Tribewanted: Vorovoro

I wrote out my whole blog in a notebook while I was in Seoul airport, it was my plan to be ‘efficient’. It all failed from there when I was on t’internet and drifted off into a world of … I dont know, just one of those reveries. I was SO going to put my blog on the website, but almost missing the plane put paid to that.

Then, on my return to Osnabruck (where I live), it was approx 2230hrs Saturday , and I was going to go to bed. But could I find my room key..? Nope, but some helpful little voice down the corridoor said “there’s a bbq on down at the bar”. Ah, that sounds like a good idea. Then we went out, and I discovered that it was May festival FORTNIGHT, not week, as I had previously thought.
So that one wrote off Sunday too. (German’s are awesome when it comes to the festivals, would strongly recommend any: Rosentag (a carnival w/end in Feb), Oktoberfest, MaiFest)

So, this is how I got here (sorry for feeling the need to explain), and I’m going to write this out as I wrote it in the airport, it might make more sense that way. (Possibly, but dont hold your breath!)

As I write this, I am sat in an airport in Korea, having just learnt the a valuable lesson: dont bother trying to use actual coins with the pay phones, both you, and the westerner beside you will fail, and decide that phonecalls are overrated anyway.
I decided to write this here, and not wait til I get back for two reasons:
1: I am still working on Island time, inadvertantly woke up for the sunrise around 0530ish, and now have loads of time til my plane leaves.
2: I dont want reality to cause me to forget any of this.

When I first heard of Tribewanted, I thought it was an amazing idea, even if it might not end up being quite what I imagined. My next move from there was to approach my boss for leave in the way that sounded least like I’d temporarily misplaced my marbles. Although I feel I did my best at that, it still came across as if I was going to join a hippy commune and burn my underwear (I think it was the use of the prefix ‘eco’).
Happily, however, my enthusiasm tipped the scales, and 3(ish) months later I found myself sweltering at Labasa airport, wondering whose (insert appropriate word here) idea was this anyway!

On arrival at the Grand Eastern, the niggling feeling that possibly I should have been sectioned subsided, and gave way to the inane grin of one who has absolubtly no idea what's going on and actually, is quite happy not knowing, thankyou very much! (I think this is where I put my sense of urgency down, and possibly motivation too, if anyone happens to see it....?) 
After buying a sulu and a big wodge of dead plant (kava), we were on our way to the horizon in a small boat. We were on our final leg. This part of the journey was the start of the surreal; between random signed conversations between two of the guys in the boat, and the craziness of the other (spoken) conversations, I came to the conclusion that either they'd all lost it, or I had, and if I sat very quietly and watched the scenery there was the possibility that I may not catch the madness. (I later discovered that there's no prevention or cure, at some point you will stop yourself mid-conversation and wonder how you started talking about.... well, anything from malteasers to roosters, really!)
As we got out of the mangroves into the sea, the first view of Vorovoro, bathed in sunlight, really did look absolubtly perfect, It looked like the sort of place that you could lay about sipping on a big glass of ambrosia (not the custard, the nectar of the gods one), whilst random mythical animals fanned you with palm leaves.
As it turned out, I was pretty damn close. Well, the laying about bit anyway, not so much the mythical animals, though, there was the rooster....
As we came around the island, the place looked like something off an advert. The sort of place that doesnt really exist. The water clear, right down to the sandy bottom, with coral and tropical fish. And for some reason there was no-one in sight!

As we got closer to shore, I realised that there were people, they materialised out of no-where (for no-where, read hammocks), and the next thing you know, there’s half a dozen or more people hauling things out of the boat, shaking your hand and throwing names at you like some sort of wierd memory test. Luckily, no-one actually expected you to remember YOUR name, let alone theirs, which was a bonus, cos only now, with practice, can I remember that I’m Ruth. Or…. was that someone else?
(real time note: that’s not what everyone has been yelling at me at work when I drift off into a daydream about being back in fiji.)

