Should you ever find yourself on “the island of lost people”, don’t leave your shoes outside at night. If you ever come to the place called “wild banana island”, be careful you don’t run into the Devil. When visiting the island sometimes called “Urah”, look out no one spikes your kava. And, if you happen to be on this island that most of us just call “Epi”, whatever you do, stay far away from the poison ducks.
Any would-be visitor to my lovely island, Epi,
should be ready for a somewhat jarring encounter with the local beliefs. Expect to be told that your foot sores are the result of a malevolent magic man coming in the night to poison one of your sandals. Visitors are welcome to take in the beautiful beaches and swim in Epi’s turquoise bays and don’t need to worry about traveling out of bounds as the kids will look out for you. There is a clump of large stones amidst a copse of mango trees at the end of the beach near my village. When I was wandering too close at sundown, some friendly children came storming in to take me back. Turns out the Devil himself lives amongst those trees. It’s not uncommon for him to take the form of a dog and attack people at night. The water is safe, though. Our local magic shark hasn’t been seen in a while. We never did find out who threw the leaf in the water that summoned it in the first place. It was probably the same couple who threw leaves inside of coconut shells into the water last hurricane season to make the water rough for a week.
When something happens, there’s usually a man to blame. When a knife goes missing from the kitchen, it was stolen. No matter how many times the kids come back with it later after cutting up navel nuts, the next time it’s gone, you can be sure stealaman was around.
Got the flu? You didn’t go to the neighboring village and drink their kava did you? The people in the next village are notorious poisoners. Better steer clear of strangers offering food and drink too. As someone who has traveled around the island, however, I should clarify that the poison man is always in the next village, never this one.
A few vatu missing from your pocket? It’s time someone told you about a different kind of stealaman. Sometimes a man goes to a store with a high value bill. After making his purchases, getting his change, and leaving, he pats his pocket. The bill he gave to the store keeper is now magically in his pocket again and he still has his purchases and change. This can happen to you too if you’re not careful. Mr. Stealaman can just sit down next to you and your basket. After a short conversation and a quick pat on his pocket, your money will have left your pack and is now his.
Don’t think this kind of thing is tolerated passively though. The would be Peace Corps volunteer on Epi can expect to contend with one more delay in addition to the usual weddings, funerals, and holidays. My water committee meeting in North Epi was postponed for a day so that everyone could attend a witch trial. Some of the stores and a few individuals in the area found they were missing some money and two men seemed to be building their new block houses suspiciously fast (months instead of years) so they were suspected of doing the pocket trick. The men had also been accused of traveling about the island suspiciously fast, having been seen in Rovo Bay and Lokopui on the very same day. Instantaneous transport being another sign of dark powers, the men were brought before the village court. No solid evidence was presented, however, and after being made to swear on a bible in church that they don’t do magic, the men were released. The case remains unresolved.
My own village was largely empty one day for another witch trial. Papa Mawa had been very sick a month prior and now it was time to find out who was to blame. After half a day of meeting and discussion, there were still no leads and no suspects so the matter was dropped. That particular hearing took place in nearby Malvasi where this kind of thing seems to be a growing concern.
A Malvasi church elder died this year. The doctor says it was because after getting sick, the man refused food and water for three days and by the time he was taken to the hospital it was too late. A vocal contingent doesn’t believe the doctor and keeps alive the notion that the church elder was poisoned. Someone must have gone into the bush and done something with some leaf and maybe sang something. No one knows who, what, or where.
Another man died just weeks later. Suspicion is rampant. A mama reported a certain bird sang out at night which means someone else will die soon. The poison threat level has been raised and the warnings against taking food or kava in Malvasi and elsewhere have gotten more shrill. To top it off, during the crying ceremony for the recently deceased, a duck flew into the village and landed on the temporary shelter right above the body. Some men started throwing stones at the poison duck, but accidentally hit some of the crying women which caused a brief row.
Outside of the Malvasi threat zone, you have to worry about men in the bushes posing as dogs beckoning you to follow. If you do, they’ll kill you, of course, so stay to the road. It’s reported that long ago one of the transforming dog-men convinced a Christian missionary to go into the bush and killed him. With his dying breath, the missionary looked skyward and asked God to curse the killer. To this day it is said that the descendents of this man in North Epi are afflicted with eyes that are always looking up. I’ve been invited to go see them.
