So tonight I was going through some of my photos on my laptop and decided to try out my wireless, just for fun. Imagine my surprise when I instantly get online. I just blew my own mind for the next decade.
Seriously, I am surrounded by palm trees and ramshackle dwellings, I was almost eaten by a pack of wild dogs outside my gate, and I get three out of four green bars.
Another proof of the modern world progressing into the far reaches of the planet. I went to a Peace Corps Fiji training session, and a volunteer's cell phone went off. Peace Corps subsidizes phones for all the volunteers, and texting is free.
I wanted to cry. I didn't bring up the time I was on the Port Morseby Embassy's missing persons list because I was trapped between two raging flooded rivers for four days following Cyclone Ivy, and subsequently had to hike slash swim my way to the nearest urban center, 20 hours by foot away.
Or the time I had dengue fever and after days of writhing in pain in my hut, managed to hike 8 hours to the nearest teleradio to go see a doctor, ten days later,
But I digress.
The buzzword at KSG, that lofty Harvard institution, is "technology leapfrogging". Developing countries take advantage of new technology, thus bypassing antiquated infrastructure, such as telephone lines. You really can't beat the application of cell phones in these rural communities. Its cheap, its reliable, and you can put a tower just about anywhere. And last night an island mama won a Smart Car by texting in her answer to the week's trivia question.
There are problems with this concept, however. Sometimes technology is not applicable, or sustainable, to rural and developing settings. Thus the barrier of renewable energy technology. PV systems are the darling of the Pacific, only because nothing else works.
Last weak I had a meeting with a Fijian regional energy worker and he had some interesting thoughts on "access", another energy buzzword. Basically, one measure to assess a countries technological development is to tally what percentage of the population has access to modern forms of energy supply. But in his view, this misses a huge point, the question of practicality.
The classic example is a village on an outer island getting solar systems for lighting. Two years go by, and with the newly discovered possibilities of electricity discovered, the village wants something bigger and better. They want a washing machine. Unfortunately home solar systems can't power a washing machine, so the village buys a generator (and washing machine) and bring them both back to the village. The generator goes in a hut, and the washing machine goes underneath a palm tree. The community buys fuel on the next island over, but with the cost of diesel, the boat ride over spends more fuel than they bring back in barrels, so only one trip is made. And the village is broke anyway after buying the washing machine and generator. So the machine gets used for a week, then the generator runs dry, and both sit around rusting for a few months until someone raises enough money to go buy fuel again.
True story. In the Federated States of Micronesia.
As this same gentleman stated, "People are no longer satisfied with light bulbs".
In my mind, living on an outer island in the South Pacific quickly sheds light on what is sustainable and what is not. Our energy system infrastructure, for instance, not sustainable. Dodge V10s are currently being shipped to American Samoa. But are these things in the island setting really that different than in Alaska, Colorado, or Boston? The only difference really is time. The realities of society, while taking decades to play out in the States, take a week in Micronesia. I really don't need a Landcruiser. But I want a Landcruiser. And it will break down in a few years, and sit in my lawn in the Valley, and rust away. But like those poor citizens on the outer islands of Micronesia with their rusty washing machine underneath the palm tree, I too want my Landcruiser. I am not content with lightbulbs.
7.30.2007
7.19.2007
Wild Wild PNG (Part 1)
Papua New Guinea. PNG. That place is ridiculous.
So the Pacific is broken up into three distinct ethnicities and culture types. The Micronesians (think Palau), the Polynesians (Hawaii, Samoa, Tonga, etc), and the Melanesians. Melanesia is comprised of 5 countries; Vanuatu, the Soloman Islands, New Caledonia, parts of Fiji, and PNG.
The Melanesians expanded into the Pacific from PNG. If you look at a map, you could probably draw out the eastward migration fairly intuitively. As such, a lot of the Melanesian countries share very similar cultures, language, and heritage. But none compare to the depth and richness of PNG.
