We flew to New Zealand via Fiji, with a 1-day layover, arriving in Fiji very early in the morning. It was pleasant to sit in the moist, breezy, February morning, waiting for the bus to our resort. After a short bus ride to our resort on the shore, scoring a little breakfast, and visiting with the mynahs, we took the hotel bus to Nadi Town. We were dropped off at a very nice shop with every kind of goods – nice clothing, huge kava bowls, bark paintings, cheap gimcracks labeled “Bula Fiji” in gilt letters. Escaping with no more than a shirt for B., we decided to stroll through the town.
At every shop entrance, we were invited to come in and see the finest goods for sale. As we picked up speed, hoping to trot right by all the hustle, a man fell into step with us and introduced himself. Let’s call him, for the purposes of this tale, Frank. As we strode along, Frank told us about his village, far from the coast. He told us about the hospitality and customs of his village. “Come with me,” he invited, “and enjoy the traditional Fijian hospitality of a kava ceremony.” And he turned into a shop door. We followed.
Gesturing us quickly to an alcove at the rear of the shop, Frank introduced us to his partner, Ned. Ned welcomed us, seated us on stools, and proceeded to wash the kava bowl and prepare for the ceremony. So there we were, Frank on my right, B. on my left, and between us and Ned the kava bowl, or tanoa.
Ned ceremoniously prepared the drink. And Frank allowed as how I should be the “Queen” of the kava ceremony. Ned and Frank taught us the rituals, clapping with hands cupped, the proper number of claps, saying the correct words, drinking the small bowl of kava, dipped from the tanoa, in one long draft. And so we commenced.
After the first round, a third partner appeared, along with four very young tourists from Europe. We formed a circle around the tanoa, Ned prepared the kava, and we all joined in the ceremony. Frank, still sitting on my right, insisted that as the Queen I should have a gift. He reached behind me to a table of carvings, putting one in my lap. Once, he told us, there was no love in Fiji. Marriages were arranged. But now all is changed. The carving, he explained to us, show the male and female and represent the coming of love to Fiji. The carving would bring luck and love to our household.
Well, what to do? Before a third round of the ceremony should begin, B. and I excused ourselves. I set the carving on a side table, ready to walk out of the shop. “But,” B. wondered to me, “would we be offending local custom if we just left the carving?” I hesitated.
Frank bounded out from the alcove, selected two necklaces, and proceeded to clasp one around B.’s neck and one around mine. “These are my gifts to you. Let me wrap your carving,” he said, “and prepare the paperwork you will need for customs.” Wrap it he did, and then presented me with a bill. And he asked for U.S. dollars. And then suggested that I might want to give him something extra for his poor family back home in his village.
We dragged that dratted carving all over New Zealand and back home to California. I keep it as a reminder that sometimes being the Queen is not at all what you expect.
There are lots of posts on the web about kava ceremonies. I thought this one was nice. Rob Kay's Fiji Islands Travel Guide - Kava
Looking good P. Keep on truckin! (But take it easy on the Kava...)
Posted by: JHB | August 01, 2007 at 09:20 PM