Flying Coconuts

I spent this past weekend at my host family's house in Kitti (pronounced Kitchi). My host parents are Deacon and Paulina, and they are two of the sweetest, most hospitable people I’ve met on island. Deacon is a big jokester and Paulina is just cute and sweet and wonderful. Whenever I come, Deacon always tells me that I’m here to relax, sleep, and rest. I’m all about relaxing, sleeping, and resting, but I’m also a big fan of adventure. I decided this weekend was going to have more adventure and less relaxing when I was eating breakfast Saturday morning (pancakes, rice, and ramen) and heard that some of the family was going to go up to Deacon’s land to gather coconuts. I asked if I could go with them and was met with an uncertain look from Paulina, but pretty soon I was hopping in the back of a pickup truck next to my host nieces/nephews and a collection of machetes, the wind running through my hair as we drove into the jungle. After driving as far as we could go, the seven of us proceeded to trek through the dense jungle on foot - it took all of my focus to look at the wet, muddy ground below me and not slip. I lost my shoes a few times and got muddy up to my ankles, but made it to Deacon’s land in one piece.

I was instructed to sit down and rest (which I fully expected, I was just happy they let me tag along on the adventure) while the others started cutting down coconuts. I sat myself down on an empty rice bag, sticky with sweat and humidity, and watched the scene unfold. Picture dense jungle, trees and bushes and leaves of every shape, size, and shade of green. Insert 6 people into the picture, ranging from ages 59 to 9, with machetes and other tools, whacking away at the overgrowth and cutting down coconuts like the experts they are. At one point I watched an assembly line of flying coconuts with an incredulous expression, the coconut traveling from one person to the next and finally landing in a pile 10 feet away from me with a great big thud. At one point I thought to myself, “I am in the middle of the jungle, watching an assembly line of flying coconuts. This is wild.”

I learned at this point that coconuts have a large brown outer shell that must be removed to reveal the smaller coconut that you’re picturing in your mind. This was done by my host brother, Roland, a bank worker by day, but a connoisseur of all the traditional Pohnpeian skills on the weekends. He stuck a large stick/pole in the ground, with a pencil-like point at the top, and made de-shelling the coconuts look like a piece of cake. After taking a soda and Pringle break, the coconuts were loaded into empty bags, slung over shoulders, and we were hiking our way back to the car. I, of course, was not given a bag to carry, but was instructed to get myself back in one piece. I managed to complete that task successfully, only slip once on the muddy brown jungle floor. The whole family was so surprised that I wanted to go to Deacon’s land and kept saying how strong (keilail) I was. I didn’t feel strong, just like a silly American wanting desperately to be a normal member of the family. The rest of the weekend was filled with a more adventures (ancient ruins, a feast, seeing sakau pounded for the first time) but I’ll save that for another day.

The weekend taught me the importance of asking – asking to be involved, asking questions about culture and traditions. Everyone in this world wants so desperately to be heard, to share their knowledge and wisdom with people who really want to listen. I’m thankful for the opportunity placed before me, two years of open ears and an open heart to learn as much as I can from my community mates, students, and host family.