When (Kiribati) pigs fly!

Having a drink at a friend’s house by the water’s edge the other day, I saw something funny which in a round-about way gave me pause to think about just what is possible here in Kiribati.

It was one of those times where a camera would have been nice but would have failed to properly capture ‘the moment’.

By ‘the moment’ I mean the broader surroundings of everyday life here and the random things that subtly sneak in when you pan your vision round the place.  Should you not be paying enough attention, you can miss such things.

Here is how it played out; here is what I saw and registered as I took in the surroundings by the shore line:

“Kiribati style houses, kids playing, piles of rubbish, crumbling sea wall, friend sipping drink, the waters of the lagoon, some fishing boats, the wharf, a man hammer-throwing a pig into the water, kids playing, …WHAT?!”

There my friend’s neighbour stood, right on the shore line of the lagoon holding a small pig by the hind legs, spinning it round and launching the swine into the water.

I was memorised with immense amusement. 

After what looked like a decent heave from the neighbour, into the air the pig flew and ungracefully with an audible squeal, splashed into the water head first. 

Here is a very rough sketch of what I saw:

Now I am pretty used to seeing pigs from these parts in three standard positions, to which a forth has now been registered:

1)      Standing or lying down with hind leg tied to a tree

2)      Standing or lying down in a pig pen

3)      Lying down on a banquet table, and now

4)      Airborne

A second after the aqua-swine entered the water, a small and no doubt shocked little head appeared at an upwards angle and started making a B-line for the shore.

‘No pig, wrong way, swim to your freedom!’ I was thinking, plus I wanted to see how much the little fella had in him.

But just as a dog would, it piggy-paddled itself back to the shore, trotted out of the water, stopped and shook the water off itself with a full body wiggle. 

The neighbour walked over to it, roughly patted it on the side, possibly with a ‘who’s a good boy?’, picked it up by the hind legs again, spun round and tossed it back in the water.

‘Reeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii’ –SPLASH-

Again, to my amusazment (amusement + amazement), the little pig just stuck its head above the water and piggy paddle its way back to shore. 

When the neighbour tied a rope to its hind leg and walked it off to a nearby tree, I knew the pig tossing shenanigans had come to a close. 

I turned and looked at my friend and he said, matter-of-factly ‘washing his pig!’ almost straight away.

‘Arh!’

Whilst I may have thought the practice of tossing pigs for cleaning purposes a strange customs, upon further consideration, it made perfect sense, plus we toss midgets, pylons and puts, so why not pigs eh!

Before I explain onwards from here, I am careful not to say ‘the Pacific’ implying just one homogenous group that is all the same. 

As like every other region in the world, they may be glued together by geographical proximity and share some similar traits but they all greatly differentiate themselves through their language, customs, culture and history.

However, a corridor of commonality between many and certainly from the ones I have seen is the central role pigs play in Pacific life.

No other four legged animal is afforded the same luxury and special treatment as that of a Pacific pig, swine or hog.  No other four legged animal is fed and groomed with such care and affection.

Why pigs though? 

While I cannot give a history of the Pacific pig and where it came from, reasons for its rise to prominence, or break-down of the different geno-types of pig, I do know this about pigs here in the Pacific:

  • are an obvious food source which can feed many people
  • are a commercial commodity; a big enough pig can fetch up to $3,000 and families will invest heavily in the pig’s welfare often buying it as a piglet.
  • eat practically anything, so feeding costs are low
  • don’t require a large space of land to accommodate them
  • are offerings or presents at celebratory events (birthdays, wedding, funerals, church)
  • are a symbol of societal wealth; in some countries the more pigs you have the higher your stance in the community

Different cultures have placed significance upon one animal over another for various reasons throughout history.  The ancient Egyptians worshipped the cat, American Indians; the wolf, Finnish pagans; the bear, Thai culture; the elephant, Hinduism; numerous animals, notably the cow.

While the Pacific pig is not viewed with mysticism, magical powers or divine holiness, they are a much protected animal, much like the camel in the Middle East and many parts of Africa. 

An example here; should you run over a dog which people usually own for security reasons, they might be peeved, they may not care, someone might even cook it up but it is not considered a big loss. 

