Abaiang - Republic of Kiribati
The island of Abaiang is in the Northern Kiribati Group.

December 8, 2004

Oceantide

We had been chatting to Kabure about the customs and life in general of the Kiribati people when I heard ‘The Most Disgusting Thing Ever’! We met him when we had gone ashore in search of a couple who had befriended us the last time we were in Abaiang. Strangely, nobody knew our old friends, even when I showed a photo we had taken of the family. Their house had been on the beach, but now they all look the same to us, a thatched hut tucked in behind a few coconut palms leaning out over the white sand. It could be any one of several along that stretch of sand, or maybe it has blown away by now, four years later. So after our second pass up and down the beach, Kabure and his family asked us to sit for a while and chat. He had retired from the Broadcasting and Publishing Association, so his English is excellent. It is always good to find someone like this who can give us their interpretation. It is also interesting how many different stories we hear, and it is easy to see how the legends and customs have changed over the years according to the individual story teller. There had been no written language here until the early 1900s when a missionary finally put pen to paper.

It was during our talk that I heard the most revolting thing I could ever imagine. I felt sure I had misunderstood. I asked some questions for clarification but soon wished I hadn’t as the more details emerged the worse it got. It is customary when a loved one dies to lay the body in the home for several days. To show love for the one who has passed away, the liquid that accumulates must be soaked up with grated taro and eaten. We had just finished reading a book about an I-Matang experience living in Tarawa, called The Sex Lives of Cannibals. In fact, the Kiribati people, unlike their Polynesian cousins, have never been cannibals. Kabure thought perhaps the practice of showing love for the deceased had given them a reputation of being cannibals. I hope I am not around when there is a death in the village!

Another custom we had learned about was the practice of biting someone’s nose off, in retribution for unfaithful spouses. No kidding, Kabure had a tooth shaped scar on his nose!

That evening we were invited to an Atenine for Beiatua to celebrate her first menstruation. Here is a culture that rejoices at something westerners hide away. She had on a red dress specially made for her that day. The school teacher, a man, made the speech, in English, to explain that she was entering womanhood now. Men filled the places in the front row, traditional Maneaba style seating. I couldn’t help thinking that men would scarcely discuss the subject in our society. After the speeches, a huge feast was set out on mats the length of the floor. Food was served in large tubs, offering boiled rice, taro, instant noodles, chicken, pork, tinned corned beef and fish. I imagined one of the dishes to be dog, which we had recently learned is eaten here. My stomach was still churning from our discussion with Kabure, and there was a prevailing smell of freshly killed something (pig or fish or worse), which just put me right off my food. It tasted fine, however, and I felt badly that I could not enjoy it with my usual gusto. After dinner we waited for some music for dancing, but due to technical difficulties it never eventuated. One by one, the locals drifted off until the only ones left were us, our friends Marc and Teri from the yacht Tauranga, and a few stragglers. Not knowing if we had to wait to be dismissed, or if they were waiting for us to leave, we finally excused ourselves.

An Atenine for Beiatua

The following morning we had to be ashore again bright and early to attend the anniversary party for the Oceantide Maneaba at Tebanga village. At 8:00 am the celebrations began with a prayer, opening song (one composed specially for the Maneaba) and speeches. We were introduced by our host, Kabure, and made our own speech of thanks and presented the Chairman with the traditional gift of tobacco. Marc and Teri were sitting with their host, Tenabu, and did the same. We were all welcomed to the Maneaba, and got to know many of these characters who were the village elders over the next nine hours. Kabure provided us with a running commentary on the customs and activities that we had also observed at past Maneaba experiences, so we are starting to understand some of it.

The program was in three hour segments, each with a different ‘Emcee’, and a couple of hours break between. There was no English spoken. Each time we reconvened the same format would followed - prayer, song, speeches, a couple of dances, grace, the meal (accompanied by song), more speeches interspersed with dancing, then the closing speeches.

