Vocational Training

Every job in the world has its perks … and its lurks; the butcher is a legally sanctioned killing machine who gets to walk around all day with a lethal weapon at his hip … but spends his days up to his nuts in guts; the baker makes tonnes of dough*, but is up at 1am and covered in flour; the candlestick maker does a roaring trade each year during Earth Hour … but has hands covered in burns; the primary school teacher get 38.4 weeks a year holiday … but those bloody kids; and the podiatrist gets around in a Maserati with a hooker on his lap … but suffers a daily ordeal of toe-jam and horny old nails.

Obviously, in business as in life, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and in order to enjoy the good, you have to put up with a bit of the bad.

Here in Vanuatu, the good is most certainly the fantastic climate, the laid-back pace, the wonderful people and the brilliant, sparkling sea, and understandably it is not uncommon for adventurous folk from places like Australia and New Zealand to move here and sign-up for an extended, working tropical holiday through managing small scale tourism businesses such as resorts and restaurants.

Over Easter, the Donkeys visited one such establishment where a young couple taking a break from a year or two on the backpacking trail, had recently arrived to service the needs of their fellow travellers, and at the same time, enjoy living on a stunning coastline in one of the world’s few remaining tropical coastal wildernesses.

But instead of being happy with the perks they enjoy every day, at three weeks, they are at each other’s (and their resort guests’) throats; he wanting to hang-out all afternoon with the young [and female] guests and she wanting to visit the local tourist sites because, as she would tell all within earshot, “it’s not fair.  I have been here for weeks and I never get to go anywhere”.

Every job has its perks, people … and its lurks.  The explosive sunrises, azure reefs and balmy evenings aren’t free; you might also have to do some work, like stock the larders, fix things, clean things and look after guests.  One thing’s for sure, as someone who paid for my explosive sunrises, azure reefs and balmy evenings, I was not entirely happy with the nagging lurk of a disgruntled and dysfunctional resort management. 

Still, life has a way of working itself out, and looking around at the haunted looks of my fellow guests every time one of these managers walked out onto the balcony, I have a feeling that they may soon find themselves enjoying far more ‘me time’ than they’d signed-up for.  It’s called hospitality for a reason … and it aint about you!

Bit of a mixed metaphor here, but the point is that even these guys suffer lurks in return for the perks of their jobs … and they don’t look to be complaining.  Pic:  http://www.robertabaird.com

*urgh – that was terrible

Sold Out

The worm has turned for Donkey … I have completely sold out and am now ‘one of them’.

Back in the day … back when I was a REAL development worker, I wouldn’t have been seen dead in Honiara’s Lime Lounge.  Every location in the developing world where you’ll find a collection of two or more expatriates will have one of these joints.  The coffee is bad, the food is bad, the staff are hopelessly slow and the clientele suck, but it’s the only coffee in town, the only place you can get a BLT and, if you’re that way inclined, the only place you can scoff down a [relatively] fresh piece of chocolate cake.

Sounds alright, doesn’t it?  The only thing that I’ve failed to mention is that the only dark faces in the room are behind the counter, and the cost of a cup of the afore-mentioned muddy water is about three times their hourly wage.

But times’s changed, and I’m moving up the slippery ladder of self-importance, so I’ve been in here everyday, scoffing disgusting, greasy food and closing my eyes as I French-kiss my coffee cup in an attempt to remember the special relationship I enjoy with my espresso machine at home.  Actually, I’d rather not be here, but it’s the only way I can access email while I’m here in the Sols, so they’ve got me.

Is it so bad after all?  Well, let’s see.  Opposite me on this Wednesday morning at 11.30 are three young, bored looking Australian women, by the appearance of them, partners of blokes who are working here.  Each of them are completely done-up to the nines; short, black cocktail dresses, 4 inch heels, immaculate hair and painted nails.  Screaming with laughter as they ostentatiously blow their cigarette smoke around the sealed room.  And I should mention, they were here yesterday … and the day before … and the day before.

Over the other side are three very fat, wispy-white-haired, ruddy-faced consultants (I know this cause they are wearing fawn-coloured pants and a shombre shirts).  They are making lude remarks to the waitress who is smiling apprehensively at their errant hands.

At the counter is standing an angry, grey-haired, middle-aged woman – a kiwi – abusing the staff as she demands her coffee which she claims she’s been waiting ages for.

