The Final Sunset in Fiji
After ten hours in transit from Los Angeles we had arrived in paradise. Bri and I found ourselves on layover in Fiji en route to Australia. Four glorious days to bask in the sun, drink deliciously decadent fruity cocktails, finish a book or two, and enjoy the spoils of a private bungalow only twenty meters from a coral reef teeming with marine life.
When we arrived at Tumukula Beach Resort our first call of business was to dive into the pleasantly warm, crystal clear water, and begin exploring the postcard that is Fiji. This became our routine for the next few days, waking up with a morning swim, devouring an underwater feast of movement and color. We would then retreat to our beachfront recliners and sit contently reading our books for hours.
Curious to investigate life outside the resort, Bri and I ventured off into the nearest town called Sigatoka. We found ourselves on the roadside being called to by passing locals with a friendly ‘Bula Bula!’ It is projected with great gusto and can catch you by surprise when someone is hanging half way out of a speeding van, yelling at you, in the attempt to make you feel welcome. Eventually our local bus arrived and we ventured into town. There were a surprising number of Caucasians floating between souvenir stores and the supermarket, consequentally making us feel as though we hadn’t left the resort. Walking by a gift shop we were drawn in by the impressive artisan woodcarvings. Covering the walls were replicas of authentic Fijian weapons and tools, for eating and dismembering specific parts of the human body. Fixated on the brain picker, the shop assistant reassured us that “Fiji is now a civilized Christian country and we should feel safe everywhere we go”.
I was looking forward to the prospect of utilizing our kitchen back at the bungalow and getting my hands on some fresh fish. Assuming that a good standard and decent variety could be found since we’re on a tropical island. I was significantly let down upon discovering the minimal availability of fresh food in the supermarket, finding frozen out of date products of poor quality accompanied by highly inflated price tags. This disappointment was not to dampen our spirits, and we shortly found our way into a carton of cold Fijian beer, which encouraged us to once again retreat back to our little slice of paradise.
After several tins of Fiji Gold, I found myself attempting to knock down a coconut. Many fruitless attempts later a coconut finally dislodged and fell from the tree. I was overcome with joy, I had now earned my stripes on the island. I even had the confidence to proclaim to Bri “if we were stuck on a deserted island I could keep us alive”.
As we sat enjoying the fresh coconut milk a young female staff member approached Bri and I offering to refresh our bungalow. Warmly introducing herself as Liesa we immediately noticed a gold filling on her front tooth in the shape of a star. Noticing that we had a Lonely Planet book resting next to us, she inquired about our travels, and enthusiastically told us of her dreams to leave the island and see the skyline of Tokyo. As she humbly tidied our bungalow we took the opportunity to ask about her life on the island. We quickly learned that she works six days a week living in the resorts modest staff quarters. She appeared content with her existence and seemingly quite happy to be working at Tumukula. However when asking about her family, Liesa’s smile couldn’t fake the apparent sadness in her eyes as she explained that her one day off per week was spent traveling to see her five year old son who lives on the other side of the island with her parents. After a long pause and a deep breath she described how “hard it was to miss out on her son growing up and his first day of school”. Liesa also expressed how grateful and fortunate she felt being able to provide whatever she could for her son. At this moment it became apparent that for the most part, Fiji is not our definition of paradise for the people that live and work here. The reality for Liesa is that the tourism industry might one day afford her a way off the island with her son.
Deeply touched by this conversation it was hard to view Fiji in the same light. My heart and mind had moved out of the comfort of my postcard reality of reading, basking in the sun and swimming, to the very harsh reality of living in the physically and psychologically demanding landscape of Fiji. It started to make me question things beyond the Western cocktail happy hour version of where we were. The sun’s intensity is dis-abilitating for the most of the day, with the humidity level so high that you feel as though you’re swimming through the hot air. Watching Fijian women spend hours on end fishing the reef every single day is very apparent hard work. Contending with the sun, the tides, and the reef underfoot is uncomfortable work; as I found out myself when I ventured to the reef, spear in hand attempting to fit in. The limited opportunities afforded to the average Fijian of an older generation mean that a lot of people don’t work for income, but simply for survival. Majority of Fijians still defecate in the ground, and sleep in the dirt within villages right next door to five star resorts. The gap was starting to widen between the happiness you anticipate and a nation that has sold its land to an industry that is evidently putting very little back into the local community.
The next day my eyes were wide open to experiencing Fiji on a more humanistic level then available in pre-paid tours, and kava ceremonies hosted in the comfort of an air-conditioned hotel lobby. A late afternoon stroll down the beach led me to cross paths with a man called Bill. Missing a front tooth, wielding a large machete and a smile, he quickly befriended me and insisted on finding me a coconut to drink. He proceeded to give me a very general commentary of Fiji talking about “Fiji time” being the operative excuse for things being done without a time conscious schedule. Bri found us chatting as he sliced some palm leaves and began weaving a hat. I warmly introduced Bri to my new friend, and she sat with us. Now that he had us locked into conversation he professed that this was his job, and he has very little and evidentially befriends tourists in the hopes of receiving payments for his time. At this turning point, both of our hearts sunk, and once again the gulf between the hotel and the village became apparent. Bri got up to leave, and I firmly told Bill that I would not pay him for being fooled into a pseudo friendship. I felt betrayed by his enthusiasm to hang out with me, and it helped me reflect on the perception local Fijians have of tourists.
One question that had to be asked is why is everyone so happy on face value? When the reality is my Pina Colada is not giving Fiji more schools, hospitals, or welfare. The local village will always remain the pit fall of any nation conflicted by consuming a Western currency and leaving a large void in opportunity for its own people to share the same experience. It felt as though tourism had fostered a positive attitude towards Westerners that isn’t warranted. We gave Fiji resorts so we had somewhere to stay, and Christianity so we could feel safe, and for the lucky few a shot at a life outside of the island. I don’t believe any genuine cultural experience can be bought in a pamphlet at a resort kiosk, or bribed by a local on a beach, but this is the reality of Fiji. Westerners will continue to venture here as long as the beaches are unspoiled and the reef is still brimming with life. However like all conventions of monetary development in the Western hemisphere we will eventually forget about the environment and it’s native people. Which leaves the question where will Fiji be once we decide to move onto another island, or find another reef?
By Joshua Thaisen
