Ainsley and the Sliding Rocks.

First of all, let me start with an excerpt from my email to one of my besties, Sarah McLeish. The story is unrelated to the Sliding Rocks, but for those of you who like to be in the know....

"In other news, I have mice living in my room. I hate them so much- they nibble away at peanuts I accidentally leave lying around- it's my bedroom, I shall leave peanuts where I want!!!! Anyway, I named them Walter and McCready. Walter is spontaneous and cheerful, always willing to try new things. He'll probs die first from the rat poison I have laid out tonight....McCready is slightly more world weary, he's done some time around the block and has seen one or two of his mates go the way of ol' Stuart Little (in this story we pretend Stuart Little died by eating rat poison). He's going to be harder to track down and destroy. I kind of like them a little bit, so it will be sad when they crawl behind my wardrobe to die and I have to fish them out with the salu (broom). Gross."

In an unrelated story, last Saturday, after a late morning lie in because we were hungover from out intense dance session at the local RSA (true story, there was a fight and everything), we headed over to the Sliding Rocks.

The sliding rocks are aptly named, as they are basically a collection of rocks that are covered in algae, that are now very slidey. There are various little waterfalls and pools that the daring can take a little dip in. There is one waterfall/slide that is slightly larger than the rest, I couldn't tell you how big because I'm not super great with measurement, but probs like 6 meters high or something? High enough that it is scary, but low enough that you don't have to think (too long) about whether you will die or not sliding off it. 

Being the cowardly fool I am, I knew that if I didn't do it straight away I never would, so I quickly jumped on and did the big one. I'm really glad I did- it was fun in a "my butt hurts from the rocks, and now I'm falling, and now my butt is hitting the ground cos it's shallower than we all thought" kind of way. I tried to attempt round two, but ended up having a panic attack at the top of the waterfall and sitting there, hunched up in a ball, weeping sadly (I imagine I looked a bit like Gollum when he lost the ring.)

Anyway, I pulled myself together quickly as a family was approaching  and I didn't want them to see me in my sorry state. The girls and I lounged around for a while longer, basking in the sun, until we decided it was time to go for another slide.

Now is probably time to mention my greatest Sliding Rocks fear. I am distrustful at the best of times, so my natural inclination is to think "what if there is a sharp rock and I rip my bum on it?!" It's actually my worst fear ever since Hannah at intermediate school told me that people put wall tacks point up in the waterslides at the Lido Aquatic Centre and someone got one stuck in their bum!

So we headed down to a more relaxed part of the pools. In the distance the rapids got slightly more intense. There was another little waterfall that fell into a large pool, but we deduced that it didn't look very safe, as there were pointy rocks sticking out at the top of the waterfall. I watched cynically (not over my failure at the last fall it would seem), while Liz and Lena swam around in the little pools. Liz pointed to a rock that was about 30cm high. "Look, Ains" she said encouragingly, as if talking to a mentally handicapped Golden Retriever "this one would be alright for you!" She went down the "slide" to prove her point. "It does look fun.." my simple mind thought to itself. I wandered down to the pool and had a little go. Inspired with confidence, I looked for my next challenge- a rock that was big enough to warrant a slide, but small enough that I wouldn't stress myself out. I saw it, waiting on the other side of the stream, the perfect rock. "I'm just going over here to sit on this one" I called out to the girls. Lining myself up, I pushed off and immediately knew this was not going to pan out the way I had anticipated. 

"I caaaaaaaaan't stooooooooop!" Shrieking, I was headed to face my fears head on- or should I say, bum on! I was about to test Hannah's theory for myself- would my bum be ripped to shreds?? As I flailed around trying in vain to slow myself down, I reached the fastest parts of the rapids. "This is it" I said to myself, and squeezed my eyes shut and prayed, hoping that God would somehow turn my bum to steel and the rocks into marshmallows  Seconds later, I hit a bumpy patch, including a natural ski jump, sailed into the air, and landed with an undignified splash into a deep pool. I looked back up the river, spluttering, trying to figure out if all my limbs were in order, at Liz's panicked face trying to look down into the pool. After shouting that I was seemingly alright, they let loose the laughter they had obviously graciously been holding back, and just about wet themselves at the top of the stream. I'm glad they didn't, given my then current position.

