The Plantation

This weekend was the first day Solo and I went to the plantation together to actually work. I’ve gone with him to pick food, but that’s not really working that’s just getting dinner. 

“Going to the plantation” really means hiking up into the jungled hills behind the village. We followed the old, two-track road part way up through the pine plantation. The first time I saw one of these spindly pine stands in Fiji, I was a little shocked. They take me back to the highland American West and seem out of place in the tropics. A local forester told me that pine is one of the only easy things to replant after a clear cutting. I’ve asked around the village: “What was there before the pine? What was there before the grassy hillsides?” “Only our grandparents knew.” There’s nowhere to go and look it up. But I’ve heard them tell stories of rainbows of birds and read in the history books of how Bua was one of the first places foreigners came to clear the once great stands of sandalwood. 

We veered off on a path sloping down into the valley below. I try to remember to look up every now and again from futilely dodging mud holes to take in the scenery. It’s a beautiful place we live. Solo didn’t spend his life in these hills; he doesn’t know it the way he knows Seaqaqa, but he knows it better than any map could ever explain. Every place has a name, never written down. “There was an old settlement here. This is where so and so used to farm. That big tree is where a spirit lives.”

We made our way down to the valley bottom and followed the creek uphill. Because Solo is starting a new plantation, it doesn’t have a well traveled path from this side. It’s nice walking in the creek anyway. It’s cool and shady.

Solo and I are planning to go to the US next year to visit for the holidays. Although it’s more than a year off, he has to plant now in order to be able to harvest in time. It takes anywhere between 8-12 months to harvest dalo (taro root) depending on the species, weather, etc. There is no bank account from which to withdraw. You plant, you harvest, you sell. That’s where money comes from.

Our relationship flourishes when we each make efforts to understand where the other is coming from. I want to support Solo in what he does and I want him to support me. We come from very different places but our love exists in some mixed up place in the middle that no one can really understand. 

Solo jokes with me and says how he never dreamed he’d be taking a white girl to work on the farm with him. I laugh and tell him he lucked out to get a country girl like me, because there’s plenty of fancy girls out there who don’t like to get dirty. He says that I’m right, and we talk again about how funny it is that the world brought us together.

Another reason I wanted to come and help is because his other plantation was poached. And it’s kind of indirectly my fault. One of his cousins harvested all Solo’s kava plants when we were both away. Some of them were very old. When he sold them we hear he got a few thousand dollars, but we’ll never know the exact amount. Kava grows for at least 3 years before you harvest it. The longer it grows the bigger it gets and the more money you make because it’s sold by the kilo. That was going to be the start of Solo’s money to put towards building a house someday.

A large number of young men in the village are jealous/ angry/who knows what, and it’s no secret that it has something to do with me. Some quietly and some not so quietly disowning or turning against Solo. It breaks my heart, but then again they might not be bad “friends” to lose. Solo’s too much a pacifist to demand justice. He says that when someone takes something from him that it’s very hard for him to ask for it back. In some ways I wish I was more like that, not automatically wanting to seek revenge. In others ways, I wish he’d raise a ruckus. May karma right things in time.

We are each others’ support systems against all the village drama, of which I am no longer immune to. I crossed some superficial sweet spot on the integration scale. It’s good in a way. I guess it makes me able to relate just a little bit more to my colleagues/neighbors/family/friends. (Talk about blurred lines…) 

We are not dwelling on it, but keeping on keeping on!

Each of us armed with a cane knife (machete), we begin our laborious mission of taming the wild. I think of the greed behind “manifest destiny” and those whom tamed the American wilds. I think of the idea of “last frontier”. 

Here, making a small clearing in the forest, we will plant and harvest. We will get our crops, but it will take a fight. It has been cleared before. Solo points to the old yavu, terraced foundations for houses.  It is hard to imagine the land ever being clear as my muscles start to burn from the constant swinging of my machete. It reminds me of swinging an ax. Maybe Solo can read my mind because he asks me to tell a story about the trail work I used to do in America.

We work for two hours. Solo could go all day, but he’s being nice to me. I’m out of shape for manual labor. I have blisters on my hands and a painful bee sting on my face. With the clearing he did the day before, and our work today, he’ll be able to plant 500 dalo. If he’s lucky he can get $1000. Next he’ll have to find dalo tops to plant and then turn the soil by hand.

We’re both drenched in sweat and covered in debris. We grab our empty water bottle and trudge our way back to the creek. It’s at least 20 degrees cooler under the shade of the ancient grove of ivi trees. There is a swimming hole, cold and clean. We jump in and relax on the submerged boulders. I am spent. I am in awe of place and person.