A Country Like Viti

A Country Like Viti

[Peace Corps requires this disclaimer: “The contents of this Web site are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps.”]

For 6 weeks of language and cultural training, we 26 Peace Corps volunteers were scattered among 5 villages along the Coral Coast of south Viti Levu, 'Big Fiji' island, and now that time was coming toward an end.

The Fijian families had accepted us into their homes and lives as true family members, there was a real love among us, and everyone felt the approaching saturday, the separation day when we would leave for further training in Suva, and our eventual scattered assignments all over Fiji.

Wednesday there was a big Peace-Corps-sponsored ceremony and dinner. All the Peace Corps volunteers, trainers, & administrators were there, plus local leaders and 2+ members of every host family, hence: a big crowd in Vatua's community hall, its vale ni songo.

Every village has a vale ni songo. In my experience, they are all concrete buildings with a single large empty room, generally non-descript, occassionally with peripheral rest rooms and/or kitchen. The floor, as all fijian floors, are covered with excellent mats woven from some native plant material (I must find out what). There are many security-screened-but-not-bug-screened windows of louvered glass, open to the breeze. And, always, there is a large tanoa, which is a wooden bowl with stubby legs, carved from a single piece of wood, varying in size from a foot to almost 3 feet across, used of course for yangona.

Everyone sits cross-legged on the floor. There is a formal order to where each person sits. If the crowd is large, the tanoa is at about the center of the room, and bisects it. Behind the tanoa sit the local villagers, men toward the front, women toward the rear, older men at the fore. In front of the tanoa sit the village chiefs, and guests, again ordered by sex and age.

(The language reflects this. There is a word for older same-sex sibling, and a word for younger same-sex sibling, but a single word for a different-sex sibling. Because it's not important whether the different-sex sib is older or younger. Because if you're male, the diff-sex-sib is of a lower status, and if you're female, a higher.)

(Fortuitously, *i* benefit, undeservedly. from the cultural hierarchy. People pay close attention to me. I'm old and male. It is assumed i know things. I don't know shit.)

Any event of any kind starts with the formal gunu yangona (kava drinking ceremony) and a long prayer, followed by more yangona all around during the event itself, and followed by lots of food, kana vakalevu. A long narrow cloth is stretched out on the floor, serving as a virtual table. Women cook the food at home, then bring it to the hall in big aluminum pots, and distribute it along the length of the table in dishes and bowls. The food is always very good, and varied. There are fish dishes, octopus, curry, roti (like a tortilla), rice, tomato stews, lolo (coconut milk sauce), dalo leaf (like spinach), shredded carrots like coleslaw without the mayo, and, always, stacked piles of tavioka, dalo root, and vundi (like a banana but bland). (The fijians love tavioka. To me, it seems totally tasteless and i avoid it, behavior they can't understand. Because it's the food they rely on to keep them alive, generation after generation.) And then the desserts, all with lots of butter. Any such event generally slowly gets rolling around 7, builds momentum thru the evening, and starts to gradually taper off starting around 11pm. Many folks can always be counted on to keep the kava flowing to 2am or beyond.

So wednesday nite, that was the routine. There was yangona, thankyou speeches, a slide show of fotos of the last 7 weeks, and lots of food. At the end, Peace Corps had hired busses to take everyone home.

Thursday nite, the routine was repeated, but on an individual extended family scale. There was yangona, tearful heartfelt thankyou speeches, and lots of food.

Friday nite, the routine was repeated, at the village level. There was yangona, tearful heartfelt thankyou speeches, and lots of food. In one village, it went on ALL NITE.

Fijians are completely dedicated to their family relationships, and we had each been adopted into a family. They, and we, were truly torn up by the impending parting.

I told them that they were the most open, friendly, generous, hospitable, BEST people i'd ever known. I told them wherever i lived, Namada would always be my (fijian) home.

Saturday morning the hired peace corps bus came to take us away. In Namanda, they insisted on yet another yangona ceremony before we could go. This one was in the form of a farewell salute of sorts. We drank one round, and then they insisted on another. We needed to go, but couldn't say no. There was a tearful farewell. The entire village turned out. The scene was repeated 5 more times in the other villages - hundreds of people, each time, wishing us moce.

Moce.