It is a very large country in comparison to the other Pacific Islands, with an abundance of natural resources and an exploding population.
And an abundance of guns. We are not talking about pistols and breech loading shotguns your great-great-grandfather used to tote around shooting squirrels (although there are those….the guns, not the squirrels). Assault rifles, AK-47’s, probably even an occasional rocket launcher are all roaming the streets, no big deal. The guard at McDonalds carries one. Your mom, if she were in PNG, would carry one.
PNG shares a border with Indonesia, and the theory goes that guns are smuggled in for food.
Every one in the Pacific is scared of PNG. Rascals, as man PNG are called, are notorious for gang and tribal firefights. It’s not that they target foreigners, but collateral damage (interpret as plump red Alaskan ambling down the street) is not avoided. Look out for cross-fire.
Master Bruce, a friend of mine in Vanuatu who runs plantations for a living, was caught in one of these street wars. He’s walking to the bank and a couple of guys get mowed down, the window behind him shatters everywhere and cuts him up. No big deal.
Seriously. There is a website, www.sleepinginairports.com which goes through the airports of the world and rates them for comfort, amenities, and safety. Port Moresby is the winner of the 2005 Poopy Airport Award (the prestigous ranking for the world's worst airport), with quotes such as "I can only imagine that this place was safer when the Americans and Japanese were bombing it in world war two"
One traveler gives Port Moresby two skull-and-cross-bones, owing to the fact that while standing in line to get his boarding pass, a firefight erupts between the guards and a local gang and seven (yes, seven) people are shot dead in front of him. He grabs his boarding pass and, slipping in blood, catches his airplane. No big deal.
The post was later removed by the moderator as it was not relavent to the sleeping ammenities of the airport.
So the Pacific is broken up into three distinct ethnicities and culture types. The Micronesians (think Palau), the Polynesians (Hawaii, Samoa, Tonga, etc), and the Melanesians. Melanesia is comprised of 5 countries; Vanuatu, the Soloman Islands, New Caledonia, parts of Fiji, and PNG.
The Melanesians expanded into the Pacific from PNG. If you look at a map, you could probably draw out the eastward migration fairly intuitively. As such, a lot of the Melanesian countries share very similar cultures, language, and heritage. But none compare to the depth and richness of PNG.
It is a very large country in comparison to the other Pacific Islands, with an abundance of natural resources and an exploding population.
And an abundance of guns. We are not talking about pistols and breech loading shotguns your great-great-grandfather used to tote around shooting squirrels (although there are those….the guns, not the squirrels). Assault rifles, AK-47’s, probably even an occasional rocket launcher are all roaming the streets, no big deal. The guard at McDonalds carries one. Your mom, if she were in PNG, would carry one.
PNG shares a border with Indonesia, and the theory goes that guns are smuggled in for food.
Every one in the Pacific is scared of PNG. Rascals, as man PNG are called, are notorious for gang and tribal firefights. It’s not that they target foreigners, but collateral damage (interpret as plump red Alaskan ambling down the street) is not avoided. Look out for cross-fire.
Master Bruce, a friend of mine in Vanuatu who runs plantations for a living, was caught in one of these street wars. He’s walking to the bank and a couple of guys get mowed down, the window behind him shatters everywhere and cuts him up. No big deal.
Seriously. There is a website, www.sleepinginairports.com which goes through the airports of the world and rates them for comfort, amenities, and safety. Port Moresby is the winner of the 2005 Poopy Airport Award (the prestigous ranking for the world's worst airport), with quotes such as "I can only imagine that this place was safer when the Americans and Japanese were bombing it in world war two"
One traveler gives Port Moresby two skull-and-cross-bones, owing to the fact that while standing in line to get his boarding pass, a firefight erupts between the guards and a local gang and seven (yes, seven) people are shot dead in front of him. He grabs his boarding pass and, slipping in blood, catches his airplane. No big deal.
