The far west end of Majuro is called Laura, a thirty mile journey down the island’s one road from our hotel in Delap. Delap, Uliga, and Rita make up the east end of Majuro where the Majurity of the people live.
If you have five and a half minutes to spare, check out my video documenting our journey to Laura with Maritha’s family. Yes, I’ve joined the minions on YouTube…
[youtube]roj6HU2mUDQ[/youtube]
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It’s time for me to express my gratitude to Mark Bergsrud of Continental Airlines.� Growing up, my cousin Mark creamed me in ping pong more times than there are grains of sand on Waikiki.� He also knew�great music when he heard it.� I have him to thank for my Neil Young fascination.� For these things, and for our trip to Majuro, I thank Mark.� Without you, Mark, there’s just no way we could have done this.��
You’re a handsome devil, too.�
Zweback back atcha!� If we ever end up in a nursing home together and there’s a ping pong table, watch out!
It turns out that the only American carrier to Majuro is Continental, and the only way there is through Hawaii.� What the heck, I said, let’s spend a week there.� Sure, there are lots of tourists on Waikiki.� Sure, it’s expensive.� But, dang it, it’s pretty darned nice.� Who can say anything bad about sand, sun, water, and ukeleles?
Birds of Paradise, anyone.� I had to pay a guy ten bucks for this shot.� I say it was worth it.
Besides the beach, we did the standard tourist trips.� Pearl Harbor, of course.
The trip out to the�Arizona was very moving.� It’s a powerful experience to be�above that ship knowing all of those sailors are buried below.�
Snokeling.
Do you think I could market a calendar of pictures liek this?� Actually, creeping on fish in those crystal clear waters is really amazing.� It kinda makes my father-in-law’s fish finder on�Lake of the Woods�seem a little inadequate.� My favorite moment was spying� a humuhumunukunukuapua’a, the state fish of Hawaii.
Climbing Diamond Head and making friends with other tourists.
These are my friends Yuko and her husband.� We met on the�Honolulu city bus on the way out to Diamond Head�State Volcano.��Yuko took�a shot just like this on her camera.� I wish I knew her last name; it’s probably posted on her MySpaceJapan page.� If any of you MySpace surfers find it, let me know.�
Looking back on Waikiki from Diamond Head.
Sometimes the spf 45 sunscreen went to our heads.
Made some more friends.� Touched by�two angels (who also sold us all of our aloha shirts and skirts).
We took a side trip to the�Big Island to visit our�friends�the Staleys, too, but I’m going to save�that for another entry, so stay tuned.
It was great to be in Hawaii, but tiring.
Hawaii is a great place to visit.� I’m glad it’s on the way to Majuro.� I’m glad it’s on the way back, too.� Thanks, Mark.
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Jendrik Leviticus, Maritha’s grandfather, was twelve years old in 1946. He lived on Bikini Atoll in the northern Marshall Islands. In his lifetime, the Japanese had controlled the islands, but just recently the Americans had “liberated” the Marshallese.
The Americans had a new toy that they’d used on the Japanese a couple of times, but they wanted to find out more about its capabilities. They knew it was dangerous, and they figured that Bikini Atoll was about as far away from anywhere else as could be imagined, so they went to the Bikinians.
For the good of mankind, they said, we wanted to test our bombs at Bikini Atoll. Could we? Please? What could King Juda and the Bikinians say? The Americans had just destroyed the Japanese, who until then, had been the masters of the universe. The lagoon was full of battleships. They agreed, and the Navy moved them to the nearest atoll to the southeast, Rongerik.
The Navy assembled a fleet of obsolete ships in the Bikini Lagoon, and exploded the Abel and Baker blasts in 1946. From Rongerik, the mushroom cloud could be seen.
I asked Jendrik if he remembered seeing those explosions, which he did. I asked him what they looked like.
He thought for a moment.
