Tribewanted: Vorovoro

As a Jewish American growing up in the Northeastern United States, I took part in the ritual of packing off to summer camp for ten years. I spent two months in Maine each year, with my brother and friends who became close as family. Camp is where I became myself, it’s where I was given my name (Kaz is the Australian nickname for Karen, and I was thus called by some Aussie counsellors and was thenceforth known as Kazoo or some variation), and it has remained associated with the safe haven of my life. I go back to the same town where my camp is located almost every year with my family on my mother’s birthday in July to spend time on the lake, canoeing, soaking in the green, breathing deeply. And one of the first thoughts I had when I arrived on Vorovoro was that I had found the ocean equivalent of my summer camp.

Come on, we all know how it goes – cliques form and dissolve, drama brews and dissipates, people find new ways to define themselves (unless you’re Jone and can’t get over being the tanoa clown champion from sun up to sun down), we gain new friends and say goodbye with tears and promises to keep in touch, there are activities in which to participate (like printing Zaishus, making brooms from dried palms, or trying your hand at spear fishing), people sneaking off to what they think are secret rendez-vous on the beach only to see tons of footprints have preceded them, and endless knowledge to be gained from those who have been around the block before. This knowledge is crucial when you’re about to step into the shoes of island chief. And the first thing Jimbo taught me, down by the waterfall, was how to blow the Fijian conch, which has come to be the sound which lets tribe know there is a meeting or an Isa Lei or something other than food (bell) or Tui Mali (lali) unfolding…

The only other time I experienced something vaguely like this was in May/June 1997, when I was lucky enough to work as a Camera Assistant at the Sundance Filmmakers Lab in Utah for 6 weeks. I remember thinking it was summer camp for film geeks. Gorgeous setting, challenges unforeseen but appreciated in the end, and amazing people that make the place what it is.

Of course, this last bit is one of the key reasons that a Vorovoro holiday differs from other island getaways in Fiji. Our hosts, our family, make the village sing, figuratively and literally. I have had Dula Lewa stuck in my head for the last 28 hours and can’t find the damned video I took recording the sound from ‘round the grog bowl – thanks, boys!

And, as I pondered what I wanted to do for my tatau, I realized that much as we can revel and romp through our rare chance to relive or experience for the first time a taste of summer camp, it is an endless summer for the Fijians. They welcome people and say goodbye 3 days a week, hearts constantly being tried by all of the emotions and sighs of Isa. Is it fair? It’s not up to me to call it. As discussions continue of what will happen at the end of these three years, I wonder how this constant plucking of heartstrings will take its toll. It’s easier to run a resort, with little contact and no real connections. But that has the cost of little contact and no real connections.

Ultimately, I decided to make sulus for all of Team Fiji and the TW staff on the island (plus a few other key folks – Jimbo, Linda has a treat for you!) screened in gold with the tapa pattern from my Zaishu project and a thank you message from Adi Vua. I hope that this small token will act to remind that out of sight is not out of mind for those of us who leave the island. And I know that while there is almost nothing worse than seeing Pupu cry when you finally pull away in a taxi, there is almost nothing better than seeing him chuckle when you rock back up on the beach.

I will be counting the days until summer returns for me, and I’ll be sending thoughts to everyone on the island who weathers the endless summer with grace and fervor unfettered.

Vinaka vaka levu,
Kazoo