At night, you should probably just stay off the roads all together. More direct “poison” can be inflicted at night by people in the bush who see you passing by and then make a custom sing-sing. But, if you must walk about at night, at least don’t carry a banana in your pocket. The dead and buried love bananas and night time travelers carrying bananas or even banana lap-lap may be attacked by the risen dead. Yams, taro, manioc, and kumala are fine. Epi zombies just like bananas.
Business owners have their own set of worries to contend with. To start with, when discussing a new business venture or a village project with a small group, a spy may come to listen and discuss. The spy may later do something to make everyone else in the group forget the whole thing. If you do manage to get your store, kava bar, or market house off the ground, there’s still the chance that someone will spit kava in the general direction of your building while stating a curse like “may that business be covered in grass”. Expect your business to be covered by the encroaching bush shortly after.
There are a few defenses available. Some say a ring of salt water around your building will protect it. Don’t go overboard with the salt, though, as it can block the good magic as well as the bad. There is a local leaf that I’ve seen rubbed on babies with sore bellies and farmers with sore shoulders. The patient must abstain from salt for at least the next day or it will counteract the medicine. The same goes for a concoction made from the fruit of the “Noni” or “Stinkfruit” tree. A terrible smelling tea made from the small white fruits can apparently cure almost anything. Stay away from the salt though.
The boys who would stop the rain must have forgotten this. For us on Epi/Urah/Banana Island, the rainy season began with a dramatic opening ceremony on a Tuesday evening. Weeks of moderate temperatures, sun, and light showers, suddenly gave way to daily downpours and a blanket of humidity that enveloped you in sweat before breakfast. This was inconvenient. There was to be a lafete on Thursday and some men took it upon themselves to push back the onset of the rainy season for just a few more days.
Now, attempts to control the weather are common on Epi and unlike a lot of the suspected negative magical activity mentioned above, I’m confident that people actually perform the ceremonies for weather magic. To start with, last hurricane season I would invariably be asked for the name of the approaching hurricane at the first sign of a big storm. We have a few men reputedly with the power to block and divert hurricanes, but the song they sing must include the name of the hurricane. I’d like apologize to the people of Tanna who got hurt last February. The eye of that hurricane was supposed to pass right over Epi, but the path change a few days before reaching us. Locals credit our weathermen.
The Tuesday of the big rain was the start of a three day struggle for meteorological dominance. It was reported that two different groups were simultaneously going through the procedures for blocking the rain. The teams had left their villages, gone to the bush, and were chewing and spitting leaves while making their sing-sing. The rain continued. Locals credit the influence of another, unnamed, group of malevolent people who must have wanted to spoil the lafete and so conducted their own clandestine ritual somewhere. Thus began a three day contest between man blong sun and the unseen man blong rain.
On day two, Wednesday, the rain continued. This time it was suggested that the rain blockers must have eaten salt which would necessarily block their powers.
By day three, I hadn’t much faith in man blong sun. For one thing, they were all so young. Having heard about men turning into dogs, poison sharks, and magic leaves for so long, I started asking questions and it was surprisingly easy to arrange a meeting with our local weathermen. As I walked along the road with my apu-woman toward the village of the lafete, there they were, a small group just up the hill, hanging out. I was invited to join them and there, sitting on a hastily made bamboo bench were three very young men watching a young papa tend to a fire in a small stone grotto. Hanging above the smoky fire was a bundle of leaves, drying. A separate fire was heating rice and chopped kava root was scattered in between.
They readily explained that the leaves were being dried over a fire made from a special wood. The cooking fire was made from a different kind of wood and the two should not be mixed. All day, the boys and their teacher were to abstain from water, drinking only green coconut water, and were certainly not allowed to ingest salt. And there they sat, hour after hour, chatting and watching the smoke dry the leaves. We had been fortunate in that there had been little rain on the actual day of the lafete. When the rain came back, it was these men’s job to chew and spit the leaves at the rain. They also had a separate kava root chewing, spitting, and singing job to perform.
They explained that they were actually a different group from those that had failed over the past two days. The problem had been that the others had conducted their ceremony inside the village and two many pregnant women had walked by. Being just up the hill from the road, they would be free of these women’s magic blocking potential and would still be able to chat with passersby on their way to the event.
