LYNN'S ACCOUNT OF LIVING ON KOSRAE IN MICRONESIA, 1969-1975, p.4
Our assignment was to teach English as a second language at the local high school, which was located along the road from Lelu to Tafunsak. In fact, the school was only a short walk away from our house. In many ways, it was like being in an American high school setting. For one, English was the language of instruction (although many of the Kosraean teachers sometimes used Kosraean). For another, the principal was American. The school, which was a boarding school (the villages are too remote and far away for kids to be bussed every day), had a regular schedule with assigned periods and even bells. I mostly taught English as a second language, but I also taught one science course and tutored in French to a couple of American girls after school. Uncle Philip also taught some English as a second language, but he mainly taught science, business math, and history/social studies (Peoples of the Pacific, Micronesian Development). About half of our fellow teachers were other Americans (mainly contract teachers who worked along side us but got paid for their teaching services) and the other half were Kosraeans. We taught a regular schedule from early in the morning to mid-afternoon. Evenings, by kerosene lamp, were spent doing lesson plans and correcting papers. Because our house was far away from the main part of the village and because we were pretty much locked into this school schedule, I did not feel like we were really part of the village.
High School at Yekula
We were part of an American community that eventually numbered about 50 people. They included other Peace Corps Volunteers, contract teachers, agricultural employees, and a group of Sea Bees who came to the island toward the end of our first year and had a camp across the harbor from Lelu. I include this bit of information because some volunteers were the only American on an island. We weren’t, which meant that we could choose to remain on our own, which we sometimes did, or socialize with the other Americans, which we sometimes did. Actually, we mostly did social things with a contract couple that lived near us—-the most exciting thing we did was to play Scrabble once a week while we dined on popcorn and homemade fudge. Things actually got rather petty and sometimes very political within the circle of Americans, so we mostly did not fraternize too much. Sometimes this backfired, as both factions in a dispute would assume you were supporting the other side if you did not actively support their side.
One of the unusual aspects of our Peace Corps experience was that our part of Micronesia was then a U.S. Trust Territory administered by the Department of the Interior. This meant that we were doing almost exactly the same thing for the same government as the contract teachers. One branch of the U.S. government was using volunteers to help out another branch of the U.S. government. For us it was worth it for the chance to be there, but it did sometimes feel like the Peace Corps were being exploited to save money.
We didn’t have much to worry about regarding clothes. I got by on underwear, a cotton dress, and zoris—no nylons obviously. If we got wet, we dried off soon enough. And the weather was warm enough that we did not need jackets. Philip got by on underwear, shorts, a shirt, and zoris. We even hiked in zoris—the trails, if they existed, were so muddy. I think I took some clothes out with me; other clothes I had made for me. We were stuck in the 50s mode—fitted bodice, full skirt to the knees, zipper up the back.
Lynn with Nena, Shrue, Lynn and Kimie
You may wonder about practical things, like getting the wash done. Obviously, without electricity, we had no washer or dryer. Even though we did not have water piped into the house or house area, there was a communal wash house nearby with a big trough for the water. Women either went there to do wash (or bathe) or went to streams. Clothes were washed by beating them with a wooden paddle. Our landlord’s wife offered to do our wash, so I think we either took it over there or she came to get it once a week. Washing small things by hand were not a big deal for me; but I didn’t relish the thought of washing big things by hand—like sheets.
Sleeping arrangements were like the Japanese. That is, we slept on the floor on mats. We had woven pandanus mats made for our floors—room-size ones. In addition, we had smaller sleeping mats which we put on the big ones. We also purchased a thin foam mattress made for a station wagon for extra comfort. Then on top of that we had regular bedding. Unlike the Japanese and the Kosraean, we left our mats on the floor all the time—like a real bedroom. In Kosraean households, which were very fluid, one never knew for sure where one would sleep the next night so it behooved one to have portable sleeping arrangements. Mosquitoes were a problem, but we didn’t like sleeping under a mosquito net because it was too hot. So we burned mosquito coils all night—I got quite accustomed to getting up in the middle of the night to light a fresh mosquito coil and going back to sleep. For some reason, they were not designed to last all night!
I have told people many times that our two years out there were like camping out: no running water, no electricity, rudimentary sleeping and toilet arrangements. Yet it was also the most natural, and by that mean I mean close to nature, lifestyle that we have ever led before or since. For one thing, we got up with the chickens and went to bed with the chickens. Or should I say pigs because that is what ran under our house at those hours, our house being built on stilts. Even though we had kerosene lamps, the fancier of which had mantles and gave off quite a bit of light, I would tend to get sleepy about 8:30, and I don’t think it was long after that that we went to bed. And we got up at first light. Plus, we always knew what phase of the moon we were in because the tides greatly affected our lives. For one, the ocean ran by our big bay window in the back. And when the tide was really high, we had water running under the house, no doubt fighting with the pigs.
One thing leads to another. It’s amazing what is important or impacts how one lives one’s life. As I said, we had kerosene lamps instead of electricity. So for one, if the island ran out of kerosene, we had no fuel—so we learned either to hoard, borrow, or do without. Everything at that time came by ship, and we were sometimes a month or two between ships. In the late afternoon, before it got dark, it was time to clean out the kerosene lamps, fill them, trim the wicks—so we would be ready for when it got dark. And we had to remember to put them out before we went to bed.
Our household was not at all like the ordinary household on Kosrae. For starters, during the first year only two people lived in our house: Philip and myself. Most people lived with several generations, and mainly use their living houses for sleeping--spending time outdoors or in the cookhouse. Even during the second year, when a high school girl named Tapita joined our household, our house seemed large and empty to Kosraeans. In addition, we had two cats that we treated more like pets in the American tradition than Kosraeans thought necessary or proper. They were brother and sister, and their names were Ivan and Guinevere. Ivan was black and white, mostly black, Guinevere was a calico. She had two litters while we were there.
Guinevere and Ivan
Guinevere was an excellent mouser (actually small rats), especially when she had kittens. She also used to leave us presents of lizards, including one large monitor lizard on our bed--still alive. But her instincts were not perfect, as once a rat came in the house and started eating out of her cat bowl, while she sat right beside it grooming herself. The rat seemed so at home, she must have thought it was just another pet of ours. Philip had to chase after the rat with a broom.
We also had another cat called Orange Koluk, which meant Orange Bad. I have always had a predilection for orange tabbies, which fact I advertised, to the point where one of our students brought us a feral kitten from the local church. When he came, he was scared to death from being held against his will and away from his mother on a harrowing pickup ride. He was also riddled with fleas. So when he arrived, we promptly gave him a bath, which of course he loved. He spent the next three days hiding behind a big piece of plywood in our house and wouldn’t speak to us. Eventually, he did come out from behind the plywood and kind of became our friend. But he never became as affectionate as our first two kitties, and he had terrible bathroom manners. The worse thing we did, from the Kosraean point of view, was feed our cats canned mackerel, which, as imported food, was considered an expensive delicacy. Canned cat food was not available on the island, so we didn’t really have much choice. And we rarely ate canned mackerel ourselves, which is quite oily and strong flavored compared to the canned tuna we regularly ate.
Koluk in our doorway