The post was later removed by the moderator as it was not relavent to the sleeping ammenities of the airport.
7.14.2007
Vinaka Vakalevu
I ate at McDonalds today. Yeah, that’s right. And I don’t care what you think. I had a cheeseburger meal. In America, McDonalds is all about exploiting the worker and getting you a product based on unsustainable, heinous business and agricultural practices. In Fiji, it is all about great jobs for responsible youth and taking pride in your product. My beef was organic. My fries, golden brown.
Sad to say but I did get sick afterwards. A fruit and vegetable diet is not friends with grease, not matter how quality.
There are public health warnings going out all over Suva. Sickness is rampant and the hospitals are advising everyone to take special precautions. Not Dengue Fever, not a malaria outbreak. Cold weather. With temperatures dipping into the … wait for it … 70’s, the public is being advised to “drink plenty of warm fluids” and to bundle up, as viral sickness from chill is on the rise. Maybe it’s true? I don’t feel sick. Or cold.
I’ll admit, it is too cold to use my pool. I am a pool snob. If the water isn’t boiling, I’m not getting in. I’ll dip my big toe, look down my nose through my dark sunglasses, and saunter off back to my lounge chair.
Today I went to the Suva Expo, something akin to a small town fair. Booths hawking salad shooters inside, rides for the kids outside, and plenty of street meat food. Bubbles the Clown even made an appearance. As I navigated my way through the packed aisles, avoiding the (shudder) Island Dress fashion show made up of 300 lb. island mamas, I noticed something rather peculiar. All of the ethnicities of Fiji were mingling, laughing, enjoying themselves in close quarters. The Chinese stall was next to the Indian stall was next to the Fijian stall, and they were all busy with mixed crowds. For a moment, it looked like Fiji was the poster-child country for peace and harmony amidst a very diverse population of very different cultures.
Violence against Indians has become a real problem in the past several years. One guy I know has been beat up at least four times, breaking his jaw, arm, and a few ribs. He states that when he sees a group of male Fijians coming towards him on the road, he crosses to the other side. If they cross the road, he runs. Strange, because he follows this comment with “I don’t want to leave Fiji, Fijians are nice”. It’s true, and completely bizarre, because individually, everyone is really very nice.
To a visitor, Suva does look ethnically mixed, and relaxed. But there are subtle signs of the tension that is latent. A majority of the beggars and homeless are Indian. A lot of the recent robberies have targeted Indians and Indian businesses. Fijians all use the public fields for rugby at a certain time, then Indians use it for soccer at another time.
I could digress into a lengthy discussion about modern nation states and the implications for race relations, but I will save it, for another time when maybe someone has interest.
Bubbles the Clown. That guy is ridiculous.
Sad to say but I did get sick afterwards. A fruit and vegetable diet is not friends with grease, not matter how quality.
There are public health warnings going out all over Suva. Sickness is rampant and the hospitals are advising everyone to take special precautions. Not Dengue Fever, not a malaria outbreak. Cold weather. With temperatures dipping into the … wait for it … 70’s, the public is being advised to “drink plenty of warm fluids” and to bundle up, as viral sickness from chill is on the rise. Maybe it’s true? I don’t feel sick. Or cold.
I’ll admit, it is too cold to use my pool. I am a pool snob. If the water isn’t boiling, I’m not getting in. I’ll dip my big toe, look down my nose through my dark sunglasses, and saunter off back to my lounge chair.
Today I went to the Suva Expo, something akin to a small town fair. Booths hawking salad shooters inside, rides for the kids outside, and plenty of street meat food. Bubbles the Clown even made an appearance. As I navigated my way through the packed aisles, avoiding the (shudder) Island Dress fashion show made up of 300 lb. island mamas, I noticed something rather peculiar. All of the ethnicities of Fiji were mingling, laughing, enjoying themselves in close quarters. The Chinese stall was next to the Indian stall was next to the Fijian stall, and they were all busy with mixed crowds. For a moment, it looked like Fiji was the poster-child country for peace and harmony amidst a very diverse population of very different cultures.
