September 2005

I had been traveling for twenty-six hours—from Connecticut to the farthest, most exotic place juxtaposed to my home. When I landed in Fiji, I was in complete disbelief that I was even there. Over the past thirty hours traveling —twenty of which were in a airplane—I managed to loose my airline ticket, issue a police report, deal with a few grouchy Air Pacific employees, eat a few lonesome meals, read an entire book, and dream about the unknowns of a distant land. Fiji, a miniscule set of islands located in the South Pacific Ocean, would be my new home for next three weeks. My eyelids desperately withheld gravities propensity to bring them down. My legs wanted to collapse and insist that the rest of my body did the same. I needed sleep. I felt as though an alien would if it landed on a distant planet comprised of species dissimilar from its own. For the first time in my life, I independently pierced my comfort zone bubble, and I venture away from everything that was familiar to me.           

Three Fijians, of the friendliest disposition, identified me as one of the Rustic Pathways travelers as I exited the airplane. They welcomed me to their country and exclaimed “Bula!” A large and zealous smile spanned from check to check which broadcasted my enthusiasm and excitement. The men customarily grabbed my bags and threw them onto their shoulders. They led me to the canvass covered pickup truck in the parking lot. In the parking lot, few cars resided; most people in Fiji traveled by horse and feet. The men that walked in front of me had large, callous feet—very similar to those of chimpanzees. I knew that the ancestors of these three men had participated in the sacrosanct tradition of cannibalism. I tried to erase that image from my mind. After bumping up and down through the mountainous region of Nadi for three hours, I was welcomed into my new home at the village of Nacivicosa. Now I resided not only in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean, but also in the middle of the capital island; situated in the valley of two large mountains, alongside a sinuous river, in the most primitive and simplistic of circumstance without a home or family.

            The group that I traveled with arranged for my host family, or shall I say second family, to care for me for a few weeks. The village was comprised of approximately four hundred people, 6 different clans—all of which were in some way related. My new brother Marika met me in the central village, and took me into his shanty little abode. I was greeted by a plethora of other members of my immediate family; most of whom would live with me in the less than spacious hut.

            My new family insisted that I sleep on the only mattress in the hut, while the rest of them slept on woven mats. Fijians venerated me simply because I was an American. Although they appreciated that I was going to do community service, they respected me mostly because I was a symbol of a developed nation, America—a distant and unattainable dream for most. Like most of the older Fijians, my grandmother (or my tatai) spoke only Fijian. I learned basic Fijian quickly, and also utilized a rudimentary sign language to communicate with most Fijians. Before I could open my suitcase, a ceremony was being prepared on my matted living room floor. Cava—the longstanding traditional drink—was being concocted in a large wooden bowl. The potion was made by mixing ground up cava root into a large bowl of water. The result was a muddy liquid that I would drink now, and three times every day for the rest of my stay. To wash it down, my tatai prepared me some tea and bread. The water in the tea had dirt, leaves, and other sediments from the river that my tatai got the water from. Upon closer inspection of my bread, there was a baked spider. Life in Fiji would be very different than what I was used to. My yearning for an exotic trip was certainly a reality at this point. I took everything I experienced in, and I tried to take nothing for granted. Food and different resources were not as plentiful as they were at home, and could not be taken for granted. In the subsequent days and weeks, I taught English, built hoses and bathrooms, constructed cement pathways, situated cattle fences, and did other jobs that a typical Fijian male would do. The Fijians were grateful for the help I gave them, and I will be forever in debt for the enlightening experience I had with them.

In retrospect, I had escaped the chaotic welter of my life at home in Fiji.  My quest to find myself and my aspirations were in part, discovered. I feel foolish because I had valued so many superficial things back home, and often times I lost touch with myself and what I valued. My life at home had been consistently restricted by commitments and an ideology that supported that lifestyle. After having experienced one of the most unindustrialized and unrestricted cultures, I now am more conscious about staying grounded and true to myself.