“They looked like a bomb,” he said, gesturing a mushroom shape with his hands. Ask a silly question…
Ultimately, 23 nuclear bombs were tested there, culminating in a Hydrogen blast that vaporized three islands in 1954. The Americans had a pretty good idea by that time that they had no business blowing those things off.
Meanwhile, the Bikinians were starving on Rongerik. It was uninhabited for a reason. It didn’t have the resources of Bikini to support the population of nearly 200 people.
By accident mostly, the Navy rediscovered the Bikinians and moved them to Kwajelein, where there’s a U.S. Airbase even today. For two years they lived in tents next to the airstrip living of commodity food until the Navy moved them finally to Kili Island.
Kili is about 1/3 sq. mi. in land area, and unlike the rest of the Marshalls, is not an atoll and does not have a lagoon. An atoll is a ring of long, thin islands and reefs that circle a lagoon. The lagoon is calm and safe and is where the Marshallese traditionally fished. Without a lagoon, the Bikinians on Kili would always be dependent on U.S. commodities.
Somehow the Bikinians survived into the 1970s. At that time, a few savvy elders figured that the U.S. government owed them something. Seven old Bikinian men journeyed to Washington with very little knowledge or experience of how things worked in that city, but somehow they got the U.S. to agree to establish a trust. An account of this heroic trip, and much more about the Bikinian’s story (what you just read is extremely condensed) is available in Jack Niedenthal’s book, For the Good of Mankind. For a taste of the book, read Jack’s 1997 Newsweek interview or this review by a fellow former Peace Corps volunteer.
Today Jack administers this trust for the people of Bikini. Maritha and I met with him at his office in Majuro. He gave us a copy of the book, and also two videos: Radio Bikini and Bikini: Forbidden Paradise There are currently almost 3000 Bikinians who in various ways receive some support from this trust fund. Maritha is one of them, and Jack has been fantastic to work with and an invaluable resource to us over the years. Though we only met him once, we consider him a friend.
After a premature attempt to repopulate Bikini in the 1970s, about 100 people had to be relocated a second time. Recently Bikini has finally been determined “safe” again, as long as people don’t eat the local food, so a few Bikinians have returned.
Of course it can never be the same. Most Bikinians, like Maritha, have never seen it, and have little interest in moving out to the boondocks where the only excitement is entertaining the divers who come to swim the wrecks of the Saratoga and the Nagato.
Most Bikinians live either on Kili or on Majuro, like Jendrik, or scattered throughout the world, like Maritha.
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Like all of the non-Western world, the Marshall Islands were invaded by Christian missionaries sometime in the last hundred years. As Kylie observed, they were darned successful. Kylie said, “There are churches everywhere, and they’re the nicest buildings on the island.”
The most successful group appear to be the Mormons. Eddie counted five different Mormon congregations when I asked, and they were all better looking churches than the Catholics, the Baptists, or the Assemblies. Maritha’s family attend the local Delap Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and they invited us to worship with them. Being good Lutherans ourselves (and seeing no Lutheran church on the island), Sunday found us dressed to the nines when jima picked us up in the Hyundai.
We dressed to the nines because we’d been told that was the way to go. We heard correctly. Here are Merdik, Doji, and Mwesap.
Doji does not seem pleased with the arrangement. All is right with the world.
The service was all conducted in Marshallese, but an American Elder who greeted us gave us very nice headsets where we could listen to a live English translator. The translator sat up on the stage in the corner and was very good. Honest, too. He’d say things like, “I didn’t catch that, but I think she’s talking about the one true prophet, Gorden B. Hinkley.”
I must confess that I’ve never worshiped with American Mormons, so I can’t compare the experience in that way, but this service had some familiar components.
It started with the singing of 2 or 3 hymns. We were given a Marshallese songbook, and Kylie and Sherry did pretty well singing along in Marshallese. Jima was sitting next to me, and he sang all the hymns from memory.
