Detours

"There was another island! Bali-ha'i was an island of the sea, a jewel of the vast ocean. It was small. Like a jewel, it could be perceived in one loving glance. It was neat. It had majestic cliffs facing the open sea. It had a jagged hill to give it character. It was green like something ever youthful, and it seemed to curve itself like a woman into the rough shadows formed by the volcanoes on the greater island of Vanicoro. From two miles distance no seafarer could have guessed that Bali-ha'i existed. Like most lovely things, one had to seek it out and even to know what one was seeking before it could be found."

- James A. Michener, Tales of the South Pacific, written during WWII while stationed in the New Hebrides.

I am not a seeker. I sought neither island jewels nor volcanic shadows. For that matter, I never envisioned myself feasting on manioc pizza or girding my loins with a purple pandanus penis sheath. A month ago I simply grew weary of wearing shoes. I was not seeking the lip numbing effects of kava, a lesson in the rudiments of cricket using coconut shells, or wandering afoot from the airport to spend my first night beneath a thatched food stall. Again ... I just don't like shoes. Aiming for a warmer route from Sydney to Melbourne; I took a slightly kooky detour. Lured by the balm of Bali, I instead found myself in Bali-hai'i.

Sprinkled between the Solomon Islands and New Caledonia lies the tiny nation of Vanuatu. Formerly known as the New Hebrides, the archipelago of Vanuatu is a cultural kaleidoscope. The 180,000 Ni-Vanuatu - or, People of the Land - live on over 80 islands and speak at least 105 distinct traditional languages. This is the highest concentration of different languages found anywhere in the world. There is an old Hawaiian saying: I ka olelo no ke ola ... In the language is life. By this, or any other measure, Vanuatu positively sings with diversity, beauty, and all the funky wonderments that compose the lyrics of life. Its music is enchanting. Its melody seductive. The verses of Vanuatu chant the siren song of the South Seas. (Note: I am not a professional musicologist. My odd and obtuse opinions in this area should be treated with caution. After all, I believe that Johnny Mathis still rocks. I also believe that Kid Rock is a skilled lyricist. Sinatra weeps.)

I promise to keep further tangents to a minimum. I've just landed in Australia, it is now 4:05 a.m., and I have 144 new messages straining my in-box file. Despite my volcanically effusive enthusiasm for the subject, the islands of Vanuatu deserve greater attention and more thoughtful consideration than they'll find here in this letter.

Bislama: Functioning as a linking language between indigenous vernacular and both English and French, Bislama is the most important language of Vanuatu. It evolved from the 'business' English (pidgin) that was used by early European traders who visited from the 1830s onwards. Encompassing only 2500 words, the language displays some colorful expressions and inspired ingenuity. For example, the original Frenchman were known as man wiwi (men who say 'oui'), diarrhea has the playful translation sitsit wota, and a condom is more appropriately termed a rubba blong fak-fak. Fun but verbose is the equivolent for piano: samting blong waetman wtem blak mo waet tut, sipos yu kilim, hem i save krae arot ... which translates as 'a whiteman's thing with black and white teeth; if you strike it, it cries out.'

Driving: While not exactly driving the Autobahn, the coastal route around Efate is a thrilling 138-kilometer adventure - precipitous cliffs, hidden lagoons, gushing cascades, wild pigs, black-white-green sand beaches, and no stoplights. There aren't any in the country. As the road is quite rugged and composed of impacted coral, it was nice to have 4-wheel drive. Even though I never got past third gear, it was nice to be behind the wheel again. Spending the night near the village of Paonangisu was freakishly serene. The only bungalows in the area front the ocean and overlook seven different islands. Suh-weet! The 'resort' was empty and I was only their fifth guest so far this year. As my stockpile of baguettes dwindled on the way back to Port Vila I stopped by a roadside foodstall to buy some mangos and bananas. The fruit stand business rests on a refreshing faith in honesty and quite a trusting policy. You simply take what you'd like and leave whatever amount you consider fair in the money box.

Athletics: More ritual than sport, the Naghol ceremony of Pentecost island makes most X-Game events look like parcheesi. The Naghol is the genesis of the bungee jump where the men leap from heights up to 90 feet with only two long, springy lianas, or vines, to break their fall. Taking place on one or two chosen days from April to early June, this ritual 'leap into oblivion' is required to guarantee a bountiful yam harvest the following year. No meek pastoralism, this is agriculture gone hardcore. If my parents had believed in this radical fertilizing technique, I would now be stretched to at least six-feet tall.

Etymological Goofery: The origin of my island names are classic cases of confused communication.

Tanna - Drawn by its volcanic glow one night, Commander Cook (later promoted to Captain) landed and made friends with an elderly chief called Paowang. While trying to converse, he pointed to the ground and asked the old man what the place was called. Paowang, probably thinking he wanted to know the name for ground, replied muk-tana. Cook only heard the second part.

Erromango - In a similar fashion, when James Cook asked the local name of the island, the villagers became confused by his gestures and replied erro-mango, meaning 'this is a man.'

Ambrym - Yep, another of James Cook's misunderstandings. The people he met gave him a yam to eat saying am rem, meaning 'your yam.' While they consumed theirs, they said ama rem, i.e. 'our yam.'

Malekula - the most apt and colorful explanation for its name comes from a tale about some 19th century French sailors who landed there. The islanders wanted them to leave, but were too polite to say so. In one version of the story, they sat the Frenchmen down on some furry local plants while everyone got sloshy drinking kava. Unfortunately for the sailors the leaves of these plants contained a strong skin irritant. Once the Frenchman had sobered up, they all ran around clutching their rear ends, shouting Mal a cul! or 'Pain in the ass!' Everything sounds prettier in French.