Violence against Indians has become a real problem in the past several years. One guy I know has been beat up at least four times, breaking his jaw, arm, and a few ribs. He states that when he sees a group of male Fijians coming towards him on the road, he crosses to the other side. If they cross the road, he runs. Strange, because he follows this comment with “I don’t want to leave Fiji, Fijians are nice”. It’s true, and completely bizarre, because individually, everyone is really very nice.
To a visitor, Suva does look ethnically mixed, and relaxed. But there are subtle signs of the tension that is latent. A majority of the beggars and homeless are Indian. A lot of the recent robberies have targeted Indians and Indian businesses. Fijians all use the public fields for rugby at a certain time, then Indians use it for soccer at another time.
I could digress into a lengthy discussion about modern nation states and the implications for race relations, but I will save it, for another time when maybe someone has interest.
Bubbles the Clown. That guy is ridiculous.
7.12.2007
Of Lanyards and AFN
Don’t hate me because I’m red and beautiful. I know you do. It hurts me. Deep.
I have decided that working at an embassy is a lot similar to your office job, except mine is behind bars, and guards, and road blocks. I still use Outlook. I still procrastinate around the coffee pot, and take the stairs instead of the elevator. Friday is dress casual, or Bula Day. Like Hawaiian Shirt Day, except for real.
There are a lot of differences, however. I can’t tell you what they are, but believe you me.
I watch a lot of Armed Forces Network. AFN is like regular TV, except run by the four branches of the military. There are no commercials, Joe doesn’t believe in that civilian puke. AFN fills the empty spaces with military related interest pieces and public service announcements. Every 10 minutes I’m watching Strykers blow crap up, some guy in camo playing ball with little Iraqi children, and Lt. Johnson giving me a rundown on why military research has made this world a better place. Just look at GPS units, originally developed for the military, now helping fire trucks save lives. Go Joe.
I watch a lot of AFN Sports, which is actually really depressing as the normal AFN commercials are replaced with those targeting male soldiers ages 18 to 21. Hour after hour of being warned, shocked, and scared out of behavioral misconduct. From now on I will never 1) shake my baby, 2) drink and drive, 3) hit my wife, 4) grab my fellow female sailor’s ass, 5) or drive without my seat belt. I believe in courage, freedom and liberty, and will "Get the right spirit".
Come to find out, I hate the BBC. Maybe it used to be a credible news agency but has since sold its soul to sensationalism, elbowing CNN and FoxNews out of the way on the paved road to hell.
If I have to watch another interview with that well-spoken bald reporter who was freed from Gaza, next to his cute family in the villages of rural Britain, I am going to impale myself on this huge universal remote.
Maybe I hate the BBC because they are so righteously anti-American. It’s OK to be critical of the US in the media, but not if you are a news caster with a British accent. Because then you just sound smug.
I have a neck lanyard for my ID. That is something new in my life that I didn’t see coming. I am finding that lanyards add a bit of danger to the usually mundane work-a-day routine. Doors, urinals, absent minded coworkers, safes, photo copiers, coat racks, lunch meals and paper-shredders all must be dealt carefully with.
Maybe the faint of heart would cower under such potential threats in the over-seas work environment. Not me however. Danger is my middle name.
I have decided that working at an embassy is a lot similar to your office job, except mine is behind bars, and guards, and road blocks. I still use Outlook. I still procrastinate around the coffee pot, and take the stairs instead of the elevator. Friday is dress casual, or Bula Day. Like Hawaiian Shirt Day, except for real.
There are a lot of differences, however. I can’t tell you what they are, but believe you me.
