IN FAR FIJI

Evening Star, Issue 19020, 15 August 1925, Page 3

IN FAR FIJI

A GBHBISSK3HEB ON CIRCUIT

[Written by W. E. Russell, for the ‘ Evening Star.’]

Luffing up into the wind the cutter stands with mainsail shivering amidship, the chain screams from the locker, and the anchor grounds on a coral floor ten fathoms down. Already at the anchorage outriggered dugout canoes dance lightly on the ripples, awaiting, with one more modern pulling boat, the landing of the District Commissioner, who, with his native staff—including a dusky magistrate with shining celluloid collar, second-hand tailcoat, black waistcloth, and bare brown legs, a native medical officer, police orderlies, clerks, and a “ Matanivanua ” (herald and master of ceremonies) —arrives on a circuit of village inspection, court sessions, and administrative business. In the following sketch of one phase of a Commissioner’s duty in of Fiji, furthest outpost of Empire, the reader might remember that the somewhat prolonged ceremonials are of immemorial custom, dear to the heart of the native, and that any attempt to hasten or abridge them would be au unforgettable slight to the people. Invested by his “ subjects " with a theoretical mantle of native chiofdom, the Commissioner is served by them in return for his service to them, under the understood system of mutual service between ruler and ruled. There are two—sometimes overlapping—administrative country divisions in Fiji, the magisterial district and the province. A District Commissioner is a stipendiary magistrate, with certain administrative and financial responsibilities mainly connected with population other than Fijian. The province is a division of native administration under a “Governor’s” or “Provincial” Commissioner, who_ is also District Commissioner of his magisterial district or districts. Some provinces have a Fijian “ Roko Tui ’ in place of a European, but under close tutelage by the Native Department or Secretariat. A province is composed of native tribal districts, each under an official head, the “Mbuli.” The Fijian delights in the ceremonious observance of the ancient rites of homage and hospitality to his chief. To welcome their Commissioner as such, as well as direct representative of the Governor, the principal natives of the island of Koro nave assembled, and on the white beach sit silent rows of elders to await his landing. As the boat bearing the Commissioner grates upon the sand the chief village constable, clad in neat white military tunic 'and scalloped loincloth, silvery buttons flashing in the sun, approaches and silently offers a back. Clinging to this, while silence reigns and the villagers sit like graven images, the Commissioner is borne ashore and deposited standing before the elders. As his feet touch sand a deep “Oyel” is intoned, tho “tama,” properly due only to highest chiefs or native blood. To this tho Commissioner’s Matanivanua responds “Oyo! Oye!” while the Commissioner (hereinafter D.C. for short) raises and replaces his hat. Now rise to their feet tho “ quality ” amongst the villagers, led by their official head, the ‘‘Mbuli.” Then follows a solemn hand-shaking, _ each villager after his turn smiting his left arm twice in token of respectful gratification.

The D.C., with his tail of staff, led by the village headman, now marches into the village. This consists of rows of detached thatch dwelling-houses ranged at each side of a long and wellkept village green. Open at one end to the sea breezes that stir the feathery fronds of tall cocoanut palms bowing upon tho beach, the landward end shades into the cliiaro oscuro of dense forest which covers the low foothills and climbs upwards to a mountain range now hiding the afternoon sun. In a long and loftily-roofed house a reception has been prepared. To the main entrance at the gable end the D.C.’s followers repair, but ho himself, followed by his herald, traverses a gangway covered by a pergola of gaudy hibiscus, draceme, and bamboo, leading to a side dor near tho dais or inner end of the building. At his entrance lie is again greeted by the cadenced grunt of “ Oye!” and “ Oyel” responds the Matanivanua, who closely follows him.

