Lobsters in Lobster pot: 0
Edible fish in Lobster pot: 3!!!
As we head to more and more remote areas of the pacific, and I spend less and less time talking to anyone, it becomes harder for me to relate my experiences in words. There are less reference points, and the essence of my surroundings, as well as my own thoughts and emotions, seem to be of a quality that I cannot quite weave into words. I feel I have slipped into a different reality.
We spent 16 days on Fanning Island, Kiribati, and the place at once revealed itself and remained an enigma. It challenged many of my ideas about happiness, the richness of simplicity and frustrations of poverty, the desire and ability of people to move, grow, adapt and maintain, the traveller's simultanious role of 'guest' and 'stranger', and how to think about change in general, and climate change in particular.
So let me try and do the place and my time there justice.
1. The Place
Fanning Island started life as a volcano, erupting out of the middle of the pacific before slowly sinking down over thousands of years to create a large lagoon surrounded by a thin ring of coral, never more than two metres high, pacific wind and wave lashing against it.
The uninhabited island was eventually found and claimed by a Brit named Fanning who created a coconut plantation. Imported workers from the Cook Islands planted coconuts, taro, breadfuit, and hauled in their nets full of fish from the reef. In 1984 it became part of the independent Republic of Kiribati, a group of around 20 islands spread over some 200,000 square miles, home to just 100,000 citizens (some stats!) whose capital, Tarawa, lies over 2000 miles away from Fanning. The Kiribati government encouraged resettlement from other, more crowded islands, and leased land for free to anyone prepared to say goodbye to their loved ones indefinitely and get on the boat east. This migration was further encouraged with the arrival of norwegian cruise ships from hawaii, and for a few years the islanders made easy money selling handicrafts to daytripping americans.
But now the liners are rare and the population of 2000, strung out in villages around the atoll, generally fall into two categories: coconut and seaweed harvesters/fishermen, who lead what can unpatronisingly be called a subsistance living, and a few professionals sent from the capital on four year contracts – teachers, the police chief (his name translates as 'on top', but this is slightly misleading as there are only six other policemen on the island and no one seems to pay much attention to him), the solitary nurse.
The island has resources of fish, coconuts, taro, pigs, chickens, breadfruit, bananas, pandanus. Every six months a sailing-cargo ship drops off rice, tinned meat, sugar, flour and petrol. They load onto it copra (for coconut oil) and seaweed, and from the proceeds buy tobacco, instant noodles and petroleum products. No doctor and no way to evacuate seriously ill people encourages a slightly more philosophical view of life and death. In the clinic there is a big sign saying 'leprosy is curable'. The disused airstrip hasn't seen a plane for years, electricity only from solar and generators, no TV (what a thought!), no glass windows, no chocolate. The internet had been broken for 3 months when we got there. Petrol is extremely scarce, but that isn't so bad as there is nowhere really to go that isn't a cycle ride away, unless you are a school child with no bike. The shops sell a small and random assortment of tinned goods from asia, matches, garlic paste and solar lanterns. Things are that simple.
Except they aren't. The weather, according to the locals, has changed drastically in the last 10 years. It rains and floods more, affecting the ground water and washing away roads. The downturn in the chinese economy means that as of last month no one will buy any seaweed, which means some families can no longer buy books or pens for their childrens' schooling. Higher commodity prices mean less rice and flour arrives on the boat. The president of kiribati is currently at climate talks in new zealand, and the official line is that fanning is likely to be uninhabitable in 50 years. His slogan is 'migration with dignity'. The incessant wind and two shipwrecks in the lagoon complete the feeling of isolation. Of course there are other places in the world where people have a lot less (people tell me that no-one is hungry here, and I believe it), but absolute poverty is often offset with wealthier areas (here I am thinking of india), so you get the feeling, probably falsely, that people can move up and down the social ladder, or at least go and live in a city.
The flip side of this is that lots of the diseases that are endemic in larger places have yet to reach Fanning. And we are not just talking about HIV here. Early in the voyage I strugged through the terribly written 'Story of B' by Daniel Quinn, which posits that the almost global attitude of 'produce as much as possible at whatever cost to the environment and other species; value progress and efficiency' is not inbuilt, but one approach among many. However, as part of this approaches' need for incessant growth, and it's incredible efficiency, in the last 300 or so years it has swallowed up other approaches, potentially more sustainable. On Fanning we find that alternative approaches still exist: Here people work extremely hard, but the focus is very much on the present moment, rather than striving for an imagined future, and on living with the land rather than dominating it.
