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.