47~ The Friendly North: A Fijian Family and Scratching the Surface of Hidden Paradise

My arrival into Savusavu seemed to be on the wings go an angel and I had 5 unexpected days remaining stationary at Elisabeth’s ‘Savusavu Holiday House’. There had been others on the porch when Q and I had arrived in the darkness that night. A couple, with a small child. The man was an uncle of Elizabeth’s and she and I both noted how noisy his feet were and how out of control the child was. They were from Labasa and staying here temporarily. I had no ear plugs but as they chatted on the porch, right beside my room, I was so exhausted from my early start in Lautoka, I slept soundly, comforted by Q’s kindness and a warm and friendly welcome into my new home. 

Waking to the sounds of the Fijian neighbourhood (and Mr Noisy Feet- Evan Hayman, this man now honours this title) and spending a day in the village with Q was was quite the serendipitous introduction to these parts. My plans were to catch the bus and ferry across to Taveuni for 2 days, where hiking and natural water slides feature. I wandered into town, lingering in the market and chatting to the ladies in there. I was invited to another village by a woman selling produce from farms near her village and people were kind everywhere I went. Although I clearly stood out, I felt not as conspicuous as I had in Latouka. This laid back port vibe, with locals lounging on the grassy expanse on the side of the market, traversing the short main street with the shops and odd eatery in between, I felt quite taken with this little spot I had landed in. 

Quite quickly I formed a vague routine. I realised I would be unable to get to Taveuni because public transport would be non existent on Thursday- the day I would have to return. So I scrapped that and became part of the family at Elizabeth’s Holiday House. 

Meet Elizabeth; I love her and her selfie she took with my phone:-

I frequented an internet spot to get wifi; I hit the Copra Shed cafe for a fresh mango, papaya and banana juice and a great coffee; I spent each day lingering over the produce in the market and chatting to the people there.

I decided that now may be as good a time as any to get some Christmas gifts and prepare some parcels. What fun I had finding wrapping materials and purchasing decorative items (sourced from the jungle and made by local village women- what better way to spend my money for Christmas?). I loved the post office and seeing the beautiful, colourful stamps adorned on the brown paper packages I lovingly parcelled up.

From the Copra Shed I had an interesting vantage point. I could watch the yachts that had moored here and the people that inhabited them go about their business. Two men, that looked Australian- with sun bleached hair, always top less, long shorts, tans, bare foot- prepared diving equipment with two local men, swam ‘lengths’ in the ocean and gave off a ‘gone feral’ vibe. I listened in to some conversations between holidayers that had evidently made their way in from the posh resorts that lay far in the outskirts (noted when I had been running). I was able to stay here for hours, wrapping presents, staring into the horizon, reading and writing. It was both tranquil and interesting, with an ebb of boat traffic and the odd people. I also frequented this spot with new friends, so the experience was not always a solitary one.

Teri, Elizabeth’s niece, was currently in town. She is normally at boarding school which is a 3 hour bus ride- past Q’s village and at the edge of Vanua Levu. She is 14 and a lovely girl, who has had her fair share of past troubles (revealed only later to me by Elizabeth but not to be shared on the blog). Teri assisted me the day that I had returned from the village. I had sat with Elizabeth regaling my experience in the village and time with Q. I wanted so desperately to send some form of thanks. Elizabeth had an idea. Bread. Butter. This would be greatly appreciated by the people in the village because these are the things they can acquire only when they come to town, money permitting. I will write a note and Elizabeth will take me to the bus that goes through the village (although she says that she did not plan on going to town tomorrow- it is only a 5 minute walk, however but I guess I have got used to walking everywhere and her hubby is a taxi driver) and we will give it to someone heading there. Amazing! I love the plans and feel relief that I can give something back as a token of my gratitude. Elisabeth is up when I return from a jaunt along the shore. She is sorry but she has to work; she runs the ‘Holiday House’  but is also a qualified kindergarden teacher. The kindergarden is literally across the road from the house, the primary school just beyond. They are sandwiched between the hot springs where Elizabeth often goes to cook, her Aunty every day, to save on gas. The other kindergarden teacher has called in sick and she must cover. I am willing to attempt the mission myself but Elizabeth says Teri will accompany me and help. She is helping out at school and around the house until her return to boarding. Phew. I was unsure of my chances of finding someone with my only Fijian being ‘Bula!’. 

