A Queen Sacrifice

The queen is the most powerful piece in a chess player’s arsenal. The queen is unique in that it can move in any direction. It offers a great deal of protection and security and generally makes solving your opponent more straightforward. Players covet the piece and try to avoid losing it at all cost. Having ones queen taken by an opponent usually puts them in both a tactical and perhaps more importantly, psychological disadvantage.

A queen sacrifice is the term for a play in which the player purposely gives up his queen, expecting to win in return either multiple pieces from his opponent or a winning position. There is however, one celebrated instance in chess history where a chess master intentionally sacrificed his queen for neither of the usual rewards. He had always been renowned for his great creativity and resourcefulness, but on that day, playing one of the most important matches of his life, he could summon little of either. Then, for reasons no one at the time could fathom, he sacrificed his queen. He had realized what his game was lacking, and knew there was only one way to get it. It wasn't to be found in security. He had to be backed into a corner, he had to be pressured, pressured to create a solution when the most conventional means to do so were no longer an option and it worked. He won.


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"What kind of stuff do you see?”. Prior to our departure from Victoria, it was a question that I asked many of my physician colleagues in the ViVa organization, all of whom had worked in Vanuatu before. Common responses included pneumonia, abscesses, tuberculosis, malnutrition, dysentery, burns and meningitis, not to mention all the obstetrical problems that arise. After listing most of the usual suspects they would usually pause and then try to somehow come up with a name for the other stuff. They were thinking of all the things you would never see in the west, wildly advanced cases of cancer or other diseases, weird manifestations of known illnesses, and stuff you just plain couldn't make up.  You couldn’t because even though as a physician you might know the physiology of the problem, you could never have foreseen the effect that the swirl of forces on this island would bring.

 

Our hospital is about 100 m from our house, both of which sit on the top of a hill. On the way there’s a beautiful view of a lush valley nearby. “Time to put on the old suit and tie”, I often mumble as I don my Hawaiian shirt, surf shorts and flip flops to make the trek to work. The hospital itself is a square, one level complex with a central courtyard. It is undeniably a bit run down, and generally speaking, very far from the brightness and cleanliness we are used to in the first world.  This can be a little arresting when you first get here but fades with time as it quickly becomes apparent that you are not in Kansas anymore.   I think that many westerners that come to Vanuatu and similar places often carry a bit of white man’s guilt when they see the discrepancy between these living conditions and their own. Eventually you just get over it. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to be conciliatory or try to act like a Ni-Vanuatu. Respect their culture and their country but be yourself.

 

Usually there are lots of locals milling about the courtyard. They are mostly the family and friends of patients. Almost nobody arrives for treatment at Lenakel hospital without a large entourage. There are no designated visiting hours, partly because we rely on the families to do a lot of the care for their sick relative, and I think partly because no one would accept anything that restricted family contact any way. Sometimes it’s been the middle of the night when I’ve been called in, and when I arrive the whole hospital and courtyard were abuzz, filled with people, cell phone lights waving. It’s like I walked in on a rave. Then, the whole place turns to look at me and it’s time to be the dokta.

 

There are about forty beds in the hospital divided among 2 adult wards, a children’s ward and a well-used maternity ward. There are about 4-6 deliveries per day on average here, the vast majority done by our extremely capable and experienced midwives. We even have a small operating room and a labour and delivery room.

 

By now I know all the nurses so when I arrive on the ward to do rounds there’s always some good chit chat that happens first. In fact not much gets done around here without a chit chat and a laugh to go along with it. It would just seem rude to do otherwise.  People on Tanna take a lot of pride in this attitude and I think for them it comes down to this: given the choice, why would you do it any other way?

