Tribewanted: Vorovoro

Sunday

We finally arrive in Labasa, the town from which we will be making our way by boat to Vorovoro. After almost a week of travelling we are nearly there. Lassitude, hunger, and insouciance have set in. The sweltering heat propels us into a delirium. Where are we again? Why are we here? The endless journey has thus far obscured the raison d’être of the expedition: to build a solar-powered refrigeration system.

The airport itself is not so much an airport as we have come to know them but a passable runway and a hut. The hut is apparently the airport terminal. There is barely enough space to accommodate us all, but they insist we must all be inside it; we must all wait inside there. When we finally collect our luggage, for which there is a frantic scramble, we make our way outside. We are accosted by a man who we cannot understand too well. Someone says ‘no thanks’, but he is insistent that he is here to pick us up. Does he know who we are? Does he know where he is taking us? No he does not. Finally, he manages to get in touch with his boss who confirms that we are being taken to a Hotel, and the pickup has been arranged and paid for by Tribewanted.

We arrive at the hotel. It is like Noah’s ark on land. We are human strangers here. Trespassers. The hotel is really home to all of natural life – geckos, frogs, voles, ants, mosquitos, cockroaches, spiders, flies… there are more of them than there are of us. Some of these creatures may only exist in our mind’s eye; the heat is intoxicating. The distinction between reality and fantasy has been blurred. After having something to eat (we have not eaten in a day; we have not eaten well all week), we sleep.

Tomorrow is another day.

Monday
In the morning we pack our bags and check out. Feeling well-rested, it becomes clear again what it is that we are doing in Fiji. We are coming to end of the journey and the start of the project. Unfortunately we hit a major snag…

We meet with some of the Tribewanted guys who tell us that they have had difficulty in sourcing the materials we needed in Labasa. We are not surprised. For some reason, we had thought that Labasa was a big town. We were wrong. As such, it seems unlikely that high-pressure pipes or large volumes of ammonia would be up for grabs in the local stores. Nevertheless we plod along through the town to visit the hardware stores. It’s Easter Monday and the stores are closed. But at least we can familiarise ourselves with where everything is for when we return to the town on Wednesday. This means that it is no longer possible for us to make the solar-powered icemaker.

“Wait a minute? Isn’t that a bit deafeatist?” we hear you say.?? “So they don’t have the exact material you have, can’t you use something else? Can’t you be a bit creative? Can you not just work with that they have in Labasa? I mean, surely they must have something?” ??Well, technically we could use something else, but to forgo using high-pressure pipes is to court disaster. We need to make something that not only works, but is safe too. If the pipes we use cannot withstand the high pressures generated within, then the whole thing could blow to pieces. If we were going to do this, it was going to be properly and safely or not at all. We make no apologies for that.

Or perhaps some of the obsessive-compulsive neurotics amongst you will say, ??“Shouldn’t you have thought of this beforehand? Shouldn’t have you arranged to get the materials from elsewhere if you found out before they were not available in Labasa? Isn’t this just a case of shoddy planning foiling your project?” ??Well, we were told that it should be fine to source all the materials in Labasa. We didn’t know any better. And as for getting materials from elsewhere (e.g. UK, Australia etc.), yes we could have done that, but it is important that the system is both sustainable (i.e. it keeps on going long after we have gone) and replicable (i.e. that the locals can take the concept and design and reproduce it easily). If we used materials from abroad then it would mean that if something went wrong with the system or a part needed replacing, it would likewise have to be procured from abroad. It would also mean that it would be more difficult for it to be replicated easily. We also feel we have a duty to benefit to local economy and this means purchasing our materials in Fiji and not elsewhere.

We take the boat over to Vorovoro, and whilst enjoying the stunning views and looking out for sharks, we entertain our musings and machinations of alternative plans. It is not until we get there that we can decide what it is that really needs to be done.

It is when we arrive on the island and our given a tour that inspiration hits. Despite being surrounded by it, water is limited and rationed during the dry season. It is reminiscent of the lines of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner:

??‘Water, water everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink.
Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.’??

Thus we decide on building a solar-powered desalination system. Desalination is the process of removing salt and other impurities from sea water. Our system would not render the water drinkable, however it would provide water that was available for showers, washing up dishes, washing clothes, and watering plants, and put an end to the restrictions on use of water on the island during the dry season. Incidentally, it was the Greek philosopher Aristotle who first suggested the utility of desalination. It seems highly appropriate that thousands of years later 2 (and a half) Greeks should travel across the globe to implement this idea to benefit Vorovoro. Far from being a second-rate plan, we believe that this system will be an even more significant development than an icemaker.

Tuesday
On Tuesdays the Chief of Vorovoro, Tui Mali spends the day on the island, and meets the new arrivals. Once he has arrived, all work must cease. As such we start working from 8 am building the base for the machine’s solar panel using wood that was already available and the tools in the tool shed. The tool shed is not particularly well-stocked, and one of the hammers we use breaks. Despite the sweltering heat, we continue working until lunchtime, except for a cultural class in the morning where we are instructed on the etiquette of meeting the Chief and the sevu sevu. We also locate a place where we are going to build the desalination system, which is high up and well-exposed to the sun. We have been warned that it important to have the land blessed before building commences otherwise the project may be doomed to failure.

……

Later in the afternoon, Tui Mali arrives with his entourage of Fijians. Some of the new tribe members must offer him kava for the sevu sevu, and Dinusha is one of them. He tells Tui Mali about our plans for the project, which he is pleased to hear about. Later still, Tui Mali leads a blessing of the land and the project, and accepts a SIFE t-shirt as a gift which he then wears for the rest of the night.

The festivities continue into the night, and there is a big feast which is delicious. There is more singing and kava to be drunk afterwards. As the evening draws to a close, it finally rains. We feel cool and refreshed. The arid land slakes its thirst. When we have finished the project, the land and its flora will no longer have to rely on rainfall, which for many months of the year is sparse, for water. Neither will the people.