(View of Vorovoro "Sleeping Dragon" as viewed from Mali Island peak)Wednesday morning, I sat on the plank seat of the boat, huddled in my rain jacket against the cold rain spitting from the sky, as Poasa carefully navigated us to the far side of Mali Island to the small village of Vesi. Seated beside me was Keresoni, the Mali Peace Corp Volunteer and Tribe friend. At my request, Keresoni had arranged meetings with the women in each village so I could present to them my ideas for a fair trade project. We both lamented the weather, but decided we were grateful that it was at least cooler than usual. And besides, it was a passing rain – it would be gone soon enough.
Vesi was the first village we were to visit. When Poasa had poled the boat as close to the shore as possible, we left the boat and waded through the muddy water toward the village. The large plastic bag I brought with me was unwieldy and awkward to carry, but necessary to keep dry the kava I needed that day for my three village visits. As Keresoni and I approached the village, ladies called out to Keresoni in Fijian. He was a regular to their Wednesday Women’s Group Meetings, and they had been expecting us. We were quickly directed to a small cooking house, where a mat was already prepared with tea and scone for us.
We settled down on the mat, myself grateful to take off my dripping and cold rain jacket. The ladies tried again and again to persuade Keresoni to surrender his shirt so they could give him a dry one, but he declined. They were concerned that they would be to blame if he came down sick, but he reassured them that he would be fine, no worries.
The tea was hot, the scone was yummy, and I watched and listened appreciatively as Keresoni made small talk with the ladies in Mali dialect Fijian. Always impressed and inspired by his apparent ease with the Mali language, I paid close attention to the banter and was pleased with how much I could understand. Mali dialect is a very difficult language to learn, and as hard as I’ve tried, I’ve not became nearly as fluent as I had hoped I would be by now. I noticed that Keresoni’s method was to simply speak as much in Fijian as possible, even if it was somewhat broken Fijian. I vowed I would stop trying to perfect my Fijian, and just start speaking it more!
One of the women casually stirred a pot of coconut oil over the fire as she chatted. The cooking area was a simple stone alcove with a grate over a small wood fire. I watched her at work, wrapped in a worn red sulu and stained green tshirt turned inside out. Another woman sat on the floor beside Keresoni – a friend of mine that had prepared Fijian medicine for me many months ago when I was sick with a flu. I was surprised to learn she was expecting a baby, and even more surprised when she said she was 9 months along! I couldn’t see any baby bump, at least while she was sitting down. Her youngest child was 16, and now she was having another baby – oh my! Her new husband was hoping for a boy, as he already had several daughters.
Outside, we heard the sound of the conch shell, signaling that it was time to begin the meeting. We made our way out to wait on a mat laid out for us beneath a shaded shelter. The rain had already moved on and the temperature was rising quickly. As the other women slowly began to join us, I looked around and remembered why in many ways, Vesi is my favorite village. I like the way it is arranged – the houses scattered about, more or less in a circle, with a large common area of green grass in the middle, and a concrete church set off to one side. Set far back from the sea and surrounded by lush green vegetation, this village feels more isolated and remote than it actually is. It doesn’t have the noisy sounds of boats coming and going that the other villages have.
As I looked around, I was reminded of how lucky I was to be in “real Fiji”. A Fiji that most people who visit never get to see, never even know exists. I watched the women arrive, some dressed in working clothes – faded sulus of every color, stained and ripped tshirts, others dressed up in colorful and bright sulu jabas. I admired their thick strong hands, curvy womanly bodies, their dark hair kept in traditional no-nonsense short styles – kind of like an mini-afro but shorter on the sides. Strong Fijian women who take pride in their homes, their families, their village. Babies crawled over laps and legs, big brown eyes peeking at me shyly before turning back to mother’s breast.
When finally it was determined that everyone who was coming was there, Keresoni turned to the only man present, a man whom I assume was the most important man present in the village that day. Keresoni presented the kava to him on my behalf, and then began the sevusevu ceremony with which I am so familiar now. The familiar words said over the kava, the rhythmic “cobo” (deep sound hand clapping). When the sevusevu had been accepted, it was time for the meeting to finally begin.