 

 

The Life Wisdom Of Gene Hackman

 So what’s it like practicing medicine here? Well at first there is a hell of a lot to get used to. There’s a lot of stuff we never see in Canada, the resources are a lot less, and the culture can throw a lot of wacky roadblocks in your way. Then, I had my Gene Hackman moment. The film Hoosiers tells the true story of a small town Indiana high school basketball team that comes out of nowhere to win the national championship. It’s a story we’ve all seen a hundred times but something about this film worked. There’s a great scene where the team arrives early at the stadium for the first time in the tournament. The stadium is huge, the stands are enormous, the roof is cavernous, and everything is so different from their tiny gym at home. The players are feeling completely out of sorts. Hackman, their coach, orders one of his players to use a tape measure to take the height of the basket, then the measurements of the foul line and the key. Not surprisingly, they are exactly the same as at home. The message was clear. The surroundings might be different, but the game’s the same. Similarly, the bodies of my patients here in Vanuatu worked just like the ones at home. Their lungs were in the same place. Their hearts worked the same. I could examine them exactly as I always had. They got the same kinds of aches and pains, colds and flus. They responded just as well to a kind word or a joke to make them laugh. They had all the fears, anxieties and personal strife as people do at home. It might sound silly, but after spending over a year preparing for how different Vanuatu was going to be, this realization actually surprised me for a second. The game was the same. It was just everything around it that was different. And boy can it be ever be different.

 

How do you convince someone to take precautions against giving their infection to others when they don’t believe in germ theory? How do you convince a parent to leave their child in hospital to treat their meningitis when they believe it’s caused by spirits. How do you go about persuading someone that the brutally aggressive kastom (traditional) massage they got didn’t help them, and in fact was responsible for the ruptured bowel that almost killed them? Similarly, the traditional practice of kastom cuts to the skin around a problem area do not let anything bad get out, but when covered by a dirty medicinal leaf, are a great way to get an infection.

 

How do you get a husband to stop hitting his wife and children when many males have traditionally seen this as part of their role as a husband and father? How can I assess a potential psychiatric patient that tells me they are a victim of spirits and curses, and that they feel insects crawling all over them when in fact many of the island’s populace believe in similar supernatural phenomenon and I pick ants off myself most of the time when I’m in our kitchen. The list goes on. I don’t mean to sound dismissive of these things. They are simply some of the realities here. In fact, frequently brushing up against beliefs in magic and spirits has given me a new insight into what life is like when it’s so influenced by such things. It’s really not as big a mental leap as you might think, and there certainly are some great things about it. It can be pretty comforting to believe that the spirits of your ancestors roam the bush outside of your village and can be called on for help. The world literally becomes a magical place.

 

Often it is the simple, mundane things about the job that can be the most confounding. For example, nurses at the hospital, many of whom are quite capable and do very good work, might not call you though when a patient is critically ill because they must use their own cell phone to do so, and no one wants to use up their credits. In general, nursing competence here can vary widely. Some are great and some can be exasperating and bewildering in what they do.

 

Most people don’t seem to know their age, or really care for that matter. This somewhat indifferent attitude towards the passage of time can also make it vexingly difficult take a history from a patient, or determine when a problem actually began. Bislama, the main language here, is a kind of pidgin English that initially developed to allow communication with the English colonials. It doesn’t have an extensive vocabulary, just over 2000 words. While this makes it easier to learn, it doesn’t allow for a lot of subtlety when describing something. Consequently, a patient will generally describe a pain or a problem as either, ”bigwan (literally big one)”, or ,”smol (small)” and nothing in between. You just have to roll with it, and above all, phrase every question for a yes or no response.

 

The keeping of records in the country, medical or otherwise, is generally quite poor, if they exist at all. A person could have their name spelled differently at different times. Sometimes the father’s first name is used as the patient’s last name and sometimes not. This can make tracking charts and records a nightmare.

 

Patient privacy is practically nonexistent. You might try to close the drapes around a patient’s bed to shut out the twenty other people and family members in the room only to realize that a dozen others are peering in through the windows, which of course, have no blinds.

 

People here have a very different attitude towards illness and death. I guess when you see it up close a lot you accept it more as a normal part of life.  They are however; by and large tremendously appreciative of whatever we do for them, even if sometimes it’s really very little. A walk through the town usually draws at least a couple of shouts of, “Hello Dokta!” followed by warm handshakes from folks, often ones I haven’t even met before.

