Outer Island Tour, part 4: Adventureland

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Fotuha’a

150 people.  3 churches.  29 homes.  Solar electricity.

Never before has getting off a boat been so much fun.  As a high island, Fotuha’a has no beaches or (as far as I can tell) no shallow reefs, so denizens rely on docking next to a slanted and slippery rock.  Our temperamental seas then brought a challenge.  Helpful locals were there catching our boxes and backpacks and extending arms as our team jumped off.  This wasn’t easy for our heavier, less nimble members, who accidentally yanked one of the locals into the water.  I placed my electronics in my dry bag, tightened my backpack straps, and leapt unassisted. 

The hike to the village is uphill but aided by recently laid concrete steps.  By the number of breaks people took heading up, you’d think it was strenuous, but I think that was more a combination of trip exhaustion and people needing more regularly exercise.  I found the change in terrain invigorating, especially with the view overlooking Ha’apai’s two volcanoes (this was the closest I’d ever get).  Pineapples, as rare in Pangai as they are in Illinois, bountifully lined the path inland. This island was refreshingly different.

It was also unusually satisfying socially.  While playing our routine waiting game for people to congregate for our health presentation in the Wesleyan hall, the family planning nurse called to me. 

“Sione, there’s two girls outside who want to talk with you.” 

I snapped up, eager to converse with someone my age.  The room perked with silently gossiping smirks and eyebrows.  Let’s all watch the palangi flirt!

They were a little shy at first, but the two sisters opened up with typical Tongan small talk.  How are you?  Are you eating well? Are your parents dead?  Are you already married?  Do you have a girlfriend?  Are you interested?  We’re available.  As cute as they were, and as much as I enjoyed conversing with people my own age, I’m at a point in my life where I’m looking for someone with a full set of teeth (scratch one) and without a child (scratch the other).  I declined.  The peeping eyes from the hall behind me were disappointed.     

On the eastern side of the island above the cliffs is a precariously leaning boulder the health inspector described as Fotuha’a’s must-see attraction, so our whole group trekked to see it.  The porous sheets of rock around us and the unbeatable vista recalled my earlier rock climbing days, so I scaled the boulder and gave myself a few moments to admire Ha’apai.  

Getting back on our boat was much an adventure as was getting off.  

Kotu

42 homes.  273 people.  6 churches.  1 store. 

The upside of a weak turnout is the ability to observe outer islanders in their average, everyday lives.   A decent 20 people came to our Kotu health talk and talatala, but most people stayed home or continued doing what things they do in a place where there isn’t much to do. 

In my wanderings through town, I came across a mother sitting on her front step with her little kids, old women weaving, young men playing guitar, two boys playing chess on a veranda, another two boys playing in a wheelbarrow, a little girl playing in the dirt, and various neighbors chatting from the road.  Kotu was a sea of smiles.  Some invited me into their homes, and for some I accepted.  I might have caught island fever if I was stationed here, but the locals appear completely satisfied.

Ha’afeva

For four consecutive days we fell asleep late and arose early from inhospitable crowded concrete floors.  Then we came to Ha’afeva, where the surprisingly equipped health clinic offered us separate rooms and foam pads.  The assistant clinician even gave me his bed for two nights.  Though thin and unevenly supported, it was a godsend. 

I was sick and exhausted.  I had slept so little for so many days and the constant film of either sunblock or mosquito cream was causing skin breakouts.  The frequently loading and unloading of the boat at each new island burned so many calories.  I had soaked in many hours of direct sunlight while cruising atop the boat.  I was nauseous, my head ached, and diarrhea was setting in. 

So when I found that bed in Ha’afeva after arriving from Matuku, and after taking a brisk swim and bucket bath, I crashed. 

My first night’s slumber was short because another full day out in Fotuha’a and Kotu beckoned an early rise.  I therefore spent much of the long day dreaming about laying down again on the mattress.  I had a nauseating hour-long ride from Kotu to Ha’afeva during rough seas, but I don’t think it was seasickness.  I laid next to a hitchhiking older lady who tried unsuccessfully to mask her cloud of B.O. with a cloud of perfume.  With her on board there wasn’t enough room in the covered compartment to lay down, so I reclined with my knees bent up and feet flat on the floor.  Tongans aren’t supposed to sit like that, and one of the nurses laughed that the older lady didn’t like my position.  I turned over and tried napping on my pillow of Paracetamol boxes. 

Back again in Ha’afeva, I rinsed in another bucket bath and was in bed before 7pm.  Eleven hours later I emerged energized, though still aching and afflicted with diarrhea.  We still had one more health talk to go.

The Wesleyans wouldn’t give us their hall without payment, so we waited for patients to congregate in the clinic waiting room.  As we were preparing to begin, a 7-month pregnant mother appeared complaining of birthing pains.  Our team raced her into an exam room and an hour later a premature baby was born.  The mother was healthy and walking around soon after.  The baby, at 1-kilo, was alive but not expected to survive even the 2.5 hour boat trip to the hospital.  It was a sad success because although the baby would die, without our team visiting Ha’afeva that day who knows what would have happened to the mother. 

The final health talk went smoothly, we distributed our last brushes, posters, and pamphlets, and after feasting on roasted pig we made our final boat segment back to Pangai.  I was homesick (in that I was literally sick and wanted to go home) and so both Sefa and Banjo were fortunately outside my house to welcome me home.  I love how Banjo explodes in excitement when first seeing me after a long absence.  If only my gas-powered shower heater hadn’t broken in my absence, I would have been in bliss.