Community

I use the word community often, but coming here has allowed me to see its true meaning more clearly.  Community does not mean living in the same geographical location and shopping at the same stores as your co-workers.  It doesn’t mean living in a cul-de-sac and waving at nameless neighbors or getting a cup of coffee at the same Starbucks every morning.  There is something powerful about this word.  There is power in a group of people that truly share the same foundation of values and lifestyle.  Many people smile, wave and ask questions here.  I realized I might be out of practice when it comes to showing emotions of any kind with strangers.  While walking, a woman smiled and greeted us with a generous “Bula.”   My three year old and I replied in unison.  The woman was overjoyed by my daughter’s response.  She took my daughters hand and stroked her hair.  “Come, you come.  What’s your name?  Such a pretty girl.”  I admit I felt a slight twinge when the woman grabbed my child’s hand and strolled alongside her.  Wait a second, when did genuine displays of human emotions become a cause for questions, concern and even fear. It should be more commonplace.  These things should not be scary.  After a brief exchange we soon parted ways.  Today our friend offered his car with open arms and we were able to explore our surroundings.  We passed through town.  Light traffic, no horns, and people leaning against the buildings that lined the main road.  Shop windows filled with colorful sarees and western beach attire.  Open front barbershops crowded with men conversing.  Paint chipping, cement crumbing, barred windows.  Rough exteriors containing well maintained interiors.  A short ten minutes and we are out of town.   Dirt roads, potholes and lush green landscapes.  It’s breathtaking.  A fresh rainfall left a double rainbow hanging in the sky before us.  Colors vivid, and air thick.  Dense vegetation covered the beautiful mountain ranges.  Plants with broad variegated leaves and color-saturated flowers grew without restraint.  Farmland, we pass a tractor.  Grown men played ball in an open field, front porches littered with chairs and couches.  Fresh laundry drying in the sun.  Doors open to the breeze, to everyone.  Children in uniforms walking home from school. Rundown houses, abandoned cars consumed by overgrown grass and cinder blocks forming tables in front lawns.  It wasn’t depressing.  It wasn’t sad; it seemed real.  The people here are happy, many are fit from manual labor and don’t seem frenzied by fashion trends or fancy cars.  I looked out the window, I felt calm, relaxed, I felt happy.  Simplicity.  Crossing over a narrow gauge railway we started our way back; following that gorgeous rainbow all the way home.

Fiji

“When we get off this plane we will be in Fiji.”  I explained to my daughter.  She smiled and continued her endless questions.  The flight went better than excepted considering the ages of my two small children.  There had been several calls throughout the flight asking for doctors on-board, followed by a long wait upon landing.  Honestly, I did not think much about it.  This kind of request has not been all that uncommon during my time spent traveling. Our descent into Fiji was quite early in the morning.  Still dark, it was not a climactic scene of crystal blue waters.  We landed along with our seven 70 pound duffel bags, a Pack n’ Play crib, two car seats, three carry-on suitcases, and three very stuffed hand bags.  We cleared customs and had almost made our way outside when a friend separated from the crowd to meet us.  He already had two cars waiting to accommodate our excessive baggage.  As we made our way to our new home he explained that while he was flying that morning he had been listening to our planes radio transmissions to keep tabs on our arrival.  The medical emergency that I hadn’t thought much about had unfortunately ended in a death of a passenger, followed by a medical emergency of another individual.  Suddenly, I recalled a woman that had caught my eye while boarding, so frail and somehow strong.  I noticed her because so many people were requesting wheelchairs, yet this women, who to me appeared to be the only person who truly needed one, had waited and waited for all the others before finally boarding.  I wondered, was it her?  I did not know this person yet a strange sadness came over me.  Smells, sounds, unfamiliar faces; I snapped back.  I am in Fiji.  A grey electronic gate opened slowly as we pulled into our complex.  There it was; far right, ground floor, white walls, tiled floors, two bedrooms, one bath, and a small porch outside.  Palm, mango and papaya trees bearing fruit and exotic birds surrounded us.  Our friend fired off a stream of, no doubt, important details regarding our new home, but my mind seemed to have reached input capacity because nothing was getting in.  I went into the bathroom, this will work, I thought to myself.  I stood looking in the mirror.  I am in Fiji.  A combination of jet lag and sensory over stimulation left me in a daze for most of the first day.  After a few hours we ventured out to find breakfast.  As we made our way down dirt paths that lined the road I couldn’t help thinking that this place or rather this particular area shared a lot of similarities to India.  Then suddenly a weird wave of emotions came over me.  What have we done?  About this time, we arrived at Bulaccino, a small coffee shop and bakery.  Bula, by the way, means hello in Fijian.  I realized, this place may visually share similarities to India, but it is in fact Fiji.  Where the people are very friendly, you can drink the tap water, bathrooms have toilet paper, bacon is on the breakfast menu, baked goods are actually sweet and moist, and smiles occupy the faces of the people around you.  I realized that moment that I was experiencing something new.  I wanted to make a connection to something I had experienced before, but when something is truly new sometimes you are forced to just see it for what it is and try to process and categorize it later.  I am in Fiji, not the United States, not Europe, not India, but Fiji; I believe it is going to be an incredible journey.  Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Bulaccino