Life in the Ring of Fire Part 58: Dante's Inferno Revisited

This week's Tautu language word is “bemblen.” It means “a little bit.”

One of my favorite things about Vanuatu is the strange meld of modern technology and western culture with 3000 year old customs, technologies, and traditions. For example, a hut made of woven bamboo and natangora thatch, building materials that have been used in basically the same way for thousands of years, housing a five foot long sub woofer and a speaker setup that would be the envy of a hip-hop club in California. Or a picture of the vice President, done up in an expensive business suit, using a wooden club to beat a pig to death (better watch the pig's blood splatter on that one). Or the guy that boards the plane to Vila with a live chicken and bow and arrow as carry-on. Or the group in Southwest Bay that, in response to an archeologist's find suggesting that Ni-Vanuatu were originally from Taiwan, wrote a letter in to the newspaper politely explaining that, while some Ni-Vanuatu may have indeed come from Taiwan, they were in fact begotten by Kabat, the rock-god (rock in the geologic sense, not the musical genre, although that would actually be a lot funnier), and inviting the archaeologist to come to Southwest Bay so that he might see for himself the truth of this. Or the representatives to the national council of chiefs that showed up to the national assembly wearing only penis sheathes. Or, my personal favorite, the guy who was accused, charged, tried in court, convicted and imprisoned for making it rain during a festival.

I had my own such moment on Wednesday evening when I got a call from my host-uncle asking if I could come to Norsup to help him with a computer issue. My host uncle, Jonasi, is what passes for a computer geek in Vanuatu, meaning that he understands that computers require electricity to operate (in all seriousness, some people can not quite grasp this concept. I'm involved in a computer project that's selling refurbished computers from the US to people and organizations here in Vanuatu for a very low price, and I continually get orders from people from remote villages in the middle of the bush who I know have no electricity to speak of, and I'm always having to explain that the computer that they're purchasing will not work unless hooked up to a generator. What's even better though is the people who tell me that they understand their computer won't be able to be turned on, they just want it as a decoration). Actually, Jonasi is pretty computer savvy, especially considering Tautu has only had electricity for about five years. He can take apart and reassemble computers, for example, and understands what an operating system is and how to install one, both fairly advanced skills, even in the US. At any rate, he makes a bit of money fixing computers for people who, for some reason, happen to have them (usually the reason is to play solitaire). He's taken to calling me whenever he gets stumped, however, and I usually go help him out because Vanuatu is almost entirely a favor-based economy and I've found that generally the more people that feel like they owe me favors, the easier it is to get things done. I rode up to Norsup and ducked inside a little concrete and tin shack and felt like I'd just walked into some gear-head's basement in the US. Every available surface was covered in computer parts. There were a couple tables covered with computers in various stages of assembly, some running with their cases open and IDE cables snaking out of them to attach to hard drives and CD drives sitting on stacks of newspapers. The floor was covered with cables, circuit boards and unused drives. I was stunned. I'd never felt more at home anywhere else in Vanuatu. I was introduced to the owner for the computer shack, who'd hired Jonasi to help him resolve some computer issues. He explained to me that the building I was in was actually his internet cafe which, due to some technical difficulties, had not had internet access for many months. Fortunately, internet cafes in Vanuatu generally don't make their money by providing internet access, but rather by copying and selling bootleg DVDs, printing documents, fliers, and digital photos, and uploading new ring tones to people's cell phones. He and Jonasi were trying to install Windows on a new hard drive, but were having some difficulties. The problem ended up being fairly simple, and I fixed it quickly, but I stayed around to supervise the install because it was mentioned that kava would probably be involved. About twenty feet outside the internet cafe is a bamboo and natangora nakamal, and once they finished making their kava, the three of us had a few shells while we waited for the install to finish. A woman from Norsup came by a little after the nakamal opened and dropped off a covered tray of food to be sold along with the kava. I watched as the cloth covering the dish was removed to reveal about fifteen enormous lobsters. “How much are those?” I asked in disbelief. “Hundred vatu for one,” replied the woman. About a dollar. I bought two. Holding a lobster in each hand, and enjoying the effects of kava, I followed Jonasi and the internet cafe owner back inside his computer shack and the three of us watched the install progress. Since we were surrounded by so many computer parts, and since were probably the three most knowledgeable people on the island about computers, it was inevitable that we started talking shop. And so there I was, drinking a traditional tribal beverage derived from the root of a pepper plant out of a coconut shell, munching on fresh-caught lobster, and discussing motherboards, BIOS settings, boot orders, operating systems, LiveCDs, and how to circumvent activation codes. It was a strange night.