There was a baptism. A half dozen male Elders in white dress shirts huddled around a baby girl up in the front and presumably sprinkled her with water. The translator asked, “Hey, wasn’t she supposed to get a new name?” Apparently they forgot something.
There was communion – bread and water. They passed baskets of both (clever water baskets) down each row, so we partook (why not?).
Then there were testimonials. Now here’s where I’m probably going to editorialize too much, but there were six or seven testimonials, and they all said basically the same things:
Regarding Hinkley, he’s the president of the LDS church based in Salt Lake City. You can see him and all his predecessors here:
http://www.lds.org/churchhistory/presidents/leaders.jsp
They’re quite a group of old, white haired men, and I imagine a lineup of Lutheran bishops would look very similar.
There was one testifier, however, who named a different one true prophet, I think, named Buck. I can find nothing online regarding him, so I can’t confirm my suspicion that there were some renegade Fundamentalists – “Jack Mormons” as they were called in our New Mexico days – in the congregation. (A great book on Mormon Fundamentalism is Jon Krakauer’s Under the Banner of Heaven.)
The most interesting testimonial came from a woman who told everyone that she’s been tempted to drink coffee many times, she has never given in, and she never well. She was quite fearsome up in the pulpit, and everyone appeared to be taking her very seriously. Sherry and I made eye contact, and her smile reassured me that we were not going to hell. Or maybe it was that heaven without coffee was over rated. You can ask her sometime.
I asked jima about the coffee rule afterwards when we were a long way from the church.
“Sometimes, I drink coffee,” he said with a little head shake. Then he smiled.
There was also one testimonial from a teenage boy who got up there and couldn’t remember what to say. I was like, “C’mon. The list is pretty short, and you just heard it six times.” He wasn’t nervous, though, like a frozen speech maker. He was grinning pretty much like this was the greatest moment of his life. Sherry figured it was because of some of the visiters in the crowd.
Uhhh…OK.
Anyway, it was much like hot church services around the world. Afterwards, we took a few shots of the family in their finery.
Like Maritha and Edison.
David and Torine (David is a church elder).
Maritha and jima (the renegade).
I give all the credit to Joe Smith and Gordy Hinkley.
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Two Marshallese artifacts that I’d like to highlight are taxis and cemeteries. First, the taxis.
Taxis are public transportation. For 75 cents, you go can anywhere on the east end of Majuro between Rita and the airport, a stretch of about ten miles.
I don’t know if it’s a requirement, but every taxi I saw was a Hyundai Elantra. The first passenger usually takes the passenger seat. When the driver picks up more, they pile in the back. Four is the usual load, along with some groceries, typically going to multiple destinations. If you’re waiting alone, the average wait for a taxi is twelve seconds (since you only take up one space – there’s always room for one more). If there are two of you, you might have to wait a minute (two spaces are harder to come by). Three traveling together is sometimes a problem. You might have to wait four minutes (every fifth car on the road is a taxi). A full taxi will honk at you as they pass, a polite statement of, “Hey! You know I’d stop if I could.”
Maritha’s dad, Eddie, is a taxi driver. Anyone can be a taxi driver (I’m not knocking Eddie; he’s definitely the top driver on the island). Annually, you take your Elantra to the police station where it gets checked out, and you purchase your taxi driving certificate. You’re issued the detachable Taxi roof-sign, and then you’re a taxi driver. No one tells you when to drive, or where (there’s only the one road; it’s just a matter of where you decide to turn around). When cash is short, you spend a few hours driving. There’s never a shortage of taxis.
Once when I was riding, my driver stopped at a gas station and bought $1.00’s worth of gas at $4.76/gallon. That kept him going for a half hour, at least. It was my dollar, by the way. I always left a quarter tip, which they weren’t used to; their clientelle weren’t typically tourists.
These finely turned machines cruise at about 15 mph most of the day, occasionally reaching the 25 mph speed limit, but traffic is such that this doesn’t happen often.
