Tribewanted: Vorovoro

Monday 16th June and, as the Isa Lei rang out across the beach wishing the latest bunch of departees a safe voyage to their onward destinations, the tribe marveled at the beautiful dawn. Tui Mali was in town, the sea was calm, the sky blue and the sun hot hot hot! Hardly news you would have thought considering our location – but last week had been a very different story.

On Thursday the sky had darkened and what seemed like a never ending bank of billowing cloud rolled in across the Pacific to dampen the Tribe’s spirits. It failed in that task, of course, but it did give the Island (and usefully the water tanks) a good drenching. Not a sprinkling, not a shower but a constant and full on four day downpour that at one point threatened to drown even the fish! The tribe hunkered down together in the Grand Bure taking it in turns to make sporadic dashes to the kitchens for food, back to their accommodation for the next source of entertainment or to the relative shelter of the tool shed to finish an ongoing project. Little did we know as we waited out the rains and tried to convince Saturdays newcomers that “it isn’t always like this” they were out there … preparing … plotting … scheming … using the weather to their advantage. As soon as the rains stopped they’d move on us, in numbers, swift and overwhelming and there was nothing the unsuspecting tribe could do about it … at least that’s what they thought.

So who was this shrewd and calculating aggressor? Who eyed the sheltering Tribe poised to strike as soon as the rains let up? Who sat hidden out there in the woods just watching and waiting to strike? It was of course none other than the old enemy, the MOSQUITOS!! They knew the rain would bring dampness and the Tribes hunger for sunshine would bring bare flesh and that would be all they needed to feast. To feast like never before. So as dawn broke on Monday and the rain subsided the scene was set. All that remained to do was to wait for dusk to fall and the mosquito’s unforgiving plan would swing relentlessly into action.

The Tribe weren’t totally defenceless of course. Tens, if not hundreds, of millions of £’s worth of research and development by some of planet Earth’s biggest and most advanced pharmaceutical companies had provided an array of sprays, balms and lotions all claiming to be the perfect deterrent against such an attack, or at the very least the ideal way to sooth and heal the walking wounded. But one quick glance at the longer serving tribe members battle scarred legs and arms, the obvious and tell tale signs of earlier encounters, did little for anyones confidence in these multi-million £ claims.

With morning tea finished and sensing what was to come, the onslaught now only hours away, a familiar figure rounded the corner of the Grand Bure. With a confident and reassuring stride the Tribe’s secret weapon had mobilized himself. It was the legendary and charismatic village elder, everyone’s favourite adopted granddad, Pupu! What Pupu doesn’t know about any and every aspect of life on Vorovoro simply isn’t worth knowing and he was about to single handedly turn the tables decisively in the Tribe’s favour. He quickly recruited 2 tribe members, myself and Bex, to help him and led us down towards the Fijian village where he told us to wait briefly while he popped to get everything he’d need to secure a bite free evening for us all. What array of tools and gadgets could he be fetching we thought. Moments later the question was answered as he emerged, a simple sun hat in his left hand and a knife that Indiana Jones would be proud of in his right. Ever trusting of Pupu’s wisdom off we set, into the woods.

As we walked Pupu stopped briefly and often, not under the midday heat or to catch his breath, but to point to one non-descript plant or another and explain it’s medicinal properties. Tonsilitis, aching joints, pregnancy, stomach ache, cuts and grazes, had we not known better this could easily have been a trek through the isles of Boots the Chemist. Pupu effortlessly sharpened his blade as we walked, his keen eyes darting back and forth looking out for the 4 specific plants we would need. Within the hour and a few measured and precise blade swings later we had assembled our bounty and made our way back to base camp to begin the brew that would be our salvation.

We spread out a mat by the dining area and under Pupu’s expert and watchful eye we finely chopped the leaves and stripped the flesh from the branches we had gathered. Once diced and sliced into what looked like an elaborate salad we laid them out in the sun to dry, not too much Pupu said, but just long enough for us all to grab some lunch.

With full stomachs we returned to our drying ingredients and the grin that swept across Pupu’s face told us they were ready. We lifted them back under the shade of a tree and sat crossed legged ready for Pupu’s next instruction. Pupu explained we would be pushing a mix of the leaves and tree flesh into bottles and adding roughly an equal measure of coconut oil … but first we needed a couple of bottles. His Hammock Society’s activities in full ‘swing’ for the afternoon gapper Jim appeared at our makeshift laboratory and his eyes met Pupu’s as if each knew what was about to take place.

Pupu: “Jim, we need some bottles from your ‘shop’.”
Jim: “Pupu, I am sure I can get you some bottles, but they may cost you.”
Pupu: “ohhh and what does Jim need … shall I send the money straight to your account!”
Jim: “Well I am building a model Bure for my map of Vorovoro to represent the newly opened Team Fiji Bure. Do you know anyone who knows anything about building Bure’s Pupu!!?”
Pupu: “You are in luck gapper Jim … when we have our bottles, you will have your Bure!”

The deal was done and moments later our bottles arrived.

We each grabbed a stick and began pushing the mix down into the bottles. As we did Pupu explained more about his potion. The recipe had been passed down from his forefathers and was not only a repellant against our scheming foe but would also relieve any itching or irritation caused by a lucky direct hit. Pupu said his father, who had taught him how to make this liquid armour, would never leave home without it, and only a fool would ignore a recommendation of that caliber. The last drops of coconut oil were added and the mix was ready, all that was left was to put the bottles in the warm sun for a short time our mission was complete.

Evening came and, as the grog mat unfurled, so did the onslaught Pupu had so expertly predicted. We would have been like sitting ducks there under the stars as we were circled by endless squadrons of hungry mozzies but for one thing … Vorovoro’s one man answer to the A-Team! They circled, and circled, but stayed at a safe distance and it became clear that where millions of £s and the worlds best scientists had failed … Pupu and his potion had suceeded!