Bad Moon Rising, Revised.

Another one...

To the tune of, wait for it..."Bad Moon Rising."

I see a bad moon rising
I see trouble on the way
Don't go out tonight, it's bound not to be alright
There's a bad moon on the rise

I see hurricanes and lightning
I see volcanoes straight ahead
Don't go out tonight, it's bound notto be alright
There's a bad moon on the rise

I see rats sleeping on my bugnet
I hear them chew my underwear
Don't go out tonight, it's bound not to be alright
There's a bad moon on the rise

I see a dark cocoa plantation
I see Becs streaking through the trees
Don't go out tonight, it's bound not to be alright
There's a bad moon on the rise

I see a black american gangster
I see him drinking coconuts
Don't go out tonight, it's bound not to be alright
There's a bad moon on the rise (x2)


So Morsen thought he was a black American gangster. We were a little skeptical of his ability to be as such while drinking coconut milk out of a bamboo straw. He soon decided instead that black Canadian cowboy was more his style, much to Jess' content.

Jess and Morsen, wetem flannel mo axe!

Disclaimer: The author does not take responsibility for racial references made in this blog. I am solely recounting events as they transpired, without altering any language. Whereas in Canada, one would probably refer to oneself as an "American Gangster", or even just plain old gangster, this was not the case in Vanuatu. Furthermore, back home, we probably would have called me and the other Joanna 1 and Joanna 2, but over there it was insisted that we be referred to as Black Joanna and White Joanna. I found this a little uncomfortable at first, but then thought back to Yael's comments back in Sydney about the difference in "political correct-ness", or the abscence of it altogether, in Vanuatu. Things are different there...and you just have to go with the flow, as long you don't feel you're comprimising any of your own good values.