***

Suva is the biggest city of any pacific island, population under 200k, right-sized. It rolls across hills on a big bright bay, cloud draped tropical mountains as backdrop. Tho' there's the trash and such typical of the 3rd world, it's actually a rather beautiful place. Ships anchor in the harbor. Taxis clog the randomly-winding arteries. Downtown are skyscrapers, countless Indian and Chinese restaurants, stores/stores/stores, internet cafes, a McDonald's, a KFC.

We stayed in a mid-range hotel on a hill above downtown. There would be a weekend free, then 2 days of training, then 3 days of "site visit" where we would each visit for the first time the place where we would spend 2 years, meet the folks there, see the housing, etc.

Walking thru a residential neighborhood enroute to lunch downtown that saturday, i realized, suprise!, here in the midst of the big city, relative to the village, it was SO QUIET. Sure, the occasional loud smoky car would zoom by, but otherwise: no roosters, no yelping dog packs, squealing pigs, no clanging yangona root pounding, no "Bula!/Lako mai!/Kana!" from every passing person and every passed vale. Here, in short, in the midst of the city, so little activity. It was such a relief.

We'd been in the villages for 6 and a half weeks. We were exhausted, physically and emotionally. This Suva weekend was consumed by alcohol, swimming pool, and dancing in dark loud night clubs.

Downtown, the Republic of Cappuccino is the fijian Starbucks. It is clean, quiet, uncrowded, elegantly trendy. I have a good cafe mocha. There is good art on the walls. 'Sting' sings on the sound system.

I loved the village, but it was overwhelming. It is good to be back in The World.

***

My station is to be at the Provincial Office in Sigatoka, on the southwest coast of Viti Levu, the main Fijian island. I am an Environmental Consultant, or some such. My counterpart, Erami, is a big good quiet man, who reminds me much of my brother Scott. He advised me to define the job title carefully, and narrowly. (Yes, the job is so open-ended i can do whatever i want, and call myself whatever i want.) Then, when someone wants me to do something, if i do want to do it i can do it, but if i DON'T want to do it i can just point to my title and say 'it's not my job'.

Provinces are like states, of course, and this one covers the west half of Viti Levu, 130 villages. Erami says i will be a "Big Man". Everyone, seriously, sincerely, most respectfully, calls me Ratu, "Chief".

I am not worthy.

I got this particular job because during the training in Namanda, i actually became deeply involved in working with 3 villages in the area on water system and ecotourism projects. No one else did anything quite like that. So they were sending me back to the Coral Coast, where all of Fiji's environmental problems come to a head.

Wednesday we take a van from Suva the 2 hrs west to Tagaqe (pronounced: Tang-ang-ge). We do sevusevu with Ratu Timothy, which i'd already done many times before, but not as a government official. The Ratu is the most powerful chief in the area, because he's smart and cares and shakes a lot of hands, like any good politician, and he has a special knack for keeping folks around drinking yangona for much longer than they originally cared to. A sevusevu is the ceremonial presentation of raw yangona root as a token of respect to a chief and village, for which one receives in return respect and permission to enter and conduct business, whatever that may be, on village lands. (The many hundred native villages own like 80% of the land area of Fiji.) After, there's food, kana vakalevu. By the time we're done, it's too late to do anything else, except do another sevusevu, this to my new neighbors representing the chief of Sigatoka Village, my new home. The Chief, a female, which is unusual, is off at a meeting of the Great Council of Chiefs.

There are actually 3 governments in Fiji - (1) the Government which is like what we think of as a government, (2) the Vanua, which is the old traditional hierarchy represented by the Great Council of Chiefs, and (3) religion, which is taken very seriously. Methodists are in the majority, and are quite political. The 3 govs all more or less overlap, and work together, mainly to disenfranchise the Indian segment of the population ('Indian' here referring to descendents of folks from India, brought by the English to work sugar cane back around 1900.) When Indians actually became a majority in the country, there was a military coup, which enacted enuf racist legislation to encourage Indians to leave en masse to the point that they were a tolerable minority, like 45%. They still are leaving. Which is devastating to the economy, since so many native Fijians are quite happy with a subsistence lifestyle, living simply in villages, pursuing family-sized agriculture and fishing. Whereas the Indians, prevented from owning significant land, run the stores, businesses, busses, taxis, and lease land from Fijians to do relatively large-scale agriculture and fishing for sale in markets.

(The politically correct terms are 'Native Fijian' & 'Indo-Fijians', the latter for Indian descendents. But everyone here, most definitely including the Indians, uses the terms 'Fijians' and 'Indians'.)

