Mei-Re, My Angel

I looked into the driver's side of an early model imported car that probably had received tender loving care, but obviously, that had been awhile ago. Seated behind the wheel was an older Polynesian woman who flashed me a smile, one that a visitor comes to expect from the friendly folks who live in Rarotonga, which is one of the tropical Cook Islands found in the South Pacific.

My greetings didn't startle Mei-Re for she saw me walking across the street towards her, so, she continued to casually roll her cigarette while enquiring what I wanted from her. You see, Mei-Re ("May Ray"), when said quickly and with an accent, sounded like "Mary" to me, so that's how I addressed my new-found acquaintance, and she hearing my accent, knew better than to correct me, as many American tourists pay little attention to other's cultural differences when abroad.

So, what was my issue? This had been the last day of our stay and over the course of the previous three days on the island, my wife and I had somewhat mastered their public transportation. There are two buses; one going clockwise, the other traveling anti-clockwise. What could possibly go wrong? Well first, there was the issue with the bus's timetable. It was published because there must be one, but as the attendant behind the desk at our Moana Sands Resort explained, the 12:05pm stop could be ten or fifteen minutes either side of that precise minute, and then she flashed us that Polynesian smile. Yes, it is one thing when the local lunch bar states on their website that they open at 9am every day, and after walking twenty minutes for a meat pie, I'm greeted by a home made sign informing me that the shop opens at 11am. For all I know, there's a different sign for each day or for that matter, a totally different start time for whenever they feel like opening. However, it is an entirely different matter when you are completely reliant upon a bus and it's regularity. Welcome, Mr. Beckley, to "Island Time".

Oh, how I envied all those young and old, zipping past us on their scooters. If only we'd organized a scooter, we could be whipping around the island at our leisure too. Instead, we found ourselves sipping a beer with a local under one of the island's large indigenous trees. My heart had hope, seeing another person standing at the bus stop within metres of the grog shop. Knowing that the bus was due in five minutes, I enquired of the Kiwi/Cook Islander standing there the timing of the next bus. His reply, "Fifty minutes, mate." Yes, it had zipped past earlier than scheduled and caught all three of us out. So, we followed his lead, bought a can of beer each and bided our time shooting the afternoon breeze under the tree while watching the surf in the distance.

The bus eventually arrived. It was important that we knew exactly where to exit because all the businesses and restaurants and houses were intermixed and difficult to distinguish one from another. The Sandy Bay Restaurant signage was nearly missed due to the advertisements for the motel units that were positioned in front of this popular eatery. Soon we were meandering our way through the cottages and found the beach front bar that also included a few picnic tales in the sand. This was the restaurant. It was definitely waterfront, but again the website was a bit deceptive when it said "Open Now". What was "open" was the bar. The restaurant's chef never arrives before 6pm. We were hoping for an early meal, so we enjoyed a beverage and the surf and the roaming wild dogs. These dogs are sacred so they wander the entire island unmolested and tourist are warned not to feed or approach them. With empty wine glasses we decided to catch the bus back to our resort and if we cashed out right then, we'd probably be just in time for the counter clockwise bus.

We stood on the roadside with our shopping bags for fifteen minutes before resigning ourselves to the fact we had missed our bus. We painfully watched scooter after scooter whizz past us while we waited for the next bus. Then, there was the clockwise bus that drove by on the other side of the road. My wife suggested that we should attempt to get on that bus, but I suggested otherwise knowing it would take us so much longer going that route. Then, the clockwise bus flew past us again! We had been waiting for ninety minutes and I'll admit a bit of trepidation began to sink in to my conscious. What if we have to walk back to the resort? It's dusk and two obviously tired and hungry tourists would be prime targets for any unfortunate event.

I had been sizing up the dilapidated house opposite us for ninety minutes. It was on the immediate south side of the driveway that led to the restaurant. Both the house and the grounds could use a lot of help, but I put my observations down to "Island Life". Then appearing from the house was Mei-Re, who was on her way out, for whatever reason.

"What are you looking for, eh?", she asked.

The words describing our predicament stumbled out of my mouth in much of a jumble. She was most likely watching us standing there the whole time and knew the answer to her question before she asked it.

"Didn't anyone tell you that the counter clockwise finishes up at 4:30? Hmm. What a shame. Would you like a ride?"

There were no sweeter words for my ears at that moment and I quickly added, "I will pay you."

Seated in the front with Mei-Re, I asked if she was a Cook Islander. She explained how she was born in the Cook Islands, but spent all of her life in NZ before recently returning to her home land.

"Where about in NZ did you live?", I enquired.

"Hawkes Bay", she replied.

I knew of the devastating cyclone Gabrielle that ripped through that region of NZ the year before, and I asked if the cyclone had affected any of her family.

Mei-Re paused and then simply nodded her head not wanting to say another word on the topic.

My wife and I were to later journey through that part of NZ and witness first hand the effects and brute force of that storm. The results were that many people didn't survive it and even more lost everything they had. It was time to change the subject.

"What keeps you busy?" I asked Mei-Re next.

She happily explained how she is retired and returned to the Cook Islands to work on her health, which was improving. She volunteered at the local school teaching children English and NZ's native tongue, Maori. I could sense Mei-Re derived a lot of satisfaction from her volunteering efforts, then she went on to explain how she preached at her church too.

Astonished, I asked, "Are you a minister?"

"No, not really. Just an Episcopalian Lay Preacher", she corrected me.

I told her, "Well, we have something in common as one of my best friends is an Episcopalian Priest and he also married Deb & me!"

Needless to say the thirty-five minute drive back to our resort simply flew by as we were deeply engaged in conversation. Yet, at last we had arrived and Mei-Re looked straight into my eyes and said, "I've been your angel today."

"Yes! Yes, you have Mary. May God continue to use you in your chosen ministries here on the island. I can't thank you enough for your kindness today and sharing your life stories with us." And with that said, I handed her the largest bill in my wallet.

Mei-Re doesn't begin her day knowing how she will be used to impact other's lives. She just goes about her day being receptive and perceptive of other's needs. May I encourage you to be someone's Mei-Re, someone's angel.

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