I watch a lot of Armed Forces Network. AFN is like regular TV, except run by the four branches of the military. There are no commercials, Joe doesn’t believe in that civilian puke. AFN fills the empty spaces with military related interest pieces and public service announcements. Every 10 minutes I’m watching Strykers blow crap up, some guy in camo playing ball with little Iraqi children, and Lt. Johnson giving me a rundown on why military research has made this world a better place. Just look at GPS units, originally developed for the military, now helping fire trucks save lives. Go Joe.
I watch a lot of AFN Sports, which is actually really depressing as the normal AFN commercials are replaced with those targeting male soldiers ages 18 to 21. Hour after hour of being warned, shocked, and scared out of behavioral misconduct. From now on I will never 1) shake my baby, 2) drink and drive, 3) hit my wife, 4) grab my fellow female sailor’s ass, 5) or drive without my seat belt. I believe in courage, freedom and liberty, and will "Get the right spirit".
Come to find out, I hate the BBC. Maybe it used to be a credible news agency but has since sold its soul to sensationalism, elbowing CNN and FoxNews out of the way on the paved road to hell.
If I have to watch another interview with that well-spoken bald reporter who was freed from Gaza, next to his cute family in the villages of rural Britain, I am going to impale myself on this huge universal remote.
Maybe I hate the BBC because they are so righteously anti-American. It’s OK to be critical of the US in the media, but not if you are a news caster with a British accent. Because then you just sound smug.
I have a neck lanyard for my ID. That is something new in my life that I didn’t see coming. I am finding that lanyards add a bit of danger to the usually mundane work-a-day routine. Doors, urinals, absent minded coworkers, safes, photo copiers, coat racks, lunch meals and paper-shredders all must be dealt carefully with.
Maybe the faint of heart would cower under such potential threats in the over-seas work environment. Not me however. Danger is my middle name.
7.07.2007
More Than Meets The Eye
This week has been the week of South Pacific nostalgia. For better or worse.
Flash back after flash back, all with a new cultural context that I find very interesting.
The classic is the first question people ask. "Are you married?" followed by the surprised whistle when I tell them that no, I am not. Either my ripe old age of 26 or my shocking good looks just don’t compute to me not having a passel of children and a pregnant wife.
The marriage question always leads to scheming. Fortunately, I have ample experience in dodging island matrimony traps, no matter how cleverly laid. For you taking notes, several rules will always see you through. Avoid being alone with women, keeping your man shield on standby at all times. Don’t accept food from young single women, especially if the food comes in pairs, e.g. two coconuts. Randomly bring up your serious girl-friend in America that is planning on visiting the island soon. For extra points, add that she was once on the American national net-ball squad, and only quit to pursue her career as the lead singer in America’s first all-female string band, currently touring in Japan. And most importantly, never, under no circumstances, ever receive a pig as a present without first consulting the ramifications with a trusted local friend.
To current girlfriend: if in the distant future you meet any of my island friends, be prepared to understand the fundamentals of netball, and make references to how you "dominated those tipskins from France". Gel Pentecost is your favorite string band song. You play the tambourine to complement your fine rendition of said song. I love you.
The farmer’s market in Suva is glorious. A maze running between stacks of bananas and piles of taro. The Indian influence adds brilliant red and green chilis, and exotic spices. One of my fondest memories about the South Pacific is the abundance of quality fruit and vegetables. It has been hard in the States. As a financially struggling grad student in New England, I quickly learned that I purchase what economists would call "inferior goods", and definitely little fresh produce. I am living it up while I can. Last night I had yams boiled in coconut milk, with a whole cucumber on the side. In another life I was a 300 lb. island mama.
One bonus to my current time in the tropics is not being a daily slave to Doxicycline. As such, I no longer vomit in the mornings and my beautiful red skin isn’t so red. I actually think I am getting tan. Tears are rolling down my bronzen cheeks. That’s right. Bronzen.
A major difference between Vanuatu and Fiji is that people here know where Alaska is. And then they freak out with questions about the cold weather and great fishing. Apparently, just like in the States, many people day-dream about going to Alaska to fish.
