CRUISING - VOYAGES OF SUGAR BLUES

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  Tonga II 

  I Got My Sevusevu
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  Vulavula Sulu

  Rotuma - A Split
  Island

Tonga II

by Harry and Mary Abbott

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A heavy rain squall blotted out every channel marker as we lined up for the final approach into Tongatapu. Mother Nature certainly has an odd sense of humor. Perhaps she's English, I thought.

On the way home one day we were caught in our first and only Tongan hustle. Three ladies sitting near the tourist information center engaged us in friendly conversation and then gave us welcoming shell leis. A few minutes later it was mentioned that we could make a "donation" if we wanted. I certainly hope this approach doesn't reach up to Vava'u.

The Ha'amonga'a Maui

You can't miss the cemeteries in Tonga. Brilliant flowers, ribbons and tapestries decorate the mounded coral sand and white grave stones. Religion and death are two things that take up a great deal of a Tongan's thoughts and energy. In his satirical book, "Tales of the Tikongs," Epeu Hau'ofa writes, "Tongans work so hard on Sunday at being religious that they have to rest the other six days."

As for death, the most obvious manifestation is the wearing of black. In 1965, the beloved queen, Salote Tupou, died. The country's one newspaper went to a heavy black edge. No tapa was to be made, no guitars played, no dances held. Only funeral dirges were heard on the radio, and the entire country wore black. All of this went on for six months.

We checked out and made our first days run, two miles. Perfect, hate those overnighters. Robert and Gerry live on Pangaimotu. They have been there for four of their eleven years in Tonga. In only the last few years they sold their Nicol trimaran and have started a wing masted state-of-the-art looking tri under their shed. Robert's stories about supply and shipping and lost parts could make one article alone. The boat is especially designed for handicapped sailing as Robert lost a leg in a motorcycle accident five years ago. Not daunted a bit by this, he has just about got his boat ready to launch in only two years time.

A seventy-five mile overnighter found us in Nomuka island in the central Ha'apai group. Low lying like the Tuamotus with plenty of outlying reefs made this an unpopular place in the past. Like everywhere, GPS has changed all that. There still are memories of "the good old days" around. We spent an afternoon snorkeling in and out of the engine room on one of them.

Mary baby sits while a basket is made for her.

We managed to average 9.5 K on the close reach to Ha'afeva. Beautiful clear water and sandy beaches brought eight boats to the anchorage. Oh, well, the next island, Uoleva, was really our favorite, no people, only pigs and a fifteen foot sandy anchorage. As the anchorage came into view three hours later, I saw ten boats, two houses on shore, plus some backpackers' tents. What a change in only six months. All the boats were invited to a "Tongan feast" later that night which more than made up for any "progress" that had been made. An entire washtub of lobster sat on the table.

A $5 feast ($2.50 US) at Uvole Island

Seven miles away lies the village of Pangai on Lifuka Island. We moved over and found we had arrived just at the beginning of the Ha'apai Festival. For one week beautiful downtown Pangai is closed and entertainment such as dancing and crafts is displayed. The average person might not notice the shutdown but they could not help but notice the enthusiastic nature with which everyone enters into the holiday. All the yachties were guests of honor and got to sit up front. There was basket making competition, coconut husking, fire making, and most important, the young ladies who were vying for the honor of Miss Ha'apai 1994. We first saw them parade traditional wedding ensembles. They were covered with beautiful ta'ovalas woven from pandanus leaves. Over their breasts the mats were neatly rolled and folded so thickly that the girls all had to hold them up. They looked like an island version of the Michelin Man. Shells and flowers and a skin gleaming with coconut oil completed the outfit. Later that night we saw them in the 'Tau'olunga' competition. This is a solo dance. Each young lady had her own live music. Except for late at night when the pastors are likely to be asleep, the dancing in Tonga is very subdued. The women's feet move little, the hips less, but the grace and charm that they manage with what's left will hypnotize you.

