Coming to Tonga with the Australian volunteer service has its pluses. More than 1000 Aussies a year head to the Pacific, Asia and southern Africa and the pre departure training held in Melbourne offered an opportunity to meet some of the group deployed to Tonga for the year ahead and narrow my focus to the ethics and strategies that might support my project. Having been transported from South Africa a mere seven days earlier, experiencing the mild culture shock of Melbourne life (affluence, foodie culture, consumerism and a confronting mental health crisis as I used public transport), amidst city air imbued with smoke from the raging Gippsland fires, it was invigorating to spend 3 days with like minded Australians from all walks of life, ages and cultural groups. I chose training dates a few weeks out from departure to enable some sort of adaptation to ‘leaving’ given I had just arrived. As welcome/farewell dinners filled the weeks and drained my bank account, I was left with mixed feelings about Melbourne life, reinforcing my sense that it was still not time for Melbourne to be home.
The Australian volunteer ‘organisation’ seemed to only loosely meet the designation of an ‘organisation’. Waiting up until just days before the ‘in- country’ cut-off date of 17th Feb for my confirmation letter, refunds for pre-departure expenses and to get even a vague idea of when I would fly was somewhat frustrating. The initial flight offered meant a 4 hour sleep (if I was lucky) in an airport hotel. Querying an alternative, their next offer was an overnight flight. I was eventually offered an early morning departure which at least gave me some breathing time at an airport hotel. I had managed to spread a year’s worth of living into two suitcases. When the suggested shopping list arrived a few weeks earlier we did not pay it the heed we should have. In country I realised I have followed its guidance selectively. I will make do or go without, it is only a year.
At about 6 am on the 17th I sat at Auckland airport and saw Minh, the young pharmacist of our group, walking across the departure lounge. I’d seen Satoshi, the 30 something marine biologist earlier but didn’t manage to catch his eye. Julie, social worker from Melbourne staggered in a bit later regaling us of her traumatic departure from Melbourne Sunday evening. A virus, the Corona Virus, was starting to cause a bit of a fuss when travelling. Air New Zealand insisted Julie have medical clearance. Not having travelled to China in recent weeks, she was perplexed. With no doctor at the airport on a Sunday, phone calls to our international medical & emergency service and after much insistence from Julie and her husband, she was eventually ticketed and on her way.
Our Air New Zealand flight filled with Tongans and a few palangis (white people), most of whom I could identify as our group. It was 3 hours later, on the ground in Nuku’alofa we discovered that the bronzed blond woman and a dignified couple on the flight were also Aussie vols. Passing though Fua’amotu International airport immigration as a tourist, chatting with a NZ Tongan who wanted to sell me pre paid electricity, I gathered my suitcases from the chaotic baggage claim and customs ‘hall’ (little more than a tin shed) and was soon swept out to the smiling face of Salote, our in country local contact. Our coordinator, Dave, a laid back American who came to Tonga with the peace corp decades ago and stayed, offered bottle water and observed that the weather was ‘like winter’. Bemused, we piled into the air conditioned van for the half hour 20 km drive to town.
Our lodge, Noa’s (which means Zero), transported me to my back packing days. It was basic. Sort of secure (the windows didn’t fully close). There was a TV. But no antenna, no dvd player, no usb port. Thankfully there was aircon to cool my room before sleep. We were not far from the Royal Place, close to the SeaView Hotel (where we soon discovered a daily happy hour). Noa’s, near the water front promenade, was perfect for a 7 am stroll. In the afternoon we ‘bathed’, not literally but it couldn’t be called a swim as, with the sun arching west, having respectfully donned board shorts, rashie and reef shoes, Julie, Minh, Ange and I would carve a path through coral to patches of sand and lay in the tepid shallow water nattering away. Most evenings involved alcohol. Just one. A single Seaview happy hour cocktail (rocket fuel perhaps inflamed by disorientation) set us off into giggling hysteria. Later, ready to through a protective rock we navigated dogs wandering back to Noa’s where communal chatter over individual meals filled the evening hours. We’d bought supplies from the ‘red roof’ market — Maketi Talamahu — on day one promptly learning that most things are sold in bulk. Big families (and BIG people) here so buying kumera/kumelo/sweet potato, or bananas, or bok choy….most things really, meant you had a supply for weeks! That or a very repetitive diet. We started our barter system early on. Julie had coffee beans and grinder! One cup of coffee — was that equivalent to a papaya, 6 bananas, 10 kumelo?
The first week was one of disorientation. Despite the ‘mild’ weather we were ferried around in air conditioned comfort via obfuscating routes. At week’s end oriented to the few Nuku’alofa landmarks we exclaimed ‘but we could have walked’. By Australian standards everything is close. Minus the weather factor that is. When mid morning on the Saturday we walked to the flea market I understood the ferrying. It was hot. Fucking hot. The humidity, low in that first week, was back with a vengeance.
Week one was more of an introduction than orientation. Daily Tongan language lessons with Poli, Australian High Commission welcome, cultural and women’s issues introductions, meet and great with host organisations, lunches at an array of Nuku’alofas restaurants and cafes, drivers licence, and accommodation.