And it goes on … Looks like I’ve finally made it to the big time; I’ve found my people … and my place.

The Stairway to [Development] Heaven.  Pic: http://www.geckogo.com/Guide/Solomon-Islands/Honiara/

Might is Power?

There’s been quite a bit of a comment in the Australian media of late concerning the Australian Government’s “intervention” to arrest rampant child abuse and community dysfunction amongst indigenous communities in the Northern Territory through the deployment of a military and civil police force to remote communities to round-up suspects and limit misuse of government support pensions to households.

The Intervention, initiated by the Howard Liberal Government, and subsequently continued by both the Rudd and Gillard Labor Governments has polarised both the indigenous and wider Australian community, with as many advocates and commentators from both groups lauding the “something had to be done” approach, as those outraged by the blatant infringements on the civil rights of indigenous Australians.

The Intervention was modelled precisely on the Australian-led, Regional Assistance Mission to the Solomon Islands (RAMSI), which was sent-in back in 2003 to restore law and order, and kick-start reform towards self-governance in the civil war-torn country.  The Intervention in the Northern Territory employed the same military tactics, the same infrastructure, the same logistics operators and even the same Military Commander to oversee its initial implementation, and like here in Solomon Islands, the Intervention is still in place, some four years later.

Whether you agree that a 600-strong military intervention to subdue a ragged collection of presumably unarmed Australian citizens was the right way to go or not, one would have to question what the impact of whole troops of white guys with guns barging-in on their community will have on the mentality of the young kids who will grow to become the leaders of those communities.

Here in Solomons, a visit to the only DVD store in town will demonstrate hoards of young people selecting their favourite entertainment option from a limited range of genres comprising “Action”, “Martial Arts”, Kick-boxing”, “War”, “Westerns” and “Horror”.

The same images glorifying war and violence amongst young people can be seen all over their school books, behind bus seats and on public walls all over the city; the fully-armed, equipped, cruelly calculating Melanesian Super-soldier (see pic).

Military might may be useful in creating a dramatic halt to actual violence, but has the unintended consequence of portraying the lesson of that ‘Might is Power’; a potentially dangerous lesson in a setting where young people are likely to grow-up with limited economic and employment opportunities.  I wonder whether this is good for our country as well.

These images appear all over Honiara.  This one beneath a bridge.  Pic: Hagas

Driving Blind

Sheesh!  S’been a wild and crazy week; work, drink coffee, eat, work, drink coffee, little bit of sleep, drink coffee, work, drink coffee, work, eat, work, little bit of sleep … am completely knackered but have that wonderful sense of happiness and fulfilment that being in the Islands gives you.

Have also got some fun little observations for you over the next few days, but for now, until I get some shut-eye, this will have to do.

Given how much of my everyday schedule involves wistful sighs as I reminisce about the things I miss most from my years in the Pacific, it always comes as a surprise when I arrive back on-island and am reminded of something which is so typically Melanesian, and which I always marvelled at before, but which has completely slipped from my awareness until I see it again.

Case in point was what struck me after striding purposefully out of the arrivals hall on Monday, past all the confused, first-timers staring wild-eyed and paralysed with fear at the menacing-looking savages which they imagine are and drooling over their succulent hambones .  I smugly head straight for the taxi stand, and even just the 20 metre walk through the oppressive heat has me dripping by the time I collapse into the front seat, to the welcome, air conditioned darkness … hang-on, darkness?

As a taxi passenger in the Solomons, one doesn’t have to travel much further than a kilometre or so before one’s neck starts to develop a permanent, aching stoop.  This is a result of the DIY window tinting that adorns every taxi here, and which almost completely blacks-out the windscreen, apart from a narrow, horizontal strip across the lower 1/3 – the cause of my acquired, tropical upper spinal kyphosis.

Now I can appreciate that a taxi driver’s complete privacy is conducive to receiving blow-jobs in the front seat during quiet moments at the taxi stand, but surely being able to see out the window is somewhat of an occupational requirement, and a greater priority for the sustainable economic development of the taxi driver and his family?

It’s good to be back!

Admittedly Solomon Islands is not the only country I’ve visited where the transport workers aren’t as alert as they should be.  Pic:  http://tomstock.photoshelter.com