In the last two weeks, I have been fortunate enough to attend, VIP style, the largest festival in Fiji--possibly even the whole Pacific, and accompany 36 11-13 year-olds on their annual camping trip to the interior of Viti Levu.
To give you an idea of the grandeur of the Hibiscus festival, it ended on August 29th and on August 28th, the committee members were already planning how to make next year's bigger and better. It was an honor to be invited into the VIP lounge all week, where I was able to meet the contestants who compete for the titles of King, Queen, Prince, Princess, and Lady Hibiscus and who give up their personal lives for a series of months to support their fellow citizens, share their community's ideals, and grow as individuals. I was also able to rub elbows with the men and women behind the festival--the ones who coordinate this event which caters to over 10,000 people a day from all over Fiji. It just so happens my connection lies with the speech and confidence coach. He thought he was lucky to have a charming and pretty woman on his arm, however I think I was lucky one, as it was an honor to be by his side and see the amazing transformations that he helped to inspire within each of the contestants over the last six months.
As many of you know when there is an influx of people I tend to run away. So during the middle of the Hibiscus week I accompanied the 6th, 7th, and 8th grades of The Learning Center on their rural camping trip to Namoli Village, in the Sigatoka highlands of Viti Levu, located in the province of Navosa.
The first day I got to the school at 8am, noticing that when kids go camping they don't bring hiking back packs, as I did, but they bring multiple large suitcases that have wheels in most instances. We arrived in Sigatoka at 12 pm. We traveled to the Keyasi police post by dirt road and were graciously fed tea and baked goods by the police wives. We then realized, due to the amount of luggage we carried, that we would need two carrier trucks--not one to get us over the mountain roads and to the village that was still over two hours away--or just 45 minutes in "Fiji time."
The kids, teachers, luggage, and myself (acting as Ms. Nina, leader of Group Awesome) climbed into the back of the covered carrier truck and started the interesting journey in the back of a truck to the river. When we reached the end of the road, a road that had only existed for 10 years, it was dark, it was 8 pm, we hadn't eaten dinner, and we had to wade across the river with all of our bags to reach the village.
If you've never greeted a wide river, in an unfamiliar place, at night, and been asked to traverse it--you haven't experienced adventure. It was invigorating to cross the cool, knee-high river and arrive in the village to be well fed and put to bed in the Chief's bure. Although, if you remember what it is like to be a tweenager and on a sleep over field trip, then you must know Ms. Nina, leader of Group Awesome, didn't sleep for more than a few hours that night. The kids were respectful, but excitable, and sure that there was a rat rummaging around in the bure at 3:30 am--for the sole purpose of torturing them.
Everyday we woke up before sunrise to the white mist of our breath. We crossed the river to do nature studies, swimming, horse back riding, fishing and bilibili races. When someone of adult stature sits on a bilibili it remains a sturdy bamboo raft, but it also neglects to float above the water because it flows in the water. However, if you are Fijian, you are naturally inclined to stand on the bilibili, carrying across the river any number of items safely and dryly. Luckily, due to village protocol I was swimming fully clothed all week--including my two bottom layers, consisting of shorts and a sulu.
The kids had an amazing time interacting with the village children, who were all on school holidays and normally have to board at a government school far away from their remote and rural village. There was no cell phone service, no refrigeration, one flush toilet--set up with a bucket of water, and no showers. We took our baths in the river, washed the pots and pans in the river and saw how vital the river was to daily life in Namoli. We ate fresh Talapia, caught with spears, bilibilies and cane knives, out of holes in the sand that were lined with banana leaves and also held games with the village children and the school children--the village children usually coming out on top.
Besides a few excitement driven behavior mishaps, a missing toenail, a roll-start carrier, fifteen tummy aches, one exploratory rat, and a sacrificed wild boar-- we had no fatalities, or desperate situations.
I was privileged to talk with the Chief's wife all week, Tai Livi and learn about access to education in the village and her thoughts on the rural and remote location of the village. I was also bestowed the high honor of staying her tent--an A-frame, circa 1970. It was very well loved and unfortunately past its prime--causing the boys to have to put a tarpaulin over it to make it water proof. It also needed to be tied down with a wide berth, and bamboo-fashioned-twine, which caused all of my darling students to trip over the pegs and regularly collapse my tent--only stopping their run enough to giggle and scream, "SORRY MS. NINA...."
Tai Livi was sad to see us go, as were the other villagers after they realized what entertainment our students provided amid the invasion of the peaceful mountain top village. The trip will forever bond me with the hills of Fiji, the villagers of Namoli, and the students and teachers at TLC. Once again I felt accepted and loved as a member of a community--a member of a family--and a contributor to the enlightenment of other's lives.
As a reward for my hard work I managed to lose my camera at Hibiscus on Saturday night--at the closing VIP cocktail party, in an area with thousands of people. I had not yet downloaded the photos from camping and spent all day Sunday wallowing in devastation at my stupidity. Lost and found seemed to be an unheard of concept around the Hibiscus grounds the next day and all hope was lost. On Thursday night, around 10 pm, my boyfriend received a text from a local TV producer saying he found a camera on Saturday night with scenic pictures and pictures of him--was he missing a camera?
My lessons learned were: Hope is never lost; there still is good in humanity; children inspire happiness and unrestricted laughter; and the citizens of Namoli Village are more than happy to share their love, peace, and home with complete strangers.
Pictures will be posted soon on facebook and on flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/35025666@N02/
-MOCE-
