Attempts at word pictures

A strange whirring sound in the kitchen prompted me to investigate. Was it a fan? A small generator? But no, it was my dad, mixing a batch of bread with a Vanuatu-style electric mixer: a power drill with a mixing attachment as the drill bit.

Panting, I make it to the top of the hill and turn around. Maewo and Pentecost are clear and defined after the small rain we had this afternoon. It must still be raining somewhere, as a beautiful rainbow begins to appear over the two, accenting the beauty of the moment.

Coming home to the sound of trucks in the yard isn’t unusual, nor is the sight of a group of men working on one. My dad is a mechanic, and there’s always some truck or other that needs fixing. This, however, was something new. The boys were having a hard time getting the tire off of the wheel, so they decided to get creative. They placed a plank on the edge of the tire, and proceeded to drive a truck up it. As the car inches its way up the plank, the tire collapses around it, still holding tight to the wheel. Oh well, time to back up and try again.

Wandering up to the front desk, I see a crowd of people. In the middle is a man I’ve never met, holding a container of a creamy, white liquid. He pours us all a glass, and I look at it, a little concerned at not knowing what it is. Everyone around me drinks it down, and exclaims at how good it is! Shrugging, I take a tentative sip. It’s milk! Fresh cow’s milk! Mmmm.

Sitting on the side of the truck, I unconsciously shift my body in response to the bumps and jolts of the trip. Gripping the edge loosely, I wave at the people working by the side of the road, cutting grass with bush knives. They smile and stop working as we pass, waving back and calling out “Bongareo!” (Good night in local language)