However should you accidently run over a wayward pig, it would be best remove yourself (especially if a foreigner) immediately and report to the closet police station, as the owner’s reaction is unlikely to be neither pleasant nor forgiving. 

Day or night, rain or shine, it can be guaranteed that someone saw you and or your car.

In a country where the average annual GDP per person is about $1,500 and you kill their pig, you very well might have destroyed that person’s investment plan.

You would most likely be expected to do one of the following; buy a replacement piglet, a pig of same size or most likely hand over cash to the value of the pig you killed.  In one instance I heard of all three being required.

I think a friend from the Federation of States of Micronesia put it best when he showed me his pig pen which housed four large pigs.  ‘It stinks here mate!’ I said holding my breath and eying out the exit, ‘Yeah I know’ he replied, ‘that’s the smell of money!’

So back to the ‘what is possible’ reference from the opening line.

Pulitzer prize laureate and literary great, John Steinbeck, who famously wrote ’The Grapes of Wrath’ and ‘Of Mice of Men’, was once told by his english professor at university, that he would only become an author when pigs fly. 

Undeterred, when Steinbeck started making a name for himself, he remembered his professors ill-spoken premonition and printed every book of his with the insignia ‘ad astra per alia proci’ (to the stars on the wings a pig)

Whilst he term ‘when pigs fly’ denotes the impossibility of an event occurring, it has been proven to be wrong. 

Shortly after my arrival here I heard someone say that Kiribati will have a bright future and be saved, when pigs fly!

Kiribati is a country that faces many significant challenges and threats to both its immediate and long term survival and there is much work to be done at all levels now and for years to come.

However, from what I saw by the lagoon’s edge the other day has shown that the impossible ‘can’ happen:

1)      even if just a short flight, that Kiribati pig did fly!

2)      even if just the start, that Kiribati pig did fly!

Dangerous Footpaths (personal reflection)

 

I have often wondered why so many people walk on the road in these parts; don’t they know its dangerous!?

 

The reasons for my thinking were obvious and although a small country, this place is still plagued by road related fatalities.

 

However over time, the practicalities of island life revealed some realities:

 

  • Many people don’t wear shoes

 

  • Some places lack a discernible footpath or parallel area to walk

 

  • The paved roads are much smoother than the gravel and rocks on the side of the road

 

Even with this in mind, it was an experience that recently occurred that made me ponder.

 

I was walking down a street through a densely populated area with an I-Kiribati friend, me on the footpath on the side of the road and him on the road, with the traffic coming from behind him. 

 

As vehicles zoomed precariously close past him, he turns to me and says with parental sternness, ‘Eh Tim! Get off the footpath, its dangerous!’

 

‘What?!’ I replied with some confusion.

 

He just pointed his finger upwards and made a ‘pop’ noise.

 

Whilst I was worrying about the zooming cars and trucks, I failed to realise I was walking directly under some very tall coconut trees with some very ripe and looming coconuts.

 

‘Yeah, only an imatang (white person) would walk under coconut trees, the road is safer!’

 

Although people joke about the idea of falling coconuts in island life, it is no joking matter.  I have seen and heard coconuts fall and hit the ground and can guarantee that any part of your person that breaks its fall would be in for some damage. 

 

I once saw a big green coconut that was so hard that it bounced about 30cm once it hit the ground from a great height!

 

Imagine if that was your head or foot?

 

However, I am yet to hear an instance of anyone being killed by a falling coconut.  This is probably testament to the genetic understanding, the immutable rule that one does not walk, sleep and hangout under coconut trees.

 

Coconut trees have been round much longer than cars have and still constitute a clear and present danger in daily life; it is just that people know how to minimise the risk.  They can actively control the circumstances in where they are in relation to a falling coconut; not near it.   Just as I would passing traffic.

 

The incident with my friend exposed a polarity to me of how people in different places view hazards and how we each perceive the notion of danger? 

 

My friend and I saw the exact same scenario however I looked and saw the dangers of narrow roads, pot holes, passing vehicles and moved myself away from the danger towards the safety of the footpath. 

 

My friend saw coconut trees and moved himself away from the danger towards the safety of the road.  

 

It is not that my friend was oblivious to the dangers of the road by any means but in his mind he saw the biggest threat from a falling coconut, whereas I saw a truck swerving suddenly.

