It’s crazy to think that I’ve been in Fiji for a month already. In some ways it feels as though I’ve barely scratched the surface of what life is like here. In others, I feel I’ve learnt some valuable lessons that are worth mentioning.
Transport
There are many ways of getting around in Suva (there are also multiple ways of getting almost anywhere. It’s still confusing trying to work out where you’re going, because there are so many one way streets and weirdly angled intersections. I’m getting the hang of it though). Buses are the cheapest mode of vehicular transport, and are generally garishly painted and pumping out both last year’s top 40 songs (see Volunteer Mix No. 1 for an idea) and a serious amount of dirty exhaust.
My personal vehicle of choice is the taxi. Taxis come in all shapes and sizes, but all are in a similar state of disrepair. You’re perhaps less likely to hear old top 40 music during a taxi ride (although more likely to develop a mild distaste towards Hindi pop), but if you do happen upon a taxi that has a functional CD player or radio, chances are it’s also decked out with home theatre speakers sitting on the rear parcel shelf, neon lights and a disco ball, and you’re about to experience a sensory overload. One positive: it makes an awkward conversation with the driver – this can constitute anything from “are you married?” to “next time you’re free come to my house and my wife will cook curry and we’ll drink beer! Happiness is more important than money” to “I’m an insurance broker and just drive a taxi in between appointments to make money. Would you like some insurance?” – a moot point. The plus side to all of this is that taxis are cheap and ridiculously common. The sum of all parts equals an often entertaining, often ear-ringing, convenient and cheap mode of transport.
Finally, your own feet are quite obviously the cheapest and healthiest way to get around. Suva is a pretty small city, and fortunately, I live relatively close to the centre. Of course, like buses and taxis, there are hazards to be aware of. These include but don’t encompass: people on the street trying to carve your name on a piece of wood and trying to sell it to you (only really happens in the centre of town and isn’t that bad); a substantial lack of good footpaths; and perhaps most importantly, water. Which segues nicely to….
Water Hazards
Water is everywhere here. Outrageously obvious I know, considering I’m living in a country constituting a few hundred islands which span a pretty massive area of the Pacific Ocean (I’m so lazy I can’t even be bothered looking that up on Wikipedia). As I type, it’s bucketing down, and has been for most of this week. I’ve already talked about the rain, but apart from getting wet, I haven’t mentioned many of the ill effects of rain.
Obviously, things other than your person get wet. This includes roads and footpaths and dirt (which turns into mud, but probably already knew that). However, due to the sheer amount and frequency of rain, things tend to stay wet. And when things stay wet, they start growing things. Slippery things. Combine this with the fact that thongs are the most practical (and awesome) footwear to employ here, and you (or at least me) have a slight problem. I’ve given myself three months to break an ankle. Having said that, I’ve gotten pretty good at navigating the road between my house and work, and know almost precisely where to tread carefully.
This is a drain doing the opposite of what it's meant to - water is bubbling up onto the street
Water hazards also include drinking water. It’s generally pretty good, although a few of the volunteers that have been around for a while have told stories about it coming out of the tap murky every now and then, or not at all. I’d assumed it was nothing more than a scare tactic employed on the newbies, until I filled a bottle this morning and it came out with a slight brown tinge. I’m pretty thirsty right now.
Misinterpretation
Working in a foreign country is of course a challenge. The difference in language is one of the biggest barriers to communication one can face. Fortunately we in Fiji are lucky that English is widely spoken, and well spoken. I haven’t had any real issues with communicating verbally here at all. Working in an office full of deaf people is another story. I’m still very new to deaf culture, not to mention Fijian sign language. Whilst there’s generally at least one interpreter around, this isn’t always the case. Nor is it a guarantee that things are understood. Case in point: yesterday a group of us went to the Fiji National University to present to various faculty heads on the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. Our aim was to raise awareness and create dialogue that could eventually lead to sign language interpreters being used to allow deaf students to study there. As we were leaving the office I was in charge of shutting the door. Note well young padawans: shutting is not the same as locking. Fortunately the only thing I locked in the office was the key. That should perhaps have read unfortunately, but still, if the building had burnt down no one would’ve been trapped inside. Luckily, I already knew the sign for ‘sorry’.
Sulu: Wearing the manskirt has become less of a novelty and a bit more of a chore. Sure, it’s breezy and cool, and enables you to match thongs with business attire. It can also be a little too breezy at times, particularly when walking to work. Adding another thing to concentrate on (and sometimes grip to prevent accidental flashing) whilst travelling on slippery surfaces is never a good idea. However, the Fijians love it, and they’re not afraid of telling you so. Still takes a bit to get used to when someone says “ooh yes, it suits you very much!”
Gas
I’m referring here to the natural, non-human variety that is used as a power source for cooking and other things here. Unlike Australia, you don’t simply get your house connected to the mains when you move in. Each place has its own medium sized gas bottle, and the idea is to replace it when it empties. Unfortunately for us, ours emptied about 10 seconds into turning on the stove to cook dinner a few nights ago. Eating out is pretty cheap and easy, so it wasn’t the end of the world. However, we were all in such a lazy mood we decided to get pizza delivered. Not so cheap, and not so good. Then, due largely again to laziness (the fact we can’t be bothered to remember the gas tank is empty constitutes laziness, doesn’t it?) we forgot to get the tank replaced the next day, and faced another night with no way to cook. Survival skills were implemented and a heat rock-powered BBQ was brought out of storage and put to the task of cooking onion. After about 40 minutes, when the oil had just started to bubble, I left and went to another volunteer’s house for dinner.
Thus ends another text-heavy post. Sorry about that, but really, wouldn’t you rather be wasting time on the internet by reading stuff? Probably not, no.
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