Community work and cooking

When living in tropical paradise all sense of time is lost to the sea, sand and waves. Another 3 weeks have passed and in many ways I feel like I’ve been here forever, but in others, it all still feels so fresh and new.

Its weird how time passes here, I can’t remember exactly what I did yesterday (diving of some sort) but the weeks pass in the blink of an eye. The end of last week marked the 4 week point, and as we farewelled some of the volunteers we welcomed in a new batch, paler more clothed versions of ourselves. 

To be completely honest, I only feel like I’ve just gotten into the swing of things. After grappling with grief while keeping a smiling face for several weeks, I was exhausted. I felt lethargic and glum. I didn’t want to be that girl who keeps crying so I’d find myself suppressing my sadness till it all came rushing to the surface- whether it be 12 metres under the sea on a coral stop, or in the middle of the night to the sound of fruit bats. 

While I was battling with grief I was also struggling with the lack of community. Going from the project in Thailand where I fell madly in love with each and every villager, to here, an hour out of town away from local comings and goings, I felt a little at a loss. Because most of our efforts go into diving and surveying and learning there is little time for community work. But the community based activities here have allowed me to get an insight into the Seychelles and connect to this project in a different way.

 

A couple of weeks ago it was Earth day. A day to raise environmental awareness, to listen to nature’s story, to the plight of the seas and the cries of the trees. And as the Seychelles is a small nation spread across 90 islands, environmental awareness is essential for its survival. Here, kids can join a wildlife club after school, much like chess club or art club, and a group of local youths organised a small Earth Day festival a couple of bays over.

And GVI rose to the occasion. We banned together to make a number of stalls- we had materials for kids to make their own turtle hatchlings. We had SCUBA diving kit and a bucket for kids to write on slates while wearing snorkels and masks. We had a map of the marine parks to raise awareness. We even took kids out snorkelling in the bay.

And what a day it was. We arrived at midday, the sun strong. In true island style there was a formidable stereo system playing the latest environmental song and stalls selling all sorts of fried goodies. 

A couple of other organisations were present to celebrate the day and raise awareness to the young men, women and children that arrived.

My favourite part of the day was taking a couple of kids for a snorkel. A flurry of fins, water and sand and we’d be off chasing well camouflaged fish. Some of the kids understood how a snorkel worked- if you keep the top end above water you can breath, others- not so much. But it was great to see their eyes widen in the masks as we scared guppies into their holes or found little islands of coral, home to tiny fish.

And it was fun to raise awareness for a good cause, despite the obvious contradictions as people wandered around eating off of styrofoam plates carrying plastic bags of goodies. It certainly raised questions in my head. How do we prioritise these messages so not to bombard people with dooms day predictions? Who should be targeted for these environmental messages?

Almost in answer to these questions came the next community activity. Every Wednesday GVI gives lessons to kids from the International School Seychelles (ISS). Its amazing, we meet the kids on a beach the next bay over and teach them about the sea and conservation. We taught them about coral. The night before Nicole, a beautiful Australian marine science student, and I wrote out a killer work sheet full of facts, little drawings of coral about how they make babies and a word search. The next morning we arrived wearing our GVI shirts and a smile. And the kids were great. 

What I didn’t cotton onto was the fact that kids from the ISS are from privileged backgrounds- very different from the kids I’ve taught while volunteering. It all came blindingly obvious when one girl said “so we own this hotel...” And for the rest of the lesson (which essentially turned into a sex ed class- note to self, don’t start a lesson about animals with reproduction, you’ll have to answer questions like: “so are the coral married?”, “how do snakes have babies?” and “is my cousins, cousin a coral?”) I grappled with the realisation that these kids are going to be the decision makers of tomorrow, the people with money to make the choices, and who better to spread my contagious love of coral with?

After the lesson about coral- an animal, that reproduces (“my mum doesn’t know that I know about sex but I know about ‘it’ because my cousin told me about ‘it’”) and is really important for marine life, we played games. From tag (named Shark in the middle) to coral, coral, parrotfish (duck, duck, goose) the kids wore us out.

Aside from the community work, life on base is great. We are surrounded by lush vegetation, everywhere you looks your eyes are met with shades of green against the bright blue of the sky. Humidity is high and the sun’s rays feel like arrows of heat into your skin.

And on most days, you’ll find me in the kitchen. I’m a people pleaser by nature, first and foremost I want everyone to like me, and then I want everyone to be happy. And on base the best way to make people happy (and make people like you) is to feed them- after all diving gives you a mean appetite. 

So whether its my duty for the day I’ll whip something up- a batch of ginger flapjack, or make use of the plentiful fruit that grows on our grounds and make coconut cookies. Just yesterday I spent the whole afternoon from 12 noon till 6.30pm in the kitchen whipping up a storm (ironically while it stormed outside). I made coconut cookies. I made apple crumble and custard. I made veggie pasties and raisin scroll bread.  I made a tomato chili sauce. And it was a feast. I was in my element. Busy improvising and cutting onions. And the joy I get when everyone piles in for dinner at 6.30 and smiles as you dollop out portions, reminding them to keep room for dessert.

So now I feel like the emotional storm has passed, yes I still miss Grandma dearly, and yes life is short, but today the sun is shining and I’m going for a dive to spot turtles and cookies to bake.

Community work and cooking