A Death in the Family

We returned to campus this Monday to learn that one of our colleagues in the English Department had been involved in a car accident on Easter Sunday. Her name was Amanda, and she was visiting her boyfriend in San Diego on the last weekend of Spring Break. They had gone for a drive in one of the boyfriend’s classic cars, a Porsche convertible from the 1950s. A driver who was apparently high on marijuana—the police claimed that the bowl was still warm when they arrived on the scene—crossed over the median and crashed into the car with Amanda and her boyfriend. The details were pretty sketchy when we first learned of the accident.

We got the news on Monday evening that the family was taking Amanda off life support; the doctors had given them no hope that she would ever be able to recover from the traumatic injuries that she had suffered in the crash. An email went out with the details that were available, but most of us learned the sad news by having friends call us before we learned it through email. We cried a lot that night as we shared the news with others. Thankfully, I had my boyfriend with me that day so that I didn’t have to drive home alone and could periodically burst into tears.

The next day, Tuesday, was one of the worst days I’ve ever experienced at work. I hugged almost everyone I encountered, and we started to cry. Any mention of Amanda’s name prompted tears. I tried to be strong—we all tried to be strong—but the pain was too much to bear. Tears were appropriate. You can’t be strong when you’re suffering.

Today was not so very different. I cried fewer times, perhaps, but I spent longer periods of time talking to my friends and colleagues. We needed to be in each other’s company, to acknowledge our bonds and feelings for each other. People would apologize for making someone cry, but honestly, just the mention of her name or a reference to one of her many accomplishments or a question about what would happen to her two young sons was all it took for me to burst into tears. No one needed to apologize; nothing is wrong with feeling grief about the loss of a beloved colleague.

People have posted lots of comments and pictures on Facebook about the impact that Amanda had on their lives. I couldn’t articulate what I was feeling; I couldn’t even respond to other people’s posts. No words seemed to convey the depth of sadness I and the others were feeling. So, as I sometimes do, I turned to poetry. On the Poetry Foundation’s webite, I located the poem “Præmaturi” by Margaret Postgate Cole, which captures some of the emotions that I’ve been having since we got the tragic news about Amanda.

When men are old, and their friends die,

They are not so sad,

Because their love is running slow,

And cannot spring from the wound with so sharp a pain;

And they are happy with many memories,

And only a little while to be alone.

But we are young, and our friends are dead

Suddenly, and our quick love is torn in two;

So our memories are only hopes that came to nothing.

We are left alone like old men; we should be dead

But there are years and years in which we will still be young.

Amanda was a talented poet, a gifted writer who had the ability to distill emotions in beautifully expressive language. She was a great teacher, an inspiring educator who was dearly loved by her students, students who learned from her so much more than just how to be better writers; they learned that they had value. She was a dear friend, someone who gave you her attention when she spoke to you and who always made you feel like your conversations were special and memorable. She was an amazing colleague, a respected and well-liked member of the department, the division, the college, the community. She brought our creative writing program back from the brink of extinction by founding a journal of the arts that has been embraced by the community of writers and artists on and off campus, by creating a series of readings on campus that bring many people out every semester to share and hear the gift of writing, and by establishing a true sense of camaraderie among students and faculty members over the joy of creative writing. 

Her legacy will be long-lasting and significant. We will miss her. 

Day Seven on the Island

Or, The Long Journey Back to the United States Begins

We had our last breakfast at the Cliff Rainbow Hotel in Pohnpei this morning. I had what has become my go-to meal: two eggs (scrambled) with bacon and hash browns and with a glass of pineapple juice. The eggs and hash browns could have been cooked just a little bit longer—as has been the trend this past week—but the restaurant for the hotel has provided solid food every day. And having our breakfast on the “porch” each day has been a delight.

 

Overall, the hotel has been nice, but it’s not what we’ve come to expect by Western standards of service. It cost roughly one hundred dollars each day, which is fine since I’m being reimbursed for my travel expenses anyway. However, for that amount of money back home, you’d expect more consistent towel service, for example. I had to ask on at least two days for a washcloth and hand towel. I got a washcloth one of those days, not on the other one, but I never got a hand towel when I asked for one. And, of course, there was mold on the soap in the bathroom that first night in my room, likely the result of the boxes sitting inactive for a long time in this jungle humidity. No matter, I put the moldy bars on top of the boxes, and the next day I had fresh (well, fresher) soap to use in washing my hands.