The other major difference is their attitude to visitors. I have known many other places that are extremely welcoming, but here any visitor is an honoured guest, to be given (not sold) everything they need and welcomed like family anywhere they say hello. At times my western, capitalist mind felt wrong and vaguely guilty- I needed exchange for things to be fair! But, as they* say, 'the giver should be thankful', and as they brought whole branches of bananas, breadfruit, more fish than we could eat, out to the boat, I put away these thoughts and gave as much gratitude as I could, knowing that these things were not in abundance and it was really a big display of generosity. On the last day I missed the ferry across the pass. It had got all the way over to the other side before somebody obviously saw me and the whole boat, filled with maybe 50 people, turned around to come back and get me!
II – The People and the Stories
We arrived on the island on a leaden-skied Sunday morning, after a 13 day, 1500 mile voyage. Our first interaction was a visit from 'customs' – three men (including the blustering On Top) rowing out on a flimsy fisherman's outrigger. One florescent tshirt with the word 'customs' on it , a walkie talkie, a very incongruous pair of black leather shoes which the man ended up not putting on, and only a vague grasp of the neessary paperwork. In short, like an ill-conceived wandering performer at Boomtown Festival. They asked only for a bottle of rum for payment (they got a box of wine instead) and in exhange gave us an official stamp, and the lowdown on local greetings and local fish. I greased the wheels of beaurocracy with a few glasses of limeade.
Over the next few days the weather oscillated between 'brooding' and 'torrential downpour' but the next day I kayaked to the village and put into practice my well-honed 'walking around looking for the health centre, smiling at everyone and saying hello ('maori' in the kiribati language)' tactic of getting to know a community. Joseph appeared, a retired teacher, who took us to meet bruno 'the frenchman', who came here on a sailboat 30 years ago, got addicted to the island way of life, married a local, and now has the only house on the island made of stone (official buildings are concrete with tin roofs, houses are made from braided pandanus leaves and bamboo). He in turn took us to meet Ty, a fascinating chap – half irish, one quarter kiribati and one quarter maori. He arrived on the island 20 years ago when the cruise ships first started coming, and made money selling phillipino handicrafts to tourists as kiribati originals. With the proceeds he built a cava bar on the island, and started trading in seaweed, built a bakery, generally made good. But now the cruise ships are irregular, the sea is rising, and noone is buying seaweed, and he has got his british passport as an escape route.
We spent a few afternoons in his empty bar drinking tea (me happily given the union jack mug) and telling island stories – the korean man who came and killed 6000 sharks, chopped off their fins to sell in china and has radically altered the island ecosystem. The 9 BALES of cannabis that washed up on shore on the next island, leading to the whole island – even the missionaries – being stoned for a couple of months. Good sermons apparently. The smiling german who spent three tranquil years living on the island, handing out hundred dollar bills like chocolate bars, then disappearing just before the FBI showed up – he had been one of the pilots that had trained the 9/11 bombers. The four local lads who caught fish for the aquariums of the world, storing them in bags under the pier at christmas island. They were checking the fish were ok during a storm when a tidal wave hit, their mangled bodies washing up on the beach a few days later.
But he also explained how people live day to day not only in terms of resources, but also planning – there is no contingency should the rice and flour stop arriving, or the ground water be salinated. There is no word for 'maintainance' in the language. It would be funny if the stakes were not so high. The scientific consensus is that islands like fanning will be uninhabitable in the next 30 to 50 years, maybe sooner, and the Kiribati government has bought land in Fiji for a limited resettlement. But will it be enough for everybody, and how will the people make a living in their new home, never mind retain a sense of identity and an equality with other groups on the island? But then, on the other hand, what can people do to prepare? Go there now? Diversify their incomes or produce on the island? Stop having so many babies? One idea is outlined below, but you see the predicament. The effects of changing weather patterns were clear. It was supposed to be the dry season, yet we could barely dry out our washing. Forty breadfruit trees had just died after their soil became salinated. There are fewer fish in the lagoon.
