Christmas Message from Robby, 12/23/07
Tomorrow is Christmas Day here. Fanning Atoll is considered past the dateline to keep in step with the rest of the Kiribati Islands so it's the 24th here when it's the 23rd in Hawaii. We will share presents with our adopted family in their grass hut in the morning. They make shell jewelry from money cowries and knives from coconut, mantis shrimp claws and sharks teeth. We'll bring colorful lava lavas (sarongs or pareus,) harmonicas, small toys, fishing tackle, dried fruit, nuts, animal crackers and candy. Later we will ride bikes up the sandy old jungle road to the northernmost village, Teritaki, where the Catholics are having their Christmas dance contests.
Nineteenth century missionaries did their job well; virtually all I-Kiribati are Christians - Catholic, Protestant, a few Mormons, and even some Bahai in 2007. (One local told us the missionaries converted Micronesians by telling them that if they became Christians, they would turn white when they die and go to heaven.) There are five villages south of the pass on Fanning Atoll, two north. Nearly everyone here is moving to one side of the island or the other for Christmas (Catholics to the north, Protestants south this year.) It is a mass migration complete with food cupboards, mats, Christmas lava lavas, etc.
After gift exchange, Lorraine and I will pedal north from the pass under overarching palms shading us from the hot equatorial sun. Beyond a rickety bridge over a causeway, we'll pass through the first village, Betania. It will be devoid of humans-- everyone but the pigs, chickens and dogs will have gone to the celebration. Nobody worries about locking their doors because no houses have doors. Further north, we'll cruise across a broad, nearly treeless plain and an overgrown airstrip. The strip was built many years ago to accommodate a small airplane flown by researchers from the University of Hawaii. The research station, set up to study tsunamis, is long gone, but rusty memorials remain - numerous tractors, the huge barge that Southern Cross is tied to, and a tugboat, abandoned and sunk in the otherwise pristine lagoon.
Past the airstrip we'll ride under a group of broadleaf trees the locals call buka. The only vegetable available on Fanning is "ponkin," a huge squash. We carry as much food as possible on our boat but we must supplement our stores from the sea and the land. On our way home, we will pick the tender young leaves of the buka tree and cook them like spinach for dinner. Five-miles from the anchorage and pass, we'll reach the northernmost village, Teritaki, and the meeting hall called a maneaba. The traditional maneaba is a masterpiece of island architecture. It is a huge a-frame, up to fifty feet tall constructed of pandanus and coconut trees, notched and lashed together with coconut cord (no screws or nails here.) The entire building is covered with palm thatching and supported about five feet from the ground by tree trunks. The maneaba is the meeting hall for all societal purposes and traditions must be respected inside. The old men, "unimane," sit nearest the center with women and children behind. Traditionally, the "unimane" heard and settled disputes in the maneaba and took care of village business, but they have been somewhat supplanted by an English-based court system, and elected village councilors.
Festival sounds and singing will greet us from the venerable maneaba. Kiribati singing is incredible. For millennia, musical instruments were non-existent on the atolls so the I-Kiribati developed acapella singing to perfection. Whether belting out boisterous traditional songs about mythical fisherman and ancient heroes, or singing dulcet modern Catholic hymns, their use of vocal counterpoint, complex harmonies and syncopation is astonishing - an aural delight.
We remember well these celebrations from our sojourns in here 1996 and 1998. The old men still rate front row seating as do "I-Matang" (foreigners.) During a break, stooping over to show respect, Lorraine, I will be escorted to the front row, where young girls will crown our heads with freshly made floral wreathes. A young boy may bring us drinking coconuts and one or more "unaine" (old ladies) will dust the back of our necks with talcum powder to show appreciation for our coming. Let the singing and dances begin again!
Every village has its contingent of singers and dancers and they take turns performing. The only musical instrument during our last visit here was a four by six-foot plywood box, about one foot high with holes in the sides. Eight to ten men sat cross-legged encircling the box and pounded on it open handed in perfect unison with all their might. I'm sure modern guitars and ukuleles will provide accompaniment in 2007. Each "choir" and dance group has a leader -- some use whistles to direct; others use hand signals; all are extremely animated. Each village tries to out-do the others. Kiribati dances are different than any we have seen in the Pacific. All costumes are hand made and the girls, mostly adolescents, shake their hips in dyed pandanus skirts. Every head wears a pointed crown; each finger, wrist, elbow and ankle sports a colorful paper flower. Arms outstretched, they dance to the drumbeat in delicate precise movements, eyes jerking this way and that in rhythm with their hands, mimicking the birds the dance is patterned after. No smiles. No emotion but concentration shows from their glistening brown faces. With each chorus, the singing grows louder and more vehement, yet the dance remains the same.
The young men dance with similar abrupt movements based on ancient martial arts moves, but with much more vigor; marching toward us, then back; windmilling their arms like karate movements. They wear heavy woven pandanus costumes, reminiscent of the armor their ancestral warriors wore into battle.
The dances and singing continue for several days. Participants camp out with friends or sleep in the maneaba, but because of our long ride back to Southern Cross we will reluctantly excuse ourselves before their Christmas feast begins. Considering we are more than a thousand miles from the nearest supermarket, the array of food available is awesome. Fresh pork, papaya prepared ten different ways, including green in salad, several varieties of fish -- dried and fresh - marinated eel, bananas, breadfruit, lobster, canned corned beef, squash, fresh bread, rice, "babai" (swamp taro), octopus, pandanus pudding and more will fill the bellies of all. We'll remember to stop and pick some buka leaves along the lonely road in the slanting late Christmas afternoon sun. A Kiribati "tree-cutter" or two, collecting his evening toddy high above us in the silhouetted palm trees may serenade the heavens to our delight while we ride. As we load our bikes into the dinghy to ferry them back to Southern Cross, the setting sun, as it does nearly every evening here, will paint the sky lavender and gold and other regal colors roviding a perfect finish to Christmas in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Peace and love to all, Robby and Lorraine