A compilation of our favorite and least favorite ways to make "sense" of our life here in Pohnpei, using our eyes, ears, noses, tongues, and fingers (our senses... get it..?)
FAVORITE SIGHTS: puppies (for Sam only, and sometimes Philip); plumeria flowers scattered all over the streets; tucked in PCS uniform shirts (a favorite of Philip, the tucked in shirt Nazi); Sr. Maria running (usually after chickens on campus, or to ring the bell on time); clean chalkboards; a full coffee pot in the morning; Tim Smit dancing with an umbrella; yellow "You've Got a Package" slips in our mailbox; the silhouette of Sokehs Rock at sunset from the Jesuit house porch; fresh vegetables or fruit on island; the girl who works at the DVD rental place (Philip's gal); shirtless men pounding sakau (Sam and Jo only, though they suspect Philip and Luke like it, too); the MicSem vehicle pulling up to our house (signifying it's time to go play basketball with Tim and Fr. Fran); flamboyant traffic cops who dance around with whistles and white gloves at Pohnpei rush hour; finished report cards; a big stack of graded papers; clean house (mostly Sam); poorly translated Chinese and Filipino products; LOST.
LEAST FAVORITE SIGHTS: the early morning bare breasts of elderly local women; white "You've Got a Package, But It Has Been Torn or Damaged" slips in our mailbox; the impossibly tiny size of Philip's closet-bedroom; "This page cannot be displayed" (because the Internet is down or power is out); "103" on the oral thermometer (for Luke, while we were compiling this list); swastika tattoos (not because Pohnpeians are neo-Nazis - they don't quite understand the significance); the formation of a new boil on one's body; ants, spiders, cockroaches, rats, mice, centipedes, and fleas; people who pretend to be possessed (Sam's least favorite sight EVER); obviously drunk guys who are about to hit on you (for Sam and Jo, but also Luke and Philip occasionally); and dead fish (for Sam).
FAVORITE SMELLS: a fresh pot of coffee in the morning; caramelized onions (which Sam incorporates into just about every meal she makes); coconut oil (good for absolutely everything); our respective bottles of body wash sent by family and friends; candles; sakau; barbecued chicken; Tide detergent (which we just recently discovered after months of using cheap, sickeningly sweet smelling Filipino detergent); the smell after a rain; fresh cut grass.
LEAST FAVORITE SMELLS: the Pohnpei Catholic School bathroom; the trash dump off of the causeway where we walk and jog; the pigs; our dogs when it hasn't rained in a while; mildew on our pillows and in the walls; burning trash; running shoes that never quite dry completely; yoga mats; wet clothes after they have accidentally sat in a backpack for over a week; stinky breadfruit; lunch Tupperware that has accidentally sat in a school bag for over a week; under our sink, for some reason; our garbage can, even when it's just been washed and is empty.
FAVORITE SOUNDS: country, 90's, and other white people music playing at the grocery store or the occasional house; the Lagoonese pronunciation of Philip's name (Pinip); Philip's closed-mouth laugh; anything Immanuel or Angelbert says; the final bell at school; Pohnpeian singing at church; the early morning greetings of "pwong mwahu guy"; the voice of the man on the Pohnpei Cinemas hotline telling us about this month's movie selections; the little noises Skype makes when it's trying to reach our family members; silence; "oh, nan!"; Tim playing CatchPhrase or LikeWise; a heavy rain; Luke's imitations of just about everybody.
LEAST FAVORITE SOUNDS: the OLMCHS prison bell; Jo's watch that beeps every hour; our neighbors singing and laughing all night long (Chuukese people don't sleep); honking for no good reason; a student talking without raising their hand, or raising their hand and asking unnecessary questions; "eeyy, serepein masamwahu!" ("heyyy, pretty girl!") from some drunk guy or group of guys; screaming babies; puppies (for everyone but Sam); "IA WASA MET?!" ("What place is this?!", the lovely greeting yelled into the phone line when someone calls the wrong number and reaches our house); the "h" sound pronounced at the beginnings of words that start with vowels ("Come and HHH-eat this food I just took out of the HHH-oven"); the lack of "h" sound pronounced at the beginnings of words that start with an "h" ("I, ow are you?"); "It's hot" (the most common and incredibly ironic complaint of our students); the drunk Chuukese yell - IIIEEEEEIEIIEEE! - in the middle of the night.
FAVORITE TASTES: uht pirain (fried banana); the first cup of sakau; sashimi; coffee; pounded breadfruit; betelnut with our Yapese friends; kapopo (beer after sakau); Shasta Cherry Cola (delicious off-brand favorite soda of Sam and Philip); turkey tail (Luke only); Phil's Phlapjacks on Saturday mornings; turtle; dog (everyone but Sam); B-52's (drink from the Village); the cheese that Tim sometimes brings over (we don't make enough money to buy cheese).
