The Foreign Service Journal, September 2018

54 SEPTEMBER 2018 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL I prepared the package. for my friends in the states the dangling earrings woven into half moons black pearls glinting like an eye in a storm of tight spirals the baskets sturdy, also woven brown cowry shells shiny intricate mandalas shaped by calloused fingers Inside the basket a message: Wear these earrings to parties to your classes and meetings to the grocery store, the corner store and while riding the bus Store jewelry, incense, copper coins and curling letters like this one in this basket and when others ask you where you got this you tell them they’re from the Marshall Islands show themwhere it is on a map tell themwe are a proud people toasted dark brown as the carved ribs of a tree stump tell themwe are descendants of the finest navigators in the world tell them our islands were dropped from a basket carried by a giant tell themwe are the hollow hulls of canoes as fast as the wind slicing through the pacific sea we are wood shavings and drying pandanus leaves and sticky bwiros at kemems tell themwe are sweet harmonies of grandmothers mothers aunties and sisters songs late into night tell themwe are whispered prayers the breath of God a crown of fushia flowers encircling aunty mary’s white sea foam hair tell themwe are styrofoam cups of koolaid red waiting patiently for the ilomij tell themwe are papaya golden sunsets bleeding into a glittering open sea we are skies uncluttered majestic in their sweeping landscape we are the ocean terrifying and regal in its power tell themwe are dusty rubber slippers swiped from concrete doorsteps we are the ripped seams and the broken door handles of taxis we are sweaty hands shaking another sweaty hand in heat tell them we are days and nights hotter than anything you can imagine tell themwe are little girls with braids cartwheeling beneath the rain we are shards of broken beer bottles burrowed beneath fine white sand we are children flinging like rubber bands across a road clogged with chugging cars tell them we only have one road and after all this tell them about the water how we have seen it rising flooding across our cemeteries gushing over the sea walls and crashing against our homes tell themwhat it’s like to see the entire ocean__level__with the land tell them we are afraid tell themwe don’t know of the politics or the science but tell themwe see what is in our own backyard tell them that some of us are old fishermen who believe that God made us a promise some of us are more skeptical of God but most importantly tell them we don’t want to leave we’ve never wanted to leave and that we are nothing without our islands. Tell Them By Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner ISTOCKPHOTO.COM/ROMOLOTAVANI