Rugby is another major difference. In Vanuatu, soccer reigns in every village, on every dusty playground, and down every shady alley. I didn’t see one rugby ball the entire 2.5 years I was in country. In Fiji, however, soccer is rugby’s little sister. Church is on Sunday, rugby is on Saturday, and every evening and during most free time. The entire second half of the daily papers is somehow related to rugby, unless something major has occurred, in which case it is the entire front half, with news about coups, Fijian peacekeepers in Iraq, and the gloomy outlook for kava exports being relegated to the last half.
Yesterday I was stuck waiting for a bus in a resortish area outside of Suva. With full knowledge of my actions and the hell that awaited me, I entered a few souvenir shops. I was curious, and really bored ok? Fiji has a proud history of being exceptionally brutal, with tribal warfare and cannibalism scaring off western contact till late, compared with other South Pacific countries. It is impressive to look at their past hill forts and war relics. In particular, the war club dominates these artifacts, and now, the trinket shops.
"Hallo hallo, welkam. Where you fram?"
Ahhh the US
"Ohh, which state?"
Alaska
"OHHH cold place no? Too cold, I can’t believe people live there. Are you married...?"
Hmmmm
"This is local shop, with quality souvenir, I give you local discount."
Sweet. So what is that? (pointing to menacing hooked club)
"That is a Hooked Neck Breaker, and the one next to it is a Barbed Vertebrae Killer."
Oooooh, and that one?
"That is a walking stick."
Ah yes
"Look at this photo of my fatha, he is dressed in kastom, doesn’t he look nice?"
Yes, but holy *&#@ what is he holding?
"Oh, that is a Brainbasher, but don’t worry, he never used it."
And so it went. One thing I have noticed is that a lot of Fijians are absolutely huge, abnormally fit with rippling muscles and giant man-hands. To see one approaching me with a Hooked Neck Breaker would probably cause some sort of self wetting. During WW2 it was said that the Allies had a secret weapon in the Pacifc; Man Fiji. Literally drop some off in the jungle on a Japanese-inhabited island, and the Japanese would "disappear" in a few days.
This past war-like culture has been transplanted with a seemingly peaceful Christian culture, a complete reversal that is still counter intuitive, similar to walking around Vanuatu and passing gangs of men swinging machetes and waiving hello, or seeing the men in my village, covered with pig tusk wounds and wild bull gore scars cradling their children. Gentle giants.
Suva has an 8-screen movie theatre. And tonight, I am off to see Transformers. I must admit, when I heard that Transformers was coming out this summer, and I was to be in Fiji, I was a little sad. My childhood was being brought to the big screen, and I was to miss it. But, as Suva is not your typical South Pacific city, I am going to revel in the age-old battle of good versus evil personified in robots from outer space. I am getting misty-eyed thinking about it.
That is all for now.
Flash back after flash back, all with a new cultural context that I find very interesting.
The classic is the first question people ask. "Are you married?" followed by the surprised whistle when I tell them that no, I am not. Either my ripe old age of 26 or my shocking good looks just don’t compute to me not having a passel of children and a pregnant wife.
The marriage question always leads to scheming. Fortunately, I have ample experience in dodging island matrimony traps, no matter how cleverly laid. For you taking notes, several rules will always see you through. Avoid being alone with women, keeping your man shield on standby at all times. Don’t accept food from young single women, especially if the food comes in pairs, e.g. two coconuts. Randomly bring up your serious girl-friend in America that is planning on visiting the island soon. For extra points, add that she was once on the American national net-ball squad, and only quit to pursue her career as the lead singer in America’s first all-female string band, currently touring in Japan. And most importantly, never, under no circumstances, ever receive a pig as a present without first consulting the ramifications with a trusted local friend.
To current girlfriend: if in the distant future you meet any of my island friends, be prepared to understand the fundamentals of netball, and make references to how you "dominated those tipskins from France". Gel Pentecost is your favorite string band song. You play the tambourine to complement your fine rendition of said song. I love you.