LEAST FAVORITE TASTES: fish (for Sam); stale betelnut; rice; 8 straight months of HHH-oatmeal; antibiotics; sakau that comes back up; spaghetti (which we eat about once a week - living on a budget can be hard).
FAVORITE FEELINGS: the cool side of the pillow; hugs at International Mass; the wind catching your skirt, and the way local skirts move on your legs in general (for Luke and Philip); cold showers; diving into the ocean; being cold; wearing a skirt around the house pulled up like a strapless dress (incredibly cool and comfortable); hammocks on your back; the ocean breeze; opening a letter from home; Luke's ponytail (for Luke only - no one else feels his ponytail); new facial hair (for Philip) (Luke: "You mean finally hitting puberty?"); carpet (only one or two homes have carpet on island - it's the little things you miss...); clean feet (a rarity); lacing up cleats and hitting the soccer field (for Philip); the post-run stretch; yoga; air-con.
LEAST FAVORITE FEELINGS: wet clothes and skirts after getting caught in the rain; the rain blowing in from all sides, rendering an umbrella useless; gouch rash (Luke and Philip); bugs crawling on arms and legs, or worse, trapped in your bra or underwear; flea and mosquito bites; sweaty underwear wedgies; sweating while sleeping; sleeping on the wood floor of a nahs; fouls by Br. Bert in a basketball game; sunburn; drunk handshakes that last way too long, and limp handshakes that you can't get out of fast enough; peeing the bed (it's happened); peeing your pants (also happened).
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
"I have fleas" and other short stories by Samantha Cocco
(read: Various tales that I can’t summon the creative energies to tie together with a common theme)
“I have fleas”
Why, you may ask, have these incredibly fast, impossible-to-kill, skin-nibbling little creatures recently inhabited my ankles and feet? While some may subsequently assume that my personal hygiene has severely diminished since my arrival to Pohnpei, I can assure you that my cleanliness of self, if anything, has actually improved. It had to, really, due to all of the sweating I find myself doing.
It’s not a question of personal hygiene, then, but rather, a question of how much I love puppies. The answer is, a lot. I love puppies so much that I can’t stop playing with the ones our dog Princess delivered a few weeks ago, though they’re not altogether too healthy and, clearly, riddled with fleas that are transferring onto my lower legs daily. This problem wouldn’t be so terrible in itself, but is compounded by the misfortune of my (undiagnosed and highly exaggerated) disorder known as dermatillomania, also known as compulsive skin picking. I have a very difficult time keeping myself from scratching at skin irritations, and picking at the scabs when they develop. I have little tolerance for mosquito bites, and flea bites have proved to be (roughly) one hundred times itchier than those from mosquitoes. Thus, I have been scratching like hell, and have opened up a number of the bites, which will likely soon become infected.
The simple and obvious solution to my problem is to not touch the puppies until they are big enough to keep the fleas off of themselves. But it’s not just puppy love (pun intended) between me, Teddy Bear (named after my dog at home), and Black Beauty (named after my favorite horse story when I was little). Our love story began one morning when Black Beauty, still in the process of figuring out how hind legs work, army-crawled her way to the backyard, right outside my window (a distance of about 25 feet – quite a trek for a puppy on only front legs, which I think must have taken her all night), where she whimpered until I came out to play with her. Things got more serious the other night when I spotted Teddy Bear, fast asleep (or so I thought) on his side in the driveway, and crouched down to pet him. But before I could touch him, he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, and his tiny brown body began convulsing with excitement. Once he got on his feet, he turned around six complete, clumsy times before burrowing into my feet and running around some more.
My point is this: if you saw these puppies, you’d have fleas, too. I am not ashamed.
“Four means you will die”
A few entries earlier, I discussed my tendency to ‘jinx’ myself – as soon as I boast, “well, at least (insert undesirable situation) hasn’t happened yet!” lo and behold, the situation occurs. I clearly haven’t learned my lesson about boasting, because a few weeks ago, I made two claims that I would take back if I could.
The first, in response to a story about being chased by dogs: “You know, dogs never chase me. I think they know that I won’t hurt them, so there’s no need to defend themselves against me.” The very next day, on my way to school, a dog who watches me walk by every single morning and afternoon, and is additionally the laziest thing I’ve ever seen, came after me, completely unprovoked. Even then, I boasted to myself, “Well, he was upset about something. It had nothing to do with me.” But a few nights later, on my way home at dusk, three dogs who live next door saw me on my way down the street, and decided to pick on me, barking and running towards me. I tried to hush them with “Shhh!” and “Shay!”, to which most dogs here usually quiet down, but they just got angrier. I ignored them, but as I tried to pass them, one actually bared his teeth and advanced toward me. Luckily, a rock came hurling at the dog’s head, courtesy of a man across the street, and all three scurried off. I thanked the man, but I don’t know if I can forgive the dogs.
