An Experience in Fiji

After a recent divorce, I was definitely at a major turning point, in my young life of thirty years. In early October of 1979, Bruce and I flew fourteen hours to Nandi, Fiji. We had gotten an incredible introductory airfare on Continental airlines for five hundred dollars round trip, with Hawaii included, and good for up to one year. During ’79, Brooke Shields was busy filming The Blue Lagoon in Fiji. She would soon be our neighbor, island-wise. In Nandi airport, the first thing we heard was Bula, Fijian for hello. We’d just stepped off the plane into another world. The warm tropical night air felt so good after the freezing cold of the Pacific Northwest. With Fiji being fifty percent Hindu, it’s not ironic that this town is named after Lord Shiva’s bull, Nandi. Even the capital city of Suva sounds a lot like Shiva to me. But these are just observations of a Hindu mind. Who knows, Fiji might actually blow my mind.
One day in Suva’s marketplace, Bruce and I luckily ran into a very friendly outer island native, named Joe. He offered to take us to his village of Gunu, on the island of Naviti in the Yasawa group. At first, we didn’t believe him. We needed to receive government passes to visit. We were also required, by the government, to take grog or kava, rice, flour, sugar and salt, carrots, bread, jam and peanut butter. That way we wouldn’t be putting pressure on their low-income subsistence village economy. Finally, we were off for a five hour voyage on a twenty-four foot long crowded copra or dried coconut boat, heading towards Joe’s island of Naviti. The total cost was $5.50 each. Cold waves splashed us all day, we were soaking wet and we both got wind and sunburned, with no visible sun in the sky. On this thirty-six mile trip, my fingers actually got numb. This was the first time I’d been cold since leaving the Pacific Northwest. As the waves were splashing me and I was shaking all over, all I could think about was the possibility of a Hindu wife. In the back of my head I could hear my mom saying her mantra, “Oh God, Rob.” Many native friends here had already posed this idea to me. Bruce had a similar idea too- of possibly marrying a Rotuman wife. Rotuma is an island 300 miles north of Fiji and is supposedly noted for the prettiest women and the sweetest fruit in the south Pacific. Now that’s a good one. We had previously met a few Rotumans here. One, named Julian, had become our friend, planting this idea and also suggesting that we should definitely see his beautiful island on our trip. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the marriage thing I mean, as I was already of Hindu mind. I reckoned a nice young East Indian lady would probably make a hip guy like me a great mate. Now I was flipping out over the idea. Then maybe, I could possibly live in Fiji full or part time. This was actually where my head was at, on the rebound from my divorce. And seeing the Rotuman women, and their island, didn’t sound like a bad idea either.
Finally, we saw Naviti looming in the distance. The water here was so blue, splashing up against our waists as we waded ashore. This was a vision Hollywood dreams were made of. No wonder they’re filming The Blue Lagoon here! Where’s the music? This gorgeous tropical scene was blowing me away. I totally forgot how cold I was a few moments ago. Most tourists in Fiji will never see this side of native life, unless they’re invited into it like we were. But there is a price to pay for it too, like the physical aspect. After catching our breath on the beach, we began hiking up five miles of jungle trails, seeing incredible vista views of the other islands in the Yasawa group and numerous white sand beaches scattered in every direction with no tourists- the real Fiji. Soon it got dark on the trail and following Joe was not an easy task. After slipping and sliding in the dark, we met another native who had the most incredible bananas I’ve ever tasted. After his sweet snack, we took a bath in a black saltwater lagoon with lightning flashing overhead. Good God! Where are the dinosaurs? Coconuts were falling in the dark and bananas were scattered everywhere, with a warm wind blowing to beat the band. This bath felt refreshing but I wish it could have been clear water instead of saltwater. By the time we are reached Joe’s village, the moon had risen, casting a luminescence across the most beautiful bay I’d seen yet in Fiji. Already, Bruce and I felt like we were being permitted a view of heaven on earth or at least a totally different culture from our own. Here was a true paradise.
The next day we took our grog/yongona root or kava to Chief Johnny. He performed serious prayers to the gods Mana and Dina or luck and truth, followed by muffled handclaps that ordained us permission to be a part of their village. Then, Johnny thanked us. You must always bring yongona when staying in a Fijian village, to be accepted. In the days that followed, we tasted green coconut milk, wore our first Sulu or wraparound skirt and learned how to weave palm frond baskets with much difficulty. Soon our fishing lessons began in the blue lagoon. The spear guns were basically an inner tube strip combined with a coat hanger. You can imagine how hard it must be to shoot a fish this way! You have to calculate the refractive nature of water too.
Joe has had doctors, scientists, engineers, hippies and God only knows who else stay here in his village of Gunu. Joe is a holy man to me and, physically, he reminded me of Mahavatar Babaji in his former incarnation. Back in 1974, when my wife Jolene and I had taken a pilgrimage to Ecuador, we carried a small book with us titled, Hariakhan Baba –Known, Unknown by Baba Hari Dass. Joe strongly resembled the cover photo of Babaji. Who was this guy, Joe, to give us such an incredible experience? Maybe he was Babaji, unbeknownst to us. Ironically, eight years later when my house burned up, the cover of this book did not burn up!