Tribewanted: Vorovoro

Reaching out to the Tribe readers… we have a Code Red on Vorovoro. I repeat:

We have a Code Red on Vorovoro.

Two island members have been inflicted with a mysterious rash. I am one of those people. Is it contagious? We do not know.

Tribe member ‘A’ contracted the thing around 10 Feb 2008. Three days later I appeared with the same symptoms. It can be broken down into three stages:

Stage 1:
Outbreak of spots on face. Itchy itchy. Is it mosquito bites? Nope.

Stage 2:
Rapid spreading of spots, joining to form rash-like patterns all over face, back, arm and chest. Itchy, itchy, itchy.

Stage 3:
Swelling of face. And more stage 2. Itchy itchy itchy ow ow ow

It aint pretty.

The local farm-acy down by the treehouse has some juicy aloe vera but that didn’t help. The local Fijians talk of ‘bad wind’ (that’s not flatulence reference) so perhaps there’s something in the breeze? Both victims went snorkeling prior to the outbreak so perhaps that is the cause? It could be an allergic reaction to some local produce? I took my rashed-up body and theories to the doctors in Labasa. The doctor thought it was none of the above but something more serious:

a) Measles. I have no fever and feel fine. It is not measles. Muppet diagnosis.
b) Syphilis. Hmmm, sadly there has been no recent activity in that department so that cancels this theory.
c) Lupus. A weird form of Arthritis.

She refused to prescribe any antibiotics until a blood test was completed. A standard mickey mouse lotion would have to suffice.

Upon my return a few days later the blood results had gone AWOL. The rash was in full effect and I looked like the elephant man. The doctor refused to prescribe any medication. Jesus on a bicycle! What sort of sadistic doctor are you?

The Community Manager of Vorovoro, the Meke Master, the Prophecy Fulfiller, Tevita took pity on me when he saw my distress and swollen chops. He told me there was a cure and this is when it gets a little kooky. Keep your minds open.

There’s a family with healing hands, a gift passed down from generation to generation and I was off on a magical mystery tour to a village to meet them. I was led into a house and sat down on a woven mat. Now, being the only white man in the village word got around and people popped their heads in to say hello. Bula! It was blatantly obvious (by my ballooned face) that I was here for a healing, but I couldn’t help feeling like a circus freak.

A young boy entered the room. I presented a Sevusevu in the form of Kava, bread, noodles and crisps for the healing. I removed my t-shirt. He rubbed his hands together like Mr Myagi and laid the hot palms on my chest, back and head. It was a rough massage, no Swedish technique. The itchy itchy feelings eased off. He left and a dark skinned lady entered, rather beautiful too. She sat down in front of me and spoke.

“I am his mother. My name is Millie. You have ‘Cagi’ (pronounced thangi), it is carried in the wind. You will need to stay for more massages.”

Sure. Why not? She gave me another massage and the rash appeared less angry. Or were my eyes playing tricks? It was only a matter of minutes before the massage ended and the ‘grog session’ started.

But what is a grog session?
It involves sitting around a large bowl. Pounded Kava is placed in a cloth and water is poured over it and into the bowl producing the grog. It’s scooped up using a small bowl called a bilo. High tide means a full bilo, low tide for a little tipple. You clap once before receiving the bilo and three times once its been drunk.

Let it be known, that they drink strong and fast. Much faster than Vorovoro. Many villagers joined in and when they discovered I was unmarried, whispers were ushered and messengers sent out to gather possible wives. Thirty minutes later I was not only ‘lambchopped’ (Fijian slang for drunk) but surrounded by ‘wanna be’ wives. I came for a healing not a marriage ceremony. Luckily God came to the rescue! The village drum sounded. It was 10pm and time to end all grog sessions, tomorrow is the Lord’s day and first church service is 4am. I was led to a double bed. The 80yr old granny had the hard wooden floor. Sleep came easy until I woke up thinking the rash had taken a fatal turn and was entering the afterlife. Is that angels singing? No Sir, it’s the local choir knocking out a performance to top any ‘Songs of Praise’ congregation.

The hospitality of the village and my new family was incredible. They have so little yet seem happier than most. Millie came and delivered two more massages. My face was returning to normal, all swelling gone. The rash was receding from the upper body too. I shit you not.

Later on that evening it was another grog session except there was no 10pm drum to save me. Oh no. And I was suffering from flatulence which caused riots of laughter. Those cheeky little trumpet sounds. By midnight, I had that pukey feeling growing in my mouth. Hold it down, hold it down. I excused myself and wobbled to the back door. It had been raining, everywhere was muddy and slippery. I gingerly stepped out and suddenly threw my kidneys up. There were frogs hopping all around my feet as I tried not to slip while puking at the same time. Extreme multitasking. The whole village could hear my predicament. How embarrassing. My new adopted mum came out to see if I was OK and led me back inside to the kitchen.

“You eat now”

What! I’ve just regurgitated two bowls of grog and now you want me to eat? She went back to continue drinking allowing me stuff the dinner in my pockets and escape to bed.

The morning brought that hungover feeling laced with embarrassment. I just wanted to return to Vorovoro immediately. But there was a final massage from Millie who also insisted on a final bowl of grog before I departed. It was the last thing I needed but how could I say no to a lady with magic hands?

My red swollen face was back to normal. No more elephant man – hooray! The rash had disappeared from most of my body, just little faint bits here and there. It looked like a successful healing to me, it’s just a shame that I’m now sick of grog.

Bless you and bless me twice.