The Curse of the Doldrums

Halloween brings with it a lot of frights, even in Pohnpei. With that in mind, I now share with you the mostly true and slightly dramatic short story version of the day which we now refer to as "The Curse of the Doldrums:"

Arguably one of the most beautiful places to swim in Pohnpei is a place we call the Doldrums. It is a washed up old ship, anchored to land, where you can jump from terrifying heights into the warm Pacific water. The name of this ship is “The Doldrums.” Although "the doldrums" is a term that originally referred to a region of calm winds, it is now most often used to mean "in low spirits."  Well, for the Jesuit Volunteers and their friends, they learned the lesson that the spirit of the Doldrums still hovers in the air of this place, ready to cling on to any unsuspecting visitors.

            Weeks before this dreadful day, Molly, Brad, and their Australian friend Jess had visited the Doldrums after school. Hours later, they found themselves digging their car out of a foot of mud. They joked about this as they led Sam, Rachael, and their two friends Matt and Jerich back to the spot. Always learning from their mistakes, they chose to park in a different spot, right in front of the gate that blocked the car’s path down to the Doldrums. The seven friends merrily hopped out of the car and walked around the gate, into the slight ditch, to start the short walk down to the water. As Sam so confidently hustled around the gate, she felt a slight roll in her ankle and hopped it off so as not to trip. How embarrassing, she thought, I can’t even walk around a gate, how will I jump off a ship? Although her ankle stung a little, she brushed it off and continued to walk briskly and talk excitedly with her friends.

            The four girls, who had all worn dresses for this occasion, climbed the ship and looked down at the calm water well below them. The sky was just beginning to turn a most magnificent orange. The whole scene was so romantic and unreal that they hardly waited any time at all before they jumped. Their dresses puffed up as the air gently led them down into the water. After four splashes, four smiling heads bobbed out of the water, anxious to see the pictures the boys had taken of their jump.

            The sun sank lower into the sea and cast off stripes of orange into the sky. The stars could start to be seen. There was nothing in between the friends and the sun, as if they could swim towards it and eventually fall into its warmth and beauty. Watching the miracle, nobody talked much... 

....until Molly shrieked in pain. “Something just pricked me,” she said as she emerged from around the corner, trying to keep her calm. “I got some of the needles out, but a lot are still in my foot. Watch out over there.” Matt, the most experienced visitor to the Pacific islands studied her foot and declared that it was a sea urchin. Molly made her way to land with Sam, Brad, Jess, and Jerich following her.

Rachael and Matt chose to take another path to land, in the same direction Molly had just been. Rachael, angered by the sea urchin’s attack on her friend, punched the urchin with passionate rage. Unfortunately, the urchin seemed to hurt her more than she hurt it.

As all of the friends reassembled on land, they examined the now blue foot of Molly and swollen hand of Rachael. “We should go. You need to get those needles out,” said Jess. Everybody quickly picked up their things and hurried to the car, except for one.

Sam hobbled along behind the group, now realizing that the slight annoyance in her ankle had escalated into a throbbing pain that made it nearly impossible to walk. In the pitch black, she was trying to walk on the side of her foot, but each step sent chills up her spine. Jerich, Matt, Brad, and Jess noticed this and walked with her. “Not to worry, I will carry you!” Jess announced. Off they were, the tall Australian carrying the injured American on her back. However, the trail to the car suddenly seemed ten times as long as it had been on the way to the water. It was nearly impossible to see and there were potholes filled with water every few steps. Jess was losing steam. Sam was slipping. “Leave me,” Sam said. “Never!” Jess replied, “I just need a breath.”

The boys caught up with the two and, seeing Jess’s distress, Brad racked his brain for the survival wisdom he had gained during his many years of scouting. “Ah, yes!” Brad said excitedly. “Jess, cross arms with me, we can carry her this way. Sam, sit down, just like it’s a chair.” Brad and Jess made a seat for Sam with their arms and Sam hesitantly sat down. The group got a few yards before they were again exhausted.

“Here,” Matt said, “I will carry you.” Sam climbed onto his back and they continued the long walk back to the car. The group piled into the car and returned to the Jesuits' residence. Brad, Jerich, and Jess hurried to and fro, taking care of their injured friends. They supplied them with ice, tweezers, pain medication, and plenty of wine.

It took days (or weeks, for some) of anguish to recover from the injuries. But, once the pain had subsided, they looked back on the unfortunate day’s events. As beautiful and peaceful as the adventure had seemed, it had a most horrible dark twist. These injuries, the friends knew, were no coincidence. They were just another case in the curse of the Doldrums.

Speaking Without Words

One of the funniest cultural differences between Americans and Micronesians is a subtle, yet common facial movement: The quick eyebrow raise. In America, we tend to think of this a flirtatious trick, circa Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles. Yet, in FSM, it means "yes."
"Student, did you do your homework?" *eyebrow shrug* (easily unnoticed)
"Are you married?" *eyebrow shrug* (easily misinterpreted)
While there are these communication barriers I'm still learning to cross (including trying to learn Pohnpeian), the most impactful lesson I've learned so far is the value of nonverbal communication.