While we were there, Maritha and I rode in a surprising amount of taxis. I’d say 2-3 times a day. They made for an efficient means of getting around the island. The radios were usually tuned to some good local music, too (three stations on the island).
And now for the cemetaries.
Considering that the east end of Majuro has only been an urban center since the 1950s when the U.S. built an airstrip here, there were a surprising amount of cemetaries. Space being a premium, Eddie told me that several people were typically buried – stacked, actually – on each plot. There were cemetaries connected with various churches (the Assembly cemetary, the Mormon cemetary), but there were also small groups of graves in people’s yards.
Here’s a large one that was very near jima’s home.
One sad thing that has happened within the last year is that both of Maritha’s grandmothers have died. Jendrik’s wife, Mwesap, basically raised Maritha, and Maritha was terribly upset when she died and she hadn’t been able to see her. Naturally, one of the things we wanted to do was to pay our respects to these women at their graves while we were there.
I mentioned this to Eddie and jima while we were there, and their responses were to nod and assure me in vague terms that we’d get to that. Later I asked about it again, and got a similar vague response, but I quickly got the feeling that it wasn’t something they wanted to do.
How we honor our dead is something that can be very different between cultures, and I’m guessing that this is one of those times. They were probably horrified that I’d bring it up at all, though they were very gracious. We never saw the graves, and maybe it’s just as well.
Why not focus on the living, like these boys and the retreating taxi…
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Shortly after we arrived on Majuro, Eddie told me that they wanted to have a big party at Jendrik’s house Saturday night with all of the relatives. As Saturday approached, details of the party got more specific, like they’d pick us up about 5:00 at the hotel, and the party would start about 6:00.
A bit of cultural knowledge we’d gained by this point was that Marshallese time was tricky.
“Yeah,” someone told me, “if they says 5:00, be ready at about 7:00.”
Many years ago when Sherry and I lived on the Navajo Reseravation, people joked about Navajo time, too. It was more or less accurate, give or take 67 minutes.
We were very excited, and also apprehensive. We’d been to jima’s house, and it was small. We also felt a little guilty that they would put on a big party, and we hadn’t even asked them if they wanted us to come to Majuro. We’d just announced (albiet several months in advance) that we were coming, and here are the dates. We never bothered to ask if this was a good time.
Anyway, 5:00 came and went that Saturday night. So did 6:00. Being we were Americans, we started to get anxious, especially Maritha (she’s learned Western culture well). After 7:00, Maritha was hopping up and down, worried that maybe “something had happened.” I figured she and I just had to find out, so we went out to the road and got in a taxi. I was pretty certain in my heart that, indeed, something had happened, too.
Of course, when we arrived at jima’s house, it was a beehive of activity, and we’d missed Eddie coming to pick us up in his car. Sherry, Kylie, and Maia arrived shortly after we got there. In all of this “hurry up and waiting,” we made one tragic gaffe and forgot both cameras, which still makes me gnash my teeth, because what followed was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.
In jima’s house is a kitchen/living area that’s about 20×15 feet. When we’d visited earlier, the only furniture there was a bed in the corner. That night, there were two tables.
The first table was heavy with an amazing feed – roast chicken, rice, salad, breadfruit, apples, oranges, cookies, and drinks all in very large amounts. The second table had five places elegantly set with glasses and five fresh coconuts ready to be broken into for drinking. Of course, these places were for us. Feeling very humbled, we sat down and took in the rest of the guests.
There was a little more waiting as a few guests were still not there, but by the time everyone arrived, there were 35 people in the room – 28 on the floor, 2 fanning the food (flies were not a problem – just a precaution), and the 5 of us in the chairs, wishing we were on the floor.
When everyone had finally arrived, jima gave a speech, and Eddie translated. He was thankful that we’d taken care of Maritha so well, and honored that we’d come. The feelings were mutual. Then he prayed (they are pretty devout Mormons). Finally we ate.
