With that depressing thought, she climbed back down from her home, fresh clothes and a determination powering her attitude.
She laughed as children raced past her again. “Opa! Watch yourselves.”
They all spoke some bits and pieces of English. And she was learning several of their local dialects. Of all the places she’d set up homes for children, this one seemed the most needy and the most charming.
Her director came forward hands out. “Oh, Gianna. We are low on supplies.”
“I know. I’ve put in another order. Have you heard anything?”
“Just that the ships haven’t docked here. Some are saying they can’t?” She shrugged. “But unless we get some supplies soon—or a miracle harvest of rice—we don’t have much to give these children.” Rosamie’s face clouded with worry.
“I got real lucky when I found you, Rosamie, have I told you that?”
“Every day.” She squeezed her back in a quick hug.
“But I don’t know what the problem is. I can’t get my internet to work.” She’d brought a hotspot with her and an emergency satellite phone, but neither seemed like it was getting any bars. “I haven’t really tried the phone yet.”
She hated to call in help. Because calling in help meant a bunch of foreigners would come in and sweep through, offering assistance, and then leave again with the people still floundering to care for themselves.
The orphanages had their own rice patties. She was teaching the children to garden. They had a pump for water. But when a typhoon wiped out their rice and knocked down their homes, they were left with nothing. And typhoons were a regular weather pattern on this island.
“So once again we are left at the mercy of others.” She rubbed her forehead. “Is there no way to create a self-sustaining situation?”
“We will figure it out.” Rosamie’s smile and optimism kept Gianna going most days. At times she wondered if she should just give up and try to arrange regular shipments of supplies to help these dear people. But she knew the shipments would fail. One day they would cease, or someone would stop caring. No. There had to be a way they could sustain themselves.
She made her way out into the courtyard. The children were all gathered, excited about something in the center of their group.
“What is it, little ones?”
They smiled and beckoned her closer. Yesterday they had dug a hole, and today it was filled with water.
But as she stepped closer, she saw the entertainment. They’d caught themselves some fish and a crab, it looked like.
They each took turns trying to grab the fish.
Her heart skipped. Could something so simple help?
The children did fish. But the practice was not foolproof. Sometimes they found no food that way. Sometimes they found much. And it took a lot of fish to feed a home full of children. But what if they dug holes like this one? What if they made use of the typhoons that destroyed so much and gained some food by them?
One more way to bring in food was always better than no ways. She made a mental note to share her idea. In the meantime, Cook would be happy to learn of this new find. “Bako.”
“Yes, Miss Gianna.”
“Run tell Cook what we have.”
His eyes widened and then a grin stretched across his face. “I will!” He took off running.
Her heart grew and ached at the same time. She loved these people. They were happy in the most trying situations, accepting. She wished the rest of the world could fall in love with them as she had.
She gathered the children. “Go find fish like these ones. Bring them to Cook.”
They laughed. “Okay, Miss Gianna! We do that!”
Perhaps a bit later they could be engaged in digging holes to catch fish when the water flooded.
Their homes sat close to the water. All on raised platforms, the homes themselves didn’t often get flooded. But everything beneath was covered in water with every rain, and especially with a typhoon. Perhaps they could also use nets? She didn’t know. She’d get them thinking along those lines.
But now, she needed to get online and see what the holdup was for their normal supply delivery.
The internet café was a hub of activity. She shook her head. How could a nation that had so little still have people totally immersed in the gaming community? She paid for a station and then pulled up her email.
As she scrolled through messages from her mother, deals at her local grocery store back in Virginia, and reminders to renew subscriptions, she felt herself shift back into her American world. She didn’t really like it, but communicating with the outside world was necessary—in this case, vital. A JAG alumni email loaded. And she smiled. She’d loved her time as an attorney for the Air Force. She’d never have discovered her passion, her calling to work with these children, if she hadn’t served.
They were having a reunion this year. She laughed. Looked like she wouldn’t make that one either. She hadn’t been back to any of their events since graduating and serving active duty.
She was always travelling, yes, but she had other reasons for avoiding her JAG class. One heartbreak in a lifetime was enough, and she didn’t think she was over her last one.
After answering the emails that couldn’t wait, she went searching around on news stations first. Everything seemed calm. So at least the issues over here weren’t national or press related. That helped things. As soon as the press became involved, everything became politicized, and then nothing got done. So, what was holding up their shipments? Why had no planes flown overhead?
Her little village was miles from the center of activity. She hadn’t seen what the islanders could boast as a city in over six months. Perhaps there was more going on there that she didn’t know.
She read the last week’s headlines on the local news sites in the most commonly spoken dialect on the island. Hints of a stronger military presence surprised her. She scrolled back a month. Still nothing useful. Then a few more months, and there it was. Her heart clenched. Mantuk.
The Pacific Islands were a constant temptation to all world powers. They switched hands so many times, the islanders no longer cared what their nationality was supposed to be. They just lived their lives, tried to find food, and subsisted as best they could.
But Mantuk had declared a takeover of their whole string of islands months ago. The other powers of the Pacific were not happy. War was even on the table as a possible solution. The more she read, the sicker she felt. There had been a window of time where all foreigners had been asked to leave. She’d missed that by weeks. And now the country was on a sort of lockdown as they reeled from their new government.
But none of this news or even the repercussions had reached her village except for the disappearance of aid shipments and the lack of supplies to restock their stores. Did Mantuk hope to starve them all out?
She skimmed a few more articles and then reached out to her contacts at the Pentagon. And she sent an email to her right-hand man, the guy who kept everything together in Washington DC while she went around the world setting up orphanages. She didn’t know what she would do without him. Tony Simmons.
The email from Tony came immediately. “You’re still there? The Pacific Alliance is talking about stronger sanctions against Mantuk. There’s talk of bringing in another military force. Things are escalating.”