Another day I ate dried fish with an uncle and nephew copra farming team in a village further north. They showed me the copra preparation process (see the photo with all the coconuts) north. They showed me the copra preparation process and all the things they harvested from the tree – green coconuts to drink then crack open and spoon out the jelly-like flesh; brown coconuts to make coconut cream or copra; the sap from the chopped branch making toddy, a delicious sweet cordial, which can be left for three days to become sour toddy, like cider, or boiled to make a sort of coconut molassus,
kamaimai. In typical Fanning fashion he then insisted on filling my big 2 litre water bottle with the latter, precious though it is.
Two doors down from him I was invited by another copra harvester, who I had seen on the ferry, to drink some sour toddy. He spoke no english and had never gone to school, but his partner was the daughter of a school principal and spoke fluent english. She had come to Fanning a few years ago from tarawa, the capital (which is much closer to a 'western' setup) to act as housekeeper for her parents. A local family had asked her father if she could marry their son. He agreed and here she was, a year in, drying copra and staring into space. I had sort of concluded that, whilst I didn't think my lifestyle and priviledges (books, variety of food, electric light, variety of sub-cultures to get involved in) made for a happier or more content existence, I would find it incredibly difficult to move from the lifestyle I knew to this one. And she was doing it. Did she ever get bored? Sometimes. What did she do when she got bored? Dry some more copra. Was everyone happy on Fanning Island? Mostly. Was she happy? At this, she looked at me with big eyes and an inscrutable expression. An expression that could have been saying many things. I was a guest in her and her husband's house and it was inappropriate to probe further. She asked if I had any books she could read. I walked the 90 minutes home on the coral-sand road as the darkness gathered, avoiding big crabs and puddles, the wind whistling through the big coconut palms overhead.
The next morning I was brushing my teeth, watching the ferry (imagine an old school army landing craft) take school children from the other side of the island to the middle school. As it crossed the inlet of the lagoon it was suddenly and violently sucked out towards the ocean by the outgoing tide.
I kayaked over to the gathering crowd on our side of the pass. They thought that there must be a problem with the engine. If there had been an anchor on the boat they could have just dropped it down and at least stopped moving, but I knew there was no anchor, nor radio, nor life jackets on board, and as we watched some people jump out of the boat and began swimming for shore. Definitely time to do something. By the time I had kayaked back to the boat the rest of the crew were already preparing the boat to go out. By the time we got there, perhaps 20 minutes later, they were already 2 miles out and continuing to drift. Everyone on the boat- around 30 13-15 year olds and maybe a dozen adults – seemed calm and chirpy, though I later found out there had been quite a lot of panic followed by general rejoicing and praising of the lord when they saw our ship begin to move. Apparently one lady said 'they won't help us, they're 'white' ' and then was so happy when it was clear that we were. We strapped the ferry to the side of the boat with ropes and tyres, and headed back. Would have been dodge to make a thing of taking photos but I managed to sneak one just to remember the occasion.
We thought nothing more about it, except that I now didn't worry about not paying for the ferry each morning on my way to school, until we received an invitation to a 'presentation' at the middle school the following friday. Myself and Tom went (I was quite upset that the others didn't come, as it felt like we gave the impression of ungratefulness, but I can only be responsible for myself) and sat cross legged on palm mats on the east side of the school's maneaba, a traditional communal space a bit like a large pagoda, the place reserved for the guests of honour.
There followed prayers, songs, skits, more prayers (the theme for the day was 'ask jesus to forgive your sins'), and then attention was turned to us, and two students danced a wholly ambiguous 'traditional polynesian meets christina aguilera' dance for us, and then garlanded our heads and necklaced our necks. Each class then danced and/or sang for us before presenting us with gifts – beautiful jewellery and bowls made from shells and twine, shark-tooth knives, a model canoe, and lots and lots of food for our trip – four sacks of coconuts, breadfruit, papaya, a taro as thick as an elephant's leg. Overwhelming, especially as it was only that morning that I had mentioned to one of the teachers that we were looking for coconuts to take with us. I suspect that the students had given their own lunchtime coconuts to us. And then the principal made a speech, and then I made a speech, and then there was a special 'thanks for the speech' clap and dance, and then the line of tupperwares that were lined up on one side of the hall that looked so inviting were opened up, and all manner of delights were cooed over, spooned onto plates, and eaten. A giant lobster, sweet and sour beef complete with bits of pinapple, fried breadfruit, pandanus with coconut cream, raw fish with coconut, sweet taro cakes, papaya salad... all washed down with coconut water. Amazing. That night everyone had gone to bed with most of the legs and head of the lobster needing to be eaten or thown away. I made a quick garlic butter and slowly, thoroughly, stripped the animal of it's meat, dipping thick tasty leg meat into the butter and feeling like the luckiest man in the whole world. I don't think i'll need to eat lobster ever again.
