The Ship We Waited and Couldn't Swim Out to Meet

by Rhoda Mae Realda (Thailand)

Making a local connection Marshall Islands

The Journey: At the heart of the windy sea somewhere in the Pacific, the ship trembled like sheet metals shivering from stern to stern. Feeling nauseous, I was thinking of offering a prayer to Poseidon for a safe voyage -if only I was not a Christian on a missionary journey. For three days and two nights, I was aboard a ship heading to my final destination - the island of Woja. Being the only cargo ship to transport food supplies to small atolls of The Marshall Islands, passengers had to find comfort in accommodation with sacks of goods, oil, coconuts, and other food provisions lying beside them. The voyage tested my hope, faith, and bravery. Lowered down from the ship in fishnets to be transferred to small boats to transport me to shore, I arrived with my luggage and supplies soaked in crude oil as some oil containers leaked inside the ship. The island boasted crystal clear water and glistening sand with white fluffs of froth on top of the overflowing waves. It was mostly covered with coconut trees, small square houses, and blooming flowers. People and children were gathered on the beach curiously looking who’s coming and returning to their island. “Yokwe! Welcome to Woja!” Kunio Juano, greeted me as I arrived. “The ship is here at last!” Children excitedly watched men disembarked the cargos from the ship. For three months, they waited for the ship for food supplies and medicine. Bad weather delayed its usual arrival that some of them had to survive with pandanus, coconut, and freshly caught fish. From my old, wooden, unevenly standing hut was an endless ocean that seems to merge with the horizon. As the sun sets at 7:00 pm, the splashing of waves tossed themselves against the shore increased my loneliness in the first few weeks. Being One of Them: "Emman Amour?" Jeiar, the landowner greeted me as I started my day. Like most men on the island, he liked having coffee sitting on beach rocks while enjoying a morning conversation with his neighbors. Their daily activities started at 9:00 in the morning while the women were doing household chores. More than eighty families relied on fishing and copra making. Canned sardines, coffee, and cola were luxury foods and though surrounded by the vast ocean, salt is scarce and highly in-demand. The laidback life, genuine friendship, and lack of vanity made time passed by unnoticed. The beach in front of my hut was a witness of children’s laughter playing by the beach most of the afternoon after school. Women taught me how to make "amimono" – a local flower handicraft. To help them earn, I brought some handicrafts and sold them to souvenir shops in Majuro during my visit every three months. Heldy, one of the best fishermen on the island who lived in a small hut facing the ocean, taught me to speak Marshallese. One day, as I passed by his hut, he complained, “I have an unusual pain in my stomach.” I made a bowl of fish soup for him before I left for the night. Weeks passed and Heldy’s stomach grew bigger and bigger. We prayed for the arrival of the ship so we could bring him to the hospital. We waited...Before the boat arrived, Heldy died in his sleep. It was during difficult times when you could see their true spirit - they had the whole community to hold on to. They cared for no reason and love with no exception. The Lesson: I went to the island with the thought to be an instrument of change, I came home slapped with the realization that they had everything they needed. Who was I to say that I knew better because I came from places of skyscrapers and the latest technologies? Jeiar’s words made me think twice, “At 65, people in other places retire from their job and plan their retirement in tropical islands, isn’t that what I have every day?” Maybe he was right, life was really simple, but we insisted on making it complicated. It has been ten years since I left and there has never been a single day that I never miss the island life I once had.