sports and sorrow

On July 20th I joined the students at my school in an adventure deeper into the bush to a village called Womol where they participated in the Inter Primary School Sports tournament—IPSS. IPSS happens all throughout Malekula with various schools traveling to one host school that changes every year. Last year our area’s IPSS was hosted in my village so this year we got to travel to Womol. I love that the host school changes every year because it’s a great little stimulus for the mini village economies. With hundreds of primary and secondary school students flooding into a village for three days all of the small stores have to make sure they’re fully stocked with lollipops, chewing gum and other treats to purchase for 10 vatu (10 cents). The people in the village are also able to set up stalls at the school where they sell fresh island foods and an almost never ending supply of kato—local donuts.

This year, five teams from our area, northwest Malekula, traveled to Womol for three days of track events, volleyball games (for the girls) and football/soccer games (for the boys). The journey up to Womol an adventure in itself because unlike my village, Womol is pretty far inland and accessible only by one very long, steep, bumpy dirt road. Sunday afternoon a large Camion (flatbed truck used for transporting large amounts of copra) rolled into Matanvat and we all piled in with baskets full of local food—bananas, yams, cabbage and tomatoes—and of course two large bags of white rice to sustain us for the four days and three nights we would be together in Womol. With all that food and sleeping supplies for 47 people (41 students, 4 teachers and 2 “chief cooks”) we piled into the truck and embarked on the adventure up to Womol. After about 30 minutes on the main road we turned off onto the road up to the top of the bush where we continued for about 45 minutes before reaching the village. The steepness of the road made for a beautiful view of the ocean disappearing behind us but it also forced us to make small groups of the older kids (boys out first) start walking when the truck was too heavy to take the hills. The truck had to drive so slowly that the kids who had to get out and walk actually got there at the same time as the truck. Luckily the road was just a straight shot and these kids are equipped for anything so we all arrived safely in Womol about an hour before the sun went down.

Once we arrived we were shown to the houses we would be sleeping in. The boys all slept in a large kitchen and the girls slept in a big open house next to the kitchen. One of my little sisters came and had a tent so I slept in the tent outside with her and one other student. Teachers sleeping in tents with children would totally not fly in the states but the culture here is so family based that it wasn’t even a question. After we were all settled the chief cooks cooked about 5 kilos of rice with some coconut milk, boiled some water and added sugar for “tea,” my headmaster led us in devotion, we ate and went right to sleep. The next morning—or at least I thought it was morning—roosters called out and immediately I could hear the sound of the boys laughing and playing outside my tent. When I opened my eyes to see that it was still dark out, I didn’t really question what time it was because I assumed it was probably about 5am—a totally legitimate time for people to be up making noise. I decided to check my watch in order to gauge just how much longer I could stay in the warmth of my tent before assuming my chaperone duties and found that, alas, it was 3:30am—a totally illegitimate time for people to be up making noise. As the new teacher I try not to get into too many confrontations so I went back to sleep hoping that one of the other teachers would come outside and tell them to be quiet and go back to bed. Unfortuantely, this didn’t happen and I was in a strange limbo of sleep for another two hours before finally getting up. When I went into the kitchen for breakfast one of the other teachers was reprimanding the boys for all the noise they were making, reminding them that we were guests in someone’s home and banning them from waking up/getting out of bed any earlier than 5:30am for the rest of our stay. Needless to say I was exhausted for the rest of the day which I spent in the middle of the track field keeping times for the 50, 100, 200 meter and relay races.

Before the events began we all lined up with our schools and performed a little Olympic style entrance for all of the 50 spectators who had come to watch. After we found our places on the field there were speeches given by some distinguished guests—Chief, Headmaster of Womol School and Area Secretary. After the speeches finished we all sang the National Anthem of Vanuatu and then honored the distinguished guests with handmade flowery leis. All of this was happening on island time—the parade was supposed to start at 8am and I believe we started around 10:30—so we ended up having two or three 50meter races before breaking for lunch. After lunch the races continued until wrapping up around 4pm. Since the events were all scheduled to end by 3pm every day we all assumed that the football and volleyball matches would be pushed until the next day but instead the secondary school boys took the field for a heated football match. It has been awhile since I’ve really been able to feel some school pride and root for a sports team so it was quite thrilling to cheer for these boys who, mind you, I’m still getting to know and have all the charm (occasional rudeness) and decency (slight disrespect) of any teenage boys anywhere in the world, ended up beating the other team 4-0. GO MATANVAT!

Unfortunately, the fun ended there because that night there was an unforeseen death in the community. One of the community elders, and chairman of the school, died in the middle of the night, most likely of a heart attack. Mourning is incredibly different in Vanuatu than in the United States. In the States we mourn in silence, or at least quiet, by reflecting on the life of the person lost with close friends and family. In Vanuatu, the entire village filters through the home of the deceased wailing in sorrow that can be heard throughout the entire village. It is an interesting thing to experience but incredible the diverse ways we can express our raw emotions as human beings. Unfortunately, the rest of the sports events were canceled but we spent the entirety of Tuesday observing just how strong a community is after a death. I’m not sure how exactly the word spread so fast without cell phone reception but come late afternoon there were people arriving from villages all throughout Northwest Malekula to pay their respects and give food or money to the family. This food was then cooked by the men of the family and served out to everyone who came to mourn. It was a really beautiful thing to witness. After lunch the truck came to pick us up and take us home back down the bumpy dirt road we had come up just two days before. Although IPSS did not pan out as expected I’m psyched for next year and can’t wait to help the kids start training!