Teri and I head to the bakery and she meets some girls she knows, performing the same handshake and slide that all Fijians use to greet their buddies (and relatives). She is sweet and shy with me but we mange to get the bread rolls and butter and bag it up with my note. I expect to board the bus and speak tot he driver, but we head down the bus and Teri speaks Fijian to a few people and passes the parcel up to a man sat at the back. ‘Come’, she says. The man smiles at me. ‘He knows Q and his family. He will take it.’ It seemed so simple and she is unphased and sure it will get there. Maybe it is being so accustomed to modern technologies and the use of them for communication. I will not be able to text, call or email to ensure the family look out for the parcel. I have to rely on the spoken word and a human contact. Hmmmmm. I recall Laura Mckay telling me that the most asked question today is, ‘Where are you?’ We do not call landlines anymore and with the supremacy of the cellphone in the last twenty years, this is now the most uttered question. Well, I am sure the family will be in the village and I trust in Teri’s belief that it is certain to get there. I take her for a treat at the Copra Shed as way of thanks. She chooses a strawberry milkshake. 

She talks about her school and how much she likes it. She loves English and her English teacher. She thinks we should go and see her school tomorrow; she can take me around and show me the area. Is it not very far? It sounds like it would be quite the epic trip but it also sounds like an interesting one. I realise when I speak to Elizabeth the next day that Teri can often do this- make plans and not relay the information to her Aunty or nana. Somewhat manipulating the situation or at least twisting it to do what she wants. Sounds like a teenager to me, but this sort of behaviour can lead to trouble and has done for Teri. We do not make the trip and I continue with my daily activities and Savusavu haunts I favour. 

I have an awesome fish curry in a little cafe on the Main street. Just $4.50, with roti and all. I watch, slightly horrified, as an Indo-Fijian man is incredibly rude to the waitress as he makes a demand, expertly mopping up his sauce with his rice. I am super extra sweet towards her. I head back to the Copra Shed where all is quiet and I can look at the calm waters and the lush island, covered in tropical jungle, across the way.

That afternoon, while I wrapped my Christmas parcels, I met the Fijian Fuzz. Oh yeah, they were awesome! I heard them talking about me. I had said hello to one lady and told her I was preparing Christmas parcels for my mum and friends. They were watching and were speaking in a mixture of English and Fijian. She explained to her cop buddies what I was doing. They had ordered a pizza (huge!), were tucking in and invited me to join. I finished my gift preparations and joined. How sweet of them. I declined the food but embraced the chatter. 

They were the part of the Labasa police force. In fact, this was the chief of Labasa police and her crew. The lady who initially said hello, reveals with pride how great it is to have a leader who is a woman. ‘This is not always the way, eh?’ She seems like a very cool boss, I say, agreeing with her statement. Check out her pose and the awesome dress she wears with the Fijian police emblem amongst the tropical imagery prints!

They were performing an inspection of the station here in Savusavu and they are enjoying their field trip. Lots of photos are being taken in front of the lovely view from the Copra Shed. Fijian people and their fun, readiness to laugh and joke, willingness to include others, is contagious and a massive feel good. They are curious about my situation. There is disbelief at my age and the Chief police lady is hysterical when comparing how I look to her colleague’s looks! ‘She drinks too much grog! Every night! Look at the difference!!!!’ Cackling and howling with laughter at this, I can but shrug and smile. One of the other police ladies talks of being single in Labasa. The bloke keeps quite quiet but appears amused by the riot and dialogue. They do speak to me about safety. About being careful where and how I go. More crimes are committed in villages, they tell me, sexual assaults/abuse. Often within families, incidents revealing themselves years later and they investigate such things. 