 

Maybe we both instinctively recalled childhood memories of our mothers shouting at us, ‘DON’T WALK ON THE ROAD! / DON’T WALK UNDER THE COCONUT TREE!’

 

As someone coming from a place with limited coconut trees and many vehicles to the opposite I cannot be blamed for instinctively thinking this way, just as my friend who has spent most of his life here thought his way.

 

Perhaps us walking on the road whilst facing traffic may have been the best move but alas we had already reached our destination shortly after he passed comment.

 

I was thinking that he may have said that it is unlikely that a car would hit him if asked, though my reply would have been ‘yeah but it might!’

 

However on the reserve, it is just the same if I were to have said it was unlikely that a coconut would fall on my head, to which he would have replied, ‘yeah but it might!’.

 

Coconut or car, both might happen, maybe one with more likelihood but regardless, it added yet another notch in my stranger-in-a-strange land belt.

 

There is always much to learn and the need to continue updating my mental map of new lands without blindly holding onto that which I have always known. 

 

There is a saying which a stranger would be worth taking on board when operating in a foreign environment and that is, ‘first seek to understand then to be understood’.  Life will inevitably become much easier.

 

I am finding that I sometimes struggle to understand why people do the things the way they do but as this scenario has shown, the cultural iceberg shows only a small portion of itself on the surface. 

 

The bulk of it, with all its complexities, rationale and history lies beneath the surface out of direct sight.

 

From all this I know that a coconut that can drive or a car falling from a coconut tree is now the complete sum of all my worst fears!

Thinking outside the box (Part II Answers)

For those who were straining your brains trying to solve it,  the solution can be found by scrolling down a bit.

For those who haven’t yet strained; it is a puzzle that was first introduced in 1914 and, some say, is the catalyst for the term ‘thinking outside the box’.

All you need to do is put 4 straight lines through all 9 dots without lifting the pen. It can even be done in 3!

 

…..

….

…

..

.

There was nothing in the directions that mentioned anything about the box, or staying within it, the focus is the dots.  Often people would set the box as an unbreakable perametre when trying to solve the puzzle but by the name of the title and by thinking ‘outside the box’ we find our answers.

4 line answer

3 line answer

Going ‘really out there outside the box’ you could theoretically just do it with 1 line by drawing it round the world 3 times, each time passing through each set of 3 dots.

How did you go?

Survival at Sea (Part II)


There is a great line from the memoir (and movie) Alive, about a group of guys who resort to cannibalism in order to stay alive and walk to freedom after their plane crashed in the reaches of the Andes.

The line is from when they find out over the radio that the search for them has been called off.  The central character tells the group of survivors that this is, ‘good news’.  When the obvious objections are raised to his comment, he replies, ‘Because it means we’re gonna get out of here on our own.’

In an upcoming blog entry I will be adding sections of some interviews with some elderly fisherman I have come across here.  These guys have been fishing all their lives, usually subsistent in nature or to sell on the local market, but have been out fishing in every conceivable type of weather conditions.

What makes these guys particularly interesting, is they have some amazing tales to tell about their ‘many’ times they have been stranded at sea, how they survived, navigated and made it back to land.  These guys aren’t fishing in big trawlers but in quite small boats; some traditional, some motorised.

I was recently told that some fisherman’s families ‘may’ start to get worried at around the 2nd week mark of a loved one not having returned!

Getting lost or immobilised on the water is a commonly accepted occupational hazard for fisherman through the centuries, or as one here said, ‘just a thing that happens now and then’.   ‘Meh, whatever’ in layman’s vernacular!

I suspect their success in always making it home is a marriage between a stolid mindset regarding the ocean’s many dangers and an innate ability to improvise and endure.

I look forward to completing the interviews and writing everything up soon!

 

 

Survival at sea (Part I)


The title of the longest period of time stranded at sea in a life raft goes to Mr Poon Lim

The number of days: 133 (Nov 23 1942 – 5 April 1943)

The raft: 8ft x 8ft adrift in the South Atlantic

Poon Lim was serving in the British merchant navy when the ship he was on, SS Ben Lomond, was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-Boat.  Being one of the few who survived the attack, he spent two hours in the water in his life jacket until he came across the 8ft x 8ft raft from the wreckage of SS Ben Lomond.  Inside the raft he discovered supplies of canned biscuits, sealed jugs of water, sugar, some pots and a torch; a small miracle considering but it would not last forever.

