at some length. Neither have I seen the lack of activity on the part of the men. That’s probably a function of the rural outer island environment vs. the “urban” environment of Ebeye. Neither do men and women sit separately in the churches I’ve attended (Mormon and Catholic). Finally, the educational system here is challenged, but not as pathetic as the one he had to deal with on Ujae. We do have a school bell (an empty air tank clobbered several times a day with a hammer), and many teachers actually do teach. Among the Kwajalein Atoll High School teachers are several Filipinos, a Fijian, and a handful of Marshallese, as well as we two American WorldTeach volunteers.
It’s a great book for understanding a WorldTeach year in the Marshall Islands.
Enaj Elok ak Enaj Bar Jeblak
Sarah Lipson
My final entry in the Marshall Islands....
I recently received the emails transcribed below. First from a member of the Majuro community and the second from a kind stranger who has followed my blog over the course of this year.
“What I suggest is that for one of your next posts, you explain to your readers how you managed to spend 10 months in the Marshall Islands without sleeping more than 2 hours a day, and why this is the way to have a blast in a wacky Pacific island. You have had (by all accounts) an incredible year, not to mention so productive it's alarming, and I remain amazed at your level of energy and enthusiasm. You have proved that perseverance, creativity, good humor, smiles, energy (yes, double helping there), vision and (don't forget) a good measure of talent can break through the myriad roadblocks that tend to derail most ordinary human beings in this country.”
Second, an email from a Marshallese man living in the states. It has been a great privilege to share my experiences in the Marshall Islands with an unexpected collection of ri-majel ilo Amedika. I can only anticipate my deep longing to stay connected to this place and if I have helped in any way to maintain this connection for others, it has been an honor:
“There's a Marshallese saying ‘enaj elok ak enaj bar jeblak’ (I shall leave but I shall return). I personally think what you've accomplished in 1 year is 10 years of work Marshallese style. You've inspired, motivated and poured your sweat teaching the future of the islands. You've started MICAP, which to be perfectly honest with you, I don't think anybody in government or education would have thought of such a wonderful idea. You have come up with such wonderful and great ideas that I think will be forever etched in the eyes of the Marshallese people, especially your students and in turn will inspired them to do the same, to think big, to lead, to inspire and motivate the generation beneath them. For your hard work and dedication to the cause of higher education in a country that desperately needed it, whether you realized it or not, you've changed the course of education in a tiny nation in the middle of the ocean.”
I share these emails not as a self-congratulations but as a prelude to how incredibly emotional and overwhelming my departure has been and will be. I have learned more in this year than I ever imagined possible. Embrace to endure – my silent mantra. If I embrace everything new, I will endure. If I open my arms, I will survive. The mantra transformed slowly: I will not only survive, I will thrive. In July 2009, I forced myself to stay in what I considered an impossibly hot, dirty and foreign place. Out of sheer stubbornness, I stayed. In the end, this has been the most beautiful year of my life. On an island that is a mere speck of land even on the most detailed of world maps, I have a life I never dreamed of.
On Sunday night, Abacca hosted my farewell barbeque. Outside by the lagoon, a cool breeze on our backs, the setting was perfect. It rained for approximately 3 minutes at the start of the event (‘a blessing to you’, Mona said). She also said, in a successful attempt to make us both smile, “this evening was more like a funeral, my dear” after I cried for hours semi-uncontrollably. In addition to the fact that the evening brought together almost all of the most important people in my Marshallese life – those who have shaped me, inspired me and picked me up time and time again, often unknowingly – certain moments were more touching than I was prepared for. Here is a small recap of the most tear-jerking moments/comments.
Hayden, age 4: tugged on my arm repeatedly until I gave him my full attention. Looked me in the eye, more serious than I have ever seen him and said “You promise? Promise you come back?....[long pause, me crying but not saying anything and then he said]…I love you [hug].”
It is hard to explain how adorable and sincere Hayden is and, in this particular moment, how heart-breaking.
Abacca: "You woke up these kids here. You found something in them and we cannot thank you enough. You are a part of our family."
Neibol, age 7: “We made a dance for you. I hope you like it.”
