* * *
We landed on Marakei to be greeted by a small gathering of people around a small tin shed. I scrambled to gather up my luggage, my hands trembling under the weight of my supplies and the water – the weight of being an ‘outsider.’ With far more confidence than I felt, I strode towards the shed. I felt lost and alone.
I did what I had done all my life: looked for my Mum. She had said she would be there to pick me up, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I had travelled throughout Australia and Europe and was used to travelling alone. For years I had been independent and confident of my independence. But this was different. I was on the island of my ancestors and I felt like a scared little girl wanting her mum.
‘Nei Marita!’
I turned to see my cousin standing behind me, already holding one of the bags that had been sitting on the ground at my feet.
‘Kairo?’
‘Ah, so you do recognise me. I have been standing here all this time and you’ve been ignoring me.’
Kairo and I were born exactly four months apart and had been close through all of our childhood. At fourteen years old, he had moved back to Kiribati from Australia, and the last time I had seen him was on a visit to Kiribati eight years previously.
‘Kairo!’
He grinned and for some reason this familiarity made me burst out laughing.
‘Get on the bike.’ He swung a leg over a vintage postal motorbike.
I followed. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘She had a meeting with the unimane. She sent me to pick you up. I am taking you on te katabwanin. Terira is waiting for you.’
I had come prepared for this. Te katabwanin on Marakei was well known throughout Kiribati. Marakei is a tiny, circular coral atoll, with a lagoon in the middle. The island is home to the spirits of four women who have protected it from its beginning. Every person visiting Marakei for the first time must complete te katabwanin, to receive a blessing of welcome from its four spiritual protectors and ensure their stay is safe and trouble-free. Te katabwanin, which means ‘to go around the full circle,’ would take a couple of hours at least to complete.
* * *
Kairo brought our motorbike to a spluttering halt in front of a small kiakia. In the shadows of the small local hut, I saw a little figure sitting, hunched over something she was holding in her hands.
I walked up to my grandmother, Terira, and her aged face looked up to me. Despite her hunched back and lack of teeth, her dark brown skin looked soft and smooth, and her long white hair was clasped back with a comb. I knelt beside her and she grabbed my face, pulled me close so she could place her lips on my cheek. She didn’t kiss me but smelt my skin and hugged me tight. I hugged her back.
I sat down beside her to watch her weave fresh frangipanis into a garland, her fingers moving rhythmically around the fragile grass rope, placing flowers within the braid. She worked quickly, then, when finished, nodded her approval and motioned me to move in closer. She tied it on my head and, with a toothless smile, admired her handiwork.
Terira then placed a plastic cup full of water in my hands. ‘Moi!’ Drink!
I hesitated and looked nervously over at Kairo.
He, sitting beside my purchased water, knew what I was thinking. ‘The water is from the well. You’ll be okay. You have to drink it. She wants you to.’
I deliberately lifted the cup to my mouth, hoping Kairo would interrupt and save me from drinking what I knew my stomach couldn’t handle.
He just watched with an annoying grin on his face.
I drank it quickly. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but I wondered how long it would take for me to vomit it back up.
Terira didn’t have time for my rumination. ‘Go!’
Kairo jumped into gear and gestured for me to hop back onto the bike. I jumped up to follow.
‘The water is from the well. You have to drink it to be welcomed on the island.’
‘Kairo, I think it will make me sick.’
‘Oh well.’ He clearly didn’t care. ‘Do you have the tobacco?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How many?’
‘I was told to bring six.’
‘Leave one here to give to Terira. Bring the rest for te katabwanin.’
We meandered down the dirt road, waving to kids along the way. Kairo jokingly swerved towards them and they ran away from the motorbike all the while laughing in excitement. A woman with waist-length, straight black hair, a toddler on her hip, waved knowingly at Kairo. As we slowly rode past I heard them mention te katabwanin. I knew my coffee-coloured skin and the fresh garland atop of my head was a clear indicator that I was on my introduction. A regular sight, I assumed.
