Some 30 years ago, Solomon Islands needed an accountant.
Dad applied for the job, got it, came here, and brought my mum along. While here, me and two of my sisters were born at the illustrious Number 9 Hospital in Honiara.
Cool Fact: Buildings and houses here do not have street numbers and so “Number 9” is not a street number. The name comes from WWII days when American troops constructed their 9th building, which now serves as the National Hospital.
Because mum had stakka chores, a social life, and more than one pikinini, she hired some help. In the Sollies, they are called “house girls” by the locals, or “house mere” by PC expats meaning “house woman”. Their duties range from regular household chores, to cooking, buying groceries and babysitting.
Having a house girl is common practice here in the Solomons especially for expats. If they stay with you long enough they’re almost like part of the family, particularly if you have kids.
Last night, after a number of failed attempts, I was finally able to (re)meet our past housegirls, Pepper Pots, Martha Kent, and their two daughters.
A lot of effort…
To get to Honiara, Pepper needs to catch a ride on the back of a truck. The road from her village to the main road is “broken” and inaccessible by car so she walks 30 minutes to get to the truck stop. Turns out the weather is too wet for truck travel so she walks back home to try again the next day.
Meanwhile, no one has arrived and I’ve been waiting all day for my guests. It doesn’t help that there is no reception at the village so I don’t get any texts.
The next day, Pepper walks back to the truck stop and the weather is good. The truck eventually comes and it takes them two hours to get into the city. When she finally arrives in Honiara, Martha, who has a car and lives in the city, picks them up and brings everyone over for dinner.
We’d decided to make spaghetti for dinner reasoning that everyone loves spaghetti: it’s foreigny, easy to make, and includes cheese which is worth more than gold here. The spaghetti goes down a treat, the bolognese sauce was a “nice soup”, and the cheese they barely touched. Maggie, our Pijin teacher, told us later that most Solomon Islanders don’t like spaghetti bolognese let alone cheese.
After dinner, Pepper and Martha stori.
Pepper and Martha looked after me and my three sisters when my parents for about five years. I am smug to discover that it wasn’t me, but my sister who was less than angelic (Yes Favourite, they’re talking about you). I showed them some photos and told them I gained two more siblings, bringing the total tally up to six. Even though it’s been 25 years, they can pick out #2 with the “Chinese hair” and also easily recognised #3 with the “Chinese eyes”. There’s no beating about the PC bush in pijin. Mum looks the same, but Dad, “bifoa, hem garem moa hair.”
Over dinner and dessert, they told us things about Solomon Islands, mostly food related. They laughed when we admitted we didn’t know how to “scrashem kokonat“, and were horrified when we said we’d never cooked a fresh tuna before and didn’t have an outside kitchen.
Less than impressed, they tentatively asked if we knew how to eat banana.
Obviously, we are failed adults and they insisted on visiting us again so they could impart some much-needed life skills. There are over 200 varieties of bananas here, so, possibly 200 ways to eat them?
In any case, we are looking forward to all the Solomon flavoured life lessons and if I learnt one tonight, it was this: not everyone likes spaghetti.