They give me their emails and phone numbers, in siting that I should not hesitate to get in touch should I need them. They would like to give me a ride to my dwellings because it has begun to rain. But I have post office plans so we pose for some pictures and they all hug me and head on their way, back to Labasa. This inclusive and friendly way that Fijian people are is incredibly touching and lovely. It happens many times while I am here. 

I head to a hostel for some food one night; it is run by an Indo-Fijian man and his wife. He is paling Super Mario Bros. The NES version. He lets me play, I can not believe it- I remember this platform game so well, finding the free lives and bricks that offer points and tunnels to duck into and out of. I sit with his 3 year old and we play together. He invites me to their Diwali celebrations. His wife will be cooking lots of Indian vegetarian food and he thinks I will love it. Wow. As I sit outside the next day, I am accosted by a man that is also very friendly but presumptuous and I immediately get bad vibes. He tells me about being single, living the dream, blah blah. Wanting me to join his Diwali celebrations, or better yet he says, a drink after he finishes his electrical work. I am trying to practise kindness and non judgement but the police were right- do not befriend everyone and trust your instincts. Luckily, the shop he is performing his electrical work in reopens (Fiji Time style, of course) and he leaves me. 

I am not alone long when a very sweet young boy gently enters into a conversation with me. He is 18 year old Bron. We talk about his schooling, his village, the things he cooks, his friends, his daily life and his love of football. The field just near the house I stay is alive with boys playing football as dusk falls. Yes, he plays there. A mixture of ages. Anyone can go- youngest is probably 6 and oldest, well whoever can still stand. We chat away and I arrange to meet him the next morning. I would like to treat him to a milkshake at the ‘Copra Shed’.

That night, I share a meal with Elizabeth, regaling my day. Patrick should be with us but he has gone to check whether there are any taxi jobs in the bus station. I feel incredibly lucky with all my chance encounters and like I am learning so much about the place I am in. Elizabeth prepared a fish curry and taught me how to cook roti. All the children in her neighbourhood love her roti and I have to admit, pretty darn good! These Fijian people like to feed you up; she insists I have more. Gives me mango for breakfast from the bucketload she has collected from the garden. She says that she only feels like she has eaten a mango if it is peeled in her hands and is dripping on her chin. Have more roti, oh 2 more! Just fold them together- then it is like you have just had 1! Yikes, I was doing so well after I was asked whether or not I was pregnant (after indulging in bread and donut breakfasts on the islands) but this is all pretty hard to resist.

What is not just physically beautiful about this meal and shared food, is the glimpse I have of the pleasure to be found in the ritualised fellowship of prayer. Elizabeth and I say grace before the meal. She wonders if I would like to do the honours but I immediately feel nervous. She says some words of gratitude for the food and the kind hands that have helped to prepare it. It is simple and lovely. I decide from here on in, although I am not religious, I will express gratitude before every meal I eat. My sister and I used to take ourselves off to Sunday school because we enjoyed the activities, sharing and the real pull, the free cookies. We stopped going when we had to learn about God. But sharing food and being thankful to the universe is something I can get down with.

We wonder where Patrick has got to. Elizabeth surprised herself with this man. She was previously married and had to fulfil a demanding and confining role of a pastor’s wife. She has 3 children who she loves dearly, who visit often and have such fun with her and who Patrick loves like his own too.  Patrick and her met by accident, texting the wrong phone number. They talked for months before they decided they ought to meet. When they did, Elizabeth went to pieces. He was not what she expected and she hid while she let her friend deal with him. He knew he loved her and he wooed her. A gorgeous singing voice showered her in love songs, he bathed her in compliments and affection and she was finally won! But she tells me recently she has told him that he has changed. ‘You never sing to me anymore,’ Elizabeth accused him recently, she reveals. 

