Thursday 18 August 2011

Graduation


It’s that time already. Kids grow up so fast, don’t they? Why, I remember the day we all met at Brisbane airport before boarding the plane. So young, so naïve, so excited! So pale. All kind of angry we hadn’t been given free excess baggage, but still excited. And now here we are, spread across Fiji, from the Burning West to the Exotic-but-equally-burning East, with a little pocket hunkered down in Suva. It’s been almost four months, and we’ve learnt a lot. We’re not so young anymore (obviously); we’re definitely not so naïve - we no longer think that taxi drivers want to marry us because we’re nice people; and for the most part, we’re not so pale. And to top it all off, we’re no longer the new kids in town.

That’s right people. Graduation occurs in Fiji every three to six months when a new intake of volunteers arrives and the former new kids are no longer...new. That was sort of self-explanatory. To experience it both as a newbie and a graduand is actually fairly interesting (read: interesting only to people who care about social interaction), and made something apparent to me. Wait for it, it’s a good one.

I actually know stuff! Who knew that after four months, useful and interesting information has filtered through my sun-bleached (SUN-BLEACHED I TELL YOU) hair and into my skull? Furthermore, the slower pace of life hasn’t destroyed all my brain cells because I was actually able to recall said pieces of useful and interesting information and pass them along to some of the new first-years when we went away for the weekend.

So, whilst you people at home reading this constantly comment/critique that I don’t do any work; that it looks like I’m having a ball; that all my photos are so awesome; that my hair really is lighter, are you sure you haven’t dyed it?; let the record show that even though most of the above statements are true (all of them except the hair one), I’m also being wise, just, and largely awesome on an epic scale. So really, Fiji hasn’t changed me at all.

The graduating class of 29 April 2011

A couple of other things have happened in the last week that aren’t worth their own posts, so I’ll summarise here. Since I’ve returned from Australia (whoa, it's weird to say returned from Australia), I’ve seen three movies in four days, with another two to come on the weekend. BUT I only had two choc tops. I’ve been called fat by our house cleaner (she obviously didn’t realise that I could very well have had one more choc top); went to the Fijian equivalent of Rock Eisteddfod/Wakakiri, which was way more awesome than I expected it would to be, despite the use of about four of the same songs from the Suva Soundtrack in nearly 15 performances (which led to almost 15 exasperated face-palms on my part); and did some real work. True story.

Thursday 11 August 2011

Exile's Return


Storm clouds gathering, thunderheads piling into a darkly vicious fortress on the horizon. Lightning illuminating the bowels of the beasts as they race west across the firmament. Was that a head in the clouds? Were those teeth? Gods, what was that thing grinning down from the sky, smirking at the twinkling lights below? A dull rumble passes through the underbelly of the clouds, followed by a swift silence that is shattered by an enormous CRAAAAAAAAAAACK-


Tomn sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face. The mark on his forehead throbbed with pain (he’d slammed it against the bedhead not one night previously, after waking from the same dream), and his nightclothes stuck to his sweating body. He sat panting, willing his heart rate down, willing that terrible face to leave his memory…

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?”
Tomn’s eyes darted to the shadowed corner of the room, where his friend stood, perhaps a little creepily. He rolled his eyes and then gasped with pain. Even a sarcastic eye roll was painful. “The same. But it’s just a dream”.
Wenddel, Tomn’s friend, slammed his hand against the wall. “It’s not just a dream! You have the sight! We must warn him".
Tomn was indignant, not to mention overtired. He’d not been sleeping properly after all. “But I don’t wannaaaaaaaaa”, he whined.
“Come,” said Wenddel. “We need to see him. How else can we progress the plot?”

The two young boys left their chambers and raced through the castle/keep/military facility/school/generic location where stories such as these take place. They stopped at the bottom of a winding staircase.
“You have to go up there alone”, said Wenddel, almost mournfully.
“But why?” asked Tomn, who as the hero, always asks why.
Wenddel placed a hand on Tomn’s pubescent chest. “Because this is your story”.
And with that dramatically vague/nonsensical explanation, Tomn began to climb.


At the top of the staircase was an office of sorts, full of things indicating the inhabitant was incredibly learned. And he was. For the man who sat behind the large dusty desk was none other than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius, the most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. A sallow man stood at his shoulder.
Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius spoke: “a little late to be wandering the corridors, isn’t it, young Tomn?”
Tomn had the good nature to look abashed, then realised why he was there. “Wenddel made me do it, sir! He told me to come here, I didn’t want to. It was just a stupid dream”.
The man standing only slightly lecherously behind the J-man leaned forward. “A dream? What dream? Speak, boy, for your father’s sake!”
“Who are you?” Tomn asked rather bluntly, purely for the sake of the narrative.
The sallow man sighed, and flourished his robes. “I am Grinadafalukinteraneabapol, second most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. It’s obvious, because my name has one less syllable than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius’s”.
An awkward silence followed as Tomn counted the syllables. It took longer than one would expect the potential saviour of the world to do maths. He looked up, puzzled.
“There is power in words, young Tomn”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius said, then rolled his eyes behind half-moon spectacles when Tomn continued looking confused. “Literally. There’s literally power in words. The longer a person’s name, the more powerful they are”.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” breathed Tomn. He’ll think ‘I only have a one syllable name, how can I be the saviour of the world?’ only after leaving the office and facing his destiny. It usually works like that.
“The dream, boy! Describe the dream!”