I explained to the ladies that the Tribe Members who come through develop a love for Mali and the Mali people, and would very much like to buy handicrafts, both as a way to preserve their Vorovoro/Mali experience as well as a way to offer support to the Mali community. So my idea is to combine the Tribe’s visit to the school on Fridays with a visit to the villages after school. We would walk home on the jungle path with the kids (which would be a fun experience all in itself!) and then visit the village, where the ladies could lay out any handicrafts they wished to sell for the Tribe to buy, with all money going to the directly to the artist. Each week, we would visit one of the three villages, on a rotating basis. One of the ladies translated this into Fijian, and I saw understanding slowly come across their faces.
After several minutes of rapid Fijian exchanges that I couldn’t even begin to understand, it was agreed that we would begin bringing the Tribe to the village the following week. As Vesi does not have a generator, so therefore no means of producing electricity to charge cell phones, Keresoni volunteered to be our liaison, checking in with the women at the Women’s Meetings each week.
We bid our farewells, and headed toward the footpath that would take us to the next village, Ligau Levu. As we made our way, several faceless voices called out greetings and invitations to us from inside the houses as we passed by. Keresoni politely declined, explaining that we were expected in Ligau Levu soon.
The bush walk was beautiful – just as green and lush as you could imagine. Whenever I walk through the Fijian jungle, I always feel like there should be monkeys in the trees and big carnivorous cats hiding in the bush. It is eerily devoid of animals, save for a few birds twittering about in the trees and random brown tree frogs we noticed on some rocks. As we walked the easy 30 minute hike, Keresoni and I chatted about everything from Fijian history to our respective homes in the States to how the Peace Corp operates. As we approached the village, I heard the grunts of pigs enclosed in wooden cages somewhere nearby in the bush.
The friendly face of Laite greeted us just as soon as we entered Ligau Levu village. Her husband, Jone, is one of Vorovoro’s boat captains, famous for his cheeky humor. As I greeted Laite, I was introduced to a tall but frail and elderly woman, Laite’s mother. She shook my hand heartily, and smiled a broad and toothless smile that brought light to her heavily lined face.
We made our way to the church to wait for the women. As in Vesi, they slowly came drifting in, chatting and laughing easily amongst themselves as they settled themselves on the floor. Babies crawled and tottered to and from laps belonging to mother, aunt, grandmother. I love how women kiss in this part of Fiji –it involves more sniffing than actual lip puckering! I watched the women sniff kissing the babies, and remembering how awkward it felt when I was first greeted in this way! Now I can sniff-kiss with the best of them!
When the women were ready, I launched again into the explanation of my ideas. A woman translated, and more rapid fire Fijian exchanges followed. I tried asking Keresoni what in the world where they saying, but he was too zonked on the Tylenol with Codeine he had taken earlier that day for a sprained hand to be of any help!
In the end, they were pleased with the idea and agreed to have crafts ready to sell in 3 weeks time. One of the men came briefly to accept our sevusevu. With business tended to, the serious air turned to casual conversation. At some point, someone asked me how Oliver’s ear was. I launched into what could possibly be the 50th re-telling of the story of Oliver’s Great Insect-in-the-Ear Adventure. The coconut wireless is lightning fast in Fiji when there is something newsworthy, and everywhere I go, Oliver’s ear is a hot topic of conversation!
Just as I was starting to notice some rumbles in my tummy, someone placed in our hands Bu, which is the name for a green coconut. Laite expertly cut holes in the top, and we thirstily drank the sweet water. Laite then struck the coconuts with a knife so that they broke in two and handed us spoons. The soft and somewhat slimy flesh of the green coconut was amazingly refreshing – I’m sure I left all manners behind as I gobbled mine down.
Tummies full, it was now time to haul ourselves to our feet for the last leg of our journey. We were nearly in the bush when we heard someone call our names. A man ran up and gave us two more husked green coconuts, for the road. Fast food, Fijian style!
