village

/'vιlιdZ/ n. 1 a small community or group of houses in a rural area, larger than a hamlet and usually smaller than a town, and sometimes incorporated as a municipality. 2 the inhabitants of such a community collectively.

It’s been a busy few weeks, and I apologise for not writing something here last week.

I guess the highlight since my last post was my visit to Silana. Silana is a small village on the north-east coast of Viti Levu, and as part of my Fijian language class, five of us (plus Savaira, the teacher) went and stayed there two nights. All in all, the experience was fantastic. Rural Fijian life is very different to that of Suva. There is much more of a “traditional” feel to Silana, compared to the “modern” Suva (although I did write about Suva’s time lag in my last blog entry).

We drank lots of yaqona /ja'ŋgona/ (or kava). In some ways we had to. We had to present a big bunch of yaqona roots to the village elders to ask them to let us stay. Then they took the roots away, pounded them up, brought the powder back, mixed it with water, and presented the drink to us as a ceremonial welcome. It was all very solemn, in a dark hall with only a single hurricane lamp as a light, and interspersed with intonations from the men of the village. But once the “official business” was out of the way, it became very social, with chatting and laughing all ’round. We drank yaqona the following morning, to ask permission to go out to the reef and see the dolphins (more about that later). We drank yaqona socially the following night, and then drank more the next morning, because we had to ask politely to leave the village. Then there was more social drinking. I have had more yaqona in the past three days than I’ve ever had in my entire life!

Yaqona is purportedly narcotic. They tell me that if you drink too much, your skin goes all scaly and lizard-like, your eyes become bloodshot, and you have a general attitude of lethargy all the time. Some of the people of Silana stayed up ’til 2am drinking, and then felt terrible the next morning … something akin to a hangover, I guess. To me, it has a slightly bitter taste, but isn’t overly strong. There is a sense of “muddy water”, which I have heard people say about yaqona before. The wooden smell of the bilo, which is the coconut shell in which yaqona is served, is the most dominating thing, I reckon. You are supposed to drink the whole bilo-full in one go (which can be tough if they fill it right to the top — a “high tide”). My lips and tongue tingle ever so slightly after I’ve swallowed it, but really, apart from that, it doesn’t do anything. It’s nothing to rave about at all.

On Saturday morning, we were taken out to the reef on a small motorboat. Once we reached a certain spot, they all started banging the side of the boat, and one man blew a round, breathy tone through a conch shell. The next thing you know, we were surrounded by dolphins! (babale /mba'mbale/ in Fijian). It was awesome. That is the closest I ever remember being to a dolphin in my entire life. Savaira gave me some insight into the whole experience, and it also enlightened me a little in terms of the whole Christianity-versus-culture questions I asked in my “culture” blog entry. Apparently, as part of our yaqona presentation to the man who is the head of the tribe that owns the reef, he asked his ancestors (who are somehow “in” the dolphins, or maybe “are” the dolphins) to be kind to us and give us a good show, and make sure there were plenty of animals to entertain us on that particular day. He would attribute our positive experience with the dolphins (that there were a lot of them, and they came very close to the boat) to the fact that we presented ourselves well and did the right thing by the villagers, and the ancestors. If we hadn’t asked permission to go out to the reef, perhaps the dolphins wouldn’t have come so close to the boat. This same man was in the Methodist church service the next morning. Savaira said that’s how it is for many Fijians … “a foot in both camps,” she said. They will learn and preach about how we’re supposed to be devoted to only one God, and then constantly refer back to their ancestors and the spirits of the land, animals, plants, and water. Because this latter part of their culture is so ingrained, they don’t even seem to be aware of the contradiction. And I’m not sure that any amount of discussion or theological training would be able to change that … It’s very interesting to me.

During the weekend we got to learn about medicinal herbs, and the kinds of plants people grow in their gardens, and we all made our own woven hat! Mine’s a bit sad and sorry-looking. Apparently I didn’t hold the leaves tight enough as I was weaving it together. We slept on the floor, ate a lovo on Sunday afternoon (food cooked for hours on hot stones in the ground), practiced our Fijian, and generally had a great time. I have a much greater appreciation now for those Aussie volunteers who may have had to go to villages like this and live there for twelve months! The whole experience really does make me realise how little Fijian I actually know. “My name is Andrew,” “what is your name?” “I slept well, thank you,” and “this food is very good” can only get you so far …

I also was amazed at how independent the village is. By that, I mean they have very little need for outside interference. They grow their own veges, catch all their own fish, build their own houses, cook their own meals, worship in their own community, look after each others’ children, invite every person who walks past in for dinner (or lunch, or breakfast), care for their own pigs and chickens, socialise together, make their own entertainment, and just generally look out for each other. Occasionally they may have to go to Suva or Korovou for some supplies, and every now and then, a bread truck makes a delivery, but otherwise that’s it. Who cares about the elections in the US? What difference does it make to them whether there’s a war in the Middle East? Why do they need to know about the drought in Australia? Maybe it’s a case of “the grass is always greener …” but that kind of isolation appeals to me in some ways. There is talk of a hotel/resort going up near Silana soon. In my opinion, that’s one of the worst things that could ever happen. Why do stupid Westerners have to go and spoil a perfect, pristine beachside village with their big bucks, day trips, bikinis and multicoloured cocktails? Aren’t there enough resorts around?? I came across a word in the newspaper yesterday. One I’d never seen before: “neocolonialism”. It is a perfect expression for what happens in this country on so many different levels, and why. There are a lot of things in Fiji that could be improved, but the white people coming in with their “we can do it better than you” attitude isn’t going to help at all.

I’m going to get off my soap box now.

Here’s a picture of the six of us on the way home from Silana! This is Savaira, me, Kathryn, Janet, Shane, and Natalie. Do you like us all dressed up in our Sunday best?

Things are winding down for me. School will finish soon. Ruthie has gone home to New Zealand to spend the Christmas break with her friends and family. I’m starting to pack up all my things at the school, and show the staff some final things before I go. Soon I’ll have to start going around and collecting all my belongings, which over the past months have scattered themselves all over the house!

Anyway. I hope everyone is happy and healthy. See you here next week!

Cheers,

Andy