The farmer’s market in Suva is glorious. A maze running between stacks of bananas and piles of taro. The Indian influence adds brilliant red and green chilis, and exotic spices. One of my fondest memories about the South Pacific is the abundance of quality fruit and vegetables. It has been hard in the States. As a financially struggling grad student in New England, I quickly learned that I purchase what economists would call "inferior goods", and definitely little fresh produce. I am living it up while I can. Last night I had yams boiled in coconut milk, with a whole cucumber on the side. In another life I was a 300 lb. island mama.
One bonus to my current time in the tropics is not being a daily slave to Doxicycline. As such, I no longer vomit in the mornings and my beautiful red skin isn’t so red. I actually think I am getting tan. Tears are rolling down my bronzen cheeks. That’s right. Bronzen.
A major difference between Vanuatu and Fiji is that people here know where Alaska is. And then they freak out with questions about the cold weather and great fishing. Apparently, just like in the States, many people day-dream about going to Alaska to fish.
Rugby is another major difference. In Vanuatu, soccer reigns in every village, on every dusty playground, and down every shady alley. I didn’t see one rugby ball the entire 2.5 years I was in country. In Fiji, however, soccer is rugby’s little sister. Church is on Sunday, rugby is on Saturday, and every evening and during most free time. The entire second half of the daily papers is somehow related to rugby, unless something major has occurred, in which case it is the entire front half, with news about coups, Fijian peacekeepers in Iraq, and the gloomy outlook for kava exports being relegated to the last half.
Yesterday I was stuck waiting for a bus in a resortish area outside of Suva. With full knowledge of my actions and the hell that awaited me, I entered a few souvenir shops. I was curious, and really bored ok? Fiji has a proud history of being exceptionally brutal, with tribal warfare and cannibalism scaring off western contact till late, compared with other South Pacific countries. It is impressive to look at their past hill forts and war relics. In particular, the war club dominates these artifacts, and now, the trinket shops.
"Hallo hallo, welkam. Where you fram?"
Ahhh the US
"Ohh, which state?"
Alaska
"OHHH cold place no? Too cold, I can’t believe people live there. Are you married...?"
Hmmmm
"This is local shop, with quality souvenir, I give you local discount."
Sweet. So what is that? (pointing to menacing hooked club)
"That is a Hooked Neck Breaker, and the one next to it is a Barbed Vertebrae Killer."
Oooooh, and that one?
"That is a walking stick."
Ah yes
"Look at this photo of my fatha, he is dressed in kastom, doesn’t he look nice?"
Yes, but holy *&#@ what is he holding?
"Oh, that is a Brainbasher, but don’t worry, he never used it."
And so it went. One thing I have noticed is that a lot of Fijians are absolutely huge, abnormally fit with rippling muscles and giant man-hands. To see one approaching me with a Hooked Neck Breaker would probably cause some sort of self wetting. During WW2 it was said that the Allies had a secret weapon in the Pacifc; Man Fiji. Literally drop some off in the jungle on a Japanese-inhabited island, and the Japanese would "disappear" in a few days.
This past war-like culture has been transplanted with a seemingly peaceful Christian culture, a complete reversal that is still counter intuitive, similar to walking around Vanuatu and passing gangs of men swinging machetes and waiving hello, or seeing the men in my village, covered with pig tusk wounds and wild bull gore scars cradling their children. Gentle giants.
Suva has an 8-screen movie theatre. And tonight, I am off to see Transformers. I must admit, when I heard that Transformers was coming out this summer, and I was to be in Fiji, I was a little sad. My childhood was being brought to the big screen, and I was to miss it. But, as Suva is not your typical South Pacific city, I am going to revel in the age-old battle of good versus evil personified in robots from outer space. I am getting misty-eyed thinking about it.
That is all for now.
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