Kava

Like in Provo everything shuts down in Suva (the capital) on Sunday. Unlike Provo, there is loud evangelical music bursting from churches that poka dot the city. With no work to do, David and I decide to take a bus to the beach. We knew there were tourist destinations in Navua, so we had the bus drop us off on the bridge by that town, and started walking in the direction of the sea. We barely reached town when we were flagged down by a round, friendly, barefoot man. He asked where were we going and informed us that there weren’t any nice beaches in that part. I think he felt bad for us, so he welcomed us inside and gave us a some kava (traditional drink made of root crop). He caught us a cab to Pacific Harbor and found us a beautiful beach.

As we were exploring, we ran into a group of extremely friendly Fijian men. They were from a settlement nearby and had come to the beach to smoke herbs and relax after church. They asked us our names and I practiced my newly forming Fijian on them. Minutes later our new best friends were ushering us into their home. We sat on a mat with their family and they fed us root plants and corn beef wrapped in leaves. They also offered us Kava which we drank for hours as we told each other about our family and our lives. They were interested to hear about the customs in Uganda, a country they had heard little of expect for the infamous Idi Amin. I also devulged my entire relationship history to the women while my mouth grew numb. David sat with the head of the house laughing about something.

--- When you drink kava there are rules about claping, saying "Bula! (life)", drinking it in one go, and returning the cup, saying "vinaka (thank you)", and clapping again. The kava is passed in a circle until it is finished.

There were tons of kids playing around and periodically they would muster the English to ask me a question and giggle as I tried to respond in Fijian. When the bowls of kava were finally finished, the children sang us some songs and we said our goodbyes. They pleaded for us to come back and visit again, and then they would cook us a real feast.

One of the men walked us to the bus stage and waited with us for about 45 minutes. He explained that him and his cousins, whom we had met, made their money from growing and selling “relaxing herbs”. He explained the intricacies of the business. He also taught us about Rugby, the most popular sport here, and boasted of his club team’s resent wins.