Additionally, around the same time, I said, thoughtfully – no boasting intended this time – “You know, I haven’t actually seen one centipede (which are poisonous, can grow to over a foot long, and are highly feared by everyone) in all the months I’ve been here. How strange!” Well, two weeks ago, I saw, screamed at, and killed my first centipede… and then my second, four hours later. I asked our maintenance worker and resident Pohnpeian guru, Immanuel, if this was an omen of my impending death. Straight-faced, he told me, “No. Four means you will die.” The color must have drained from my face, because a moment later, he laughed a big, hearty laugh, and didn’t stop for a full minute.
The moral of the story? No one is immune to street dogs and poisonous centipedes. Also, don’t boast.
“I have fleas”
Why, you may ask, have these incredibly fast, impossible-to-kill, skin-nibbling little creatures recently inhabited my ankles and feet? While some may subsequently assume that my personal hygiene has severely diminished since my arrival to Pohnpei, I can assure you that my cleanliness of self, if anything, has actually improved. It had to, really, due to all of the sweating I find myself doing.
It’s not a question of personal hygiene, then, but rather, a question of how much I love puppies. The answer is, a lot. I love puppies so much that I can’t stop playing with the ones our dog Princess delivered a few weeks ago, though they’re not altogether too healthy and, clearly, riddled with fleas that are transferring onto my lower legs daily. This problem wouldn’t be so terrible in itself, but is compounded by the misfortune of my (undiagnosed and highly exaggerated) disorder known as dermatillomania, also known as compulsive skin picking. I have a very difficult time keeping myself from scratching at skin irritations, and picking at the scabs when they develop. I have little tolerance for mosquito bites, and flea bites have proved to be (roughly) one hundred times itchier than those from mosquitoes. Thus, I have been scratching like hell, and have opened up a number of the bites, which will likely soon become infected.
The simple and obvious solution to my problem is to not touch the puppies until they are big enough to keep the fleas off of themselves. But it’s not just puppy love (pun intended) between me, Teddy Bear (named after my dog at home), and Black Beauty (named after my favorite horse story when I was little). Our love story began one morning when Black Beauty, still in the process of figuring out how hind legs work, army-crawled her way to the backyard, right outside my window (a distance of about 25 feet – quite a trek for a puppy on only front legs, which I think must have taken her all night), where she whimpered until I came out to play with her. Things got more serious the other night when I spotted Teddy Bear, fast asleep (or so I thought) on his side in the driveway, and crouched down to pet him. But before I could touch him, he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, and his tiny brown body began convulsing with excitement. Once he got on his feet, he turned around six complete, clumsy times before burrowing into my feet and running around some more.
My point is this: if you saw these puppies, you’d have fleas, too. I am not ashamed.
“Four means you will die”
A few entries earlier, I discussed my tendency to ‘jinx’ myself – as soon as I boast, “well, at least (insert undesirable situation) hasn’t happened yet!” lo and behold, the situation occurs. I clearly haven’t learned my lesson about boasting, because a few weeks ago, I made two claims that I would take back if I could.
The first, in response to a story about being chased by dogs: “You know, dogs never chase me. I think they know that I won’t hurt them, so there’s no need to defend themselves against me.” The very next day, on my way to school, a dog who watches me walk by every single morning and afternoon, and is additionally the laziest thing I’ve ever seen, came after me, completely unprovoked. Even then, I boasted to myself, “Well, he was upset about something. It had nothing to do with me.” But a few nights later, on my way home at dusk, three dogs who live next door saw me on my way down the street, and decided to pick on me, barking and running towards me. I tried to hush them with “Shhh!” and “Shay!”, to which most dogs here usually quiet down, but they just got angrier. I ignored them, but as I tried to pass them, one actually bared his teeth and advanced toward me. Luckily, a rock came hurling at the dog’s head, courtesy of a man across the street, and all three scurried off. I thanked the man, but I don’t know if I can forgive the dogs.
Additionally, around the same time, I said, thoughtfully – no boasting intended this time – “You know, I haven’t actually seen one centipede (which are poisonous, can grow to over a foot long, and are highly feared by everyone) in all the months I’ve been here. How strange!” Well, two weeks ago, I saw, screamed at, and killed my first centipede… and then my second, four hours later. I asked our maintenance worker and resident Pohnpeian guru, Immanuel, if this was an omen of my impending death. Straight-faced, he told me, “No. Four means you will die.” The color must have drained from my face, because a moment later, he laughed a big, hearty laugh, and didn’t stop for a full minute.
The moral of the story? No one is immune to street dogs and poisonous centipedes. Also, don’t boast.
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