My sisters in Kiribati are waiting to welcome my Aussie visitors; they’ll be ready with garlands, freshly husked green coconuts, ready to drink, plus our transport. We’ll be heading to the far end of Tarawa, to a village called Betio.
My sister, Tiiba, is married to a Maiana island man named Koraubara Tebaka. Maiana is an island forty kilometres from Tarawa; it’s where I intend taking my guests. Maiana is unspoiled, and offers more in the traditional Kiribati lifestyle, in housing and culture, and in ways of living. Tarawa, the capital, has developed rapidly; it’s overcrowded with outer island people looking for jobs, education for their children, the modern life of taxis, buses, saloon cars, pubs, discos, hotels, and the numerous shops and open markets.
I’m excited as the plane thumps down on the runway. People of Kiribati have come to watch the new arrivals from over the seas. My sisters will be chattering loudly about their Aussie visitors. In Kiribati, if you have foreigners coming to stay, it’s a special occasion, a great honour and something to be thoroughly proud of.
I already arranged with my sister Tiiba for Liam, Hannah and her mother to stay with them; her house, belonging to the government, is built of bricks, with three furnished rooms, a toilet and shower, fridge, gas oven, all the things I know Australians are comfortable with. I worry because, being a Kiribatian, I go to the well and scoop water in a pail, pour it over my head, and that’s my shower.
Ben will stay with my youngest sister, Tiene. I think of her as my other baby still, even though she’s married. I raised her when my mother passed away, leaving a father and six children. Tiene was two years old. I brought her up, along with my old man, Tooki.
Each morning at six, I’ll ride my brother-in-law’s motorcycle to breakfast with my Aussie guests at Tiiba’s house, where we can plan what to do for the day. I’ll take them on walks, show them the shops, harbour, night clubs, Chinese restaurants, the “Royal”, an Aussie pub where you meet Australians who are in business, and who want to talk to their Aussie mates. My friends won’t be too keen on that; they’ll be more into meeting the locals, getting to know their way of life. My mind is elsewhere, counting the days until Ben’s arrival. Time skips away quickly, and soon we’re preparing to meet my young man from Australia.
On that day, my Aussie friends and I are near to the airport, at a village named Buota, staying in one of the locally built tourist resorts. My sister Tiene will pick us up and take us to the airport. But things don’t turn out as planned. We wait, but they’re late, and I hear the Air Nauru plane flying overhead. I hail a passing bus. I’m disappointed because the plane has already landed; I’ll miss Ben as he walks down the steps on his way to the terminal building, the moment when everyone’s eyes focus on the new arrivals. I rush to the new arrivals building and peep through a crack in the wall, trying to get a glimpse of Ben. I’m so excited, I start calling his name, “Ben!” He hears me, and looks around in search of the voice.
Ben has grown tall, over 1.80 metres; he’s twenty-one years old, with very fine features. I watch his every movement. I’m anxious to meet with him, and take him home. I watch him smile; I think about how he’s always shy with me when others are around. Ben has changed a lot, and it breaks my heart, because I keep thinking he’ll always be with me, be my baby. I never think that now he’s grown up he’ll leave me, and join his peers and friends.
He comes out, and we shake hands. In Kiribati, people avoid showing their inner feelings. They never hug or kiss friends on the cheek. It’s always plain handshakes, especially between males and females. I’m always proud as I walk in the company of my son, and when he finally comes out, I feel back on top of the world. I know people are looking at me with my handsome, grown-up son. Friends come over to greet him, and others are smiling at us from afar. I was a teacher here in Primary and Secondary since nineteen seventy-three, so was my father, and most in Kiribati know us well – the Tooki family. My students are now grown-ups, mothers and fathers with good jobs in government or business. As a teacher, you devote all your energy to nurturing students for well-paid jobs, a good education, so they’ll be able to help their families.
Ben doesn’t want to waste any time, and straight away asks where the truck is. I explain the transport hasn’t arrived as planned. There’s a flicker of disappointment in his face. He walks on ahead, carrying his luggage into the street. We decide to take a bus. Instead of going south, in the direction of Buota, we head north, in search of a truck owned by a friend. We have to pick up our Aussie friends, who are waiting at Buota village, near the airport. Luckily, the truck is parked outside the friend’s house. It’s then we hear another truck approach. It’s our late transport, with my sisters and families on board. Ben helped finance this truck so we can have transport whenever we come for holidays. Tiene uses it in her transport business. There are many apologies and excuses for the delay, and Ben is invited to drive home to Betio. Anger soon melts like ice in the sun, as Ben plays the new release, 1-Kiribati. I love listening to it, and ask Ben to play it again. It’s quite a hike from Borriki Airport to Buota, at the end of Tarawa, which means we have to pass eighteen villages to finally arrive at Betio. Ten of us are aboard the truck, and we sit back, as Ben drives without a seat belt. Life on Kiribati can be very relaxed and fun. We laugh all the way, munching on the Aussie chocolates Ben has brought with him.
We stop at villages to say hello to Ben’s mates. He’s very popular, has a lot of friends, and I know he’s planning a new year’s party get-together. We pass my younger sister’s house, and head for Tiiba’s house, where the “I-Matangs” are staying. Those who waited behind have cooked a welcome feast for Ben. His favourites are barbecued red snapper, red emperor, rice and delicious breadfruit soup, with coconut cream.