So, the lafete continued with only the smallest of showers. Villagers were grateful that finally someone could properly manage the weather and kept the boys fed. And they did try. They were up there most of the day, but just as the village mamas started opening up the lap-lap pits, the weathermen came down and swam in the saltwater. We got very wet on the way home.
-- Daniel --
Santo, like Efate, Epi, and other big islands, has a few small islands nearby. A group of us took a day trip to nearby Aori island. Pictured above from left to right are Kathy (Epi), Andrew (Malekula), Gene (Santo), and Michael (Santo).
Before we could leave, though, the boat driver had to wake up. Here he is taking a mid-day nap.
This is Luganville as seen from the water. Luganville is Vanuatu's second biggest town. There is a paved main road running from the airport, past a copra mill, and along the coast right through town. Luganville seemed to be about a kilometer or two long and two or three blocks wide and had the feel of a small midwestern town where nearby farmers come to resupply and socialize.
Aori island on the other hand has a small tourist area and not much else.
As you get off the boat to Aori, you will pass this tiny turtle tank made of concrete and shells. That little guy must get tired going around in circles all day.
This is a tam-tam, a traditional drum and statue that some villages in Vanuatu use to call meetings. They are now also used as decorative items. Tam-tams seem to usually have enlarged faces though they don't look very human. Some even have extra eyes and noses. This one looks rather stereotypical. Notice the necklace with two curved pig tusks around the neck. The pig tusk is a traditional as well as national symbol here. A man wearing two curved tusks like this would probably be a chief of some sort.
My idea of a vacation has changed over the past year and I'm satisfied with a well made cup of coffee at a cafe with a few friends. Being one of Vanuatu's urban centers, Luganville offers rare delicacies like hamburgers, cold beer, cake, and well made cappuccinos. That's Andrew, Kathy, and Michael above.
My idea of a vacation has changed over the past year and I'm satisfied with a well made cup of coffee at a cafe with a few friends. Being one of Vanuatu's urban centers, Luganville offers rare delicacies like hamburgers, cold beer, cake, and well made cappuccinos. That's Andrew, Kathy, and Michael above.
This is a real hazard.
This a painted tam-tam on the streets of Luganville. He stands just outside the town liquor store so I half expected him to be a typical cigar store Indian.
On my last night in Santo, I had an obligatory last shell of kava with Gene. Gene is a teacher at the local high school and was a terrific host, showing us around Santo and even letting me sleep at his house for two nights. Being a fully integrated local now, Gene brings his own cleaned out coconut shell to the kava bar.
This is a real hazard.
This a painted tam-tam on the streets of Luganville. He stands just outside the town liquor store so I half expected him to be a typical cigar store Indian.
On my last night in Santo, I had an obligatory last shell of kava with Gene. Gene is a teacher at the local high school and was a terrific host, showing us around Santo and even letting me sleep at his house for two nights. Being a fully integrated local now, Gene brings his own cleaned out coconut shell to the kava bar.
I left Santo for Efate via the Santo International Airport. As I boarded the plane I noticed a yellow fire engine that looks suspiciously North Dakotan. Any ideas as to how that got here?
Back in Port Vila, I passed by the mama's market. Here are the flowers for sale right next to the sidewalk.
And here is another view of the market. Women from several islands will set up shop here for days at a time and some are regular representatives of their villages or areas. There is even a table that continuously sells roasted Epi peanuts.
Also chickens, 1000 Vatu (about $10) a piece.
Also chickens, 1000 Vatu (about $10) a piece.
So, my first day back in Port Vila ended with another beautiful sunset. After one week in Ambae, one week in Santo, and a few days in Port Vila, I'm ready to go back to Epi. I've been delayed the past few days because of a passing storm that prevented ships from leaving, but I'm told that today is the big day. At four o'clock I'll board the Big Sista (pictured yesterday) and leave for my own island. This recent trip to the capitol was unexpected, but pleasant. Until next time, farewell and may your travels be just as memorable and colorful as lovely Vanuatu.
So, here we are on our last evening in Quangwele in front of their unfinished church house. The village is spread out among the hills and some of the 80 or so residents weren't here for the photo, but at least you can see the bearded chief on the right who kissed our protective green coconuts, the young chief in the middle just in front of me who acted as our guide for the week, and all the little kids that followed us around all week, who are inexplicably making what look like gang signs in this photo.
