[password] caesar

[position] 19 08.912s 178 33.945w

[status] 0730 hrs 13 July 2018. Yesterday we attended the chief's funeral. It was similar in many respects to a funeral one would attend back home, except I wore a sulu. Since my own funeral sulu was at the cleaners, and my host thought my work-out shorts, though black, were a bit too casual, he loaned me one of his sulus. I looked quite smart, in an island sort of way. All the men wore dark colouired sulus and shirts. Women wore black chumsas, a two piece outfit that covers from neck to ankle, but are short sleeve. Around their waist was worn a wide woven belt that went from under their breasts to below their waists made from pandamous leaves. Men gathered separately from the women around the ubiquitous kava bowl drinking kava mostly provided by us yachties. Leilani joined a group of women picking small leaves from vines. At first I thought the leaves were going to be thrown in the path of the funeral procession in place of rose petals, No, they were part of the post funeral menu. I watched the men prepare a take-home gift for each funeral attendee. These gifts were made from a mixture from 50kg of flour, hand ground cocount meat, sugar, salt, and water in a 2mtr hollowed out tree trunk that looked like a hull from a native outrigger canoe. It had the consistency of glue, and looked like plaster used to mend broken limbs. Taking a handfull of the mixture the size of a grapefruit, it was wrapped in palm leaves and put into a lovo (undground oven), and smoldered for 2-hours. The result was a hardened, mishapened lump of bread-like substance that tasted like plaster used to mend broken limbs, but more coconutty. I was given permission to enter the chief's hut to take photos of the solemn ring of mourners sitting on the floor facing the casket draped in a lovely white embroidered linen cover. While Leilani attended the church service I visited the grave site with 3 women who were laying out a beautiful, large pandamous woven mat upon which the casket was to be placed before putting it into the ground. Then I heard the furneral procession. It was announced by two counch-shell blowers blowing a melancholy tune of one note. I hurried back from the cemetary to see the march of the casket lead by village and church elders, followed by the casket carried on the shoulders of 6 men flanked by two fierce Fijian warrior honour guards dressed in traditional grass skirts, painted faces, and carryiing deadly war clubs. Next came the village men, followed, as usual, by the women, and bringing up the rear were school children. The funeral path from the church to the cemetary, several hunderd metres long, was lined by other school children on both sides standing at military straight attention, with some even saluting as the casket passed by. All in all, it was an event not often seen by yachties. A rare and enjoyable (if I may say that) event. Afterwards we were invited to a village hut to partake in a modest post funeral lunch of dahl soup, which was delicious, and casava, which was like a boiled potatoe, but with less taste. When we left we were given two of the lovo cooked mishapened breads to take with us. And so ended the funeral of a Fijian village chief.

We have been invited by the school principal's wife to attend her birthday party luncheon tomorrow. Leilani has been obsessing about what to give her for a gift. It's hard when you can't just pop down to the closest shopping mall. She ended up deciding on a crochet headband she made and an artifical plumeria flower she can wear in her hair, and a hand-made birthday card..

Another yacht came in yesterday, making 6 of us here. With some good weather coming over the next week to make the sail to Falaga in, I'm afraid it will get crowded. But it does mean more kava for the village.

Sototale
John & Leilani

[END]