Healthcare: While in Port Vila, I was fortunate to enjoy a meeting with the country's Minister of Health. I scheduled the appointment to learn more about the status of their healthcare system and explore future employment possibilities. A fascinating morning. We toured the hospital, discussed Vanuatu's embryonic status, and commisserated over funding limitations. The job market is quite enticing if not remunerative. Vanuatu doesn't have any therapists. Switching subjects to dentistry ... if a Malekulan woman from the Big Nambas tribe - those of the 'Big Penis Sheaths' - has truly pleased her husband, he may permit her to take part in the tooth ceremony. In this ritual, which results in much greater status, she has her two front teeth knocked out by a stone. The privilege costs her a large number of pigs.

Economics: In the past a man might have paid up to 100 pigs, as well as scores of mats and shells, for a wife. Nowadays the maximum bride-price for the entire country has been set by the council of chiefs at 80,000 vatu, or the equivalent value in pigs.

Nutrition: Vanuatu is perhaps the only country whose traditional cuisine is more disgusting than England. Its national dish is laplap; the taste still haunts my tongue . I will pass along the recipe for those who'd like to punish their children ... first, grate either manioc, taro roots, or yams into a doughy paste. Place the mixture on to wild spinach leaves and soak it with a milky juicemade from grated coconut diluted with water. Next, pieces of pork, beef, poultry, fish, prawns, or fruit bat are added. Leaves from the laplap plant (similar to banana leaves) are then wrapped around the doughy mix and tied up with strands of vine. Lastly, place the packages in a ground oven, with hot stones above and below, and let this evil creation properly incubate. It's poor form to turn down laplap when it is offered to you. I suffered thrice. No complaints, a Peace Corps volunteer I spoke with has been forced to stealthily hide it in her shirt on occassion.

A special note to Aunt Lynn and Aunt Jane: In northern Pentecost, people inherit land through their aunts, a unique form of matrilinear descent. I encourage this custom .

Magic: While residing in Port Vila I stayed at a quiet place on the outskirts of town near the old stadium. Reached by a dirt path, I was surprised to awaken one morning to the sound of nearly a thousand locals parading past my door while chanting in Bislama. While they filed into the stadium a neighbor kid gave me the details. Apparently, a couple sorcerers had been accused of casting black magic death spells. The gathering was a forum to discuss what actions should be taken for retribution and justice. Whether Christianized or not, magic is a serious and pervasive force in the lives of the Ni-Vanuatu. Witch doctors (klebers) cast spells both to heal and harm others, produce good crops, raise or calm storms, banish spirits, or control the volcanoes. The Peace Corps volunteer I met lives on tiny Paama Island (20 square miles). I was informed that ebery village there claims to have at least one man who can change himself into a shark; such a person is called a nakaimo. It's believed that if you have an enemy, your opponent will get a nakaimo to transform himself into a shark and devour you at sea. As a consequence, the islanders describe shark attacks as the work of sorcerers. Don't worry Mom ... I'm back in Oz ... the land of kindly, bumbling wizards.

Government: Previously ruled by a joint colonial fiasco known as the Condominium, the Republic of Vanuatu achieved its independence from the UK and France in 1980. While the country has a Westminster-style constitution, I enjoy the fact that the President must do what the chief says when they go back home.

Literature: With the numerous islands scattered about Port Vila offering free ferry service, Efate is an idyllic destination for beach loungin' book lovin' sun lizards. I promptly joined the library. Siddhartha by Herman Hesse is highly recommended. So is Geometrical Drawings from Malekula and other islands of the New Hebrides by Bernard Deacon. Published in 1934 by The Royal Journal of Anthropoly Institute of GB, it explores the utility and mythology of indigenous sand drawings. Perusing it for tattoo ideas, I learned that the collection was incomplete due to Mr. Deacon's untimely death. He was eaten by cannibals! In fact, Vanuatu's last kakae man, or victim of cannibalism, went into a Big Nambas pot on Malekula as recently as 1969.

Religion: The first missionaries arrived in Vanuatu in 1839. After two of their number were killed and eaten almost immediately after setting foot on Erromango, the churches moved more carefully. Despite losing nearly 50 missionaries to the cannibal feast, a steady stream of converts emerged. Today, over 90-percent of the population is Christian. Non Christians are largely made up of Jon Frum worshippers and adherents to traditional religions.

With the end of WWII and the withdrawal of the Pacific troops, cargo cults appeared on several islands as villagers sought to secure the kind of wealth they'd seen so wantonly discarded. While most soon died out, the Jon Frum cult of Tanna has developed into a potent force. In essence, Jon Frummers believe that by acting as they think white people do they'll be able to intercept the magic that gives whites their wealth. They try different things (eg holding military parades and building bamboo aircraft) in the hope that one will do the trick.

Who is Jon Frum? (For that matter, Who is John Galt?) The most widely held belief is that Jon Frum was a US medical corps member (john from America) who landed on Tanna during WWII and handed out large amounts of medicine. Jon Frum's day is celebrated on the fifteenth of February. Jon Frummers believe he will return on this day, bringing all the cargo he has promised them. During the parade in his honor, about 100 scantily clad men armed with bamboo rifles march about under the command of village elders dressed like US army sergeants. On their backs, the soldiers proudly display the red-painted letters 'USA.' They consider themselves members of the Tannese Army, a special unit - so they say - of the American armed forces. I say screw NATO, we've got the Jon Frummers on our side! Anyways, if you find ridicule in their antics please consider that Christians have waited nearly 2000 years for the return of their messiah; the Jon Frum cult has waited less than 60.

- embracing detours ... Kevin