The food was fantastic. Everybody tried everything, and we pretty much made pigs of ourselves. During the meal, Sherry dropped down to the floor near Maritha’s cousin Torine’s family so she could interact more. I did the same thing, which was fun, but I think that the whole idea of conversing while eating may be a Western practice. Most of our hosts were pretty intent on eating. Talking would come later.
When everyone had eaten their fill and things had been cleaned up, jima made another speech, and then Arum led the whole room in a song, acapella. Later, we were told it was a Marshallese welcome some. During a second, giving song, a string of cousins and aunts started bringing out gifts and laying them around our necks, on our heads, and in front of us. I have never seen such an outpouring of graciousness and generosity.
Mostly, they were necklaces and jewelry made from woven pandanus leaves and shells. I think the girls each had six of seven around their necks. I got several great bolo ties. Here are a few pieces.
A bolo.
A wall hanging. We got four. They’re about 18″ in diameter.
A tree with birds of woven pandanus tied to the branches. Thanks to Majuro ACE Hardware for a box, the U.S. Post Office (which serves the Marshalls – zip 96960), and the Hotel Robert Reimers (who gave us air bubbles), we got it home in one piece.
We could hardly speak. Smiles and looks of wonder, with much handshaking and hugging seemed to convey our gratitude, though. Eventually, the singing died down, and jima gave another speech. Than Eddie annouced, “Now we’d like to hear from you.”
As head man of my tribe, I got up and gave a humble speech of thanks. Words seemed inadequate, but it was clear that at some level, we were one great family, connected through Maritha, and we were all very happy about that.
After a few more formalities and some chit chat, jima announced, “Thank you for coming. Time to go home.” I’m sure he was glad to get 35 people out of his living room and go to bed. We piled in the car, happy, thoughtful, laden with generosity, and headed back to the hotel.
After this experience, we arranged to host a gathering our last night on Majuro in our hotel’s pavillion called Boknake (a pretty heavily used island meeting place, I was told). There we were smart enough to have video and still cameras ready, and we got them to sing again (actually, they were quite willing). I’m working on getting the video ready. I don’t know if I’m tech savvy enough to get it up here, but it may be coming.
Below are are some pictures from that event. In one week’s time, we didn’t get all the names, so forgive the gaps below as I attempt to identify people.
Sherry and Edison sharing an educational moment.
Maritha arm wrestling Edison. She claims to have won. Tommy (left) and I split.
Erickson. He told his mother he wanted to come back with us.
A Marshallese welcome song.
Arum and Antony, Erickson, Ali and baby.
Nancy and Medji, Jennifer and baby.
Chunda and Patrick.
Torine and David, and Mwesap (named for jima’s wife, bubu, who died spring 2006).
Jendrik and many of his grand and great grandchildren (he has more).
Our picture of Maritha, Edison, Doji, and Merdik and Eddie sadly turned into mush. Luckily we have other pictures of them, though not in that nuclear family group alone. Unbelievable. Here’s the whole gang, though.
As the party was ebbing, Doji seemed pretty happy.
Mwesap was enamored with my guitar. (Yes, I brought my guitar. I pulled it out and someone shouted, “Play Kenny Rogers.” After a rough verse of “The Gambler,” jima was forever asking me to, “Play cowboy song.” Hopefully I’ll get video up here, and you can all hear cowboy song.)
Sherry got her hands on the baby again.
As they say in the Grygla Eagle, a good time was had by all.
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The first morning we were on Majuro, Eddie and Jendrik (Maritha’s father and grandfather) arrived in a pair of Hyundai Elantras (the official island car- they’re everywhere) to show us around Majuro. The girls rode with jima (grandpa) and Edison (Maritha’s brother), and Sherry and I rode with Eddie, Merdik, and Doji (Maritha’s mother and baby brother).
