Grapefruit Bowling

Friday, August 12, 2011

More often than not, when I'm coming back from *ahem* “the office”, some kid bowls a giant grapefruit at me. The grapefruits (“pampelmuse”) are a little bigger than the American variety and this time of year they're all over the ground. Most are hard enough to chuck down the road where they bounce along. The goal is to roll one between the other kid's legs, but you want to make sure your tossing it to someone big enough to send it back. Ever since I managed to perfect my full-roundhouse-backhand-ultra-spin-throw, I've been a big target for rolling fruit. My record is rolling a grapefruit through the legs of two unsuspecting children before it bounce off the road into the bushes.

Despite my obvious skill, I've yet to be invited to join a game of coconut stacking. The village is littered with the dry halves of coconut shells. A mob of pikininis will stack about a dozen of these into a small tower in the middle of a yard. They scamper off to two opposing sides and each team takes turns chucking a ball or (more often than not) a softer grapefruit at the stack trying to knock it down. As soon as one team manages to send shells scattering in all directions, they charge out and try to re-stack them. The other team races after the ball/damaged fruit and starts pelting it at members of the stacking team. If you get nailed by the grapefruit, you're out. Somehow, miraculously, amidst the chaos of scrambling children, screaming, squealing, and flying fruit, the stack of coconut shells usually gets rebuilt and the game starts again. Why I'm encouraged to take part in bowling, but not stacking is yet another cultural mystery.

When kids aren't throwing things at each other or being harassed by their mothers for not bringing water or wearing pants, they play “truck”. Take a long pole, put a cross stick or some nails in the end, and preferably attach some wheels. You're now free to vroom it around the village all day. Since abandoned Tonka trucks are in short supply, kids use old water buoys, tin cans, or anything else that will roll. The cutest thing is to see a little pikinini just pushing a stick along, leaving a long gash on the ground because he couldn't fashion some wheels. It's downright sad, however, when that child is fifteen years old.

Now, my host sisters Melanie and Josephine are a bit too sophisticated for that little kid stuff. Inevitably, after I've put up my freshly washed underwear to dry on the line, it's volleyball time. There are volleyball nets on the island, but drying clothes work just as well. They were also big into marbles for a time. It's seasonal, though, since they use these little round seeds that fall all over for about a month.

I suppose the overall theme here is that even play time follows the seasons. I just hope no ever tries to instigate a game of tag by hurling a pineapple at me.

-- Daniel --