rainforest adventure

I added comments to previous posts!

I decided to try my hand at fiction, since this doesn't really feel like my real life.


It could have been a scene from Survivor or from a Discovery Channel reality show: the little white American girl trudging through the rainforest, Birkenstock clad wearing 80's fit second-secondhand clothes, muddy and sweaty and sunburn creeping through her tanned white skin, ponytail covered by her skirt swooped into a scarf. The walk there was unexpected, starting out with a nicely kept gravel road and well traveled trail. The two-day adventure ended with a walk back, every inch of her body just waiting to be on solid flat ground. The trail fades in and out. She slides muddy step to muddy step, climbing and falling, thinking “Keep going, don't stop.” There's no time to look at the scenery, nowhere to look but down. A thorny branch scrapes across her neck, her gumboot catches on a tree root. In the forest it's cool and damp, wet earthy mud surrounded by deep chocolatey browns and dirty browns, down and at eye level; above linger top story trees and greenery. This is work. For her companions, it's everyday life, part of the necessity of living inland of a tropical climate. Soon the trail through the forest ends and opens into a clearing. Along a river lies the clearing, rocks and sand. The site of the lunch, the relaxation point, the almost end of a hard day's work. The women cook over an open fire, built on sturdy logs replaced the next day, balancing on rocks. A giant pot, salt, and bowls are the only objects brought from home; everything else used is found in the bush. The cooked cassava is spread onto banana leaves, a giant mound of starch. They pick the dalo leaves, bathe, cut firewood, cook. Soon the men trickle in. There's a flurry of bowls being passed around, containers used and reused, filled and emptied with dalo leaves. Nei Seta caught prawns from a pond downstream and they eat them fried in the fire, with chilies and salt. The crunch is fresh and smoky; a real delicacy. There's a lull as the men and boys chow down which soon crescendos to boisterous cackles and giggles, chattering and joking. Fijians are happy people who love laughing, even as exhaustion looms and the stench of sweat and hard work overpowers the forest smells. Cigarettes are lit, clothes are rinsed in the river and laid out to dry, men sprawl and stretch, napping with a rock as a pillow. Somewhere one of the boys hacks away a tree. The work these days are clearing forest for cows. And suddenly, they hear the hooves grumbling through the brush. They whoop and holler, jump up as the girl sits on her rock unaware of the commotion. Rate grabs her arm and pulls her up as the wild bull charges through the clearing, confusedly barreling through the river followed closely by the 20 year olds with their machetes ready as they strike three blows to its neck and down it goes, a massive lump crumbling to the ground, red blood dripping from its neck. They breath a collective sigh of relief and resume their talanoa (telling stories). The girl is shaken as they laugh about her reluctance to move. The cows here are wild, compared to her like the wild pigs, free range and unaccustomed to human activity for far too long. Their goal is to reign in the animals for farming. Until then, the cows are wild and beastly striking fear into the people working to avoid them. Later, they are hurry through the hills as they tread closely to where another one is traveling. They take the girl to where a creek meets the river, a cold opening of fresh, drinkable water, crisp and soothing out of the hot sun. The divvying up of the bull begins; its place of death becomes its burial site as each part is quickly dismembered, each organ cleaned and opened. Sacks are filled, baskets made from coconut fronds to carry it back. Then it's time for the women to head back. They go a different route, a flatter, less muddy way. One, two, five streams and rivers forged. Grasses knee-high through fields with coconut trees and hardwoods with bright orange flowers leading out of the thicket of rainforest. Four Fijian women and her, the slowpoke of the group, pushing to keep pace with her leaders as they lift her up single handedly where the step has eroded away from mud. Over downed trees, under bamboo arches, through barbed wire downed and still intact, across muddy trails and atop ridges of hills, lunging vine to vine, tree to tree to keep steady.

When they reach their destination, the landowner's house in a neighboring village, they are instantly welcomed in by another nei (aunty) and her family. Soon the men come in, carrying the sacks of meat. Some come wearing the legs and thighs, the flesh cut from the skin and fashioned into a sort of backpack. Food hygiene laws don't exist in Fiji. The sacks are emptied and more slaughtering commences. Everyone moves in tandem, knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Pots come out to start bowling water and cassava, knives are flourished, the women start cubing the meat while the men finish the butchering. It's a jovial nature, still, renewed by the prospect of eating the fresh meat. They fry some of it in the fire- throw chunks into the burning flames- and eat with salt, chili, and moli (citrus) while the rest is divided into meals. The girl, usually shy to join in, takes up a knife and joins the women. They kid with her to try to the meat, and after not eating red meat for ¼ of her life, she dives in and tries it. It's a day of new beginnings. It's only too soon that the women must leave. The men will stay back to head early into the field the next day. Day two the women go back to cook breakfast for the men- dalo leaves and the beef- before they make their way to the clearing to start the lunch. This time she's not so shy, taking a seat to dish out the cassava. They joke with her, teasing and laughing about her inability to maneuver through the rainforest. They revive yesterday's conversation about how best to get her out of the forest. One way is shorter, one way is less muddy, one way is flatter. Her feet, you see, are those of a European city girl. They're like a baby; small and soft and relearning how to walk in mud. Today she isn't wearing her gumboots, a change in plans made the women change into their host's clothes and this journey is done mostly barefoot. Her best investments in clothing/footwear: a pair of Birkenstock sandals bought for 30 lira eight years ago and a pair of Old Navy flip flops, courtesy of her sister.