It was great to see the island (see previous post), and to get to know Eddie, Merdik, and jima better; Sherry and Merkik communicated mostly with smiles and hand gestures. The most memorable fun, however, happened when we ended up at Eddie’s dad’s place. Maritha’s paternal grandfather lives a few miles west of the busy Delap area where jima Jendrik and company live. It’s almost a rural setting.
Here’s Maritha and her paternal jima.
He’s 86 years old, and Eddie told me that his mind wasn’t too sharp, but he seemed sharp as a tack to me. He speaks a little of both Japanese and English. He told me a some about working with the Japanese before the war.
I’m on the left.
The real fun started, however, when Eddie announced that he was going to climb a coconut tree, harvest its load, and that we’d all drink coconut water. After spending several minutes analyzing the tallest tree on the property from all angles, he climbed up it like he was taking a walk.
Pretty soon, 25-30 green coconuts rained down.
Later, when he came down, limbs still trembing, Eddie prophesied to me quietly, “I think that soon you will climb a coconut tree.” It didn’t happen, but I haven’t ruled it out completely yet (I’m not sure if Sherry knows about this).
In the yard, a rusty spike was driven into the ground, and Edison started using it to pry the tough husks off the coconuts.
And then, we all drank the coconut water.
It was very good, and there was a surprising amount of water in each nut. I got a little water logged.
Another fruit that was everywhere and impressively huge was the pandanus, or bob! (pronounced “bop!” locally).
I’d never heard of pandanus, and when it’s cooked, it’s pretty good. At the restaurant, I ate pandanus pancakes. Raw, it breaks apart sort of like giant, tough corn kernels, and is mildly sweet.
Also hanging around everywhere were breadfruit, which are aptly named. Jima Jendrik served us breadfruit in their home. It was good, and possibly could have used a little peanut butter.
Maia was especially taken with the free range chickens.
We spent the rest of our time there just hanging out with Maritha’s paternal aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Here a cousin stands in the doorway of jima’s home.
They live very simply, and rarely “live” in their homes like Americans, from what I saw. Homes are places to sleep, mostly. Otherwise, there are things to do, and most of them are outside. It’s not hard to imagine a few generations back when existing by gathering the fruit of one’s land and catching some fish could support a family.
Now there are too many people, not enough bob!, and not enough coconuts to buy an MP3 player.
It was sad to say goodbye to jima and all the cousins (and for Maia to leave the chickens) as we piled into our Hyundais and headed down THE ROAD.
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So what, and where in the heck, are the Marshall Islands? Fair question. What I tell people is this: Go to Hawaii. Go another 2500 miles. If you get to the Philippines, you’ve gone too far. I’ve hunted for maps online, and they’re nearly impossible to find. Google Earth has images of about half of Majuro, the capital, where we were. Otherwise, I did find this map on wikipedia.
The two main population centers are Majuro and Ebeye (where Marshallese people live when they aren’t doing laundry for the U.S. missile base at Kwajelein).
A great link if you’re really interested is yokwe.com (below). I learned a lot, especially reading the blog.
The U.S. has been in a Free Association Compact with the Marshalls since WWII. Don’t ask me what a “Free Association Compact” is, but given what’s gone on there in the past 60 years (nuc testing, relocations), it think it’s been mostly all good for the U.S., and a mix of bad and SPAM for the Marshallese (do you hear that, Austin? you pretty much tamed the Pacific with your little blue can of pork parts). For more on SPAM see:
Also, online encyclopedias offer some modest information.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Majuro
This, from wikipedia, sheds some light on the geography, “The atoll itself has a land area of only 3.75 sq mi (9.7 km²), but encloses a lagoon of 113.92 sq mi (295 km²).” An atoll is a group of low, narrow islands that surround a lagoon. If you look at the map above, you may note that it looks like a bunch of rings. The insides of those rings are water, the lagoons; the border areas are land. Consequently, 3.75 sq. miles of land surround 114 sq. miles of water. Most of Majuro is about a city block wide, if that, but it’s 30 miles long.
