AdeleHouston
10-03-2009, 08:24 AM
After 8 heart stopping hours the family got word that Josiah Houston was safe and well. He is teaching English on the outer most island in American Samoa Ta'u. There are 35 teacher volunteers in American Samoa. All were reported eventually contacted and reported to be safe. Some have lost students. Houston is blessed not to be a teacher with this circumstance to deal with. But the loss of villages shaken all.
The stories from the most devastated areas are yet to get through - but one of the science teachers on the main island did get to update his blog. It can be found here. http://steveatwell.blogspot.com/
Houston does not keep a blog... but a few days before the tsunami he described the island as follows:
I live on a tiny speck of earth named Ta'u that bears the full force of a mighty large ocean of water. Once the spiritual center of all of Polynesia... the Samoan Garden of Eden! And it is living up to all the myth and lore.
Besides the dial up connection in the office of the school... its pretty much like the 1800's here. I live on the water. The tide practically hits my door... I watch the old ladies next door spear fish for octopus in the mornings, while their grandchildren bathe and run naked along the sand. Giant bats fly home from a long night of hunting. Whales spout water in the distance. Colorful Segaula parrots nest in the coconut trees where I have strung up my hammock. Life is a different pace here. The people are warm and loving. The kids are restless, competitive, and clownish. I am in love with them all - which as you know is a complicated process of give and take. I have already written a new book of poetry. My life is inspiration at every turn.
Our single luxury is that we have running water half of the day. But it is always cold (what i'd do for a hot shower!... I'm almost ashamed...). There are three villages but there is only one road, one shop, and 500 people... yet there are four churches... haha. There is a giant rain forest that covers 10 square miles (most) of the island. I hike it often - and get lost just as often. Tomorrow I'm going up Mt. Lata (the tallest point is all of Samoa). It used to be the top of the volcano that collapsed and became this island. At the top - you can look down into a mile deep crater... along the sides of which hidden beaches can be found where sea turtles nest and lay their endangered eggs... I can't wait. A short six hours in the jungle... then... one pure moment of happiness.
The air is pure. The scientists come, with their machines and measurements, to diagnose and explain this phenomenon of nature – needing to know why it is here of all places that such air can be found. To which the poet simply smiles, lost somewhere between amusement and admiration for such insatiable curiosity, as he breathes… slowly… deeply.
My home marks the Western point of Faleaso – one of three sleepy villages found on the outskirts of a glorious rain forest. Past my bedroom there is only jungle and ocean, beneath the sheer face of a magnificent mountainside; a constant reminder that I live upon the tip of an enormous volcano rising from the Pacific depths.
From my front steps, there is a soul stirring vista. The ocean draws back into the horizon, seven shades of blue, perpetual and prolific. It collides with a beach of coral and sand – again and again – cleansing the senses, lifting the spirit. It is common for whales to pass by, blowing water into the sky and resting briefly, before disappearing beneath the surface. At low tide, I sit and watch the old women from next door spearfish octopus for Sunday dinner while their grandchildren run naked at the foot of the waves, bathing in jubilation. Coconut trees line the landscape, soaring above me; while the stones littered about my feet overflow with an endless parade of colossal hermit crabs making their daily pilgrimage to the water’s edge, before the sun sets on my toes – warm and faithful.
At night it rains without restraint; hard and heavy, constant and deafening. But in the morning, as giant bats wing their way home while the sun begins to peak over the canopy, a rainbow forms… as if from a storybook. Rising from the middle of the water and arching through the sky – as bright as a forgotten box of Crayolas melting into asphalt on a sizzling mid-summer day. The villagers pay it no mind. It is a common occurrence. They find it silly how I stare in absolute wonder. There will be another tomorrow, just the same.
....
The stories from the most devastated areas are yet to get through - but one of the science teachers on the main island did get to update his blog. It can be found here. http://steveatwell.blogspot.com/
Houston does not keep a blog... but a few days before the tsunami he described the island as follows:
I live on a tiny speck of earth named Ta'u that bears the full force of a mighty large ocean of water. Once the spiritual center of all of Polynesia... the Samoan Garden of Eden! And it is living up to all the myth and lore.
Besides the dial up connection in the office of the school... its pretty much like the 1800's here. I live on the water. The tide practically hits my door... I watch the old ladies next door spear fish for octopus in the mornings, while their grandchildren bathe and run naked along the sand. Giant bats fly home from a long night of hunting. Whales spout water in the distance. Colorful Segaula parrots nest in the coconut trees where I have strung up my hammock. Life is a different pace here. The people are warm and loving. The kids are restless, competitive, and clownish. I am in love with them all - which as you know is a complicated process of give and take. I have already written a new book of poetry. My life is inspiration at every turn.
Our single luxury is that we have running water half of the day. But it is always cold (what i'd do for a hot shower!... I'm almost ashamed...). There are three villages but there is only one road, one shop, and 500 people... yet there are four churches... haha. There is a giant rain forest that covers 10 square miles (most) of the island. I hike it often - and get lost just as often. Tomorrow I'm going up Mt. Lata (the tallest point is all of Samoa). It used to be the top of the volcano that collapsed and became this island. At the top - you can look down into a mile deep crater... along the sides of which hidden beaches can be found where sea turtles nest and lay their endangered eggs... I can't wait. A short six hours in the jungle... then... one pure moment of happiness.
The air is pure. The scientists come, with their machines and measurements, to diagnose and explain this phenomenon of nature – needing to know why it is here of all places that such air can be found. To which the poet simply smiles, lost somewhere between amusement and admiration for such insatiable curiosity, as he breathes… slowly… deeply.
My home marks the Western point of Faleaso – one of three sleepy villages found on the outskirts of a glorious rain forest. Past my bedroom there is only jungle and ocean, beneath the sheer face of a magnificent mountainside; a constant reminder that I live upon the tip of an enormous volcano rising from the Pacific depths.
From my front steps, there is a soul stirring vista. The ocean draws back into the horizon, seven shades of blue, perpetual and prolific. It collides with a beach of coral and sand – again and again – cleansing the senses, lifting the spirit. It is common for whales to pass by, blowing water into the sky and resting briefly, before disappearing beneath the surface. At low tide, I sit and watch the old women from next door spearfish octopus for Sunday dinner while their grandchildren run naked at the foot of the waves, bathing in jubilation. Coconut trees line the landscape, soaring above me; while the stones littered about my feet overflow with an endless parade of colossal hermit crabs making their daily pilgrimage to the water’s edge, before the sun sets on my toes – warm and faithful.
At night it rains without restraint; hard and heavy, constant and deafening. But in the morning, as giant bats wing their way home while the sun begins to peak over the canopy, a rainbow forms… as if from a storybook. Rising from the middle of the water and arching through the sky – as bright as a forgotten box of Crayolas melting into asphalt on a sizzling mid-summer day. The villagers pay it no mind. It is a common occurrence. They find it silly how I stare in absolute wonder. There will be another tomorrow, just the same.
....