My Bi-Weekly Commute

Kerplat! Kerplunk! I spring up out of bed as the small smack of a creature hits my shoulder. As I sit upright on my blue yoga mat mattress, I quickly survey my surroundings to see who was the aerial perpetrator that that rousted me from my sleep. I fumble for my flashlight on the ground next to me and shine it around to find the culprit. Two small geckos are lying motionless by my side. I slap the ground next to them, and they scurrying away up the wall. These two diminutive reptiles must have been fighting on the ceiling above my head and jostled each other until they both tumbled down towards my slumbering self. Maybe they were in pursuit of a mosquito or maybe they lost their body temperature and had no more energy to cling to the moist ceiling. Regardless of their intentions, they were my wake up call early on this Friday morning.

I glance at my watch and see that it’s only about 5:00 am. The sky is turning from an inky black to a grayish blue as the rays of the sun begin to cast their early morning light on my tropical abode. I hear the crowing of roosters and think about how many of the locals are rising out of bed to start their morning chores. Luckily, I’m a lazy fellow and feel no inclination to rise from the floor and embark on my day of work. I assume that I have another couple of hours to curl up with my pillow and enjoy the pitter-patter of the light rain outside. In a few minutes, it increases to a thundering downpour that rattles our tin roof. I happily resume my sleep and take in the natural symphony of liquid tunes.  No music soothes my soul like the sound of rain.

Around 7ish, I rise again from my sleep to the usual sound of baby screams and clanking pots. I have no need for an alarm, because the noise of a dozen people living in a single household is sufficient to wake me on a daily basis. For the next hour, I sit on my paint bucket throne in the kitchen and drink coffee with my family. The rain is coming down in torrents and we all speculate that there will be no school today. When it rains anytime after 7:30, the children of the village wont venture from their houses for fear of wetness and school is almost undoubtedly cancelled. Its kind of a ridiculous tradition because it rains on a daily basis here, but I don’t have the power to change their minds. 8 oclock rolls around and we are rather certain that there will be no school. I consider the day ahead of me and am inclined to do more than lounge in my room and read a book all day. I feel the urge to partake in guilty pleasure. I want a taste of civilization. I think of eating ice cream, sipping a cold soda and dinking around on the Internet. I decide that I want to go to Weno.

My host father commutes on his boat everyday to the main island of Weno because he works for the Department of Education and has to be in the office everyday. If I ever want to make the voyage, I can easily hitch a ride with him. It varies depending on circumstances, but on average I make the trip every couple of weeks. I try to refrain from the cravings of modernization and stick to my rural lifestyle on my little island of Fefan, but every once and while I am impelled to visit the outside world.

Everyone in Chuuk has the same boats. An open-air white 15ft fiberglass frame with a 2-cycle Yamaha outboard motor. If it weren’t for slight variations on interior color and differing types of ropes, every boat in the Chuuk lagoon would be indistinguishable. Our boat is about 20 years old and full of patches, but it runs smooth and gets us where we need to go. A flat seat is fashioned from evenly spaced 2 x 4’s and resembles the bottom of a large packing crate. We all pile in and sit cross-legged on the slats of timber that separate the gaps of the “bench”. Bags, sandals, and other goodies are tossed in the front of the boat and the passengers sit towards the back end. The pilot stands in the back and operates the boat with a twisting handle similar to standard motorcycles.

Oftentimes the little voyage is a calm and serene coast through the crystal clear waters of our lagoon. The setting sun reflects rainbow sherbet colors of orange and pink off the shimmering water and the lush green islands provide a picturesque backdrop to the ocean paradise. It is always a wonderful reminder of the utter beauty that surrounds me in my dreamland of this tropical lagoon. However, on this particular day the boat ride was quite a different type of experience. Many times it is a rough riding adventure through pelting rain and splashing waves.

The locals of Chuuk often dread this boat trip and complain about the wetness and turbulence that often accompany the commute, which is totally understandable because they have been forced to undertake this trip for their entire lives. Conversely, I love it! The boat ride is one of my favorite things about Chuuk. When I am bouncing along the waves and being tossed around like a rag doll on the open seas, I often imagine that I am on an amusement park ride and zooming around on an ocean roller coaster. On stormy or windy days, the small boat is at the whim of the Poseidon. We ride up the crest of a swell and shoot into the air, everything inside the boat (including the people) momentarily defies gravity and lifts into the air. The next moment we come crashing down in the face of the oncoming wave and we thump to the bottom of the boat. Water sloshes over the front of our boat and sprays us with its salty spit. The stinging rain batters against our faces and the blustery wind beats against our bodies.  It’s a chaotic and unnerving 30-minute trek, but I usually have a smile plastered across my face the whole time.

