Saturday, October 24, 2009
Things are winding down now. We have had several celebrations in the last few days. On Tuesday we were invited by the Governor to a barbeque down on the beach. At the last minute we were told that it would be “formal” – that means that everyone was to wear lava lavas – the wrap-around skirts that both men and women wear.
One of the things I struggle with on a daily basis is to try to keep from looking ridiculous the older I get. When you are young you can pretty much wear anything and look good. My clothing choices, though, are getting increasingly narrow. I usually restrict myself nowadays to long pants and long shirts. Sometimes that even gets to be problematic.
Let me tell you right now that there is absolutely no way that I can maintain my dignity wearing a lava lava. The only saving grace was that everyone had to wear them. We were betrayed immediately by our three Job Directors, who had advanced notice of the party rules. Rather than telling us, though, which would have been the humane thing to do, they went down to the local tailor, had lava lavas custom made for themselves over lunchtime, and kept their mouths shut. The rest of us had to have our skirts made on the spot by the Samoans who work with us.
We found out that it is amazingly simple to make a lava lava. You cut about five feet of brightly colored cloth with a loud floral design. You wrap it around your waist and tie it on the right side. We were told about lava lavas at our cultural briefing in Honolulu. The briefing only mentioned that it was important to tie them the proper way and that “should you ever wear one the local population will show you how it is done.” It turns out that there is no consensus. Our hosts tied them for us right before we left for the party. A few minutes later, as a group of men sheepishly took pictures of each other, Smitty, the director of the Red Cross here, came by and pronounced that we “looked like pregnant women” and re-tied them for us. We picked up the shattered remnants of our confidence and headed for the party.
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This picture was taken the day before I left the island. Jim Stephenson is again in the photo. We are wearing our formal Lava Lavas (much more subdued than an informal Lava Lava) to a farewell dinner party hosted by the chapter.
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The party was held at sunset at an unspeakably beautiful setting along the ocean. After many rude comments by my co-workers challenging my masculinity (which is, frankly, not hard to bruise when dressed in a skirt), I was coerced into wading into the water for many pictures, all of which I hope have been erased by now. I learned that while a lava lava is, in and of itself, undignified to wear, a wet lava lava is much worse.
Blessed darkness eventually fell. We had a modest meal preceded by many political speeches of no particular note. Then the party began and we danced to the music of American Samoa’s finest Golden Oldies band. It was great!
The chapter, not to be outdone by the Governor, decided to throw us a luau the next night. They weaved elaborate floral arrangements for the tent poles, weaved leaf baskets for the food, buried a pointed stake in the ground that they used to split and shred coconuts. The hollowed out coconuts were later used as soup bowls. Then they dug a large pit filled with rocks and covered with leaves. There they roasted tow picks, several chickens and many breadfruit. In the meantime, the young local women practiced a traditional Samoan dance which they taught, with limited success, to some of the mainland Red Cross women. For those of you who may have seen tourist luaus in Hawaii or other places, let me tell you that the experience pales in comparison. We were tremendously honored to have participated as guests. After a few speeches the local women brought out gifts for each of us, aloha shirts and more lava lavas, which they paraded around, dancing and spinning to the Samoan music and placed in a great pile on a tarp in the middle of the tent. We watched traditional Samoan dances, told stories and laughed.
Whenever you go out to a disaster there is a lot of talk of post-traumatic stress. It is real as far as I am concerned. It is a lethargy that sets in, a great fatigue, a fragility of the soul, sometimes a desire to be alone. I am surprised at how well I feel after these celebrations and two smaller ones over the next two days. I believe I am being restored. We approach disasters on the mainland with a sobriety of spirit, afraid of the impropriety of laughter, of joy, or heave forbid, of celebration. There was too much death on this island, but they celebrate life. There is still poverty and perhaps hunger, but they seem to understand that the hunger of the spirit is almost always more acute than that of the body. We came, we toiled, we sweated, we cried. We did the best we could and we accomplished a lot. Why not celebrate? It nourishes the soul.
Best wishes to each of you,
Richard
Richard Rieckenberg is a volunteer with the American Red Cross, specializing in Mass Care Administration.