A Thank You

I had just placed three Advil Liqui-gels on the table in front of Petu, who while weaving another mat was complaining about a toothache.  Her doctor-prescribed panadol (known as “baby aspirin” in the States) was ineffectual.  Since ibuprofen is to panadol as vicodin is to ibubrofin, she had just finished thanking me profusely.  That’s when the school’s secretary called to me from across the field:  “Sione!  Phone!”

There are only three reasons people try to reach me through the school land line:  (1) the Peace Corps couldn’t get a hold of me, (2) the police station has a paper jam, or (3) I have a box for me at the post office.  Fortunately it was the latter.  Kalane’s curt message said only, “Hi Sione, there’s mail, you have a box.”  I was on my bicycle less than a minute.

Every box is special, but this one had special meaning, so I brought along my camera.  This would be my last carepackage in Tonga. 

It was 1pm, so the Post Office should have been closed for lunch.  Slipping them M&Ms now and then has helped lubricate the machine, so I was invited in right away; that they call me when boxes arrive is due also to this minor, yet delicious form of corruption.  And there the box was on the counter waiting for me.  

I signed my name on the customs form, had a fellow employee snap my picture, and was on my way.  And look at what I got:

A delightful couple I met while whale watching had sent me the box from New Zealand.  We had bonded over some vino and I think they felt guilty living in wine utopia while I’m in a wine desert.  A glass of wine on a hot afternoon is all it takes sometimes to relive the stress, so the gifts were very much appreciated.

As my service comes to a close, I find myself thinking about and writing about my own deeds and accomplishments, but I’d like to take this post to thank everyone who has sent carepackages to me and my fellow volunteers.  Getting a box could be the highlight of a day or even a week.  I remember one box last year that had me quite literally as giddy as a little kid on Christmas.  As the island chef, Todd would usually receive gourmet meats, Juleigh usually got food and school supplies, and I usually got tools, wine, and candy – all of which was shared between us. 

Simple and common things in America became in magical presents capable of conjuring euphoria.  Each bottle of ranch dressing, a bag of M&Ms, a packet of pens, or a bottle of olive oil, was worth many times its value in Tonga than what was shown on that price label at the grocery store.  Try making your vinaigrette with palm oil and white vinegar and you’ll understand.

Most importantly, besides allowing construction projects and blissful wine-infused culinary spectacles, these boxes were a sign of support and encouragement that helped us through the hard times. 

Thank You.