As we draw closer to the island of Weno, the breeze dies down and the water becomes calmer. The wind usually blows from the Northeast and Weno acts as a barrier when we approach from our Southwest route. The last 5 minutes of the sea excursion are a much-needed respite where the seas are tranquil and the wind is not as much of a burden. When we are within a half-mile of the shore, the two story buildings and giant shipping tanks become visible through the green mat of foliage that enshrouds the island. At this point, everything still appears beautiful to the untrained eye. There is nothing to dissuade the magical image of a pristine island paradise. However, as the shoreline comes into a closer view, the true character of Weno starts to take shape.

There are no white sand beaches or rocky cliff sides along the seashore. There are no sprawling resorts with fancy swimming pools and bow-tied butlers. There are no children bouncing beach balls or beautiful sunbathing women. There are no charming tiki hut beach bars or paddling surfers. The picture of stereotypical island paradise fades away from your mind and you are greeted with the crumbling dirty reality of Weno.

We zoom passed the first dock area and catch a glimpse of the broken down ships that are lying ineffectually by the deteriorating concrete waterfront. A pathetic collection of half sunk ships stick their bows out of the water, refusing to fall entirely below and be forgotten forever. A huge rusted tanker lies on its side nestled up against the navy built jetty that looks like a hastily dropped pile of giant concrete jacks. Our boat takes a wide turn and we pull around the jetty into the market place harbor.

The motor slows to a crawl and we coast towards the shore. About 50 feet from land, the operator cuts the motor and we use large sticks to navigate our way to our docking point. I hop up on the bow of the boat and use my 8 foot stick to press against the shallow ocean floor and guide us carefully onto shore. The water is now a murky grayish-brown, but as I look down from my vantage point the bottom of the water is clearly visible. Its not a clean sandy bottom, and its not a colorful bloom of coral. The bottom is entirely covered in a mishmash of cans, plastic bags, and all kinds of refuse. It looks like the top of a garbage heap at a large landfill. Endless piles of trash cover every inch of ground.

I push my way through this gobbledygook and direct us to the rocky land ahead. I position myself to sit on the front end of the boat and when we are close enough I leap off the end of the boat with the tie-rope in hand. I scamper over the slimy rocks and pull myself up onto the hard cement anchorage. I tie the rope onto a shard of rebar that is sticking out of a chunk of broken cement and then return down the slippery rocks to help the others disembark. Women, children and old folks are all able to scuttle across this filthy rocky outcropping and arrive safely ashore. I am continually impressed with the nimble footedness of these islanders. Chuukese grandmas with arthritis are more sure-footed than half the American’s that I know.

The rugged boat ride is over and now part two of the Weno experience is just ahead. The roads! The roads are like a slice of smelly Swiss cheese that has been dunked in rotten chocolate milk. It looks like bigfoot projectile vomited a line of chunky muck. It looks like a bowl of intestine filled menudo that has been crusting in the sun.

I have traveled through many third world countries and seen my fair share of shitty roads. I’ve navigated through the hectic mayhem of Indian streets and gone over the cracked asphalt in South America, but nothing compares to the roads of Weno. Referring to them as roads is a generous statement. A muddy mess of holes that kind of follow a straight line is a better description. If a group of kindergartners had a contest to create the sloppiest road possible, I still think the crappiness of Weno roads would trump all the competition.

I wouldn’t be surprise if 12^th century peasant horse-carts paths were superior to the roads on Weno. I would rather drive through an open field or down a dry riverbed than traverse these roads. I don’t know how it is possible, but the roads are even worse than a plain dirt road. I learned to drive on the rocky terrain of mountain dirt roads in the Sierra Nevadas, but even that experience couldn’t prepare me for the problems that Weno roads present.

I have been told that 20 years ago, the road system was legitimate on Weno. The streets were paved with asphalt and they ran smooth and straight. Cars could drive comfortably and people could walk on the sidewalks. Its hard to picture that reality when you look at Weno today. There is very little solid ground that remains of this once “mighty” road. The majority of the road is comprised of either mud or water. The holes cant even be considered potholes because they are much to expansive to fall in that category. The street is a series of giant holes filled with water and muddy passages that connect the dry spots on the side of the road. The holes are so big and so wet that we often joke that it might be easier to travel by canoe than by car.

I blame the pathetic condition of the roads on two factors. Bucket loads of rain and shoddy maintenance. These islands receive hundreds of inches of rain a year and the ground is saturated in water. The water funnels down from the mountainsides and settles on the strip of flat land that the road runs through. So it is understandable that the excess of water causes problems for the road. However, if they had built a functional sewer system or drainage structure, that probably would have helped. The water doesn’t run off the sides of the road, it collects in the middle of the road.

Alas, there is hope for the future. Recently, they have begun a massive project to renovate the roads and they are slowly making progress to make them respectable. The main task right now is getting rid of the groundwater underneath the road. Big bulldozers and cranes have been digging deep ditches in the middle of the road and suction machines are slurping out the liquid from down below. This does seem like a good place to start, but I am not convinced that it is sustainable.

