A (kava induced) tale of two villages
Kokamo's Pacifc Meanderings
Tom and Rachel
Thu 7 Oct 2010 10:57
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Kokamo has just left
15:22.6S 168:08.0E
After 10 days or so in
Santo, we've begun to head south back towards Vanuatu's capital Port Vila,
although south in a such a leisurely way that we've first sailed north-east
to the island of Maewo. This sparsely populated and very wet and
green island is the first of the eastern chain in Vanuatu's
central section which we will explore going down, having explored the
western chain on the way up.
As something of an
experiment, we decided to stop at a village which is not mentioned except
in passing in the cruising guides. Very few tourists make it to Maewo, and
as their are no sailing directions to get into this or many of the bays, not
many yachts stop in the northern part of the island either. So
we thought it might provide a sneak insight into typical village life in
the area, unused to the attentions and income of tourists and
yachties.
Narovorovo, it turned
out, has a population of about 250, a long volcanic black sand beach, and
coconut palms harvested for copra stretching up a river valley behind the
village shading nonchalantly grazing bullocks. There has only been a
village on the site since the 1930s, after the ancient settlements in the
hills behind had first been attacked by neighbouring tribes, resulting in
the death of most of the occupants, and then flattened by a
cyclone.
The new site seems to
be treating its inhabitants better, and life here does indeed seem to
follow the standard Vanuatuan pattern: tending the garden to keep the family in
taro/yams/island cabbage; growing some kava and copra for sale; church on
sunday; and of course drinking kava in the evenings.
"Yu-tufella i drinkem
kava?" This is always the question, after expressing astonishment that we
speak Bislama while denying to be Peace Corps volunteers. "Yes,
mi-tufella i drinkem samtaems." But once you've admitted you drink
it, there is no escape. Especially once I'd let on that I'd
never drunk the version ground by hand using a piece of coral stone - the
traditional way in these parts, in place of it being pre-chewed as
in Tanna. Soon I was sat down outside the long nakamal house,
trying not to take all the skin off my palm while it tried
to grip the slimy, sliced kava root against the
grinding action of a sharply grooved stick of coral.
There is nothing like
joining in with kava to help the community relax and accept
you. Which probably explains why we ended up spending 3 (slightly
hazey) days at Narovorovo. As we were only the second yacht to come
ashore to visit the village this year - the first belonging to an organisation
called the 'Sailing Ministry' - we were made hugely welcome, with people always
wanting to share 'storian' (stories), especially around kava time. We also
explored the village, and on one particularly energetic day, walked across the
mountainous island to the windward side ("it will only take an hour each way"
says Milton - 6 hours later we make it back). But it was the kava each
evening that became the focus of our visit.
As people came down to
the beach to wave us big, two armed goodbyes, we were sure we'd had a good time
at Narovorovo. And it certainly felt very typical. The same
gardening going on at a very unhurried pace, the same serious devotion to kava
drinking. Even the gaggle watching Toy Story II with subtitles in front of
the store while string band tunes blared out didn't seem to threaten that regime
much. Johnsley, who'd worked in construction in Santo and had started a
'construction school' had plans for a tourist bungalow; the women under the
vocal Muriel had formed a co-operative to boost their income - but
essentially life looked set to continue in the same vein for a while yet.
Some anthropologists have suggested that as along as kava is drunk in the
islands, the traditional approach to life will survive in some form - maybe they
have a point.
Which all felt
different to our next stop. Right at the south end of Maewo is an
anchorage that yachties rave about: Asanvari is a beautiful sheltered bay with a
white sand beach, and a waterfall pouring into one corner. There's been a
Yacht Club, set up by a local Chief, for years. Everyone was friendly,
although obviously very used to the fleeting visitors that yachtie become for a
day or two.
But in the corner
of the bay with the picturebook waterfall tumbling between green
palms, we were surprised to see an ugly concrete wall being constructed.
While Rachel was painting the waterfall, I got chatting to the owner of the
land, Alex, who'd recently come back to his home island having spent years
successfully launching commercial radio stations in the capital. He
explained that he is building a restaurant and bar by the waterfall.
Surprised by the scale of the venture, I asked if he was hoping to attract more
yachties and tourists. But he said it was for the locals as much as
anyone, to provide an alternative to kava and prove that big projects can be
realised if you put in the effort. "Kava makes the people here lazy.
As long as they are drinking kava each day, they won't do anything to change
their state." It struck me that this is was just what
those anthropologists feel, but expressed from the opposite
perspective. While romantic academics celebrate the drug as the cause
of the retention of some of the traditional culture, and an important part
of ni-Van identity, Alex blames it for the fact
that parents don't earn enough to send their kids to school beyond Class
Six. I've heard others cynically say it plays an important role as a
social analgesic, numbing the tedium of routine village
life.
As ever the answer
doesn't appear straightforward. For ourselves, Rach and I are now trying
to lay off the kava a bit so that
we can not only function after 5 pm, but feel able to get out of
bed in the morning. So maybe Alex has got a point, and his new bar
project will provide an alternative to kava for locals. On the otherhand, he also happened
to mention he has persuaded P&O to send up their scouts to assess the
bay, which could potentially land hundreds of aging passengers from their cruise
ships... bang in front of his new restaurant.
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