God made me immune against culture shocks. I had a ‘never-to-forget-experience’ this afternoon and they want me to come back. OMG have mercy on me!
This morning I went with Avinash to his parents who live on Adavaci Island. The island is basically next to Vanuabalavu and belongs to a Japanese business man, who apparently wants to sell the place. When it’s high tide you have to take the boat to his parents, but during low tide you can walk the few hundred meters through the shallow water, up an incline and down the other side. It’s a tough course, but good for the circulation and an excellent way to get fit. Today we go on the boat and I take one photo after the other all along our route. It’s so beautiful – especially this part where Avinash’s parents live. It’s right at the sea, virtually surrounded by white beach. There’s a multitude of palm trees behind the shabby little house. It looks so idyllic that I can’t help imagining a grand mansion here on the beach, surrounded by a beautiful view of cobalt blue and turquoise water.
Opposite where Avinash’s parents live, is a tiny island that’s highest point is approximately 21 meters above sea level. Between the melted black rocks are shells and dolomite and one can see how the island was formed centuries ago by lava that was thrust up from the sea.
I wouldn’t mind having a house right at the top, because the view is magnificent. I would need a few millions for that, though.
We arrive on the beach to a warm welcome from his father, mother, sister and the sister’s daughter. Avinash’s mother has her Sunday best on for the occasion, but the place is clearly dilapidated and poverty stricken. His father looks like a hobo and an old wound stretching the length and breadth covers his very swollen foot. His welcome is a heartily laugh and an invitation to meet the rest of the family and all the friends.
Oh, Lord, I think. What the heck have I let myself in for? I am dismayed by the dirt and squalor and I am here for a meal, of all things! What possessed me to say yes to this invitation?
I greet everyone with a handshake and am shown that I have been given the ‘seat’ of the guest of honour – a spot on the floor in the corner. But before I sit, I notice the women talking and giggling while pointing to my camera. Avinash’s sister and mother pat their hair and look at me with such longing, as if to say; “Please take a photo! Just look at us!” Avinash asks me to take some photos and immediately everyone is ready for the occasion. We move to the front of the house and everyone stands higgledy-piggledy until I suggest they stand next to the Hibiscus. The flowers will make a far better backdrop than the barrenness in front of the house. Everyone poses while the camera clicks away and I end up taking more photos of the little girl than anyone else – she is just too cute for words. I promise them that when I am in Suva again I will have the photos printed and bring them to them. What am I saying? Do I really want to come back here?
While this is all going on, I’ve become aware of someone peering round the door of the house, and ask who it is. Avinash’s mom tells me that it’s the other sister, but she’s paralysed and has no use of her legs and never leaves the house. She stares at me with big eyes and I shake her hand. She starts chattering non-stop, and in between the foreign sounds she makes, I understand a word here and there and laugh along in the conversation with everyone else. I get the impression it’s a big moment in her life to be given so much attention – and that by a strange white man.
The house that the whole Khumar family lives in is small. At the back, is a kitchen with a table and two stools on either side, a basin and a table on where the food is prepared. The ‘Lovo’ (a hole in the ground that is used as an oven) is in an even smaller room just behind the kitchen. Between the house and the kitchen is a makeshift living room. A canopy has been erected and a mat to sit on made from palm leaves. I’ve taken my shoes off and left them outside as is the tradition here in Fiji when you go into someone’s home, and sit at the far end of the mat with my legs crossed. It’s sometimes very difficult to sit crossed-legged for so long and I regularly have to lift my legs to help the circulation. Everyone here in Fiji sits crossed-legged and it makes me think of one or other yoga position that I haven’t been able to master yet.
Everyone sits and stares at me in wonder and immediately I am asked if I’ll drink Kava with them. Once I have downed the first cup of so called Fijian Whiskey, everyone laughs heartily, applauds, and says Mothe. Avinash has disappeared and I’m left feeling like the foreigner I am in amongst all the strange faces that stare at me so and ask question after question. I would’ve felt much better if he hadn’t deserted me.
On my right sits a family friend; Ilesoni and Jojo; Avinash’s father. Every now and then he laughs very loudly and rubs his bulging belly that shines in the light coming from outside. His hair is tattered and filthy, his nails are just as filthy and I’m not even talking about his feet! Every time he laughs, all you see are four massive brown canines, almost like in a leopard’s mouth. Each one is about 2cm long. No, on second glance, I do believe they are longer! Even when his mouth is wide open, it’s still hard for anything to get past those long teeth. The top teeth grind against the bottom ones and in the process have become razor sharp. I’m trying to imagine how to explain this to the people back home and keep looking for an opportunity to take a photo of him and his yellowy-brown tusks. The times that I did manage to get photos, his mouth was either closed or he didn’t want to laugh. Next to him on the stair leading to the house and the sleeping quarters, sits the granny that is just too adorable. She apparently stayed with her son in America for fifteen years, but decided to come back to Fiji where the weather is warmer and it never snows. A real Indian lady who reminds me of my late Aunt Moira. Avinash’s brother is sitting at the door chopping at something only he can see with a panga. He is painfully thin and dirty and his hair is haphazard like his beard, not covering his skull completely, with straggly bits hanging in plaits at the back. I’m sure a good scrub would have him looking half decent. He looks as if nothing or no one has ever caused him grief and if there are no concerns in his life. He exists from day to day, and will live like that until he dies, as if he has no desire to improve or change his lifestyle.
