essentialmidwifery

I was hoping to finish up with a few days of sunny roaming and snorkel adventures but the weather beat me to the punch.  It has been raining—tropical flash-flood kind of raining—for days now and there is no end in sight.  I have to say that in the moments that the rain stops, the air is 98% wet so that just adds to the experience.  I decided to own up to my Seattle-self and head outside anyway.  I took my rainbow umbrella and strapped on a backpack and headed out for some adventures of the not so sunny variety.  In spots the water ran over my feet and not only was I combating the slip of my foot against the flip-flop, but my flip-flop against the ground.  A double slip is slow going so I took a note from the locals and carried my flip-flops.  My bare feet stopped the slipping action and with the newly found traction, I put some distance between myself and my room.  I took a long walk and then met up with a friend and hopped a bus to a beach way out of town.  We happened to find a bus full of people going there anyway so it was a super cheap ride, if a bit more of an olfactory adventure than I was seeking.  I made like a dog and stuck my nose out a window and panted for fresh air.

Umbrellas in hand, raining pounding down and sideways, we walked the length of a long beach, crossing a small river that was knee-high and about 20 feet wide that had broken through the beach to get to the ocean.  The ocean water was pulled up the river and the river water was rushing out to the ocean at the same time—it was so strange to feel the fresh and the salt mixing in warmth and cold and the dark sand churning all made for an interesting crossing.  We got down the rest of the beach and gave up on the umbrellas, we were soaked through head to toe but having a great time.  We walked back and were about to head back to town to dry clothes when we spotted a beach bar through the rain.  When it is raining that hard forms appear as blurs coming out of hazy clouds of water.  Also, I had taken my glasses off which tends to add to forms appearing as blurs coming out of hazy clouds of water.  So I was double blind but still “discovered” this little gem.  We went into the bar, which was without walls but had one solid roof and comfortable chairs.  Fans were whirring from the ceiling which helped to dry us out a bit.  We ordered drinks and decided to throw down 200 Vatu (about $2) for a game of pool.  We played, much to the chagrin of the locals who do know the rules, with no rules.  We knew someone should be stripes and someone solids but the rest was all-in and after numerous failed tries I settled on turning the cue around so the thick end was my shooter and I could slide it into the white ball to make the solid go where I intended it to.  It wasn’t fail-proof, but the game did eventually end.  We sat for a few hours, watching the ocean and the rain and meeting other tourists and locals who wandered in.  A group of 10 rowdy Aussie ladies in their late 50’s and early 60’s came in.  They were clad in bikinis and short shorts regardless of body shapes and sizes, many with tattoos or sharply colored hair, or both.  One was a chain smoker.  They ordered drinks and pondered the weather.  They had come because they heard that the owners of the bar will strap an inflatable seat behind a boat and zip across the ocean waves, giving the riders an experience or two in bouncing, jolting fun.  We chatted with them and found out that they are the Worlds Masters Women’s Basketball Champions—even with their lack of height, a guard who can’t give up the ciggies, and age, they have conquered the court for the past 15 years together and won the big game this year.  There was supposed to be a tournament in Samoa but it was cancelled and the ladies decided to go on holiday together anyway.

The rain paused and two of them went to plead their case with the young man who does the towing.  He didn’t need to be asked twice and they all jumped in the ocean and swam out to the boat.  The ladies hauled themselves into the inflatable in a most unpolite way which I won’t share, but we were hooting for them and cheering their efforts to get into the floaty vociferously.  They waved in appreciation for our cheers and off they went.  The screams that came forth from them as they bounced and whizzed across the ocean, as the driver slowed his boat and turned it and then hit the gas were something else to hear.  Two by two they went into the ocean for a ride, and two by two they came out asking for a drink and wondering out loud if there were massage therapists or chiropractors in town.

We took another walk down the other direction and passed some houses under construction.  One of the locals pointed out that it is a terrible place to live and some Australian suckers will be the first under as the reef here is very close to the shore so will not provide any kind of break for a large ocean wave or tsunami.  I think there is a really good rule here, if you are ever visiting or considering land purchase.  If the locals aren’t doing it, neither should you.  If you don’t have to relocate an entire village of shacks and lives to build your waterfront home, there is probably a really good reason.  If the only trees standing in the area are very very tall coconut trees, there is probably a really good reason.  I expect stucco, fancy counter-tops and landscaping will all be washed out to sea with a few good storms.  The same goes for the little cultural nuances—women get dressed in clothing that covers their bodies here and with the exception of the downtown strip and the tourist beaches, we should do the same.  If you are listening to music in earphones while walking, it is socially impolite to wear both earphones, so only use one.  And on and on I could go, but I won’t…

I was fighting a cold but it won—as soon as I finished my last shift at the hospital I must have relaxed.  After two months with no illness—not a fever, or an infection, or any stomach problems at all—I have been beset upon by a common cold, which I find altogether very rude.  After the rainy day adventures I was really ready to be dry and nap.  So I did.