I did like one feature of the hotel that you don’t get in the United States. We were allowed to check out early but keep our room key until it was time to go to the airport. I’ve never had that opportunity before. A couple of the team members checked out the night before, actually, since processing a credit card charge takes considerably longer here. I waited to check out until about an hour before our shuttle was due to arrive, but I had time to spare and to relax.

We ended our time on the island with some shopping. One of the team members wanted some souvenirs and small gifts, and I tagged along to see what I might purchase as well. Our first stop was at a handicrafts place just a few blocks from the hotel (well, if there were such a thing as blocks here). I picked up a bunch of turtles and manta rays made from woven straw (just two dollars each) and a carved wooden shark (but not one with alleged real shark teeth embedded in its mouth). Then we had a return visit to the Palm Terrace, where I picked up another t-shirt, this one just for myself.

The next stop was referred to as the “banana store,” so dubbed because of the large number of bananas visible from the road. However, that was only about one-third of the store. Another section was devoted to freshly caught fish, perhaps the reason that the store was very crowded as everyone seemed to be interested in purchasing fish rather than anything else. There were lots of colorful fish, including some blue ones that we were told were parrot fish. In the back of the store were more handicrafts and carvings. I didn’t see much new here except for some lovely baskets. I coveted a couple of them, but I didn’t know how I would be able to get them back to Los Angeles, given how overstuffed my suitcases already were.

Our final stop was the A-One store, an upstairs spot next to a travel agency (which was not getting much traffic, honestly). We had tried the store earlier in the week, but it had been closed. I found a couple of additional straw items to purchase here: a larger turtle connected to a smaller one and a string of fish that I intend to put in my office at work. This place had some great wooden carvings, but again, I couldn’t figure out how to get them back to the mainland.

We got to the airport in Pohnpei and checked our bags—twelve people with lots of stuff to take home. No one in Micronesia asked about how much my suitcases weighed, which was good for me. I got a second stamp on my passport, and then we had a couple of hours to wait before we were allowed to get into the waiting room. The Stingrays Café next door offered air conditioning and ice cream, both necessary preparation for a plane ride that would last almost ten hours.

Our first stop on the way back to Hawaii was Kosrae, another of the islands in the Federated States of Micronesia. This time, we were allowed go get off the plane and hang out in the waiting area. I have to say that this small airport was depressingly bare, only a tiny snack bar window and a woman at a folding table selling more handicrafts and Ziploc bags full of banana chips. However, what we were able to see of the island itself was beautiful, perhaps even more rural than Pohnpei and somewhat more mountainous.

Kwajalein Atoll was up next. Again, given that this is a military base, we were not allowed to leave the plane. Only people who had tickets to Kwajalein disembarked while the rest of us waited for some new people to get on board. You’re not allowed to take pictures from the plane given that the atoll has ongoing and apparently vital military activity—which is strange given how many pictures of the base itself are accessible online with a simple Google search—but the other person in my row took pictures even though we were warned not to do so. He was not a native speaker of English, so he might not have understood the announcement, but I doubt that would keep him out of trouble if he had been caught.

The last stop before Hawaii was Majuro Atoll in the Marshall Islands. This was the only one of the islands I had “visited” on the way to Pohnpei, but I got out anyway so that I could take a few pictures. United Airlines gives you very little leg room—unless you pay extra for it—so there’s no way to feel truly comfortable. You get up whenever they tell you that you can stretch your legs for a while. Inside the waiting area, the woman selling crafts at a table was there again, and the small snack bar supplied cold beer to the military members and military contractors. I didn’t think drinking a lot of beer before sitting down for a six-hour journey on a plane was a particularly good idea, but if they wanted to run to the bathroom several times during the flight, I figured that was their issue.

You have to hope for quiet neighbors when you travel. Stephanie Miller jokes that she’s always booked on Screaming Baby Airlines, and I can certainly empathize. A lot of children got on board at Majuro, so I had to watch movies just to drown out the sound. I saw Our Brand Is Crisis for the first time (okay, but hardly revelatory) and three short films from the Tribeca Film Festival: Speed Dating, Ellis, and Warning Labels (the last one the best of the three, in my opinion). I also watched bits and pieces of two movies I’d already seen, The Great Gatsby (meh) and The Blind Side (only Sandra Bullock’s performance is worthy of attention here). I nodded off a couple of times and slept for a few minutes, but I didn’t get much rest. The woman who sat next to me was apparently into manspreading, so she kept bumping my leg and waking me. She also took over the arm rest from time to time, including one period where she rubbed my arm for a few minutes. She was asleep for almost all of the trip, by the way, as was her son, so at least I had to be thankful for that. However, if she’s capable of manspreading and elbow-rubbing in her sleep, I shudder to think what she would be like when awake.