Neibol is one of the smartest first-graders I have ever known. She is precocious yet kind, strong-willed but cooperative. On Wednesday, when I board Continental Micronesia, Neibol will be by my side. Her mother has asked me to accompany Neibol to Hawaii, where her aunty will meet us. To be trusted in this way is what a home away from home is all about…
After Yuli, Jablik, Neibol and Hayden performed two dances, through which I sobbed, I was asked to say a few words. A year in the RMI has me more comfortable with public speaking than any rhetoric course ever could. Knowing I would be asked to speak at Sunday’s BBQ, I prepared a speech of sorts. On Sunday afternoon, I sat in my room crying as I wrote – never deleting, just letting my reflections flow, words and tears. When I finished pouring my raw feelings into written word, I emailed the document to myself and hopped in the car with Mona. We headed into town with two purposes: grocery shopping for the barbeque and printing my speech. Mona took on the former and I planned to meet her shortly thereafter. I took her keys to WUTMI and after a few technical difficulties, I managed to print my speech. When someone has bent over backwards time and time again, as Mona has for me, the last thing you want to do is hold her up. Attempting to expedite the process, I took the back-way through WUTMI to the grocery store. In doing so, I locked myself between WUTMI and the grocery store – a stank hallway, temperature around 90, humidity percentage ditto. I banged on the grocery store door and eventually a security man hesitantly responded to my pounding: “hello?”. “Yes! Hi! Um, I am locked in….or out…” I overheard a lengthy conversation in Marshallese, one that became progressively frantic, as did my heart rate. Listening intently, I learned that the only person who had a key was in Hawaii. I asked the security guard to “FIND MONA!” (no last names needed in the RMI). Soon Mona was on the other side of the door, telling me to stay calm. I texted my friend Noni (I was almost out of minutes and did “not have sufficient funds to complete a call”). Fortunately Noni called me back immediately (would have been hard to ignore my text, which went as follows: “Noni, am locked between WUTMI and Payless. Emergency. Out of minutes. Please call.”). In an amazing series of events representative of the support and insanity that has been my life in the Marshall Islands, Noni called Katie who called Tomigo who called Malynn who called me to say she was on her way and then half an hour later Lingy and Jablik showed up (if it wasn’t clear, my eventual heroes were several degrees of separation from my original outreach efforts). An embarrassing experience but, alas, I survived (sweaty and late, but no worse for the wear).
Below is the speech that trapped me, the speech that made me sob, the speech that I somehow delivered in its entirety. So why include such a personal speech? These words, after all, were for my Marshallese friends and family. Because these words explain, as best as I possibly could, my appreciation. And of all the emotions I feel right now, on the eve of my departure, gratitude is the dominating sentiment.
“When I thought about what I would say tonight, I realized that saying thank you and goodbye are two of the hardest and most complicated messages to deliver. I have tried and tried to find the words to say thank you but there are no sufficient words to show my appreciation. And even if there are sufficient words to say goodbye, I haven’t tried to find them. This is my biggest kommoltata and a bar lo kom, a see you later and not a goodbye. Tonight instead I hope I can share one message – the most important message – how important you are to me.
When I first arrived in the Majuro in July, I was scared. I was constantly on the brink of tears, though I never knew quite why. In my first month, it was hard to find time alone since I was living in a classroom at Ajeltake Elementary School with 35 other ri-pelles. When I was alone, bucket showering by the ocean late at night, I would cry and cry, hoping the waves would drown out my sobs. Mostly I missed having people who really cared about me and wondered if I would find that sense of connection so far from home. I knew I would survive this year – I am much too stubborn to give up on something – but I never imagined that one year in the Marshall Islands would become the most memorable, most hilarious, most challenging and most inspirational year of my life. All of this is the result of the people I have come to love and how you have accepted me into your lives.
I have an amazing family in the Marshall Islands and I will never know what I did to deserve this. As people have thanked me, especially over the past week, I accept these kind words but inside I just shake my head because I have given so little compared to everything I have received in return. I’ll try to say the things I am feeling but so much of what I want to say will probably come to me as I board the plane on Wednesday. Here are my best attempts to say thank you…
To Yuli, Neibol, Jablik, Hayden and Li-Sue, thank you for always making me smile. For bringing out my inner child. I know these kids can’t possibly understand how important they have been to me but here it is: Every Saturday morning, as I walked from the main road to Abacca’s house, my pace would quicken in anticipation of your reaction – screaming my name and running towards me, arms open. Your smiles have been one of the happiest parts of my life in Majuro. I have two little cousins back in Boston and they were two of the hardest people to say goodbye to when I left last July – Yuli, Neibol, Jabolik, Hayden and Li-Sue, these kids here are really a part of my family and I feel the same way saying bar lo kom to them. Thank you to your incredible families for putting up with me, making me feel at home and tolerating our loud play sessions.
Thank you to Karen for being you no matter what. You taught me how to turn frustration into motivation. You taught me to ask questions. Thank you for believing in me and in the Mentorship Program even when I barely could. Thank you for giving me your energy, for dancing with me, for knowing when I was down and always managing to make me smile.