I came here to work hard and I actually did that in much better ways than I imagined I would have.  I think I used the minutes here well.  So with my last two days I am going to relax hard and enjoy the people and the weather, whatever it happens to be.   I did look for souvenirs to bring home with me for family, but they don’t make anything here per se, other than Kava, which I am not bringing home.  So I am coming home mostly empty handed, with memories of  Vanuatu and the mothers, the babies, the midwives, doctors, nurses, and students, the children of Chicken Road and the locals and vacationers who struck up conversation with me as the souvenirs of my heart.

I am ready to come home.  I don’t know what is coming next.  This experience has grown me.  I want to pause.  I want to think about what kind of life we want to have.  I am in no rush to jump into work.  I want to spend time with my people and push a button and watch ice come out of my freezer.  I want to hear Julia and Jeffrey laughing and listen to their stories.  I want to spend time with my husband and see my girlfriends.  I want to write a great book with Jane and share the lessons that so many mothers have taught us.

Thank you all for joining me on this little journey to the South Pacific…Jane and I will continue to post updates here as to the progress of the book-o and the bits and pieces that come with it.

Signing off from Vanuatu (that is, if I can manage to get the internet to work so that I can sign on and post this!)

After what was supposed to be my last day I felt I could not leave on that note so I made a last, last day out of yesterday.  The jokes are flying already that I can’t be gotten rid of.  It is hard to leave.  Happily my last last day was a quiet one with one wonderful breech birth.

Mom has two girls at home and was hoping for a boy.  Baby had been head down until labor started so we count that as one “surprise” breech even though we had some time to prepare before the actual birth.  The birth was, to say the least, felt quite strongly by the mother.  The mother’s power, to say the least, was felt quite strongly by a string of relatives and workers, myself included, who bare the marks of her strength and pain all over our bodies today.  I am covered in bruises the size of fingerprints, scratches and red reminders of her grip from my neck, down my left arm and down the left side of my back.  A doctor was doing the actual delivery and I was in there as part of the team.  I made myself as useful as possible which seemed to be at her side, helping support her legs and rub out the cramps between contractions and as a foam brick for her squeezing, pushing, pulling, gripping, and general wrestling during them.  I spoke gently to her, washed her down with wet cool gauze, and watched the birth unfold.  Baby was in a cock-eyed position.  His rump was born and the body came well and then the head seemed to be hung up.  The head OB came in and saw the mother in her fits and announced to the room that although it might look like she is being uncooperative, she is really just in so much pain and her behavior is a reflection of this.  Well said, doctor.

He did some work on the baby’s head position and baby was born, not looking awful but not great either.  The baby was just kind of stunned by the whole thing.  They took him immediately over to the warmer to help him get started and I was watching the baby so was stunned and surprised myself as I was pulled into a massive bear-hug from the mother.  She was clutching me to her and whispering sweet-nothings in my ear.  I hugged her back and whispered back about how amazing she was and she did it and all of the great things we say to each other upon the birth of a baby.  Baby gave a good cry (hooray, because otherwise I was going to have to have a third last day) and was shortly skin-to-skin with mom.  His poor head had been squished and his forehead and skull in that area were flat as a chalk board.  We know the skull will mold, we just usually see it in the other direction.

An hour and some change later I took baby for a float in the baby tub and clearly his left eye had been squished as well and he spent most of his bath winking at me as he tried to keep that eye open.  He was playing with his toes, his legs still folded neatly up against his chest in the position he had decided to be born in.  He finally got the eye open and then stared at me and went cross-eyed a few times before everything straightened out and looked as it should.  His personality was so evident and full.  I had a great time with him, getting him dressed and singing to him while mom got settled in.