Thursday, Laura and I were planning on heading down to Lemap, on the southern tip of the island, and then chartering a speedboat to go to the Maskelynes, a group of islands off the southern coast of Malekula known for their excellent snorkeling. A volunteer stationed in the Maskelynes, Ben, was finishing his service and so was having a going away party. However, it had rained heavily the previous night and I was skeptical that we'd be able to get a truck down. There's a large river about an hour's drive south of Lakatoro that's shallow enough for a truck to drive through when the weather's been dry, but after any kind of significant rain, it becomes impassable (keep in mind that Vanuatu gets A LOT of rain, so the river is impassable for about six months out of the year, effectively cutting Malekula in half. Since the commercial center is in Lakatoro, anyone from the southern half of the island who wants to conduct business – sell copra, kava, cocoa, etc, is unable to do so for half the year. Although it's trendy now among international donors to provide millions of dollars in funding for things like bio fuels, they're hesitant to invest the ten grand or so it would take to build a decent bridge across the river which, although not exactly a “sustainable” project, would be a big step towards increasing the amount of revenue coming out of the island). Sure enough, after my class on Thursday Laura showed up at the school to inform me that none of the trucks from Lemap had been able to cross the river. Then a mischievous smile lit up her face as she told me that we would be taking the Moiaka the Lemap. Yes, the Moiaka, the hell-boat responsible for the worst 48 hours of my life spent in route to Vila several months before. “You've got to be freaking kidding me,” I said.

It actually wasn't nearly as bad as before. We knew what we were in for and thus could prepare accordingly. We packed plenty of snacks, so as not to be reliant on the measly plates of rice we knew the ship would be providing. I also made sure to bring my fleece, knowing it would be cold on the boat once the sun went down. Most importantly, however, we brought a couple bottles of wine to alleviate what we knew would be a soul-crushingly boring 12 hour start-and-stop journey down the coast of Malekula. Also, they'd cleaned the bathroom since we were last on the ship, which was a definite plus. I'll re-iterate: I still don't know how ships can make any money. They've got to be using more money on fuel burned by stopping and idling every thirty feet than they're taking in to transport a single watermelon to Vila. A few glasses of wine later, however, and I decided that such time and fuel budgeting problems were quite happily somebody else's, and I actually kind of enjoyed the journey. We arrived in Lemap around midnight and made our way to Jack's (a volunteer from my group based in Lemap) house. Surprisingly, he was still awake and got out mattresses for us to sleep on. After a short session of complaining about how difficult it is to teach Ni-Van kids, we all went to sleep.