But she loves him and trusts him. He never lies to her. He often comes in late from taxi-ing but she knows where he is. We decide to walk after dinner and I tell her about the creepy electrician. She is aghast. She knows who I am talking about. He is known as ‘Murgy’- the Indian word for chicken. He is a thief and untrustworthy. He has told me lies; he in fact has two children and a wife, also a drinking problem. He should not be consuming alcohol on Diwali, as the behaviours you set at this time are thought be the precedent for the rest of the year. She is also annoyed the man at one of the shops has offered me to go and share fireworks and drinks because he too is a creep and married. I have to stop her on my last day from walking into the shop to say something. No one messes with Elizabeth. Everything is punctuated with a brilliant laugh, sometimes a burp when she is eating and a great quip.

Our walk is interesting. We look at all the Indo-Fijian houses covered in lights in preparation for Diwali tomorrow. We meet some young men she knows, who are driving around and they will take us to see the displays. No, no, we are fine, she tells them. Chatting away, we walk through the Main Street, which is virtually empty and so dark. There are no taxis outside the deserted market area and the square is devoid of any buses. We walk down a neighbourhood street at the edge of town and Elizabeth noted that one house,normally alit with quite a display, is completely in darkness. Someone must have died, she tells me. They will not celebrate Diwali this year as they are in mourning. I am slow to realise that we are actually on a bit of a stealth reconnaissance. She notes that the taxis are there. They are drinking grog, she asserts. Shaking her head and staring into the lights on the garage of the house that is set back from the road, we head on and then cut down a path. I am surprised to realise I am an accomplice in an ambush. She turns right and I am on her heels as she abruptly stops. There are the men, gathered around a bowl of cava. I am about 2 foot taller than Elizabeth and have my normal expression upon my face which unfortunately is a smile, even in my most neutral and relaxed. She spiels some angry words, Patrick agog as she turns and stomps off and I can but grin and say hello to the men politely and turn and follow. 

What did you say? She said she accused them of being more interested in their grog than taxi jobs. Oh dear. She is taking me to see the nightclub which is on the other edge of town. It is dark and dire and when we arrive, her mate who is the DJ is sat in the first darkened room with other men drinking grow. The ‘club’ has a few people. Eizabeth does not drink but loves to watch others. Especially when they dance. ‘Clubbing’ was something that Patrick introduced her to and she brings her eldest girl when she is visiting and they have a right laugh. I feel our visit here is a revenge mission and should we see our fellas in their car again, I may unwittingly be joining them in a cruise around town. There is a very drunk man who staggers in this  offers us his beer. Elizabeth says some from the villages come here and get quite plastered. We are both tired, it is difficult to talk and we leave. 

The next morning Patrick apologises to me- not that he needs to! I am the one that feels a bit embarrassed for grinning like an idiot as we unveiled their hidey hole. All seems well in the world, in our little family home. No other guests, just us and it is Diwali! A public holiday prevails. They have their holiday routine: feasting and a picnic. I am included in it all. The previous night we had done the last minute shopping. 

We drove to town, snapping up the deals. My contribution was ice cream to accompany the chocolate cake that Elizabeth would make (tested if it was done by inserting a folded palm leaf into the middle). The rush purchases have that Christmas Eve last minute shopping rush feel and the next day the calm prevails as the Hindu population prepare and pray. 

I have my date with Bron, I know I can not let him down but I would like to help with the food preparations. Elizabeth sends me on my way, as I burble apologies and promise to be back to help to set the table or something. Oh, Teri will do it she says, waving me on. Take your Fiji Time! I am early to meet Bron and I cross paths with a man I noticed on one of the yachts. We say hello and both stop to chat. He has an interesting story. He has been a guide fro swimming with whales in Tonga for the past 6 months. He is half Brit and half Australian. He upped and left his life and took a risk. He moved on from Tonga- he loved it but was time for something new. He saw an advertisement wanting boat crew for sailing the Pacific. He is currently on the oceans with a 60 year old lady, who had a nasty divorce and decided to set to the water with her boat. I talk about Nova Scotia, whales and my friend Jeff’s feelings about swimming with whales. We speak about Diwali. He is somehow unaware of the imminent celebrations that will take over the town and he has not had an invite anywhere. I have accumulated quite a few but I am alone, without an expensive yacht so this is probably why. 

