Nohno Pancake

On Saturday, June 20^th, the other M81s and I moved in with our host families for Pre-Service Training (PST). We were all quite nervous that morning as we waited for our families to come pick us up from PATS. What if they didn’t like us? Would they teach us how to take a bucket shower? Will they show us how to properly hand wash our laundry? Will there be kids? What happens if we can’t understand each other? There were so many questions running through our heads, but the Peace Corps staff reminded us it was okay to be anxious. Once all of the families arrived at PATS, we did a quick “speed dating” round (or as one Trainee jokingly called it “speed adopting”), where the Trainees and the families received clues about each other and then had to go around and find their match. Talk about awkward first interactions.

My clues were:

1.     Father is the Deacan in the Catholic Church

2.     Mother is a good pancake maker.

3.     Family has hosted a Trainee in the past.

Armed with the 3 clues about my host family, I took a deep breath and sat down in front of the first host family. In broken Pohnpeian and English, I made my way through 2 more families before I finally found mine.

“Are you good at making pancakes?” I asked a woman I recognized as part of the PATS kitchen staff. All I got was a confused look. A man in his 30s sitting next to her leaned forward and read the paper with the 3 clues written on it. “The Deacan is my Dad…” and then he took out the sheet he had been given about the Trainee that would be staying with him. He handed it to me.

It read:

1.     Has a B.A. in Literatures and Cultures

2.     Studied Spanish

3.     Enjoys reading, writing, and doing arts and crafts.

Bingo. “That’s me!” I told them. The woman stood up from her chair and leaned across the table to give me a giant hug. What a relief. I was under the impression hugs were uncommon in the culture, especially during first meetings. She introduced herself as Nohno Maria. Her son, Hurston, the man sitting next to her, quickly said, “You can call her Nohno Pancake.” Little did I know that that was the beginning of many more pancake jokes to come.

Fast forward to when we made it back to my host family’s house (a 5 minute walk from PATS...holla!). I met Hurston’s wife, their two daughters (Lilirose, 7 and Janerose 8), his nephew they were taking care of (Estion 1), and some random people in the backyard (not that many people for a typical Pohnpeian family actually). My Nohno Pancake then told me about her husband who was in Kolonia for a meeting and who would be home later in the afternoon. “When you see him, you should say, ‘Kasalehlie Pahpa Pancake!’” she laughed. I thought she was joking. Turns out she wasn’t. When I greeted him with a polite “Kasalehlie mang” a few hours later, she glared (okay, more like sternly looked) at me until I finally gave in and said “Kasalehlie Pahpa Pancake.” He and the whole family laughed. Thank goodness.

My Nohno and Pahpa Pancake then took me to a funeral anniversary* that evening and relayed the story, I kid you not, at least 10 times about how they got their new names. Everyone laughed, including my Nohno and Pahpa each time, which made me feel part of the family and eased many of my fears about integrating.

Hurston’s eldest daughter, Janerose, especially liked asking me what my name was. I’d respond with “Etay Rachel” at first, but she wasn’t satisfied. She’d ask me for my name again. I would say, “Etay Rachel…Pancake,” when I finally caught on. She then began asking for my parent’s, sister’s, and grandparent’s names, and I’d make her giggle for minutes on end by tacking on “Pancake” to each one of them. So just a heads up Mom, Dad, and Romy. Your new names are: Rosanna Pancake, Peter Pancake, and Romy Pancake.

Later that night, as the whole family and I were sitting on the living room floor, I mentioned that I thought their puppy was adorable. “Puppy?” Nohno Pancake asked. “Puppy, like….kitti, but smaller,” I tried explaining. “You can name it,” she said. “Wait, really?” I asked. She laughed, “Puppy. Puppy Pancake will be its name.”

Guys, I accidentally named my first dog. And by the time I leave Pohnpei in August, everything will be named Pancake.

Koaros pancakes,

Rachel

P.S. We had delicious pancakes and coffee the next morning. Nohno Pancake’s clue indeed proved to be true.

Rachel Brenner

*One year funeral anniversaries are important in Pohnpeian culture, and I’m really fortunate to have gotten to go to one my first night with my host family. Since my Pahpa Pancake is a Deacan he led a short mass, which was followed by dinner and Sakau making. There were probably 30-40 people of all ages at the anniversary and I had the best time observing their interactions. During PST the Peace Corps staff had made it sound uncommon for men and women to interact for more than a few minutes, but there was a decent amount of mingling from what I saw. That could be because it was mostly family and friends, but regardless I was pleasantly surprised. The Sakau pounding was mesmerizing to watch, and tasted much better than the other times I tried it. In typical Pohnpeian fashion it started pouring, but nothing could have ruined my night. I not only felt incredibly honored to be there, but I also finally grasped how integral community is in Pohnpei.