I’m sitting on the passenger side of an old Japanese pickup – which means that this is the left side, while we’re riding on the right side of the road, or rather, the cars in opposing traffic drive off the road to their right onto patches of grass and bush and whatnot to let us pass, as the road we’re on really should only be suited to one lane. The windows are precariously cracked, while the engine sputters on like a sick child. The radio is blasting Little Jon’s hit single “Get Low” – I think that’s what it’s called. It’s that one made popular by Dave Chappelle on his brilliant, but short lived show. Anyway, it’s made its way here, to Pohnpei, booming from the speakers of this dilapidated vehicle, which also, curiously enough, has made its own journey, traveling overseas from Japan. If I lean forward far enough, I can see the nose of the canoe we’re hauling, jutting a good eight or ten feet ahead of us, like a red horn, pointed towards the gray and blue skies overhead. There are four more people sitting on the bed of the truck in the back, keeping the goddamn boat from sliding and falling off. It’s tied down, though – onto impromptu braces made from a few logs, and tree bark used as rope. It’s amazing what a few people can do with a machete and a good sense of resourcefulness.
The road in front of us is a treacherously narrow, rocky, hilly, and due to the rain, muddy thing that most Americans would avoid at all costs unless they were driving something with four-wheel-drive, or a dirt bike, or an ATV. But Pohnpeians don’t care about something as minor as taking vehicles not technically qualified as “off-road” off road. No, they strap a 25 foot long fucking canoe, with nothing more than a few tree branches and string, onto a truck that has to be at least 20 years old, and with beaming optimism, hope for the best. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? I wonder that to myself as the truck is barely able to climb each steep and muddy hill, tires spitting clumps of dirt, and engine wheezing away in agony. Meanwhile my driver is dancing and singing along, and laughing his ass off.
“To the window~ to the wall! Till the sweat drips down my balls! Till all these bitches crawl! They all skeet skeet mothafuckas! They all skeet skeet goddamn!”
The weeks that lead up to this were filled to the brim with tiny events here and there, spanning the whole spectrum of significance, from minor to vitally important. It was only four weeks, but still, it was the first four weeks of living here in Micronesia, so of course, even though now it feels like it’s flown by quickly, it also feels as though so much has happened since we first arrived in Hawaii, so much time has gone by. It’s a strange sort of sensation. One minute I’m waking up in the backseat of my mother’s SUV, groggy from staying up all night to pack my things, and slowly realizing that no matter how frantic and desperately she drove, we would not make my flight. The next minute, I’m here, waking up on my wooden bench of a bed, with a few layers of foam and padding for comfort, looking out through the cross-stitched metal bars of my window, and feeling the heat of the Micronesian sun, the humidity slowly seeping in through my pores. But still so much has happened between then and now, and thinking about all the things, the amount of things, that has yet to happen, that will happen before these 27 months are through, fills me with excitement and wonder.
Come this time next week, phase one of PST will have ended, and the 29 of the 31 of us remaining will have been dispersed all throughout FSM and Palau to our respective islands. They announced our site placements the other day on Friday, and the two weeks leading up to that were filled with much anticipation and speculation to the point that I was just sick of having the same conversation over and over and over again – talk with no real basis of fact, people forming expectations of living on islands they really don’t know much about besides what they’d heard or read about somewhere. I knew that I could be happy no matter where they sent me. More than anything I’m just glad to finally know where I’m actually headed, and a new conversation can begin, one filled with excitement rather than worry. And I’m glad that for the most part, everyone is content with where they’ve been placed. As for me, it was fitting that I’d worn a Pohnpei shirt that day. After living most of my life near beaches, I can’t complain about too much about the mangroves, I already have a head start on learning the language, and hey, at least I don’t have to worry about packing my shit for another five weeks, lest of all worry about how I’m going to fit all that shit on a plane.
And yet it’s strange to think that even after all this time has gone by, there will be another five weeks of training before we’re all sworn in, before we actually become volunteers. The current volunteers say phase two is a lot better. I can’t say for sure. I do know, however, that I’m really going to get to know the seven others on Pohnpei, who by the way, are all girls. I am the only boy assigned to Pohnpei from my group, M77. The others say I ought to open up a sex clinic for my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. I’ll have to run that one by the girlfriend.
Strangest of all is that in the past four or so weeks, I’ve really gotten close to the other 21 trainees, but after next week, I probably won’t see any of them again for a year, until MST or Mid-Service Training. But that will certainly be something interesting to look forward to, seeing how much everyone has changed, how everyone is coping with wherever they’re assigned. The current volunteers also say that the time passes by quickly, a lot quicker than you would imagine. I can’t say for sure about that one, either. I hope not too quickly – I’m really loving it here. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. Pretty soon I’m going to get a bicycle, maybe a guitar. We’ll see where this bumpy road goes. Wherever it leads, I’ll be on board, paddling away to the gray blue skies on that 25 foot canoe.
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