A couple of weeks after school started, we had a Freshmen Welcome Celebration in which each class performed a few dances. As a lifelong lover of dance, when my Sophomore homeroom asked if I would join one of their dances, I immediately said, "Yes!" (complete with eyebrow shrug).
This was a reply that I was deeply regretting the next day when we began practice. I said that I would join some of the girls in a hula. I don't know what I was expecting, but seeing the girls move their hips with such rhythm and ease, I became very aware of my own limitations. Years of ballet and upper-middle-class suburban life seemed to have made me, what I believed to be, the worst hula dancer of all time. The thought of trying to shake my hips in front of the entire school made me sit out of most of the practices.
However, that Tuesday at spirituality night, we discussed the idea of companionship, just being with others. I realized that I wasn't seeing the big picture. My students didn't want me to dance with them because I was a good dancer. They just wanted to share that experience with me. They wanted me to dance beside them as they too built up the courage to be in front of the entire school.
So, that Friday, with my hair done and a belt made of leaves around my hips, I giggled nervously with my students as we waited for the music to begin and smiled with them as the school cheered us on.  Sure, at this point I was still struggling to remember everybody's name, and much of practice was spoken in Pohnpeian, but I was with them, and that's all that mattered.

Perhaps the biggest communication challenge came during my first weekend here, which I spent with my host family. A member of my host family is a girl my age who is deaf. In theory, this is an impossible relationship. I don't know sign language. She can write, but doesn't know English well. Yet, somehow, I made one of the closest bonds with her. We were patient with each other. We understood each other's made up signs. When we didn't, we laughed and would continue to sit beside each other, not moving or speaking. That first weekend, she was a comfort for me. She accepted me and my naivety and appreciated my presence. My last night there, we stayed up late "chatting," like I would with any girl friend my age. It turns out, she did know a little English. She wrote in my journal "I love you."

So, while I may not be any closer to knowing Pohnpeian than I was a year ago, I'm finding out how to bond with people in other ways. For some reason, the foundations of these relationships seem so much stronger than those made of hours of small talk. Sure, I may not know a person's name or age, but if we shared a smile as we waited for the rain to pass under a store's overhang, well, that's more than enough.

"The Island You Can't Find On The Map"

"Tell your family to visit the island you can't find on the map," my host mother told me my first weekend in Pohnpei. As we drove along the winding road which takes us from one side of the island to the other in 45 minutes, I understood why she would say that. The soft rain spraying me through the open window felt nice on my sunburned, sweaty skin (which has since become more tan, but never less sweaty). The jungles, hills, and glimpses of the ocean amazed me with their beauty. But, then again, every sight on this island seems to surpass the last in beauty. I hope there is never a morning I don't marvel at the paradise I see from my bedroom window when I wake up.

It seems strange that my first reaction to hearing I was coming here was, "Where's Micronesia?" And yet, there are Pringles in the grocery store and an Ace Hardware down the road. It seems strange that many of us have laughed at how many times we have to zoom in on Google Maps to find Pohnpei, yet my Micronesian students are obsessed with Justin Bieber and Lil Wayne. It seems strange that people joked that this place doesn't really exist, yet there are Micronesians serving in the US military.

It has been an interesting balance of the familiar and unfamiliar. One of the "homiest" feelings I have gotten was sitting around a Saturday evening at my host family's house. A group was gathered, lounging outside, enjoying each other's company. But, rather than drinking alcohol, people were drinking Sakau (a local drink made from the crushed roots of a plant, which tastes like mud, but leaves the drinker with a numb tongue and relaxed demeanor). Rather than listening to DMB on somebody's iPod, people were playing guitar and ukele and softly singing.

It's subtle differences that gently remind me that I'm in another country. Yet, there's just enough familiarity and genuine kindness from the people around me where I already feel at home. And for those times when I feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed, I have pictures of friends and family wallpapering my room. I have a large envelope of quotes for every day that I am here, gifted to me by Marlowe. I have the occasional letter from home (keep them coming)! And most importantly, I have your thoughts and prayers supporting me along the way. Kalahngan (Thank you).


For those who didn't get it, my address is:
Sam Pomplon
Jesuit Volunteers
PO Box 1650
Pohnpei, FM 96941

With Our Own Two Hands

Well, here I am! A few hours from leaving for this great adventure. The past few months have been a whirlwind of emotion, and they reached a peak these past two weeks at orientation.
If you ask what we did at orientation, I would say attended various lectures, prayed, napped, ate, and hung out (many late nights of mafia). But this would not be a complete summary of the past two weeks in my life. Instead, you could ask me what I went through, what I felt, or what value I found in this time. I would tell you it was a time when I faced my deepest fears, my innermost feelings that I didn't know existed, learned to find inspiration from others, learned how to find peace in silence, and began to reconnect with a beautiful belief in God and myself.

Every day has been a roller-coaster. I am very scared of the unknown land that awaits me, being away from home, and the failures that I will surely face. Yet, I'm excited to embark on this wonderful journey with the people I have met (and am about to meet) and I'm overjoyed in the hope I have in humanity after meeting such a great group of young volunteers. I have come to embrace the changes that I will face over the next two years. I reached all of these revelations with the help of others, the support I felt coming from my friends and family, and in a 3 day silent retreat.

I am now happy to say I am boarding this airplane with peace of mind, lots of nerves and hopes, and about 50 new friends. I am constantly aware of the love you all are sending my way (it takes my breath away how I can actually feel your love). I am sending the same love and gratitude back your way.

I am leaving Boston College, the site of orientation, at 2:30 AM. We're flying to Houston, Tokyo, Guam (where we will stay for a night), Chuuk (another Micronesian island), and finally Pohnpei. I will finally reach my new home on Wednesday (40 hours of traveling and over 10,000 miles).

I am hoping to update this blog about once a month (I'll have a better idea of that when I get there). In the meantime, please please please send me letters, postcards, e-mails, and prayers!

I love you all, you are my light.




As I was trying to accept my fears, I wrestled with the fact that Jesus always say "Be not afraid." How am I supposed to welcome my feelings, with this blatant message?! This quote clarified things for me: Rather than 'Fear not; the things you are afraid of will not happen,'
"Fear not; the things you are afraid of are quite likely to happen to you, but they are nothing to be afraid of" ~ John Macmurray