Last week I went to the Village of Narkorakula in the Nadroga province of Fiji. We stayed there for five days--the women amongst the families in the houses and the men in the hall. Everyone slept comfortably on a floor--covered with a woven mat. There were five of us the first night in a small living room and on subsequent nights that number decreased to three, as some were invited to spread out in a neighboring village home. We stayed up talking to our hosts and sharing tea and food: lots and lots of food.
For the most part the people of the village live in family homes--small houses, usually 3 rooms--possibly split into more sections by curtains and there's an outhouse and outdoor wash bin and a kitchen shack in the back of the house. The houses have very little in them--random trinkets and a few family photographs. What the houses do have is a place in a community. It is true what they say--you need a whole village to work together, complete with the chickens and roosters running around. And, not to worry, but these roosters are like all others and they crow mercilessly at 4 am and 12 am and 10 am and 1 pm, anytime really!
While we were there we ate an amazing bounty of food for every meal. The women would wake up and prepare us breakfast, each section of the village preparing the food for a different day. Sometimes they even baked the night before. Then as soon as breakfast was finished, they would clean up and talk to each other in a lounge-like way, spread out on mats on the floor, and then eat their own breakfast and go into making lunch. We had a full lunch everyday because in Fiji a sandwich is not considered lunch. We had fish and crabs and mussels and clams and octopus and sea cucumber and dalo and cassava and carrots and chicken and curry and roti and eggplant and seaweed and roro and cabbage and pineapple and papaya and bananas. We had curry for breakfast and octopus for lunch. Everything was blessed with the coconut milk which makes the food delicious and very rich. For the first few days I was feeling very full, but equally adventurous and then by Wednesday I was just feeling very full. However the catch with going to a village and seeing the spread of food--which the women stand by and shoo the flies away by gently swinging tea towels back and forth--is that you are a guest and you are expected to eat. Before every meal grace is said in Fijian and the food and the day and the people are blessed. And then if you do not partake in at least two, if not three, heaping plates of food, the women will not accept your plate for washing. It gives them pleasure to share what they have with you.
The whole reason Mike and I were in the village was to accompany fourth year dental students on their rural training course. With Dr. Bernadette, from my Rotary club, we went along with 12 students to do OEs (oral examinations) and continuing treatment on all the villages in the area. We helped people from Tau, Waica, Lomawai, Bavu, and a few other villages and settlements in the area. Mike and I functioned as receptionists registering people and recruiting those who stood by watching, rather than signing up themselves. The students and their supervisors were amazing to watch as they worked with the supplies we brought in--helping people in a sterile and professional manner in the middle of a rural tropical oasis.
We were greeted with extensive Kava ceremonies which I took place in, even though as a woman I should have little interest in them. As a white woman I think the men of the village enjoyed my company as I preferred to have a "high tide" bowl each time it was passed to me. I like Kava because I like the taste of root crops--like beets and turnips and Kava essentially tastes like dirt water, or as I like to say, earth essence. It seemed to me that the village women had little interest in the drinking of Kava, but the men could be found drinking the mild narcotic at anytime during the day. I find it gives me little effects except for drowsiness, but I did maintain a low blood pressure the whole week--possibly an example of positive side effects.
I drank Kava with the Chief of Narkorakula and with the Regional Chief from Lomowai--although I am sure the latter was not impressed in my joining his circle of male comradery, I was invited to do so by the men of my village, so I accepted and tried not to feel uncomfortable as the Regional Chief glanced sideways, not speaking, but giving off an air of confusion and what I read as distaste. The "sevusevu," or the official Kava ceremony was amazing to witness. There are long prayers and what seem to be oral history poems exchanged between the visitors and the village--it is a presentation of sorts. There is muffled clapping, one before you drink, and three after you drink. There is a shared bowl and a trough of what appears to be dirty water sitting in the middle of the room. There is talanoa--or casual conversation--around the Kava bowl and once you sit down, you are invited to continue your cross-legged journey in the hall and to share life and happiness with the men of the village.
While chatting I picked up a few additional Fijian words during my stay--some of the dialect of that Village. "Cola vina" (though-la veena) which means good health/hello, "Oi lei" (a filler like wee doggie), "Isa" (oh my gosh! My goodness!) and "mai" (come! for children). I made friends with a 3-year old named Suli--who's house I stayed in and who was very interested in what this "papalangi" was doing all week. I made friends with his mother--Ili and his aunt and his grandmother. I made friends with other women as I helped them to grind coconuts for my favorite dish--miti (a coconut gravy with onions and lemon and tomatoes, all finely chopped) I marveled at the innovations that the team of students made to deliver good dental care to these villagers and at the smiles they showed after having observed us in their village. I enjoyed an afternoon at the local primary school where they have lessons on the wall regarding rubbish disposal and there's a black board outside with chores to keep the school going. I enjoyed being a part of a family and seeing how crafty they are at re-using resources.
In the past I have been known to say, "that's enough food to feed a village," and once you see the spread of food they put on, you see that that statement is true. When we left we left behind gifts of laundry soap and materials for the traditional Fijian style of dress. (Yes I had a Chamba made--head to toe 'bula' material, not the plainest fabric, but flattering if it is cut right. Unfortunately my Chamba made me look similar to a green whale with white leaves and breadfruit all over my body! But no one seemed to notice, they all thought I looked great.)
The lesson I took away from the village, besides an appreciation for my bed, hot water, and alone time--was that you don't need to have things to be happy. These wonderful and generous people barely had any possessions. They grew most of their own food and fished out of the river and the ocean and some worked as sugar cane farmers and plantation farmers and some had jobs as security guards, or construction workers--but most of them coexisted to keep the village in working order. Wealth is measured in family and friends; in health and life--not in money, or material goods. The village was a good lesson on what it means to share all that you have with a guest--to observe a week of smiles and laughter and casual chats anywhere a mat was laid was the most important thing I will take away from my time here in Fiji.