In the somewhat murky interior at either side of the hall, leaving a clear avenue down the centre, are long crosslegged rows of natives, seated more or less in order of social precedent's, those of highest rank nearest to the dais end, where the D.C. now seats himself in a solitary chair placed facing down the avenue. To his right, on the matcovcred floor, sits the Mbuli, and nearer to the D.C. sits the Matanivanua as a medium of communication. At the end of the avenue near the main entrance stands on four short legs a huge shallow bowl some 4ft in diameter. It is carved, lego and all, from a single block of hardwood blackened by time, and is a fine example of ancient handicraft in the days of stone adze, axe, and chisel. It is the “ Yangon ” or “ kava bowl,” the sine qua non of ceremony, of which more anon. Behind and at either side of this ; bare to the waist, sit three motionless Bucldhaesquo figures. Whispers the Matanivanua, “Na ngalongalovi, saka ” (“The swimming to meet you, sir”). Then from the group of chiefs crawls an old man, hereditary Matanivanua or herald of his tribe, who, kneeling before the guest of the day, produces three smoke-browned whale’s teeth dangling from his hand by plaited cocoanut fibre. “Oyel Oye! Oye!” he quavers, and “Oyel Oye! Oye!” responds the whole assembly in faultless unison, and “Oyel Oyel” adds the D.C.’s Matanivanua. Now the old herald, still on his knees, extends his arms to display the pendant teeth, and begins: “Oye! Oyel Oye! I offer to you, sir, the Governor’s representative, some little fishes’ teeth, presented on swimming to meet a great chief according to the custom of our land. It is the offering of Navumailangi and Tuixgiodamu [the ceremonial names of tribes presenting] to you, sir, who came across the stormy sea to visit and admonish us, your people. I offer to you, sir, the whale teeth of respect, friendship, love, and commingling or spirit. Be kimlhearted and overlook our faults. May the land be prosperous, and may the worship of God and the work of the Government flourish.” Walking on his knees to the D.C. the old man surrenders the teeth to him, and a measured clapping of hands, breaking off into independent time, follows. Offering in hand the D-O. briefly replies; “I touch these whale teeth, tokens of mutual regard and good feeling. May the land prosper, may plenty prevail, and may the work of God be advanced.”

The D.C. now hands the tambuas, or whale teeth, to his herald, who, after first clapping his hands, receives them, and touches them with his nose, after which he responds for his chief at some length in ancient and prescribed formula, ending w*ith: “ A munduo, a munduo. a a munduo ” He is supported by the rythmic handclapping of the D.C.’s followers, ending, as usual, in broken time. _ . . This presentation of tambuas is an ancient custom peculiar to Fiji. From time immemorial the tarabua has been tbe sacred medium of political and social, but not commercial, exchange. No treaty would be consiclered_ without its presentation by tbc_ sueing and acceptance by the granting side. Its “touching” bound the acceptor to

compliance with any accompanying reThe doomed missionary, the Roy. Mr Baker, traversed the heart of yiti Levu in 1867, dogged, though he knew inot, hy some enemy s Matanivanua bearing a tambua with the request or the sender for his murder. Tribe after mountain aribe refused the tooth till a Tui Navatusila, secure in his mountain fastness, touched it, and Baker fell. The tambuas now presented to our D.C. are tokens of homage and fealty to the Crown. But a Commissioner must “gang warily” about touching one brought by any deputation without full enquiry as to its import. Otherwise he may find himself bound, in native estimation at least, to compliance with some impossible political petition, obscurely expressed in ceremonial verbiage. The present customary whale teeth are free of obligations. Of some intrinsic value, they are really held by the Commissioner in trust for his province, and not as personal property. Has a Fiiian of that province a son to get married, a house to build, a feast to furnish, or a funeral to attend, he presents himself to the Commissioner with the formula: “Sir, I am in difficulties.’’ After a few words of, enquiry as to bona fides, the _ desired tambua is ' given, unless previous requests have exhausted the supply. The foregoing presentation is only the opening of the reception. There is a brief pause in the proceedings, while in low tones the Mbuli gives instructions to his herald, and the assembly sits motionless. Through the open doorways, framed in decorating vines, studded with ver million dr ala dowers, the blue and gold of sunset shimmers on the sea. On sub-conscious hearing sounds the eternal far-off, roar of “ league-long rollers thundering on the reef.” Landward, between umber houses, on the village green, brightlyclad damsels, lolling round green baskets of native food, await thoir turn in the programme. Suddenly the main entrance is filled by a branching shrub, freshly torn up by its fibrous roots, its leaves and branches crushed to breaking point between the door posts. Two hefty youths deposit the plant before the D. 0.. and retire with many smitings of the thigh, apologetic for walking erect before chiefs. It is the Yangona plant, choisest and most sacred tribute from the soil.

