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After a while canoes appeared.
We got in the outriggers and were paddled up the Ebuli River.
Tree limbs drooped with mangoes, hidden birds called, and the
paddles left their silent rings in the still water. We could not
see ahead or behind as we curved with the green river. Then there
was the sound of the “ancestor shell,” a large triton
shell blown like a trumpet. In the old days, this was the announcement
to the villagers to gather. They never knew what they would find
when they hurried back from their work in the lagoon or the garden.
Maybe someone had died. Maybe a baby had been born. Maybe visitors
were coming. It was their job to come back to the village and
find out. On this occasion it was visitors: us. The shell was
blown by a man in full traditional costume, poised on a high bank
above our landing. We got out of the canoes and were led quietly
up toward a small group of thatched huts. Suddenly, we were attacked!
Warriors leapt out of the surrounding bushes, clubs raised. The
air was filled with screams (Some of them ours!), and just for
a moment we believed in the ambush, remembering that Vanuatu was
one of the last places on earth where cannibalism was widely practiced.
Maybe we modern missionaries would meet the same fate as the original
ones! But the attackers were smiling, and we realized that they
were very young. As a matter of fact, most of them were just boys,
and they were having a hard time keeping their woven skirts up.
Sometimes we could see red shorts underneath! They performed some
traditional dances for us, including one about a mother bird teaching
a baby to fly, and we enjoyed the stomping, the rhythm of the
ankle bells made from nuts, even the kicked up mud. Afterwards,
they posed for pictures, which I will share with the village after
they are developed, and we talked about the youngsters learning
the old dances and preserving the traditions. They were happy
to be praised, and proud of successfully performing even though
the “real” dancers were gone. Village women then served
us green coconuts to drink and gave us some samples of local food.
One of the mothers must have shared some of the lunch already
prepared for her family. As we walked back through the village,
Lora explained that she would like a photo of one of the woodcarvers
in the village. The dolphin carving she was given when kindergarten
closed (see letter 16) was made
here, and we wanted to thank the carver. We were led to his work
area under a huge mango tree and marveled at the clutter of half-carved
wooden pigs and statues. We bought a beautiful turtle, polished
with a piece of broken glass, and walked home to Onesua.
Attacks on strangers are not that far away in history here. The
last documented cannibalism in Vanuatu took place in 1978, when
an old chief was dying and wanted a human heart like they used
to eat for strength in the old days of his youth. Two young men
swore to get him one and hid in ambush beside a spring. The first
people to stop there happened to be a couple from a yacht that
had anchored in the bay. They came ashore for water and were clubbed
to death and butchered. Because they were expatriates, the crime
was investigated and the two men were jailed; otherwise it might
never have been publicized. The murderers were set free in a general
amnesty when Vanuatu became independent in 1980. It is incongruous
to me that nine years after we first landed on the moon, traditional
cannibalism was still being practiced. The Stone Age lasted into
the Space Age. Some people say that still, up in the “middle
bush” of the wilder islands, cannibalism still goes on.
The old ways die hard.
We made two trips to hunt palolo worms, the little worms that
spawn by the millions throughout the South Pacific this time of
year. After living 364 days in crevices in the coral, they emerge
before moonrise four nights after the full moon. They can be attracted
to the shore by flashlights, scooped up with strainers, and dumped
into buckets. They are pink and green and white and red, and look
as though they might be related to earthworms. The first night
we went, we waded and waited, waded and waited, and once in a
while scooped. We got cold in the wind, out there under the stars,
laughed a lot at how silly we felt, and even made up and sang
a palolo worm song to attract the prey. We got about six little
worms in the bottom of the bucket by moonrise, and we went home
to bed. But we were back the next night to try again, and the
worms had all agreed that this year they would swim the fifth
night after the full moon. We scooped and scooped until our arms
were tired and our backs were sore, and then gave our catch to
Niku, the school secretary. She used it the next day to flavor
some laplap, which is grated manioc cooked in leaves. It was a
little salty, but had a mild, pleasant flavor. If it is true that
we are what we eat, then the four of us are worms!
Last Saturday I witnessed an extraordinary ceremony at the neighboring
village of Takara. (I had been invited by Elder Albert, my friend
and Bislama teacher from ten years ago. I was surprised to learn
last year, when we reawakened our friendship, that he is also
the chief of the village, and had been for the last 30 years.)
