The Gift of Time

 

I certainly didn't ask for five weeks off work at home in snowy Minnesota. Being told that I couldn't go back to work until I was medically cleared seemed more like a punishment, or failure. For those who read my last blog, I could add this as another cost of living on a remote tropical island. There is no quick way to return to work. The doctors on island wanted nothing to do with the paperwork, saying that their job was to treat people, not decide when and where they work. 

I was once told by a medical professional, that the reason for the increase in mental illness these days is due to the lack of time allowed an individual who is healing, grieving or isolated. We are encouraged to "get back on the horse", "get back out there", and "not to dwell on it."  There is a danger of wallowing too long in our setbacks, and never getting back to living.

I was also frustrated by the workings of an HR of a large company. They requested form after form, medical checkups, doctor's reports and all with the tag line: "You have 5 days to comply or you are fired!"  The stress was too much and I feared I would not be able to meet all the demands, or persuade a doctor to act in a timely manner. My manager misunderstood my cry for help as a resignation, and the next email I received told me of my termination. By the time the misunderstanding was corrected, I was without health insurance.  So what was I to do as the management decided my fate... whether I was worthy of a second chance?  I took some time off.

I baked cookies, and read, and painted. Morning became my favorite time because I received no demanding emails at that time. HR preferred to send their ultimatums in the evening, and the island is 7 hours behind me. I could relax, knowing that any ding on my phone was nothing more than a Google reminder or what happened years ago. I started to relax and accept that I may never get back to work.

 After all, no one died, it wasn't the end of the world.  I was at home, with family, reacquainting myself with housework and decorating, sleeping late having a glass of wine by the open fire.

Then, out of the blue, I received an email telling me that I had been cleared to resume my duties on Kwajalein, starting immediately, or next shift. "Immediately" is pushing it.... I am three days away by plane, and flights are once a week.

So now I have some things to consider: Are there flights available? Can I plan a lesson that will get me back into teaching? Will the students even remember me? Will the staff, that stayed the course and worked hard, see me as a prodigal loser and resent my time away?

But I have learned one thing: Time is a gift. Taking time off, away from normal duties and responsibilities is a rare gift, not to be squandered. I will not spend my next few days fretting, I will take the time I have to appreciate time with family, time by myself, time to reflect and learn. 

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34

The Cost of Living in Paradise

 

I live on the Kwajalein atoll, which is part of the Marshall Islands.  When I was first offered a position here, I had to find it on the map. It is characteristic of many islands in the Pacific with white sand beaches, palm trees, and coral reefs beneath the crystal clear waters.  It is also very remote, with little to no tourism.  I have to do without the luxury of a high-end resort, but usually have the beach all to myself. 

So what is it like living here day in and day out? Well, I am never out of sight of the water, I snorkel with manta rays, and follow dolphins in a boat. Every day the sky is blue, and the palm tree sway in the breeze. 

The beauty of this place is unparalleled.  And naturally it isn't available to everyone. The Marshallese allows the US Army to lease some islands, and only those with military clearance can live here.  So I must be in an enviable and privileged position, or am I failing to mention the costs that come with living in paradise?  

The first cost is the need to punch in everyday to a job that is probably not within ones ideal profession. Many of the jobs here are necessary, but not professional.

The job descriptions are vague. You might end up working in the postoffice or HR. But we put in the hours and enjoy our days off. The pay isn't bad, and we save so much.  However, no one is really padding their resume, or getting necessary experience for the next step up the ladder. If you stay here too long, you find it hard to be competitive in the job market back home. 

Another cost is the remoteness of the island, in the middle of the Pacific ocean with only one flight off a week. It would be near impossible to make an emergency flight to visit my mother in London. Even with 3 weeks off for Christmas holiday, I am finding it difficult to find a flight that will take me back to

Minnesota and family. Being here, I miss weddings, graduations and family get togethers. For those with close family in the US, the cost of being here is high.

The final cost I am aware of this time out, is that of money itself. Part of the lure for those who were finding it hard to make ends meet, is that of a good salary, all expenses paid, and great benefits. The position becomes all about the money you can make, save, and perhaps send home. That makes us less likely to spend out for boat rentals, golf memberships and other activities. If I spend all my hard earned cash on enjoying paradise, it becomes an expensive holiday. There is still plenty I can do for free, like snorkel the reef, meet up with friends at the beach, and play tennis.  But if at some point, I find I am paying too much to live in paradise, I will have to leave.  

