Project Escape by Lucinda Jackson

Author:Lucinda Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2022-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

WHEN OCTOBER FIRST rolled around, Palau’s twenty-second birthday, flyers all over town advertised an Independence Day Celebration to be held in the capital, Ngerulmud, located in Melekeok State on the northern island of Babeldaob. We were eager to participate and be a part of our new land. And the best news: free buses took us there since it was over twenty miles from our apartment, not walking distance for even a hearty Peace Corps volunteer.

We’d been up to Ngerulmud once before on a regular workday with our Peace Corps hosts. We spied it in the distance across the dense treetops of Babeldaob. From miles away, the dome of the Taiwan-funded capitol building, reminiscent of the US Capitol, gleamed ghostly white and isolated in contrast to the surrounding green jungle. On that first visit, as we approached, I couldn’t hear a sound in the eerie emptiness with few cars and no people visible anywhere.

Close up, the capitol building of the Palau National Congress, or Olbiil era Kelulau (House of Whispered Decisions or Strategies), exuded royalty, all gold and gilt, with twelve matching Doric columns adding to the splendor. I eyed the huge green lawn with “Palau” spelled out in raised planters filled with yellow and magenta flowers as we approached the outdoor marble staircase sweeping up to the wide veranda. But, once inside, our footsteps echoing in the empty hallways spooked me. We tried the doors of both the Senate of Palau and the House of Delegates, but both were locked.

Two steps at a time, we sprinted up the sparkling white, marble steps of the Judiciary Building that sported more Doric columns. Creaking open the large front door, we entered and tiptoed around the vacant wings. Craig drummed his fingers on several of the interior marble columns. A low-pitched, hollow sound filled the room. He said, “They’re plastic.”

I said, “That’s both a little sad and very practical.”

In contrast, on this second visit, as our bus pulled up to Ngerulmud on Independence Day, thousands of people swarmed the capital. Hundreds of yellow and blue balloons, the colors of the Palau flag, decorated the eaves of the main government buildings. Numerous booths boasted local foods and finery. I walked around for an hour trying to find something to eat, examining the usual hot dogs, fried chicken, and macaroni, but my stomach flip-flopped at the heavy stench of palm oil. Craig bought coconut crab, considered a delicacy and a real splurge for us at five dollars. A friend of one of the high school teachers we knew had made it in her kitchen, then lugged it the twenty miles, unrefrigerated, up to Ngerulmud. Mixed with mayonnaise, it glistened in its little cup in the hot sun. Though coveted, we knew that these beach crabs lived in the coconut trees and scavenged for a living. There were rumors that they had eaten Amelia Earhart—responsible for her complete disappearance. I passed. Craig scarfed down his crab dish and ended the day with a bloated abdomen and gurgling bowels.

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