Looking to my left, I can see the ocean side, wild and dangerous.
Looking to my right, I can see the lagoon side, calm and peaceful.
In a future post, I plan to write more about the U.S. nuclear testing here, and the exiled/relocated people of Bikini, Rongelap, and Enewetok. For now, though, I’m going to stay with a pictorial Majuro primer.
As one might imagine, Majuro is a place of great beauty. Here are the Dalagers with the lagoon backdrop. We’re dressed in the wonderful flowers and hats that Jendrik and family layed on us at the airport.
It’s also a place of great progress. Here, a new government meeting house is going up.
It’s also a place you can shop. Here’s a Dollar Store (with a taxi in front – count on a special taxi post soon).
Back to School, anyone?
There are lots of little retail stores where you can buy anything from sodas and candy to hub caps and CDs.
Houses are small. Usually two or three are grouped on family land. Here are some at Maritha’s paternal grandparent’s home (where Maritha’s dad, Eddie, climbed a coconut tree and we all drank our fill of coconut milk – special post forthcoming).
Here’s one where rocks hold down the roof.
Here’s Jendrik’s house. I’d say it’s about 20×30 of cinder block on a slab. There are two bedrooms, a small bathroom, and a kitchen/living space. It’s clean, has A/C, and the only furniture I saw were beds. There’s running water, but it must be inconsistent or in short supply because rain gutters all drain into giant cisterns out back, and this water is used for laundry, among other things.
There are also churches everywhere, and schools. You can see the American educational influence on sign below.
There are also places to play ball, with handy lagoon side outhouses, tide flushed daily.
Finally, there’s basically one road on Majuro, two lanes wide and 30 miles long. Taking up any more space than that would be a crime. The road is thick with a steady stream of taxis, cars, and boys in trucks.
Maritha was particularly taken with the boys in trucks.
So ends my primer to the Marshall Islands in general, and Majuro.
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We arrived on Majuro Aug. 2. After landing, we waited about an hour to get processed though customs. During this time, Maritha could see her little brothers through some narrow slats that separated us from the main lobby. It was a long hour. Finally, we came out the customs door towing our obscene baggage and there they were.
About 10-15 people – grandfather, parents, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins – descended upon us with homemade, fresh flower leis, headbands, and hats. Here’s part of the gang.
Back: Jendrik (grandpa), Maritha, Doji (little brother), Merdik (mom), Eddie (dad), Arum (aunt). Front: Jennifer (cousin), Erickson (cousin), Edison (brother), Ali (cousin).
Here are Maritha and Merdik (and Doji), mother and child.
Kylie was not to be left out, either.
We communicated mostly through hugging and hand shaking. Eddie and Arum spoke good English, and Jendrik communicated pretty well in English, too, but it was still a challenge. Typical Americans, of course, we knew no Marshallese beyond “Yokwe” (hello).
We finally piled into the hotel shuttle. Edison and Erickson came with us. Edison liked my hat, and I gave it to him. He’s a man of few words, and a look that can husk coconuts, but can you see Maritha in those eyes?
After we got settled at the hotel, Jendrik insisted that he buy us dinner at the hotel restaurant. The entire time we were on Majuro, Jendrik was constantly giving and buying us things. He doesn’t have much. Those who have the least, give the most.
After a wonderful lunch, they insisted that we rest and that we’d get together in the morning. The whole week they were very respectful of our, and their, “down” time.
An interesting moment came when they were leaving us. Eddie asked Maritha if she wanted to come with them. We had anticipated that this would happen, but hadn’t really planned our response or discussed it with Maritha. Maritha’s immediate response was that she wanted to stay at the hotel with us. Who knows why she made this bittersweet choice. The question never came up again the whole week.
