Walkathon
The purpose of this post is to help out other volunteers who have a bad day. Not a terrible day, just a bad one. It is good to accent the positives, and important not to dwell on things, but sometimes things suck. It is nice to read how something sucks for someone else, and their thoughts on it. So here you go.
A couple weeks ago the school headmaster (Paul) tells me about a fundraising walkathon for the North Efate Principals Association (NEPA). I say I'm happy to participate--I like walks. He has me make copies of the fundraising signup sheets.
A couple weeks ago the school headmaster (Paul) tells me about a fundraising walkathon for the North Efate Principals Association (NEPA). I say I'm happy to participate--I like walks. He has me make copies of the fundraising signup sheets.
Then Sunday night at about 8:00pm, I learn through my host father that the walkathon is the next day. He's going because Paul told him about, and it sounded like good exercise. Not knowing I plan on going, he asks me if I want to go too. Our conversation goes something like this.
Me: What?! It's tomorrow?
Terry: Yes, didn't Paul tell you?
Me: Yes but not the date. What time is it?
Terry: We have to leave at one.
Me: OK, after lunch.
Terry: No, we have to leave at one in the morning. It starts in Eton.
Me: What?! I haven't signed anyone up.
Terry: You better go do that.
So I do. I check the signup sheet and there are no dates listed for the event. I get all the money I need (2,000 vatu) in about an hour. Also one guy gives me 8,000 vatu to give to his sister Ariel in Eton. When I get back, Terry is about to go to bed, but says that he will wake me up. I put a few things in my backpack for tomorrow and go to bed.
Terry wakes me up at two. The extra hour is one small blessing, anyway.
Terry's telling me to HURRY UP! and RUSH RUSH RUSH! But I ignore it. When anyone here tells me to hurry up I ignore it. Because whenever I hurry up to the boat, I end up waiting in the boat for someone else for 30 minutes, or there's no gas, or when we get to the other side we wait for an hour anyway. There is no reason at all to hurry up. Well if I see a boat that is full or actually in motion to go, I will pick up the pace.
So I don't hurry. I don't go slow either. I just prepare my backpack and go to the boat...where we sit and wait for someone to get gas. When we get to the other side, the bus isn't there. This is why I never hurry up.
The bus comes about two hours later. During our wait, Terry, Paul and Dan (another teacher) wonder how the matches are going in the World Cup. I don't have much to contribute. I really don't know anything about soccer. They ask me what team I support, and I tell them Mexico. They ask why, and I say because I like Mexican food. But there's a lot of time to kill, so I look up World Cup, and find that Mexico beat Germany in a stunning 1-0 upset. I wish I had bet on Mexico! (Edit: Later, I read that Mexican fans burned Germany's flag to celebrate the victory. Hmmm. I'm switching my allegiance to Portugal.)
The bus stops at the houses of a few more people, only one of whom is ready when the bus arrives. The bus stops at Eton at about 6:00am. I give my fundraised money to someone. Terry reminds me to call Ariel. When she comes, I give her the 8,000 vatu. Mission accomplished.
Someone hands me a program for the day. On one side is the schedule, and on the other side is information about why education is important. Here is the schedule, word for word.
1:00am - Bus/truck pick up at pick up points
2:00am - Devotion (Eton school)
3:00am - Walkathon and wheel barrow push kick off.
10:00am - Break at Takara
10:30am - Continue walkathon and wheel barrow push
12:00pm - LUNCH at Siviri
1:00pm - Continue walkathon
4:00pm - Closing (Roau school)
As I read this, I think:
As it turns out in this walkathon, the buses stay with the group. The group exits the buses just before a village, marches through the village with banner, bullhorns and pleas for cash. After the village, the group boards the buses, where it is taken to the next village. Repeat. So no 50km of walking. Good.
After some milling about and photos, we start, bullhorns and all. There are about two dozen of us. Two bullhorns may be one too many for a group of two dozen. They're talking over each other, and someone else is playing music. Actually there is a third bullhorn, and that person is playing with the siren and space noises it makes. There is a lot of noise.
Here is a video of what we looked like.
Still, somehow the message gets through and people come out to give us money; this is all new to me, but not them. Collected money is held in a cardboard box carried by two people. The box is a water bottle box, and isn't sealed on the bottom. But nobody thought to bring a money box or seal this one, so off we go. As the day goes on, money falls out, the box people realize the problem and use a plastic bag for the money instead. But they still carry the box, because people throw money in the box before the carriers move it to a plastic bag. The box is empty but they carry it all day.
The longest walking leg is through Emua. We walk through it around 12:00 noon, the asphalt road is hot now, and the sun is very strong. The heat isn't so bad here, especially now, the cooler time of year. But the sun is much stronger than in Minnesota. Even on cooler days too much sun can really wear me down. Fortunately I brought an umbrella for either rain or sun, and it helps.
I try introducing myself to some of my fellow marchers. Nobody is interested in talking. Nobody introduces themselves to me, or makes an attempt to introduce me to others in the group. This is a first for me in Vanuatu, where people are usually friendly and happy to chat about most anything. The exception is the bus driver, Daniel. We talk and that's good.