We travelled in a counter-clockwise direction – an acknowledgement of the folklore: a long time ago, two men had arrived on Marakei for the first time and had split up, intending to meet halfway around the atoll. The man who walked clockwise died along the way and a bad omen was assumed. Since I was not one to challenge the omen, counter-clockwise we headed.
As we sped along the road, I automatically reached out to grab the low-hanging coconut palm fronds – an urge I have to satisfy every time I’m in Kiribati. The feeling of the hardy leaves within my grasp gave me comfort.
* * *
On each ‘corner’ of the island is a large stone block with a head-shaped boulder on top. Surprisingly domineering, the statues are plain but bold, simple and yet ominous. The faces carved into the stone are strong-featured, radiating a character of strength that goes beyond the stagnant stone.
At hand height, there is a little insert in the block where you present your token offering to the statue. An old-fashioned Irish cake stick of tobacco was the suggested offering, and I carried these in a little woven bag slung over my arm.
Nei Reei stands in plain sight beside a small bridge that spans the point where the ocean connects to the lagoon. Known to be the quietest of the four women, Nei Reei’s story is not as well known as those of her more fiery spiritual sisters. However, she weaves in and out of the stories of the other three women as a confidante, an observer of intruders and a quiet overseer of Marakei. She stands serenely on the edge of the village while young Marakei children play, jumping into the nearby water and running among the local houses.
Kairo stopped the bike and we walked up to Nei Reei together. I looked at Kairo nervously, wishing for him to take the lead, as I clearly had no idea how to start the conversation.
In I-Kiribati, Kairo began to speak. ‘Hello, my name is Kairo and I have been welcomed onto Marakei by you before. This is my cousin, nei Marita – granddaughter of Terira Burabura who was born on Marakei. We have come to pay our respects and ask for Marita to be received by you.’
Kairo then looked at me, so I started rambling in an embarrassing jumble of local language and English.
‘Hello. My name is Marita and I am the daughter of Teaote Burabura – the daughter of Terira Burabura. This is the island of my grandmother and I wish to be a welcomed guest on Marakei. I am descendant of the women of Marakei and bring no harm to the island.’
With a nod, Kairo gestured for me to place the tobacco on the shelf. I did so. We then thanked the statue together and walked back to the bike. As we crossed the bridge, heading towards the next village I looked back and a group of children came running out from behind the trees. They grabbed the tobacco and ran back towards their elders who had clearly sent them to collect the offering.
‘Hey! They took my tobacco!’
‘What did you expect nei Marita? Of course someone will take it.’
‘But it’s for the statue!’
Kairo cackled with laughter and teased, ‘The statue can’t smoke your tobacco, nei Marita!’
We drove along the ocean, I feeling a little disappointed. I suppose I knew that the tobacco couldn’t sit there all day, but cheeky kids and tobacco-hungry adults had interrupted my introductory experience.
* * *
The story of Nei Rotabenua is o
ne of love, infidelity and jealousy.
Nei Rotabenua’s husband would leave home early in the morning on a canoe, off to catch fish for his family. His days would be long and he would often come home late at night. As the days and months passed, however, he spent longer hours out fishing but his catch decreased. He began to come home empty-handed.
Facing the ocean from Marakei’s southern shore, Rotabenua would look out to the horizon and contemplate why, though her husband was away from home longer, he would return without food. One day she turned herself into a bird and followed the journey of his canoe. She discovered that her husband, instead of fishing, was having an affair with a woman on another island.
Her jealousy raged and she flew back home to wait for his return. Upon his homecoming, she swallowed him whole, declaring that no other woman but she would have him. She ate all of him except a part of his foot, which turned to stone. This stone sits beside Nei Rotabenua to this day – a warning to all to not betray the women of Marakei.