Of course, we did have a few very welcome visits that evening from Jendrik, and from Eddie and Doji (who was pestering his father to see Maritha all afternoon, said Eddie). We also met Martina Beaman’s (a Marshallese friend living in Bismarck) mother and sisters at the hotel. Jidbun is a cook and Daiana and Herma live with her there.
The girls hit it off immediately with Daiana and Herma, who took them swimming at sunset in the Majuro Lagoon.
This was beautiful, and also a lesson in culture shock. Maritha, Kylie, and Maia wandered down to the beach past about a block of lagoon front rooms and the restaraunt in their bathing suits (some bikinis) and attracted some serious attention, both from the crowd of little boys and groups of grown men.
After that, they swam Marshallese female style – T-shirts and shorts – which Daiana and Herma demonstrated admirably. Who knew Marshallese culture was so conservative (actually, we did, but I guess we had to experience the staring and giggling before it changed our behavior).
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And life is good. God is good. We left Hawaii about 7:30 a.m. Aug. 1, flew for 5 hours, and landed in Majuro at about 10:30 a.m. Aug. 2. Who knew? Actually, I knew, but it’s still pretty freaky to cross the international date line.
Maritha’s family met us in force. They were in the tiny airport waiting – about ten people (Mom, dad, grandpa, two brothers, aunt, and several cousins) – with flower wreaths and hats for us. We were given the Island welcome in spades. I wish I could send pictures, but internet here is terrifically slow. Basically, because of the isolation, the whole island is on dialup, and all trying to use it at the same time.
Anyway, it was a great welcome, and then they met us at the hotel. The island is actually about 30 miles long, and usually about two blocks wide (apologies for misinformation I gave out to you in ignorance before we arrived). It curves around the south and east sides of a lagoon. The north and west sides are bordered by scattered islands and reef. Everything is measured by mile markers. For example, our hotel is at mile three. The airport is at mile ten. It’s beautiful – palms and lush tropical vegitation everywhere. The surf on the ocean side crashing constantly. The blue-green lagoon gently laps the other. It’s also terrible. The poverty is obvious and oppressive everywhere one looks. Groups of teenage boys crowded on the backs of pickups travel up and down the island’s one road. Tiny, brightly ciolored homes in various states of decay line the road, the ocean and lagoon sparkling in the background.
Maritha’s family’s home is in pretty good shape. They sort of live in family groups. There are several sinder block buildings together where an assortment of family members cluster. Many people are just sort of in and out and about all of the time. Children are everywhere. I saw one pair of little boys today playing with a Rubbermaid container. The smaller boy sat in it. The older boy pushed it down the road. We also went to Maritha’s fathers family compound today to see her other grandpa. It was sort of away from the main part of town, almost country. the houses were spread out more, and there were coconut, breadfruit, and “pup” trees all over. The high point was when Eddie, Maritha’s dad, climbed a coconut tree and harvested about twenty-five nuts for us – dropping them on the ground. Edison, Maritha’s brother, then broke them open on a rusty spike in the yard and we all drank our fill of coconut milk. It was quite lovely. I was thinking that we were squandering their coconut crop until Eddie told me that there would be another crop ready in about a week on the same tree.
With so much fruit around, one can hardly go hungry on this island. Being poor here doesn’t really mean the same thing it means in the U.S., I guess. The people here are friendly, smile a lot (beautiful smiles), and seem happy, at least on the surface. They share everything. We gave Edison a Twins t-shirt yesterday. Today, Jendrik (Maritha’s grandfather) was wearing it.
Anyway, I’m rambling incoherently. Things are going well. Maritha is enjoying seeing her family, and they are also giving her some space, which she needs to process things. She remembers less than she expected, I think. But the longer we’re here, the more is coming back to her.
Tomorrow, Saturday, we’re having a family party at Jendrik’s. Sunday, we’ll go to church and then swim out on the wilder, western end of the island. Monday and Tuesday, who knows!
Thanks for keeping us in your prayers.
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