It’s Sunday here in Fiji, and that means all commerce/work stops. The day is devoted to church and family. As “yachties”, we are very fortunate to be considered extended family and join the village in church and then various host families after church for the afternoon feast.
Church starts at 1000, so we were careful to be in our dinghy by 0910 for the brief ride to the beach and then a 15 or so minute walk through the jungle into the village. We stopped just outside the village so I could put on my sulu, a wrap around skirt that is mandatory for the men on Sunday. Woman wear the same or dresses and make sure to cover their shoulders and arms.
Ann in her sulu.
Once in the village we’re mobbed by the kids all in their Sunday best – special dresses for the girls and white shirts and ties for the boys. We’re a little early, but some of the congregation is inside singing. We wait outside in the heat enjoying the shade of a tree that has no doubt provided similar relief for many, many generations of worshipers.
At the appointed hour, Joe – one of the village elders – approaches the huge wooden drums outside the church and begins the drum beat for “final call”. Everyone files in.
Joe playing the "call to church" drum.
One inside I’m struck by how similar yet different the experience. On the one hand, you are in a church. A place of worship where everyone is somber and expectant waiting for the minister to come in. Yet on the other hand, the windows are all open and the breeze is flowing in from the ocean which is just 100 meters outside. A glance outside the window shows coconut trees, the turquoise lagoon and the stark white spray of ocean waves crashing on the reef beyond the lagoon.
In the church before the service starts.
As the Minister enters the backdoor in all of his splendor with coat and tie I am still reminded of where I am when I see that he is barefoot and in the background, through the door I see chickens scamper across the grass.
Then the singing starts. It only takes a few moments before I start to tear up listening to the heartfelt joy that these folks – I’m happy to call them ‘our friends’ – pour forth in their song. When the children’s chorus stands up to sing, about a dozen children from 6-14 or so, and three adults to sing the lower notes, well….you will not hear a more beautiful sounding chorus anywhere in the world. I don’t think any of them read music, yet the pitch and harmonies are perfect.
Then, there is the sermon. Of course it is in Fijian, so we don’t have the slightest idea what is going on, but there is some thumping and raising of voice. The children are getting fidgety. They are yawning, stretching, rolling their eyes – you know how it goes. There is much tolerance, but when one goes beyond the accepted norm, “Joe” the enforcer shows up, quietly down the side isle with his stick! He never whacks anyone, but they get the message and quickly straighten up. I have to admit that when Joe comes past I also sit much more erect and pay closer attention to the service. One boy had his ear tugged because he was within reach. He got the message, no dozing.
This will be our enduring memory of Joe.
So, the service is progressing. Several people got up to make a speech of some sort, one ofwelcomed us “yachties” to the service, more people spoke in Fijian, then one of the other elders come over to our group of “yachties” and in a very low whisper said something that sounded like, “If anyone would like to say something, please feel free…” . There was a bit of an embarrassed silence as I think no one really knew exactly what was expected, but I thought, “What the heck, we should say something and if I blow this, the village is a very forgiving place, etc…” so before my brain really knew what I was doing I stood up and walked to the front of the church. Bowing to the minister and the congregation I said something about how honored we were to be there, how much we loved the village and I don’t know what else, but I ended with a “Thank you” and the whole congregation shouted back; “Naka!” which is the Fijian slang for “Thank you”.
I have to admit here and now that my biggest fear in standing up and walking to the front of the church to make a speech on behalf of the “Palangies” (white man) was not so much that I might say something foolish, but that my sulu, which is kind of precariously wrapped around my waist and sort of rolled under, would fall off while I was standing there! It didn’t. Phew.
After church Ann and I accompanied our host family (Tau and Joe) back to their home where we feasted on smoked fish, pumpkin with green curry, cassava greens, breadfruit cooked in the lovo, baked banana and Ann brought quinoa salad that she made with beans, tomato, corn and carrots.
Sunday feast on the front porch with our host family...
...and my new friend "Boy" the dog. (And that's not a plastic straw in my coconut, it's a papaya stem which is hollow)
A fun day in the village! We walked back to Charisma (stuffed to the brim) around 1400 and once back went for a snorkel over to the little reef in the cove where we’re anchored. It’s a bit like being in an aquarium, so lots of fun seeing all the colorful fish.
Oh, by the way, we mentioned to Tau – who is also the headmistress of the school – that Ann wanted to show some of the kids how to make “woven hearts”. Tau immediately jumped on the idea and said, “Come in on Tuesday!” She then proceeded to let Ann know that she would be in charge of 26 children during the time when the older ones are working on their assessment tests. Ann was thinking it would be fun with a group of 6 or 7 girls. OK – this should be interesting!