Over the next 132 days he:

  • consumed the water and biscuits quickly in the scheme of things, despite strictly rationing them
  • used the fabric of his life jacket to construct a shelter tarp and funnelled rain water into the jugs
  • took the wire out of the torch and made a fish hook
  • used threads from the binding rope on the raft to create fishing line
  • removed a nail from the raft with his teeth to create a bigger hook for bigger fish
  • fashioned a knife out of the biscuit tin to slice the fish to eat raw and dry them out in the sun
  • undertook exercise by swimming laps round the raft, tying a rope to his writ as a precaution
  • sang songs of his childhood
  • kept track of the days by tying knots in the rope, but eventually decided it was pointless so counted the full moons he saw
  • trapped and killed birds by leaving bits of fish on the raft, drank their blood and used them for bait to catch more fish
  • caught and pulled small sharks on board and bludgeoned them with one of water jugs
  • once saw a German U-Boat on the surface but decided to take his chances with the raft
  • was not seen in two other passing boats and patrol planes despite his efforts
  • was eventually rescued when he awoke to find his raft had floated into brackish water of a river inlet and was discovered by local fisherman shortly afterwards.

Amazingly, at the end the whole ordeal he only lost 9kg of weight and although he was a bit unsteady, could walk unaided when he was eventually found.

After spending some time in a local hospital Poon Lim was returned to the UK to almost celebrity status where he was awarded the British Empire Medal by King George VI.  The Royal Navy also incorporated his actions into their manuals for survival techniques.

Poon Lim eventually migrated to USA after receiving special consideration for permanent residency, aided by a US Senator who took up his cause, despite the quota on Chinese immigrants being already filled.  He lived out his many days in the US until his death in 1991

Shortly after of his triumphant return back to the UK in 1943, Poon Lim was told of the record he had unknowingly set in his raft, to which he replied, ‘I hope no one will ever have to break it!’ and to date no one has (and survived)!

Not surprisingly, Yann Martel, author of the Life of Pi, cites Poon Lim’s story as part of the research for the book.

Crab Christmas (personal reflection)

On the night of Christmas just past, a band of us leaped on the back of a small truck to go crab hunting on the outer island I had found myself on.

‘Right, we’re going crab hunting, everyone grab a torch’ mentioned one of the locals and off we marched into the darkness.

To be honest, I had no idea what is involved in crab hunting so I downed my cup of kava, and followed everyone else, torch in hand.

I mean, I know how you catch crabs, you just pick them up! But where are we going?

Was this some sort of Christmas, holiday spirit thing islanders do or is it just another night out hunting crabs?

So once again, I, an ill-tanned stranger in a strange land, followed blindly into yet another island adventure.

I noticed many of the locals were holding plastic sacks, presumably for the crabs we catch, I masterfully concluded.  Yup, Sherlock would have removed his pipe and stiffly nodded in agreement to that one.

When we started walking into the darkness, flashing torches about the place, I assumed we were just going to hunt our sideways walking prey along the road in front of our dwellings which formed a longish driveway to the water’s edge.

Sweet!

Should be back in no time to polish off a few more bowls of Xmas kava before hitting the sack!

Could even fake a crab hunting related injury ten minutes in and be honourably discharged?

Nope!

People were jumping onto the back of one of the islands’ few trucks.

The truck was a two tonner with a front cab, a roof built over the tray and wooden planks for seats.

In we all hopped.

Screeching off at the speed of the sound, of struggling to hit 10km an hour makes, some local kids were still jumping on board, as we, mighty crab hunters, bravely embraced the darkness, with an formidable arsenal of sacks and torches, ready to roll.

No, really, where are we going?

Maybe we were heading down to Crab Cove, that fictitious place in my head where crabs eagerly await to be plucked, bagged, pried open and used as fishing bait the next morning or served as lunch?

Was there an island arena where we fight crabs in hand to claw combat?  If so, I hope I get a mud crab or something equally piss weak, have heard those coconut crabs can crack a coconut open with its one huge claw!

Surely they wouldn’t pit a crab hunting rookie up against a fully grown war hungry coconut grab?

