Sunburnt and still alive

So, I've survived my first two weeks in my village. That sounds so weird; my village is not something I would ever get to say back home. Here's what it's looked like so far.

The school year ended yesterday, and the students just started a long holiday break. Teachers were preparing their end of the year reports, and students were doing nothing. My dear teacher friends, imagine working on your end of the year business, and being aloud to just let kids play in the field all day long. It's actually beautiful, because you have time to get stuff done! Granted, I had no work to do, so I played with the kids for a few hours at a time. It was like being a daycamp counselor at the YMCA again, but I don't speak the same language as any of the children (my Samoan is still emberassing). I taught them games I could model like duck-duck-goose, ring around the rosies and thumb wrestling. I started a round of DOWN BY THE BANKS, and before it was ever, almost every child in that school had joined in. Playing with kids who I don't understand, who are confused and amazed by my sunburnt skin, and with no other adult supervision gets a little overwhelming to say the least, so I would go make up excuses to sit in the staff lounge. Every now and then, another teacher would ask me to use a calculator to double check her grade book, and I was happy for the work. However, it made my heart hurt. Imagine how much easier these teachers life would be with an excel spreadsheet! Just one of the many, many moments I'm thankful for all the privileges I've had.
After school, I go home, take a blessedly cold shower (it's hot here; have I mentioned that yet?) and then I read or watch a movie for a little while. In the evenings, the church bells ring, and that means that everyone (should) stop what they are doing and sing hymns and pray with the family. At the very least, you can't walk on the road during this time. I either join one of my neighbors, or sit in the open part of my home and listen to all my neighbors. It really is one of those "wow, I'm in Samoa" moments when half a dozen  Samoan hymns are being belted out all  around me. Then, if I'm lucky, someone will feed me, otherwise I cook my own dinner (rice, sandwich, ramens).
At this point, things are a little boring. I wish my Samoan was better, and I had better relationships in the village already, but I know that these things take time, and I am definitely headed in the right direction.