We're Getting Hitched!

Solo courted me with coconuts, bananas, and play dates in the sea. He took the time to explain the intricacies of village tradition and helped me feel at home. He taught me the Fijian word for the Milky Way and that the moon has a wife. He told me a three hour bedtime story about the history of his clan, including the name of every single third cousin, and how they came to be here. He has a big heart and a certain disregard for the rules. A perfect combination! Together we just have so much damn fun!

It wasn’t until one day when we were riding bareback on his horse down the beach at low tide when I felt the butterflies deep in the pit of my stomach. I had begun to fall for this young man who I was supposed to call “brother”, this coconut cowboy who blatantly defied the tabu placed on my head. I tried so hard to suppress it because I knew there’d be trouble. Alas, I failed, and so we became partners in crime in a pseudo-incestuous, pseudo-secret affair.

Our decision to get married was one initially prompted by Solo looking over at me as we sat together months later on that same beach and him saying out of the blue like it wasn’t a big deal, "I don’t know about you, but I know I could spend my whole life with you."

Deep inside me I tangibly felt a changing of the tides. It was a really big deal! The wall built up around my heart was washing out to sea. I was letting love happen to me.

Later I told Solo that it didn’t feel official, that I wanted him to ask me to marry him. He said, "Like in the movies?!" So I hunted for a local pearl and a local jeweler, and the rest he planned… kinda like in the movies ;)

When we rented a house in Savusavu for Christmas, Solo worked with the caretaker to prepare a romantic dinner on the beach. He hid my ring in a bouquet of flowers he picked and wrapped in tin foil. He was so sweetly nervous as he told me how much he cared about me and asked me to marry him (in English).

Of course I said "Io"! (Yes!) And bawled like a baby.

After dinner I asked him what he'd say in Fijian, and it made it that much more special to hear it in his native tongue. 

I never thought I would get proposed to by a man in a skirt, but I couldn't be happier and can't wait for what's to come in 2014!

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. 

Even Further into the Bush

Since we were busy in the village during my birthday, Solo and I decided to take a little excursion the weekend afterward. We traveled northward five hours by bus to Seaqaqa, the place where he grew up, to visit his Mom, step-father, and sisters.

Seaqaqa location on Vanua Levu

I hadn't taken the bus north out of Nabouwalu since May! They have been making a lot of progress on the road. They are paving the 69km from Nabouwalu to Dreketi, building 14 high-standard bridges, and 240 culverts. This is going to be a major highway for the North. I was trying to calculate how many millions of truckloads of dirt are being moved, but it made my brain hurt!

Moving earth for the new road.

It's going to be a real highway. I can't even imagine it.

 When we got off the bus at Seaqaqa we paid for a truck to take us to the settlement where Solo's family  lives. We were dropped off on the side of a small dirt road in the middle of some fields and trekked a mile into the woods, tottered across log stream crossings with our bags, and finally reached their house in a clearing in the coconut trees. Such a solitary setting was quite a change from our village where we are surrounded by dozens of other households.

Seaqaqa hills.

Solo at the front door.

The house was quaint but it was in a beautiful setting at the base of the foothills. There was no bathroom or shower. We bathed in the river and peed in the yard. Luckily years of working on trail crew didn't even make me blink an eye about this. We did a small sevusevu, relaxed, went running with some of Solo's cousin-brothers and met lots of extended family and friends around the grog bowl.

On Sunday we walked the mile to the local Methodist church. We sat on the floor and a nice lady let me share her hymnal so I could join in the singing. The preacher thanked Solo for returning to where he grew up. It was kind of a big deal in the Fijian tradition of taking me to be properly introduced to his family. Solo was born in our village and is part of the landowning clan there, but he was brought up my his grandmother and Mom in Seaqaqa. His Mom just got remarried last year. She comes to visit in the village every so often. 

Walking to church.

Nadogo Methodist church.

Solo's little sis, Sia, at church.

On the way to church Solo's Step-dad, Mo Peipei, entertained me with large insects! If you catch a kakalu (cicada) and trap it in your hands, it will cry and others will come flocking to you.

My new uncle with a swarm of cicadas on his back.

Closeup of the kakalu, or cicada.

Dead cicada "shells".

 Solo tried to explain the cicada life cycle to me in Fijian, but I was uncertain, so I looked it up. So neat that he knew all about it without ever having learned it in a science class at school.

Cicada life cycle. ( http://www.massaudubon.org/Nature_Connection/wildlife/index.php?subject=Insects&id=4 )

They have a resident chicken who just showed up one day out of the bush and decided to make herself at home. She comes inside everyday and lays eggs on the bed. There are no boy chickens around. They just got super lucky and named her "Lady".

Solo and "Lady" :)

The mini-trip was great. It was nice to share something kind of special with Solo. We didn't end up being able to get his birth certificate and the local school has no record of him ever attending, but we didn't let that get us down for more than a few minutes. We got a new birth certificate in town and applied for his passport in Savusavu where I spent a few days working. As for school, we're still working on that...

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.