Damn should have bought my Leatherman!

Onwards we ventured, relatively quiet, probably in preparation for the epic battle that no doubt awaited us while our noble auto-steed continued to make noises of non-confidence!

I assumed everyone was going to their calm place of mental serenity, remembering memories of loved ones, childhood sweethearts, or even possibly, a better time.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

Several spinal column realignments later from the dirt roads’ many potholes, I shifted my weight in my seat only to observe that aside from the one guy lying on the floor of cab, I was the only one facing inwards, everyone else was sitting with their legs over the edge of the cab facing outwards.

Of course, scouting for crabs!

How terribly naive and foolishly of me; a mistake like that can make you easy coconut crab prey I suspect.

Yes, they would like that, wouldn’t they – the hunter becomes the hunted.

Swinging my legs over the cabs edge I went into sentry mode with my torch, scouring the passing road, trees and bushes for crabs.  Up high, down low, over there, what was that?

I was fairly confident there were few, if any crabs, to be found in the highest reaches of a palm tree but I wasn’t taking any changes, not tonight!

It was time to show the locals I ain’t some pale softy from the outside, who only caught fish smaller than a business card.

Undertaking my duties with the same ferocity as I do when playing Where’s Wally, if there was a crab to be found, I would god damn find it!

‘Fortunate Son’ by Credence was playing in my head, as I was on a mission, deep behind enemy lines.

Yet it was in this moment when I heard a lone girl singing!

Had these crabs developed siren like qualities to lure us into the bushes?

Being deaf in one ear, I had to swing my head round both sides to locate the sources of the singing and found it was coming from one of the girls to my left that had joined us in the hunt.

This small girl, 5’3ft, legs kicking over the cab was singing a beautiful song in the local language to herself whilst flashing her torch about the place, as if no one else was around, without a care in the world.

No sooner than she had started, a deeper male’s voice started singing to my right and slowly it seemed the whole cab was soon singing this perfectly harmonised song, all with their legs over the cab flashing their torches about the way.

It is fair to say this serene, spontaneous group singing took the Apocalypse Now edge off the whole affair for me.

I was lost in their melodic harmonies and thinking of how strange things pan out; here I am on Christmas day, under twinkling stars on a tiny little island, literally in the middle of nowhere, at 10pm, sitting on the back of truck, looking for crabs, while being serenated by this beautiful music.

Somehow looking for crabs didn’t seem that important anymore.

And on we travelled like this in the dark; a travelling show of pitch perfect island singing being done so effortlessly, so natural, so ingrained.

And just like that, the bubble burst!

Whilst watching the little girl sing, she went from a peaceful angel to crazed warlord in the flick of a switch.

‘CRABBBB!’ she shrilled to the extent her little lungs could deliver, with a war face I am still coming to terms with.  She jumped off the moving truck and literally pounced on a lone crab she had spotted trying to scurry from the road into the bushes.

The truck came to a sudden halt and numerous other people jumped out to help bag the crab the little girl had proudly immobilised.

It is fair to say at this precise moment I experienced the emotion equivalent of the bends, rapid change of pressure from ‘serenity’ to ‘shit scared’ in the space of a second!  A real WTF moment!

What happened to the little angel singing, can we bring her back please?

Apparently the ghost of the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket found a little girl to occupy.

Once the crab was bagged, everyone jumped back in and we rolled onwards with the inaugural war trophy, first of many for the coming night.

I eventually managed to get my wits back shortly after, laughed it off and enjoyed the rest of the night as we later dismounted, split up and trekked through the mangroves to the beaches looking for more crabs.

Was never really sure of where we were going, how we were getting back, where everyone else was, or how many days I would be in pain for if I snapped my ankle whilst in the dense mangroves in the dark before an evac arrived but I took a page out of the just enjoy the moment book, and just enjoyed the unique Christmas moment of it all.

I did manage to keep a safe distance from the little girl, in case she saw a crab in my general vicinity, as I am quite confident that not even a brick wall would stop her from getting a crab she had spotted!

However, whilst still on the truck, whitey (me) saw a crab on the road in my torch beam and shouted ‘CRAB!’.  The truck came to a stop as I proudly pointed to my prey as some boys were ready to jump out, only to discover the crab I saw moving about, was in fact a rat, not a rat crab, just a rat!