He has not had the village experiences or welcome here I have, finding it difficult to meet locals. But he is often tied to the boat and in his little 3 man crew gang. Tonga sounds interesting and he says it is 20 years behind Savusavu. I would love to hear more but I must rush to meet Bron now and tell him I may see him later. Bron is a little late, he arrives, sweating. he has run. I but him a milkshake and we share a pancake. We discuss Christmas, nature, his village and further in depth about his studies. 

Another young man arrives and sits at the table beside us. Bron acts a little differently. I realise this is Bron’s friend that has evidently wanted to come along for the rendez vous! But Bron is acting like three could be company. I invite him to join because it would just be to weird had I not and we all chat. Although Shaun is quite shy we all settle into chats about the world. I leave them to head back for my roti, curry, ice cream and cake holiday indulgence. 

Lunch is underway when there is the patter of new feet on the deck. Murgy’s children arrive and Elizabeth is quick to let me know who these children belong to. They are collecting flowers for the prayers tonight. I am amused by the little girl wearing a dramatic wig and by the way the elder one kicks off her plastic high heels to climb a tree to collect some flowers. 

We feast, Teri and her friend enjoy the ice cream and cake. So do Elizabeth and Patrick.

We head in the taxi (5 minutes down the way, where I have been running each day), we park up and lay out some five sacking. Everyone swims, the girls are children (just as they should be, and Elizabeth and I enjoy watching Teri enjoying the simple joys that all children should) and they play hopscotch as the sun begins to lower. I drink my first Fijian beer from a yoghurt cup and all is wonderful.

Things fall apart. Elizabeth has a phone call. Her children are emigrating to Australia and their visas have come through much sooner than expected. She is devastated, crying and blowing her nose in her sarong and head scarf. She tells me that Australia can offer them a better life, they will have more opportunities. But it is too soon. Her and Patrick have told me how much they love it here in Savusavu. There is not much money, but there is enough. they are proud of the little Main Street. They share their pride when we shop. See, there is a station, market, supermarket and the very old building that stands alone, derelict, is being knocked down and replaced with a ‘mall’. If they run out of money, they know they can eat cheaply from the produce of the jungle, cook on the hot springs to save on gas and share with their neighbours and friends. So I am in love with Fiji and the ways of the people and the country but I have to be realistic, I guess Australia will offer ‘better’ opportunities for the children. Just because I am smitten with the simple life here in the Hidden Paradise doesn’t mean I understand and recognise all the possible problems it can also throw up.

As we drive back there are so many more people around. Many are swimming. Elizabeth says that on Christmas day the ocean is just a sea of heads. I remember Q telling me that everyone swims, as did Bron and Shaun.

That night, Teri, Elizabeth, Patrick and I head out in the taxi to explore the neighbourhoods and visit some friends that have extended their celebratory invitations our way. It is quiet during the allotted praying time and then a fervour of excitement hangs in the air as the fireworks begin. It is customary for Hindus to extend their invites to friends and beyond and share in the feasting of the Indian sweets the women have been preparing. We drive to a few different houses, friends of Patrick’s. All taxi driver friends, he tells me proudly. We are served so many Indian goodies, I am set to explode. The women look amazing and we dance in one spot. The drum is being heated up in the fire. It’s taut skin providing the right  sounds to perform an intoxicating beat.

On my last night, before we headed out for the Diwali celebrations, I walked down to the harbour for one last time. Beautiful.

Our Diwali night full of sweets ended up turning a little sour. The neighbourhoods are alive and we are about 15 minutes outside of town, in what appears to be a predominately Indo-Fijian populated suburb. I can see Elizabeth is getting restless and indeed, there is only so many times we can descend, eat Indian sweets, small chat and then move on. We head back to the house we started at and I realise there is a problem. Trouble in paradise. Patrick parks and heads up the drive. Elizabeth does not follow. This lady might be small but she is a power house. Teri and I also do not follow. Patrick has agreed to rejoin his buddy for some cava. Elizabeth is furious and the argue. There is too-ing and fro-ing. Patrick tries to convince Teri and I to get in the car but we follow suit with Elizabeth. Girls against Patrick. We end up starting a long walk home, amidst telephone calls, Patrick driving off and back, then eventually  giving us the car and getting picked up by his friend to continue with his plans to hang out and drink grog. 

