CRUISING - VOYAGES OF SUGAR BLUES

Cruising Home 

H&M's 2001 Adventure 

Voyages of Sugar Blues

  Sugar Blues 

  Flowers in the lagoon   

  Aitutaki - Maybe this
  time 

  Niue and Tonga  

  Godzone - Life in 
  the left lane...  

  Tonga II 

  I Got My Sevusevu
  in Savusavu in my
  Vulavula Sulu

  Rotuma - A Split
  Island

Rotuma - A Split Island

by Harry and Mary Abbott

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The anchor splashed through six feet of crystal water into manicured white sand. The first fly landed. Green palms whose tops bent with the freshening easterlies formed a background with sand slowly rising from the sea forming a pristine beach. Three of his cousins arrived. Off to starboard bold, black buttresses of lava poured out from breaks in the tree lined shore. A new arrival landed on my nose. Crew from the Suva based "Golea" watched as the plow buried itself and the rare visitors to Rotuma surveyed with mixed feelings the beauty surrounding them. The inside of the cabin filled with a kazillion uninvited guests. Welcome to Rotuma.

Rotuma anchorage

Two days and 325 miles ago we had sailed from what had proved to be our favorite Fijian anchorage, both last season and this. Qelelevu (Nggelelevu if that's easier) is a small island inside a five by ten mile atoll. Snug in five feet of water, protected from the trades by a sandspit, we stayed ten days enjoying the hospitality of our island hosts, all three of them. Not to be daunted by lack of numbers, they fed us toa (chicken), ika (fish), uga vule (coconut crabs) and urau (lobster) at least every other day. It was with many isa moces (regretful goodbyes) that we sailed on.

Sugar Blues at  anchor of Rotuma

We had read the only two books on Rotuma at the Suva public library so when we left Fiji we were armed with a small vocabulary and were prepared for an overabundance of both flies and friendliness.

Rotuma, 17 square miles of rich, black volcanic soil, is 300 miles north of Fiji, lying near the intersection of Polynesia, Micronesia and Melanesia. Since 1881 it has been politically part of Fiji. The very uniqueness of its isolation is the reason for its few visitors. For 14 years there has been an airport but no hotels. As for yachts, it is necessary to go to Suva for permission to visit, sail 450 miles mostly down wind into the heart of the unstable ITCZ (InterTropical Convergence Zone) and then sail 350 miles to weather to go back to Lautoka in Fiji to check out. Only a real lolo brain would do this.... Ah, yes, I was afraid you might ask that.

Rotuma beach scene.

Half a dozen young boys yelled noa'ia (hello) and helped us with the dinghy. We thumbed down the first truck and set off on the narrow perimeter road for the Government Station hoping to find a policeman. We had the luck to be picked up by Mac, a retired banker from Suva. From sea we had mistaken his new house for a hotel under construction because it was so huge. None of this lessened his typical Rotuman friendliness and soon he had us at the air strip where one of the twice weekly flights was expected. As he had guessed, Hare the cop was there. Hare looked at our permission paper from Fijian Affairs and said, "Welcome, let me know what I can do for you" By the second day this would include coming to stay over night and watching videos at his house. As it turns out, the paper was very important. Two weeks before, a yacht stopped after checking out of Fiji on its way to Tuvalu. Since Rotuma is not a port of entry, the officials mailed the two people's passports back to Lautoka, where they were obligated to go to fetch them. Their small unimaran only made it at the last due to an out of the ordinary wind shift.

Mac's House which looked like  a hotel from sea.

As most of the island's 58 trucks were here at the airport and going nowhere, we thought we might as well wait for Mac to pick up his cargo. A hundred locals were waiting as well for the plane but as Sunflower Airlines (No, I didn't make this up) runs on Fijian time, one arrives early and usually stays late. We sat on the grass with a group playing uke and guitars and singing. Twice impromptu dancing erupted resulting in something between a Hawaiian hula and a slow Tahitian tamure, graceful and definitely more Polynesian and sensual than Fijian. 
As I sat, I examined the melting pot around me. Here a face reflected Tongan, another Samoan or even Tahitian. Across from me the uke player with his long pony tail and flower lei could have been Hawaiian. A look of Chinese clouds some identities even further. Definitely a good looking people. Here, like Tonga and Samoa, an over abundance of cellulite is not frowned upon, especially in women, and is in fact definitely related to beauty. With this in mind, it has been said that after the age of 15, Rotuman girls become more beautiful daily. I couldn't say if this is true or not but at the airport, there were girls both beautiful in facial features and tonnage. 