After he was safely tucked in with mom I went to check on the twin’s mom, who had been readmitted for twin 2’s rash.  I have been checking in with her regularly and went to say goodnight two nights ago.  She told me she was really not feeling right herself and there was a terrible smell coming from the uterus, and asked if it was normal.  We had a long talk while I got all of the details regarding the color, odor and feelings.  It sounded to me like an infection.  I went to go discuss with the night shift midwives and they said they would put a note to have her checked in the morning as even if they took a swab at night, it does not go to the lab until the day time.  One of them said that she is always going to the shower and complaining and kind of blew her off. I went back to mom and told her that they were planning on doing a swab in the morning and that if they did not do it she should ask, keep asking, and get really demanding and cranky if they do not respond.  I gave her the only lecture any of us ever needs when it comes to our health care—that we are our own best experts.  Whatever the professionals know about medicine they do not know our bodies and our lives the way we do, and if she did not feel right, she needed to follow up with that until she found an answer that seemed correct to her.

I went in to check with mom to make sure they had done the swab with her today and she looked so much better, sitting up where I had only seen her lying down, and her color looked better.  She told me she had been looking for me to tell me that she pushed until they examined her and they found a piece of gauze that the doctor left inside of her a week ago—so no wonder she looked like she was getting an infection, her body was yelling at her!  She felt so much better and was so happy to have that healthy feeling back again.

I said goodbye again and promised to come back on Monday to say goodbye again.  I took bunches of pictures of the hospital and Chicken Road and some of the kids climbed inside a big box and wanted their picture taken so I did that too.  I got a few shots of the dog that wants to like me but has chronic low blood sugar crankiness, and some of the chickens that follow me every day.

My flip flops have gained 1987 Toyota Camry status as they have about 100,000 more miles on them than they should and they just keep going.  I took them for a long road trip and walked to some of my favorite spots to snap photos.  I then walked way out of town to the WanSmolBag Community Center/Theatre and purchased 3 seasons of Love Patrol on DVD.  The finance lady is one of the stars of the show so I got to get my receipt from her.  I tried to play it cool but in the end offered to send her a picture of us watching Love Patrol at home in America and she was really excited about that idea.  I was really excited to meet her.  It was hot and humid today and it only got worse on the walk back to my room.  I was not unhappy to see some clouds roll in and feel a little cool rain on me as I walked.  It did not help the fact that I was walking through steam except in the seconds that the drops hit my skin—I tried really hard to enjoy it as I hear terrible things about the weather at home and expect to be longing for the heat soon.  It didn’t really work.  Weather, like birth, is something that is hard to really understand with our imaginations and you kind of need to be in it to really feel it.

Here’s the thing about swimming in the morning.  I swim a gazillion laps and then I put on my glasses and kick a gazillion laps with the kickboard I toted here from home.  And every morning there is some Australian or French or Chinese man sitting in his shorts outside of one of the rooms that has a door that looks out onto the pool.  And every morning that man, whichever man is staying in the room apparently reserved for men in Vanuatu who smoke in their shorts in the morning, sucks away on his cigarette as if it was the last cigarette in the South Pacific.  He is partially obstructed by a small palm tree and about 20 feet away from the end of the pool.  He blows his smoke up and it puffs around him before the wind catches it and takes it away.  And he continues on and on with this morning ritual while collecting his thoughts for the day.  And I swim back and forth and kick back and forth dozens of times, trying to dump my thoughts from yesterday.  And we stare each other down from time to time, until he has to go get ready for his meetings, and this is our little dance.  I’m the only one of us that knows I have been doing this for almost 8 weeks with other men who have the same morning routine as he does.  This morning there was a new man with new shorts and new cigarettes and new thoughts.  And this morning there was me, back and forth and back and forth, unable to banish the thoughts in my head from yesterday so trying to let them just melt in to the ones that stay around for a while.

Yesterday was my last full day shift.  Two midwives and a student came from New Zealand and we had a new crop of nursing students in and they were all integrating themselves into the schedule and the workings of the place.  From 7:30am until 5:30 pm we had eight laboring mothers, eight births, eight postpartum routines, two of which were anything but routine at all.  I was with two women who had lovely births and I taught some new nursing students through them.   They have to observe 5 before they can participate and I had much teaching to do as the male student was abrupt and harsh with the moms and I had to beat it out of him.  Which I kind of did.  OK I totally did.  I figure I am leaving before long and would rather give it to him straight than wonder if I should I have been more direct with him about respecting these women and their process and their babies.

