Fiji - Once Upon An Island

An amalgamation of Cultures, kava ceremonies, and a history of cannibalism makes a visit to Fiji extremely riveting, finds Santosh Ojha

- Santosh Ojha

It was with some trepidation, I admit, that I led a motley bunch of international visitors—men first, followed by women—into the function room of the Koroua village, in Fiji. Our travel guide had selected me, the oldest male in the group, as the chief of the visiting party. I had an important task to perform: to greet the village chief.

We had cruised upstream on a jetboat on the longest Fijian river, Sigatoka, for this trip. The captain clipped at some 70 kilometres per hour and performed a few dizzying 360-degree turns en route, causing the entire group to shriek—initially in terror, and then with delight. Village lads welcomed us on the riverbank and off we marched to the village. No headwear was permitted so caps and hats were taken off, and women covered their legs with sulus (sarongs) handed out by the tour guide.

The welcoming party of the villagers was already seated on mats in the room. We sat across from them cross-legged so that our feet were not pointed towards them. I offered the gift of kava to the chief. The chief spoke—in Fijian—sitting on his knees with his arms folded back, with the others intoning in deep voices and clapping rhythmically. Ground kava root was mixed with water in a conical basin standing centre stage. The mix was filtered through a cloth, the residue discarded and then, our drink was ready for consumption. It was offered to me first, in a dried half coconut shell. I had already been coached on the kava drinking etiquette. Stand up, say bula (hello), clap once, receive the bowl, drink in one gulp, clap thrice and say vinaka (thank you). The same bowl was dipped into the kava basin and offered to the chief. Thereafter, all the men got their share, followed by the women.