It's a char life.......

We arrive at the char by boat. Everyday I give myself a little pat on the back for not falling into the river (lets hope this trend continues). Depending on the time of day, our initial arrival will be quickly noticed or only acknowledged once we move from the shoreline into the center of the village. And then the chairs appear... plastic chairs from every possible direction... they multiply rapidly, accompanied by the strict instruction "Boshien" -- sit. This is particularly aimed at me, the strange, short-haired, light skinned person who speaks funny. Throughout the course of our time on the island, I am ushered into different chairs depending on the angle of the sun, as if everyone is afraid I might melt if left out too long (though to be honest, some days, I am afraid of this myself).

We (me, our trusty interpreters/interviewers and my colleague/mentor) sit and then attempt to recruit "eligible" participants - men and women who are married and are of childbearing age. Despite the somewhat sensitive nature of the topic at hand (family planning, the use of contraception, birth history) it is absolutely impossible to obtain privacy. The aforementioned chairs are merely placed in any shady space available, only on rare occasions do we interview in the home. Regardless of location, administering the interview is akin to talking in a crowded bar. There seems to be a steady din in the background. Distractions abound: children running or crying or fighting, chickens running or squawking or fighting, other villagers interjecting their own comments or asking questions. At times the interview will almost seem like a group effort, until one of the interviewers reminds them that only one person should be answering. The chairs form an irregular circle, around which some twenty people crowd. Through it all, I find it hard not to break a sweat.

Administering the survey, itself (which takes approximately 10 minutes), is also not a simple affair (even in the absence of the above distractions). The questions we ask are often misunderstood. Many of these people have little to no education. They can't read or write and do not even really conceive of a world beyond their island, having never had the opportunity to know anything else. They, too, have questions and are not always satisfied with our answers: what can we give them, how can we help them? We don't know either (but are trying to find out... not always reassuring for those looking for assistance).

But despite the somber nature of the situation at hand, the mood is often lighthearted. I, myself, often provide comic relief - albeit unintentionally. On my first visit, one of the women wanted to know what was wrong with me... she assumed I was dumb and mute. This myth persists, despite frequent use of my ~4 word vocabulary. As for my hair, my penchant for sweating and my weird shoes (very fashionable thick rubber-soled sandals rather than flip-flops) - all continue to be a source of amusement. All I can do is stand there, mute, and laugh too.