Child's memorial Somosomo-clothes on line wash day I am out of synch on dates and times...but, another day in the life... It is Tuesday here; we are excited about our new president, but in America, it is Monday, so we have to wait another day. There is a line on the island, at the 180 degree meridian, where you can have one foot in Monday, and one foot in Tuesday! After Kent’s dive this morning, we ventured into town by bus to replenish our groceries. We walked around the village of Somosomo; some of the sights: again, peaceful happy people living a simple life; it may look poor from our frame of reference, but underneath, it is so rich. Colorful clothes hanging on lines to dry in the humid heat, perpetual clattering of birds, laughter of children, men out with machetes gathering food in big sacks, women and children splashing in the river that runs through town (this year, the gov’t will be building a hydro power plant using the velocity of the river), bread fruit drying on corrugated metal racks, horses lazily grazing. At one house, we saw a mound of dirt, surrounded by stones and decorated with flags of colorful cloth. A man approached and introduced himself; Jone, a smiling rotund Fajiian, manager of the school in Somosomo, told us this was a memorial, the place where his 12 year old son was buried one year ago. The boy was playing at school, and was hit in head with a rock; a blood clot formed that could not be operated on (there was no power in the village); he died shortly afterwards. Jone invited us to his front yard to meet his wife, 2 sons and daughter. With big smiles, he said repeatedly, they so missed their son, and showed us a picture of him. In his deep brown eyes, you could see his sorrow. But his family was, at the same time, so filled with joy. Losena talked about the village, her children. They knew about our new president; they quizzed us about Alaska. They were so friendly and engaging. Before we left, they gifted us with a bagful of bananas & invited us to dinner next Tuesday for a meal cooked under stones in the ground (chicken & taro). Wonderful. As we waited in a shaded spot for the bus back to Makaira (on slo-mo time; it is best NOT to wear a watch), we met Simon, a man from Suva, Fiji, who was in the army, and had been to Afghanistan twice. He was looking forward to getting back to his quiet, peaceful island at the end of his duty. Actually, there are frequent coups here, with different leadership arising; it is mostly between the army and the government, arguing back & forth. Simon said it was mostly petty and ridiculous, and had nothing to do with the Fijiian people most of the time. Ah politics. Why don’t we ever learn???? The bus was packed, with Fajiians and Indians, 3 to a seat, and people standing. It was like playing leap frog; we’d stop and let someone off at the back of the bus, but 10 of us had to empty out to let him out; over and over we’re scrambling back and forth until the bus could breathe again and everyone could sit, though quite intimately! The bus has no windows, so we are all saved by ocean breezes. As we raced alongside the sea, a man on a horse was riding furiously on the beach, a woven mat for his saddle, trying to beat the bus…or wear out his horse. It was a beautiful sight, indeed. We have never been anywhere in the world where people lived so simply and were so filled with authentic happiness and respectful modesty. No TV’s or satellite dishes (except at resort up the coast). No people begging on the street like in Asia; far less population density and plenty of food; many living off the land and sea.