Casualties

I slept poorly in a tent the night before, biked seven miles home at 6:30 in the morning, exercised, and showered in cold water (the gas can was empty).  All I wanted was to eat a tomato and cucumber salad with special spicy mustard, olive oil, and balsamic vinaigrette (all specially imported ingredients) and watch a television episode.

But my sharp serrated knife was missing. 

I had to use my fish filet knife instead.  It’s my only other cutting utensil sharp enough to slice a tomato.  (That ultra sharp steak knife my parents sent me a few months ago lasted less than a month before disappearing).  I prepared the salad and poured the dressing.

But I had no forks. 

I changed out of my towel, walked outside, and was fortunate to find my principal’s kitchen door open.  I picked one of my forks out of his dirty sink water, returned home, ate my salad, and watched twenty-two minutes of How I Met Your Mother. 

After cleaning the dishes, I paused to reflect on my kitchen’s inventory over the past two years.  It’s had many casualties and only a few survivors.  More than a dozen cups and mugs are gone, as well as all but one plate and a few knives.  I started borrowing chemistry equipment to replace cups. 

It’s that season again, when Tailulu College Ha’apai hosts VIP school evaluators.  They usually live for a few days in the home economics room next to me, are treated to lavish meals, and receive every luxury my school can provide.  I often get invited to dine with them, which can be a treat, but I’m also expected to help with the hospitality by providing them things.  A year ago this lost me half of my tea cups and a half dozen utensils.

Our first visitor this year was Toka, the principal of nearby Ha’apai High School.  He and an associate spent two hours reading through our books and listening to my principal’s presentations about school performance.  Toka is often asked to judge events in Ha’apai, I think because he is friendly and generous with his praise.  Asking Toka to evaluate your school is like asking your grandparents to critique your performance as Robin Hood in the 5^th grade play – you know they’re going to say you were absolutely perfect and that you should be on Broadway (but I’m pretty sure the music teacher took away all my singing parts for a reason).  Toka and his associate gave us a flattering grade, and my school thanked them both for their praise by gifting them each a lot of money.

The visit culminated in a fancy lunch, which they invited me to.  When I sat down with my principal and the two VIPs, however, I found my place setting consisting of my own plate, fork, and sharp serrated knife.   Sefa must have raided my kitchen while I was fixing the office computer.  It’s not something he would usually do, but these were VIPs that needed the best dishes and utensils (meaning Sione’s dishes and utensils). 

I made the mistake of not collecting back my things immediately after the meal, because now they’re mostly all gone.  The next morning, when I wanted my salad, I didn’t have a knife or fork and I was down to one last plate. 

There were originally five of them, all of heavy ceramic with a light green glaze.  I bought the plates in Nuku’alofa two years ago because I liked the concentric ridge pattern and I was excited to have an aesthetically pleasing complete set to dine on with company.  I know, a Peace Corps Volunteer shouldn’t worry about complete sets of plates and be happy to have anything to eat from, but I thought it  would be one thing to feel American about. 

The excitement didn’t last long, as my first plate casualty came only a few weeks after settling into my new site at Tailulu College Ha’apai.  I made my principal dinner and served it to him in his home on one of my new green plates.  When I came back to collect the plate the next day, he had already given it to a faifekau, or “minister,” so there was no chance of ever getting it back.  I didn’t know that the time, so I continued nagging Sefa for weeks until my Peace Corps Volunteer Leader explained that no Tongan is going to ask a faifekau for a plate back.  It was my first lesson in Tongan borrowing. 

From then on I lost at least one plate every few months.  The four additional flower-pattern plates I bought last year are all gone too.

Less than twenty four hours after being politely robbed of kitchen supplies to feed Toka and his associate, I visited my principal in his kitchen to get the things back.  Of course I was too late.  The knife was already given to a faifekau (which I instantly recognized was a lost cause), and they said they think they gave the plate to the deputy principal.  Since I was complaining though, they returned two of my cups and that ultra-sharp steak knife of mine they had been “borrowing” for months.  

The VIP season continued and the next VIP arrived four days later.  This time it was a financial officer.  When my principal, leading a team of last-minute room preparers, asked me for my broom, I told him I first wanted my knife back.  His facial expression was, “God Damn-it Sione.  This is no time to be selfish!  He’s almost here from the airport!”  But he didn’t get my broom. 

It was only a small victory.  I will be culturally required to give this VIP anything he asks me for, and since we share a door and he’ll expect to use my bathroom, I know he’s going to take/require things.  There’s solace in having less than two months left and therefore I will not be long inconvenienced.  I also remind myself that I was going to give these things away to these same people anyway when I leave. 

There are still things to be happy about.  I still have these four bowls.  I bought them as a set to go with the green ceramic plates as they have concentric ridges too. I have lost many things, but somehow I managed to keep this set of four aesthetically pleasing, very often used bowls intact over two years.  Happiness comes from heavily weighing your little successes over your many failures. 

Dear Mother, I know you asked me to bring home any sharp knives, but I hope you understand from this post that there aren’t likely to be any sharp knives (even this newly returned steak knife) when I return.  I’ll do my best, but no promises.


And speaking of casualties, my tomato plants are withering away and my watermelon didn't survive.  It's getting hotter every day and the plants are getting too thirsty.  Even watering twice a day couldn't save them, so we're about to see the end of the garden.  It was a good run, and it provided me with myriad tomatoes over the past two months.  It was definitely worth the effort.

A Sad Watermelon

Drying Up