Garrett and I met while traveling, which is why we share that close vaga-bond that provides plenty of laughs. Check out some of the outtakes from our 2.5 months in the South Pacific.
One side of the sky was navy blue and brilliant with stars and a succulent moon; the other side hinted at the curvature of the globe with shades of pink. The dew making my feet squeak in my flip-flops mirrored the moisture on my eyelids. There wasn’t a wavering thought in our minds about returning to the village, so this morning absolutely marked an end.
Knocking on a few doors at dawn, we came across the home where little Weiss was sleeping. It would have been impossible to take our final carrier ride without saying goodbye to our dear friend and favored student of 2.5 months. We hugged him and asked him to tell the other kids we say goodbye and will miss them. He nodded his heavy head, instantly taking the form of an older, mature being with wise eyes that see the realities of a world he can’t change.
We loaded our bags, put on our rain shells, and bumped down the mountains. I felt like wasting away as I doubled over my backpack, hoping to sleep away my pain.
(Continued)
I opened my eyes as if they’d been closed for only a few seconds. Stains decorated the holey mosquito net, which now ensnared a circling bunch of blood-filled bugs. Though I’ve never been physically beaten up, I imagine the next morning would have felt akin to how I felt there, in that bed, feeling the bed springs scratch my skin, every muscle upset and tense from a terrible day prior.
I don’t feel good here anymore.
Only actually sleeping for a couple of the eight hours that just passed, I arose from bed to look outside at an already bright and cheerful morning, feeling no cheer at all but rather…displacement. Regardless of the hundreds of villagers we still loved and were in good standing with, not to mention the great kids and youth members we were there for, we no longer felt wanted in Nakavika.
I’m a passionate person with the inability to stop oncoming tears. If I well up, the drops inevitably must fall. Therefore, the fact that I cried a lot in the village isn’t all that shocking. However, when at home, my tears only come about once every couple of months – a periodic spring cleaning of my ducts, if you will. The fact that I cried virtually every day in the last month in Nakavika did represent something I had to address. (Continued)
What you’re about to read is the final event we took part in, created, or witnessed in the Fijian Highlands. It occurred on a Saturday, fifteen days before we were scheduled to leave the islands and thirteen days before we initially desired to leave Nakavika. It was because of this event and the clash of cultures – at a tsunami scale – that we decided to leave early. This event still has us doubting ourselves even today. It still remains a point of dissonance and misunderstanding between ourselves and an opinionated few in the village.
It’s time to discuss our fundraiser.
Doors closed, suitcases gutted, and eyes the size of saucers – we finally took a look at the amount of donations we brought and accumulated between the three of us on the project. Thanks to our outreach pre-trip, we had quite a supply list to offer Nakavika. 70+ items of clothing stared back at us, asking, “What are you going to do with all of us?”
The daunting number of goods made us start from the ground up.
Why give the village donations?
Last I left the tales of this Fijian adventure, there was a major event that happened – one which led us to doubt the possibility of our project coming to be. After issues were resolved (in the eyes of the elders), we asked the Turaga ni Koro (village spokesman) to hook us up with a ride down to the coast for a few days. We needed some space to figure out what to do.
Luckily for us, the Rivers Fiji company was scheduled to have a business meeting in the village, and they drove their own 4×4 vehicle. We sat in on the business meeting, which unsurprisingly revolved around kava drinking and lots of Fijian talk infrequently translated into a few lines of English. We got to witness the tension, the patching up of issues across cultural borders, and most importantly speak with the company representative, Geoff, about our project.
An American, a weathered expat of many countries, and one very familiar with not only the Fijian mindset but the specific individuals we knew and dealt with, Geoff had the insight we needed to hear. After hitching a ride to The Uprising with him, we invited him to dinner as a thank you and an opportunity to chew the fat. (Continued)
How does that make you feel?
Go on…let it out.
It’s okay to feel these feelings.
