Anchorage in the Northern Lau, Fiji

iji is world-renowned as a tourist destination for its postcard beaches and soft coral diving. Its allure as a South Pacific paradise brings thousands of visitors each year. It is an island nation with the inevitable boom of “progress” looming like a dark cloud. Tourists are catered to, resorts are built, “civilization” encroaches farther and farther into traditional ways of living. And while much more developed than the other countries we’ve visited in the Pacific, you can still feel its reluctance to give in to western influence. Fiji remains a place of custom and ceremony, but as in most places in the world these pockets of the past are rapidly vanishing.

Last week we finally made it to the Northern Lau group in Fiji, known as “The Exploring Isles,” or known locally as the “end of the world.” The Northern Lau group has been on our hit list for years. Very few yachts have ever visited and have only recently been opened up to visitors as the area is trying against all odds to retain their traditional way of life.

This amount of kava could buy a small island

Upon landing in any village in Fiji it is customary and necessary (cannibalism has not been absent long enough to recommend otherwise) to present “Sevu Sevu”, (literally, a present) to the chief of the village. The present is always kava, the cherished social drug- of sorts. Kava, as I described last year from our travels in Vanuatu has a downside and an upside. The downside is that you drink it and it tastes and looks like mud water. In fact it is mud water. The upside is apparently only known to those who regularly drink kava because it’s certainly not apparent to me. It gives you numb lips, it doesn’t make women look more beautiful, it doesn’t make you have more fun, it doesn’t make you the life of the party- it just makes you nauseous and sleepy with numb lips. But it does get you in with the chief and that’s good because the chief has a lot of pull. In the old days if you pissed off the chief he’d have you for dinner. Let me make this clear- he wouldn’t have you OVER for dinner- he’d have you FOR dinner. In the days before Europeans visitors would place a suitable present before the chief, which he would then be bound to accept or be guilty of the gravest misconduct, tantamount to a declaration of war. Once accepted the well-being and safety of the visitor becomes the chief’s responsibility.

Taking part in Sevu Sevu is quite interesting. Out of respect, when entering the chief’s home you must dress very conservatively (sulus, or long skirts for men and women), remove your shoes, no hats or sunglasses, always remain lower than the chief, and never actually hand over the kava- place it on the floor at their feet. Then everyone sits and one of the chief’s deputies holds the kava and blesses the gift, thanking the earth for its offerings.

What happens when you don't do Sevu Sevu!

Well, that is what we are told they are saying. We can’t be sure as it’s all in Fijian which no one I’m with understands. We’ve presented Sevu Sevu now a few times and the ceremony always sounds the same. I’m sure they are saying something quite lovely, but I always have to suppress a laugh because of what they could be saying: “oh thank you white people for the gift of kava. We are very thankful and now we’ll celebrate by eating you. Let’s get the pots fired up, that one over there looks a bit skinny- we’ll have to boil him. And you, as soon as we’re done here head over to your mom’s place and find some good herbs, she doesn’t look tasty at all, but she’ll roast up quite nicely. Oh thank you thank you for giving us this dirt water. We will enjoy eating your brains and tasty feet. Amen.”

Nowhere is the juxtaposition between western culture and the traditional village more obvious than in Mavana, where we anchored for most of our stay. Mavana at first glance is like any other Fijian village- simple, compact, open and friendly. But there was a difference between this unassuming village and any of the previous rural communities we have stayed. Some of the families had quite a bit of money. The Prime Minister of Fiji lived there, as did the president of the Methodist church. The president’s home had a large screen TV, a very large stereo, curtains- things most villagers would never dream of owning. Looked to me like some of the tithing was not going to God. Literally within a few feet of these upscale homes would be a typical bure. Bures are modest yet comfortable thatched roof homes with concrete, wood or often dirt floors, no running water, and no furniture but mats to sit on when eating or socializing. I suppose it was the Fijian version of the suburbs with gated communities on one side and mobile homes on the other. But if there was any animosity towards the discrepancy in wealth we couldn’t sense it. The people of Mavana were all smiles and definitely on “Fiji Time”, which means no concern or even regard for time at all. Life revolves around family, food, fun and just enough work to keep the village running and people well fed. Kids run amuck but are very respectful and curious, and seem to be raised by everyone. There are no fences; there are no closed doors. People who live in small towns at home would find many similarities.

After completing our Sevu Sevu a young man named Chico invited us to lunch. Chico’s family ushered us into their home and fed us a tasty lunch of cassava, boiled fish and cabbage, sweet potato and chicken. I kept thinking what I would do if someone I knew nothing about showed up in my neighborhood wearing strange cloths, awkwardly stumbling around with glazed eyes (this is how we inevitably look coming off a sailboat). Inviting them to lunch might not be my first inclination. Chico showed us around, climbed a coconut tree, gave us a sack of fresh papaya and bananas, and even invited us to join in a volleyball game. It wasn’t the small present to the chief that afforded us this hospitality. It’s how people are in Fiji. So giving with what little they have and so friendly and welcoming with outsiders.

The next day we noticed a pair of our dive fins had gone missing from the dinghy. This was not a big loss and we figured the locals could probably put them to good use, so we weren’t terribly distraught. But we mentioned it to Chico and things got interesting.

Fiji gets a bit hot after kava

Within minutes the entire village knew the fins had been stolen. We were taken again to Chico’s home and told not to worry. A message would be sent to the King (the chief) and the King would get the police and we’d get our fins back. It was probably the nearby village they said- no one in Mavana would do such a thing. Mavana’s King would talk to the nearby village’s King and we’d get them back. More curious than anything else we sat on the sidelines of a growing scandal. Chico’s grandfather took the reins and laid it all out for us. “Tomorrow you come 6:30. You take truck 8:00 or 7:30. King talk to King. You let me talk to King. You not talk to King. You must talk to King. So tomorrow you come early, 6:00 or 7:30 so you take truck 8:30. You eat some cassava.”

We’d gotten used to the time schedules so the changes were more amusing than anything else. I said, “OK, so we’ll come into town at 6:30 and take the 7:30 truck right? Then you will talk to the King, or I will talk to the King?”

“Yes, you come 7:30 or 8:00, take 7 o’clock truck. Then you come back 9 10 or 11 truck and have cassava, get fins. You not talk to King.”

“There are 3 trucks back?” I enquired, skeptical as we’d only seen one truck.

“Yes. Only one truck. Talk to the King.”

“Does the truck come back at 9, 10, or 11 o’clock?”

“Comes back 9. 10. Maybe 11. You come back 10. Eat cassava. Not talk to King.”

Clear as kava we got into town the next day at 7, left promptly at 7:30 and came back at 10:00, right on “schedule”. The fins were dropped off shortly thereafter at our boat and no explanation was ever given. You see a Fijian’s idea of ownership is much different than our own. Let’s say you build a boat and store it on the beach. Each day you come down to the beach to take your boat out fishing, but each day one of the other villager’s has used it instead. Your boat has not been stolen because it actually belongs to everyone. You could come down every day to use the boat you built and not get a chance for months- and have absolutely nothing to complain about. In fact you would be hard pressed to catch this rightful owner even remotely disappointed. Being on Fiji time just means there’s always tomorrow to go fishing.

This land of Kings and Commoners is definitely a slice from the past. I’m disheartened to know it isn’t going to stay that way, but we’ll take some wonderful memories of Fiji and the South Pacific’s people with us on our westward journey.

Our next stop is the Solomon Islands. Land of rampant malaria, very few cruising yachts, recent political turmoil and some of the best underwater and above water scenery the South Pacific has to offer. Sounds like a good adventure.

Northern Lau Group, Fiji. August 2004.