Slowly at first, to build tension, Tomn began to retell his dream of dark clouds and scary faces. He rubbed his forehead to build further emotion into the scene. The two long-syllabled men stared at each other as Tomn completed his tale. It was obvious they knew exactly what the dream meant.

“We must wake the Guardians. Tell them the Exile is returning and to make the barriers solid”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius commanded Grinadafalukinteraneabapolbanius. G-man nodded and left the room swiftly, robes billowing, motes of dust skirling in his wake. “Tomn, we must palaver. Sit with me”. Tomn nodded and sat at the desk, J-man looking over his spectacles into Tomn’s eyes.

“Your dream is a prophecy Tomn. It has foretold a great power which will come to this land once more. Only it’s too soon….we exiled him only three months ago to the lands beyond the sea. For him to have grown in power so quickly, well, it just doesn’t usually happen that way. Generally speaking, a generation or two passes, giving ample time for heroes to die and people to forget the blight which has been removed. Even eleven or twelve years can do the trick, allowing a new hero to grow up and avenge his parents’ deaths. But this, this is most unfortunate.
“Three months ago, a group of Guardians of old were resurrected from legend to deal with this threat, which has known many names – Fran, Sven, Wack, just to name a few – and cast him into the ocean. But it is clear from your dream that he has fed his power, and is even now returning to lay waste to this place. Our worst fears have been realised. He has most likely consumed complex and starchy carbohydrates and offensively cheap bananas to revive himself. It is even possible he has used the native people’s innate ability to stay dry in torrential rain to construct some sort of water-repellent vessel in which to travel across the sea”.
Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius reached across the table and grasped Tomn’s shoulders, his eyes wide. “The one called Sitiveni comes! And according to your dream, he is hungry. For real food. Red meat cooked to perfection, vegetables that aren’t eggplant, fresh milk, cheese! He wants to consume burritos and kebabs and roast dinners and eggs benedict. And heat. He will bring heat from the east! But it will not last, it will be nothing more than a false spring. Offering people false hope. Like the villain he is”.



“But sir,” Tomn whimpered, “how am I supposed to stop such a monstrosity?” At this, the great J-man laughed a hearty laugh, his breath rattling in his small chest.
“My dear boy, this is not your responsibility! The Guardians are all still alive and well, and will push him back into the sea once more. Your story ends here, I’m happy to say. There will be a battle of blazing magicks, depending on the budget of course, but you will play no part in it. No, Tomn, you will go back to your room and sleep once more. Perhaps you’ll dream of Sitiveni again, perhaps not. But your role as the weird dream guy is now over. We might use you again in a sequel or something, but to be honest, you’re quite the dullard. Now get some sleep. Pip pip”.

That was weird. Sorry. Let me provide some all-important context: when I first left Australia it was joked that I was being exiled. Sophisticated, I know. Seriously though, apart from not dealing with the temperature differences at all well, I had a great time back home. Thanks to all those who took me in, bought me food, lent me vehicles, and let me be a part of their special occasions. You all rock, and on a scale of burritos to eggs benno (eggs benno being the ultimate food, but of course you already knew that), you all come in slightly higher than eggs benno . It’s a compliment. Enjoy warm, with a side of bacon and a refreshing beverage.

Tuesday 2 August 2011

Official Apology


Well, despite the warning I placed at the beginning of one of my earlier posts (you know, the one with all the pictures of hammocks and paradise), some foolish people apparently ignored it, thinking they were strong enough to look at the pictures I posted. Absolute folly. I’ve received a fair amount of hate mail in recent weeks, and if the postal system were any good over here, I’m confident I would have found a few disgusting/possibly fatal surprises in my letterbox. Not cool people. Always one to look for a silver lining, I see this as an opportunity to tell you all that I told you so. You’ll think twice before ignoring me again, won’t you? Who am I kidding? Of course you won’t.

In order to appease all you angry and jealous readers, and to inform you that yes, things aren’t always gravy (gravy! I miss gravy) here, I thought it would be a good idea to show you the more sordid side of Fiji. The underbelly, if you will. Kind readers, I present to you: Suva (and surrounds).

Caution (likely to be ignored by you chumps): some viewers may find the following images distressing. They include grey skies, dirty streets, and dilapidated buildings. If you look closely enough, you may even see people – shock horror – not smiling. Effects of viewing should include mild revulsion and disgust, and most importantly, an overwhelming feeling of sympathy towards me, in addition to a severe bout of self-loathing at being jealous of me in the first place. Shame on you.














The cleverer of my readers may have noted that nowhere in this post was an actual apology. You can choose to find the apology within the images, or more correctly assume that I am in no way apologising for having an awesome time. As my friend Captain Planet used to say, the power is yours. And quit it already, I’m NOT the Heart guy.