We landed in Honolulu Airport early in the morning but later than originally anticipated. The airport was deserted, so we made it through the TSA/Homeland Security checkpoint quickly. I also got through customs and the agricultural inspection rapidly as well. Apparently, they’re only worried that you don’t bring food into the country, and since I didn’t bring any, not even snack bars this time, I was safe.

The shuttle got the four of us who were not going immediately back to the mainland pulled up to the Ala Moana Hotel Condominiums (how did I miss the part about condominiums the first time?) at about 4:30 a.m. I feel asleep almost as soon as I finished brushing my teeth.

Day Six on the Island

Our last full day on the island included giving our exit report at the college. “Exit report” is a rather fancy name for the half hour the team chair has to present preliminary findings to the college, perhaps with some hints about possible commendations and recommendations. The team also gets the chance to thank some of the people who have been particularly kind or helpful during the site visit. The exit report is not a dialogue; it’s a monologue. The chair introduces the members of the team and speaks for about thirty minutes. The team then leaves as a group, gets into the vehicles (getaway cars?) as quickly as possible, and leaves the campus for the last time. Questions from the audience are not allowed, and I always leave exit reports wondering how everyone has reacted to what we’ve told them. A lot of campus personnel show up for the exit report; even the campus dogs followed us to the practice gym for the presentation.

When you’ve finished your section of the draft evaluation report, like we had, you don’t have much to do on the morning of the last day of a site visit. We had lunch and talked to each other about our home campuses until it was time to give the exit report. I did go with some other members of the team to the campus bookstore and bought a book on the ethnobotany of Pohnpei. I’m hoping to find out the names and purposes of some of the remarkable and beautiful plants on the island.  

After going back to the hotel for a quick change of clothes, we were off to the ancient ruins of Nan Madol. Our guide, Kenji, and his friend (who was always at the back of the line and whose primarily goal seemed to be making sure that everyone made it in and out of the site safely) took us on quite a lengthy drive to the location of the ruins. They are quite far from the hotel and the college; in fact, they are just off Temwen Island, a smaller island situated close to the main island of Pohnpei.

Kenji made for an interesting tour guide. He told us stories about the country and its chiefs and their people and the legends of the past. The stories were a bit enigmatic, to be honest, and sounded rather more metaphorical than realistic. He’s a good storyteller, though, and was certainly entertaining to listen to. By the way, Kenji is of both Pohnpeian and Japanese heritage, and he and his wife (who is of French descent) run the ramen noodle shop where we had eaten earlier in the week.

We had to walk through a mangrove forest to get to the ruins, and we passed by what could only be described as a series of mangrove swamps. We saw some spectacular images, and everyone took lots of pictures. That book on ethnobotany is definitely going to come in handy.

For the tour of Nan Madol, we had to pay $20 each for the guides. You then have to pay tribute to three chiefs whose land you cross to get to the ruins: $1 for the first one, $3 for the second one, and $3 for the last one. I don’t know why the first chief only gets one dollar. We had to bring enough dollar bills with us to cover these “charges.”

To get to the ruins themselves, we had to cross a river (or perhaps it was a stream or maybe a canal). Thankfully, it was at low tide, so crossing was relatively easy. I had borrowed The Boyfriend’s Nike flip flops specifically for this part of the trip. I took off my shoes and socks, put the flip flops on, crossed the river, and put my socks and shoes back on. I had to do the same on the way back.

It’s tough to describe the ruins. There are lots of great views there, and you find yourself wondering how such large rocks were placed to make the walls and other structures. No one is completely certainly how long ago Nan Madol was completed, and the locals apparently won’t go near it because they think it’s haunted.

We had an exciting afternoon touring the ruins and the forests surrounding them. Our next stop was the Kepirohi Waterfall, another $3 charge. Getting to the waterfall involves another spectacular trek through the jungle and lots of beautiful plants. The waterfall itself is a beautiful sight, and much like Nan Madol, hardly any of the local people go there—although apparently not out of fear that the waterfall is haunted. Since the island has very little tourist trade, that means we had the place all to ourselves. Kenji bought a bag of donuts at the roadside stand where you pay your entrance fee to the waterfall. We then proceeded to throw pieces of donuts to the fish, who would eat them before the donut even hit the water. We also attracted the attention of a very large eel with a taste for donuts as well. I made some videos of both the waterfall and the eel.

