I am working my way through Phase 2 of my training and learning the language rather quickly. My knowledge of Chuukese in only one week has far surpassed my mastery of Pohnpeian in 5 weeks. I am spending the majority of my days learning Chuukese in a classroom type setting, but my extra efforts are what really make the difference. Unlike Pohnpei, I have a strong drive to learn to the language and a purpose behind my education. I will be using Chuukese for the next couple years of my life, so I better learn it fast. The faster I learn it, the more comfortable I will be and the better time I will have in Chuuk. Knowing the language will facilitate my job as teacher and community developer, but more importantly it will allow me to become part of the society. I will be able to understand conversations and communicate on an intelligible level. As of right now, I feel like a half-brained idiot stumbling my way through simple phrases and making a fool of my self-trying to talk to anybody. When I master the Chuukese language, then I will truly be immersing myself into the culture.
Luckily I have a family that is extremely helpful in facilitating my language learning. My mother is a teacher and attended college in America
I usually carry around a little notepad to jot down important phrases and words in. I have a larger notebook that I take notes with in class each day, but my small personal pad is reserved only for essential language basics. In class we spend about 4 or 5 hours each day going over vocabulary and translations. I have learned a lot of words, but it is still difficult to put together a coherent sentence. There are only four of us in the class and our teacher can give us individual attention, which is particularly helpful for pronunciation and clarification of usage.
The best thing about my language class is its location. We do our classes in an open-air semi-circle structure that is approximately thirty feet from the ocean. It is sometimes hard to concentrate on my teacher when he is flanked by a pristine view of calm blue water and scattered tropical islands. The lagoon waters are an array of blue hues with a hint of white coral beneath the surface. A cool ocean breeze often flows through our class and reminds our senses of our fantastical location. We spend our breaks gazing out at the beautiful site or just lying down and relaxing in the shade of a mango tree.
After class we often stroll down the coast and take a swim in the deeper waters off the edge of old Japanese airstrip. The water is deep here and you can dive off concrete edges of the busted old war ruins. Anytime that any of us take a swim, we are never alone. Usually a group of about 20 kids will pick up on our idea when they see us walking and follow us over the swimming spot. They will just leap in with their clothes, or sometimes strip naked and hop into the water. None of the locals really have bathing suits, so normal clothes or their birthday suits are the preferred fashion for swimming. I haven’t been swimming everyday, but I hope to increase my frequency and spend more time in the water. Unfortunately, there aren’t really any beaches on Tonoas. It is entirely surrounded by rock walls along the coast constructed by the Japanese. It is still beautiful and easily accessible, but it takes away from the classical beach scene that I hoped to have. Who knows, maybe Fefan will be different.
If I don’t swim after class, I will often go and play basketball. There is only one functional court around the village. There is a plywood backboard, a rim with no net and a cracked cement slab to serve as the court. Nonetheless, the halfcourt nestled in the bushes in usually crowded with onlookers at about 4pm everyday. I walked by once after taking a swim and was hailed to hop into a game to show them if I knew how to play. I ran around barefoot and only played one game that day, but I assured them that I would return the next day with shoes and play for real. The next day after class I strapped on my old running shoes and hustled down to the court. There were about 20 guys surrounding the court, but as I approached they immediately put me in the next game without having to wait in line. They were all very anxious to see if I was any good at basketball. Well it turned out that on this day I was good….really good. I was as hot as I have ever been in basketball. It was one of those days where everything that I threw up just seemed to find its way into the basket. I was nailing outside shots, slashing across the middle, and spinning towards the basket. To put it simply, I dominated. I scored the majority of my teams points each game and we won about 15 games in a row until we finally had to stop when the sun went down. I had wowed the local players and I think solidified myself as a hot topic around the village. Since that first afternoon of playing, people come up to me everyday and ask I am going to come play basketball. I probably wont ever repeat my amazing performance of my first outing, but I am still quite happy to have found a thriving basketball community that I can fit right into.
My reputation around the village has also been inflated by a few other incidents. Church is the center of the community here and is the essential social element that unites everybody in the village. Pretty much every single person attends church on Sundays and most people go at 6am every day of the week. So on our first Sunday, it was a rather big deal that 4 new white folk were coming to church for the first time. It also happened to be a special time at the church because they were doing a pulpit exchange with some visiting pastors from across the island. After the services, we all came together in a common room and had a feast. We ate all types of fish, taro, rice, fruit and dozens of other local foods. As the meal was wearing down, singing and music started. A choir of young kids and teenage girls sang some religious songs along with a few others. At one point, the beat picked up and everyone in the room started getting involved. They started a chorus together and suddenly called up each of the volunteers to do a dance in front of the group. Everyone did their little diddy and I was the last one to be called up. I strutted and jigged my way up to the front and did some of my wacky hopping flailing that characterizes my not so rhythmic dance style. I ended by spinning around, smacking the floor and striking an outstretched pose. The crowd burst into laughter and clapped furiously to applaud my efforts. Apparently my dance moves made somewhat of an impact on the locals. Numerous people congratulated me for my great dancing and the crowd of teenage girls giggled and blushed when I approached them after. One person remarked that I was already breaking the hearts of these young girls.
The legend of Johnny Hunter was further enhanced by some creative rumors about the scar on my head. Nobody has approached me about my scar and I haven’t received any questions about its origin. I think it is taboo to be blunt and ask about the scar, but nonetheless it is apparently a hot topic. Today I was told the story that has been running through the village. It is now believed that I was in New York
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