III – Learning and Teaching
I met Atah, the inspiring headteacher of the largest of the three primary schools on the island, early on in our stay, and we agreed that it would be a good idea for me to do some music workshops in her school. She is from the capital island and has a brilliant mix of local and global mindset, and we clicked immediately. She encourages the parents not to beat their children, but also understands what kind of education the children need in the context of this very closed society. She has three children of her own, has adopted a forth and lets a fifth, who is a pepperoni short of a pizza, hang out at her house and eat with the family. She teaches year 1 in the daytime, tutors her friends' children in the evening, cooks lunch for visiting guests, chases up the non payment of her staff, ends up giving away all her crockery to those who have none, and is generally one of those superwomen who often end up in the education sector.
I should say something about this sector in Kiribaati. Primary schools are free, with exercise books and pencils provided by the australian government. This has meant that more children attend school (35 in year one compared to 18 in year 6) but health problems (swollen feet and diorrhea), transport problems (when the island runs out of petrol or the truck breaks down some children have a round trip of several hours), and parent's prioritisation of coconut gathering mean attendence is still a struggle.
Middle school (11 – 14) and high school (15 – 18) are fee paying, with annual tests providing the top 20% with state scholarships. At sixteen, Fanning's young people must go to boarding school on Christmas island, a 24 hour boat ride away, the capital island, Tarawa, more than 2000 miles away, or to Fiji, New Zealand or Australia. Again, the state sponsers the top 20% of these students.
Studying is mostly in English, so the importance of a strong foundation in the language is essential for those hoping to carry on into tertiary education. With this in mind, I prepared and delivered workshops that integrated spoken and written english and music to all the year groups.
I have written further about it here and part of the song we wrote as well as
an interview with Atah is hereThe other thing that stands out in the schools is the heavy influence of the christian church. One morning I found myself cross legged in Atah's house, machete in hand, shaving the husk off green coconuts to give to visiting missionaries. It got more surreal when we shared the coconuts along with tuna, rice, bread made by laura, honey brought by me. Whilst we ate, Atah got all the teachers together and they started singing – lilting songs beautiful 3 part harmony (one us at the end of the video). Imagine schools in england with a teachers' choir entertaining guests! Then the lead missionary asked me to play and sing a song. The only song I can play and sing with any confidence on guitar these days is 'When Ye Go Away' by the Waterboys, so I duly belted it out as small children peeped in the staffroom windows and crowded in the door. Then I asked the missionaries, dressed in black and white and from both catholic and protestant churches, to sing. They obliged, and I pulled up a chair close by, closed my eyes, and listened. A beautiful sharing.
Atah runs a great school and the kids have a strong and happy education, but of course my western mind looks at the bare concrete walls and floors and says 'let me help this school get more resources'. Perhaps a computer with an offline version of wikipedia (they can run it off solar) or some ukeleles, or even some wall posters or a job lot of footballs. But then I ask myself – do they really need these things? If a child gets used to bright bits of plastic on the wall, or watching youtube videos – however educational – perhaps the seed of yearning for more material goods will be sown in them? And then the next question – does anybody need this stuff? If I fell in love here and wanted to stay, could I actually live so simply, or do I need my fix of match of the day, high quality live music, fish and chips, mature cheddar?
The latter question I have no intention of having to answer, but Atah suggested a penpal scheme to broaden the students' horizons and improve their english. This would be made much easier with a computer and the internet (post takes up to 4 months to get to or from fanning, depending on when the cargo ship arrives), which myself and Laura will fundraise for, and with a bit of luck one or more schools in the english speaking world will see what a great opportunity this is for some cross cultural dialogue and develop ties.
The best way to sell it to schools would be: 'see the face of global warming! This island will be underwater in 50 years, talk to your peers who are on the front line!', but there is something of 'the other' about this approach, and besides, plenty of the teachers I spoke to didn't seem too concerned about climate change...
So yep, Fanning Island, a big learning experience for me. On the last day we got one more delivery of fish and the ferry gave us a royal drive by, with grins and waves and 'sapu!'s all round. And then we pulled up the anchor, hoisted the sails, and set a course north west to get the trade winds to Mujuro, Marshall Islands...
>'They' being a story in 'zen flesh, zen bones'
