SOME SIGHTS O' SUVA.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16539, 24 September 1921, Page 3

SOME SIGHTS O' SUVA.

DOWN IN THE FIJI ISLES. (BY TE I* AX A.) (Written for the “ SUu\”) Blrra, capital of the Fiji Islands, is t? product of civilisation. Shops, offices, ohnrches, fashions, newspapers ere reminders that the commonplace has touched Fiji. Policemen with tirown faces and qnaint uniforms stand nt street corners with all the solidity o« our own men in blue. Still there is a dash of garish colour in the streets, and a roar of surf from the reef, and the swish of the palm fronds overhead which are distinctly foreign. The sulu olad Fijians, as they saunter through the town, command attention by their splendid physique. They are in striking contrast with the spindle-legged, narrowchested, sharp-featured Indians who seem to predominate. Chattering, gesticulating Hindu women stroll past, chewing betel nut and showing rows of blackened teeth. They are attired in Eastern costumes of multi-coloured stuffs—orange, pink, crimson, blue, green, and lemon—all in bewildering confusion. Their heavily jewelled faces Rre partly concealed by veils, but space is loft for the glance of dark, mysterious eyes, which seem out of place save in an Eastern harem Heavy earrings show from beneath their gaudy silken head coverings, and all ere loaded doyn with silver and brass leg and arm bangles. Europeans in starched white “drills” drift idly about, fanning away the swarms of Btioky flies and seeking cool liquid refreshment. Suva is hot, fearfully hot in the daytime j at night rain falls in c steady downpour; vapour rises—and a Turkish bath is mild by comparison. TROPICAL FOOD. The casual tourist dropping off at Suva is wont to become enthusiastic about island life. Particularly is this the case when he elaborates on the foodstuffs growing by the wayside- He is merely superficial in his praises, for having dined in p. first-claBS hotel he can afford to write to his friends about the excellence of tropical fruits and vegetables. As a matter of fact, it is only after long years of residence that the white man really relishes I. a rive products. Yams are not to be compared with potatoes, and a ton of the stodgy, water-logged mess the Fijian garnishes the table with and labels “bread fruit” is only equal to a basketful of its wheaten namesake. The paw-paw, or mummy apple, is an insipid thing, which needs port wine or fresh lime juice to make it acceptable to European palates. Taro root and tapioca as vegetables are too stringy to be appreciated with gusto. As for drinks, the milk in the young coeoanut is good enough when there is nothing better offering. Kava, “the wine of the islands,” is nauseating to a Stranger, and the bars of the Suva hotels offer much more tempting beverages—drinks with clinking ice and cherries floating on top. Outside of bananas, pineapples and oranges, there is little of the home-grown foodstuffs in Fiji that appeals to the white man who is keeping white. ft is one thing to dine table d'hoto on a modern steamboat and land the fruits passed by in a motor-car jaunt. It is quite imother thing to live in the islands and at times be compelled to eat native food. The romance fades quickly sway. WHERE GAOL IS A JOKE. The gaol in Suva is a most imposing place. It presents a tine stone wall to the gaze of tho visitor coming up the road. There is a great gate with a amall gate to come in by, just like the best. approved prisons in European countries. But once inside the gaol it dawns upon you that the imposing stone wall is nothing but a joke, one of the many jokes of the Fijian penal system. It extends only round three sides of the ground, leaving the back completely open to the bush and hills, as if the establishment were simply a model meant to be looked at only from the front. “ Doing t-me ” in Suva is not a very heartbreaking affair. The grass edgings nnd lawns of the town require a great deal of trimming, and the convicts, j with knives two feet in length, are set on the yob. They squat side by side, dressed alike in neat shirts and | «• sulus ” of unbleached calico, stomped over with broad arrows, working away i Su as leisurelv a fashion as possible, | thoroughly enjoying the gay sight pre- | rented by tho main street. Sometimes j a convict acts as messenger to various i Government Departments- All day long ono may see stalwart Fijians in broad-arrowed rig loafing around the doorways and shady verandahs or conveying letters to Government House, the banks, or the cable station. There may be money to send to or from a business house. The convict carries jt. gets a receipt, and reports for further duty. One of the pet jokes of Suva is the home going of the prisoners. The gaol gates are closed nt six o’clock, and a few minutes earlier gangs of convicts may be seen collecting from every part of the town, some in oharge of a warder, others alone, all hurrying towards the gaol If they are not in by six o’clock a terrible punishment awaits them, a punishment they would do anything to avoid. Discipline must be adhered to and there is no excuse accepted from the prisoner who neglects the closing hour. He is shut out of gaol. If J ou drive past the great gate after sunset you may see him sitting against the wall waiting for tho open door in the morning. His intelligence fails to grasp that there is a back entrance. EAST IN THE WEST. A few minutes’ walk from the wharf at Suva there is a dirty, straggling, rutty roadway known as All Nations Street. I* is lined with tumble-down huts in all stages of disrepair; decayed, weather-board bungalows with rusty porous iron crowning the rotting walls ‘ native houses, mongrel affairs with earth floors and transparent sides of palm leaves, with a top-heavy roof of sugar cane leaves crowning the wreck. In dry weather dense dust clouds and swarms of flies asßail, and or a still day. hang over the streot. Here gather the tatters of coloured hamanftv, types of dusky men and wr.n>»»n of all the islands, with tho Hindu just in from tho coolie “ lines,” much in evidence. In the street the barking of dogs never ends. Men call each other by ear splitting finger whistling or on deep toned conch shells, and babies squall at the tope of their voices. All Nations Street wakes with the sunset. The coeoanut oil lamps burning at the doors splash the gloom and reveal weird scenes. The hubbub of a Bnbylon-iike rabble hums in the air. Short swarthy men, long men, fat men, some with bodies glistening with oil. slither along in the "Girls rush by, their black

limbs exposed as the Oriental jewellery jingles on their arms and legs. From the nearby houses come the sounds of bating tom-toms and the squeal of pipes accompanying singers who are mangling Indian chants. Smells of garlic, mustard oil, burnt ghi, and frizzling goat flesh are everywhere. The kava shop is in full swing and natives, from Tonga, from Samoa, from far-off Tahiti, are squatting on tho floor, drinking, drinking, drinking;. . . . All Nations Street, Suva, is a. little bit of the Eaet in the West.