Nei Rotabenua sits among a grove of coconut trees so thick that Kairo had to park the bike a number of metres away. The feeling I had as I approached Rotabenua was different to my visit to Nei Reei. No one seemed to be watching us and so I felt comfortable standing beside her for a while. I contemplated the anguish she felt looking out to sea, losing trust in the man she loved, and the passion that must have arisen within her – a passion so violent that she ate her husband whole. I wondered if there was any truth to her story. Standing beside Rotabenua, my hand on her, facing the horizon, was the moment when the mythologies of the four women – these protective spritis of Marakei – began to feel real for me. No longer just following folklore, I was confronting history. Are these the women from whom I am descended?
I introduced myself and left my offering. As Kairo and I walked towards the bike, I heard the scampering of little feet in the bushes – the sound of children again obeying their order to collect the tobacco.
I didn’t turn around to watch.
* * *
Nei Tangangau is the eastern lady. Facing the horizon, her beauty and viciousness are known in equal measure. A ferocious protector of the island, Nei Tangangau was the sister to whom the other three turned when the island was under threat. A woman of breathtaking beauty, she used her scent, according to the story, to draw men towards her. To catch a sudden waft of jasmine through the salty ocean breeze is to sense the call of Nei Tangangau.
In the time of the four spirits, Nei Reei and Nei Nantekimam spotted two unknown men, arising from the ocean, striding towards Marakei. These men were giants and their arrival on the island was imminent. Guarding the east and the north sides of the island, Nei Reei and Nei Nantekimam called out to Nei Tangangau to warn her of the strangers and ask for her help. Nei Tangangau immediately released her scent, drawing the men to the eastern side of Marakei where she stood. They began to approach the land when she struck the first man over his head. Her fierce protectiveness of Marakei caused her to hit the man with such power that he died upon impact. She repeated this with the second man. The weight of their falling to the ground created two humps in the land near Nei Tangangau. These rises in the land can be seen to this day.
Nei Tangangau resides near a causeway that bridges a wide opening to the lagoon – a perfect spot to fish. Kairo and I greeted her with the same respectfulness we showed to her sisters before, although with a little more confidence on my part, as I was getting used to the process. Kairo repeated his introduction and I repeated mine. He then began pointing towards the ocean while speaking words I wasn’t familiar with. I stood beside him silently until he thanked her. I copied. He gestured for me to make the offering and we left.
I asked Kairo what the additional chat was about. He paused and smiled a little awkwardly. I waited while he tried to find the words.
‘Nei Tangangau is also the woman to grant us an abundance of fish while we are here. I will be fishing for the family, so I asked her if she would grant us with the gift of food for our family.’ He paused, still wanting to say something but unsure of how to say it.
‘Nei Tangangau’s beautiful scent is from her sexual parts. The story is that her open legs bring the men towards her as well as the fish to this part of the ocean. We must ask her to be kind enough to open her legs so that we may catch enough fish to feed our family.’ Kairo looked at me, a little embarrassed that he had to explain this to his female cousin, but also a little matter-of-fact. I think he was always trying to figure out whether he had worded this the way he wanted to in English.
I digested his words before replying, ‘Well, you better have asked her properly and nicely. If we all go hungry, it’s your fault.’
He laughed. ‘No, nei Marita, if we all go hungry it’s because you’re eating too much.’
* * *
Nei Nantekimam was our final stop. ‘The freshwater lady,’ Nei Nantekimam is the sister who holds the answer of acceptance to all visitors to Marakei. Standing proudly among the coconut trees, Nantekimam faces the ocean and is surrounded by distinctive sand found nowhere else on Marakei, softer to the touch. It is this sand with which you are anointed once Nei Nantekimam has decided upon your acceptance.
Once the introduction is over, the visitor must walk out to the ocean at low tide and dig into the unique sand. You are to dig until the water flows from underneath the sand. If you are welcomed, the water is unusually clear – fresh and not dirty, hence her name.