Woman loses arm and half an ear to bedbugs- Lelata community horrified

No movement on the bed bug front unfortunately. 

In other and slightly more interesting news, some great things have happened recently. I have found that I have a heart of coal, and cannot contain my laughter when a child says something ridiculous in my class. It's mainly because when someone is Samoa says something dumb, everyone around them pisses themselves laughing and it's really hard not to join in.

The other day, we were talking about international organisations in Samoa. I asked one of my kids "How does SPREP (Environmental organisation) help the community in Samoa?" "They help us.....uhhhh, the environment??" the child answers, hopeful that he has strung enough words together that both answers my question and makes sense. "Yes!" I nod enthusiastically, pleased that this particular child managed to produce such an answer, "And how does looking after the environment help us?" 

"Uhhhhhhhh" he considered nervously, sweat breaking out on his brow "they help us.....smell?" The group stared in shock as the child realised his mistake "No, no, I...they help us breathe! The trees!" Too late. Everyone, including me, was rolling around pissing themselves laughing. I tried to cover mine up with a cough, but it was useless. Tears in my eyes, I encouraged him "You are right, they do help us breathe!" Clearly this child is not getting enough oxygen to the brain! I am such a terrible teacher!

Last weekend saw myself and Liz as well as a couple other ladies from school head over to TafaTafa, a beach on the south side of the island. 

Kind of like Samoan style camping, you book a fale on the grass verge beside the beach, and they drag in mattresses and mosquito nets and roll down tarps so you have cosy little tent like things. There is literally nothing around- no shop, no nothing, so you take what you need with you. There is a guy who lives on the property, Nug, a retired professional snowboarder, who built his own double storied fale, which serves as a bar, as well as his house. He runs surf tours from the camp ground, which keeps the owner of the land, Dave, sweet on the deal. 

Upon arrival I nearly asked if someone could drive me home and take me to an optometrist to have my eyes checked. Perched up and down the beach, all over the fales and beach side, were large, grey beige and white seagulls. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a group of humans, in their twilight years, decked out in the 2013 cruise collection (a lot of warm beige). After being congratulated on "getting out of our own country" (apparently a difficult feat for Americans?), and unwittingly having my photo stalkerishly taken by an old boy with an impressive mustache, the group ambled back towards their buses, no doubt reliving the olden days of their youth.

The camp ground literally deserted (we were the only inhabitants, and though there was a family somewhere that owned the place, we saw no hide nor hair of them), we set about enjoying various water sports/ activities. I went for a solo kayak to the end of the lagoon and out towards the reef break. I felt a bit like the king of the world out there- one of my top favourite feelings. My self indulgent fantasies about being the original discoverer of Samoa and having them make me their queen were only shattered by a group of drunk Samoan boys yelling pleasantries (or where they obscenities?) from the beach.

The afternoon then was spent lying on the beach; reading, getting sunburnt, pining after chocolate, remembering that I had chocolate, eating chocolate, pining after chocolate again etc until Dave (the owner) approached us and asked if we would like to go fishing with him. Apparently, Dave is one of the few men in Samoa that doesn't believe women on boats are bad luck, and actually considers them good luck, so we felt honoured to go out with him. Although rain clouds were hugging the islands off the coast, Dave felt confident that we would catch something. He good naturedly  kept saying "Heeeeere fishes!!!!! May-pe dey sleep, hab some Valima, hab a sleep!!" in broken English and cackling at his own wit.

We trawled for a solid two hours, with no luck. I spent most of the time looking at the clouds (they have really good clouds here) and making pictures in my head, and then nudging Tina and trying to see if she would get the same cloud pictures as me. She would usually get most of them, or pretty close anyway, except the dirty ones and then she would just laugh and shake her head disapprovingly at my 24 year old humour. 

The most exciting moment of the trip arrived mid rain shower, when suddenly a commotion came up from the hull (?) of the boat. Apparently Dave was trying to communicate something, but the cigarette he was clamping between his teeth, the noise of the motor, and his less than pristine English skills were all making it difficult. "Shaaaaaa" was all I could here, and then I saw him pointing furiously over the side of the boat. Between the aqua or the water and the navy blue of the rocks and corals, I couldn't see anything  Suddenly one of the navy blues started moving, taking shape, and I saw what Dave was communicating. Shark. As a girl who has read "The Beach" at least 10 times, I knew the end of my life when I saw it. Preparing for a Jaws like scenario, I squeezed my eyes shut as we zoomed over the shark, waiting for it to leap up and rip my guts out. It didn't. Obviously.