The female student was seeing stars by the end of the first birth and just wanted to talk and talk about it.  I had her deliver the placenta with me and then I gave her The Big Placenta Tour and told her to stand there and play with it and get to know it, fold it, open it, turn the membranes inside out and back again.  She followed me all day long asking questions and translating for me when mothers had no English.  She was a lot of fun but I missed my old students who know my ways already and who I have developed friendships with.  I saw one of them later and we hugged and chatted.

I went to help out at a premature birth.  I will have locked in my mind forever walking in and meeting the mom and the aunties and watching them smile and laugh and rub her belly.  She had just been to have an ultrasound to determine dates—she was already almost fully dilated when she came in to the hospital.  By records she was just 24 weeks, by scan 25, with the baby estimated at 870 Kilos.  Very tiny.  Too early.  We had a quiet consult in the corner, reading the scan (which is not an ultrasound report as we know them but just notes on a blank page from the doc who did the scan) and staring at each other.  We had a sentence exchange.  “I hope it is more like 26 or 28 weeks.”  “Me too.”

Even here where the death of premies is what normally happens with premies, I was relieved to be with the midwife from New Zealand who has been such a mentor to me and to see her working it out in her mind what our options might be for saving baby.  We planned…if baby looked like it had a chance we would take one path and if not then straight to the mother so that she could hold the baby while it died.  We were prepared to protect them and keep them together, something that is not automatically considered as an option here.  The baby was breech.  We called in a doctor to come do the delivery as is protocol for premies here.  I don’t want to go into the details which feel private for the mother and baby and are frankly horrific in many aspects.  I watched the aunties faces as they realized what was happening.  We did our best to prepare them but the truth is, a person just can’t face it until it is upon them, and until there is death, there is life.  It was an agonizing birth.  The baby was stillborn, it’s little body not able to withstand the birth or life unsupported by the unique environment of the womb.  We carefully wrapped the baby up, leaving his hands and face exposed for the mother, leaving the blanket loosely wrapped so that if she wanted to she could explore the curves and limbs of the child she had felt moving within her for all of the those weeks.  I heard the NZ midwife behind me whisper, “We are all mothers here.”  I gave a brief nod and felt a tear slide down my cheek.

The mother’s mom came in, having left work to come and be with her daughter as she birthed.  She was paralyzed in the doorway and I gently placed a hand on her back and helped her in the room and eventually over to her daughter and grandchild.  As I got her to the bed I heard screaming from the other half of the room and walked calmly but quickly to see what was going on.  I saw a mother in there alone, she was obviously going to push her baby out.  I took a breath and shook out my body and went in.  I was instantly surrounded by students and more importantly the utter life-force pouring out of this mother.  She was power incarnate as she leaned back on her elbows, arched her back and pushed.  My heart was still with the mother on the other side of the room.  I needed my whole self there with this mother.  I was responsible for her and the baby and these students.  The newly arrived midwives came in and observed.  The birth was beautiful; the baby was perfection and acted just like we hope babies will through birth.  It found its way out and I swooped it up to mom as it let out a screaming opinion of the whole experience and then quickly quieted as the thump of its mother’s heart was felt and heard beneath her ear.  This was baby number three—the first girl after two brothers, and she was welcomed mightily.  The mother held on to that girl with gusto.  I was lost in the joy with this mother and the memories of my sister-in-law having her first girl and one of our clients having her first girl and all of the girls we have welcomed and celebrated.  And there was my experience here in a nutshell.  Whatever is happening in one moment, life will pull you forward into the next without a thought for whether or not you are ready.  At home we pause and gather energy for the next big thing.  Here we are whisked in whirpools of loss and sorrow, joy and triumph, shaky knees and power.  And it just keeps going and going until the whistle blows and someone else comes and stands in your place to give you some reprieve for a few hours.

We had 10 minutes before we had to move one of the moms and babies and it looked like the laboring ones would wait that long so we all ran to the lounge to get some food in.  The NZ midwife said to me, “Lunch.  Now.”  I have learned to trust her sense of timing and bolted to the fridge where I put my lunch.  I didn’t think, I just fueled up and hustled out to get the mom and her baby settled in.  The mother who lost her baby was given a bed near the midwives’ desk where higher risk mothers go.  There are only 4 beds in that room so it is a little easier.  She was alone in the bed staring at the mother across the way who was nursing her baby.  I went in and sat on the bed next her and held her hand and she cried and cried.  I told her what a strong good mama she is and rubbed her forehead softly while she closed her eyes.  I stayed with her until she fell asleep and then quietly took my leave.  The other mother was crying and smiling at me.

