I walk up to my host family's house and it is fluttering with moms going in and out of the kitchen, dads frying fish over firewood, and kids running laps around their grandparents in the living room.
A friendly face comes to shake my hand, I introduce my name with a smile. To my surprise, his face drops like the heavy pang of the grog pounder.
"We've met before... I'm Tata Mana?"
Jeez - a year into my service, and I still don't know my host dad's brother?!?
My anxiety grew thinking about all the people I was about to interact with today. There was a big function around our mataqali¹ welcoming family visitors from the United States and New Zealand, many who've never stepped foot in the village after their grandmothers moved outside of Fiji. As I sat on the floor for morning tea, I looked around the room for more familiar faces, many of whom replied back with a smile.
The morning rolls on and the people I know start introducing me to people I don't. Strangers morph into family members as I introduce myself as the Peace Corps volunteer and also as Lemeki's adopted daughter in the village. Lucky for me, it doesn't take much to impress them with new language skills as many see my lighter complexion and expect nothing more than a 'Bula!'²
With the initial introductions and small talk dying down, I start to get antsy for the main guests to arrive from the airport. I bet it'll be way more interesting to hear stories about Fijians living in other countries instead of the same stories I've been repeating the past few months.
And with that, Fiji time is on my side for once and brings the bus of visitors to their party.
Family members trickle out of their vehicles, but one stands out among them - the first of two main guests. The matriarch that moved to the U.S. 40 years ago, has now stepped back into her village and wow. Not only does she look like my maternal grandmother from Okinawa, Japan, but she's also wearing a tank top and pants!! Inside the village!?!
I don't know what I was expecting, but I noticed the absence of the wrap-around sulus³ and the presence of acrylic nails. New Zealand accents on indigenously Fijian faces. Awkward handshakes and attempts to laugh it off. Witnessing these things were visceral reminders of my own first steps - reenacting my cringiest integration moments right in front of me!
One of the woman asked me to introduce myself to the 40 or so guests that have now settled in, and I dive into my Fijian spiel.
"Hi, I'm Sera! I'm a volunteer from America living here for two years. In my work, I help the youth and the woman learn business skills and work on projects. I'm married, have no kids, and will return to Japan after my service ends next year."
Widened eyes and small smirks turn to look at each other.
"Wow, I'm Fijian and I can't even say all that."
Ugh, have I been there... I relate to the New Zealand's comment.
Being multiracial and dividing my lifetime between two countries, there are countless times where I've felt detached from culture, language, and identity. Just two weeks ago, I was crying about how how things have probably changed so much since I've been back in Okinawa.
As we do the welcoming sevusevu⁴ ceremony for the guests, I feel their nostalgic heartache pulling the tears from their eyes. I ponder: to be apart from a family oriented community with deep cultural traditions must've been hard, especially for the matriarchs that made the initial migrations.
The day progressed and the love of this family wrapped around its extended members from overseas. At least a hundred more people have gathered to eat with them, drink grog, and listen to their stories.
As an American who made the dive into Fijian culture a year ago, it was validating to see an entire group of people experience the same things I did, even with the help of a mutual bloodline. Language hiccups, new customs, the hesitancy to try new food...
Yessssss, I've been there friends.
It was incredible how the family reunion could make us reflect so deeply on identity, culture, and the complexities of fitting into a new community.
We are all individuals with unique experiences and backgrounds. When people come together from various walks of life, we bring different ideas, customs, and social behaviors that are vying to assimilate to each other. However, to sit with one another is a commitment of love. A step of vulnerability for the chance to develop real connections.
As Peace Corps Volunteers, it is our call to step into uncertainty everyday in order to develop these relationships (and don't forget, our host countries do the same for us too.) Navigating cultural differences, although challenging at times, is an incredible opportunity and choice we all make in our time together.
From spending the day conversing with the people from this village, the family from other parts of the island, and the extended links from around the globe, I am humbly reminded that as complicated as cultural integration can feel, all we need is an outreached hand.
Sometimes that invitation leads to a new relationship. Sometimes it leads to a disappointed Tata. Either way, its the vulnerable invitation for human connection that bridges us across differences.
—
mataqali - family clan
bula - translate to 'both life' and 'hello'
sulu - translates to clothes or cloth in general, but can also reference the fabrics men and women wrap around their waists in conservative or formal situations
sevusevu - welcoming ceremony for visitors that involves the presentation and drinking of kava
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