On the same vein, if I find I am giving up too much being away from family, then it is time to go home. Or if my lack of upward mobility and freedom within my job becomes too stifling.... it may be time to retire.

Long Live Nostalgia

 

The death of the Queen has prompted the awakening of all that she stood for. For some that is painful memories of imperialism, but for me it is the memory of family and good old fashioned fun. My parents are of the same era as Queen Elizabeth II, and although they spent most of their lives abroad, they never stopped identifying as British.  So, as we now look back on the Queen's life, it is like looking back at my own childhood. 

I remember the Christmases with party hats and games, then pausing to watch the Queen's speech on TV. 

I remember the summers in England and Wales. They were usually walking holidays, where we followed footpaths and took little notice of private lands. My father seemed to relish the solitude, away from the busy tourist sites, where we could explore the wildlife and feel free. We always packed a picnic lunch. There seems to be nothing more British than carrying your lunch with you and sitting in the grass to eat pate and sandwich spread.  And of course, there was the thermos of hot tea. 

I remember summer holidays in England where we ate outside everyday.  We picked our own strawberries for dessert and sat under the apple trees.  Then a game of cricket or football would get underway. These were a family affair, with every one joining in. It was simple fun. 

I remember getting up early to watch Charles and Diana's royal wedding on TV.  Then listening to Princess Anne speak at my college graduation.  The Queen's family was so much a part of our lives.  Although members of that family have threatened to muddy the waters, the Queen has remained a constant and clear example of what it means to live a full life without regrets. 

The Queen was from the same time as my grandmother, who never left the house without a coat and hat. As fashion changed, the Queen continued to dress the same.  I must say, I was swept up in the buzz that surrounded Diana, with her modern fashions and media presence. But the Queen outlasted them all. I was struck by the simple fact that no one person was at both her coronation and her memorial service. 

I find her dedication to her position inspiring. Few of us stay any length of time in one place anymore. We move on looking for a better fit, more money, or more recognition. We adapt to the changes that come with the times. We are quick to change our wardrobes as well as our families. We cannot be like the Queen who committed her life to a way of life that she believed to be dignified and humane. 

So with the death of our beloved Queen goes the end of an era. My childhood is now part of history. We are no longer a nation that reaches out across the world to bring about change, while quietly preserving our own home as a memorial for the good old days. Now the world has come to us, it lives, breathes and brings about change within our borders... inside our homes. 

The Queen did her best, but her passing is just another reminder that the world is no longer the same as that of our childhoods. 

COVID Comes to the Marshalls

 

In March 2020, the Republic of the Marshall Islands closed its borders to the outside world. The only exception was for US Army personnel and contractors flying into the garrison on Kwajalein atoll. Military flights there were once a week, with the expectation that travelers would complete a long quarantine prior to travel in Honolulu, and an even longer one on island.  All cruise ships and sailing vessels were suspended until further notice. As a result, the RMI stayed COVID free for over two years. 

This island nation, part of Micronesia, is spread out over 29 atolls and consists of over 1000 small islands. The most populated of these is Majuro, the capital, followed by Ebeye, which serves as a workforce for the US Army Garrison on Kwajalein. 

Part of the attraction of accepting a teaching job on the island was that there was no COVID: no restrictions, no mask wearing, only the initial quarantine period. However, we arrived days before the first cases did. Reportedly, it is still unknown how COVID came to the RMI. United Airlines had recommenced flights to repatriate the Marshallese, and it is possible it came in that way. Our school reported the first two cases on Kwajalein military base among the students who come over daily from the neighboring island of Ebeye. Jon and I had been over to Ebeye days before, on a visit, without wearing mask, and were aware that we could have come into contact with Covid that way.

Like us, the Marshallese are largely vaccinated, and this is making a difference to the number of hospitalizations. The island of Majuro is currently leading the surge of Covid cases, but with few deaths. I am hearing of families, students and teachers testing positive, taking their 5 day sick leave, then returning to the community.  I had 5 students out sick with Covid last week, and had to cover for two teachers who were also positive. I am not sure what the weeks ahead will bring.

The community is starting to impose restrictions. Masks must be worn indoors. Some (although there doesn't seem too much rhyme or reason for which) events and sites are being closed. The dining facility is still open, but bars are closed. Events such as the Labor Day beach bash have been cancelled, but the soccer league and swim meets are still on. It is unlikely that schools will be closed, due to parent opposition. The hospital is advising everyone to do their own testing at home. We can no longer travel to other islands for our own personal recreation, and the dive shop has closed. 

