Well, everything is getting a wash today in Samoa, and the potholes will be growing. I am in the office looking for inspiration, but my entire body is taken over by a new kind of lethargy that comes with complete emotional exhaustion, squashing humidity and too much alcohol on the weekend. Before we left Australia, they told us about natural psychological changes that everyone undergoes when they travel long-term overseas. There is the initial excitement and depression, a stage of rapidly switching highs and lows - and I've definitely had that experience. And then there is the 5-6 week slump, where everyone just wants to bail. If this is true by the end of this week I should be coming into the get-me-the-hell-out-of-here phase of my journey.

At the moment I am facing my own capacity to lack motivation. By putting it in writing I am hoping to kickstart some action in the right direction, because at the moment I am not even close to living what I preach. I need to start seeing obstacles as opportunities rather than impossibly large, ridiculously sturdy brick walls. And I need to start seeing brick walls as creators of niches in space-time rather than obstacles. The problem IS the solution! For example, neighbourly conflict as an opportunity to gain a different, deeper understanding of people and culture than the friendly niceties of peaceful but disconnected relationships. Radically opposed ideas and practices in the garden as an opportunity to display the real qualities of both extremes. Lack of easy access to material as a lesson in observation, resourcefulness and creativity, a test for my ability to interpret pattern and landscape and find what I need.

The 'problem' then is that in order for this to work, for me to succeed in the challenge of living an ethical life in this place, I need community. Community is the key, especially here, but there is something in my disposition now that wants me to disconnect. I don't know exactly why but I am compelled to ignore the world around me and exist in a bubble of my own egotistical imaginings, memories that comfort me and validate my self-image, long indulgent hours of bedridden daydream that accomplish nothing but to instill a hazy poignancy to the day. My drive to learn the language has diminished, now I want nothing but to wave 'fa!' and drive off in a nice car with English-speaking palagis and talk about, mostly, myself. I don't have the patience to withstand conversations that cannot trancend communication barriers and so remain in the realms of 'manuia le aso', but neither do I have the desire to go further, so what can I do but avoid conversation? I'm sure this all will change, but perhaps I need to make the most of this chance to explore the superficial topic of 'my' life and mind.

I should get back to work, but I just made the boss happy, and myself, by hitting another spark with CLUMPING coconut polycultures. We will be the first in Samoa to grow in this way, improving yeild by allowing clumps to self-mulch and creating ease of harvest never before seen here. Plus it leaves 80% of total space free for other crops, and I'm pushing for avocados as another major species. Then you wait till I show them trellis ideas and maybe even some aquaculture thrown in with pigs and chickens in there to keep it all under control.

Dad just rang and asked me if I thought I was gonna stick it out for the whole year. I told him yeah I think so.
Yep. I think so.

Anhialated Assumptions

I just received a shocking reminder of my own stunning ignorance. The morality high-horse I've been flogging to death finally just bucked me off. And how did this occur? I spoke to the man who lives 15m away from me, the one who walks past my windows every day to do some unknown business in the backyard, the one I haven't bothered to speak to because 'ah, it's too hard, he doesn't speak any English...' Well, he speaks better English than me. Literally, since I've adopted this pidgin slang, pretentiously throwing in a 'manuia le aso' or 'fa'amolemole' to show the extent of my cultural awareness. And he's got plenty to say.
Imagine me, being gloriously resourceful and bringing in a Samoan-speaking translator while I mime the actions just in case they don't quite get it, to communicate with this family who have been watching me make racist assumptions about them from the day I trundled in. Imagine my humiliation when they answer, in nicely-accented English, my ridiculously elaborately planned question. Well it's lucky I decided I would risk my comfort zone with a conversation, even if it was only to find that actually me and my housemate have really been blatantly rude to the whole family for nearly 3 weeks. In my defence there was not such an easy opportunity to form a relationship in the beginning but there is no denying that was my responsibility. I guess I'm holding onto my Western values, wanting too much privacy and independence in a culture where interdependence is key. I came here to experience another culture, not to stubbornly and pridefully cling to elements of my own.
By the way, the 'unknown business' in the backyard is the manifestation of information I have been looking for, it was right under my little pointy palagi nose - every night they are cooking traditional food on a coconut shell fire, practicing the ancient methods of a rich, strong culture. And when I asked the much agonised-over question 'Can I do some things in your garden?' the answer was a simple, eloquent OK.

So, first step? MAKE COMPOST! It's time to observe the bats... follow the bats, and steal their guana!
(More on this Mission to come)

Matareva Village

A new meaning for hungry, a new meaning for poor. Hungry is having more food than you can eat, and no nutrition. Poor is a communal state, money is a communal commodity. We are all as wealthy as one person's divisions of income amongst us. But my God are we hungry, tired and fat. I slept in a village last night, on a weaved mat next to Halleluia. I was fed as a guest of honour on a meal of corned beef from a tin, a rich bowl of gravy, banana and white bread with butter. The Coco Samoa was delicious, half coco half sugar with water which may or may not have been the cause of my continuing bowel problems.

I want to, but do not understand this culture. I do not know if their motivation to invite me to their village has anything to do with the 50T they obtained from me, or if their curiosity stems from their desire to share themselves or their desire to share in my hilarious ethnicity. I know Samoa is a kind place, but cruelty has it's place in every hidden niche. Children grow up striking dogs, striking cats, killing bugs. Men hit women and women hit kids, like everywhere, violence is rife. Hospitality is expected, and offered, in all instances. No one will ever starve in Samoa, and I believe you would have found a smile (genuine) on every day in history, had you been looking, in every strata, every condition, every circumstance. No one sleeps alone, parental responsibility is shared amongst entire (very) extended families. I was invited to shower 3 times in a day in a 44 gallon drum (which easily beats my shower at home) and there was always some kind woman there to hand me a towel and help me put on my clothes.

Why not go to Matareva Beach with Halleluia? Because I am scared? Because I don't trust what I don't understand? Why then, did I feel so peaceful and blessed sleeping next to a village woman inside a mosquito net weighed down with riverstones? Why am I here?

First Time for Everything

This 'blog' should have started the day I first left Townsville, the transit time when people around me didn't know who I was, and I started trying to find out.

Now, 9 months later, I am blessed to be living in Apia, Samoa, working on a Permaculture project, living proof that you get what you ask for.

This is the first time I have been able to regularly record information (and subjective findings) about my journey, for others to read. I do have an extensive written records, and readers should not be surprised to find amongst current entries, my musings from the time this blog should have begun.

But, OK, it is what it is - the name comes from a peom written on the back of my shirt by a very good man, originally by Michael Leunig from the anthology When I Talk To You.

This blog will be a personal account of my appointment as Permaculture Development Officer for METI here in Samoa, and may I remind you that filtered through my worldview Permaculture covers every aspect of experience, so don't expect an unambiguous report.

Disclaimer: Opinions expressed in this blog do not necessarily represent those held by ANYONE ELSE. (They made us do this - can't even say who 'they' are.)

Let it out
Let it go
Let it all unravel
And it can be a path on which to travel