I can actually see it from both sides and I tell Elizabeth that. He just wants to hang out with his buddies, and what is the harm in a few cups of cab on this special night? She feels he is always dragging her around and she just wants to see the lights and is a bit of a homebody. She won’t stop him from doing that, but she does not want to. But he wants her there! By his side. We discuss and she gets a taxi job in town, so Teri and I hop out and walk home. Last Diwali the same thing happened and she made $30, while Patrick was on the cava. Teri stays with me because her Grandma is still in Labasa and she can not stay alone across the way. Teri lies in bed and reads my Fijian Lonely Planet, curious about what it says about Savusavu. She has been teaching me Fijian; she promises to teach me the language when I return. She will take me to the bus stop in the morning. We discuss the best time for getting up to make the bus. 

In the morning I awake to her gently moving me. The light has awoken her and I guess she does not realise I have set the alarm. When I see Elizabeth I ask her how it was when Patrick returned. She tells me she slept on the floor and he was picking her up and begging her to come into the bed. She told him to leave her. She can do drama well, Elizabeth. So he would have continued in the dog house for awhile. Hopefully not for too long. His deep love for her is clear and she is good at drama but also standing her ground, which I respect. We hug and I remind her of the parcel I have left for Q and his family. She will see him. She is sure.

The parcel has sweets, a letter for Q and some balloons. When I was leaving the village and Star said good bye, he said something to me in Fijian. when I asked Q what he had said, Q smiled and softly translated, ‘Next time you come, please bring me a balloon.’ 

Teri hugs me and tells me that she will miss me. I board the bus and shake my head in wonder at the depths I have discovered here. I get my laptop out, even though it seems incongruous with this rickety bus. I have to tell my Saquisa story, it has to be written as I traverse these lands. I type and do not stop till I land back in Labasa. 

Savusavu seems far away but my heart and head is swimming in it. I feel as if I have learnt a lot about this little town. I failed to mention that although there was daily contact, I missed out on meeting up with Neo. He stayed at an extremely plush, exclusive resort. I was invited on numerous occasions but missed his messages. It later came creeping out, once I was entrusted in the inner circle of Savusavu, that the resort has a bit of an odd reputation. I may have struggled to get in, even the Lonely Planet mentions that the grounds of the resort are off limits to non-guests. It is deemed an incredibly ostentatious place by the locals I speak to and feels entirely separate to Savusavu. When it is certain that I will not make it, Elizabeth shares her stories about the resort with me. Allegedly, there are are often gatherings there, involving naked swimming, ritualistic ceremonies- there are whispers of guests drinking blood… It is all a bit hush hush and these are the rumours but it all is very possible. You were going to let me go?? She assures me that these are unlikely to be the normal daily events scheduled at the resort. It would have been interesting to check it out, I speculate. Jeez- Neo offered that I could go and stay there in his room with him and avoided coming into town to meet me. Even when I said there were some local eats and interesting people around. I wonder what sort of business and work he was up to. I would not give up my Fijian family for all the luxuries the fancy resort has to offer. Fluffy heated robes post naked swimming or not. 

I had watched the other day as a Fijian family raft among the stately looking yachts. They are having fun and laughing. The island across the way is just under construction. Forever the locals here have been able to enjoy the natural beauty of it and of course, the proximity. Swimming across to it is very possible. But a 5 star resort is being built and this will change the make up of the town considerably and take away the island from the locals. 

So all sorts goes on in the Hidden Paradise. I have only just scratched the surface. But I hope I can return to delve a lot deeper. What a joy finding a perfect Fijian family nook; to have a place to call home while I discovered a slice Vanua Levu, my sweet, sweet Savusavu.