I went to check on the delivery room to see what kind of activity was going on.  I sutured a mom while next to us another was birthing.  She was attended by the newly arrived New Zealand team.  I heard pushing for a while.  Too long by Vanuatu standards, too short by American.  I peeked.  Bleeding ahead of the baby—she would have some deep tears.  I went to the front desk and told them I just want them to see that it is not me in there to which they chuckled because they know I am paranoid about this whole issue, even though I have seen it happen to mothers when I am not the midwife with them.  I went back to check.  Still pushing.  I caught my favorite doctor and told her I felt something was not quite right and that maybe one of the hospital employees should be in there with the visitors.  She came in with me, took one look and lifted her eyebrows in her way that means, “you are right, Jodilyn.”  She left the room and I stayed in the back, watching.

Baby was born quite floppy and they started mild “hey, wake up baby!” activities that were unsuccessful.  I had already put together the bag and mask and set them out for them—I have had long discussions with a variety of people about this kind of thing.  Am I intuitive?  What does that mean?  I might just be putting together bunches of tiny bits of information and compiling them all like symptoms into a syndrome, or I had a funny feeling, or whatever we are going to call it.  I just knew this was going where it went—although I can’t say I imagined the final outcome, I did think they would need to resuscitate.  They brought the baby to the table and I told the student how to place the baby as she put the baby backwards, which is exactly how a person would place the baby when we put babies down, but this was one to work on and not to admire and coo with.  She turned her around and they got the resuscitation working.  The baby had a good heart beat.  I have learned here to palpate the heart beat instead of listen for it as it is faster.  So I felt then listened.  I left them to it and went and got the NZ midwife who came in and called the shots thereafter.  After 15 minutes of bag and mask the baby started to breathe on her own but it looked reflexive in nature and she had no tone in her muscles, did not open her eyes, and continued off and on to stop breathing.  I ran around the ward finding the doctors we needed and they came in and tried to get IVs going.  She was finally stable enough to move—although still had shown no sign of life beyond heart and lungs.  In the nursery I watched her—clearly having seizure after seizure for quite a long time, longer than I care to say, until the medicine came which stopped them.  One of the mothers who has been in the Nursery with her baby for 5 weeks now is the most amazing peer-mentor.  She did not let a second pass before she placed her own baby in his incubator and went to show the dad how to open the arm slot and hold the baby’s hand and stroke the baby gently and talk to the baby.  She was amazing.  I have seen her doing this with parent after parent.  She is stunning, so full of compassion and gentle, easy companionship with the other parents in there.  Their babies come and go, some live and others do not.  She never waivers in her steady and soothing presence.

I spent the rest of the day doing births, getting moms and babies settled and running back and forth between the nursery and the mother to give her updates.  I happened to have my camera there and took some pictures of the baby with the dad holding its hand to show her.  This seemed to really soothe her.  I assisted with her suturing which was extensive and I learned a new technique that was very cool.  I will probably never need it at home as our women just don’t tear like that but I am glad to know it.  At the end of the shift there were three babies who needed shots and to be put on the scale and all of the baby things we do.  I happily busied myself with them, feeling their good weight and tone and enjoying the way they stared at me as I talked and sang to them.

I sat at the desk and talked and laughed with a midwife and my OB friend.  I am very good with punch lines here.  Probably because the things they talk about are so funny.  There was discussion about the men in the Mobile Force here.  They tend to wander.  They tend to have many women in love with them.  My friend said, “ah, it’s the uniforms, hmmm?”  “Oh the uniforms!” said the other midwife, laughing and with a dreamy look on her face.  “They are too Mobile in the Mobile Forces.”  I stated.  “Oh GAWD Jodilyn!!”  Laughter and laughter rang out as the midwife held her head in her hands, shaking it and staring at me.  The thing is that things I say have stronger nuances in Bislama than in English and I am always phrasing them wrong so it is easy to keep them entertained, which we have all decided is my actual purpose here.  We stayed past our shift unwinding together.  It was good.