So thursday eve there is yangona drinking and kana vakalevu at the neighbors. They are very nice. The husband is called 'Master' in honor or his honored status as a teacher. There is a city councilman present too, a relative.

Practically everyone is related.

My place is much nicer than i could have hoped. It is a typical concrete building, but 2 big rooms, clean, airy, on the banks of the big Sigatoka River. There's a couch, small table, chairs, even a kitchen sink (we did not have one in Namanda, everything was done out of buckets), and a clean working refrigerator.

All that's missing is hot water. (At least there's a working shower head.)

Oh, another thing missing is screens. The first nite, I'm consumed alive by mosquitos.

Thursday morn, my neighbor Mere (Mary) arrives with breakfast. Now, i'd told her the nite before that i'd be breakfasting with Erami and his wife WaiNiKiti (they live in the provincial compound). But, typical fijian, here she is to feed me anyway. I had my morning plans made, my schedule set, and, typical fiji, the plans are rendered useless by generosity. She has the tea ready next door. Politely, i go next door, and practically knock myself out against the unnaturally low door jamb.

So now my head aches AND i'm consuming 2 breakfasts.

Finally at the office, Erami and i do sevusevu with a host of Assistant Rokos. (The Roko Tui, the head man, isn't around today.) Yes, the concept of sevusevu has been extended from the village context to the government office. We spend about 3 hrs drinking yangona. Best i can tell, that's all these guys ever do. One of them tells me how it inspires creativity when you're stuck on some intricate problem of paperwork.

All it inspires in me is a disturbed stomach, but i do it to be culturally correct.

That afternoon, we go around to the various federal government ministries in the building across the street. The big multi-story building appears dirty, unused, unneeded. It looks a lot like what you'd expect in eastern europe before the fall of communism.

We find the livestock guy is sitting at a desk devoid of any papers, in an office devoid of practically anything beyond his desk and chair, doing, i expect typically, nothing. He is annoyed at the disturbance.

The ag lady next door is so much more cooperative. Charts and lists cover her walls and desk. She has a likewise busy secretary. And she's anxious to tell us about the projects she's working on, which involve using foreign dollars to teach fijian farmers how to produce food for a paying market (like resorts) rather than for just their own personal needs. (This seems to have not so much to do with volume, as with timing and reliability. Resorts want a steady flow of produce. Apparently they can't rely on this, so they're forced to go elsewhere. Like to Indians?) She is enthusiastic, and her reports are voluminous, with plenty of statistical tables, but the projects very small scale, both in geographic size and in number of farmers participating.

Finally we surprise the Forestry office, 3 guys drinking yangona and clearly doing nothing else. They are a little embarrassed. The chief tells us about his staff. 2 are home sick this day, but from the way he says it i wonder if they just simply didn't bother to come to work, because nothing ever happens here. The chief tells us about the recent timber harvest regulation legislation, to prevent continued massive erosion into the streams, rivers, estuaries, lagoons, and public water systems and the continuing destruction of the essential and life-giving reefs that surround the islands - GOOD, it's about time! But, oh, they have no transport! There is no money to buy or hire a truck to visit the logging sites. So there is NO ENFORCEMENT. Which is the way the higher government actually prefers it, since they're in the pocket of the loggers. And which is the way THESE guys prefer it, since they have a good excuse to sit and drink yangona all day instead of work for living.

Politely, i rake the chief over the coals, without offending. Erami congratulates me after. Erami is almost unique among the people i've met this day. He actually cares. He actually wants to do a job he's paid to do. He cared so much that he actually filled out a 2-page form requesting a Peace Corps Volunteer in his area. And succeeded.

(University of the South Pacific, seeing the reefs of Fiji, the finest in the world, degenerating in pollution, started a program called Integrated Coastal Management to try to get folks working together to save them. None of the Rokos or assistants wanted to do any extra work, so they made Erami do it. USP sent Erami to Rhode Island for an international conference on the subject. He saw snow. He played in snow. The Rokos were very jealous. Now USP is giving him, ONLY him, a computer (there are now 3 computers in the provincial office, but they're not networked and they're used solely by the secretaries, yes, they have secretaries, as fancy typewriters, oh and to play solitaire), AND an internet connection. The Rokos are incensed.)

Thursday nite i go next door and drink yangona with my neighbors. It's a very pleasant cultural interchange, and likely is the source of the liquid diarrhea approaching dysentery that is my next week.