This of course was the source of immense hilarity for the locals with many tears of laughter wept, knees slapped and numerous pointings in my general direction.  Even now, I suspect I am still being referenced when they see a rat.  Score one for the expat earning street cred with the locals eh.  Stupid rat!

My Christmas night went from mystery, to spinal dislocation, to immense concentration, to bliss, to fear for a split second, to laughter to coming home three and a half hours later knackered but am now armed with a memorable story about a freaky little angel war child, a crab and a rat.

Sometimes you just don’t know what you’re going to get for Christmas!

Thinking outside the box (Part II)

I am sure many management companies have claimed the title of creating ‘think outside the box’ throughout the years, which has probably become the most despised and overused  management-speak phrase out there, that and synergy.

I am also sure many a desperation of nerds (collective noun) on the internet will forever be writing Wikipedia entries on it and best of luck to them.

However, there is a puzzle that first appeared in 1914 which really brought thinking outside the box into the limelight.  I won’t say the name of the puzzle to avoid you easily Google’n it but see how you go.

All you need to do is put 4 straight lines through all 9 dots without lifting the pen

(it can even be done in 3!)

Thinking outside the box (Part I)

It was once said that problems worthy of attack prove themselves by fighting back.

Here are four great examples of thinking outside the box that I often think about when faced with a problem or am looking for a different angle:

Mouthwash

A mouthwash company employed a management consultancy to help them to increase their sales numbers.  The assigned consultant reviewed the company’s market strategies and campaigns, their targeted demographics, focus group findings, existing sale figures, manufacturing costs, all the traditional aspects of when looking to increase sales.

One of his findings was that the people who did use the product were very loyal and bought it regularly.  While the company was interested in reaching new customers, the consultant simply recommended getting their regulars to purchase more mouthwash.  What did he recommend to do this so simply?  After using the product himself one night he followed the instructions and the answer came to him.

The instructions said to open the bottle, pour one lid full, rinse and then spit out.  All he recommended to the company was to increase the size of the lid so people used more mouthwash each time, would run out faster and buy another bottle faster than they normally would.  After the change was made the company saw their sales increase.

Rabbit fence

A farmer had a small fenced vegetable patch, which was constantly getting eaten by a rabbit he could never catch.  He firstly decided to build a taller fence in order to stop the rabbit from getting in and did so.  However the next morning he found the rabbit had gotten in and eaten some more of his vegetables.

Next he decided to build the fence deeper into the ground as he thought it would stop the rabbit from burrowing under and in.  He dug a deep trench and inserted a deeper fence around the vegetable patch.  Yet again, the next morning he had found the rabbit had gotten in.

At his wits end he decided to stay up one night and watch the vegetable garden to see how the rabbit was getting in.  He set up camp a few metres away to wait and watch.  Early in the hours of the new morning the farmer saw the rabbit appear from the ground within the fence and attack his vegetables.

It then occurred to the farmer, just how the rabbit was getting in; the rabbit had been there the whole time!  The farmer had been assuming the rabbit was coming in from outside but the rabbit was already under the garden.  Instead of trying to keep the rabbit out, he had kept the rabbit in by building the fence taller and deeper.

Chickens don’t float

In the African country of Mali, a steady and easy source of income for some is to farm chickens.  However when torrential rains and floods come, many chickens were dying as the waters came, drowning.  This was affecting those farmers with loss of income and food source.

It was thought to build taller chicken coops but materials were expensive for the farmers and the waters washed any structures easily away.

After some analysis of the situation, which at its core, was that chickens drown, it was suggested to farm a similar animal which doesn’t drown, ducks!  An equal source of food and income for the farmers plus when the rains came, the ducks simply floated with the water.

Gun exchange 

In the aftermath of a terrible five year civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) the country faced a long road to recovery.  One, amongst the many problems, the was large number of surplus guns still among the populus.

A concerted disarmament campaign was undertaken to try and destroy those guns by the international community through numerous methods, all of which were relatively unsuccessful. The right incentive to give up guns had not been found.

