Afterglow

If I could have only one enduring memory of our time on Tanna, it would have to be the sunsets. They were spectacular, and we saw one almost every day. Some days were better than others of course. Many were seen from our backyard, gin and tonic in hand. Others were seen from mountain tops, from my paddleboard while gliding over the water,  or from the truck while driving over dusty back roads. Some we took in from the hospital porch while enjoying a storian with the staff, others from sedate kava bars, and even some from the ocean’s surface as we bobbed and swam in the sea. There is something about seeing the sunset every day that shapes your outlook on things. When you get in the habit, they become hard to go without. Sunsets makes you slow down, take time out, mark the winding down of the day, and often reminds you to appreciate the things that you should.

While the actual dipping of the sun below the horizon gets most of the attention, for me it's often the afterglow that really delivers. Especially with just the right amount of cloud in the sky to reflect all the soft reds and yellows, and the sublime blues filling in the rest, conjured up by the sunlight as it refracts around the curvature of the earth. Look away from it for a minute and you can have a whole new palette by the time you turn back again.

Many people get introspective and talkative while watching sunsets I find, but in my view they are best appreciated without too much thinking or chatting. It's a good time to let your mind be still and just attend to what you are seeing. As our time wound down here though, not thinking at these moments got harder to do. It seemed there was so much to think about, so much to digest. So many things seen, people met, moments shared. The overwhelming majority of these were great, and even the lows were the kind that we knew were part and parcel of what we had signed up for, and so were forgiven.  This experience had demanded a lot, and in many ways I had come to view it as a pinnacle for me on many fronts, at least for now. It had been a long time coming. The seeds had been germinating since medical school but the track of regular life often does not encourage one to roam outside the lines. The year 1995 seems a long time ago now. Still, it’s better late than never.

 Nineteen ninety-five was the year I graduated from medical school. In that year the movie “Pulp Fiction” had burst onto the scene. I, like many of my cohorts, were completely enamoured with its mix of noir cool, arresting violence and above all, spellbinding dialogue. Friends could recite long passages of quotes verbatim. Its soundtrack filled our gatherings.

At one point in the film, Jules, a career gangster played by Samuel L. Jackson, narrowly escapes being shot and becomes convinced that God had intervened so that he could now give up his life of crime for a new purpose. When his partner, John Travolta asks him,” So what are you gonna do now?” Jules replies,” I don’t know. I think maybe I’ll just walk the earth, like Kane in Kung Fu. Get in adventures and shit”. In the weeks before I graduated I gave that answer to a lot of people when asked about my future plans. Then, it was just something cool to say from a movie I loved. I’ve wound up travelling a fair bit in the years since then. I had also done some work similar to Vanuatu before going on this trip, but nothing even close to it in terms of scope.  In those last days of my time on Tanna, my thoughts kept drifting back to those waning days of medical school. Walk the earth. Get in adventures and shit. Indeed. 

As it all drew to a close, everything started to seem just that little more intense. Maybe it was just us, trying to hold on to every memory we could. Things that were routine in month three became things to cherish when the countdown began. We tried hard to savour things to the fullest. I became driven to somehow touch and feel as much of the land itself as possible. When swimming I would stand in the shallows and face the swell, hands open in front of me to feel the push of the ocean and the swirl of the crystal clean water flowing around my fingers. When out walking I'd let them hang by my side to feel the foliage brushing up against them. When driving I'd put my hand out the window to feel the force of the wind push it up and down.  And so it went; the heat of the black beach sand between my toes, warmed from a day in the sun, the sharpness of the volcanic rock, the grit of the ubiquitous volcanic ash, even the lushness of the soil itself, all the while resigned to the fact that I couldn't hold on to any of it, any more than you can hold on to that view of the sun in those moments before it disappears below the horizon. It will end, and then it will be over. You'll be left only with the memory of it, and if you are lucky you will have a long glorious afterglow to bask in.  As with any afterglow, perhaps it's best not to think about it too much, just let it linger, for as long as you are lucky enough to have it last.

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Gratitudes

We have so many people to thank that I can’t name them all. The VIVA organization has for 25 years supplied a Victoria physician to the island of Tanna. Our colleagues who comprise this group were essential to this endeavour. It is bittersweet that VIVA recently announced the project is nearing its end. Its work is nearing completion now that a Ni-Van husband and wife physician team has been stationed on the island. Dr. Jeff Unger is currently the Canadian Dokta on Tanna and he will be the last. We overlapped with Dr. Jeff and his family for a week before departing, in order to orient them to their new home. In that time we discovered that our families had a mutual love of the movie, “The Princess Bride". We joked about how the position of Dokta on Tanna was akin to a mantle to be handed over, like The Dread Pirate Roberts in the movie. When we said goodbye to Jeff at the airport I flashed back to a closing line in the film, from The Man in Black to the swordsman Inigo Montoya. "Have you ever considered piracy? You'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts".  I have no doubt that he will.

The staff at Lenakel hospital and so many of the people of Tanna made us feel welcome beyond our expectations. The experience wouldn't have been the same without it. There are so many we will miss. 

We have many extended family and friends who helped us prepare, looked after our home while we were gone and kept in touch by email. Some even visited us in our far off land. Thank you.

I also want to extend a special thanks to those who supported and encouraged me in the writing of this blog. I had never really intended to do anything of the sort. I remember starting to write the very first post and getting half way through a typical email-like recounting of what we had been doing, when I suddenly thought, “Why don't I try to make this just a little more interesting somehow? For once I've got some time on my hands." I just started writing; not knowing what might come out. I don't think I had written creatively since English 101 in 1985. Now, thanks to your encouragement, we have an invaluable addition to our family's memories of Vanuatu.

Finally, I need to thank my family- Anna, who blossomed in so many ways and Sasha who was a force of nature unto herself. All of the things that we hoped would happen for them did in fact happen. They coped with a lot, and they have so much to be proud of. This of course leaves only my amazing wife Andrea, without whom none of this would have even been possible. For her, I can find no words to write that could say enough.

Sean