Accommodation. Day 2. A little over 24 hours in country with the barest of bearings, not yet familiar with our workplaces, the introduction to available rentals began. With various volunteer programs and other businesses ramping up numbers here in Tonga there was a housing shortage. And our accommodation allowance was insufficient (though the living allowance more than comfortable). I had ‘put it out to the universe’ that I wanted to live on my own, I wanted something sunny and bright. We inspected rooms in lodges, some with private bathroom others not, always shared kitchen and living rooms. We inspected granny flats that were dark and dilapidated. With little sense of what our life would be, whether the pull to stay would be strong enough, more than a few of the group pondered ‘can I actually live here?’ It was confronting and depressing. My work place was ‘out of town’, 4 kms from the main Hala Taufa’ahau (Taufa’ahau Road). We inspected a 3 bedroom house nearby. The owners in NZ had invested. It was modern, clean and bright. But most of the group were not contemplating buying cars and, confused as to where we actually were, no one really considered this place as an option. Next we went to Laguna Lodge, a 3 storey complex on the lagoon. A light breeze wafted from the water as we ascended the stairs to the one bedroom open plan appartments. Light filled, modern, clean, and with a water view, less than a km from my work, on a bus route to town, a cheap taxi fair, it was a no brainer. The caretaker Isi showed me the neighbouring apartment which, soon to be vacant, he felt was better but ‘mine’ had a better water view. I immediately appropriated 103 as ‘my place’ in name at least. No one else wanted to live all that way (5 km) out of the centre. When the process of selecting accommodation was described, Julie had flagged the possible impact on the group, “What if more than one person wants a place”. The response was, “first come first serve”. Unsurprisingly there was at least one place that caught a few eyes and while sensitively managed between the vols it was challenging all the same. We’ve since learnt the NZers come to fully fitted pre leased and high quality accommodation. They do have to share and don’t really get a say I suppose in who they share with. Pros and cons of the different systems. I managed to negotiate a good price for my accom. Owned by a major hotel, maintenance, security (a night guard, Ngalu and his two dogs Maxxie and Simba, is also a neighbour) and Isi the caretaker (who gets my water and washes my clothes) are provided. Once moved in, one week in country, I saw how filthy my place really was and after hours of scrubbing walls, doors, windows, I even roped Isi in.
While I settled into the idea of Laguna Lodge a few of the group felt a degree of unspoken pressure to move on from Noa’s. Most had moved into run down, termite and mouse infested broken abodes, little more than shacks. One of our group had at the outset commented how she wanted to live like the locals. Good on her. I have travelled enough, lived in enough countries and cultures short and long term to know my Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Laguna Lodge for me.
The on-boarding training in Melbourne, orientation week, accommodation process as well as project selection, had me reflecting on my journey 28 years earlier with International Corporation for Development, ICD. The recruitment process with ICD was thorough, a 2 day affair with psychological, developmental and profession specific interviews that followed a half day group interview. My contract with ICD was a 2 year commitment in Zimbabwe. ICD’s investment began with a 2 week induction in London and 3 months in-country orientation. By the time I started in Marondera I had seen much of the country and relevant work places. The Aussie vols who came to Zim in the 1990s arrived without a country rep nor much of an allowance to support them. They tended to end up living with the British or European vols just to get by (we had furniture, pots, pans, beds — real luxury). Australian volunteering was completely different then and does not appear to have changed much. The recent process felt more akin to screening out than selecting in.
Rob and Gloria were the first to graduate from our group. The only couple, they moved seamlessly into a house near Noa’s with lush garden, falling down walls, mice and cockroaches. Much muscle power and cleaning product were in order the first week. A Japanese woman in our group moved into a house with a lovely NZ couple and boisterous puppy. I was the third to cut ties, not without angst. For all my roaming and the unpredictability of last year, signing a ‘lease’ and moving ‘away’ from the familiar, as novel as it was, caused disquiet. A few other factors stirred the dis- ease. It had turned hot. Did i say hot? No, Fucking hot. Different to the dry heat of southern Africa but equally sapping of energy. Realising I might end up standing under my umbrella for shade waiting up to half an hour for the unreliable bus was not enticing. Walking to work past the ubiquitous packs of aggressive dogs was less than appealing. Living close to work but far from the centre, walking distance by home standards to the sea pool but unthinkable in Tonga, soon the plan of a bike was replaced with a car purchase, quietening the dis- ease a little. Interesting how some things just flow. Casually chatting with the assistant manager of the Tanoa hotel, owners of my accomm, I mentioned buying a car. Taufa commented, “I’m selling a car”. Imported recently from Japan the Aussie mechanic Steve gave it a quick look-see, drove it around the block and said the price was fare. A week later I had a registered, insured, serviced, gas filled car and was raring to go.
So here I sit on a Sunday afternoon, overlooking the lagoon, about to set off snorkeling. Almost a month in and life in Tonga is starting to take some shape.