Meanwhile in my neighborhood the party rages on…the trash is piling up under the trees where it will be burned when the piles get too high.  The dogs are hardly able to move as they are clearly the beneficiaries of all of the fair food that is dropped in part or in whole around the field as people walk and eat or sit on the ground and leave leftovers.  Even the dog I have a tenuous understanding with gives me happy eyes and rolls over to show me his full belly when I walk by in the mornings.  If I come here again I am going to bring a box of MilkBones so I can keep some in my pocket for growling dogs and grunting beady eyed pigs…maybe they aren’t mean, maybe they just have low blood sugar.

And now I am sitting outside on a windy day, the palm trees making a racket, the clouds fighting their way in, my laundry rippling on the line.  I am headed back to the hospital to check on the baby and to take pictures as I told them I would make a web page for students or midwives coming here so the learning curve might be a little less steep.  There is nothing that can really prepare a person coming from the modern westernized world which I think is a really great thing—getting knocked out of the comfort zone and into this reality or any reality outside of ours affords opportunities I am so grateful to have had a tiny slice of.   But a few pictures and some words about some of the nuances might help a few future visitors a little bit…

A twins update:  both girls were born vaginally and are doing quite well.  I checked on them every 30 minutes through my shift.  Mom is tired but thrilled.

I know I often write that there was a big blur and then I break it down and talk it all through here but last night really was a big blur—I delivered 3 babies and we had 6 women walk in within 5 minutes with their entourages.  The corridor swelled with people as one of the moms had at least 7 people with her, mostly very large men who wanted something done.  Right away.  Haha…I can hop-to with the best of them but I can’t make babies be born, they tend to do that little trick on their own time.  So they all had to wait and wait and wait while this mom labored.  We had one of the premature babies pass away during the middle of this so one midwife went to work with that family, one was someplace unaccounted for (and by unaccounted for I mean I couldn’t find her in the chaos but she was probably busy working somewhere), and then there was me.  I triaged 6 moms in a matter of minutes—two of them with the same name.  Taking histories, feeling the baby for position, doing internal exams to figure out who needs immediate and who needs almost immediate attention.  One girls was 16 and in with her Aunty–this would be like my sister-in-law bringing Julia in for a birth!  I slowed everything down and did some education with her, drawing pictures of the cervix and the baby for her on her chart.  I gave her encouragement and assured her that even though it is hard to do at her age, her body and her baby would be amazing for her. She went home to labor there for a bit longer and I organized everyone’s charts and stapled the papers in place and put people places so they would not all be on top of each other.

At the end of that hour I suddenly, for the first time, felt utterly, totally, completely ready to go home.  I couldn’t keep their names and faces and progress straight.  I took copious notes but I just did not like how it felt.  I am really happy to be a homebirth midwife and know the mamas I am working with.

One suture job was a joke as every stitch I put in slid through her tissue—so friable and awful.  I finally called for backup and the other midwife came and sutured her from far outside of the wound and said it should just heal by being held together.  Once again, I can only say that they have seen this so many times and I have not.  I am not judging.

I finally abandoned ship at 1am—2 hours past when I was supposed to come home.  I walked down Chicken Road and was greeted every few feet by men sitting on their chairs on the side of the road listening to their Kava.

Today I decided to get out of the hospital and see the rest of the island.  It was a hot sunny perfect day.  I swam in the South Pacific, I snorkeled through lagoons where fresh and salt water meet and mix in warm and deep turquoise water.  It was crazy to look at my hand under water and see it surrounded by the colors I have only known from Crayola in the old 180 crayon box with the sharpener on it.  So many deep blues!  I waded in creeks and gave loud woots of joy with some locals who had knocked off work early to play in the hills.  I jumped into a pool below a waterfall (it was full of fish—how did they get there when it is in the middle of the jungle?) and read Pablo Neruda on a white sandy beach.  I had a stare-down with some beef cattle and a local boy climbed a coconut tree with his father’s machete and got me a fresh drink.  I marveled at one grandmother hiking up a muddy jungle-bush covered short-cut in the hills barefoot on an incline that many 20 year olds would tremble at.  I had a philosophical discussion with a 24 year old driver who, through mirrored sunglasses and sporting a mohawk with beads down the back of his head explained to me why, even though Vanuatu is a small country and not big and strong like United State, it is better to live here because they know how to relax after they knock off work.  I couldn’t agree more.  I have learned a lot about not working in the hours I am not at work.

I took lots of pictures but no promises about when they will get up, I have to go sit at the café where the internet is free to upload them.  It was a perfect day off and I am so happy that I took it!