They have even started to build new sections of road that are smooth, straight and pure. This is definitely a positive trend. However, I am slightly disappointed with what I have seen so far. They haven’t seemed to learn from their mistakes. The new roads have totally inadequate drainage systems. One large section lacks any type of drainage and is entirely submerged in water when it rains. Im not an engineer, but I do have common sense. My common sense tells me that if you have a problem with too much water on the roads, then you need to make sure that the water doesn’t sit on the road. The new roads in Chuuk don’t follow this logic. They slant inwards. Yes, instead of being slightly sloped outwards so the water flows out into the gutters, the roads are sloped slightly inwards. This obviously causes water to gather in the center of the road and only increases the problem that we already have. Also, on the one section of new road that was completed a few months ago I have already noticed an unnerving observation. The edges are covered in about 2 inches of putrid mud. They aren’t cleaning the streets. They have no street cleaners and apparently no plan to keep them clean.

 The government is working hard to repair these roads and I truly hope that they are successful. Tourism, business and modern life cannot function without a quality system of roads. I am trying to remain optimistic about the progress and hope that this is the first step in creating a viable infrastructure in Chuuk.

Despite my grumbling, there are some upsides to the road conditions. Cars are always driving at about 10 miles an hour, which prevents the bone crushing crashes that we see in America. Also there is only one main road that runs through the heart of town. It is quite easy to catch a ride with someone because they are always going in your direction. And I have no fear of kidnapping because I can always just hop out of the car if I felt threatened.

Although the infrastructure is poor and Weno has the notorious reputation of being a ghetto/violent place, there are many redeeming features. The people are wonderful. I have never been around a group of more hospitable and friendly folks. As I walk down the road, I am greeted by a dozen hellos and an endless sea of smiles. People actually care how I am doing, and take the time to ask. If I step in a mud puddle, shopkeepers will invite me into their store to wash my feet and take a rest. I am accosted by requests to stop and drink water, eat breadfruit, or just sit and relax. The unpleasantness of the roads is offset by the pleasantness of the locals.

Plus, I often have fun navigating through the muddy mess on a walk. I feel like I am in the video game Frogger. I take one step at a time and have to make a decision at when I reach each spot. At each point, I have the option to go left, right or forward and there is some obstacle blocking my way if I make the wrong choice. One hop to the left over the mucky puddle of water, three steps forward on the fringe of cement, two steps to the right to avoid the muddy quagmire ahead, one small skip over the bundle of rebar and I arrive safely 10 feet farther along on my journey! It can actually be quite entertaining and I sometimes challenge myself to traverse the most difficult territory. I have to admit that I am slightly impressed with the skills I have acquired of crossing muddy patches of land. 

There are a few full-scale grocery stores and dozens of small businesses that sell random items for the everyday shopper. One section of the street is littered with open markets that sell local foods and products. There is very little tourism besides scuba divers, so there are no gift shops or “I Love Chuuk” t-shirts strewn across town. The buildings vary in their quality, but most are built of concrete and are smattered with layers of graffiti. The electricity comes in waves, but most people have legitimate water sources on Weno. Food is sold in street stalls and some of them have places to sit down, but there are very few restaurants.

After tiptoeing through sludgy surface of town for 15 minutes, I finally arrive at my destination. The Peace Corps office. We share a building on the edge of town with folks from the local radio station and the office of Public Affairs. I unlock a ten-foot swinging gate topped with barbed wire and enter into the compound. First I go through a rickety wooden door, then unlock a pair a glass doors, then punch in our secret code on the lock to the thick metal grating and wrench open the heavy gate, finally I turn my key in the door for the volunteer lounge and enter into my little haven.

Its no palace or beachside bungalow, but we all love our little home away from home. The office has hundreds of books, medicine, mailboxes, a fan, a water tank and most importantly two computers with Internet access. This is our time to poke out heads back into the real world. I usually have a list of tasks to do and don’t have much time to flutter away on Facebook, but I try to make time to check up on the happenings of my friends and family back home. I will often spend a few hours glued to the computer without noticing how much time is ticking away. At about 4pm, I gather up my belongings and head back out into the sweltering heat or drizzling rain. I am often shocked when I first step out into the sunlight and remember that I am not in America, I am in Chuuk.

I trudge through the sopping streets and quickly purchase a few necessities and luxury items from the store. At about 5pm, I pile back onto the boat and head back towards my island of Fefan. I really do enjoy my time on Weno, but every time that I leave I thank the lord that I don’t live there. I love my little rural island and am quite happy to be separated from civilization by that small gap of water. My bi-weekly commute is over and I settle back into my serene existence on my speck of land in the vast Pacific Ocean.