Christmas on Tarawa has changed within the last couple of generations. Celebrations used to be all about food and families. One of our senior service missionaries who is native to Tarawa, told the story of when he was a child. On Christmas Day they would be given a piece of fruit as a gift. Whatever child had the most stickers on their face meant they came from the riches family. And the children would all go over to that person's home to see if there was better food for them. However, present giving is now on the island. I gave Keith a pair of gym shorts (because the elastic was starting to go on his old ones) and he gave me a pair of shell earrings. We spent the day playing in a "senior missionary pickle ball tournament". Everybody played 3 ten-minute games with different partners each game. The one with the most points at the end wins. I WON! It was more luck than skill.
Christmas at the store
I won a trophy and a jar of pickles
Keith playing pickle ball.
Oops. The ball went a little high
New Years Day was spent at the mission presidents house where we had a marvelous dinner. Sister Kendall brought the meat and everyone else brought side dishes. It was so good. The food here is very expensive and doesn't taste that good. So it was a real treat to eat so well.
L-R Front The Dukes (Dentist), The Stoddards (MLS) The Kendalls (Mission Leaders)
Back The Bennetts (Auditors), The Redmonds (Humanitarian) The Frehners (Pathway)
We quite often have little mice coming into our apartment. So we keep most of our food in large containers that lock. We also have mice traps which Keith takes care of. (I am so grateful that I don't have to dispose of the dead mice. Keith is my hero!) Well this week, we had a large rat coming in at night. He tried to chew a hole into the lid of several of our containers. We asked our landlord for advice on getting rid of the rat. He brought us over a rat trap. Then he told us that in Kiribati, there are many people who revere the rats and find it very distasteful to kill a rat. They believe you should talk to the rat and ask it respectfully to leave. So, when in Rome, I told the rat that God gave him a whole world to live in, could he please give me this one small spot I call home to myself. My landlord laughed and said that wouldn't work because the rats don't speak English, only Kiribati. Then he told us if we caught a rat to drown it, that's what he does. He doesn't believe in talking to rats. However, the rat has not come back. But I don't think it is because I talked to it. I think it is because he chewed through the lid of the toilet bowl cleaner and poisoned himself.
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