Staying Young

Friday night we decided to go to Betham Cottage that the woman had told us about earlier that day. We took a public bus to Rakiraki where we had planned to take taxis to the Ellington Warf. But since the bus driver had run his last route of the day he offered to take us to the Warf for cheaper than we could go by taxi. Being the only passengers on board, our transport turned into a party bus as we danced and sang to a random mix of 90s American pop, Island Reggae, and hip hop.

When we reached the Warf it was dark, raining heavily, and the boats that were supposed to meet us were nowhere in sight. We huddled together trying to shield each other from the rain. Finally, a slender Fijian man engulfed by a yellow plastic fisherman’s coat pulled into the bank on a small motorboat. He was followed by Rob, the six year-old New Zealand hostel manager I had spoken with on the phone. He was also wearing a yellow coat which just covered soaked gray sweat shorts. Rob’s boat was even smaller than the first and fit only Piper, Heather, David, and I. We were offered yellow coats to share and the boats pushed off into the choppy sea. Our boat made painfully slow progress as the motor whined and spat and started over the waves. Rob made small talk and randomly stated that he knew where we were going. He stopped every so often, attempting to pull something out of the engine. In the middle of at forced conversation about Fiji travel, Rob made an announcement, “I have a weak bladder. I just going to slow down the boat and point myself over the edge if you don’t mind.” David squeezed my leg to keep from laughing as Rob turned around and started to whistle.

We were met at the beach by two Fijian women who directed us to wash our feet, showed us our rooms, and made us dinner. We spent Saturday at the resort sunbathing, swimming, and gazing at fish.

By Saturday night we were back in Tavua and a group of us attended the first birthday of our friend Susana’s daughter. It was an elaborate gathering of at least 150 people, festive mats, multi-colored decorations, balloons, noise-makers, and a huge feast. We sat cross-legged on the mat and ate until the kids came over and got Tori, David, Sara, Natalie, and Bre to dance with them. The women pushed them towards the middle of the mat and they soon became the sole form of entertainment for the night.

Maria and I slipped out with one of the nurses from the hospital who invited us to drink kava at her cousin’s house. I sat next to a gray-hair round Fijian man who kept teasing one of the younger men about his wife. When I asked him what the banter was over he exclaimed, “I’m always funny. That’s why I’m young”. He proceeded to tell me about his life. He had never went to school past the 6th grade because he had to cut sugar cane to support his family of 5 younger siblings and parents who unable to work. He told me he was smart and learned construction and hunting and fishing through observing. He had helped build the fruit market in the center of town. He remembers well the days of colonialism and exploitation. He talked of more recent things and ended his story with some joke about birds or women that I didn’t understand.