Forward crawls an old man, and grasping a rootlet, begins his oration. He refers to the inadequacy of the reception, due to the poverty of the people, asks that omissions may be forgiven, dilates on the joy of the district at the D.C.’s arrival, offers the root in respect and fealty, and “ may the Government flourish and prosperity prevail.”

The orthodox measured clapping follows, and the Commissioner Instructs bis herald to “touch.” Laying his hand on the root the Matanivanua (eyes of the land) accepts it in ancient formula, ending in “A Munduo!” and the D.O.’s followers reiterate this with scattered clappings. The shrub is now removed, and preparation for the drink offering begins. The three attendants on the great Yangona howl are each clad in a short black kilt of stained fibres. The chief mixer, behind the bowl, faces the Commissioner, his two satellites facing each other across it. Like the whole assembly they squat cross-legged in the racial posture of respect, for none may stand erect unbidden before his superior. In the “tanoa” (kava-bowl) are two hailed masses of pounded yangona root. Tilting the bowl that the guest may see this, the mixer mutters: “The yangona is ready.” “Lomba,” murmurs the D.C. to his herald, who repeats the order: “Let i i be strained.”

Now the mixer breaks up the halls of yangona, while an attendant pours from a cocoanut shell water to soften the mass. The other acolyte unwinds from under the bowl a' length of plaited sinnet attached to the bowl’s rim. This he carefully extends along the floor pointing towards the Commissioner. Now none may pass between tanoa bowl and guest. In the good old days the penalty was death. Even to-day the offence would entail humble atonement, by whales’ teeth and yangona, to the providers of the feast.

“ The ‘yangona is ready, sirs,” once more proclaims the mixer. “Let -water be poured,” intones an old chief. “Ai Sevu!” chants the quavering voice of an old-time priest or the gods. “ Let prosperity and plenty bo in the land, and .good health bo with us.” Measured clapping endorses the invocation, and water sufficient for the infusion is poured into the tanoa by -its attendants.

Deep silence reigns. The miser pro duces a bundle of long white bark fibre and begins, with ordered gesture, to gather, squeeze, and strain the mass of pulp. Now a. shrill old voice raises the archaic yangona chant, couched in the half-forgotten language of the heroic ages, preserved only in these old “ mekes.” Then, timed by the beating of a small wooden l< lali,” the whole assembly joins in deep and tbundrous antistrophe. The mixer raises from the now muddy infusion his baric strainer. Slowly gathering it into a ball, ho waits till drum and chorus cease, and then tosses it over his shoulder to be deftly caught by an attendant behind him. In a solemn silence he receives a new one, and the mixing recommences, while the chant is again raised and the quavering opening merges in the deep bass of the chorus. The vangoua brewing is conducted with solemnity and reverence. In olden days the hero was sacred to tlio gods and only partaken* of after due invocation, offering, and libation. It was used at the installation of kings (Tui ni Yanua), the assembling of councils, the confirmation of treaties, and the reception of distinguished guests. Shorn of ceremonial, it is now imbibed at all social gatherings and provided as refreshment at communal works by the beneficiaries thereof. The old yangona “mekes,” or chants, have been handed down unaltered in the dead dialect of the Kauvamlra, the mountain homo of the gods and heroes, ancestors of the Fijians. They are songs of the first arrival in Fiji, and the wars and dispersemonts of the fathers of the race. Their mvtholqgy has thus been preserved in the highly poetic language of these old “ mokes,” which contain allusions common, in some instances, to the legends of other Pacific peoples from New Zealand to Hawaii. Still, with intervals for change of strainer, the chant continues: A branch of lemba floating on our seaway, Lemba or parting which afar has drifted— Drifted from fair Burotu, from our homeland. Be yours the white or yours the scarlet lemba, You two broke each a branch and flung them seaward.