The women hurry to their home village to prepare tea for the men. Everything's a group effort, everyone pitches in something: flour for the bubakau, sugar, tea, mugs, soybean oil. That night, the two days end with a grog session for those not too weary to partake. Our heroine is nestled between an elder and an almost elder, still a youth because he's not yet married. She jokes and jostles with the boys as they relive the days events and can be comfortable with one another. They've become her big brothers, her fathers, uncles.

“If my family could only see me now,” she thinks, more than once those two days. “They'll never believe me.” Her agility surprised her, her improvement over the two days strengthened, her feet toughened, and the scrapes, scratches, nicks, and gashes told the stories of the adventures for days to come, and will continue to provide the impetus for future talanoa. Trip to the bush after trip to the bush, she's becoming a “Kai Viti,” one “Vaka malua!” (slowly) at a time.

Other things that have been going on...
One of the things I'm struggling with is not only the fact that in the village setting everyone's business is public business but what do you do when you have issues with peoples' private lives? I am not one to judge how people live their lives, but when I found out someone I liked and respected hit his wife or when someone else I really looked up to literally was beating his son with a belt or a stick as the kid is screaming and yelling and running out of the house crying during the middle of the afternoon, it changes my opinion of the person. And yet the same night, I find myself drinking grog with them. I have a hard time rationalizing these things.

Despite this, Fijians are some of the happiest people you'll ever meet. They love laughing and veiwali (joking) and don't hold anything against you for too long.

Familial relationships are super important in Fiji. For example, here are some lists of my families: (fathers) Tata lailai lewe vico, tata lailai Gram/Alupate, tata lailai, (mothers) Nana lailai Anali, Nana lailai, Na Queenie, Na Ula, Nana Tuvou, Na Vini, Na Sala (Buila), Na Sala, Nana Sieta, Nana Vasemaca, (aunties) Nei, Nei Paulina, Nei, Nei Seta, Nei Meri, Nei Tirisi, (uncles) Momo, Momo Saramia, Momo Semi, Momo Ratu Viliami, Momo Viliami, Momo Mala, Momo Philip, Momo Bici, Momo Isoa. There are more, too, in addition to numerous “tavale” (cousins), brothers, and sisters.

My best clothing investment so far: a $15 pair of gumboots! Move over, Chacos.
My biggest food craving so far: This might sound contradictory to all my social, ethical, and food systems belief, but a 3 cheese quesadilla from Taco Bell one late night after a grog party was something I would have gone great, great distances for. Cheesy, spicy goodness... hmmmmm. The hunger pain was unbelievably ridiculous and could not be satisfied by anything in my cupboards, like peanut butter, which I eat literally every day.

One political note: I was unbelievably excited and energized and surprised and floored that the House voted down the bill to bail out Wall Street!!! Yay! They're finally doing something really smart for everybody else besides Big Business! And then today, I see that the Senate is going to vote for it. WTF? The US is one of the only countries that has its government and stocks/bonds privatized but publicly supported. It is not teh responsibility of the government to bail out private businesses. Dave Obey was quoted in both of Fiji's newspapers, but I didn't quite get what "side" he was on, and why are the Democrats in favor of this spending bill???? Isn't there supposed to be a line drawn between private corporations and government interference? They made this mess now they have to deal with it. Too many years of too many risks with a lot of peoples' money (not to mention entire lives and well being) for the sake of multi-million dollar profits by private companies should not be rescued by taxpayers' dollars! Oi lei, turaga!

those of you in Madison: You better have gone to see either A) Salman Rushdie or B) She and Him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Chris, if you're out there: it makes me very, very happy to think about seeing The New Pornographers! What a great last show to have seen. I get really pumped up to think about "Don't Bring me Down" and all the dancing. I want to dance!

Has anyone seen Southland Tales? Whoa.