The Miss Ha'apai wedding dress competition   Island beauty's compete

After a few more days of fresh bread and celebration, we left in the company of "Tevake" and "Ariadne" for Ha'ano, a quiet but roadstead anchorage in mostly coral. We all had just settled in when Henry comes knocking to cause trouble. "The weatherman is reporting a very strong front on its way with possible 30 K plus nor' easters." Thanks, Henry! We decide to leave early morning for the 80 mile run up to Vava'u. The others, much to their later regret, decide to stay. Within an hour and a half we had gone from one reef to two reefs and no main to a few rolls in the jib and still averaged over eight knots. Well before dark we dropped the hook in Port Maurelle, probably the most protected anchorage in Vava'u. Just before o'dark thirty in the morning, all hell broke loose. Within 30 seconds the wind switched 180 degrees and was blowing 30 plus. The next day it lightened but stayed west to northwest giving us a lee shore and a bumpy night.

Meanwhile, back at Ha'ano, "Tevake" and "Ariadne" were both hammered. They were left stern to the shallow coral reef and were both lucky to claw their way offshore. Henry was forced to dump his fouled anchor gear and run.

As we motored the few miles into Neiafu we passed the "Fairseas" just beginning to disgorge the first of 1500 Aussies. By the time we hit town, the band and newly erected crafts market were both in full swing. Although prices sometimes jump a bit, the quantity of art work available more than makes up for it. As we walked back to the boat, I passed an old man sitting on the side of the road. He had a carving of a pig and a few shells in front of him. "Malo e leilei," I said. He smiled and said "Malo" and as we went on our way I would be haunted by that face for the next week.

We had brought with us a pile of kids clothes from New Zealand plus pencils and notebooks for the school out at Hunga Island. We visited with Telesia who in the six months we were gone had gotten pregnant and married (maybe not in that order). I traded all the school supplies in on a language lesson at the school and we were off to Aisea's feast. As the tide was low, first we had to wait for an ordinary boat, because his thing that sticks down from the bottom of the boat had gotten stuck on the bottom of the ocean. Unfortunately, it was right in the middle of the narrow (and shallow) channel.

We gave Aisea a big stainless steel pot that we had picked up in En Zed and immediately he returned gift for gift with a large and intricately woven carrying basket. It surely took some machine less than two minutes to stamp out the pot, while Aisea's wife probably worked a week on the basket. There is no value placed on time when it comes to giving. The word for gift is me'aofa, or "a thing of love." They mean it, too.

The complexities of the Polynesian language are not lost on me. Sometimes, it seems the more I learn, the more confused I get. I try to be careful as a word here may not have the same meaning there. A perfect example sailed in, "Kai Manu" from Honolulu. I didn't even need a dictionary: Sea Bird. Kai was the same in Marquesan and Manu or a variation the same in Tahitian and elsewhere. However...by the time the third or forth canoe had told him, "Oh, very bad name," the owner was getting alarmed. In Tongan, kai was eat and manupuna was bird, manu by itself meaning animal or beast. "Eat beast" was bad enough but finally someone confessed that beast was slang in this case for female genitalia. In an overly religious country like Tonga, "Eat pussy" was not an appreciated boat name.

Only one thing remained, a bit of left over business from last year. I had meant to look up Johnny Moa. Johnny had carved two sandalwood table legs for "Antigone" back in '77. We had become friends and he introduced me to kava at his sister's house after church one Sunday. Mary and I left the dinghy on the point and walked up the muddy hillside into the village of 'Utulei. A new block church stood in place of the old ramshackle wooden one of '77. I can still remember sitting inside looking down through cracks in the floor at pigs rooting around while the hellfire and brimstone preacher alternately yelled and cried. Being Sunday, voices in harmony came from the new church and carried down the hillside.

A woman babysitting bored children outside the church kindly pointed to a small house right next door. I knocked and quietly said, "Johnny?" Through the open door I could see a carved pig sitting on the table. The old man from the market the week before came smiling to the door, his full head of white hair shining in the light. Sixteen years had dulled both our memories but a few words and he remembered "Antigone" and the kids. I was sorry to learn that his sister had died of cancer, but happy to learn that last year he, a confirmed bachelor, had finally at the age of 65 married a young lady of 30.

When I said goodbye to Johnnie, it was like the end of a chapter. It was like the last of the past that I wanted to meet face to face. I thought of the eulogy for Queen Salote, "To ae la'a o Tonga" or the sun of Tonga has set. I felt a bit like that. There still is a great deal to see in the Pacific, so much to explore in our next port of call alone. Three days later we sailed west for Fiji. In our wake the Kingdom of Tonga held both new and old memories, the last being that of a silvery head of hair held aloft by a quiet proud man rowing away in a canoe. I think I'm going to miss Tonga.

Flat sailing inside the Vava'u group