From Banyan Swings to Bungee Jumping: How It's Done Around Here
VANUATU
I was lucky to live in a lovely bungalow. It was generously, creatively and consciously crafted with my comfort in mind - making me swing from being aimless, perusing Port Vila and playing with fire, then returning back to this little haven.
Through this, I reckoned my host would’ve been a woman warrior: hardworking, multi-talented, a foodie and chef, a lover of the arts and fine quality products and, someone with handsome hospitality. And I was right! It’s interesting what one can make out about a person, sometimes even before we meet up. While I was in her place in Port Vila, she was working on her resort on the east coast of Efate Vanuatu, near Eton.
The resiliency of women like this will never cease to amaze me. Living alone on acres of remote land, she continues to manage a property without the payout. We share stories over bronzed Japanese dumplings, medium rare beef, ginger fried veggies and a mango salad with cucumbers and fiery peppers, as the weather oscillated from breezy and hints of sun to overcast wind and rain.
She shared with me her story of moving to Vanuatu from Eastern Europe, the basic chores that take exorbitant amounts of time, the challenges with operating a business within a largely cash-centric country and some of the traditional customs she’s learned. She relayed that many of the locals frequent church on Sundays from 10 am to late into the night, with sermons on stereos heard miles away. She was amazed at how wedding feasts are usually prepared by men, but since the ceremony itself must include a dowry, trousseau and other expenses, it means that many Ni-Vans live together without formally being married.
I also met James, her gardener, who lives with other Ni-Vans off the grid in the ‘village’, i.e. one dirt road away from the main road. His sister Juliet along with his wife Mariyam and other ladies run a roadside tent that sells produce and local takeaways including cassava topped with ‘beef’ (i.e. the stomach lining of cows which are washed in the ocean and then boiled). Believe it or not, given its affordable 100 VT price tag (~$1CAD), it’s a fan favourite.
Though he has six girls, James still hopes to have a son. When I visited, his sister carried along her youngest and told me how her other two sons attended school for 10k VT/year. Her family’s home (less sturdier than her brother’s) was two houses over and with her sister-in-law, they cared for the land, their roadside shop and their extended families.
How interesting it is to see how people navigate family ties and roles. The avoidable skin infections of baby John and the lack of overall education and health leave much too much be desired, though I wondered where the pendulum’s equilibrium might best be when it comes to close kinship.
The West seems mired by an individualist agenda that forgoes some time-tested values that, if we might lean (back) into, may offer enhanced social connections and ultimately, perhaps even brighter outcomes.
Almost as if it was the welcoming icon to the rest of the plot, the banyan tree stood majestically at the entrance. Individual trunks and aerial roots made the tree what it is, with each squiggling stem playing its part in making the banyan be as magical and mighty as it is.
I suspect the tree doesn’t look at itself and fault find with its individual elements – this is too thick, too rough, too dark – therein, I wondered when I see my own reflection each morning, could I start it off with a greeting (and acceptance of the whole)? I love seeing the lessons Nature whispers and I’m grateful when I have these moments to look, listen and feel the beauty and harmony that’s been bestowed, in everything.
I circle the tree in awe, and find swings! Tethered in place by plastic bags, there are tires, wooden planks and even a larger platform to sway on, all from the strength that the Banyan brings, from its whole being.
Mariyam sways on it with baby John, she’s caring for him while his mom, Juliet dashes away - the transfer between the two women happened almost without words being exchanged actually, seamlessly, as if distinguishing who’s child this really is would be a footnote, useful only for a foreigner’s sake. When she reappears, Juliet is holding a traditional dress. I gather it’s hers and if I can guess, it’s likely one of her only fine ones. “For you”, she says with arms extended and a glint in her eye. And while I can’t accept what I know would be more than she could afford to lose, I thank her for her generosity, sharing with me as if I was part of her family tree. We settle on stamping the gesture with a snap to symbolize sentiments swapped.
While I haven’t been able to see the many kastom villages or other interesting customs, I feel fortunate to have had these interactions. In taking the time to trek to and touchdown on these terrains, it affords a chance to get a glimpse into local mores and norms, tradition and practices that have been modified or in some cases, continue as they had for generations prior. I wanted to witness the unique songs of the Vanuatu Women’s Water Music, where waist high in water and dressed in traditional leaves, women produce rhythms by holding their fingers at certain angles. It would have also been jaw dropping to see land diving, the precursor to bungee jumping, where the brave men of Pentecost Island jump off hand-made towers only with vines attached to their ankles in hopes of a good harvest. Clearly, Vanuatu has more than ‘Survivor’ to showcase for local stories and ceremonies.
May we fully see and lean into the strength and solidarity within and between us,