A Village Affair

When I left the States for Fiji, I was fully prepared to deal with the fact that I could be quite lonely and celibate for most, if not all, of my two year service. Who would apply for PC knowing that they may be sent to some far corner of the world, if they weren’t prepared otherwise? (Well, maybe more people than you’d think, but I digress.)

Some volunteers are placed in towns or cities where there may be a dating pool larger than the kitchen sink, but when I was placed in a traditional communal village of about 560 people, the last thing on my mind was dating. First off, the village headman had placed a tabu on me so that no boys would bother me. Secondly, I was supposed to call everyone Dad or brother or uncle. And third, all my attention was on trying to figure out how to learn to live and work in a culture and climate entirely different than what I was familiar with. Thankfully, seven weeks in a host village during training had prepared me for some of it.

But after almost 2 years in country, the picture became little different. I felt at home in my community. I had normal relationships. I knew who really treated me like an adopted family member, who wanted to work together, and who just liked saying there is an America girl living in their village. I started to feel like I had carved out a respective place for myself. And I had a full understanding of the microscope that I lived under and just how rampant the coconut wireless can be!

With all that considered, it was still scary as my bare feet tip-toed closer to crossing the line into village dating! It’s not like I woke up one day and was like, I’m going to date a local. It just happened.  But once I realized it was happening, it didn’t seem there was any great way of going about it. In the States there would be a normal period where you could go on a few dates, test the waters, see how you fared on the other side of the friend-line before you’d even have to mention to anyone that you were seeing someone, let alone call them your significant other. But here? A boy comes over for tea and you are most definitely sleeping together, and some people start planning your wedding.

I guess it must have really began when I quit calling him brother…  when he started stopping by just to say hi and bringing me goodies like banana or papaya or taro leaves from his plantation…when I realized that I was extremely attracted to the young fellow who had been my friend and frequent companion for over a year. I kept berating myself, telling myself N-O…. until one day he kissed me and I threw my hands up in the air and said yes instead. I didn’t know where it was going to go, but that was okay because it was our secret that, well, I guess we knew wasn’t that secret.

It was pretty quick that we came to realize how we had each somehow found someone across the divides of age and culture that we could have so much fun with, be so compatible with. Such a wonderful surprise! Something we were, and still are, so excited about. However, until I left for my home leave in the US this July, it was still a semi-secret. There was some gossip, and we hadn’t yet dealt with the fact that it was technically against the rules for him to date me. Additionally, I had perpetuated the misunderstanding that PCVs are not allowed to date in the village in order to ward off previous unwanted suitors.  Whoops.

So when I left for home leave, he got on the ferry with me to Suva without telling anyone. We knew this was not the right thing for him to do, so as soon as we got to town he called his family and told them he was with me. His uncle whom he lives with was not angry, but only wanted to know why we didn’t tell him beforehand. In honesty, we were both scared and uncertain of how to go about it and what the outcome would be. But now it was out in the open, with him missing from the village, and we had to make plans for how to deal with it upon return.

As I didn’t know the proper Fijian protocol, I deferred to Solo for advice on what we should do. He said we needed to do a forgiveness ceremony, called a mata-ni-gasau. It sounded intimidating, but it’s more of a traditional protocol than a ceremony, and there is protocol involving most everything in the village. Solo and I would have to go to the family with whom he lives (his uncle and one of his many grandmothers), present yaqona (kava), apologize, and declare our relationship.

And this is exactly what we did. Solo worked and stayed with family on Viti Levu until I returned from the US. We took the ferry back to the village on a Saturday and the next day after church we went to his family together. Solo had helped me practice what to say in Fijian beforehand. I told them I was sorry I took Solo to Suva, that we were dating, and that I had already told the Peace Corps and they said it was okay. I choked up and mispronounced a few words, but I guess it went okay. They could tell I was sorry and they asked, as Solo had told me they would, if I really liked/loved Solo or if it was just a casual thing. I told them in our dialect, Au gu’i  heya dina saraga. (I really care for/want/love him.) Then we mixed a basin of the grog we had brought, and all drank a few bilos (coconut shells) to seal the deal.

My Coconut Cowboy

Solo’s real name is Solomone, Fijian for Solomon --as in the biblical king. He was born in the village, but moved away to another town on our island when he was three. He was raised by his grandmother and grandfather, and attended a primarily Indo-Fijian school where he learned to speak English and Hindi too. (Fiji’s population is about 30+% Indian heritage). He left school in Form 5, which is equivalent to 11^th grade in the States. I do not know the statistics, but I would say it is uncommon for rural male Fijians to finish secondary school. He moved to the main island and stayed with family in the West for a few years before returning to the village to farm in early 2012. That’s when we met.

Solo stood out to me when he finally worked up the confidence to talk to me --he is pretty shy at first. He was young, but he seemed to look at things differently than other people in the village. He is mature for his age, having been on his own quite a bit.  We built up a solid friendship over the coming year. He is so much fun and his youthfulness is infectious. He helps me to remember not to sweat the small things and to try and appreciate every day -- Fijians are very good at that. We have a blast together. We go on mini-adventures to the sea and plantation. We do village-y do-it-yourself things together like make wine, brooms, and virgin coconut oil. He helps me practice my Fijian and better understand what’s really going on in the village.

Perhaps we are forced to communicate better because of our cultural differences, and that is probably a good thing. We are comfortable telling each other how we feel. We have to be because sometimes the same thing can mean something completely different in our respective cultural context or sometimes we just plain don’t understand what the other is saying! We speak some interesting half Fijian/half English… but it works!

Solo farms yaqona and dalo (taro root), like most of the men in our village. He is considering going back to school next year, but it’s a big decision to return to the classroom when he’s basically considered a man in the community. I want to support him in whatever decision he makes.  We’ve had many conversations about how finishing school might open up more opportunities, for instance, if he decides to move out of the village. We don’t know what this coming year will bring, but we’re determined to enjoy our time together here and stay strong in face of some of the challenges we encounter being together in the village.

 Although I’m certain the village will remain a part of my life in the future, this will probably be my last year living here full time. So I’m also determined to take advantage of that, always trying to appreciate the people and the gorgeous setting.

And the gorgeous brown boy who rode bareback into my heart ;)

Solo and me in Suva. We did some normal date things and it was a blast. He loved sushi :)

Just a regular day at work.

Solo in traditional garb before taking part in a formal presentation of kava to the chief.