Insert Ngoy Mulunda to the story.  A local pastor in an affected province of DRC managed to gather and destroy thousands of guns, far more than the whole international community combined, by simply offering a  bike for guns scheme.  He knew that bikes, however basic, would make a big difference to local community members, many of whom lacked basic transport.

The success of Mulunda’s work was eventually endorsed by the country’s President and the program grew.  In another area of the country zinc roofing sheets were being exchanged.

Although it will never get rid of all the many guns, the concept resonates with our basic heirachy of needs and another great example of outside the box thinking.

Survival (Part VI)

If you are interested here are some great reads on all different kinds of survival:

 

 

Who Survives Disasters and Why?

 

 

The Long Run

 

 

The 3rd Man Factor

 

 

The Survivors Club

 

 

Deep Survival

 

 

The Long Walk

 

 

Buried Alive (a little too U.S.A! for my liking though)

 

 

One Unknown

 

 

South: An Endurance Expedition

 

 

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

 

 

Into Thin Air

Survival (Part V)

I once attended a five day long, scenario based, security training course which prepared people working in far off lands for some of the security risks they may face in the field.

We covered such topics as weapons awareness, vehicle checkpoints, road blocks, field communications protocol, trip planning, crowds and mobs, mines and explosives, hostage survival, to name a few.

Despite the warning of being ‘extremely confronting to participants and is physically demanding’ on the form you had to acknowledge and sign, it was a fantastic training, despite getting very little sleep.  But it also taught me something very valuable, something which I am grateful for.

Putting the notion of ‘remember to breathe’ from earlier in some personal context, there was one exercise which thrust me and other participants into a world we had yet to experience and hope to never; being kidnapped.

We were told a safety word to use at any point during the training if we wanted things to back off a bit, though I am sure no one wanted to say it or at least to be the first.  The whole training but particularly this exercise was or at least felt, very realistic.

We were kidnapped in the scenario while on the road in a minibus.  We were intercepted by a group of people dressed in military khakis, shouting wildly, weapons raised at us and we were forcefully removed from the minibus.

We were screamed at to keep our heads down and eyes closed as we were quickly marched into a barn, thrown to the ground face first and told not to move.  We were then hooded, hands tied behind our backs, again told not to move.  We were lying in horseshit and there was blaringly loud heavy music playing in the barn.

After an unknown amount of time lying there, I couldn’t tell you how long, we were individually stood up, marched around the room and put in stressful positions to our legs and backs while being questioned with threats and accusations thrown in.  When question time finished, back to the ground you went.

And on it went till it was over when blind folds were removed, hands were freed and we were allowed back on the bus to be greeted by a psychologists for some rapid debriefings on what just took place.  We later had a much more extensive debriefing session that night.

Saying to yourself ‘this is just a training’ doesn’t remove any of the uncomfortableness of laying face down in horse shit, hands painfully tied behind your back, difficulty in breathing through a blinding hood, having loud music in your ears and someone screaming obscenities at you.

What happened to us was deliberately done to overwhelm our senses and disorientate us, removing any connection we had to the situation, environment and captors.  When your sight, smell, hearing and sense of safety are all simultaneously attacked, you find yourself being able to do very little; you are well and truly in the control of your captors.

I remember lying on the ground finding my brain rushing round at 100km an hour trying to process what was happening with my breath more rapid than usual.  It was then that I realised the only thing I could control was my breathing, if I lost that, I probably wouldn’t last long.

Although I was uncomfortable, I did my utmost to ignore everything around me and just concentrate on my breathing, which was made extra hard due to the hoods we had on.  Forcing myself to take long, slow and measured breaths in and out, gave me a distraction to the chaos around me.

After a short period, I was back in control of my breathing and I was able to piece together what was happening and prepare what to say when questioned.   Lying on the ground, it was a small victory for me, for I knew I had just put myself in the best position for whatever happened to us next.  The captors were not success in controlling ‘everything’.

The psychologist that night told us that when adrenalin suddenly kicks in (such as being kidnapped) we enter a much higher state of awareness and our brain gets frayed due to the over stimulation or removal of our senses, so our bodies can actually forget to breathe regularly.

So I believe controlling your breathing is a priority in any situation you find yourself in; angry, sad, frightened, tired, stressed.  It is not the solution to your problem but it certainly is a good starting platform in tackling it.

Give it a go next time and see what happens!