The Emcee’s were real comedians. One purpose of the day was a fundraiser for the Maneaba building fund, which was achieved by charging penalties for all sorts of infractions such as not having your thermos in front of you, clapping out of time, or wearing the incorrect clothing (we had to change three times that day). During the song competitions the Emcee asked us to sing, expecting to get a big fine from us for not doing so. I surprised them by agreeing to sing, but got fined for bad singing instead. The dancing was a riot. An island version of ‘Dancing Fool’ was a favorite, and seemed to be played twice between every other song. Each section of the crowd got a turn at asking for a partner, and Rob was a popular choice. By the end of the night, he would have ladies lining up to get a turn, bumping each other off the floor so that he would have 3 or 4 partners during each dance. I dubbed one older man ‘Twinkle Toes’ – I must have had half my dances with him. They love to dance, and perform a version of the twist which would be sure to get you arrested in a western disco. The onlookers would go into hysterics and literally roll on the floor with laughter as the moves got wilder and the pantomime got more ludicrous. The oldest lady in the village (named Granny) did a solo number – boy can she move her hips! She is nearly 80, a tiny little thing with feet splayed out to the sides, horn rimmed glasses and a huge toothless smile that tells you she is definitely enjoying life at the moment. At one point Granny managed to cut in to dance with Rob, displacing a woman known as ‘Big Mama’, another comedian who couldn’t get enough dancing with the I-Matang boys.

'Granny' and 'Twinkle Toes'

Besides the twist, there were some women’s dances with specific moves. Some were done in a circle, others a sort of line dance and one where two groups danced from opposite sides, then met in the middle and changed ends. The men decided to try this number, but of course most did not know the moves and when they met in the middle they ended up getting mixed together, milling around in circles looking like a bunch of sheep. Rob had erroneously picked the time keepers spot on the second attempt so that effort was not much better, although they at least managed to get across to their correct ends.

Only the head of the family is allowed to sit in the front row at the Maneaba. This means it is primarily older men, with the exception of I-Matang guests, and widows who may take this place. Everyone else sits around the outside, many just beyond the edge of the roof. The youth lurk in the shadows far out in the garden. They are only allowed to dance one dance at the end of the day, with their mothers, and the last dance was for the little kids. My little boy was about two, came up to my knees, and not much of a mover but we held hands and turned in circles. The song was a long one and he fell asleep on me once, so I had to hold him up or he would have fallen over. His older sister was dancing with Rob, clearly eager to practice her moves and ruin Rob’s knees.

During any dancing or singing it is customary for some people from the crowd to go around the dancers to spray them with deodorant, and sprinkle powder on their necks and feet. The result is that you are covered in ‘happiness’, a sloppy mess of it by the end of the day. Everyone had floral garlands on their heads, and the perfume in the maneaba was overpowering.

So what’s with the Thermoses? Apparently the village had a drive for everyone to purchase their own thermos. It seemed to us a good way to reduce the spread of germs, which is quite a problem around these places. So first thing everyone had to produce their thermos or be fined. They were all in their boxes, some even in the plastic. Luckily we had been forewarned and brought one in with us. However, during the second session we did not bring ours, thinking that it was over. Not so! Thermos checks revealed neither I-Matang had presented a thermos. We had our water bottles but this was deemed no good so we paid up. Marc did some quick thinking and set a drinking coconut down in front of him. The Emcee had his most belligerent tone when he asked ‘what is that?’. Marc scored big points for his reply “God’s thermos”. Neither did the missionary’s wives have thermoses. They had not been advised of the edict. A hilarious act followed, where two thermoses were ‘bubuti’d’ by the Emcee from others (the custom where if you want something from someone you ask for it and they give it to you), and given to me. It was hard to know what I was supposed to do next, especially since the Emcee was ordering me around in aggressive Kiribati language. So I presented a thermos to one of the missionary’s, which they got to keep and said a special thanks for the donation of the thermos from the village. The other was returned to its owner.

After nine hours of this, I did not know what hurt the most – my back from sitting on the concrete floor, my legs from dancing or my face muscles from laughing.