We hitched down to see the District Officer (D.O.) the next day and he was amazed. "You're the first yacht to come here with permission" We were given some of the famous Rotuman oranges and a bag of papaws before we could catch a ride back. Now, about the road..... I would say it rates just under the flies. Prime Minister Rabuka came a month ago for his first visit. After just one trip around the island he ordered brand new road equipment shipped in. Construction starts in a few weeks, Rotuman time. Work on the airstrip and an extension to the wharf are also scheduled. A new satellite phone system has been operating for two months now. In another few months phones will be in place all around the island. In the meantime the one technician is trying to figure out why I can't call home. So much for technology. Progress is coming to Rotuma. Let's just hope they don't get American TV.

THE road!

The next day was memorable. Our lift dropped us off at the main village in Noa'tau, one of the seven districts into which the island is divided. It just happened to be in front of the Gagaj 'es itu'u (district chief) who in this case was also the Gagaj Maraf, the paramount chief. He had us in for a cold drink and to meet his new Rotuman wife who had just returned to the island after 30 years in Christchurch. He and I jumped in the cab of his pickup. "Women in the back. Rotuman custom," he said. Off we went to find the Morris family. Don and Barbara of "Cream of the Great Lakes," a Brown 40, told us to look up Etuate Morris and his family when we got here. Etuate's daughter, Lois, had answered a letter in a bottle that "Cream" had thrown over in the Galapagos almost two years before. We met the entire family that day, and when Etuate dropped in to visit a few days later, we would learn a great deal about a quiet revolution in Rotuma, Independence.

Mat making starts young Mat making

Off again on our trek to stay with Hare, the Lonesome Policeman. His wife was away in Suva for a public health nurse course, and his children were with their grand parents in Savusavu. He's an interesting fellow, born in Rotuma, his wife a Scots/German/Samoan/Tongan woman. He learned Hindi in Suva by attending primary school with the little children before his course in Calcutta, so now he can interview Indian detainees without an interpreter. (But with typical government planning, he has been posted back here to Rotuma, where there are only two Indians.) We were picked up by Enasio, the brand new and very young island doctor. "Enasio what?" we ask. "Morris." Oh, geeze.

As soon as we arrive at the Government Station, Hare informs us that we're in luck. We don't have to eat his cooking. A big do is planned to thank the twenty or so Fijian Public Works guys who have been here for five months painting and repairing. An entire cow was cooked and eaten and the grog flowed. Rotuman kava only comes in the same quantity as the flies, to the max. Everything here grows big so naturally the coconut shell bilo, or bowl, is huge. No half tides either; it only comes full to the brim. And most important for the beginning kava drinker, it's two or three times more powerful than in Fiji. After three bowls my teeth were numb and my ears were buzzing so I called "Kenai oti oti" (last one) and was glad I could still remember that in Fijian. After dinner and speeches, Hare dragged us home to watch a new video he had rented, Lassie. We both had to stifle a laugh when part way through, Hare hesitantly asked, "Is this about a DOG?" I think he was confusing it with "Rin Tin Tin Does Dallas."

Three times during the night the guys in the next room were snoring so loudly that Mary told me to roll over. Each time the sound of the i vutu could still be heard crushing yaqona for another bowl of grog. I did notice that by two in the morning the tempo had slowed considerably.

Never on Sunday

According to Rotuman legend, Raho was the first god to discover the island. He tied a palm frond around a Fisi tree to mark his claim. Along comes Tokainiua, a crafty old Samoan chief who sees Raho's leaf and ties a dry one around the same tree. When Raho came, the two argued, Tokainiua saying he was obviously here first as his leaf was drier. Raho was so P.O.ed he ripped the island to bits, creating the other three surrounding islands. In fact, for the skilled swimmer and the very adventurous, Raho's grave can be seen out on Hatana, about three miles off shore. (Don't bother to take a camera. The spirits will insure the film is blank.) I only mention this because in 1982, just after the Fijian coup, a man named Henry Gibson took the name of Sau Lagfatmaro, sau being king. He and his followers claim Gagaj Sau Lagfatmaro arrived prior to the legendary Raho. Professor H.F.R. Gibson, grand master of Eastern and oriental martial arts, science, religion and philosophy (quote/unquote) decided that no one had ever asked, back in 1970 when Fiji became independent, if Rotuma wanted to remain aligned or not. Therefore now was as good a time as any to break away. Depending on who you ask, the number of sympathizers varies from five to fifty percent of the island's population. The 8,000 Rotumans living in Fiji remain to be polled. Anyway the whole thing has definitely created bad vibes with Henry now in New Zealand afraid to come back. The main argument for independence is that the island could then apply for aid to New Zealand and Australia.

