The history of the six islands that make up the Marquesa Archipelago goes something like this: a few million years ago, a set of volcanoes erupted in the pacific ocean, not too far from the equator, forming islands that shoot straight out of the sea, up steep slopes covered in lush green vegetation and igneous rock, deep inland valleys, a few beaches and natural harbours.
A few million years later, around 200AD, humans migrating south east asia in 'outriggers' – big double hulled canoes with sails – arrived, and named the place 'the land of men'. The Spanish arrived in the 1500s, followed by the french, who colonised the whole of what is now French Polynesia (Tahiti being the main island) and, along with passing whaling ships and merchant vessels, introduced gunpowder, christianity, syphilis and alcohol onto the islands, bless 'em. The result was a decimation of the population- some estimates say the population of the Marquesas dropped from 80,000 in 1700 to just 2000 (!) in the 1920s.
With this population decline came a loss of traditional cultures and values. However, since the 1980s there has been a quite amazing movement to reclaim some of this heritage- specifically the dances, music and tattooing. Every four years delegations of around 150 (less from the smaller islands) get together and perform these arts over a period of four days. It is a big deal. For starters, the population of Atouna on Hiva Oa, where this year's festival is taking place, is around 1500, so the population of the town more than doubles – temporary restaurants are built out of timber and palm, delegations of dancers welcome each island as they arrive by boat with a song that still rings in my ears (being on a boat in the harbour we were able to watch this each day), the village bakery works overtime to produce bread for the masses, two french naval frigates hang around in the bay, helping to move people between islands, sailors incongruous in their starched white uniforms.
On the first day there is a parade, with each island in their own traditional costumes, performing mini dances and listening to blah blah speeches from this man and that. Things get serious on days two and three, with each island performing a 90 minute ish set of dance-dramas with pounding percussive orchestra – I counted 25 drummers in one group, the biggest drums over two metres in height, players standing on stools to play them, a sound like a Giant pounding an oak tree on hard ground, visceral and warlike.
Indeed the men's dances are war dances, dozens of men of varying ages executing intricate Hakas in perfect synchronisation, jumping, turning, chanting. The women's dances were much more elegant affairs, with beautiful songs, the famous bird dances, me falling in love at every turn. And then together there were stylised courtship dances, the recreation of origin stories (one island used a full size outrigger as part of their dance, carried on the shoulders), twice live pigs were sacrificed as part of the dance. My favourite involved a missionary dressed in a white robe and brandishing an over sized cross being initially feared but quickly killed, his body carried off. A big cheer from the french section of the crowd, but I imagine maybe some conflicting loyalties among the many christians Marquesans.
And then there was a feast. In the true medieval, Asterix and Obelix sense of the word. Several (maybe 20?) pigs had been roasting slowly in homemade underground ovens for probably a day or so, and at 11am on day 2 the men from each island dug up their pigs with much (very aggressive) singing, decanted the meat and carried it on huge bamboo rods to a series of small marquees, where the women had already laid out all manner of delights I had never seen before – breadfruit, green grapefruit, a sort of polenta coconut milk pudding, small crabs, shellfish, bite sized chunks of raw white fish- and many more things I could name only by colour and taste. The platters of pork were added to the table and we ate and ate some more, using coconut shells as plates (plastic was banned from the meal, and alcohol from the whole festival). Special times.
The thing that made the festival so unique, and at times so surreal, was how participants were blurring the line between recreating a past traditions as a means to assert identity and pride, and actually being the people presented in the dance. Marquesan men still hunt on horseback, use tattoos as part of a passage to adulthood, take pride in their strength, seduce women by being the best dancer/general dude around. And why not? They do not, however, use plant fibres as clothes or attack other islands. To what extent were the dancers expressing their own identity, and how much was part of the dance?
This question didn't seem to be in the minds of the passengers on the Arai Nui, the exclusive cruise ship that was in dock for two days of the festival, passage on which costs around $5000 for a two week trip. It was an anthropologist's worst nightmare; 1500 marquesans attempting to recreate a tradition – their tradition – that involved beautiful, sophisticated dancing and music but also happened to involve grass skirts, ritual sacrifice, necklaces of bones, a history of cannibalism and lots of almost naked people. A group of rich, privileged americans (mostly) with camera lenses bigger than their brains, completely ignoring the purpose of the festival – to preserve traditional culture – and instead acting like they were in disneyland, getting in the way of dances to take photos, pushing to get food first, taking more photos, sitting on tikis (statues), taking more photos, switching cameras and taking more photos, arriving late, leaving early, leaving cans of sprite and cigarette ends on the floor in a place that doesn't have the luxury of never seeing it's waste again once put out of the house in a big green bin. Seeing the Marquesans primarily as one big photo opportunity to show the kids at christmas while the turkey juices run off. It completely fucked me off (and others I spoke to) and made me want to write to the organisers to apologise on behalf of my culture. And suggest a ban on cameras along with alcohol in four years time.
The festival ended with a massive drum and dance off, with all the drumming groups gathering tight and improvising together,a wall of sound, and dancers from different islands improvising parts of their dances while everyone looked on. Certainly a once in a lifetime experience, and well done (almost) everyone.
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