During the day, sometimes we stop and we're not at a village. I start to get out, and am asked why. I think we were outside of some village. But we're stopping for something else, like a fruit stand. Or, someone has to talk to someone, or something else that isn't explained to me. Or we stop but the group is somehow silently debating whether we stopped at the right place. I'm not in on any of this because the others go back and forth using local language and Bislama. It is hard enough understanding Bislama in a moving vehicle when multiple people are talking quickly, but I don't know the local language at all.
Being in the dark all the time about what is going on gets old. Jokes at your expense, however small and harmless they are intended, because you make mistakes because nobody tells you what is going on, gets old too. This happens throughout the day.
At each stop though, the group is less excited about jumping out. People are tired. Terry, Paul, Dan and I have been going since 2am, and we haven't had breakfast or lunch yet. The bus driver has been going for the longest. He hasn't done any walking, but driving is tiring too. There was some gato (a fried dough) at the start, and we have water but that's it. Some people don't get out of the bus and ride through a village or two. Not most, but a few.
We make it to Siviri for lunch. Somebody important says something of substance, then we get to eat. The villagers have food for us, including yam, banana, chicken wings, island cabbage, sandwiches and rice. They also have cake and ice creak for dessert. It is a really nice spread. They welcome us to the tables to load up our plates and eat. They have chairs set out for us too.
I eat a little, look up and don't see anyone at all from my group. I don't know where they went. I finish eating and look for them. They are all grouped together to eat under the shade somewhere else. Nobody told me. Thanks guys.
After lunch, we are operating at about 50% energy. But we make it through a few more villages and wrap up in a village called Mangaliliu. Some important people say some things of substance, we pray, and have refreshments. Mangaliliu has grapefruit, oranges, cookies, juice and tea ready for us. Like Siviri, they put together a nice spread. After some eating and smalltalk we leave at about 5:30pm.
Terry, Paul, Daniel and I get into Paul's boat to head back to the island. Two other people show up and they get in the boat too. About halfway across the channel, the engine stops. I assume we are out of gas. I ask Terry what the problem is, and he says we're out of gas. He jokingly suggests to me that they tie a rope around me, and I jump in the water and swim, towing the boat.
Running out of gas in the middle of the channel is the norm here. I've written about this before, but it is basically because people don't leave a lot of gas in their tanks because it gets stolen. People carry enough gas with them to then refill the tank half way across the channel, and continue. Paul forgot to bring extra gas. That isn't a big deal to me. I know I would forget sometimes too, and this is not the first out of gas situation I've been on here.
There is a lot of talking, all in language. But some English words are used and I can tell they're talking about different engine sizes, in horsepower. They're talking about how much different models and sizes of engines cost, and 2-stroke vs. 4-stroke engines. This goes on. They're not talking about calling someone to bring us gas. To me, that is pretty much the only thing you need to be talking about when you're in a boat, out of gas. Why are they not doing that? But I stopped trying to figure out why long ago.
I ask if we have called anyone yet. I am told no. I suggest people we could call, but Terry says call Manu, his son. So I call Manu. Terry talls Manu to bring gas. After another 15 minutes or so, Manu comes with gas, we're rescued, and go back to Moso. We arrive at about 7:30pm. A 15 hour day.
I'm happy to participate in walkathons, and happy to be here, but the day was tiring. Not because of the walking. We didn't do that much walking, really. The group of people I was with all day weren't very welcoming. Maybe it is because they all know each other, and when that happens people forget to introduce the new guy. But still.
No, it was that all day, from the very beginning to the very end, things just didn't make sense to me, were frustrating, or I was in the dark and occasionally joked about. I don't have a lot of days like this here. If I did, I might have second thoughts about my service. I wanted to write all this down to clarify to myself why I was so tense and unhappy at the end of the day. At first I couldn't figure it out, because there was no one thing during the day that stood out, and there were a lot of positives. But a lot of little things add up too.
During training, we are asked how we will cope with stressful situations, and given some examples and suggestions of healthy coping mechanisms. As a coping mechanism for this day, I had a beer when I got home. Then I went to bed. The next day, I wrote this. Beer isn't listed as healthy coping mechanism, but I do believe a beer or two is not a bad idea. Writing this helped too.
- The walkathon was supposed to start at 3:00am?
- The walkathon starts at 3:00am and ends at 4:00pm. A 13-hour walkathon?
- Wheelbarrows?
- Eton to Siviri is at least 30km. What?!
- It is already 6:00am. This schedule is completely blown.
As it turns out in this walkathon, the buses stay with the group. The group exits the buses just before a village, marches through the village with banner, bullhorns and pleas for cash. After the village, the group boards the buses, where it is taken to the next village. Repeat. So no 50km of walking. Good.
After some milling about and photos, we start, bullhorns and all. There are about two dozen of us. Two bullhorns may be one too many for a group of two dozen. They're talking over each other, and someone else is playing music. Actually there is a third bullhorn, and that person is playing with the siren and space noises it makes. There is a lot of noise.
Here is a video of what we looked like.
