Since I travelled to Kiribati recently, there were no plans of returning. The idea came up when a colleague at our school, Liam Kruytbosch, mentioned it. Liam had never heard of Kiribati.
Most travellers, when they hear the word Kiribati, give you a look of puzzlement and interest. Kiribati, formerly the Gilbert and Ellice Islands, was colonised by the British, and achieved independence in July 1979, splitting from the Ellice Islands.
When Liam asks where I come from, I point to a group of dots on the classroom map, where the Equator and the International Date Line meet.
Kiribati is made up of thirty-three coral atolls scattered in the central tropical Pacific. The islands are narrow, low and flat, and some have enclosed lagoons. Most would take less than an hour to travel from one end to the other. Kiribati has two main seasons of the year, wet and dry. The dry season isn’t particularly hot, because cool and continuous breezes blow from the ocean. The lagoon is often quite beautiful, and to sit beneath coconut trees, gazing out at the sea, is an absolute joy.
The islands cover an area of roughly three hundred square miles. The largest, Christmas Island, is more than six thousand miles from Tarawa, capital of Kiribati. Tarawa features in the Second World War, and is famous for “The Battle of Tarawa”, carried out between the Japanese and Allied forces. On Kiribati, you still see the odd, rusting wrecks of bombers and field artillery. Kids use them as playthings, while I-Kiribati women press them into service as places to dry clothes. Kiribati also has another dubious claim to fame. Bill Haley and the Comets, the founders of rock-and-roll, landed there in the fifties to re-fuel on their way to Australia.
Kiribati doesn’t experience earthquakes, tornadoes, tidal waves, hurricanes and other natural disasters that inflict neighbouring islands. We won’t, however, be able to escape Global Warming and rising sea levels. Sitting two feet above sea level, on a flat pancake of coral, Global Warming is a looming issue.
Liam’s interest in the islands now drives him to satisfy a certain curiosity about life on a Pacific island. He wants to see Kiribati in the coming holidays with his wife to be, Hannah Moran. As Christmas draws closer, Liam prepares to fulfil his intention of proposing to his beautiful girlfriend, Hannah. When Liam mentions the plan among other teachers, I feel honoured; it touches my heart. The idea that someone might choose my isolated island for such a momentous step brings tears to my eyes. Who on earth would choose Kiribati as a place to propose? The honour, excitement and emotional feeling lead me to an inevitable conclusion: “Hey, Kiribati, I’m coming with my Aussie friends to see what you can offer!”
Hannah’s mother, a lively woman teaching in Darwin, is to accompany her daughter. I trouble over whether these good people will be able to handle the rough and ready life ahead, especially if you’re white, not used to an island life-style, and the unchanging diet of coconut and fish.
Though Captain James Cook, Paul Gaugin and Robert Louis Stephenson might have experienced Kiribati as a tropical island paradise, set amid thatched huts and waving palms, today there’s a distinct protest about the lack of proper toilets, running water, suitable restaurants and buildings, not to mention an airline serviced by two ancient prop planes that receive little maintenance, if any at all. There’s also a serious lack of doctors to treat a range of ailments like Hepatitis A, B and C, plus Dengue Fever, and a host of intestinal parasites, including the fact television has recently been introduced. Wrap it all together, and you have the tiny Republic of Kiribati.
I question my Aussie friends again, “Are you sure you want to go to Kiribati?” The reply is, “Of course! We wouldn’t have asked if we didn’t want to go.”
As the time for leaving approaches, I seriously wonder if these Matangs are tough, brave or completely mad. They must think of me as an interesting person, and they want to visit the country where I grew up.
Liam reserves tickets on the Internet, and we wait with great excitement for the school year to end.
I talk over the Christmas arrangements with Ben, and he’s eager to join us. As Ben was brought up in Kiribati, I’m over the moon that my only son will be coming. He plans on visiting Neville Yates first, his special friend in Armidale, and a father figure to Ben.
As the eldest, I looked after my family in Kiribati – my brothers, sisters and my father, since my mother’s death. My younger sisters and brothers are married and have children, which drove me to wanting a child of my own. Having Ben is the greatest blessing in my life, and I’m a very proud mother. Ben and I are inseparable, and it’s easy to say Ben is the most important person in my life.
I brought up my son with the help of my father, who took over the role of father, as well as Grandfather. Ben grew in a corner of my classroom. I pushed him in his pram to school in the mornings, and then home in the afternoons. As he grew, the brighter children played with him, and brought crabs into class for his amusement.
Ben reached the point of asking where his real father was, realising my father was, in fact, his grandfather. I lied that his father had been killed in the war. I never meant to hurt him. I wanted him to know I was there for him; that he’d be with me always. This was naïve. I never realised that when boys grow up, they want to lead their own lives, and call themselves men. I misled myself, and it hurt me often.
My father passed away in nineteen ninety-six in Namibia, in the care of my sister Sangalofa and her husband, Lesley Clark. I was in Armidale at the time. His death was the worst thing, and we felt hopeless without him. My father was close to Ben, and Ben depended on him. I pleaded with my father to come to Australia in the final year, so he could see his grandson attending school. He wasn’t well enough to travel.
It was difficult for me to get over such a heart-breaking loss, and it threatened my hopes for the future. There would have been no success without the support and encouragement of my dedicated tutors. I cried a lot, because the one I wanted to impress was gone.
It was then my tutors reminded me of my father’s wish for me to graduate for my son’s sake.
The time was fast approaching for me to return to Kiribati and continue my career as an educator.
Our accommodation was opposite Neville Yates’s corner shop in Brown Street. It was convenient because we could run across and buy whatever we needed. The hamburgers and fish and chips were also first class.
One day Ben came home and told me the owner of the shop, a kind-hearted man, had called him over and showed interest in him. He asked Ben where he came from, including a lot of other questions. They both clicked. Neville then asked me if it would be okay to have afternoon tea with his wife, and discuss plans concerning Ben’s future. I learned from Neville that he’d been trying unsuccessfully to adopt a son. When Ben first walked into his shop, there had been a strong feeling.
“This is the boy I’ve been looking for!”
The meeting with Robyn and Neville proved fruitful. I laid out my plans for Ben. I wanted him to have the best opportunities in life. I asked Ben if he wanted to go back to Kiribati with me, or take up Neville’s offer of staying behind to study in Armidale. He said he would rather stay in Armidale because of the many opportunities.
Neville showed me Ben’s room in their house, and reassured me that he and his wife would look after Ben like a son.