After that there's not much worth saying if you weren't there to enjoy it. After 4 beers in 30 degree heat and a day in the sun, I was ready to drop it low to slow filthy gangster beats blasting from Liz's iPod, courtesy of Nug's sound system. Somewhere between 12-1am I decided it was high time I had my first ever skinny dip, or SD as we decided to call it (sounds gross, I know, it's half of the hilarity). Since no one else was foolish enough to come into the shark infested waters, I SD'ed alone, it water dark as ink, watched by the million eyes of the Milky Way (sinister thought), Liz dutifully keeping watch on the beach. 

To change tact slightly, a we just had a animalistic shakedown in my classroom. I have various animal friends knocking around in here, last time I counted- a mouse, a giant gecko (two hands length , a spider as big as my hand, various insects, and of course, all my mini geckos. Now, as I write, out of the corner of my eye, I spied an interesting interaction.

The mouse, obviously smelling food,and thinking no one was around, came a wandering across the class. While I've been writing there has been a small gecko, about the length of my pinky, hiding near me under a table leg. The mouse, on his wander, didn't notice the gecko. The gecko, doing God knows what, jumped out at the mouse. The mouse jumped about 5cms in the air, and ran for it's life in the opposite direction. I just imagined the gecko pissing itself at such a hilarious joke.

Laters baby (for all you 50 Shades fans....I know who you are!)

Pictorial of Ol' Sammy- Moa

Liz swimming in the dreamy stream next to our house- Little did we know this ol girl is a killer- apparently best not to swim in rainy season, might get washed away in a flash flood!

If you come to Samoa to see me, I will take you here and we will live like kings!

Looking tropical like we ought

I look pleased because I saw my Diet Coke approaching on a tray out of the corner of my eye while the photo was being taken.

Excuse the nuidity, but this is the price I pay for being a white. Also for not wearing sunblock in the tropics.

The waterfall up the road from school where we sometimes have swim after a hot day

My lovely school field with the water in the background

Damn right that's the view from my classroom. Ps that tree is all about the cyclone damage.

My desk in the mid morning sun- I try to avoid this area at that time of the day!

Our school is bright purple. Embrace it.

Sounds

You know how when everyone talks about India, they all seem to mention one same thing- the smell. "It's invasive" they tell you, with a look of wonderment (or disgust, depending on what they are describing) on their face.

Sound to Samoa is what smell is to India. It's EVERYWHERE. It's invasive. And it's great.

Right now my ears are in overdrive- The hum off the computer, the hiss of a boiling kettle, a whinghing child competing with the chattering noise delivered courtesy of the Cartoon Network.

Further still I can hear- the whoosh of the ceiling fans as they spin at full speed- it's hot today. The dripping of water from wet foliage from the most recent downpour. Roosters crowing, dogs barking and making the occasional yelp as one takes on another- perhaps for a scrap of food or in defence of their territory- and is put in it's place.

Noise, or sound, is constant here. Of course it always is everywhere in the world, but they are new sounds, and therefore I notice them more.

For the first week I had trouble sleeping. The stream outside my window, that in the dry season calms down to barely a trickle, rushes with a steady, crashing rythem. Unwelcome creatures scuttle and crunch on the leaves outside. The fan blows a stream of coolish air in my face, humming loudly with the exertion of working at it's highest level for hours on end.

At the end of the first week teaching, my voice was hoarse from trying to speak over the constant barage of rain on the tin roof. Wind howled, lightning cracked, and thunder roared so close over head, some of the kids actually screamed.

At night, when things are calm, the crickets sing. The geckos chrip greetings to one another, basking in the warmth of the closest light. The gentle words of Samoan float down through the open windows from the house above- the family are saying their nightly devotions. The village bell rings; once, twice. Songs carry on the breeze, ghostly voices singing their praises to God.

I would be pretending if I said these noises didn't piss me off sometimes. But like India, the experience would be incomplete without them.

Love, Ainsley