 

 

Beds of Nails

What do we have to work with to treat these patients? Obviously, a heck of a lot less than we do at home. There is vastly less equipment, available tests, medicines and just fewer options in general. There’s no physiotherapy, no rehab, no social work, no mental health medicines or programs. There is even less at the remote medical outposts that we pack up and drive to on a weekly basis. In a way though, it’s cool to have to rely so much on your clinical examination skills and judgement. The common algorithm is that you formulate a list of potential diagnoses, and then you cross off all the things you can’t test for, and then cross off all the things you can’t treat for and see what’s left over. If there’s more than one, then treat for all of them and hope for the best. Here, expectations of what can be done are very realistic. No one expects you to know everything and be right all the time. Generally, even if you don’t get it right people are better off than if you weren’t here at all. The surprising thing was how liberating this situation can be. It was like taking off that wetsuit that is a touch too small and then realizing you weren’t breathing in fully all day, or that little hitch you never knew had crept into your baseball swing, only feeling its absence when you were no longer afraid of striking out.

 

Often something like abdominal pain, or shortness of breath, symptoms that make a doctor consider numerous possibilities at home, get treated repeatedly as one of a short list of things that we can actually do something about. It always reminds me of an old saying: when all you have is a hammer everything starts looking like a nail. Some days I feel like that’s all I have on the wards, beds and beds of nails.

 

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 The ViVa project has been going on for over 20 years, supplying the sole physician for Tanna island. When Andrea and I signed on we were expecting the same scenario but two months before our arrival, a husband and wife physician couple were suddenly posted here by the Ministry of Health. He is an ophthalmologist (eye doctor) and she an obstetrician. He was actually born on Tanna and they plan to live and work here permanently. This has significantly changed the experience for us. We had been expecting to have to handle surgical and obstetrical cases to some degree but now they would deal with the bulk of these patients. It’s nice, and they are great to work with, but a small part of me regrets not being as self- reliant as we had envisioned. Of course that’s only in the quiet times. When the shit is hitting the fan then I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ve got a surgeon nearby, even if he has done only eyes for the last eight years. Still, they do leave the island for days or weeks at a time and Andrea and I are left on our own. She handles most of the obstetrical calls and she’s good at it. It’s been great seeing her reclaim these skills. I’ll then handle most of the procedural and trauma related things. I’ll admit I do love getting a chance to say, “Prep the O.R. I’ll take him to the theatre.”

 

Honestly, I can’t say I like that kind of pressure, but ultimately it is one of the main reasons that I came here. I knew what that pressure would do. It would demand some things that I haven’t had to produce working at home. There’s so much support there that it’s hard for that to happen. It always makes me think of that famous chess match. I would have to give up that support, give up my best tools, just as he sacrificed his queen, in order to see if those things really are there to be given. I’d like to think they are, even if ultimately I don’t want to have to use them every day of the week.

 

With two months left to go here it’s still too early to claim success yet, but the endgame is looking good. My pieces are well positioned, the chess board is a lot clearer, and when the game is over I hope to be looking back without regret, at my queen sacrifice.

 

 

Sean

When We Were Kings

The Rumble in the Jungle. 

If you are or were a boxing fan, and of my vintage, the phrase evokes deep reverence. It is regarded by many as being arguably the greatest sporting event of the 20th century. In October of 1974, George Foreman, the reigning heavyweight champion of the world faced Muhammad Ali in the jungles of Zaire. Ali had returmed to boxing after a 3 year ban for refusing to enter the draft for the Vietnam war, but had been consigned to fighting unworthy contenders after he lost his title bout with Joe Frazier in one of the most memorable bouts in the history of the sport. At 32 years old, his chances of regaining his crown seemed bleak.

Since I was a child, I have always loved Muhammad Ali. It always seemed a bit strange to me in a way because I usually idolized the strong, self-effacing, quietly dependable type when it came to sports. Ali was many things, but he was rarely quiet. He talked incesantly, and time and time again proclaimed himself, "The greatest of all time". I can't explain why, but I loved the guy.