Most of what we do on Kwajalein is outdoors and does not include large groups of people. Personally, I can continue to go to the beach, eat out and order my goodies online. Even when our local bar closed, we were able to hang out ocean side with our own drinks. And coming from Africa, where we found little airborne transmission of the virus, I am expecting the whole think to blow over soon.

However, the Marshall Islands have topped the charts of Covid cases as of yesterday. They went from zero cases to over 1,000 daily cases overnight. Although these are mainly on Majuro, there is no saying whether the same will happen on Ebeye. Obesity and diabetes due to poor diet could cause deaths, and there is not the hospital care to deal with a full epidemic. Although the island I live on is sparsely populated, Ebeye has a population of 40,000 per sq km. If they pull through this, it will be due to their high vaccination rate. Meanwhile we will just have to deal with fewer people turning up to work, facilities open less hours, and other restrictions the rest of the world lived through for 2 years. It is hard to say whether the RMI did the right thing in closing its borders for so long. I do not fault a government for trying to protect its population. I wish them all the best, and may the vaccinations hold the inhabitants of the Marshalls in good stead. 

Finding Nemo

 

It is easy to become ungrounded, especially when living on a speck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Here one is so remote from the rest of the world; people come and go; policies change and new rules come into effect; one forgets why we came to be stranded out here in the Marshall Islands. The activity that grounds me, when living here in the past, is snorkeling. It is free, just a bike ride away, and can be done anytime of the day. I usually go alone, when the sun is out, but have had great snorkels in the rain as well. I escape from the world into a beautiful underwater paradise, full of colorful fish, corals and exciting rare sightings. I never kept a record, and am sorry to say I didn't even take the time to learn the names of what I saw. I did have one focus... to find something new, or unusual each time. At first it was about reporting back to my sons, who would ask, "See anything good today?" But my curiosity kept me going back for more. There are all kinds of parrot fish, and varieties of trigger fish. Then I would discover octopus dens and clown fish in their anemones, and felt I needed to check up on them regularly like one would a pet. After leaving Kwajalein, for years I could close my eyes and travel again over the reef to the drop off, visiting well known coral heads, and seeing turtles and rays swim beneath me. This is more than my happy place, it is my sense of being grounded, returning me my sense of wonder.

So why did I feel a sense of panic as I swam away from the beach this morning? My fins are in my packout, leaving me slow in the water with just a mask and snorkel.  My last snorkel, off another island in the atoll, brought me up close and personal with sharks. Instead of lying low, one grey reef shark swam right below me, checking me out. As I hurried to get back to the boat, another two white tips came along side me, probably just curious, but certainly giving me a sense of being hunted. The sharks circled the boat for sometime, watching us as we watched them. But then I had fins, and wasn't alone.  This morning I almost turned back to shore because I wasn't willing to take any more risks.

But I didn't... I kept to the shallows and marveled at the colors and shapes of the corals. Three years ago, raging storms caused coral bleaching and breakage. The reef is only now starting to show signs of making a comeback.  I especially miss all the sea anemones waving their tentacles to hide the clown fish inside. The storms must have killed these off as well.  A friendly turtle let me come near and I started to get my confidence back. There was nothing here that would hurt me! I was back to investigating the reef and patiently floating to see what might swim by.  And I did find my clown fish, staying within the safety of a good size anemone! As I watched, the babies darted out, and back in again. One day they will have the courage to go out on their own and find another anemone... might even have to go far.

Welcome Back?...Maybe Later

Jon and I are returning to teach on Kwajalein, where we lived with our boys from 2006 to 2014.  And someone asked me "What does it feel like to be back?" And I responded: "Difficult to say, since it is so strange going into quarantine right away without yet having contact with people or the island. It's not like carrying on when we left off...."

We haven't yet had a chance to get outside and see, but I am imagining not much has changed in 8 years. This is a tiny island in the world's largest atoll. The whole island is a military base, home to mainly civilian contractors and radars. This is like no other base, due to its size and remoteness. There are no cars and most items have to be ordered and come through the mail.  It is a slower lifestyle, for sure, with less distractions. But I fear our experience here this time will be different, because we are different. 

Many will say you can never go back... But for Jon and I it didn't seem like we were turning back. We had both applied for new jobs, mine was one I have been working towards for the last three years, and it was definitely a better package allowing for bigger savings. Someone called it our 'last hurrah' before retirement. Our sons are excited for us, and are hoping to visit before long, remembering all the unique activities they took part in growing up on the island. 

