Tribute to the ZCA

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hey all--
i received the jump drive with sher's blogs last week, and am just now getting to posting one. could fall break get here any sooner? i talked with sher last night and she and justin is safe and well. i was fortunate to make this acquaintance while we were there, and was sad to learn of the loss. have a good week.

- b

18 August 2009

The ZCA is on tour again. Only this time, he’s by himself, or rather, with those who have gone on before him. Unexpectedly, the man we have been sharing an office with and accompanying around the island as he visited the schools died last week. His given name is Godrington, though most people here simply called him by the title “ZCA” (zone curriculum advisor). He left behind three young children as well as their mother. The cause of his death is not quite clear to us on the island. He started becoming short of breath which progressed into spitting blood and went to the health center. Realizing the case was beyond their capabilities to help, the nurses there sent him to another health center on another island, Ambae. Still not able to help, the staff there put him on a plane to Vila and he died during that flight. Only a week had passed from the time his symptoms started.

Our feelings on this issue are bittersweet. Although initially I hesitated to work with him as I was unsure just how much of his job he wanted me to do, as I grew to understand the scope of his job, I grew to appreciate his aptitude for it. Justin and I have many good, humorous memories of him, having spent good hours traveling to and from schools as well as in the office. He was indeed one of Justin’s good friends and they had a plethora of inside jokes between them (many of them shared over kava and so taboo for me to know about, but I know by the way Justin laughs with him that they’re sincerely hilarious). We used to giggle at the way he would squint at you when you were talking about something important, as if trying to focus his eyes as well as his mind on what you were saying, and then pop his eyes back into normalness when he grasped your message.

We found out he died pretty quickly after it happened as our neighbor is close family with him. She got a phone call and received the news while standing in our front yard, the best place to get cell phone reception that day. Choked with emotion, she headed across the school yard to be with his family. And I, instead of pondering the cultural equivalent of a casserole or flower arrangement, grabbed my handkerchief and headed next door to cry. No profound advice or gift needed, just share your time and your tears.

It was touching to see how people came together to support his aunt and children who were left at Gambule. Resources of food, cell phones, and extra beds were shared until the details for burial were finalized so that the family wasn’t left to deal with them on their own. Even though the ZCA was from a rather removed part of Maewo, and technically with more close family on Pentecost, an outsider would not have noticed the difference than if he was “straight family” with everyone at Gambule School. A most touching moment happened as I was sitting in the yard on a mat with some women. We had been inside and cried and were now sitting out in the yard to leave room for others who continued to show up. With the kids’ mother gone, next in line as far as care taking goes would be the aunt who stayed with the kids. The aunt was inside wailing with anyone who would wail with her. The “toktok” on the mat was primarily concerned women chattering over whether or not the kids knew what had happened to their dad. One woman, actually she’s my auntie and the same age as me, tried to explain to the ZCA’s middle child what had happened. This was a tear jerker. The girl is about kindergarten age. Since she is from Asanvari, the local language she speaks is from Pentecost, dramatically different from the Maewo languages. At her young age, her need for Bislama is little, so her capability to communicate in it is limited. My auntie proceeded in her simplest, clearest Bislama to explain what happened. The girl seemed confused but just politely nodded and turned to go back to her play. Then she seemed to sense that the wailing inside the house may have something to do with what we were trying to tell her. She turned and asked if that was so. My auntie said, “Yes, oli sad from bae yumi nomo luk tati nao. Laef blong hem i finish nao” (Yes, their said because we’re not going to see daddy again. His life is finished now). The reality of the situation still was not quite complete, but the girl went back to playing with a distracted air about her.

Since he died off the island, the logistics of the return of his body to his home village were sticky. His wife was with him at the time, his three children and one of his aunts were at his house at the school, and his parents and remaining family were in Asanvari, on the southern tip of Maewo. With his family and friends so spread out, things got complicated.

The initial plan was for his body to be flown to Ambae and then boated straight to Asanvari. So, the next morning, the family that was at the school got in a small fiberglass boat and headed to Asanvari. But the relationships he built in this village inspired the staff as well as other community members to request that his body be brought to the school for everyone here to share their sorry before he was buried.

He flew back to Ambae and there the students of Gambule Secondary school were staying for an annual sports tournament that includes schools from Pentecost, Maewo, and Ambae. The students met his body with their tears. There, also, the ZCA’s father joined the procession. From Ambae, they came to the school. Hundreds of people gathered in the school yard and it was eerily reminiscent of the recent Children’s Day and Independence Day celebrations. But the kids knew better than to play, the dogs knew better than to fight, and cheery cell phone ringtones stuck out like a rock in cooked rice. We all sat in silence waiting for the boat to come. The sound of the approaching motor was all it took for the tears to start.

Since the body had been transported by plane and boat, it was kept in a simple, wooden coffin. This is a rather foreign item on Maewo and caused loads of questions from my younger brother Aldayer. Is his body in the box? Why? Will they open it? Will they bury the box too? My host mother patiently answered his questions between her sobs.

The school presented the ZCA’s father with a pig. As his father came forward to accept it, his hesitation was visible. Dads aren’t supposed to have to accept pigs and mats on behalf of their children any more than sympathy cards. That breaks hearts in any culture.

From Gambule, the procession continued on to another school before finally stopping at Asanvari. A few of the teachers went together in another boat to show their respect. Justin and I felt torn about whether or not we should go or send something along for the family. We put together a box with a few bags of rice, some tin tuna and three bars of soap. These practical gifts would hopefully come in useful to the extended family that would be visiting during the time of mourning.

The next day, it poured. Justin and I were alone at the school. All of the teachers were either on Ambae at the sports tournament, in Asanvari, or had decided to leave the school grounds. For the next week we were pretty much the only ones around. As is typical to Maewo, there was lots of talk about black magic and the ZCA being “spoiled” by someone who was jealous of him. Probably even more so because his death was so sudden and its cause left rather unresolved. After three nights, my host mom came to talk to us. Who all was still living at the school? Were we sleeping okay? Would we prefer to go sleep at her house? We assured her we were fine. She seems to understand that “white man” don’t have the same beliefs and respected our decision to stay. Still, everywhere we went, people were asking similar questions. “Yu stap lo Gambule yu harem gud?” (You stay at Gambule and you feel alright?) Eventually, the woman who helps look after the principal’s children and house decided to come sleep at the school, possibly just so we wouldn’t be alone.

So, school is still not really happening here. The kids are getting ready to go into a two weeks break to end Term 2 and no one is anxious to spend the last few remaining days of the term at the school. Probably after the two weeks break, we’ll just start back fresh. Until then, Justin and I are storying about our favorite ZCA memories and doing lots of reading and writing. We’ll attend a workshop on Ambae with a few kids from Maewo next week, which will be a nice break to the monotony of no school.

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Comments

[Mary Ann Arnott]

ZCA
Such a precious story of your dear ZCA. I know he will be greatly missed. Such amazing life experiences you are having.