The locals are loving the rain as it cools everything down and is great for the crops – no rain for 5 weeks. We are concerned whether the buses will get into the centre where we are going but Kina assures us they will be OK. On the way we stop in Sikatoga for essentials, water and cappuccino’s. By 9:25 we have left so only 30 mins behind schedule but as that is no the Fiji schedule all is good – BULA. The whole essence of Fiji time is encapsulated with the three clocks in the photo below.
As we drive out further and further into the centre of Fiji the land gets greener, if that was ever possible. Cloud shrouded mountains sit above lush fields. We pass schools and villages including the one where Loti Tauiri grew up - everyone greets the bus with BULA with all the boys shouting it back. Some of the houses or huts have bamboo poles out front with red pennants on them indicating the residents are Hindi.
If you look closely you can see the wind farms on the hills. The locals are very proud of these as they are providing them with cheap clean electricity. The road is now wet mud and Kina explains as he stands up and is thrown around that “the road is good, no dust.” He then goes on to relate the story of him playing rugby against France. The French hooker was giving the Fiji hooker some grief so Kina king hit him. It made the local paper for two weeks and he was forever revered as a tough no nonsense player. Looking at him you can believe it. As we drive further we stop and pick up two women, dressed impeccably, on the way to the local shop as the last bus had gone. They were walking 3Km and back to get food. “Why don’t you go to the local Mac’ers.” was shouted out.
Most of the villages are sponsored by a local business - Fiji Timber, Fiji Water Treatment etc. and this is put onto the village sign. Most villages have a school as they are compulsory and it is here where they all learn such good English. We are really into rural Fiji now with tobacco grown and hung for drying under covered frames. The tobacco is still green as it is recently cropped.
The coach then suddenly stops in the middle of nowhere. Kina leaves and comes back 5 mins later having spoken to the owner of a small shop. The owns is the coach of the local rugby club and he is recruiting for the game. Behind the shop is a large pond, maybe 100m across, filled with the most amazing white and pink lilies in full bloom - stunning.
We pull into Sautabu village and kids swarm out of the houses all around the buses.
The village has its own community but also takes in kids that need to be looked after. Humbling thought as we look around. After shaking the hand of the Chief everyone moves off and into a communal room where we the village elders sit cross legged. The call us into a circle.
We are blessed, greeted to their village and offered Kava in a ritualistic way that demands and commands respect. This is important as it makes us part of the village for the day and allows us to enter their cave.
The walk to the cave (only1.4Km according to Michael Gullick) is made difficult as it has turned the track we walk down into a mud slide. As we go down one hill Abi is heard to ask for help from Geoff “It all men for themselves here. Just watch you stay on your feet.” At this point he slips, flips and falls face first in the mud and slides down a slope. He receives sympathy from all – NOT.
We reach a river crossing and it was like wildebeest in the Serengeti, crawling, falling down in the mud. The boys loved it.
Eventually, we all made it to the water and were wading across. Some lucky people got a lift in the bamboo raft. There were no crocodiles to worry about - the sharks had eaten them all.
We split into two groups and are led into the cave. In one village the chief consumed 872 people. He had one stone in a pile for each of them in front of his house. He loved it when people were shipwrecked because with salt water in their eyes they couldn’t look in him in the eye and show respect. These people were liable to be killed and eaten. Sales of Vosine eye drops have risen dramatically since that was conveyed to the group. The U14, having a larger squad entered the cave first.
The initial entrance is tight but the second requires you to crawl on your hands and knees through water. This was the last line of defence. Should the village be attacked, everyone goes to the cave and the entrance is protected by warriors. There is no electricity in the cave so until the gas light comes through, carried by the cave priest, it is pitch black. As we move further into the cave there are platforms, carved out of the rock and beautiful crystal pillars. On one rock platform is a cannibal oven and the priests cave that runs off the main area. Just before we leave the cave priest pulls and old shell from a nock in the rocks. He blesses the cave, his ancestors and us then blows the shell. The sounds is strong and clear. When he stops it reverberates for at least another 10 seconds. Silence. This is repeated three times and the boys are just transfixed (yes – quiet and respectful – truly !!)
The walk back was via a different route to avoid the mud slides from the previous migration. The scenery was very different from our bush or anywhere that has a scarcity of water. We pass a group of ladies and young children signing as they collect flowers and shrubby things from the hedges.
Tired, muddy and sore we stumble into the village. There is a queue for the village shower which is getting a lot of use. Some of the front runners are playing footie with the kids. Meanwhile we see village rugby at its best.
The ladies of the village have put on a spread that is fantastic. They have gone without to provide this for us and the poor pig that was slaughtered in the morning was very much committed to giving us a good time. The dishes are varied and taste great – spinach with coconut milk and tuna, egg plant, curried chicken, sweet tapioca… the list goes on and then fruit from the local trees and bushes. So fresh it was still alive. Before we start, grace is said which this finishes with Kina saying a prayer to those less fortunate and hungry in Fiji and the world.
As we finish up the food the chief is sitting in the middle of the room and is brought a big bowl of food plus boiled clams. He sits like the male lion, proud and oblivious tucking into his fare.
Touch footie continues and then we are called to a ceremonial area at the end of the village. Under here are all the village men, singing. We are called to join them under the tin roof, held up by bamboo poles as thick as your arm. As we sing and dance they ladies come around and put talcum powder on our faces. “We do this to show we are happy”. We were all happy chappies – some more so than others. Then, two ladies come out and present us all with lays made up of local fauna and flowers – now we know what the singing collectors were up to.
[village ceremony late1]
The conga line around the village was our cultural contribution to the event along with Waltzing Matilda and Advance Australia Fair. As we left there was a feeling of real warmth and a sense that we had experienced something special, personal and REAL !!! Some of the guys were really affected by this.
The trip back was slower in the dark with the singing on one bus very well organised, in tune and a joy to listen to. Then there was the bus with the U15s.
Dinner at the restaurant was chicken with chopped vegetables cooked in a wok-like pan (i.e. stir fry) and a beef stew with rice followed by ice cream.
We were then treated to a pottery session by a couple of ladies from a nearby village famous (in Fiji) for its pots and clay fired trinkets. Dillon taught them some new shapes, including a kangaroo which he patented the design for. Who says you don’t learn stuff on a rugby tour.
There was then a game of musical statues which nugget won against all the odds, resisting mans elbows and pushes along the way.