Opposite me, just next to him, sits Para who has the special privilege of making the Kava. Para takes the bag of Kava and pushes in into the water and rinses it out, pushes in, rinses out. I shudder watching him do this, because I have seen his nails and see in my mind’s eye how the dirt stays behind in the water. He is one of the workers on the plantation and looks exactly like a tramp found in the back streets of Johannesburg; no teeth in his mouth, frizzy hair that’s pointing in all directions and an unshaven face like a rich Hotnot – like my father always used to say of someone with haphazard facial hair growth. His eyes are bloodshot and he has a suki-suki in his mouth. (Suki-suki is a thin newspaper rolled cigarette about 15cm in length.)
On my left is a man that talks virtually non-stop and speaks English much better than anyone else here. He has so much bitterness towards the white man, but specifically towards the British that took their land from them years and years ago. According to him (and it is noted as such in the archives) the island where he comes from was taken from them by two British men by unethical means. They gave the chief too much to drink and got so far as getting him to mark his fingerprint on a prepared document in which he ceded the island to the British Government.
But the two of us have a good conversation and I tell him that I am in the process of putting together a photo book of the island and its people and that I would like to use pictures of their families for this book and should it sell, be able to assist them financially. Everyone is terribly excited by this prospect and agree to have me taking photographs of them.
The food is ready and we all gather in the kitchen where a prayer is said. Everyone says amen and a few sit around the table while the other men leave to go and drink some more Kava. It’s me, Ilesoni, the granny, Avinash (who has reappeared) and his brother who sit around the table. Avinash’s mother stands just behind him and the sister stands next to me, so that she can shoo all the flies off the food with her rag. I am served the best today, but still I get the creeps when I look at what is in front of me. I keep my pose so as not to offend anyone. The flies are everywhere and every now and then the mother shrieks at the sister to check that the flies don’t sit on my food or on my tea cup, but sister-dear just seems to have eyes for me and giggles every time I look at her.
There is fish in batter that has been cooked in coconut oil. It’s a bit dry, but actually nice. Then more fish, that’s been cooked in coconut milk. This one still has its teeth and eyes, which stare at me and I fear it might jump on me any minute! The fins have also not been removed and my dining companions are sucking at them with the most awful slurping sounds! There is also salsa – which I almost completely devour, roti, green papaya that’s been cooked in coconut milk and all sorts of other foreign foods that I am not familiar with. I eat slowly and unwillingly while dishes with more food are placed in quick succession in front of me. Ilesoni laughs while the sauce runs off his mouth and every now and then he wipes his mouth and hands with the dishcloth while the others suck on the fish bones in their plates. The bones that have been sucked get thrown on a separate plate and the flies arrive by the millions to enjoy the feast. Sister is waving her rag around furiously and her mother needs to keep reminding her to be careful that she doesn’t end up hitting me as well. I cringe at every sound that fills the kitchen and with every bite of food I add a spoonful of salsa. The family is of Indian descent and in spite of the filth, the food is good and the Indian influence is evident.
I thank Avinash’s mother for the delicious food and she promises to pack a doggy bag for me so that I can enjoy some more of this good food when I get home. I smile and say thank you, but in my heart I really wish she wouldn’t because the Lord only knows how I kept praying during the meal that I would manage to get the food down. If it wasn’t for the salsa, I might have behaved in a disgraceful manner.
While I have taken my place in the corner of the ‘living room’, the others have gone to eat. Every now and then I hear the most dreadful noises coming from the adjoining room of people burping. Eventually Avinash’s father emerges from the kitchen and he lies on his usual spot. He has eaten so much that his round and shiny stomach is sticking out of his unbuttoned shirt. Good grief, I think. What a transformation! Is it really possible that someone’s stomach can bulge like that from food, I wonder. Well, it must be, because here it is – right in front of my very eyes!
Avinash’s mother and I enjoy having a conversation while everyone else tells me not to listen to Ilesoni because ‘Only bullshit talk’. And the others agree; ‘Yes, only bullshit, bullshit talk.’ He then gives a belly laugh and asks if I would like some more tea. I want to run away, but instead stay sitting and listen to the ‘bullshit talk’ of Ilesoni who has invited me for the following week’s Father’s Day meal and assures me he will also be there. Avinash’s parents laugh: ‘Only bullshit talk, he not come, only bullshit.’And Ilesoni gives his belly laugh again and offers me more tea.
Jojo has given me permission to walk around the property, so with camera in hand, Avinash, the little girl and I take a walk along the sea and I take photographs of them in the scenic beauty. What a romantic setting, if you just have the right person to share it with.
Back at the house, I say goodbye to everyone and thank them for a delicious meal and promise to be back the following week. Avinash’s mother, true to her word, has packed me a doggy bag to have for supper. All that’s going through my mind is that the following Sunday must rather not come because I have been promised that a very special curry pork dish will be made for me. Apparently I’m really going to like it!
Avinash, Para and I are on the boat making our way back to ‘our’ island while everyone stands on the beach waving us off.
That evening after walking back to the ‘homestead’ from the village, I came up the hill and find hundreds of swallows flying and chirping and doing their ‘flight dances’ on the lawn. It was so beautiful. I have never seen or experienced anything like it and could only stand in overwhelming wonder as I watched their carefree flying as they enjoyed the cool night air.
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