But now the liquid in the great bowl has assumed a clearer aspect, and the strainer drawn across its surface collects no floating particles. Rolling the fibres into a ball, the miser holds it above the bowl. As the chorus dies away he passes it across the tanoa with a feint of recommencing operations; then, desisting, proclaims once more: “The yangona is ready, sirs.” Through the main-entrance stalks a savage form. He is garbed in a rustling riband skirt of stained pink and white fibre covered with a fringe of green and crimson draceme leaves. He is bare from the waist, which is encircled by folds of brown tappa, upward, save for chains of creamy frangipani blossom, and devices in black and scarlet decorate his body. Rolling eyeballs gleam from his charcoal-black-

ened face, and above a fiercely-pro* traded underlip snarl strong white teeth. He is the “Tui Yangona,” who, alone, may walk upright before hia seated chiefs.

One of the mixer’s satellites now rolls up the sinnet rope which strctchea along the floor towards the Commissioner, and the stalwart savage crouches before the bowl, holding out to the mixer a large cup of coeoanut shell. This filled, he rises slowly to hi* feet and stands, a stark statue of savagery, two great outstretched anus holding the brimming shell of yangona towards the guest. A quick and lively chant is raised by the choristers, while slowly, arms still extended, the cup-bearer sinks till, as the chant ends, he rests upon his heels. “Tu ethakey ley,” screams a voice. Rising, the Ganymede, still with level outstretched arms, walks up the avenue to the Commissioner, and, sinking to his knees, pours into a cocoanat shell held mdv by the latter a supply of the beverage. Then he returns to the tanoa, and, seated, claps his hands W Tho Commissioner slowly drains the shell to an accompaniment of rhythmic claoping, and pauses. “Mhml” calk a voice, and with practised twist he deftly tosses the shell before hun so that it stands spinning on its point, while the never-failing manual plaudits close the ritual. ~ _ , Now may the D.O. relax his Jovian dignity and light a much-desired pipe, while the soft ancesthetio numbness of the aftertaste creeps oyer tongue and palate. Successively his Matanivanua and others of his followers are served with yangona in ordor of social preco* dcnce, hut without the pomp and ceremony already described. A cry of AI Matlia!” (sounding uncommonly like “Ah! Mother I” but meaning “It is emptyas each drams and Inverts the shell with a “hula,” or “ good health,” and some scattered dapping is the honor accorded to ■ the lesser finally the yangona mixer, tilting the tanoa that all may see, proclaims t “The yangona is finished,” and the ceremony ends with the inevitable clapPl ßut in due courtesy the D.C. must now lay aside his pipe, for a long feminine moan of “O-o-o-ohl sounds outside. “Enter” is responded, and through the main door files a long procession of female forms. The _ elderly are wrapped in decorous folds of native bark cloth, the younger in less primitive print waist cloths, loose-necked jackets of blue and scarlet slipping from the shoulder. Heads are dressed in the latest fashion, hair stiffened with clay and lime standing erect, surmounted by a mop-like thatch of frizriy curls. Some, in token of spinsterhood, wear a tassel of wavy hair hanging over one ear. Each silently deposits on a growing heap the contents of her basket or coked food —taro, yams, chickens, or giant prawns —and each, with bowed back and smitings of the thigh in conventional apology for necessarily walking erect before seated chiefs, retires to the galaxy forming by the door. _ Now appears the “piece de resistance”—® great boar with gnnnmg teeth and tusks, baked whole amid > hot stones. It is borne shoulder-high in a long wooden dish mellowed by age and use, in which a tall man might lie, and perchance has lain in days not fai away. In manner very similar to the presentations already described the fooffl is offered up to the D. 0., accepted and acknowledged. After the officiM heralds have done their duties a blecs> ing, Christian substitute for the old heathen invocation, is asked by a native minister, and the pork is carved by practised hands. With assistance the D.C.’s Matanivanua ranges shares of food, animal and vegetable, m two long rows. “ I will now allot the porho calls out, and mound by mound each heap is allotted to the chief man of each group of guests. “ The share of the Roko ” (the Commissioner—to bo consumed by bis personal staff), “the share of tbo.*»laye magistrate” (including Ins staff), or the provincial scribe, .of the native medical officer,” “of Tm Levuka (a visiting chief), and so on; while a representative of each hears away the nominated heap to the quarters allotted to his company. By the providers of the feast none is taken. _ Such an act would be compared to eating their cml<kCn* (To be continued.)