We make plans to leave for Maiana by motorboat. Ben listens to our talk of using a second boat, a cheaper one, available near the airport. This means driving back to where we picked Ben up. It suits him okay, Ben being the type who can’t sit still for long; he’s always on the move, especially if it involves anything to do with driving. Ben never gets to finish his delicious food. He asks me to put it away until he returns.
“I’ll drive to Borriki, pick up the outboard, whack it on the truck with the help of Tiiba’s old man and a few helpers.”
Off goes Ben. The aluminium tinnie is far cheaper than the boat Tiene arranged. I’m not thinking of any danger that might be involved; I’m thinking about saving money. In that way I let my sister down. She has arranged for experienced fishermen to take us to Maiana and back, when our three days are up. In all the excitement, I’m carried away, not seriously considering the dangers. Danger isn’t on my mind.
Everyone, with the exception of Tiene, is looking forward to the trip to Maiana. Ben is anxious to meet his cousin Teraii, named after his great grandfather. He’s also looking forward to meeting his uncle’s father, Tetaake, now in his eighties, who used to visit, and once lived with us when Grandfather Tooki was alive. Ben has great respect for this old man, as he did his grandpa, who brought him up. Ben still misses Grandfather Tooki, and meeting and talking with Tetaake will be like talking with his grandfather again.
Ben gets back at about two-thirty, so he has only a couple of hours sleep. I’m relieved on hearing the rumble of the truck engine. He says goodnight and climbs the stairs to the new, locally built, double storey, thatched roof house, complete with a floor.
Next morning we’re awake before the roosters for final packing and shopping, not forgetting the cartons of cigarettes for the local motorman and as gifts for our relatives on Maiana. We need to smoke, share puffs with the spirits, as we make for the open sea, after leaving Tarawa passage for Maiana Island. This is a practice engaged in by everyone, whether it’s fishermen or travellers, between the two islands. It means good luck and a safe passage, so that all we encounter, whether it’s whales, sharks, or waves, will treat us kindly, and so the voyage will be smooth and successful.
Before leaving, my sister Tiene hotly expresses her attitude towards me for cancelling the second wooden boat she arranged for the trip. I had thought it too costly, and that one wooden boat would be enough. After all, Tiiba gets the aluminium tinnie free of charge. Tiene was looking forward to spending more time with Ben, and here we are, heading off to Maiana. In three days we’ll return, and Ben will be more than happy to spend some time with her. Tiene is concerned for Ben’s safety; she feels the aluminium tinnie isn’t safe. I don’t see the danger in the way she does.
“I hope Ben follows my advice, and doesn’t go in the aluminium tinnie. He should travel in the wooden boat!”
Nodding as a sign of having heard, I don’t take Tiene too seriously. It’s a natural excitement that makes it simple for me to be dismissive. Trouble or disaster just isn’t foremost in my mind. My young sister worries about the tinnie, but I read into it that she’s overreacting.
Ben doesn’t want to travel in the same boat with me for the simple reason he believes he’s a grown man, not a baby anymore. He’ll like being in his uncle’s company, because Koraubara is funny, and so easygoing. He spoils Ben, and will do anything he asks. Ben enjoys the man talk, and jokes in our mother tongue, other men’s business. There are two other young men besides Ben, plus Uncle Koraubara, so he jumps at the opportunity without thinking.
Their boat leads the way through the passage, over the waves and into the wide ocean. We follow, and it isn’t long before our boat overtakes them, and they drop further behind. I ask the motorman if we can travel together, but he explains fuel will be wasted if we go slow. This boat is meant to travel fast. He assures me going to Maiana is safe, because the boat surfs the waves, which are behind and not against us. I watch Ben’s tinnie until it’s nothing but a small object, a mere speck with white waves breaking over the bow.
The exhilaration of travelling overcomes any objections Tiene might have as to the safety of the tinnie. Travelling a vast ocean, watching whales, dolphins, flying fish or whatever might crop up, is too magical to miss. I guess I’m showing off such beauty for my white Aussie friends. My father, when he was alive, wouldn’t think of visiting Maiana. It’s a shameful thing in our culture to visit your brother-in-law’s island, for the simple reason you might be seeking a male partner, or in search of food because you’re not satisfied with what you have in your household. My father was a very proud man; he never took Ben to Maiana. We flew instead by plane to Beru in South Kiribati, his home island.
It’s a perfect day; the sea is calm, not too rough. As we leave, the motormen light cigarettes, and we follow suit. The two-hour journey goes smoothly, with the dolphins showing off their antics as they lead us towards Maiana. On approaching the tip of the island, everybody lights up cigarettes, acknowledging the spirits.
It’s high tide as we arrive, something the skilled sailors planned for. To arrive on low tide, you have to walk long distances, because the boat can’t make it to the shore. We’re delivered onto the white beach, to be met by the family. I hang back and stand in the cool lagoon water, watching for Ben’s boat. Forty-five minutes later, we sight the tiny craft over the horizon, making straight towards us. I give silent thanks. Hannah cries out, “Thank God, they’re here!”