I understand nothing is as good as we remember it! Already I have lost the dream job I was coming here for; the new contractor decided only to hire us on separate contracts, which means we don't get housing; COVID regulations are forcing us to quarantine 10 days in a moldy old house with no comforts; and we found out our things won't be shipped out to us any time soon. 

So I take a deep breath and remember the first week on island in 2006.  Our family of five were met at the airport by couple of teachers. They loaded us up into a golf cart and showed us around the island. Our three bedroom house had been prepared for us with food in the refrigerator and a welcome kit of kitchen and household items. It turned out we didn't need them, as our shipment had arrived before us. We had lunch at the snack bar, and dinner of freshly caught fish on the beach. The boys were off making friends from day one. The same teachers took us out by boat for a day trip to Bigej, a neighboring uninhabited island. We snorkeled in the crystal clear waters and collected shells along the beach. Dolphins accompanied us back as far as the marina, where we found nurse sharks and turtles waiting.  What a welcome! 

I believe I can work my way back to the place I was in during our first stay, but it will take time. Waiting to get out of quarantine.... waiting for our shipment... waiting to find out how things work around here now.. all will take patience.  Already, I received legal delivery of a bottle of wine and muffins from a friend, and a not so legal gift of a corkscrew.  And there will come a time when I have a better pillow, and am not dependent on others to buy me coffee. I will be able to make my own welcome, and maybe survive to welcome others in their turn.

Photos from our first tour

 

Goodbyes

 

It is that time again. The end of a year, packing up, moving on and.... saying goodbye. But what irks me the most is the staged farewell ceremonies where those who are leaving are put up for public assessment. I thought I had dodged that this year by proactively asking to be left out of the speeches and formal staff goodbyes.  I am not under any delusion that I am loved here, or will be missed.  In Abuja only 18 short months, most of it during COVID restrictions, and traveling home when possible... I certainly haven't settled here or had time to contribute much to my school community.  I barely know the names of the staff.  So I was hoping to slip off quietly.

But our last ES staff meeting was in my library, and it was announced that those staff who were leaving would be honored.  There was a slide show and gifts given out but I wasn't included. To my utmost embarrassment,  I thought I heard my name being called and walked on up to the front, only to be met with an awkward silence from our Principal. I cringe when I recall my asking, "Do I get anything?" to which she replied, "no." All I could do was sit back down and take the shame.  I hadn't been forgotten, I had been deliberately left out.  The message was clear and loud, "YOU ARE NOT PART OF US, WE ONLY HONOR OUR OWN."

This school is used to expat staff coming and going again. We come for the experience, for the money, then move on. The local staff don't try too hard to be friendly... until you have been in Nigeria for 4 or 5 years. They expect you to move on, and be replaced. So I really shouldn't be surprised. And it is my fault for moving on so often. If I stayed in one school, I would never go through these kind of assessments. 

One the other side, I think I was bothered so much because I have been attended staff goodbye parties before, and the moving farewells stayed with me and made me who I am today.

I am talking of farewells that feel like the beginning of a friendship. When the act of saying goodbye cements the idea of how valuable the people or place has been to you, and suggests that the memories will last forever and we will stay in touch. I still stay in touch with people I worked with 20 or 30 years ago! They were the best part of my experience in that job, and the reason I remember it fondly. There have been quite a few tearful speeches made, by me and by those I am leaving.  I still cherish the departing gifts given me by students and teachers. They were an important part of my life, and me of theirs. 

So what went wrong this time?

I made less of an effort, missing my family and wishing I was home. The food disagreed with me and I was sick with COVID for two long months without any one to care.  The job of a librarian is rarely appreciated these days. More than one person on staff wanted my job and were glad to see me go. Small minded administrators don't understand how to share space, staff and collaborate. Half the expat staff leave each year because they want a better quality of life. The other half are just trying to feed their families.  I rarely got outside the school compound and experienced nothing of Nigeria. 

But then there were the students...

...appreciative of anything I introduced to the library, from puzzles,  to chess sets, to robots. 

...whose names I knew and who new my name, greeted me in the hall and loved to chat.

.... who loved my stories and came back again and again for more book recommendations.

... who thanked me for my help and apologized for bad behavior in the library.

....who helped me plant and tend a beautiful garden with flowers and butterflies and compost.

.... who loved the library so much they arranged playdates there after school, and begged their parents to let them stay longer. 

As educators, this is why we teach... our students appreciate us. It doesn't matter if no one else does!