There are old stories of visitors to Marakei who are not able to sleep well, tormented by nightmares because of the need for Nei Nantekimam’s acceptance. One such story is of a man visiting Marakei and completing the circuit. The women warmly welcomed him and yet for days he was unable to sleep. Rattled with insomnia and driven crazy with sleeplessness, the man asked his Marakei relatives for advice.
The relatives probed him with questions, trying to figure out the problem. ‘Are you sure you haven’t brought another spirit with you? Something from another island?’
The man thought and then realised he had brought with him a small bottle of oil that had been blessed by a spirit from another island. He told his family and they urged him to introduce this unfamiliar spirit to the women first thing in the morning. He did so early the next day, asking for Nei Nantekimam to recognise the stranger to the island and kindly accept its presence as a friend and not a threat to Marakei. She did, and the man’s insomnia left him.
After we had made our introductions and I had made my tobacco offering, Kairo instructed me to walk out to the sand and dig.
Mechanically, I did what I was told. I walked out about thirty meters while Kairo waited by the bike. At one point, I turned abruptly. ‘What if the water is dirty?’ I yelled towards the shore, overcome with the same feeling of loneliness and seclusion I had felt when I had boarded the plane with my water.
‘Then you are cursed for your entire stay!’ he yelled back.
‘Really?’
‘Just dig, you crazy girl!’
I knelt and dug deep into the sand. Handful after handful, I quickly scooped the sand to make a small burrow. I waited. At first there was no water at all. And then it flowed. Clear water ran between my fingers. A small pool of sparkling water filled the hole. I had been holding my breath and finally exhaled. Relief.
I silently walked back to shore. I didn’t need to tell Kairo that the water had run fresh.
He smiled, bent down to the ground and grabbed a fistful of Nei Nantekimam’s sand, and wiped it across my cheeks. I hugged him.
He hugged me back. ‘Welcome home, cousin.’
* * *
I slept soundly that night and each night of my stay on Marakei. Every night I slept in a hut beside my mother and grandmother, curled under a mosquito net. I cooked rice every day and our fish was plentiful. I bathed in the ocean and listened to my family members tell stories of the day, the days before, the years before that and the generations before them. I soaked up my heritage in every way possible.
T
he water in the container was used up pretty quickly, lasting all of four days. The water from the well didn’t make me sick.
On the return flight to the main island, I boarded the plane with emotional ease. I still tripped over the language and my skin was still lighter than everyone else’s, but I was leaving with a deeper understanding of who I am and where I come from. My feelings of displacement, of being a stranger, were long gone, replaced with a spirit as clear as the water that had run through my fingers that first day.
I was leaving knowing that I am a woman of Marakei.
I am a child of four women.
Immunity
Damon Chua
Singapore
We once stood side by side, on top of a cliff.
We would never have met but for the recruit known to everyone as Measles Boy. The location was Tekong, that swampy mosquito-infested isle off the Singapore mainland, and we were undergoing our three-month Basic Military Training.
Measles Boy, according to reports that would come to light later, contracted the disease prior to enlistment. But he showed signs only on arrival at the camp. It was too late. Other recruits had been exposed during the critical incubation period.
To prevent a full-blown epidemic, the island was put in quarantine. No one was allowed to enter or leave. Soldiers were re-assigned across platoon-lines to segregate those who’d already had the disease, and were therefore immune, from those who hadn’t. A notice board was erected outside the soon-to-be overcrowded sick bay, to keep track of the number of infected recruits. It quickly hit the fifty mark.
I remember coming down with measles on my eighth birthday. Grandma, whom I lived with as a child, had baked me a chocolate cake with blue vanilla icing. But my usual voracious appetite eluded me.
She put her tiny palm on my forehead and pronounced that I had a fever. I was sent to bed with a tall glass of barley water. That night, my skin turned red with rough, blotchy patches. My eyes were pinkish. I was confined to my room for several days.
So Many Islands Page 6