This final hike between Ligau Levu and Nakawaqa was the longest and most physically challenging, but also had some of the most breathtaking views of the mountainous terrain of Mali. At the peak of one of the larger hills, you can glimpse Vorovoro, the shape of the island imitating a majestic dragon, curled and sleeping. Every now and then we would come upon someone doing work in the bush, collecting firewood, tending a garden, or collecting voivoi for mat making. Firm handshakes, broad smiles, and a hearty “Bula sia” always followed.
About an hour later, we finally arrived in Nakawaqa, Keresoni’s home village. As made our way through the village, I was greeted by friends I hadn’t seen in many weeks. Mila saw me and came over, smiling her wide, white, welcoming smile and sniff-kissed me. Mila and I have become good friends, bonding over many chats about motherhood and raising children. She has 8 children, one of whom was lost to leukemia a few years ago. He was an identical twin. She talks about the loss easily, but it is clear to see that the pain of losing her child is still fresh. It broke my heart when she confided to me once that as she goes about her work caring for the children she still finds herself looking for the one who is missing, before remembering that he is gone for good.
As Keresoni headed off to his bure to drop off his things, I dropped down under the village’s largest shade tree on a mat with Mila. As I looked around, I could see women washing the lunch pots in the outdoor cooking areas and women shaving off the barbed edges of the long, broad leaves of the voivoi plant and rolling it up into fat rolls. At some point, 20 or so young men trotted by in their rugby practice uniforms, headed to Ligau Levu for practice.
Mila and I chatted and got caught up as chickens pecked around us, babies crawled on and off our laps, and slowly the women began to join us. I brought out a mandarin from my backpack and laughed at the puckered faces the toddlers made when they tasted the sour juice. I passed around a bag of spicy peanuts and some crackers, grateful that I had remembered to pack a snack. For now, the hunger pains gnawing in my belly were gone! Keresoni returned and it was time to begin. I noticed that Mila had gone, but I figured she had work to tend to and carried on, knowing that the women would pass along the info to anyone not present.
Again, I put forth my ideas. Translations were given, rapid conversations followed, and everyone agreed it was a good idea and that they would be ready when we visited in 1 month’s time. Not long after we wrapped up the meeting, a dish of hot, fried fish and cassava was set in front of us. Mila stood above me, laughing. “I knew you were hungry. I could tell. Eat! Eat!”
The fish was hot, greasy, salty and delicious. The moment the smell of it hit my nostrils, I was ravenous. Keresoni and I dug in, eating fingerful after fingerful of the tender white flesh. I ate and ate, until I was pretty sure I had cleaned the fish of all the flesh and all that was left was bones. And the eyes. (I know the Fijians say this is the best part, but I just can’t do it. Oliver loves them – I usually give him mine!) So I watched with amazement as a group of toddlers sat down as if I had left a full plate, and proceeded to have a go at the remaining fish. They worked quickly, quietly, and precisely, picking and sucking at the bones intently until all that was left was a tiny pile of tiny, clean bones. They showed me how to REALLY eat a fish.
My meetings for the day were finished, and with evening approaching, it was a busy time of day for work in the village. The women left to begin preparing dinner for their families, Keresoni left to unlock the fresh water tank for everyone to fill their canisters, and I sat waiting for the boat to arrive to take me back to Vorovoro. I knew that as I guest, I would not be allowed to help, and if I approached a house, they would be obligated to make me comfortable. So with my tummy full of fish and cassava, I laid down in the shade, listening to the sounds of the village and feeling very, very content.
Eventually the boat arrived, and it was time for me to head home. As the boat was leaving and I looked back on the village, I felt a strange bittersweet emotion. Joy, love, and affection for this island, for these people, for this culture. But also a twinge of sadness, for I realized that as much as I am accepted and welcomed into homes and families, I will always be an outsider. I can observe and even take part, but I will never be an actual piece of the fabric that weaves these people so tightly together. But so it is, and so it is meant to be. My experiences leave me more motivated than ever to nurture my own “tribes” in my life, to keep alive traditions and connections that enrich my life. And as always, grateful that my path in life has lead me here to this place where lessons and wisdom abound. Vina’a va’levu!
