Angels Come in All Shapes and Sizes

They say that something good always comes out of something bad… well this week I can say that it is true. Whilst burning my foot was bad (so bad that I have literally been crawling around my house on my butt because I cannot walk), it has also been good because I now know that angels do exist and they appear when we need them most.

After my adventures in Paramatta village, I returned to Gizo in a fairly sorry state. What had looked like a fairly mild burn turned into something that looked like a fat, festy, football of a foot. Across the top of my toes were (and still are) gigantic pussy blisters, oozing a clear liquid. My foot had swollen so much that it could have passed for a football. It was so painful that I couldn’t put any pressure on it at all or it felt like my foot would explode. After a very teary conversation over Skype with my mum (you always need your mum when you’re sick) and my lovely Benny, my work mates had to carry me to a taxi and then I had to hop and butt drag myself around the house.

When I woke the next morning there was an angel on the phone (cleverly disguised as one of my RAMSI friends, Derek)… ‘Hey love, heard you had an accident. What can I do? Need a doctor? Need a helicopter? We’re on our way…’ Click. Derek arrived a bit later with two other angels in tow, also disguised as my RAMSI friend Ace and Doctor Carol. Doctor Carol came armed with medical supplies and told me how to care for my wounds. Apparently pain and blisters are both good… they mean superficial burn. No pain means dead tissue, so I can at least be grateful that my foot is not dead… I can feel it alright! Angel Ace took my dirty laundry and said I am to stay with her for the weekend so she can look after me and cook for me (she makes a mean chocolate cake). Angel Derek said he would be back at six to pick me up for dinner. Shortly after they left an angel by the name of Rosheene called, asking if there was anything she could do. I had to say no!

So although I am disappointed that my grand plans to go diving this weekend and visit Simbo next week have been foiled, and my foot still feels like it has been run over by a steamroller, I am grateful and blessed to be surrounded by angels… in all their shapes and sizes.

Potato Power

I left on Monday for a remote seaside village called Paramatta (yes, it is named after the Paramatta eels football team). It is a beautiful little village with a population of about 100 (mostly children). I was due to stay for three days to assist my colleague with his work. We were put up in a tiny, but very cute little leaf hut. No running water, no toilet, but at least this time I had my own room (with a door… a nice bonus). It felt like I had arrived for a relaxing holiday, so I didn’t mind the rats at night and giant spiders (the mosquito net is good for more than just keeping the mozzies out!) All was good until the next morning…

I thought I would make some coffee for breakfast, but when I picked up the 100 year old thermos full of freshly boiled water, the bottom fell out of the rusty thing and I my foot connected with a stream of boiling water. Oh my goodness the pain! I ran straight for the coldest thing I could find… the ocean (which here is a constant 28 degrees… not exactly as cold as I would have liked right then). I sat there for about half an hour with my foot throbbing in the water. Meanwhile the community had heard the commotion and gone looking for me. When they finally found me I was very close to tears… the pain was incredible. A beautiful village man offered to treat my foot with bush medicines. At that point I had no other option… The nearest hospital was a three-hour boat ride back to Gizo.

He made some sort of starchy paste out of a potato and put it on my foot. Within half an hour the pain had gone… the magic potato had a great numbing effect. Meanwhile the whole community turned out to see the silly white girl with a bright red foot. A kind old lady (the same one who had supplied us with the 100 year old thermos) brought some aloe vera plant from her garden and gently rubbed it into my foot. It felt remarkably better, despite the colour and small blisters all over my toes. Just the same, I was keen to get myself back to Gizo, but alas, no transport was available until the weekend. That was a whole 4 days away! It was looking pretty dismal, but I put a word in with the big guy to let him know I wanted to go home.

Later that morning, a UNICEF boat appeared… they were on a little tour and were heading back to Gizo that afternoon. I begged and pleaded for them to take me with them, which they kindly obliged… if I didn’t mind the 5-hour trip back (because they had to stop off in villages on the way). Thank you God! The five-hour trip was a much better option than a 4-day wait until the next boat came through. I am so grateful that they were able to take me along because when I woke the next morning my foot was throbbing with infected blisters. It doesn’t take long for things to fester in the tropics! Although I am in immense pain right now and I cant hardly walk, I am at least grateful that I was able to go to the hospital and get some treatment… something other than potatoes!

The Daily Grind

After a refreshing two week sabbatical to the capital city, Honiara, I returned to my little island home feeling energised and full of ideas. Upon returning to my house though I was met with the sobering discovery that not only was our drinking water tank riddled with little wormy, wriggling things, but there was also no power. No power means no shower, no lights, no form of entertainment and no phone. I was quickly reminded that the daily grind can be very difficult in an isolated island community. More than 24 hours later, after a few very quiet nights of going to bed at 8pm (there is little else to do with no power!), a man wearing a towel and armed with a machete came and fixed the power. Despite his attire, I was relieved that I could finally take a shower and do some much needed washing (by hand of course!)

That Monday we began work in our new office. I was excited to be moving out of the old, dump of an office until I saw the new one. How I wanted the old office back! Sure, it is new, but it is tiny, hot as hell and has no internet (yet). There are 12 staff sharing the space and I have no desk to sit at. This is bad for me, but worse for our community based staff who now have nowhere to sleep when they return to town once a month. So now we have some homeless staff and no space to do the work we need to do… and no form of communicating with the head office! Great planning that was.

That same day when I went for lunch break, I found that the shoes I had left outside the office door (which is the custom here) were gone. So I then had to go tramping barefoot through town looking for a new pair, which is harder than it sounds. For one, the road is unbearably hot (I’m sure I burnt all the skin off the soles of my feet), and the shoes they sell are usually one-size-fits all. I was fortunate enough to find a pair that almost fits though… at least my feet wont burn!

It’s difficult to complain though when you spend weekends lazing in a hammock on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches. At the same time I am counting down the days until I am due to grace Melbourne with my presence… 30 days to go! It’s all the small things that I miss the most… a haircut, a hot shower, reliable electricity, good coffee… and of course those of you who miss me enough to read my blog!

Theatre for Development

I spent the last two weeks in Honiara with my co-workers, attending workshops and planning for the next few months. It was great to catch up with the other volunteers and share stories… they have some whoppers like me! I was also able to experience the famous ‘Top 10’ (a very seedy island club), and enjoy good coffee and pizza… ahh.

On the work side, we attended a camp/workshop called ‘Theatre for Development.’ It was a laugh and a half… crazy games, acting workshops, uno at night… it reminded me a little of school camp days. The workshop itself involved discussing with the group personal issues which have affected our lives… it was amazing the honesty that came out of the group. Confessions of drug and alcohol addiction, stories of incest, early and arranged marriages, child abuse and domestic violence just to name a few. We were then able to turn these issues into a drama which we presented to a local community. Although the content was fairly heavy, it was mixed with lots of good humour to get the audience laughing out loud. I was given the role of a young girl named Priscilla who was unaware that the boy she was madly in love with was her half-brother. Other characters in the drama included a young girl who fell pregnant to her uncle, a corrupt politician, a drunken father who forced his 14-year-old daughter to be married to an old man and a young man imprisoned for wrongly being accused of murder.

All of the characters were based on the real life experiences of workshop participants. At the conclusion of the week we presented our dramas to communities in the Honiara area. Discussions with the audience after the show confirmed that every one of the issues raised in the drama were present in the community. Where people were once very reluctant to discuss their issues, the drama paved an opening for constructive discussions with community members, proving that theatre is indeed a very useful tool. We returned to Gizo enthused and keen to try out our new acting skills with village children.