For dinner, we went to Kenji’s restaurant, the Nett Ramen Café and Restaurant, where I had a different type of ramen this time. Both types were delicious, and I managed to get a picture this time. I also picked up four small handicrafts they had for sale at a small table near the entrance: two hearts and two stars. We also chatted with Kenji and his wife, who is expecting their first child in a couple of months. They apparently live in the house across the street from the restaurant, so we also met some other members of the extended family.

I was certainly tired when I got back to the hotel. Unfortunately, I had another “visitor” in my room. The previous day, I had encountered an enormous cockroach next to the door. I used a shoe to kill it, and it was quite… “juicy.” However, when I told the other team members, I was criticized for not taking a picture of it before killing it. I remedied that the next time. This cockroach was in the closet, so I had a chance to get my phone before it ran away. Unfortunately, though, it ran away to join its family and I missed my chance to squash this one.

Day Five on the Island

Wednesday is always the longest day of an accreditation visit.

Usually, you have a draft due by the end of the day, including proposed language for commendations and recommendations. You also have interviews with people for much of the day, and you’re writing in between the interviews and talking to other members of the team and trying to determine if there are any issues that the college needs to be praised for or given advice to address. It’s a lot to get done in one day, and it typically starts at 8 a.m. and ends at 10 p.m. or even later, depending upon how quickly you can write. Luckily, the team I’m on finished its work early—we had done a lot of work before coming to the campus—so we got to go back our respective hotel rooms and relax. I even managed to read a few emails from home, most of which I deleted. It’s surprising how few emails I get that are truly important enough to require a response.

This team has been one of the most efficient and well-mannered teams I’ve worked on. It’s been a pleasure hanging out with them and working alongside them this week. It’s going to be a bit strange and sad to go back to the United States and California and home, but I am looking forward to having Mexican food again. And a real hamburger.

I learned today that the dogs all over the island are called “community dogs.” They, not the people, apparently decide where they will live, and then the people in the community will take care of them. That explains why they seem to be rather well fed. Of course, it depends upon what community the dog decides to reside in. The campus has at least three dogs, as does the hotel. The dogs are rather territorial and will bark at other dogs that come into their area. They don’t like strange dogs, but they seem relative okay with strange people so long as you don’t get too close to the home that they are now connected to. Some people do own dogs, of course, and those can be quite aggressive at dissuading strangers from coming too close. We even watched a Chihuahua bark at a much larger dog that got close to its owner’s home. 

We only had one rain shower today. I was in an interview, though, and didn’t even hear it. After a day with eight showers, it was quite a chance of pace. And the trade winds (yes, there are such things) provided a nice, cool breeze for most of the day. You need to be in an area where you can feel the wind, though, since I was in front of the LRC for a well-attended open forum and was sweating profusely. As soon as the forum was over, I had another interview and it was a delight to get back to the air conditioning. You tend to take certain things for granted when you’re around them all the time. I will, hopefully, never take air conditioning for granted ever again.

Day Four on the Island, Part II

We have been using four SUVs to drive around the island, and every now and then, we need to stop at a store for a member of the team who needs some drinking water or some other item. We happened to be at a “grocery” store late in the afternoon when I realized that we were near the Fisheries Commission that the college’s president had told us about. The artist who painted the conference table in the president’s office had also painted the pictures of the fish along the wall outside the commission’s office. I got out of the SUV (almost all of the vehicles here are from Asian countries—not American ones, for the record) to take pictures for the group and got carried away. Instead of taking a couple of pictures that showed all of the different fish, I wound up taking a picture of each one of the fish because I found them so intriguing.

By the way, the official name of the commission is the Commission for the Conservation and Management of Highly Migratory Fish Stocks in the Western and Central Pacific Ocean. That’s a mouthful worthy of the Victorian Era, with its penchant for long names like the Society for the Suppression of Juvenile Vagrancy.

The conference table that I mentioned earlier was created by carpentry students at the college. It’s spectacular. And it’s incredibly heavy. It was built with “fallen” wood rather than harvested wood. The island is pretty eco-friendly overall.

Those same carpentry students built a series of tables for the cafeteria, too. Their work is only available for sale on the island, though. You have to be at the college for an annual action, apparently, in order to buy one. The tables are certainly far too large to fit into an overhead bin, or I would have taken one for myself.