The first night started pretty soon after arrival, armed with head torch (massive necessity), food of a ridiculously high standard was served and consumed with enthusiasm and much more random conversation.
My state of bewilderment at 2 days ago having been at work and now being in what can only be described as paradise, carried me through to the congregation round a campfire by the sea.
Someone came and said they were setting up the grog mat, who wanted to go?
Equipped with sulu and a vague idea of what to say, I trailed down a path to where a large woven mat and a mass of people were sat, all lit by a gas light.
There really are no words to describe the craziness of this. There was singing, cups (bilo’s) of grog, and every now and then I’d lean against the tree behind me and and grin like a lunatic whilst staring at the stars. Surely Fiji must have more than their fair share of stars!
Then… the meke began. Once again, my vocabulary, or possibly the english language as a whole, fails me. The meke is a dance, everyone is sat cross legged and with more enthusiasm and humour than seems possible, they are throwing themselves into the hand actions, clapping, shaking and general fun of the moment.
Me, having not a clue what is going on, grin plastered to face, ineptly copied the person next to me/across from me/ down from me, with absolubtly no co-ordination whatsoever. I didnt care, it was all to do with fun and absolubtly nothing to do with caring about what you looked like! (Plus, bonus, it was quite dark!)
Possibly a fijian version of kareoke plus dancing, minus alcohol, selfconciousness or any cares at all. (Although I have to say, everyone else seemed to know what they were doing!)

A trickle of people left the mat as the night wore on, but my massively screwed up internal clock allowed me to stay for ‘the goat song’. I have no idea what they were singing (pretty standard for my whole time there), but it sounded great, and someone helpfully explained that when they said your name, they would then pause, and you would make an animal noise. I was banking on being able to resort to ‘cat’, as my repertoire of animal noises is limited to cat, dog and cow, and I didnt feel too confident with the latter. However, cat was taken, and I ended up going with dog. So my night wound down, and I went to bed in a pretty overwhelmed state.

Day 2 started no less spectacularly, as my (previously mentioned) chronologically challenged, internal clock woke me at 0530Hrs in time to sit with a coffee and be stunned by the sunrise.
The rooster on the island seems too, to have a permanent form of jet lag, but on that day I felt no need to bear a grudge. (That came later. I feel that rooster would really be a quality dietry supplement, anyone with me?). After what seemed to be my own personal sunrise, people started to emerge, and breakfast was eaten companionably round the table.
Having volunteered, in my whirlwind arrival, to ‘do the four peaks’, after breakfast we set off. Each peak seemed to be trying to outdo the previous one in terms of views. This wasnt a speed march over uneven ground, it was a kind of relaxed bimble with breaks and trademark random conversations abound, including practicing meke on the penultimate peak, and having a 1/2hr chat on the ‘bonus peak’.

After that, the days seemed to roll by with amazing speed. There was Lizzie’s birthday, and ‘the pink pig cake’, the phosphoresence came out and Lizzie was temporarily 56 years old. (she wasnt, but we lost the 2 candle, and had a spare 5 candle. It all makes perfect sense, trust me!) There was the reef trip, where I saw my first shark, saw some sucessful spear fishing, and carried a dead(ish) boxfish.
Basically, after my amazement on the first night, a feeling that it all wasnt quite real was pretty much permanent.
But this is already quite a long blog, and bar writing a novel on it, I cant fit it all in. From being (temporarily) Pupu’s wingman, to completely failing to catch anything when I tried to line fish (quite a feat in itself when you realise how many fish are about), there are too many things to describe and do justice to.

On my last night, the local school kids sang for the tribe, which was amazing. We were all entranced. after they went to bed, some of us went onto the grog mat in the Grand Bure, and there was more singing. I think Pupu summed it up well. He said “when you go home, you will hear echoes of this song across the sea”, and he’s right, the song of this island will be there for when I have ‘one of those days’, and the grin will return.

So after all that, I apologise for length, spelling, grammar and everything else, but:
If you’ve not been yet, I hope your experience is as good as mine, and if you’ve already been, GO BACK!
Surreal beats reality hands down any day!

Sega na leqa.

Ruth.