Thank you to Bonny for being one of the most honest people I have ever known. Thank you for always making time for me and never being too busy for a quick bwebwenato. Having your support and perspective has been invaluable to me.
To Nika and Miram, you could never know what amazing women you are – how smart, beautiful and often unintentionally hilarious you are. Thank you for making me laugh, for telling me to loosen up and for teaching me more than you probably realize.
Thank you to Katie and Noni for being such amazing friends. For never once wondering why the crazy ri-pelle was always hanging around. For welcoming me into your lives, for making me laugh – for somehow finding me funny and for your positive attitudes – always ready to get involved, always looking for your next laugh. You are exactly what so many young girls in this country should see – talented, intelligent women.
Thank you to my students at MIHS for challenging me every single day. For seeing me as a friend. You have inspired me immeasurably, made me laugh, taught me more than I could ever return.
To Maria – thank you for welcoming me into your family. For shouting “hey cousin” every time we pass at MIHS, for welcoming my mother when she visited and for keeping my spirits high. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a smiling face in the sea of students at MIHS and for wrapping your arms around me when I was down. You will never know how important you are to me.
Thank you to Pele for being the best little sister I will ever have. I feel like I’ve known you for years if not our entire lives. One day we will travel together, somewhere we’ve never been – I love the look on your face when you learn something new. Thank you for hugging me everyday for no reason at all. Don’t ever change who you are – thank you for making my last few weeks in Majuro some of my very best.
Thank you to David for welcoming me into your home and for your unending honesty. For sharing news, books, movies and always being up for a discussion, debate and for answering my many questions.
Thank you to Mona for making me a part of your family. For understanding me. For being the most positive part of my daily life. You have made me laugh more than anyone, listened to my stories, silently when I just needed to talk and providing advice exactly when I needed it. Somehow you have always known how to help. I came to the Marshall Islands hoping to be a role model but never imagined I would find my own. You have taught me patience, what it means to give, how to shrug off the small stuff and the list could go on and on. Every time I talk to my parents back home, my father says “I sleep better at night, knowing you are with Mona”. I know I will always have a home in Majuro and it is that knowledge that will bring me back.
Thank you to Abacca – most obviously for tonight. But for so much more. For opening your home to me, for your larger than life personality, for listening to me, really listening. For always having a plan – some hidden fun just around the next corner. For embracing my sense of fashion and reminding me to laugh at myself. These kids here are so lucky to have you as a mother and aunty.
Thank you to every single person here tonight. Thank you to so many people who couldn't be here tonight. If I could paint a life for myself in Majuro, it would be exactly as is. I have no idea how I got so lucky. The very best friends, the very best family.”
I do not regret a single day of the past year. I felt that I needed to change, though I am not sure where this feeling came from. Today I know that, at least for now, I am better person. I hope I will not revert to my least attractive tendencies (impatience, overzealousness) and that I can maintain my personal makeover of sorts (albeit one caked in dirt – and I’m not talking mud bath). Every challenge has made me stronger; every friendship has made me rethink myself; every minute of every day has made me appreciate the bliss of simplicity. There are however, milestones I was heartbroken to miss at home: Dad’s 60th birthday, Charlotte’s birth, Ben and Elise’s engagement and wedding, Kylie’s first birthday, Nicole’s death. So much can happen in one year. Yet in a remote corner of the world, I have never felt alone. To my friends and family back home, you will never know how integral your support has been this year. You have kept me going. With water all around me, I think the next analogy is worthwhile: I would have drowned without you. Some people believe that distance strengthens families and friendships. Slowly over the past 329 days, I have subscribed myself to this belief. I learned the truth therein from your unending love and support. Kommol aelop im bar lo kom motton jiddik.
Until my next great adventure, all my love and positive energy…
RMI National Anthem
Aelon eo ao ion lometo
Einwot wut ko loti ion dren elae
Kin meram in Mekar jen ijo ilan
Erreo an romak ioir kin meramin mour
Iltan pein Anij e-weleo im woj
Kejolit kij kin ijin jikir emol
Ijjamin Ilok jen in ae lemoran
Anij an ro jemer wonake im kejrammon Aelin kein ad.
My island lies o’er the ocean
Like a wreath of flowers upon the sea
With all light of Mekar from far above
Shining with the brilliance of rays of life
Our Father’s wonderous creation
Bequeathed to us, our Motherland
I’ll never leave my dear home sweet home
God of our forefathers protect and bless forever Marshall Islands.
Marshall Islands in the News
The Marshall Islands Journal is a dual language, once-a-week publication, and is the newspaper of record for the Marshall Islands. Click here to visit their website.