George Foreman was 24 years of age and one of the most physically intimidating specimens to ever enter the game. His size, strength and sheer physical dominance was unlike anything seen before. After winning a gold medal at the 1968 Olympics he soon gained the heavyweight championship by demolishing the only two men to have ever beaten Ali, Joe Frazier and Ken Norton. Many in Ali's own camp secretly worried that he would actually be killed if he fought Foreman.

The two men agreed to fight if a five million dollar purse was guaranteed. The president of Zaire was eager for the international publicity the event would bring and agreed to put up most of the money. For those of a younger vintage it may be hard to conceive of a time before MMA when boxing.... mattered. A heavyweight title bout commanded the attention of the entire world and this one, above all, had the world on the edge of its seat. The story is told in the Oscar winning 1996 documentary, "When We Were Kings", one of my most beloved films of all time. 

During the months he spent in Zaire training before the fight Ali was a master at public relations, even more so than usual. Some close to him have suggested that he did it just as much to calm his own fears as anything else. Whatever the reason, the country of Zaire loved him.  Wherever he went people chanted the iconic phrase. " Ali boma ye, Ali boma ye!" which translates to "Ali, kill him!"

My favourite footage in the docummentary shows Ali, just days before the fight, out for a training run on a dusty Zaire backroad. The sun is setting. He sets a relaxed pace in his grey sweats, and as he runs men and boys start to run alongside him, joy and excitement bursting from their faces. "Ali boma ye, Ali boma ye!" 

His charisma carries them along behind him like a jetstream. Then he stops and does what he did best. He floats. He shadow boxes and he trash talks. For me, it's pure magic.

Today I was not feeling magical. I had been called to the hospital a few times during the night and was tired. Still I'd been feeling a little guilty lately for not getting much exercise. Things have been very busy on the wards and it has taken its toll. Since being on Tanna I have managed to occassionally get some cardiovascular exercise, despite the heat. Most often it's near the end of the day in the small window between when it starts to cool down and when the mosquitoes come out. Our house sits near the hospital on top of the highest hill in town and I will sometimes do sprints up the hill. I find it works well. Because of the high intensity I don't have to do it for very long so by the time I'm overheated I'm already finished. Today I didn't plan on running the hill very hard and was just proud of myself for even gettting out the door.

It's rare to see runners here, especially white ones (or in my case, white-ish) so I usually draw a lot of attention. Most people here do so much physical work as a part of their everyday life that the concept of intentional exercise is somewhat foreign. I'll admit to feeling a little sheepish the one time when I was running the hill and a guy, who was probably older than me, stepped out of the bush carrying three large sections of a tree trunk on his jungle hardened shoulder. He gave me a quizzical look and then proceeded to carry them up the hill.

I started off easy, and as I would walk back down the hill for the next run up I noticed I was attracting the attention of a few kids. They were boys around eight to 13 years old and they were staring at me with a mixture of fascination and bemusement. At the very least though,  they were clearly intrigued. After I had walked by them a few more times I used what little Bislama I have to invite them to join in. We lined up and raced. They whooped and laughed out of pure fun and some surprise I imagine as I beat them up the hill. That was it. The game was now ON. 

They got smart though. Half the group would sit out one race while I continued and then jump up to go the next time. My place finishes steadily plummeted from there.  Eventually I told them I had one more left in me because I was, as they say in  Bislama, "half-dead".  I looked up the hill to see one of the previous race's contestants splayed out like a star fish at the top of the hill gasping for air. They keeled over laughing when I pronounced him, "full-up dead!".

I lost the last race badly, but you never saw a loser with a bigger smile. I high fived a few good-byes and started to slowly jog up the dusty road to the house. It was beautiful out. Near the top of our hill you get a view out over the ocean. The waves were breaking and the sun was setting. I was lost in the view when the boys slowly came up from behind to run with me. They had figured out that I was the doctor and I think they found it quite a hoot that someone in that position would goof around with them. There was definitely a little bit of "star power" going on.

