I (Angie) just got home from a week-long trip to the island of Ambae. I experienced several “firsts” and came home with lots of stories. Of course there were the regular bush toilet mishaps, waiting for transport to show up, and Bislama / English / lanwis communication issues. There was also a very sweet mentally challenged woman who gave me a back massage, an old man with a flower behind his ear rolling cigarettes at the airport who gave me his address, and kids who told me I would talk better Bislama if I would just pull out all my teeth!

Probably the most “exciting” story revolved around getting to the second church. We heard there was a death in the second village and couldn’t get ahold of the translator there to see if we could still come. Our training was running late, but the transport (if it even came) surely wouldn’t be on time, right? Of course it was. So we finished quickly, threw all of our things into bags, and waved goodbye to our new friends as our truck rumbled down the road. An hour later it was dark. We came to a river where the driver said he would need to drop us off and we would hike the rest of the way. I should have known it was a bad sign when the people who were with us suggested we take a “shortcut”. Did I mention it had rained…a lot?

So here I am with a solar light that was fading fast, following some guy up a muddy trail, and my feet are slipping in my shoes so badly that I am actually sliding backwards! The unknown man in front of me not only took one of my bags but every time I started sliding I would look up to find his hand stretched out to help the white lady up the hill. I eventually took my shoes off and fared better the rest of the way walking barefoot. Muddy and skinned up we finally arrived at the small plateau that is Ambanga village. We sat down at the table with the translator and his wife and ate breakfast crackers and drank tea for dinner — and we slept really good that night.

Angie (for Matt and the kids who survived while I was gone)