The next day as we were waiting for the boat to go the Maskelynes, we wandered around Lemap. Lemap was a French controlled village which means that it's attractively laid out and not covered with garbage (not sure how the French pulled it off, but, even twenty years after leaving, all the areas that were controlled by them are still kept immaculately clean). Lemap is also known for being overcast and getting a lot of rain, which was actually awesome because it meant it was about ten degrees cooler than Lakatoro, which had become unbearably hot. I was even almost cold at night. Probably the most distinctive fact about Lemap, however, is that it's completely covered with pigs. There are pigs everywhere. Literally, everywhere. I probably tripped over pigs three or four times while walking around. Despite their lousy reputation, pigs are probably the most pleasant animal to live in close quarters with. Unlike their wild brethren, domesticated pigs are very friendly and quite harmless. They don't bark insanely like dogs, or crow at odd hours of the night like roosters, or try to peck you to death like hens, or leave giant piles of poop all over the place like cows. Plus, they eat almost anything and so are great for keeping a place nice and clean. Also, they're probably the most delicious animal. I'm seriously considering taking up pig farming after Peace Corps. Pigs are awesome. At any rate, Jack ordered us a pig to take over to the Maskelynes, which was delivered to us a few hours later, tied up in a rice sack. We met up with Julie, Chris, and Noah, volunteers form the south also heading down for the party. While motoring along in the speedboat, Jack let out a fishing line and, about five minutes later, was wrestling with a large tuna. After a bit of a struggle, he hauled it into the boat and our Ni-Van captain drove a pocket knife into its brain. It was probably about two and a half to three feet long and looked like it would make excellent sushi. We arrived in the Maskelynes in the late afternoon and lounged around until evening, when the festivities were set to begin. Although not that much to look at, the small island we were on did boast an excellent climate: a strong breeze worked its way through the village the whole time we were there and kept the temperature decidedly pleasant.

That night, the seven of us volunteers and Ben's village gathered around a trash can full of kava, which disappeared surprisingly quickly. We listened to a number of speeches given by various people in the village while eating lap-lap and then headed of sleep. The next day, I was fairly devastated to discover that the tuna we'd caught was an albacore, and thus wouldn't make good sushi. Thus, we surrendered it to Ben's host family to put in a curry. I was expecting mediocre results, because, when Ni-Vans make soup, they generally start with a bland, flavorless broth, add some small bits of overcooked meat or fish and then top it off with some slimy island cabbage served on a disproportionately large mountain of rice. However, I was surprised to find that Ben's host family were particularly good cooks and we were presented with steaming, reasonable portions of rice topped with satisfyingly large hunks of tuna covered in a nice curry sauce. It was very good. After lunch, we piled into a fiberglass canoe to check out the snorkeling. The Lonely Planet, the only guidebook that covers Vanuatu, raves about the snorkeling in the Maskelynes. I guess we should have anticipated that a lot of it was hype, as it also talks up, for example, the excellent cuisine options in Lakatoro (where there are exactly zero restaurants). It actually seemed like it might have once been a pretty spectacular sight, but the sad fact was that about half of their reef was dead and the rest was dying. I'm not a marine biologist, so I don't know what's generally responsible for killing coral. They don't exactly get a lot of large boat traffic in the Maskelynes, so pollution doesn't really seem particularly likely, although if the village was dumping their waste into the ocean from shore, I guess that might do the trick. Or maybe climate change is responsible, or some sort of coral disease (is there such a thing?), or maybe it was all the crown-of-thorns that I noticed, which I think kill coral, I don't know. Whatever the reason, the brilliant blues, greens, pinks, and yellows of the reef were too often interrupted by large patches of lifeless gray. I wondered how long it had taken for that much of the reef to die and how long it would be until the rest of the reef went with it.

We returned to shore to see our pig being butchered and dressed by Ben's host family in preparation for dinner. After the pig was cleaned and de-furred, Chris miraculously produced a bottle of Stubb's BBQ rub which he'd brought back from the States a few months before. I was particularly shocked by this because Chris isn't even from Texas. I guess it's possible, although unlikely, for people from other states of have good taste in BBQ as well. I was elected the resident meat expert and given task of seasoning the meat for roasting. I instructed Ben's host brother to make some lacerations in the pig's skin to expose the meat, and into these I rubbed the spice mixture. I wasn't entirely sure the rub would take, as I'd never had to season a whole pig (skin and all) before. When this was done, Ben's family got a fire going and cut wood to fashion a spit. They dug two y-shaped branches into the ground on either side of the fire, drove a long stick through the pig, and rested it in the nooks of the y-branches to cook. It turned out quite good (of course it did, pigs are awesome, see above), with the rub actually adding a nice touch to the meat. Chris also produced a tube of spicy mustard, which we applied liberally. In a country where meat is considered a delicacy, not a routine part of a meal, the pleasure of stuffing oneself with nothing but meat is truly unbeatable. I went to sleep happy that night.