With the kids, the dusty road, the warm glow of the setting sun, I couldn't help but think of the footage from my favourite documentary. I used to box a long time ago and the sport is popular on Tanna so I asked them If they knew how. As we ran along they showed me their best jabs and crosses and I showed them mine. It only lasted for a few precious kilometers, but for those brief, transcendent minutes........we were kings. It was pure magic.

Sean  

Afterword:

Ali won the Rumble in the Jungle with a epic knockout in the eighth round. After goading Foreman to tire himself out with wild punches while Ali conserved energy laying on the ropes, the famous "rope-a-dope" tactic, Ali pounced with a flurry of near poetic combinations that sent Foreman to the canvas. 

Some of the original footage of Ali running in Zaire can be found at : 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-Jom8Ok_DA

Proof That Your Frame of Reference Has Shifted #1

When your eight year old daughter bursts into the house and says,"Dad where's the machete?", and you reply disinterestedly, "By the front door", without a second thought or even looking up from your book.

Sean

CONTACT: Our First Visitors

It is a hard act to follow when my husband speaks of sarongs and Island culture so eloquently.  But my job is quite different.  Today, I am the recorder of events and happenings.

 

Sue, Joe and Sammy

 

We had an amazing visit from our dear friends Sue and Joe and their 7 year old son Sammy.  They arrived April 1 and spent 2 weeks with us.  Although we visited so many different sights, we managed to maintain a fairly relaxed agenda that usually included a walk into the town of Lenakel for a daily ice cream cone (OK…maybe that happened more than once a day but that was a little atypical).  Our first adventure was to Blue hole # 2 which, in my humble opinion, is much better than Blue Hole #1.  Blue Hole #2 is a deep bowl that is encircled by the inner reef.  What makes it really special is the wide variety of reef fish that remain  in the bowl as the tide goes out.  As a result, there is a high concentration of fish in a rather small area and the clarity is much better than on the reef itself.  The highlight was when Anna spotted a green turtle that was resting at the bottom of the pool which you could dive down to see it much closer.  It was great to see and all the kids got the opportunity to see the turtle up close. 

The next day, we hired a boat to take us to the Blue Cave which is located on the Northwest coast.  One might not know the blue cave exists unless someone pointed it out to you because the opening is under the high tide mark.  When the captain anchored the boat and was describing where we should go, we all knotted obediently but we were all thinking “huh?”. It wasn’t until you got very close that you could see a small sliver of an opening as the waves receded. It was really amazing once you dove under the lip of the cave and found yourself in this cave that resembled a cathedral dome.  There was an opening at the top that allowed sunlight to be funnelled into the cave, creating beautiful beams that lit up the back of the cave.  The colour of the ocean inside the cave was vibrant blue due to the sandy bottom.  It was quite something, especially watching all the kids swimming in and out of the cave by diving deep under the cave entrance. 

 

Next was our trip to the volcano.  We left mid-afternoon to ensure we would be at the top prior to sunset.  Watching Sue and Sammy in the back of the truck with the wind blowing in their faces, and Sammy smiling a mile wide was just great.  We were very lucky to view the volcano when it was erupting at level 2.  This indicated the intensity and the frequency of the explosions. The volcano did not disappoint!  Huge rumbling eruptions and lava being propelled into the sky every 1-2 minutes was pretty thrilling.  Sean sealed the deal when he presented each adult with a cold Tusker Beer at the top.  What a thoughtful man!

 

A highlight for all of us came a few days later when we visited the traditional  village of Yakal about 1 hour south of Lenakel.   The local people continue to live the way they used to, prior to external influences.  Tours operate from the resorts bringing tourists to Yakal and  one would contemplate whether the locals put on a  show  for the tourists, but from what I saw, I certainly didn’t get that feeling.  We were not part of a tour,  but rather had the chance to offer medical advice to the people.  We also went there to visit  new friends that have been living with the Yakal people for 4 months.   This Australian  family (Ben, Janita, River and Atlas Dean) have immersed themselves in the culture completely.  They are living in a traditional hut, eating all local food, and spent the first 2 months gathering local stories and experiences.  They then wrote a screenplay and are currently filming the story using local “actors”.  It was quite a privilege to be able to spend the day with them and experience the kindness and generosity of the Yakal people. 