It's been an exciting day. First, last Saturday's delayed flight arrived and then the cargo ship, the "Kaunitoni" docked for its monthly stop. Just in time too, as kerosene, diesel and washing soap are already out of stock. This is a bigger complaint than the roads. Raho, the second major cooperative established on the island and the only one still in business, is not well run and just cannot cope with supply and demand. RCA (Rotuma Cooperative Association) was the first co-op on the island, started in the 50s. It prospered under the tight control of Wilson Inia, Rotuma's first senator. It was hard going at first as Burns Phillip (B.P.) and Morris Hedstrom (M.H.) had divided the island up and left no room for new upstarts. Once, way back before the current wharf, B.P. and M.H. who controlled all the island's transportation, refused to lease a truck to RCA when their supplies arrived and RCA was forced to roll 50 gallon drums of gas and diesel over ten miles to their shop. Such acts did the big companies no good and probably contributed heavily to their demise.

Besides the Co-op there are dozens of small shops around the island. A great many more have come and gone thanks to an island custom Fijians call kerikeri. Literally it means request, but culturally, it means, if you've got it, it would be impolite not to "lend" some to me. We're talking impolite to the point of being ostracized from the community. Among families it's very important as a way of providing for those in need. For a store, however, it doesn't work out so well, and soon it's belly up.

Rest stop on a convenient perch

Yachts practically anywhere in the Pacific have at one time or another felt the kerikeri ouch, such as requests for fishhooks or line. Henry on "Ariadne" had a chief in the Yasawas of Fiji try to kerikeri his wind generator.

A typical day in Rotuma: "Come to the airstrip. Maraf has to be a senator in Suva for a week." Well, sure, what's one more bouncy ride? Beautifully dressed people, sad goodbyes, then, "Sorry, two hour arrival delay." Groans all around. Our legs couldn't take any more cross-legged mat sitting, so we went for a walk. Forty-five minutes later, we return. The airstrip is closed, deserted, abandoned, devoid of people, trucks and transportation. We start the six mile walk back on a now empty road. Ironic, here comes the bread truck. The last two days we have waited over an hour for this guy. We arrive back at the wharf just at dusk with a loaf of fresh bread and a sore bum.

Rotumans mimic Fijians when it comes to feeding you. More is better. Even at the Morris', who would be considered a poor working family, lunch was, fish, chicken and a pig cooked in the lovo, or underground pit. A contrast in style but not generosity was dinner at Maraf's. What was supposed to be just us expanded to include his relatives, subchiefs, the D.O. (who is his brother) and anyone else of minor importance. A full hogs head graced the center of the table and kept a close weather eye on the copious amount of food under his nose, uhh, snout.

Our next to the last day, a borrowed motor bike (no front brake, no clutch) took us for our last 14 mile ride around the island. With a banzai start we were off to say la'o (goodbye) to all our new friends. We arrived home well after dark because, of course, we couldn't get past Maraf's house without a feed.

We had already overstayed our weather window and southeasterlies were forecast to increase down Fiji way. Still blessed with light easterlies, we sailed by Hofliua, Rotuma's split island. Legend has it that a hermit crab challenged a swordfish to a race from Tonga to Rotuma. The crab spaced his friends along the way and twice tricked the swordfish into believing that he had won. On the third try, the swordfish really got his knickers in a knot and went so fast that he sliced right through the small off shore island of Hofliua.

The Split Island

By two in the morning we were close hauled into 15 to 20 knots of wind. With the small yankee, staysail and reefed main, we were just jogging along when we fell into a hole and with a big bang, the forestay broke. Amazingly, the rope halyard held up the furling unit and the flogging sail until we could somewhat roll it up. Considering our fuel state and the deteriorating weather, we thought it prudent to sail the 100 miles back. By the next day it was blowing 30 and pouring rain, with zero visibility.

Rotuma's modernization was our ally as direct dialing and air cargo soon had a new head stay on its way from Suva. But modernization has also split the island of Rotuma as easily as the swordfish did Hofliua. Back in the 20s only about five percent of Rotumans lived off island. By the 70s it was 60 percent, and by the 1986 census, it was 70 percent. The people are not only split by the hundreds of miles of ocean but by the longing for the old traditions versus the desire for the new culture, consumerism. The split between yesterday and tomorrow only makes more interesting this wonderful hauna pumue or precious land of Rotuma.