Let’s talk about that…
We all shake our heads at the shoulder-patting, “aww gee”-inspiring cliches from the psychology world, but there’s no doubt they come from a necessary concept. When the traumatic, the all-of-a-sudden, the shocking occurs, our heads are wired to be in denial but eventually come to terms with that which changes irrevocably, and death is certainly in that category of things in desperate need of processing.
Photo by Garrett Russell
After the tear-powered funeral and another communal lunch in the hall, all the kids decided to go for a swim in the muddy Luva river, thanks to the prior week of sobbing skies. We proceeded to frolic for something like five hours, all the while keeping our eyes on the kids who only hours prior buried their father. Eldest Mario continued to laugh with the same Goofy-esque chortle as he chased his cousins in a game of “He” (Fijian “tag”). The rest rolled sand balls to be thrown at passing runners and smiled off the cliff jumps.
I couldn’t imagine being so jovial the same day I buried my father. I put on my anthropologist cap and observed. (Continued)
I received an e-mail from a woman from Fiji – an e-mail that really made me happy.
Thanks for the tremendous work you have done to my village. Working as a community or Public Health Nurse for the last 17 years, I know all what you have gone through, and it is not easy to get things done. There are so many obstacles on the way before achieving the objectives. Just an advice, let the community get involved and be part of all the on-going process of the project from day 1 till the the very last day, delegate responsibiities to them, and then only you will see a huge change.
Anyway, there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. Your stay and exchanged of traditions and cultures is an eye opener especially to the younger generations of Nakavika village in years to come. Being part of the family and sharing whatever that has been prepared freely was such and enjoyment. The community were luckily to be part of you for a short while and the cream goes to the school children as part of their learning process. Whatever has happened will be history, and whatever will happen will be part of the memories that will linger on and we hope that you will take it constructively, in the understanding that adapting to a new enviroment needs more than 2 weeks. The exchange of views, cultures and ideas will be a big stepping stone to another new horizon and expecting more to come for the betterment of the community. (Continued)
It didn’t matter how many times people clarified the schedule for the funeral arrangements, they never began at the designated time. It wasn’t about timing, though. It was about flow. Only when one group assembled could they continue with the next event, and with weather that echoed the widow’s eyes, every moment was contingent on the skies.
Being three foreign individuals unfamiliar with “the flow,” we had to shuffle and scurry across the village to capture the sudden moments that would unfold in front of our eyes.
Photo by Garrett Russell
The funeral days commenced, and the village became a complete organism that moved in harmony with all elements. All we could do was observe and document. (Continued)
Photo by Garrett Russell
Jackie, you’ve come into the village at an incredibly rare time. Gare, this is big. Abel just told me Elias, Mario and Eta’s father, just died an hour before we pulled up. He had a heart attack. I’m not sure what happens next, but all the boys are stressed and silent. I asked what we can do, but no one had an answer. Let’s just make some coffee and crackers and wait until they have some instructions for us.
The air was wet and heavy. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was the start of our project’s downhill descent into disarray. (Continued)
It was odd seeing Garrett in such sour spirits on the road. The intense foot infection he contracted sapped him of his usual energy. I had no idea how to make him feel better. He needed a breather from the project and to relax in Suva for the days between doctor’s visits, but meanwhile, the kids were looking forward to more innovation and games in the afternoons.
I returned from our medical trip to Suva (where I learned I had at least two bacterial infections battling my body, as well), the same day we left the village, to a very empty house.
The Nakavika Project – 1
Explaining Garrett’s condition to the villagers was difficult, and many reacted more strongly than I expected. When various people told Garrett he and his throbbing foot would be “just fine” prior to our excursion, those same people hung their heads low at the thought of Garrett cooped up in a hospital room. It didn’t really matter that I said, “He’s not at the hospital. He stopped by once and has another appointment on Thursday. He’s at a hotel.”
For two days, I boiled rice and dhal for meals, invited the kids in for tea, conducted English lessons through art classes, led two seminars on nutrition to the adults, and organized the details of our project for its hopeful future. Abel came by often to restock my firewood and pretend to like my sad attempts at open-fire cuisine. However, every other waking minute he spent at our house, he was in training. (Continued)