 

Certainly the attire differentiated us and them.  The local men wear the traditional namba. This is the penis sheath that Sammy and my children couldn’t wait to see (OK….maybe the parents too).  Although I could imagine Sean and or Joe giving this a try, I would prefer not to.  It consists of a waistband and a woven grass sheath that resides over the male’s genitalia.  We spent quite a bit of time trying to ascertain whether the sheath also contained the testes.  Despite our best effort, and respecting the boundaries of others, our question remains unanswered.  When I say “our”, I am really referring to Sue’s and mine as it would slightly inappropriate to show such interest in front of both our husbands and our children.

 

Anna has such a wonderful way with the children.  She engages with them so easily and they respond in kind.  She subsequently provides the opportunity for Sasha and Sammy to also get involved.  She is really something to watch as she approaches the kids in a kind and respectful manner,  and reaches out with irresistible warmth. She will have 2 or 3 children hanging off of her within minutes.  She was given a beautiful shell necklace by one of the girls that was really very special for her.

 

 

 A traditional dance was performed for us.  The men and boys danced in circles, stamping the ground with their feet in rhythm.  The women sang on the periphery and were quite amazing to listen to.  There was one  woman in particularly that never closed her mouth as she sang perpetually.  Everyone really looked like they were enjoying themselves.  Once the dance was finished, we all walked down the dirt pathway to the bottom of the ravine.  You could hear the waterfall from several hundred meters away that fell into a small swimming hole.  The kids were the first ones in and we all followed.  The water was so cold but it really didn’t matter.  The kids were all jumping off the cliff walls into this small, and not so deep, pool.  I started reviewing my old lifeguarding emergency  procedures like cervical neck stabilization, but thankfully did not have to apply this.  It was really one of those life moments as we all played in this tropical pool with a cascading waterfall nearby.  It was quite something to share this day with our friends who have travelled all the way from Canada to visit us.

Young dancers of Yakal

 

Although we did other excursions, the time spent just hanging out and experiencing the life on Tanna was equally as fun.  Sue and Joe and Sammy fit right in and embraced the island life.  Joe, in particular, took on the much appreciated role of cook extraordinaire.  He remained highly motivated to create unique dishes that incorporated the local food.  He even took on the courageous job of making cava from scratch.  One blender down and a sore forearm from grinding the root, we had ourselves a homemade cup of kava that tasted a heck of a lot cleaner than usual. 

Sue and I will have long-lasting memories of the cava at the nakamel on the beach.  In case either of us forget, the video footage will serve as a constant reminder of our experience.  Too funny!!!

They left on April 14^th, and as sad as it was to see them go, we all felt a great satisfaction in being able to share our unique Tanna experience.  A huge thank you out to them for coming!!!

 

Andrea

Photo Essay #2

 



Guess which one is Sasha


 

Step into my office


 

 

 

 

 

 

Sasha's favourite place



 

You can never have too many volcano photos


 

The ash cloud after an eruption


 

Our hospital team plays the inter-island football championships


 

 

 

Our favourite local beach. Sunsets are hard to go without once you get in the habit.




 



Lukem you,

Sean



P.S. Sahsa has some great photos of our trip to a coastal sea cave on her blog: Vanuatugr2.blogspot.com

Say Yes to the Dress

Today was a day I never saw coming. While I have envisioned many experiences that I want to share with my children, today’s activity was not one of them. All right, I’ll just come right out and say it. Today Anna and I went skirt shopping and she helped me pick one out…for myself. What can I say? I needed a backup one.

 

Ah, the humble sarong, an item that has become as dear to me, and evokes as much sentiment as one of my trusty pairs of hiking boots. I’ve seen it called by many names here: the sarong, the sulu, the lavalava, the pettigoat, and the pereo.  Anna had given me one for my birthday in March, knowing I had been intrigued by them for weeks. Now I wanted a second one in case something happened to the first while travelling on vacation.