(The problem with yangona, besides the bad taste, slow pace, usual acute lack of actual conversation, and absence of any beneficial effects whatsoever, other than cultural correctness, is that you don't know where the water comes from, the bowl is likely dirty, the bilos (cups) are likely dirty, EVERYONE has their hands in it and their lips on it, AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT.)

So i shit my guts out, every 2 hrs, day & nite, for a week. Thank gosh for gatorade.

Friday: Fijians, in a few places, notably Namanda, mine coral to send to the United States so people can have cool aquariums. This is a problem, because it destroys the reef which not only provides food and ecosystems, but protects the very continued physical existance of the islands themselves against the onslaught of the sea, which itself is rising, maybe due to global warming. But coral mining pays very well for all involved. Early on, Erami told me: "We must stop the coral harvest."

The week before, the coral harvest had stopped when the US decided Fiji was not meeting the requirements of international treaties, and embargoed all shipments.

Wednesday, while we yangona'd in Tagaqe, a fellow had shown up in a truck and presented Erami with a petition, which i correctly deduced was from Namandan coral harvesters wanting their lucrative jobs back. (I talked to one competent young man who made as much money 3hrs a day prying coral as he had 10hrs a day sweating underground in a gold mine.)

Friday, Erami decided we must go to the Ministry of the Environment in Suva and urge them to keep the coral harvest going, at least for a while. I suspect this sudden change of heart was due to his wife being from Namanda. Fijians are extremely loyal to the villages of their birth.

So friday i sat at his home, a bare flat in the sullen government compound, practicing Fijian with Wainikiti, while Erami attempted to arrange transport to Suva. (Government vehicles are rare, most of them donated by Japan as foreign aid.) His plan was that the company extracting the coral would pay our way. (Yes, in the US this would be a career-ender, but i'm in the 3rd world.)

Finally at 2pm he decided we'd have to use public transport.

Now, under ideal conditions it's a 2-hr drive to Suva, and i had a dinner with Andi Joana (my neighbor, the chief of Sigatoka Village) planned for 6pm, which was politically very important, and Erami knew this. And i reminded him of all that.

"I promise we'll be back by 6."

Yeah, right. No way. But what do ya do?

Wainikiti wanted to go too, never one to pass up a shopping opportunity.

The 3 of us set off in a van driven by a cousin. (Everyone's related.) Time being short, he drove like a maniac, but that's standard regardless. We arrived at the Ministry of the Environment shortly after 4pm. It's friday. Offices close at 4:30.

Needless to say, the director was not there. The secretary told us that the director had been working very hard, had gone home early, and had no time for such matters anyway.

Erami went looking for an underling, who was more polite but basicly clearly said (tho' it was in Fijian): "Your problem is not my problem, why should i do anything for you?"

Bureacracies are the same everywhere.

So we left the office, having accomplished nothing, Erami discouraged and embarassed, and went looking for Wainikiti, loosed upon Suva, shopping. We couldn't find her.

He led me across town to McDonald's, where he had a burger, and i was thankful to take my yangona-induced bi-hourly firehose dump in a relatively clean restroom with TP.

OK, we finally found her, & the cousin, and raced back to Sigatoka.

On the highway, we threaded our way thru police roadblocks laid for bank robbers who'd used a rifle to intimidate the cops while they robbed a bank in Ba. Guns are very rare in Fiji, most of the violence committed with machetes referred to variously as 'cane knives', 'sele kava' (iron knife), or 'sele levu' (big knife). In the Brit tradition, the police here are unarmed. But they wear really cool looking uniforms, very attractive on a fit man, which most of 'em are. The roadblocks are spike strips laid out on alternating sides of the lane, such that the vehicles must weave slowly among them or violently sacrifice tires, the cops peering in the window as you go by.

As we passed thru, Wainikiti shouted "Uro!" at the officers. Literally, 'fat', it translates to a mildly obscene expression akin to "You are 1 hot sexy number!"

They smiled and waved.

We were back at 7:30.

Andi Joana had herself just got back from the Great Council of Chiefs, so she was not disturbed. She's a wonderful old lady, in her 70s i think, full of life and caring personality.

After, she came over to 'my' house, which actually belongs to Bill, a legendary former Peace Cop from 30 yrs back who stayed to be a prof at USP. She'd been his host mother in those early days.

"I have 2 daughters," she said, "and Bill is my son. And now, Ratu Maikeli, i have 2 sons."

Adopted again.

What do you do with a country like this one?

We will see.