Like many villages, Takara has lost some of its young people to
the capital, Port Vila. This urban drift is a major issue throughout
the majority world, as young people seek opportunities for modern
jobs in large cities, but here in Vanuatu they are working hard
to find ways to ease the strains. As a way of combating the rising
crime rates in the city, and as a way of reinforcing the power
of the traditional ties to the village, the Presbyterian Women
Mission Union of Takara has initiated a modern version of an old
gift-giving ceremony. In the old days, when a village by the sea
caught a lot of octopus, for example, they would take it into
the interior and leave it as a gift with a friendly village. It
wouldn't keep, anyway. The inland village would reciprocate after
a wild pig hunt or when mango season came. In this way, different
riches were shared, and the ties between the villages were reaffirmed.
In an age when you were eaten if a feud broke out, this was important!
The Presbyterian Women's Group of Takara has developed a gift
exchange between the members of the community who have migrated
to Vila and the villagers who have stayed behind. The women of
the city, who are busy with money-earning jobs, have no pandanus
leaves to weave mats, which are used as floor coverings, decorations,
and gifts. The women of the village, who have pandanus trees and
time to weave, have no money. So the city women buy plates and
cups and silverware, and the village women weave mats. On Saturday,
the families came from Vila, were welcomed through a flowered
archway into the church, and celebrated a thanksgiving service
together. It was like a massive family reunion, with lots of hugging
and tears. Afterwards, they exchanged gifts with the partner whose
name they had drawn, and everybody sat down to eat together. There
were so many bundles of mats that they couldn't fit into the hired
buses and vans from Vila, and they were still being stuffed into
every available vehicle on Monday.
We had planned to take a vacation for a couple of weeks in New
Zealand since we are now on summer holiday. We looked forward
to traveling away from Vanuatu (the girls have not left in sixteen
months), hiking in mountains again (especially for Lora and me),
and doing some shopping (especially for the girls). We thought
we were prepared to spend the rest of the summer vacation on campus,
but some difficulties arose. The government has cut its appropriations
to schools by over 50 percent, which makes it impossible for our
principal to follow through on his plans for the summer. Instead
of six hours of electricity each day, we can only have about two
and a half. That's not enough to keep the refrigerator running
or the computer charged for schoolwork for the girls, let alone
email and other writing. Instead of water all the time, we can
only have the pump turned on morning and evening. That makes it
impossible to flush the toilet promptly or take showers whenever
we like, which can become a health issue in the hot season. It
became clear pretty quickly that two weeks in New Zealand would
not be enough to offset the hardships of staying here for two
months, and that we would probably start the new year already
frustrated instead of fresh and enthusiastic. As we talked it
over, we realized that it wasn't the mountains or the hiking that
we needed anyway, or even the malls for the girls. We needed to
go home, to re-establish our ties to our family and friends, just
as if we lived in Vila and it was time to return to the village.
We will leave Vanuatu on Sunday morning, December 7, fly and
wait between flights for the next 29 hours, and arrive in Billings
the evening of the 7th, courtesy of the international dateline.
Every planet should have one! We will spend a lot of time with
our family, go through about one hundred doctor and dentist appointments
(sort of a 15,000 mile check up), and do a bit of traveling around
Montana, Oregon, and Washington. We are looking forward to hugs,
Christmas, and even snow.
The next letter you receive from us will most likely reach you
about the first of February or so, when we are beginning the new
school year back here at Onesua. In the meantime, this email address
will still reach us, so stay in touch. A lot could happen in that
much time; it's too far to see ahead, clear into a new year, fresh
and green and clean.
Sometimes it seems as though the future is a blown shell, echoing
through the jungle. It says, again, "Come together."
Just like in the old days, we do not know what we will find when
we answer the call. Maybe strangers are coming, and we must choose
what to do in response. Killing is easiest, and we've practiced
it until we are experts. Our technology has left the Stone Age
far behind. It's time our spirits did, too. Every single one of
us, even the thirsty stranger, is a hidden hero, an unrecognized
chief, a child in the image of God. Instead of killing, let's
share the food, especially if it looks as though there's not enough.
There will be.
Maybe a baby has been born. Merry Christmas!
Love and peace,
Bruce
The 2004 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
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