Still, somehow the message gets through and people come out to give us money; this is all new to me, but not them. Collected money is held in a cardboard box carried by two people. The box is a water bottle box, and isn't sealed on the bottom. But nobody thought to bring a money box or seal this one, so off we go. As the day goes on, money falls out, the box people realize the problem and use a plastic bag for the money instead. But they still carry the box, because people throw money in the box before the carriers move it to a plastic bag. The box is empty but they carry it all day.
The longest walking leg is through Emua. We walk through it around 12:00 noon, the asphalt road is hot now, and the sun is very strong. The heat isn't so bad here, especially now, the cooler time of year. But the sun is much stronger than in Minnesota. Even on cooler days too much sun can really wear me down. Fortunately I brought an umbrella for either rain or sun, and it helps.
I try introducing myself to some of my fellow marchers. Nobody is interested in talking. Nobody introduces themselves to me, or makes an attempt to introduce me to others in the group. This is a first for me in Vanuatu, where people are usually friendly and happy to chat about most anything. The exception is the bus driver, Daniel. We talk and that's good.
During the day, sometimes we stop and we're not at a village. I start to get out, and am asked why. I think we were outside of some village. But we're stopping for something else, like a fruit stand. Or, someone has to talk to someone, or something else that isn't explained to me. Or we stop but the group is somehow silently debating whether we stopped at the right place. I'm not in on any of this because the others go back and forth using local language and Bislama. It is hard enough understanding Bislama in a moving vehicle when multiple people are talking quickly, but I don't know the local language at all.
Being in the dark all the time about what is going on gets old. Jokes at your expense, however small and harmless they are intended, because you make mistakes because nobody tells you what is going on, gets old too. This happens throughout the day.
At each stop though, the group is less excited about jumping out. People are tired. Terry, Paul, Dan and I have been going since 2am, and we haven't had breakfast or lunch yet. The bus driver has been going for the longest. He hasn't done any walking, but driving is tiring too. There was some gato (a fried dough) at the start, and we have water but that's it. Some people don't get out of the bus and ride through a village or two. Not most, but a few.
We make it to Siviri for lunch. Somebody important says something of substance, then we get to eat. The villagers have food for us, including yam, banana, chicken wings, island cabbage, sandwiches and rice. They also have cake and ice creak for dessert. It is a really nice spread. They welcome us to the tables to load up our plates and eat. They have chairs set out for us too.
I eat a little, look up and don't see anyone at all from my group. I don't know where they went. I finish eating and look for them. They are all grouped together to eat under the shade somewhere else. Nobody told me. Thanks guys.
After lunch, we are operating at about 50% energy. But we make it through a few more villages and wrap up in a village called Mangaliliu. Some important people say some things of substance, we pray, and have refreshments. Mangaliliu has grapefruit, oranges, cookies, juice and tea ready for us. Like Siviri, they put together a nice spread. After some eating and smalltalk we leave at about 5:30pm.
Terry, Paul, Daniel and I get into Paul's boat to head back to the island. Two other people show up and they get in the boat too. About halfway across the channel, the engine stops. I assume we are out of gas. I ask Terry what the problem is, and he says we're out of gas. He jokingly suggests to me that they tie a rope around me, and I jump in the water and swim, towing the boat.
Running out of gas in the middle of the channel is the norm here. I've written about this before, but it is basically because people don't leave a lot of gas in their tanks because it gets stolen. People carry enough gas with them to then refill the tank half way across the channel, and continue. Paul forgot to bring extra gas. That isn't a big deal to me. I know I would forget sometimes too, and this is not the first out of gas situation I've been on here.
There is a lot of talking, all in language. But some English words are used and I can tell they're talking about different engine sizes, in horsepower. They're talking about how much different models and sizes of engines cost, and 2-stroke vs. 4-stroke engines. This goes on. They're not talking about calling someone to bring us gas. To me, that is pretty much the only thing you need to be talking about when you're in a boat, out of gas. Why are they not doing that? But I stopped trying to figure out why long ago.
I ask if we have called anyone yet. I am told no. I suggest people we could call, but Terry says call Manu, his son. So I call Manu. Terry talls Manu to bring gas. After another 15 minutes or so, Manu comes with gas, we're rescued, and go back to Moso. We arrive at about 7:30pm. A 15 hour day.
I'm happy to participate in walkathons, and happy to be here, but the day was tiring. Not because of the walking. We didn't do that much walking, really. The group of people I was with all day weren't very welcoming. Maybe it is because they all know each other, and when that happens people forget to introduce the new guy. But still.
No, it was that all day, from the very beginning to the very end, things just didn't make sense to me, were frustrating, or I was in the dark and occasionally joked about. I don't have a lot of days like this here. If I did, I might have second thoughts about my service. I wanted to write all this down to clarify to myself why I was so tense and unhappy at the end of the day. At first I couldn't figure it out, because there was no one thing during the day that stood out, and there were a lot of positives. But a lot of little things add up too.
During training, we are asked how we will cope with stressful situations, and given some examples and suggestions of healthy coping mechanisms. As a coping mechanism for this day, I had a beer when I got home. Then I went to bed. The next day, I wrote this. Beer isn't listed as healthy coping mechanism, but I do believe a beer or two is not a bad idea. Writing this helped too.
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