 

It’s an exceedingly simple item, in essence just a big thin light drape. Often they are brightly, even effeminately coloured, with lots of floral prints. Men here commonly wear them wrapped around their waist like we westerners might secure a bath towel, or tied in some manner around each leg, the overall effect being akin to a short pant for a genie. I have not as of yet been able to unravel (or rather ravel) the latter method. My first attempt resulted in my lying restrained and incapacitated on the floor until my family returned home to release me. Men and boys wear them commonly as every day wear or often as swimwear. The local Presbyterian college even uses it as part of their mandatory uniform for boys. When I first encountered a large group of them, all dressed alike in their sarongs and carrying bush knives, I could feel my mind working overtime to process the opposing forces in the image; boys in skirts, religious children brandishing knives, people rushing towards me with weapons but laughing and smiling, what the hell…?

 

The most common mistake for those men new to the sarong is sitting in an, “un-ladylike”, manner and unwittingly making one’s privates, not so private. Hardly second nature for us western fellows; it does require some getting used to, not to mention ample amounts of forgiveness from one’s children. Whether or not there are any nuances of fashion attached to the length of the hemline, I cannot yet say. Around knee length or just past seems to be about right.

 

While it does take a bit for a North American guy to get over the whole “skirt” thing, once you do it’s a revelation. They are terribly light, cool and comfortable to wear in a tropical locale. Always easy to pack along and have available for after a swim, you can also use them to cover your head when too hot or to shield your arms or legs from mosquitoes at dusk. A sarong is probably not strong enough to use as a tow rope if your truck gets stuck in a Tanna ditch, but I’ll bet you it’s been tried. I’ve been so impressed that I’m considering adding the sarong to my list of all-time beloved items. This is a list of things for which I feel an undue admiration due to their simplicity of design, functionality, reliability and versatility. In short, they share the capacity to open up a world of possibilities.  Among others, I count the humble climbing carabineer, the stainless steel surgical clamp, the elegantly forged mountaineer’s ice axe, the classic bandana and the venerable mountaineering boot. It's embarrassing to admit how much I want to add Captain America's shield and the X-Men mutant Wolverine's adamantium claws to this list, but there you go. It’s too soon to say just yet if the sarong will make the final cut. Potential candidates need a little longer track record, but I like its chances, and it just may carry its cousin, the ubiquitous Vanuatu bush knife, into the Hall of Fame with it.

 

Finally, I would be remiss today if I didn’t applaud the adaptability of my eldest daughter Anna as well. It is not every pre-teen girl that would feel comfortable skirt shopping with their father, for their father. Of course I’m sure it helps that we are in a different hemisphere from anyone she might encounter at home. At her request though, I’ll try not to make a habit of it.

 


Sean


 

 

 

"You know me?" Ohh.....You mean tsuNAMi !

Early today a 7.6 magnitude earthquake occurred off the Solomon islands which is near Vanuatu. An urgent tsunami advisory was issued for the island of Efate, Vanuatu where we are currently staying for a few days, in transit to the islands of New Caledonia for 2 weeks vacation. I immediately had the girls change into their bathing suits in order to prepare. You know me, always thinking.

We have just learned that the warning has now been lifted after minimal wave activity. Still, the period of uncertainty was long enough for us to have the experience the feelings of a possible impending natural disaster. So far I can count cyclone, tsunami and volcanic eruptions, as well as dengue fever plague among the possible experiences that I have chosen to expose my children to in order to broaden their horizons. If you let me count the small skin sores that seem to take forever to heal as a "pox", then things are starting to sound very Old Testament. Perhaps we'll have to contend with locusts next.

At any rate, I just wanted to let people back home know that all is well with us, in case they might have heard about the earthquake. We leave for New Caledonia on Monday which is French ruled and very modern, to enjoy some good coffee, pastries and wine for 2 weeks before heading back to Tanna.


Lukem you,

Sean