A Near Miss
I’m on the wrong end of Lekenioch, eight miles of ocean from home, watching my ride home take off without me. Not a single person from Kuttu is left. Not a free motorboat is in sight. They forgot me.
Kuttu is literally split by religion. A line can be drawn east-west through the middle of the island, and everyone south of the line is Protestant. To the north live the Catholics. I live in the south, and attend all of the Protestant events-Easter, Christmas, church anniversary, youth celebrations. When I heard there was a big party on Lekenioch to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of Catholicism in Chuuk, I saw it as a good chance to spend some quality time with the Catholics.
I spent weeks learning the songs with the youth. I waited anxiously with them when the news about the boat inevitably changed and we almost didn’t go. I rode the ship for six hours (actually a pretty short boat ride) to get to Lekenioch.
(Quick geography lesson. Lekenioch and Kuttu are on separate atolls. About a mile of open ocean separates the two atolls. Lekenioch on the Eastern end of one atoll, and Kuttu on the Western edge of another, making them the islands farthest apart in this part of the Mortlocks.)
We got there late, and I took the opportunity to spend some time with fellow volunteers and spent the night at the Lekenioch PCV’s house. I told my friends from Kuttu I’d be down the next day.
After church the next morning, I humped it down to where the Kuttu delegation was staying. Lekenioch is shaped like a horseshoe, but a three-mile horseshoe. After 18 months on a half-mile piece of rock, walking from one end to the other is tiring. I get to the two-story house where my friends are staying and find the men spent the night stacked head to toe, shoulder to shoulder in a single room. They suggest I stay in the spacious PCV accommodations. I feign hesitation and agree.
The Jubilee is lots of fun. Every island has prepared several songs. Ettal has a cool reggae number. Satawan’s is bouncy and poppy. Nameluk sings a capella. Lekenioch has five minutes of choreographed hand movements before they start singing. They’ve all spent several hours a night for weeks practicing.
To show their appreciation, people throw candy, cigarettes, betel nut, T-shirts, and sunglasses, or spray perfume and cologne while we sing. I can’t concentrate on singing while there are projectiles flying about me. My fellow Kuttuese don’t flinch. We finish and I trade my cigarettes for betel nut.
Then there’s the speeches. The event stretches late into the night because each song is proceeded by a long sermon from each group. Plus the governor, the mayor of Lekenioch, the speaker of the House of Representatives, and any other dignitaries have to give long lists of thank yous and commentaries that often stretch past 20 minutes each.
Around 1 a.m. I’m spent, even though there are songs left to sing. I’ve spent at least 8 hours today sitting cross-legged, and my back is killing me. I go back to the house and get sit for a bit on the porch. There’s a crack and a flash of light back at the field. Someone brought fireworks to the Mortlocks. A couple more sail into the air and crack, but not above the coconut trees.
On Sunday we’re supposed to leave. The meeting is mercifully short because all the kids have to be at school on Monday. Or maybe not. They make the final announcements about the boats, and I can’t hear them. My friends tell me we’re not leaving until Monday.
I go back to enjoy a cup of coffee when two of my students show up. “Dan, we’re leaving at 2.” I check my walk, it’s 1:30. It’s at least a 20 minute walk (like I said, far). I don’t rush. It’s Chuukese time. I pack, use the bathroom, and say my goodbyes. As I’m walking I see the boats are already loading. We pick up the pace.
I arrive at the Kuttu house at 2:30. Empty. I ask where they all went. Gone. People point to the lagoon. I rush over.
The Nomo Sepei (of earlier blog fame) is already starting to turn. All of my friends are already on it, and they’ve forgotten about me.
I frantically search for a motorboat to take me out to the Nomo Sepei. None in sight. The rest are loading people on another ship. I rush over to some people loading one up. Sorry, going to Ettal (yet another atoll, not near Kuttu).
The Nomo Sepei is now headed straight for the pass and toward the open ocean.
A motorboat pulls up. I say quick goodbyes and jump on. We head out at full bore, through the other boats ferrying passengers. The Nomo Sepei stays on course. Fellow PCV Alex waves from his boat.
We pull up next to the Nomo Sepei and a cheer erupts. Maybe they didn’t forget about me. But the captain won’t slow down. Nor do they put the ladder down. So we cut through the wake and pull alongside. I toss my bag in and jump from my moving motorboat to the cruising (OK five knots isn’t cruising, but creeping isn’t as dramatic) fishing boat. Applause all around.
It took a few months to convince people that I did not have a girlfriend on Lekenioch.
